Where to start?
I remember the Windmill Folk Club, and I know the stories of the Humblebums and Hamish Imlach (whom I met), but there was another Scottish folk singer, a staunch Glaswegian, who played there and he stayed at our house in Devonworth Place. His name is Nigel Denver, and it knocked my socks off to have someone at our house who had made LPs. I remember my dad (Alan Young) sitting at the dining table patiently filling in cross-hatching with a biro as he made posters for forthcoming acts.
I used to frequent the Sidney Arms when the Jolly Boys were active. They used to dress as cowboys, and they all wore holsters with replica revolvers in them (try doing THAT today). There was a pianist and a microphone for all-comers to have a go in this pre-karaoke age. I remember one poor soul doing Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling in full cowboy regalia with his flies undone and his white shirt tail protruding. Not a pretty sight.
I remember an old fellow called Gregory who lived on that short bottom stretch of John Street. As far as I recollect, he looked like a farmer in flat cap and wellies, and I think I sometimes my mam sent me on a Sunday morning to buy a fresh cabbage or swede for lunch from him, as he had a garden just off the back lane. I was scared because he used to chase us off for playing football in the street, but he was OK when I went for veg (if indeed it was him, although I'm pretty certain it was).
I was actually born in Beecher Street (No 45, long since demolished), but for some reason I never asked my mam or dad why this was so. It's too late now, sadly.
