Crimes of South Queensferry 1955/56
by Derek Freeman
Genre: Memoir
Swearwords: None.
Description: True stories about the crimes committed in the Ferry when we were young (eleven to fourteen years old).
_____________________________________________________________________
Our initiation into serious crime arrived during our holidays from school fifty-five years ago. I was thirteen years of age.
The Ferry was always quiet on Sunday evenings, most of our time being spent in Desmond’s cafe listening to the juke box. The only interruption was Jim and Brian’s regular six-thirty visit to the Chapel on the Loan for confession. After they had bared their souls and were forgiven, we would continue with whatever escapade we had planned.
For as long as we could remember the fishmongers shop had been in Gote Lane and as we passed on our way to the harbour one of our group noticed the sash and case window of Mr Buckle’s shop had been left open.
No doubt this was in an attempt to rid the shop of the overpowering smells and an open invitation to anyone who had the nerve to climb through the window.
The top frame was open approximately eight inches and held in place by a rusting metal tray which was jammed under a glazing bar of the upper half of the sash. The tray was between the glazing bar and the top of the lower sash. How easy it would be to remove the tray and gain entry. Seven would-be criminals discussed the ins and outs of paying a visit to Mr Buckle’s shop.
In the late fifties and early sixties few people owned a yacht and the harbour was the quietest area of the Ferry, the only vessel in regular use was the so-called ‘Bridge Boat’. It was manned when painters were working on the Forth Rail Bridge, its sole purpose to rescue any of the workmen who fell from the bridge. Should anyone fall it was normally a recovery operation, not a rescue; very few who fell survived the impact with the River Forth.
Two weeks later, again on a Sunday evening and following Jim and Brian’s meeting with the priest, seven smartly dressed young men casually strolled down Gote Lane towards their target.
There were three routes to the harbour, two from the High Street and one from the foreshore, but due to the position of the fishmongers shop in Gote Lane four lookouts would be required.
We planned our strike like a military operation, should the foreshore lookout receive a signal from any of the other two it would be passed to the fourth lookout standing at the shop window.
A simple wave of the hand would be enough to make sure that the criminals inside the shop would lie low until the danger had passed, or get out quickly and run.
The main route to the harbour from the High Street was by way of Gote Lane. Barely twelve feet wide it was used by both vehicles and pedestrians. The second, a lane for pedestrians only and the third, an exit from the beach directly on to the harbour.
Desmond’s cafe was unusually quiet when we met to finalise our plans. This was where most of the teenagers in the Ferry congregated for coffee, or hot orange, and listen to Elvis Presley and other sixties favourites. Desmond also sold single cigarettes at three pence each, this made his cafe even more attractive to our age group.
From there we walked the short distance to the harbour, a pack of cards was produced from Brian’s pocket and each of us drew a card, the highest three would be entering the shop, the other four would act as lookouts. Everyone in place, I knelt on the sill and reached over the top of the upper sash to remove the tray. The bottom half of the sash and case was pushed upwards and within less than twenty seconds three young criminals were in the shop.
When dining on fish rather than our staple mince and tattles, all of us had at sometime accompanied parents into the fishmongers and we were familiar with the interior of the shop.
Should there be any cash, it would be in the drawer under the counter. As my partners in crime grabbed large boxes of Golden Wonder potato crisps and jars of Rowats pickled onions and beetroot, I was engaged in an attempt to open the cash drawer.
Although there was no apparent lock, I tugged and pulled, but it refused to open. On the verge of giving up I noticed the small wooden peg that acted as some type of locking mechanism, one light push on the peg and the drawer eased open. I grabbed the pennies, shiny sixpenny and threepenny pieces, closed the drawer and helped my friends carry a few extra jars of Rowat’s to the open window.
The all clear given, our stolen goods were passed through the open window, quickly followed by the collar and tie crooks, the window was returned to its original position and we ran. Carrying our stolen goods we crossed the top of the harbour towards the beach at the Binks and from there to the Priory Hut.
The large hut was owned by the Priory Church of St Mary of Mount Carmel and in the past had been used for everything from dancing to jumble sales, but never before a hiding place for stolen goods. It was situated to the rear of the Church and well hidden from the Police Station across the road.
The total haul was three large boxes of crisps, a dozen jars of pickles, two bottles of lemonade and one pound one shilling in cash.
We shared out the cash, gorged ourselves on crisps and pickles and washed them down with lemonade. We felt the same as we had done the first night we threw live bullets into a fire, we were laughing and shaking, exhilarated at having carried out our first major crime, but wondering if we would be found out and what would happen to us if we were.
Strange as it was, there was no gossip regarding the theft, no story in the local paper, no police knocking at doors, absolutely nothing.
Did the friendly, smiling Mr Buckle the fishmonger have something to hide? We would never know.
