The Dear Green Place, Mired In Poverty.

      I was born in the slum of Garngad in Glasow in 1934, "The dear green place" and have lived in the city for most of my life. During that quite long spell I have seen a lot of changes in this city. However, one thing that persists is Glasgow's poverty. The once "Second City of the Empire" has known poverty from its inception right up to today. For a large part of my life I lived in Springburn, once known as a railway town in its own right, and for a while it held the dubious prize of having more children living in poverty than any other ward in Scotland, 52%. It has now lost that accolade and the prize now moves to Calton. One reason why the percentage has fallen in Springburn, is probably due to the inclusion of Robroyston a developing slightly more affluent area, not that the circumstances of the poor have changed dramatically.  
       Within the city as a whole the child poverty rate is approximately a 37% of all children, this is a crime against a vast section of the population, stunting health and potential. What makes this an even more devastating crime is the fact that the number of children living in poverty, in the city, is expected to rise by roughly, 50,000 over the next two years. Saying more than a third of children in Glasgow are living in poverty does not highlight the vast differences between one district and another, some districts are above that 37% figure.

      This chart from  Evening Times shows the disparity as you move from district to district in the city:

    
       Glasgow holds lots of prizes, some we can be very proud of, some that should have its citizens rising up in anger. Glasgow, Scotland's largest city, hosts the highest rates of poverty in Scotland, why?
        Chart from Understanding Glasgow:

 
    Aberdeen is the only city in Scotland that has shown a decrease in child poverty over this period. But we are told our GDP is growing, another crime against the system. Another damning statistic is that Edinburgh is the only city in Scotland where child poverty is below the national average, again Glasgow is top of the list.
      Chart from Understanding Glasgow:

     The number of millionaires in the country is growing, the number of children in poverty is growing, surely this must call into question the basic structure of our economic system. Every child in poverty is a life of stunted growth in health and a lost opportunity for a child to blossom to its full potential. These are unforgivable crimes in a very rich country where a pampered few live a life of opulence at the expense of the many. Where is your righteous anger?

Visit ann arky's home at https://radicalglasgow.me.uk

My Little Patch Of Deprivation.

      Maybe it's my age, or maybe it's just my personality, but I get irritated by the increase in "The only way is----". I suppose this is due to the weird popularity of a certain TV program. On Facebook we have "The only way is Maryhill" and "The only way is Gorbals" will these be followed by "The only way is Garngad", "The only way is Calton", "the only way is Bridgeton" etc., etc. I call this an insular policy, tribalism and petty patriotism, just a precursor to "The only way is Great Briton". It is as though each of these districts were the only slum in Glasgow, and some people wear it like a badge of honour, but let's not forget, Glasgow was a slum. As was Liverpool, Birmingham, Belfast and all industrial cities in this landmass called Great Britain. Instead of looking inwards and focusing on our own little bit of this industrial capitalism created slum, we should be looking outwards towards each other and coming together to free ourselves from the ever increasing threat and distinct possibility, of a return of the modern slums. Let's not describe ourselves by our own little patch of deprivation, we are much bigger than that. We can come together and without the burden of our political ballerinas and "entrepreneurs" ensure we see the last of "The only way is my little piece of deprivation" and the creation of "The only way is the people's world".

 Maryhill.

 Garngad.

 Gorbals.

 Bridgeton.

Calton. 

Visit ann arky's home at radicalglasgow.me.uk

Whose Normal Do We Accept?

       I was born in Garngad, one of the many slum areas in Glasgow, it is now demolished and renamed Royston. Starting my life in that foul area, I didn't feel deprived, the world I lived in was "normal". Our environment always appears normal, no matter what, it is only when you look out the window, or over the wall, you realise that it is not quite as normal as you thought. That is one of the problems we face, as our freedoms are eroded, and society becomes more controlled, it becomes a way of life, it becomes "the normal". We have to keep looking out that window, looking over that wall and realising that there is a different way of doing things, a better way. The ever increasing repressive legislation, the ever increasing surveillance, the ever more vicious cuts in living standards, is a drip-feed, little by little, like the frog in water that is very slowing being heated, the frog unaware of this sits there until it is too late and is boiled.

      How long will we sit and ignore the heat, how long will we absorb the toxic, the repressive, the shift further and further away from tolerance, before we stand up and say, enough, this is not an acceptable "normal".

