Another View from the Crossroads
by Derek Freeman
Genre: Memoir
Swearwords: None.
Description: For those who read my first memoirs, I hope you enjoyed them; no doubt they brought back some happy memories of ‘The Ferry’, the old Secondary School and what we got up to in our early teenage years. Apart from stealing bullets, breaking into shops, shoplifting and carrying out other petty crimes, we did on occasions act like normal teenagers. The following stories relate to experiences just before leaving school in 1959, including what happened when a plane landed on the River Forth and a fire that could have destroyed part of the old Junior Secondary School.
_____________________________________________________________________
Fishing Neighbours
I lived with my parents and younger brother and sister at Walker Drive in one of eighteen prefabs in a quiet double cul-de-sac in South Queensferry.
Directly opposite at number forty-six were Mr and Mrs Liddle with their eldest son James (Jim) and their vivacious younger daughter Sheila.
Mr and Mrs Liddle were quiet and kept to themselves. Sheila and I got on as well as any other young children and this friendship lasted throughout our teenage years until leaving school at fifteen.
Although Jim was a couple of years older, we were always good friends, apart from the two or three occasions when he and Lenny had spent a tiring morning digging fishing bait from the black putrid mud at the Binks.
Digging bait was one of the down sides to fishing. At low tide, with spade and a couple of empty tins in hand, we made our way to the Binks to dig for ragworm. For those not acquainted with ragworm, these multicoloured worms could reach up to two feet in length, and with four, almost black, bony sharp pincers in their heads, care when handling was advised. They no doubt also used these pincers for feeding on smaller worms, which, due to the sewerage that flowed onto the beach, were abundant.
Following a few hours of hard work, Jim and Lenny would be covered in the black mud and, more often than not, a wash in the water of the Forth was the only way to look presentable before heading home.
As an alternative to carrying a large can of ragworm home and back to the harbour later, it was concealed close to the beach with the intention of collecting it when returning to fish. Fishing from the harbour and other areas of the Ferry was a popular pastime in the late Fifties and in most instances we did dig our own bait. We also knew that tins of bait were hidden near the beach and it was a great feeling to go to the Binks and ‘find’ a tin of ragworm rather than spending two to three hours digging for it.
Although we would deny ‘finding’ the ragworm, Jim and Lenny knew exactly how we came by it. With no fisticuffs involved we would return their hard-earned tin of bait, but they always left us enough to continue fishing for another hour or so.
Because of our friendship with Jim and Lenny, Allan and I were given their well paid Sunday paper round.
Emergency Landing
We were fishing from a natural rock formation known locally as the Binks.
Mary Queen of Scots left from and returned to Queensferry from here when visiting
Dunfermline and because of this and the kindness shown to her by the people of the Ferry, she bestowed the title ‘Royal’ on the Burgh.
On the day in question, patchy mist was lying on the River Forth, at times the sun would break through and occasionally the Fife coast was visible.
We were as usual fishing, when we heard the engine of a small plane; nothing unusual about that, but this plane sounded very low and very close.
During a thinning of the mist we saw the plane landing on the river. Our first stop was the police station, which was only a matter of three hundred yards away, then we informed the newspapers.
There were no mobile telephones in the early Sixties and the nearest public telephone box was beneath the town clock.
Flyers’ Flap at Naval Base was the headline on page six of the Daily Mail the following day. We were paid the enormous sum of £2.2.0, two pounds and two shillings, for our efforts. The story told of a millionaire who had lost his way in the fog and was forced to land on the river. Luckily for this millionaire he was piloting a seaplane.
The Almost Fire
Some will remember when the old school sold ice-cream from a small freezer just inside the double doors that led to the woodwork room. This area was about four metres long, not including the large walk-in store cupboard. You will also remember the smell of the glue pot when the contents were melting. Made from horses’ hooves, or other animal material, this glue required two pots, the inner one was filled with water, the heat of which melted the glue in the outer pot. It was a dark brown colour and really had a hellish smell.
Although named the woodwork room, it was in reality a large workshop. There were a number of benches with vices, metalwork and woodwork lathes, a drill and various other pieces of machinery that pupils were taught how to operate.
When school was finished for the day and although both doors were closed, only the outer door was locked.
There was an alternative way in to the woodwork room, this entailed entering by a door leading to the Art Class and Science Room and from there to the Woodwork Room.
