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> Should Glasgow Apologise For Slavery?, Increasing calls for the city to say sorry
Betsy2009
post 8th Oct 2015, 10:29pm
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Andrex paper - heavens Serabash you really were posh.

Quite right about the cleaning though.
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Alex MacPhee
post 8th Oct 2015, 11:11pm
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Not sure I'd call "dried-in keech" a loving description!

This would be around 1955/6. The lavvie was on the half-landing, and each flat in the landing was supposed to take a turn at cleaning the stairs (does anybody remember Blanco?) and lavatory, and I remember my mum doing it, and Mrs Crawford, but I don't remember any of the others taking a turn, though at my young age then, that's maybe just a memory glitch. It got filthy very quickly, though. Families were big in those days.

Every flat in the landing had a key, and it was one of those big keys, like a jail warder's key, which would hang on a hook behind your front door. When you needed to go, you'd take the key, and before trying to put it in the lock, tap the door with the key. If anyone was inside, they'd tap back on the door with their key, and you'd go away and come back later ; no reply, and you were free to go in and do your business.

I didn't like it, but I guess my mum must have been training me off the potty under the bed to use the outside toilet, and I remember going out, down to the half-landing, tapping the door, no reply, and going in. I managed to hoist myself up onto the lavvie, and sat there waiting for my innards to do their work of peristalsis and evacuation. A minute or so later, I heard heavy footsteps coming down from the landing, stop outside the door, then the tap-tap-tap of a key on the outside. Sitting there, I realised I was too small to reach forward to the door and tap it with the key clenched in my hand, and tried to say 'I'm in!'. Whether the person outside was hard of hearing, or my little voice was drowned out by the noise of any activity going on behind me, I can't tell, but a key went in the door from the outside, the door swung open, and there was the elderly and very wide Mrs Boyd standing there, me with my ankles dangling off the floor, trousers round my shoes, and caught in mid-delivery. Noisy mid-delivery. The door shut hurriedly and I heard the footsteps go back up stairs, but by then the psychological damage was done. I still wake up during the night, six decades later, having palpitations from yet another dream in which Mrs Boyd has haunted the lavvie of every house I've lived in, right to the present day. There are few pleasures in life like a right good - and uninterrupted - jobbie. Mrs Boyd ruined that for me for life.

Puir soul, never meant any harm, either. Still, sh*t happens.


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bilbo.s
post 9th Oct 2015, 07:06am
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QUOTE (serabash @ 8th Oct 2015, 11:10pm) *
I was brought up in a tenement in tollcross rd with an outside toilet until I was around 10 or 11 when my dad had a bathroom fittede in one of the bed recess's. we never had a toilet you describe though ours was always kept clean had lino on the floor and an electric light in it and andrex paper hanging there and even a net curtain on the window. think we must have been toffs. was there really any need though for the filth?


My point exactly, Serabash. It seems that Glasgow poor were not all the noble savages some would portray in their faux nostalgia.


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ashfield
post 9th Oct 2015, 08:33am
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Love the new direction of this thread, much more appealing than the original intention smile.gif

Alex has described my own experience to a tee, except the door of our "inconvenience" had no lock and was full of holes sad.gif Privacy was only marginally guaranteed when I was old enough to sit with my feet against the door to keep it closed laugh.gif

ps, it was a choice of bit of Daily Record or Izal, liberated from Ruchill hospital by a relative thumbup.gif