Two weeks later the same group of young criminals carried out an identical raid, again there was no gossip relating to a break-in at the fishmongers.
Another month passed and again we decided to pay a third visit to the fishmongers. Once more we entered the shop through the window and as previous, we heard nothing about what, at the time, must have been one of the most serious crimes committed in the Ferry.
No mention of thefts from the fish shop and again no police came knocking.
Another few weeks passed and one of our number suggested we pay a further visit to the fish shop, but we were sick of eating pickles and crisps and decided to leave the shop to Mr Buckle and his customers.
The Golden Wonders we could not eat were again hidden under the Priory Hut, eventually they turned soft and were discarded. What was left of the pickles didn’t taste so good without the accompaniment of potato crisps, so they also were left to rot.
The irony of the story is that what at one time was a fishmongers shop was recently owned by a company that marketed alarm systems to protect business premises. The window is still there but is no longer held open by a metal tray.
Our next escapade followed in the footsteps of two friends who informed us how they stole cigarettes from Bardini’s Cafeteria on South Queensferryʼs High Street.
Allan and I had been given the Sunday paper round from Jim and Lenny. It was one of the better rounds in Queensferry and paid over ten shillings for a couple of hours work delivering newspapers, should we sell any extra it earned us a few shillings more.
Mr Rob, the owner was a single middle-aged man, quite small, almost bald and possibly homosexual, he had owned the newsagents for many years.
The shop was small, selling everything from souvenirs to cigarettes and newspapers.
It was child’s play to reach across the counter, pull open the large drawer and help ourselves to the various brands of cigarettes and tobacco.
This happened regularly while the owner was in his small office or in the back shop doing whatever he did.
It had been explained to us how our friends had pilfered goods from the cafe next door and we decided that should the opportunity arise we would attempt the same.
Bardini’s Cafe also sold fish and chips from a takeaway which was separated from the cafe by a small work area. Another building owned by the same business was situated in the car-park at the far side of the High Street.
Each morning a small black haired man with a wrinkled, squashed looking face which reminded us of a monkey, opened the shop at 6:00 am. Eventually he made his way to the building on the far side of the road where he would prepare potatoes for that day’s business.
On the Sunday morning in question we had decided that Allan and I would meet at the newsagents at 6:30, but as was normal Allan preferred his bed to a life of crime, eventually arriving at seven o’clock.
I waited at the door of the newsagents for the monkey man to leave the shop and make his way to the building in the car park. At ten minutes to seven the door of the takeaway opened and he crossed the road leaving the business premises unattended, or so I thought.
I quickly walked the few yards to the door of the takeaway, opened it, and to be sure no one was about called out, “Is anyone in?” There was no reply and I made my way through the work area to the cafeteria. To my astonishment customers were already in the cafe.
Three Naval Petty Officers, no doubt en route to Port Edgar, sat chatting and drinking coffee, but oblivious to the young criminal and the crime that was being committed only a few yards from them.
To ensure that they thought I was an employee I turned to look back to the work area and called out, ‘How many cigarettes would you like, two hundred?’
Hearing me behind the counter, they obviously thought I was an employee and didn’t raise their heads. Filling my pockets with as many cigarettes as I could carry and two or three packs of cigars, I made my way through the work area into the takeaway and out the door into the fresh sea air.
Shaking but once more exhilarated after having carried out one of the most daring crimes in the history of Queensferry, no one but my friends would ever know, that is, until now.
Allan eventually arrived at seven thirty, apologizing profusely for sleeping in, but stunned that I had gone ahead with our planned escapade. The proceeds of the crime were shared between our friends.
Cafeterias, Newsagents and Fishmongers were a popular target in Queensferry.
Ferguson’s newsagents was a much larger shop than Mr Rob’s and was approximately two hundred yards to the West opposite Mid Terrace.
A daring raid was planned and executed by another group that were much younger than ourselves. A later extension to Ferguson’s meant that the roof was flat with a large skylight.
The criminals involved had entered the shop through the skylight and were filling their pockets with toys (Matchbox series), cigarettes and anything else that they could carry when the outer security door was heard to open.
With no time to escape the offenders were rounded up by the police and the owners, but not everyone was apprehended.
Doctor Who and the Daleks were a favourite with most children in the late fifties and early sixties and life-size toys of the Daleks were on sale in a number of outlets. One of these stood on display in Ferguson’s shop.
Ozzie, on hearing the door being opened, shouted a warning to his friends and quickly hid inside the Dalek costume. He remained there motionless till the remainder of the young crooks were escorted from the shop. Ozzie left the premises the same way he had gained entry, through the skylight.
A house owner on Mid Terrace had seen the boys entering the shop and called the police.
We did target other shops during this time, but the items we pilfered were small and of little value. It was more for fun than anything. Leaving a shop without being caught was the exciting part and most of what was taken was thrown away.