On this particular morning, Mr Mitchell was having great difficulty opening the outer door; giving up, he decided to enter the workshop from the Art Class.
After unlocking and forcing open the outer door he eventually appeared. His hands were black and his face was white.
As we stepped inside we saw why the outer door had been jammed and wee Mitchell’s face was lacking colour.
During the night an electrical fault in the freezer had caused a fire. Three classrooms and the Headmaster’s Study should have been burnt to the ground, but somehow, because of lack of oxygen, the fire had burnt itself out within the confines of the double doors.
A large amount of timber stored in the area was blackened, some of which was slightly burnt, but other than superficial damage to the area between the doors, the building was intact.
Apples Hopefully?
Anyone who came from the Crossroads area will remember Hope Cottage; a large bungalow that stands opposite the priest’s house in Stewart Terrace.
Because of the number of apple trees and the ease with which the fruit could be obtained, this was one garden that merited special attention.
The smaller fruit trees were to the rear of the garden, but one particularly large tree was just a few yards inside the gate. Its branches were so heavily laden with fruit, they almost touched the ground.
The old man who lived there knew we ran into his garden, filled our pockets with as much fruit as possible and made our escape. He had tried to catch us on a number of occasions, but he was a bit too old and we were a bit too fast.
During one of our escapades, pockets bursting with apples, one of our number turned to run from the garden when the old man stepped out from behind a large holly bush. The young thief was being firmly held by the upper arm when he decided to punch the old man in the stomach.
A ten year old boy doesn’t pack much of a punch, but it took the old man by surprise and with more of a reflex action than anything else, he in turn slapped Ian’s face. Both then just stood and stared at each other till eventually the old man said, ‘Take your apples and go and don’t let me catch you in here again.’
Ian walked from the garden and distributed the apples among his friends. The following week and all through the season when his apple trees bore fruit, the old man would wait at his garden gate and as we passed he would hand us each a couple of apples.
This continued for the next few years and we never again stole from his garden, but there were many gardens in the Ferry with many more apple trees.
Swearwords: None.
Description: For those who read my first memoirs, I hope you enjoyed them; no doubt they brought back some happy memories of ‘The Ferry’, the old Secondary School and what we got up to in our early teenage years. Apart from stealing bullets, breaking into shops, shoplifting and carrying out other petty crimes, we did on occasions act like normal teenagers. The following stories relate to experiences just before leaving school in 1959, including what happened when a plane landed on the River Forth and a fire that could have destroyed part of the old Junior Secondary School.
_____________________________________________________________________
Fishing Neighbours
I lived with my parents and younger brother and sister at Walker Drive in one of eighteen prefabs in a quiet double cul-de-sac in South Queensferry.
Directly opposite at number forty-six were Mr and Mrs Liddle with their eldest son James (Jim) and their vivacious younger daughter Sheila.
Mr and Mrs Liddle were quiet and kept to themselves. Sheila and I got on as well as any other young children and this friendship lasted throughout our teenage years until leaving school at fifteen.
Although Jim was a couple of years older, we were always good friends, apart from the two or three occasions when he and Lenny had spent a tiring morning digging fishing bait from the black putrid mud at the Binks.
Digging bait was one of the down sides to fishing. At low tide, with spade and a couple of empty tins in hand, we made our way to the Binks to dig for ragworm. For those not acquainted with ragworm, these multicoloured worms could reach up to two feet in length, and with four, almost black, bony sharp pincers in their heads, care when handling was advised. They no doubt also used these pincers for feeding on smaller worms, which, due to the sewerage that flowed onto the beach, were abundant.
Following a few hours of hard work, Jim and Lenny would be covered in the black mud and, more often than not, a wash in the water of the Forth was the only way to look presentable before heading home.
As an alternative to carrying a large can of ragworm home and back to the harbour later, it was concealed close to the beach with the intention of collecting it when returning to fish. Fishing from the harbour and other areas of the Ferry was a popular pastime in the late Fifties and in most instances we did dig our own bait. We also knew that tins of bait were hidden near the beach and it was a great feeling to go to the Binks and ‘find’ a tin of ragworm rather than spending two to three hours digging for it.
Although we would deny ‘finding’ the ragworm, Jim and Lenny knew exactly how we came by it. With no fisticuffs involved we would return their hard-earned tin of bait, but they always left us enough to continue fishing for another hour or so.