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk

The Dear Green Place??

 

      After reading the previous blog, my comrade Loam at arrezafe sent me this poem. It gives a snapshot of life under the outpourings of the Tennant's chemical works. Incidentally, it mentions the street where I was born, Charles Street. However, the story I have heard of Tennant was not one of his "radicalism" but that he built is chemical empire on a stolen formula for bleach, stolen from a friend. Though I have never had this verified.

Thanks Loam for the poem.

      The following poem, recited by Hugh Aitken Dow at a St Rollox school reunion in 1875 illustrates the change brought to a once peaceful scene by the chemical works – known by many locals as ‘Dante’s Inferno’!

 “A busy, noisy, clam’rous spot
where trees, nor flowers nor fields are seen
where men by day and night are wrought
and holy calm hath rarely been.

Where fragrant zephyrs never blow
but smutty is its atmosphere.
When rains fall dense and winds are low
It’s sulphrous elements appear.

When winds blow south, a cloud by day
it may at once be seen and felt
for smarting eyes then own its sway
through muffled noises then ‘tis smelt.

There fiery pillars, gleam at night
from hooded chimneys, tow’ring high
and cast their vivid, fork’d flames bright
up to the troubled murky sky.

Thus fiery cross like, shineth clear
the cupolas of Charles Street
answering to McAndrew’s near
while Hamilton’s the call repeat.

There Vulcan’s strokes would fail to match
the Glasgow ironworks polka blows
his lurid fires would pace and din
‘fore Tennants countless furnace glows.”

http://www.roystonroadproject.org/archive/history/garngad_royston.htm

 Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk

Opulence And Deprivation, Two Sides Of The Capitalist Coin.

       It is easy to look around this capitalist lunatic asylum we live in, and find injustice and inequality, it’s everywhere. In all our cities and towns, there are areas of opulence and areas of deprivation, but it is supposed to be the same country. All our taxes, rates and other deductions from our incomes and purchases, are meant to go into the one pot and be shared out fairly among the whole. Yet in any city there will be glaring inequality.
     I was born in Garngad, one of Glasgow’s many festering slums, it was demolished and the area renamed Royston. We moved to the Springburn area still in the north of the city. In its day it was a railway town in its own right. The Hydepark Locomotive Works was a massive employer in the area, as was the “Caley”, St Rrollox Caledonian Railway Works. In its day it was said the the Hydepark works made around 80% of the world’s steam locomotives, and the “Caley” was the largest railway repair and maintenance yard in Europe. Across the road from that was Tennants Chemical Works, again claiming to be the largest in Europe, which spewed out its toxic filth over Garngad and Springburn. They all disappeared and Springburn died with them. They knocked most of Springburn down and built a dual carriageway. 

        As a boy I spent lots of time in the Springburn Public Park, a large park with football pitches, bowling greens, cricket pitch, boating pond and wildlife pond, lots of green space and winding paths. It was also home to a wonderful botanic garden where I would spend hours wandering its corridors amazed at the array of exotic trees, shrubs and plants. It was also a wonderful place to go on a cold day and get lost in that humid heat.

 

        But Springburn is in the north of the city, not the West End, so things started to just run down through lack of funding. With the heart of Springburn gone, the botanic gardens was emptied and left to rot, now all that remains is a large rusting structure, resembling the massive rib cage of some long dead dinosaur. It has a fence around it with warnings not to enter as it is dangerous. Well, this is the north of the city, the people there don’t need a botanic garden, they can visit the one in the West End. Springburn was also home a fine red sandstone Victorian building, called The Springburn Public Hall. It was the beating heart of the district, hosting all manner of events from dances to meetings, form clubrooms to boxing events. It to closed and was left until the shrubs started to cover its ledges, it was declared unsafe and was demolished. Another land mark in the north of the city that was demolished was the Garngadhill Church, its spire could be seen for miles around as it was on a high part of the city, a well know landmark. The city fathers decided that it should come down, but there was such opposition to this, not so much the church, but the spire. The council caved in and the church was demolished, the spire remains with a bit of a garden around it.
         Now back to that pot of taxes etc. that is supposed to be spent fairly among our communities. If we move to the West End of the city, There are still lots of Victorian buildings, churches are not demolished, but when they are no longer required by the funny folk who talk to their friend in the sky, they are redeveloped into a venue, a fancy restaurant, pub or a place for music, theatre, poetry etc. Despite Great Western Road at the top of Byres Road being a nightmare of traffic jams, I’ll bet there are no plans to knock down a slice of the West End to make a dual carriageway to help the flow of traffic.
         Opulence and deprivation live side by side in all of our cities and towns, they are two sides of the capitalist coin, a system of screw you, I’m all right Jack. If you are looking to see that pot of your contributions spread fairly and where they are most need, then you will have to stop running to the ballot box. You’ll have to take matters into your own hands and demolish this insanity that is ruining millions of lives on a daily basis, while a handful of parasites live on milk and honey. However, don’t expect the parasites who hold all that wealth and power, to relinquish it by reasoned persuasion alone.

