As you get older, your mind often returns to memories of people and happenings of the past. I'm no different in that respect as those memories can either offer some succour and joy as ageing takes its toll, or they can bring back feelings and thoughts of less happy times. I'm a positive kind of person, so I tend to look back, less in anger, but more with a degree of thankfulness for everything that I have experienced and survived. Nonetheless, those retrospective musings also leave me with questions, particularly when people have been involved? Where are they now? What have their lives been like? Could I or should I have done any differently in my interactions with them? This little story is of one such incident, or perhaps I should say a series of incidents, that I have recalled as best as possible given the span of time that has elapsed.
The recall left me with all of the questions that I set out above: Where are the people now, particularly the main 'actors'? What have their lives been like? Could I or should I have done any differently at the time, or later? Without those answers there will always be some doubt about my decisions and my behaviour. Nonetheless, capturing the story in writing has been cathartic for me. I hope the main protagonist will also find it illuminating and comforting if she still around and ever reads this. More importantly to me, I hope that the passage of time has allowed her to offer some forgiveness.
So, where do I start? I suppose Kirkintilloch Cross is as good a place as any.
In the early 1970s, Kirkintilloch and the area around the Cross had become part of our ‘cruising’ zone once we had grown out of Bishopbriggs, before we moved on to Kilsyth and, believe it or not, Banton. ‘We’ were me and my friends.
It was the late ‘60s - early ‘70s, I had left school a year earlier than most of my schoolmates, but despite making my own way in the world, I was still naïve in many ways. Like many in their mid-teens, I was a bit cock-sure on the outside, unsure on the inside, and despite my demeanour and appearance, lacked self-confidence. This was especially where the opposite sex was involved. I was a bit gobby too, partly to cover up my unease and make myself look confident, and partly because I was in my apprentice stage of ‘your mouth will get you into trouble’ time, as may father often said. He was correct of course but at that time I never realised it.
Being chatty, the smallest of my coterie, and easily led, I was convinced, persuaded, or otherwise manipulated into being the 'chatter-upper' whenever we ventured across young ladies. I had to do my mates’ bidding as they were older, had cars, and a bit more money than me, despite the fact that I was working full-time in Glasgow: £4 per week minus deductions didn’t go far. Without my friends, I wouldn’t have reached Kirkintilloch (aka Kirkie) very often.
My task was easy. We (the car and driver, and up to three others including me) would drive up and down the main street of Kirkintilloch, Cowgate, and into Townhead. We would travel particularly slowly at the start near the Cross and its shops where young people hung out, and again after the canal which dissected the town. Coincidentally, that was where the local police station sat (now a pub). We sped up slightly in that middle part to make us look normal if there were any police present. How four young guys in a mini car, noses pressed to the window on the look-out for talent, ever looked normal, I don’t know, but we were never pulled over. Once past the station we were in Townhead where there were older shops, including a café that was always a useful place for a stop to be manufactured.
On our trips up and down the street, if we saw any girls around our age, the horn would be tooted, hands would be waved, and, at times, the odd wolf whistle would be tendered from a now open window.
On one occasion, the one that I will go on to narrate, the scenario played out well. In fact, surprisingly so. I got out of the car in the middle of town, chatted to about five girls, of which at least two, maybe three were still in remnants of their St Ninian's High School uniforms, waved down my mates, and then flirted as best as possible. The car owner, who I will call Alex for sake of his anonymity, another lad, who I will call Gordon, and me, were persuasive enough to entice three of the girls in. Actually, I’m ashamed to say that I did most of the enticing as I was the one that the girls had been speaking to for a while, and they seemed to (sort of) have confidence in me. Whatever was the precursor, three of the five girls that I chatted with did fancy a run. Let’s think about this: three teenage boys and three teenage girls in a mini car. That was a tight squeeze
I was relatively happy with that as I was now in the back seat, and that is where the girls had to squeeze. But it was tight, so tight that one of them had to move into the front seat and sit half in the lap and half off the lap of Gordon. That only lasted a short time before she asked to be dropped off to go and do her homework: A euphemism for 'get me out of here as I don’t fancy where it is leading.' I assumed that she wasn’t sure about the gear stick or whatever it was prodding her leg. Whatever, three became two.
We dropped her off at the Cowgate end of the main road and then tootled around Kirkintilloch, onto the roads of Kilsyth, out towards Milton of Campsie and Lennoxtown, before heading back to Kirkie again. We felt obliged to head back as the girls wanted to be taken home, but we were keener that they stayed with us. This made for a slow and roundabout journey. We chatted our best chat but as time moved on the girls definitely wanted to return to their hometown, or safety as they probably viewed it. I agreed with the girls but as yet couldn’t say so. Alex and Gordon were by far the eldest, more mature than me, and much less keen to go back. Nonetheless, I knew that it was the right thing to do and I persuaded Alex to drive back towards Kirkintilloch. I think my quickly thought-out rationale was that “If anything happened, we would be nearer home.”
We dropped the second girl off now as she was playing at being strong while being definitely a bit panicky. The last girl who lived close to Hillhead Road, let’s call her Rose (I know her name but would rather keep it a bit more private here), had been by far the chattiest of the three, the cockiest, the most comfortable in the situation, the most confident, and she liked me. I could tell. Well, she was happy to stay for a bit and we drove back out to the country. Hearts were pounding. Mine definitely was.
While in the dark gloom of the countryside that surrounded Kirkintilloch, Gordon said, "Are you giving us it tonight?" Even I, the naïf that I was, knew that ‘it’ referred to sex.
"You’re joking?" Rose replied.
At this point Alex pulled the car over into a quiet farm track and as it stopped, I could feel Rose tighten up as she was still sitting close to me.
"Well, no I wasn't joking. In fact I am thinking that you should cock it or walk it," Gordon said quite straightforwardly.
I went silent and thought that everyone would be able to hear my heart beating, it seemed so loud. Rose also went silent, either through fear, worry, or because she was trying to think her way out of the situation.
Gordon said again, "Cock it or walk it," but this time Alex echoed the statement.
Eventually, and to my surprise, Rose agreed but with a condition. She said, "Yes, but not out here. I’m not daft. You’ll just shag me and then leave me out here miles away." I was gobsmacked.
She continued, "I know a place in Kirkie. Take me back and I’ll show you where it is."
Alex needed no further encouragement. He started the engine, flicked the lights on, and roared us off, in the direction of Kirkintilloch’s orange luminescence. True to her word, Rose directed us up the Hillhead Road, to a set of garages, if my memory serves me well, about 50m or so from Hillhead Road at the intersection with Whitehill Road or Fellsview Avenue (I’m not absolutely sure). Anyway, it all made sense as I found out later that she lived about 150 yards away just beyond Hillhead Road (I remember the name of the road, the number and even the placement of the house but will keep that to myself as a gesture to decency, anonymity, and the respect that I have for the girl who is obviously now an older adult). It was a location well chosen, near to her home, secluded, and with some built-in safety; she wouldn’t be left in the countryside.
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT? Were teenage passions allowed to run riot? Or not? How did things work out after this encounter? How are the ‘actors’ now? Unanswered questions, seeking answers.
For the next part of the tale email glasgowboyafoot@gmail.com
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