Bishopbriggs & a 70s Simpie life

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Once upon a time …’ often signals the start of a bedtime story. Inevitably, the tale is set in the past, the olden days. Well, this present tale is of happenings from around 55 years ago. Not too old. While my memory is dulled by passing time, the key players in this little narrative are remembered as though it was yesterday. Time passes and those involved are no longer children. Nonetheless, there is nothing wrong with starting this recollection in the same tried-and-tested way.

Once upon a time, there lived two teenagers on opposite sides of a Scottish social fault line. One hailed from the elegance of Brackenbrae Road, Bishopbriggs where lawns were always manicured, gardens knew their place, and posher than average accents resounded. The other came from a few miles away in post-industrial Possilpark, where the streets were less well swept, people were the salt of the earth but poor, and nobody pretended a dog was anything other than a dug.

Both teenagers met when he was at school and preparing to take a few ‘H’ Grades before leaving education for the world of work. She was in 3^rd year of her secondary schooling in Bishopbriggs. They were sporty. Let’s call the young lady June – June was netball-fit, quietly glamorous, and possessed of that mysterious teenage quality of girls from Bishopbriggs, known as je ne sais quoi or perhaps class. The boy - let’s call him Ian - was a decent all-round sports man but spent most of his time swimming at which he was decent but not great. Small in stature compared to his schoolmates, Ian was relatively quiet and circumspect despite the usual teenage bravado. He did not eschew class, but neither was he tasteless or ill-mannered.

They came into each other’s orbit through friends of friends (a couple of Ian’s mates were going out with June’s schoolmates – Christine and Pam) albeit their coming together took a while with Ian’s incorrigible shyness holding him back. However, shyness never stopped him from noticing June as she chilled with the other girls. He remembers seeing her around the tennis courts and the park close to the shops and church in Kirkintilloch Road, not far from her school.

His recall is that she was always well-dressed, fashionable but tasteful for a 15 – 16-year-old, petite, quiet, polite and, perhaps like Ian, a bit shy in front of boys. But, despite this, there was a bubbliness that attracted Ian to her. Even one night when six of the group took a lift in a friend’s car, with June lodged in the rear seat beside Ian, there was little other than the notice of knees brushing together while they cruised around. There was a frisson but nothing more, nothing else happened. No moves were made that night, basically because Ian was too terrified to breathe. Nor did he ask her out in case she said ‘no’. He liked her a lot but there was always the worry at the back of his mind that she was from the posh end of the ’Briggs and he was from a council house in Parkhouse near Possil.

Ian noticed everything about June: her clothes, her manners, and her smile. She was always smiling. June, unbeknown to Ian, noticed him too, and liked him. This crucial piece of information was eventually delivered by June’s friends in the subtle dialect of the era:

“June fancies you. You’ve got to ask her out.”

He didn’t. Despite his lack of action, this information was repeated many times by her friends. They even persisted by getting their boyfriends to egg Ian on to ‘go out with her’. It finally penetrated Ian’s skull. Eventually, courage arrived—late, flustered, but welcome—and the two began walking out together. Actual walking. Around streets. Talking. Occasionally holding hands. June always looked lovely. Ian always felt like he’d won the pools. They first met on a nice summer evening and just basically walked around the village and its roads. He remembers that she wore a lovely tan coloured suede skirt and cream short sleeved top - classy again. Ian never knew how she felt after the ‘date’ but he was ecstatic.

After several successful rambles and one heart-stopping visit to June’s front door (answered by her father, who actually smiled, or at least never scowled), Ian decided it was time. A proper date.

Somehow, arrangements were made to meet on a Friday evening to go for a pizza or other Italian style meal in Dino’s on Glasgow’s Sauchiehall Street. At this time, there were very few restaurants or diners around that could be afforded by a young man and this was one of them. It was also a favoured meeting and eating place for young people, or so Ian’s older brother told him. This, to Ian, was adulthood, made all the better for the fact that he was now working and therefore earning. Only four pounds per week, but money’s money.

On the big evening, Ian executed a flawless pre-date routine: rushed home from work, showered at speed, shaved (not that he needed much then), and applied Aramis with the enthusiasm of a man who believed scent equalled sophistication. He donned his finest Levi Sta-Prest trousers, a tear-drop collar shirt, shoes with a slight sole and heel (platforms were the big thing then for males and females but he was a bit more restrained), and a blue cotton jacket (or was it bright yellow?!!). He grabbed his keys, his Transcard monthly bus pass, some loose cash and sprinted out the door.