Swearwords: None.
Description: True stories about the crimes committed in the Ferry when we were young (eleven to fourteen years old).
_____________________________________________________________________
Our initiation into serious crime arrived during our holidays from school fifty-five years ago. I was thirteen years of age.
The Ferry was always quiet on Sunday evenings, most of our time being spent in Desmond’s cafe listening to the juke box. The only interruption was Jim and Brian’s regular six-thirty visit to the Chapel on the Loan for confession. After they had bared their souls and were forgiven, we would continue with whatever escapade we had planned.
For as long as we could remember the fishmongers shop had been in Gote Lane and as we passed on our way to the harbour one of our group noticed the sash and case window of Mr Buckle’s shop had been left open.
No doubt this was in an attempt to rid the shop of the overpowering smells and an open invitation to anyone who had the nerve to climb through the window.
The top frame was open approximately eight inches and held in place by a rusting metal tray which was jammed under a glazing bar of the upper half of the sash. The tray was between the glazing bar and the top of the lower sash. How easy it would be to remove the tray and gain entry. Seven would-be criminals discussed the ins and outs of paying a visit to Mr Buckle’s shop.
In the late fifties and early sixties few people owned a yacht and the harbour was the quietest area of the Ferry, the only vessel in regular use was the so-called ‘Bridge Boat’. It was manned when painters were working on the Forth Rail Bridge, its sole purpose to rescue any of the workmen who fell from the bridge. Should anyone fall it was normally a recovery operation, not a rescue; very few who fell survived the impact with the River Forth.
Two weeks later, again on a Sunday evening and following Jim and Brian’s meeting with the priest, seven smartly dressed young men casually strolled down Gote Lane towards their target.
There were three routes to the harbour, two from the High Street and one from the foreshore, but due to the position of the fishmongers shop in Gote Lane four lookouts would be required.
We planned our strike like a military operation, should the foreshore lookout receive a signal from any of the other two it would be passed to the fourth lookout standing at the shop window.
A simple wave of the hand would be enough to make sure that the criminals inside the shop would lie low until the danger had passed, or get out quickly and run.
The main route to the harbour from the High Street was by way of Gote Lane. Barely twelve feet wide it was used by both vehicles and pedestrians. The second, a lane for pedestrians only and the third, an exit from the beach directly on to the harbour.
Desmond’s cafe was unusually quiet when we met to finalise our plans. This was where most of the teenagers in the Ferry congregated for coffee, or hot orange, and listen to Elvis Presley and other sixties favourites. Desmond also sold single cigarettes at three pence each, this made his cafe even more attractive to our age group.
From there we walked the short distance to the harbour, a pack of cards was produced from Brian’s pocket and each of us drew a card, the highest three would be entering the shop, the other four would act as lookouts. Everyone in place, I knelt on the sill and reached over the top of the upper sash to remove the tray. The bottom half of the sash and case was pushed upwards and within less than twenty seconds three young criminals were in the shop.
When dining on fish rather than our staple mince and tattles, all of us had at sometime accompanied parents into the fishmongers and we were familiar with the interior of the shop.
Should there be any cash, it would be in the drawer under the counter. As my partners in crime grabbed large boxes of Golden Wonder potato crisps and jars of Rowats pickled onions and beetroot, I was engaged in an attempt to open the cash drawer.
Although there was no apparent lock, I tugged and pulled, but it refused to open. On the verge of giving up I noticed the small wooden peg that acted as some type of locking mechanism, one light push on the peg and the drawer eased open. I grabbed the pennies, shiny sixpenny and threepenny pieces, closed the drawer and helped my friends carry a few extra jars of Rowat’s to the open window.
The all clear given, our stolen goods were passed through the open window, quickly followed by the collar and tie crooks, the window was returned to its original position and we ran. Carrying our stolen goods we crossed the top of the harbour towards the beach at the Binks and from there to the Priory Hut.
The large hut was owned by the Priory Church of St Mary of Mount Carmel and in the past had been used for everything from dancing to jumble sales, but never before a hiding place for stolen goods. It was situated to the rear of the Church and well hidden from the Police Station across the road.
The total haul was three large boxes of crisps, a dozen jars of pickles, two bottles of lemonade and one pound one shilling in cash.
We shared out the cash, gorged ourselves on crisps and pickles and washed them down with lemonade. We felt the same as we had done the first night we threw live bullets into a fire, we were laughing and shaking, exhilarated at having carried out our first major crime, but wondering if we would be found out and what would happen to us if we were.
Strange as it was, there was no gossip regarding the theft, no story in the local paper, no police knocking at doors, absolutely nothing.
Did the friendly, smiling Mr Buckle the fishmonger have something to hide? We would never know.
Two weeks later the same group of young criminals carried out an identical raid, again there was no gossip relating to a break-in at the fishmongers.
