Chronicles Part IV - 1972

From http://renshawschronicles.blogspot.com/

Another momentous year in my relatively (to then) short life. By spring, I was at last approaching my finals. There was a bit of pressure on this time, having recently got engaged. Jo, too, was entering the final straight of her teacher training, so I guess there must have been a little bit of exam stress around - but I have no memory of any undue tension - probably still too young to feel any pressure.

We attended Jo's Graduation Ball - the first time I'd had a dickie bow suit on. Jo dazzled in her fancy dress and with her hair up:

I think I didn't quite get all the results I needed and had to re-sit one exam before I was fully qualified, but we weren't unduly concerned and we were looking forward to a summer holiday down south. Mum and Dad had offered to take us with them on their camping holiday to Folkestone, which would also afford us the opportunity to pay a quick visit to see Roddy and Carole, who, after getting married the previous year, had moved down to London.

I seem to recall the weather was nice, and the following photographs apparently confirm this:

Jo and I made the short journey along the coast to Dover, where we stayed overnight at the White Cliffs Hotel (http://www.thewhitecliffs.com/) and then took the train through to London the following morning. It was Saturday and I seem to recall Roddy and Carole taking us to a Dickens pub. On Sunday, I wasn't feeling too well and we ended up staying in their flat watching the Wimbledon final between Stan Smith and Ilie Nastase, which turned out to be an epic 5-setter.

Thrift was the theme that year. We didn't go out as much as we tried to save our pennies for our wedding and everything that went with that. We would often go round to visit Mary and Brian - and little Julie, of course - I got quite attached to her about that time.

I started to look for a job that summer. I had decided that I didn't want to work in the profession for the rest of my life, doing auditing and taxation, neither of which I particularly enjoyed, so I sought employment in industry somewhere. I got a fair number of interviews, one of which was with W.H. Malcolm, haulage carriers in Linwood. In some respects, this could have been ideal as it wasn't too far from Paisley and would make it a bit easier for Jo. I didn't get the job in the end, but very shortly afterwards I became aware of a position being created at James Buchanan & Co., proprietors of Black & White Scotch Whisky at their plant at Stepps on the north east side of the city, geographically diagonally opposite to Paisley.

I attended a few interviews - with who would be my immediate boss, John McColl, plus Personnel Manager (this was pre-"HR" days) John Whitfield (I think that was his name - big man with bald head anyway), Admin Director David Kilgore (who knew my then boss Duncan Crawford, it transpired) and Finance Director from the London Head Office, Peter Hosp. I was offered the new post of Assistant Glasgow Accountant - I thought at the time it sounded grand, but it's really just one step up from being a simple clerk. The salary was a princely sum of £2,100 p.a. - not a lot in today's terms, but a whole lot more than I was earning as a C.A. apprentice with Fraser, Martin & Co., and even although I could expect a fairly substantial pay increase once I was qualified, it was still nearly double what I would have earned had I stayed in the profession.

There was just one small problem - the Black & White bottling and blending plant was where Dad worked - and he was a Shop Steward. Now Dad was no raving militant, and he was really just the default representative for a small group of tradesmen who looked after the maintenance of the buildings - he wouldn't have been responsible for calling the factory floor out on strike or anything (there were about 1,100 people working there then), but this was still in the days of "them and us". I would be a salaried employee working in the offices in the tower block, whilst Dad was hourly paid and spent most of his time down in the factory - "upstairs, downstairs" stuff.

Mum knew about my interviews there, but neither she nor I told Dad about them. After all, perhaps I wouldn't get the job, so there was no point in unnecessarily causing a row. However, I did eventually get offered the job and I think it was virtually the evening before I was due to start there that we told Dad. He wasn't at all happy about it. I think he still thought I wasn't doing a real job - hands on, like a joiner.

That was problem number one - the next issue I had to face was internally with the Management at Black & White. I hadn't mentioned during my interviews that Dad worked there - I hadn't thought it relevant. I mentioned it casually one day after I started and thought no more about it, but what I didn't realise at the time was the internal turmoil I had caused. Apparently, there were a series of meetings amongst senior management and some frantic phone calls to the Finance Director in London.

After a couple of days, I was summonsed in to my boss's room and asked to explain. He thought there might be a conflict of interests - after all, I would be privy to a lot of inside information on pay scales and salaries, and would become responsible for checking and authorising weekly pay. I replied that I thought my professional training and qualification made such fears unnecessary - the Institute of Chartered Accountants of Scotland - the oldest accounting body in the world, having received its Royal Charter in 1854 - instilled a very high standard of discipline and discretion. Apparently this was the correct answer, because after a few hours of scurrying around and clandestine meetings in corridors, I was told that I was "reprieved" and could carry on in my role - I should think so too! I think my slightly snooty response was partially a riposte to my boss, who was not as highly qualified as I was - a little bit of attempted one-upmanship on my behalf.

