Thank You Glasgow Corporation by Liz McGinty
The sun shone weakly on a quiet peaceful October morning. The trees in the school grounds steadfastly hung on to their few remaining leaves. The year was 1969 I was ten years old, a slim gangly girl who was beside herself with excitement.
I was so thrilled I bounced up and down on my seat on the bus as it slowly carefully pulled out of the school car park, a concrete oasis in the Easterhouse housing scheme where I lived.
Straining to catch sight of my mum I waved enthusiastically as she waved back blowing kisses. Funnily enough it never occurred to me to be frightened or worried, some of the girls were pretending to be upset dabbing at their eyes with hankies and hugging each other in pretend consolation. The boys meanwhile had already opened the snacks their mums had given them ditching the fruit in favour of the sweets.
The noise on the bus was deafening, a cacophony of excited spirits heading on a big adventure. Janet, my best friend sat next to me. I had butterflies in my tummy and we both grinned at each other, big toothy grins on faces that had yet to catch up with adult sized teeth.
We chattered on and on. A whole four weeks stretched in front of us a lifetime to be filled with school- work and fun. I was an avid reader of comics like Judy and Bunty. My childish expectations of the trip were built around these inked characters that overcame adversity and had jolly japes on a weekly basis, the pillars of good character in the boarding school.
As the bus left the housing scheme and made it’s way down on to the busy Edinburgh Rd the noise on the bus settled down, partly due to the two teachers who were accompanying us reminding us we were representatives of the school and should behave and partly due to the drop in adrenalin in our small bodies leaving us tired and sleepy. As the road stretched endlessly in front of us on our way to Galloway House in Wigtownshire, I had no concept of the distance we would be travelling.
I closed my eyes and I remembered how I had felt when the names were announced for the trip and I hadn’t been chosen. It hit as though someone had punched me in the stomach and left me winded I ached with longing, I struggled to contain the tears welling up in my eyes making my throat nip and burn.
Once home the hurt had spilled over, my two older sisters tried to comfort me. In the bedroom we shared, cosy in the big double bed, I listened as they said words like, deprived children, special programme, Glasgow Corporation, warm hands gently stroking my hair, my eyelids growing heavy exhausted from the great wrenching sobs that raked my thin body. I was inconsolable.
However fate intervened, head lice the scourge of the school nurse those insidious little beasties the presence of which resulted in the humiliating walk from the medical room clutching the dreaded brown envelope. A girl had failed the medical because she had nits.
Two days before departure the headmistress asked my mum if she could have me ready to go at short notice. My mum washed and ironed everything I had, my aunt sewed new outfits and my beloved sisters dipped into their piggy banks to supply pocket money. With great effort and love I was ready.
Suddenly the bus changed direction and wakened from my slumber I was momentarily disorientated and I realised the bus was pulling into a long drive surrounded on each side by trees and bushes.
I was overawed at the breathtaking beauty that surrounded me. Bushes with great heads of blooms in pink, blue, lilac peeped from great sheathes of green whilst overhead huge tower like trees displayed autumnal leaves in shades of yellow, orange, russet and red.
Off to the left my eye caught a glimpse of sun hitting the water shimmering, glistening on smooth, glassy water surrounding a quiet serene, sandy beach. My neighbour nudged me and my eyes followed in the direction she was pointing as into view came a huge, magnificent stately home.
Like my classmates I was dumbstruck I had never seen such a big building I was sure our whole housing scheme could easily have fitted in to it. I nervously wiped my hands, which had become clammy with sweat.
This building was not like anything we had seen before, not the old, dark, dirty, foreboding buildings in Glasgow, which sucked the breath from your lungs and replaced it with smog.
We were off the bus now still gazing in round- eyed stupor at our surroundings. One girl was crying, a muffled sobs. Inside the grand rooms echoed our faltering footsteps. I ran my hand along the banister feeling the smooth polished wood and the ghost of many hands before me. I travelled upwards; climbing never- ending stairs to the dormitories where pristine white bedding covered the rows of single beds waiting welcoming.
Moving along corridors each window displaying a different scene a kaleidoscope of colours, into the library. I gasped, the walls from floor to ceiling invisible replaced by a covering of book spines, reds and browns, thick and thin, paper and leather, flickering shadows danced in the polished wooden frames, cast by the low flames from the open fire.
Outside once more to collect our luggage, Galloway House stood before me in all it’s majesty a light stone coloured building. A building that spoke to me of secrets, history and adventures, with woods waiting to be explored eager to give up its natural bounty. A beach waiting to welcome young nimble limbs as they clambered over rocks and pools.
As I stared at the house the windows winked in the sun I smiled that toothy grin and winked right back. This was the first day of our great adventure, Galloway House and me.