Another month passed and again we decided to pay a third visit to the fishmongers. Once more we entered the shop through the window and as previous, we heard nothing about what, at the time, must have been one of the most serious crimes committed in the Ferry.
No mention of thefts from the fish shop and again no police came knocking.
Another few weeks passed and one of our number suggested we pay a further visit to the fish shop, but we were sick of eating pickles and crisps and decided to leave the shop to Mr Buckle and his customers.
The Golden Wonders we could not eat were again hidden under the Priory Hut, eventually they turned soft and were discarded. What was left of the pickles didn’t taste so good without the accompaniment of potato crisps, so they also were left to rot.
The irony of the story is that what at one time was a fishmongers shop was recently owned by a company that marketed alarm systems to protect business premises. The window is still there but is no longer held open by a metal tray.
Our next escapade followed in the footsteps of two friends who informed us how they stole cigarettes from Bardini’s Cafeteria on South Queensferryʼs High Street.
Allan and I had been given the Sunday paper round from Jim and Lenny. It was one of the better rounds in Queensferry and paid over ten shillings for a couple of hours work delivering newspapers, should we sell any extra it earned us a few shillings more.
Mr Rob, the owner was a single middle-aged man, quite small, almost bald and possibly homosexual, he had owned the newsagents for many years.
The shop was small, selling everything from souvenirs to cigarettes and newspapers.
It was child’s play to reach across the counter, pull open the large drawer and help ourselves to the various brands of cigarettes and tobacco.
This happened regularly while the owner was in his small office or in the back shop doing whatever he did.
It had been explained to us how our friends had pilfered goods from the cafe next door and we decided that should the opportunity arise we would attempt the same.
Bardini’s Cafe also sold fish and chips from a takeaway which was separated from the cafe by a small work area. Another building owned by the same business was situated in the car-park at the far side of the High Street.
Each morning a small black haired man with a wrinkled, squashed looking face which reminded us of a monkey, opened the shop at 6:00 am. Eventually he made his way to the building on the far side of the road where he would prepare potatoes for that day’s business.
On the Sunday morning in question we had decided that Allan and I would meet at the newsagents at 6:30, but as was normal Allan preferred his bed to a life of crime, eventually arriving at seven o’clock.
I waited at the door of the newsagents for the monkey man to leave the shop and make his way to the building in the car park. At ten minutes to seven the door of the takeaway opened and he crossed the road leaving the business premises unattended, or so I thought.
I quickly walked the few yards to the door of the takeaway, opened it, and to be sure no one was about called out, “Is anyone in?” There was no reply and I made my way through the work area to the cafeteria. To my astonishment customers were already in the cafe.
Three Naval Petty Officers, no doubt en route to Port Edgar, sat chatting and drinking coffee, but oblivious to the young criminal and the crime that was being committed only a few yards from them.
To ensure that they thought I was an employee I turned to look back to the work area and called out, ‘How many cigarettes would you like, two hundred?’
Hearing me behind the counter, they obviously thought I was an employee and didn’t raise their heads. Filling my pockets with as many cigarettes as I could carry and two or three packs of cigars, I made my way through the work area into the takeaway and out the door into the fresh sea air.
Shaking but once more exhilarated after having carried out one of the most daring crimes in the history of Queensferry, no one but my friends would ever know, that is, until now.
Allan eventually arrived at seven thirty, apologizing profusely for sleeping in, but stunned that I had gone ahead with our planned escapade. The proceeds of the crime were shared between our friends.
Cafeterias, Newsagents and Fishmongers were a popular target in Queensferry.
Ferguson’s newsagents was a much larger shop than Mr Rob’s and was approximately two hundred yards to the West opposite Mid Terrace.
A daring raid was planned and executed by another group that were much younger than ourselves. A later extension to Ferguson’s meant that the roof was flat with a large skylight.
The criminals involved had entered the shop through the skylight and were filling their pockets with toys (Matchbox series), cigarettes and anything else that they could carry when the outer security door was heard to open.
With no time to escape the offenders were rounded up by the police and the owners, but not everyone was apprehended.
Doctor Who and the Daleks were a favourite with most children in the late fifties and early sixties and life-size toys of the Daleks were on sale in a number of outlets. One of these stood on display in Ferguson’s shop.
Ozzie, on hearing the door being opened, shouted a warning to his friends and quickly hid inside the Dalek costume. He remained there motionless till the remainder of the young crooks were escorted from the shop. Ozzie left the premises the same way he had gained entry, through the skylight.
A house owner on Mid Terrace had seen the boys entering the shop and called the police.
We did target other shops during this time, but the items we pilfered were small and of little value. It was more for fun than anything. Leaving a shop without being caught was the exciting part and most of what was taken was thrown away.
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. Crimes of South Queensferry 1955/56 is the first of his memoirs.