By now, we had decided on the date of our wedding - and if Lottie thought the date for our engagement was a little strange, then she was positively gobsmacked when we chose Boxing Day for the wedding - as was everyone else! With Jo teaching, we thought it would be best to get married during the school holidays. Not one of our better decisions.

Now that I had a job it was time to find a house. We looked all over - Renfrewshire, West End of Glasgow and finally, Lanarkshire - Chryston to be exact - not far from Black & White's factory at Stepps. Renfrewshire would never have worked - the journey all the way across the city would have been horrendous for me - especially as I didn't even have any wheels.

We looked at a flat near Glasgow University - they had colour TV! Remember this was only 1972 and colour transmissions only started in 1968, so very few homes had them by them. We walked in for our viewing appointment and guess what was on TV? - Star Trek - Jo's favourite! She was transfixed - she would have bought the flat without further viewing if they had included the TV in the deal.

So that's how we ended up at 1 Barcaldine Avenue, a semi-detached modern bungalow on a corner site in what the locals often referred to as Spam Valley in Chryston, adjacent to Muirhead. Many of the residents also worked at Black & White - some of them had been transferred from the London office when the Stepps complex opened just a year or two before. They were the fortunate ones, selling at London prices and buying in relatively depressed Lanarkshire, but, being a brand new estate, property prices were a bit steep for most of the locals and that's how the area got its nickname.

£6,100 was what we paid for the property, I recall. I think we had saved £400 for the deposit and borrowed the rest, with the building society allowing a multiple of 2.5 times my salary plus a smaller multiple of Jo's teacher's salary. It was a stretch, but we could manage - just. The house was pretty bare, however - the previous occupants hadn't left much behind - just some rough, hessian style, matt carpeting, I seem to recall. Wedding gifts plus the small sum we had left from our savings would furnish the house, we hoped.

Scandinavian design was all the rage then - as now it seems. We bought a plain, oblong, firm, stripey suite with no armrests - it converted to 2 bed settees - and Jo's Mum and Dad bought our bed (I think), with Granny Barr supplying the duvet. Our prize acquisition (from my Mum and Dad?) was our dining room table - very Scandinavian - and very red - unusual for the time, but it lasted better than anything we ever bought. To this day, it's still in use as our computer table upstairs. Goes to show that quality often ends up cheaper in the long run.

I think it was round about this time that I took one of my favourite photos of Jo - in the front garden at Foxbar Drive:

Granny Barr didn't make it to the wedding. She died in her bed that autumn. I can still remember Mum going upstairs to see her - perhaps to take her tea to her? - and exclaiming when she realised what had happened. Dad wasn't home and I had to go up to check. I'd never seen a dead body, but I remember checking if she was breathing and touching her face.

So the big day finally came. What a funny Christmas it was - I'm sure we must have spoiled it for our parents - especially Bill and Lottie - and it wasn't the same for us either. We had arranged for the wedding to start at 4 pm, which would allow us to go straight in to the meal and reception - the photographers then didn't spend 2-3 hours taking shots and holding up the meal as they seem to do nowadays. What hadn't clicked with us, however, was that it would be dark at 4 pm on Boxing Day - just as well we had opted for the cheaper black and white photos, rather than colour!

I think the wedding went off OK, but it's all a bit of a blur. Barry was my Best Man and we both wore brown velvet suits, with bell-bottom turn-ups and large lapels - very 1972! We'd both had our hair done that morning - blow dried of course. Barry was still very young and I recall his Best Man speech wasn't the greatest - and nor was mine. I also remember getting up on stage with the band and singing "I Belong to Glasgow" - my first and last public performance!

My pals grabbed me at the end and carried me outside and put me on a service bus without my shoes and socks. I had to walk back barefoot from the next stop - but as japes go, it wasn't all that bad.

We had a very brief honeymoon - the night of the wedding we went to the newly opened Esso Motor Hotel (as it was then called) at Erskine - check out the Herald archive - http://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=2507&dat=19720110&id=ltE9AAAAIBAJ&sjid=IEgMAAAAIBAJ&pg=5722,1349256.

We drove around the West of Scotland the following day in what I think must have been a hired car, taking these photographs on the way:

Check my three-piece suit and Jo's yellow platforms. Note also her smock top - by now, the styles of Jo's clothes were being chosen very carefully.

The second night of our honeymoon was spent at the Crow Wood House Hotel in Muirhead - within walking distance of our new home. The reason for that was that our bed was due to be delivered the following morning and we had to be there for that. Talk about last minute arrangements.

So that was 1972. The following year was to prove equally as exciting for us.