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk

 

My Uncle Willie.

My Uncle Willie.

        To those who know me, there will be no doubt in their minds about my hatred of the economic system we bleed under. In my eighties now, I have seen this system destroy individuals, tear families apart, and in its voracious greed for profit and power, it has murdered and maimed countless millions in its endless wars. Each individual destroyed, each family torn apart, each war grave, and each veterans hospital are all indictments against a system where people are sacrificed to keep the system functioning for the benefit of a small cabal of over privileged parasites. You would think that our humanity would demand that the system should be altered, modified and shaped to meet the needs of the people, not the other way round.
       As we look at this society we can see all around us, those unfortunate individuals whose lives are deeply scarred by a system that uses people to perpetuate its greed driven machinations. It is so easy to encapsulate the ruthless viciousness of the system in one person's life, to me my uncle Willie is such a person. To the system, a nobody, a human being of no significance, but to those around him, a friend, a father, a son, a brother, a husband and an uncle.
       My uncle Willie was my mother's younger brother, naturally I didn't know him in his early years, but I heard the stories. Willie, like the rest of my family, lived in Garngad, a Glasgow slum in the north of the city. A young man in the 30's, he was married and had three kids, and like so many of that era, unemployed. It seems that Willie was a family man and loved his kids, he could be seen most days walking with them along the waste ground off Charles Street at the back of Glenconner Park, usually two kids running in front and the youngest on his shoulders. It seems he was an excellent snooker player, and that is where he supplemented his income, by playing round the many snooker halls in Glasgow. However to the system, he was superfluous to requirements, so could scrape a living in the slums of Glasgow as best he could.
      Then, suddenly, he is a valuable asset to the system, 1939, WWII starts, and Willie is scooped up and shipped out to Egypt. We know nothing of his experiences there, but after three years there and later his demob, he returned home with malaria, this is when I got to know him, just a little. His shaking hands, the troubled look in his eyes. His return to civilian life didn't get off to a good start, on returning home to his family, of wife and three kids, he discovered that he now had five kids. This was the end of his marriage, the family broke up, and Willie moved from job to job, and his drinking got worse and he eventually couldn't hold a job, he was now an alcoholic and homeless. Moving from homeless hostel to homeless hostel, occasionally staying with family, but his alcoholism made that an ever decreasing possibility.
       I remember my mother on many an occasion, looking out the window and saying, "Oh, here's Willie coming", then a pause, then, "he doesn't look too drunk". He would sit and chat to his big sister and myself, my mother would make him something to eat and give a cup of tea. Though, it was never a full cup of tea, his hands were shaking so bad, a full cup would have been all over him, she only quarter filled the cup and kept topping it up, it was his troubled eyes that have stuck with me all these years, as he was leaving, my mother would slip a 10 shilling note into his hand.
        Willie spent the rest of his years moving around hostels for the homeless, eventually dying in one down in Ardrossan in his fifties.
       To me, my uncle Willie epitomises this stinking system, you're a worthless entity, left to rot unless the system needs you, either to make its profits, or to fight its imperialist wars, and your reward for either of these activities, is never anything worth having. 

The Homeless.

Tenebrous spectres, they exist,    out there,

on the crumbling edge of chaos,

a father, a son, a brother,

a daughter, a sister, a mother.

Fragments of some shattered family structure;

waste products

from a society being driven to destruction

by a hurricane of greed,

living a life that wears out life,

dying,

the devious death of exhaustion from existence. 

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk