Well, here we are - it's 1971 now - still 40 years ago, but, in theory, I should be able to remember some of the details a little better than the earlier years. This theory doesn't always apply, of course - sometimes events from half a century ago are burnished in your brain and seem like they happened yesterday. Conversely, events of 10 minutes ago are easily forgotten - the old joke about stopping halfway on the stairs trying to remember whether you were going up or down - and for what - has been played out in our house for a number of years now - it's particularly easy to do that with our half landings on the stairs.
I'm making this sound like we're in our dotage now - not quite, but getting there. Hence the reason for writing this blog whilst I can still remember some of the things that I've done and have happened to me over the years. I remember Barry, in particular, trying to get Dad to write down some of his stories when he was in his late 70's/early 80's, I think. He managed for a little while but soon ran out of steam. Well, I've got at least a 15 year start on Dad. I do wish we'd managed to get Mum to do this as well - she would have been good at it. I always remember her telling me from when I was a small child what a good memory I had - she used to tell me to remind her about things that had to be done at certain times and I took great delight in never forgetting to do so. My memory's not all that bad even now - much better than many of my peers - but, nowadays, I don't rely solely on it, but instead use the power of the tools of technology that are readily available to help me - call it cheating if you like.
Enough of all that - back to 1971. Jo and I were by now, to use current terminology, "an item". We were going in to our second year together and were regular visitors to each others' (parents') houses. Some time soon we would even be staying overnight, mostly at the weekends - separately of course - it was only 1971 after all. I used to sleep on the bed settee in the front room at 52A Storie St.
I was still working and studying, but was by now starting to regret a little the good time I had had at University - particularly when I saw a number of my friends and peers sitting their final C.A. exams in the spring of 1971, and knowing that I had at least another full year to go. I did get through my 4th year fairly easily, however, so at least I didn't have to spend the summer studying as well.
Some of my friends - and Jo's - had been "going steady" for a bit longer than we had and soon engagements and weddings were sprouting all over the place. Jo's pal, Theresa got married first, I think - to an Army lad - and they ended up in barracks in Arbroath, I believe. This was us attending their wedding at St. Charles' Paisley:
I think the first of my friends to get hitched was Roddy MacLeod and this may have been his wedding in, I think, Dennistoun:
The 2 photographs look like they may have been taken within months of each other. Another wedding we attended about this time was Johnny Duncan's - he married a girl who had South African connections, and they moved there not long after the wedding.
We spent a fair bit of time with Jo's pals from college and their boyfriends. Jo's best pal from Notre Dame was Sadie Twigg - who she still gets birthday cards from every year - they share the same date. I remember Mary Weir as well, who ended up in a rather sad marriage in Fraserburgh of all places.
Back at Foxbar Drive, Dad's relationship with his mother-in-law had long since reached rock bottom and Granny Barr was by now a virtual recluse upstairs in the front room, only coming downstairs when she was sure Dad wasn't around. To me, she was never a happy bunny, but I guess circumstances and events shape people's lives. She had been a widow for many years - I have no real recollection of Granda Barr. She ended up sharing her house initially with her son and his family and then her daughter and her family. I have no idea how her relationship with the Barrs was, but it couldn't have been much worse than her relationship with the Stewarts. It must have been very awkward for Mum as well, never knowing whether to side with her husband or her mother. Of course, we, as children, were influenced as well and perhaps we never really gave Granny Barr much of a chance - in fact, I'm pretty sure we were rude and disrespectful to her quite often as a result. This rather unflattering photograph kind of sums up our memories of her:
When Jo and I went out at the weekends, it was often to dance-halls and discos. Joanna's was one we used to frequent and the White Elephant was another. You used to get the lift up to the latter and the main attraction in those days of pubs closing at 10 pm was the fact that you could still drink in certain clubs after this hour - but only if you were having a meal. This led to the fairly farcical situation of them serving a small sandwich and a few crisps on a paper plate and this qualified as a meal, and therefore you could carry on drinking until the small hours.
The Rolling Stones' Sticky Fingers album was released that year and from it, the single Brown Sugar. I can still see Jo dancing with me to this, barefoot and wearing a light blue shirt style dress.
New pubs were springing up around Glasgow - a particularly unusual and exotic one was the Muscular Arms:
This external view doesn't really give any idea of the unusual interior. At the time, it was "the" place to go in Glasgow. My abiding memory of the Muscular Arms was walking in for the first time, and hearing Alice Cooper's School's Out blasting away.
It wasn't just the 10 pm drinking curfew that was a bit of a farce - Sunday was even worse. Under the then licensing laws, "public houses" couldn't open on Sundays - but hotels could. You can imagine what happened - places like the Lorne Hotel on Sauchiehall St were mobbed on Sunday evenings.
Towards the end of the year, a couple of memorable - in different ways - events took place. First up, on 23rd October, 1971, a football miracle occurred. Little Partick Thistle, newly promoted, beat the mighty Celtic 4-1 in the final of the Scottish League Cup - and I was there to witness that famous day at Hampden. My memory of the day was nearly spoiled as I was in a group of Thistle supporters in what is traditionally the "Rangers end" of the ground, and we were just in front of a large group of Celtic fans. Thistle scored one, then two, three and four - we were in dreamland - but the Celtic fans behind didn't appreciate us celebrating and bottles started flying. We had to scarper to a safer area to watch the rest of the match in peace and safety. Here's that team:
Just a couple of weeks later, Jo and I got engaged. I must have been a bit backward in coming forward, because Jo had to ask me if I wanted to get married - a bit of role reversal for those times. We chose a Friday for the official date - 5th November. It was a convenient time for both of us, and of no other significance to us. However, when we told Jo's Mum, Lottie immediately questioned the significance of the date - after all, I was a Protestant and Jo was a Catholic and didn't we know that Guy Fawkes was part of a Papist plot? Only in the West of Scotland could anyone contrive such thoughts, but that was - and apparently still is - the way many people think in that part of the country.
My parents weren't aware of any such issues, but my father did question our decision and was concerned about the consequences - although my mother didn't have any such worries.
So that was 1971 - the following year also brought some significant events - watch this space.
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