He was so excited and a bit trepidatious as this would be the first ‘real’ date that he had gone on. At 17 Ian was still very inexperienced in the ways of dating. Arriving in town, he ran down to the corner of Sauchiehall Street and Renfield Street where June had arranged to meet him, heart pounding more from the anxiety of meeting than from the effort of getting there. As he approached, she turned and saw him and flashed a brilliant smile. He was pretty much smitten, and his heart felt like it was doing a lap of Kelvingrove Park.

They hugged briefly, she took his hand and they meandered over to Dino’s which was only 100-150m away. He remembers them entering Dino’s like a couple who belonged there, and when Ian asked for a table for two, he astonished himself with his own new-found maturity.  

The intention for the evening was for them to eat and then sample the delights of the city, possibly a cinema outing. They both ordered main courses after which a desert and, very avant-garde for the time, coffee, was on the cards.

Then, mid-conversation, fate tapped Ian on the shoulder. Or rather, it didn’t.

Leaning across from each other, chatting as young couples do, something made him put his hand to his left-hand back pocket. Nothing. It was empty. A horrible feeling rose from his gut. He checked again. And again. Very surreptitiously. He was patting everywhere and wonders now if June thought that he had been bitten by some sort of bug. Front pockets. Back pockets. Jacket pockets. Coins, keys, bus pass—everything except the one thing required for him to maintain any air of self-respect.

There was nothing. Panic bloomed. Sweat followed. His heart was pounding. Shit!!! Ian announced, far too urgently, almost mid-bite, “I need to go to the loo,” and just as promptly, he got up. June must have been a bit bemused at the suddenness of his decision.  

In the sanctuary of the gents, he conducted a full forensic examination of his clothing. The evidence was damning. His wages were safe for sure. But, they were safe at home. In another pair of trousers: trousers, that were the exact twin pair of those he was wearing now.

At seventeen, there are many things one cannot yet do. Confess financial incompetence on a first date is certainly one of them.

Ian returned to the table looking like a man who had aged ten years in three minutes. June asked with some anxiety, “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” he replied in the tone of someone very clearly not okay. He consulted the menu, performed arithmetic, and confirmed the disaster. Ian chewed at his food like a man whose next appointment is his own execution. 

Then, along came the waiter who asked if they wanted desert. June wanted one. Ian did not. Ian could not. He thinks that he might have tried to persuade her to take the cheapest option. For definite there would be no avant-garde coffee. He had no desert, felt a real fool, and was embarrassed beyond belief. He even wondered if he should speak quietly to the owner and offer to come back later that evening to wash the dishes to pay.

Ian’s not sure if he did tell June of the problem but he does know that the evening was curtailed, in fact it wilted as reality intruded. He can’t remember if he saw June home – he thinks he walked her to the bus station where she jumped on a bus to Bishopbriggs. In his heart, he knew that this was likely to be the end of an aspiring relationship. Just like that, young love quietly shuffled off-stage, undone not by incompatibility, class difference, lack of affection, or even shyness—but by identical trousers.

He can't remember fully the details of the aftermath but Ian never saw June again.

Life, however, went on. Marriage happened. Children arrived. PhD gained. Career flourished. Grandchildren followed. International athletes coached, Commonwealth Games Teams managed. The world expanded far beyond Dino’s in Sauchiehall Street. Yet, to this date Ian has no idea what became of June, how her career progressed, whether she married, had children. No idea of where she is, and how her life panned out.

It would be nice to know. Perhaps one day he thinks that he might take it up with his old friends, those with whom he hung around in the late 60s and early 70s, and who have now found each other after 50 years. Perhaps they will know of what became of June. One thing, he hopes that life has been kind to her.

And somewhere, perhaps, June still remembers a nice boy, an Italian meal, and an oddly rushed ending.

If they ever meet again, stories of that fateful evening could be compared, memories tested, blanks filled in. No doubt some laughter would also emanate. And Ian, now older and wiser, would check his pockets before leaving the house.

Twice ... because some lessons, once learned, are never forgotten.