Because of our friendship with Jim and Lenny, Allan and I were given their well paid Sunday paper round.
Emergency Landing
We were fishing from a natural rock formation known locally as the Binks.
Mary Queen of Scots left from and returned to Queensferry from here when visiting
Dunfermline and because of this and the kindness shown to her by the people of the Ferry, she bestowed the title ‘Royal’ on the Burgh.
On the day in question, patchy mist was lying on the River Forth, at times the sun would break through and occasionally the Fife coast was visible.
We were as usual fishing, when we heard the engine of a small plane; nothing unusual about that, but this plane sounded very low and very close.
During a thinning of the mist we saw the plane landing on the river. Our first stop was the police station, which was only a matter of three hundred yards away, then we informed the newspapers.
There were no mobile telephones in the early Sixties and the nearest public telephone box was beneath the town clock.
Flyers’ Flap at Naval Base was the headline on page six of the Daily Mail the following day. We were paid the enormous sum of £2.2.0, two pounds and two shillings, for our efforts. The story told of a millionaire who had lost his way in the fog and was forced to land on the river. Luckily for this millionaire he was piloting a seaplane.
The Almost Fire
Some will remember when the old school sold ice-cream from a small freezer just inside the double doors that led to the woodwork room. This area was about four metres long, not including the large walk-in store cupboard. You will also remember the smell of the glue pot when the contents were melting. Made from horses’ hooves, or other animal material, this glue required two pots, the inner one was filled with water, the heat of which melted the glue in the outer pot. It was a dark brown colour and really had a hellish smell.
Although named the woodwork room, it was in reality a large workshop. There were a number of benches with vices, metalwork and woodwork lathes, a drill and various other pieces of machinery that pupils were taught how to operate.
When school was finished for the day and although both doors were closed, only the outer door was locked.
There was an alternative way in to the woodwork room, this entailed entering by a door leading to the Art Class and Science Room and from there to the Woodwork Room.
On this particular morning, Mr Mitchell was having great difficulty opening the outer door; giving up, he decided to enter the workshop from the Art Class.
After unlocking and forcing open the outer door he eventually appeared. His hands were black and his face was white.
As we stepped inside we saw why the outer door had been jammed and wee Mitchell’s face was lacking colour.
During the night an electrical fault in the freezer had caused a fire. Three classrooms and the Headmaster’s Study should have been burnt to the ground, but somehow, because of lack of oxygen, the fire had burnt itself out within the confines of the double doors.
A large amount of timber stored in the area was blackened, some of which was slightly burnt, but other than superficial damage to the area between the doors, the building was intact.
Apples Hopefully?
Anyone who came from the Crossroads area will remember Hope Cottage; a large bungalow that stands opposite the priest’s house in Stewart Terrace.
Because of the number of apple trees and the ease with which the fruit could be obtained, this was one garden that merited special attention.
The smaller fruit trees were to the rear of the garden, but one particularly large tree was just a few yards inside the gate. Its branches were so heavily laden with fruit, they almost touched the ground.
The old man who lived there knew we ran into his garden, filled our pockets with as much fruit as possible and made our escape. He had tried to catch us on a number of occasions, but he was a bit too old and we were a bit too fast.
During one of our escapades, pockets bursting with apples, one of our number turned to run from the garden when the old man stepped out from behind a large holly bush. The young thief was being firmly held by the upper arm when he decided to punch the old man in the stomach.
A ten year old boy doesn’t pack much of a punch, but it took the old man by surprise and with more of a reflex action than anything else, he in turn slapped Ian’s face. Both then just stood and stared at each other till eventually the old man said, ‘Take your apples and go and don’t let me catch you in here again.’
Ian walked from the garden and distributed the apples among his friends. The following week and all through the season when his apple trees bore fruit, the old man would wait at his garden gate and as we passed he would hand us each a couple of apples.
This continued for the next few years and we never again stole from his garden, but there were many gardens in the Ferry with many more apple trees.
About the Author
Derek Freeman was born in South Queensferry (the Ferry) in the shadow of the Forth Rail Bridge. He now lives in Bo’ness. He has been inspired to write about growing up in the Ferry in the 1950’s and 1960’s. His collection of memoirs, A View from the Crossroads, is a McStorytellers publication.