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serabash
post 10th Oct 2015, 01:04am
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aye betsy I think we must have been toffs lol because it was always andrex at my mammy's and my grannies toilets maybe because everybody in the family had a job, but my my great granny I hated going to and she had an inside bathroom but it was newspaper on a string and that is my memory of her house the smell of newspaper and stewed tea because she always had the teapot on the range and just kept topping it up with more tea and water all day long. oh how I hated going to visit her. I refused to eat or drink in her house too as she didn't have a nice clean house like my mammy or granny doc.lol. think maybe I was a spoilt wee bisom wink.gif
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*Talisman*
post 17th Oct 2015, 01:41pm
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QUOTE (bilbo.s @ 8th Oct 2015, 06:22pm) *
Has anyone on here actually contributed to the disgusting state of a bog, as so graphically, almost lovingly described here ? I am absolutely sure I did not. Who were those depraved people responsible? I know full well that this is not just some twisted sense of nostalgia creating these images, as I certainly witnessed such horrors as a child. Later on, as a Christmas postie in Townhead I witnessed scenes which have remained imprinted on my memory cells. I was brought up in Shettleston, hardly your garden suburb, but the Dobbies Loan area was an eye-opener (and a nostril opener) to my tender senses. I have never seen anything like it in all my travels since then. The question remains - who were the perpetrators ? Who makes the slums?

Bilbo, I take it you never made it, as far as I did once , to Calcutta? smile.gif
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Betsy2009
post 17th Oct 2015, 03:08pm
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It does help if you have a flushing loo instead of a hole in the ground.

I don't understand it either. I've been in some miserable places as a kid but the families have always cleaned their toilets including the shared ones on the landings.

I think that a dirty loo is a form of depression, just giving up, so it's sad rather than just being unhygienic.
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*Tally Rand*
post 19th Oct 2015, 08:40pm
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QUOTE (Betsy2009 @ 17th Oct 2015, 03:16pm) *
It does help if you have a flushing loo instead of a hole in the ground.

I don't understand it either. I've been in some miserable places as a kid but the families have always cleaned their toilets including the shared ones on the landings.

I think that a dirty loo is a form of depression, just giving up, so it's sad rather than just being unhygienic.

Please do not be casual in your assessment of a lousy situation. When our toilets backed up and there was no where else to go, the stinking landlords and their rotten factors would let the toilets, built before you were never fixed renewed or serviced in that time, before they would pay for a plumber to come and fix it until the next time.

There were thousands who suffered this filth and NOT through their own lack of hygiene.
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Betsy2009
post 19th Oct 2015, 09:06pm
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Well that's told me!
Sorry Tally I obviously didn't understand because I must have been really lucky as a kid. No money but a loo that worked.
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Alex MacPhee
post 19th Oct 2015, 11:39pm
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QUOTE (Betsy2009 @ 17th Oct 2015, 04:16pm) *
I don't understand it either. I've been in some miserable places as a kid but the families have always cleaned their toilets including the shared ones on the landings.

I think that a dirty loo is a form of depression, just giving up, so it's sad rather than just being unhygienic.

Strangely, this turn of the thread had me thinking about my experiences and recollections as a bairn growing up in 1950s Kinning Park, and has, I think, uncovered for me the source of a phobia I have had for a long time.

Although we lived in what are now called slums, I remember the women in the close always taking a turn to clean the stairs. (The toilets were harder, perhaps due to low grade plumbing as has been suggested.) I remember them on hands and knees with scrubbing brushes, and cakes of Blanco for white edgings. It's been said that leaving a place untidy or unclean acts as a kind of incentive to dump more rubbish, whereas keeping it clean acts as a disincentive to dropping litter. The more you keep on top of it, the less likely you are to be overwhelmed by litter. Toilets that were hard to clean must have been soul destroying. But I remember the close and the stairs being clean.

And that got me to thinking about how my mum, and other mums around, regularly cleaned the windows. First, they'd clean the insides, usually with Windolene (for I remember the pink syrup that went to white as it was applied with a damp cloth), then they'd clean the outside. To do that, my mum would lift the sash window, sit out on the window ledge, then pull the window back down on her lap, and proceed to 'Windolene' the outside. We were on the first floor, and I used to look out the window and be terrified of the drop to the ground. I'd look across the street, and there'd be a woman up on the third floor, a petrifying height, sitting out on the ledge over the street, cleaning the outside of her window. And always, those headscarves like turbans on their heads, hands waving to and fro as the windows became white with the drying Windolene. I was no older than about five, and the sight of these women at those heights, and my mum especially, with the possibility uppermost in my mind that they would fall down to the street below, terrified me. When you're that age, the thought of anything happening to your mum and mainstay of your life, is one of the scariest nightmares for a child.

All my life, I have suffered from acrophobia, which is, they say, an irrational fear of heights, though I can assert that it doesn't feel irrational to me. (It's not the same thing as vertigo, which is different and connected to inner ear problems.) So all my life, I have simply avoided situations involving height, and where it's been unavoidable, the fear returns and is palpable. It's a fear that's just always been there, but it has only been on thinking of those memories triggered by this thread, and the association with seeing my mum hanging over the ledge of a perilous height, that's it's dawned on me whence this deep-seated fear has originated. That's taken six decades for me to realise.

I have a 'lady who does', and one of the things she insists on doing, is clean the outside of my kitchen windows. They're not sash, they open out. But my kitchen is on the first floor of my house, and she insists on standing up on the window ledge and leaning out ... I've now bought one of those long telescopic window cleaning brushes that reach up from terra firma on the outside.


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*Talisman*
post 21st Oct 2015, 09:36am
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Those women, as did my mother who worked 5 and 1/2 days a week in the shipyards, cleaned the stairs, some of them using white wash to decorate the edge of the stairs. There were those who even used a red chalk based cleaner to "redden" up the red sandstone on the walls of their tenement, took their turns at cleaning the outside wash houses and washed their bairns every day in "Cauld tap Watter". They never ceased to clean and scrub and once a week at the steamie. My father would do the windows from the outside as he did not want to risk my mother doing it. Then the dishes in on sink with water boiled in a kettle. Then they did all the cooking! I think I suffered Hydrophobia from all the cold water washes. No hot water in oor hoose and every other. There should be a memorial to them in Glasgow; never mind comedians and comic singers.
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dizzybint
post 29th Jul 2016, 07:29pm
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QUOTE (norrie123 @ 29th Apr 2013, 08:48pm) *
Its not something that I feel guilty of

No doubt right enough, Slavery was evil


What next, should we apologise for all the sins of previous generations?

Bye for now, norrie

agreed Norrie not only that but this was the very rich who were into slavery not the common man.. why should we say sorry for our past. when it had nothing at all to do with us..and that applies to anything else from the past that we dont condone or had anything to do with....
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angel
post 29th Jul 2016, 10:47pm
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QUOTE (dizzybint @ 29th Jul 2016, 07:29pm) *
agreed Norrie not only that but this was the very rich who were into slavery not the common man.. why should we say sorry for our past. when it had nothing at all to do with us..and that applies to anything else from the past that we dont condone or had anything to do with....


Was Scotland , Glasgow ' involved in the slave trade " You Betchca " and Glasgow reaped the benefits from this crime against humanity whether you were rich or poor .

the rest of this pathetic story is public knowledge , and if others should be interested , ' for starters ... try Google


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*Billy Boil*
post 30th Jul 2016, 12:16am
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QUOTE (angel @ 29th Jul 2016, 10:47pm) *
Was Scotland , Glasgow ' involved in the slave trade " You Betchca " and Glasgow reaped the benefits from this crime against humanity whether you were rich or poor .

the rest of this pathetic story is public knowledge , and if others should be interested , ' for starters ... try Google

And investigate Fairfield's Where I spent my indentured apprentice ship.
Yon wis slavery if there ever wis!!!
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DannyH
post 30th Jul 2016, 09:35am
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QUOTE (angel @ 29th Jul 2016, 11:47pm) *
Was Scotland , Glasgow ' involved in the slave trade " You Betchca " and Glasgow reaped the benefits from this crime against humanity whether you were rich or poor .

the rest of this pathetic story is public knowledge , and if others should be interested , ' for starters ... try Google



Hello Angel

So the poor of Glasgow benefited from the slavery trade? I can't find the words to respond to that comment. I think I will settle for 'Pathetic'. You have obviously ignored, during your Google ventures, the conditions the working people of Glasgow were living and working in during the slave trade period.

Danny Harris

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