Autumn is well and truly here – above is my favourite splash of colour in the Botanic Gardens, as it changed from September to October.
More autumn colour: on a dry, crisp Sunday we took a walk to the nearby town of Milngavie (pronounced Mulguy). The drive there would be completely urban – no gaps at all – but we can walk all the way from our house along the River Kelvin and Allander Water. This also doubles the distance from 4 miles to about 8! We got public transport back, needless to say.
Re the last two pictures above – what on earth is wrong with people, stealing memorial plaques? I despair.
October also means the end of the guided walk season, with my last one being in Garnethill, the first time the Women’s Library has run that walk since the Art School fire earlier in the year. We got as close as we could to the School, but had to change our route because there is still a cordon around it.
As one walker observed, even the scaffolding looks like a work of art, and the stop sign definitely is one.
The cultural highlight of the month was 306: Dusk, the final part in the National Theatre of Scotland’s trilogy of plays about the First World War. The title comes from the 306 soldiers who were shot for “cowardice”, or what would now be diagnosed as post-traumatic stress disorder. Even at the time, officers such as the war poets Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen were diagnosed with shell shock and treated (though both later went back to the front line where Owen died in November 1918). The class system was rigidly in place.
In 2016 part 1, 306: Dawn, told the stories of some of the condemned men. Last year part 2, 306: Day, gave voice to the women and families at home, many of whom were shamed into changing their names and leaving their communities. This year’s play tells three stories in a series of overlapping monologues: a school teacher of the present day, a veteran of the Iraq War and a soldier who turns out to be the last of the 306 to be shot, just days before the armistice. Only in the final scene do the characters interact and the connections between them become explicit. The name and date of death of each man is projected onto the backdrop, accompanied by a choir singing out the names.
As we reach the centenary of the end of the Great War, it’s important to remember all its aspects, including these men who have been more or less erased from history. In 2006, then defence secretary Des Browne, announced pardons for the 306, for what that’s worth. The presence of the Iraq War veteran, clearly suffering from PTSD, questions how much better society has become at dealing with traumatised soldiers. He wasn’t shot, but his life fell apart and in some ways his was the saddest story. Overall, the trilogy was thought-provoking and intensely moving.
The last bit
Exactly a year ago I found a new piece of street art by Pink Bear Rebel (Free WiFi, above). That wall has since been scrubbed clean, but this month I found a new one – a blind-folded Theresa May being led by a blind-folded British bulldog. A neat piece of political commentary, and top marks for the facial expression which is spot-on. The body looks all wrong to me though, too short and stout. I can’t remember who said that Mrs May always looks as if she has been illustrated by Quentin Blake but I heartily agree. His characters tend to be long and gangly: she might be in this picture, for example.
Time for Scottish word of the month! Over coffee with a couple of friends I observed of an organisation with which we are all involved that they “couldn’t run a minodge”. Blank looks – well they are both from Edinburgh, and I admit the phrase puzzled me when I first came to Glasgow. The word is derived from ménage, French for household, but has acquired various spellings according to local pronunciation. In the days before widespread credit, minodge took on the meaning of a self-help savings scheme whereby everyone made regular payments and took turns at getting the whole amount. So if you say someone “couldnae run a minodge” you are calling into account their competence. I put my alternative, couldn’t run a piss-up in a brewery, to my friends but they considered that vulgar. I did say they were from Edinburgh …
So November has arrived and we are hurtling towards the end of the year. The next Gallivant will probably be quite wintry. Have a great month.
Even more exciting – I knew that Jessie took part in the post-box protests in Glasgow in 1913 (Suffragettes dropped ink or acid into post-boxes to destroy the mail). I’d read that this was in Kirklee, near where I live, but hadn’t given it much thought until I was asked if I knew which post-box it might have been. I now have access to a copy of Jessie’s unpublished autobiography in which she details some of the houses she worked in as a domestic servant, and one of them is just across the road from the current Kirklee post-box. When I looked at this box more closely, I found the insignia was ERVII – Edward the Seventh who died in 1910. This is probably the very box that Jessie used!
And there was one of those lovely public art trails – Penguin Parade in this case.
We shared the river with other vessels – here a Clyde ferry is waiting at Wemyss (pronounced Weems) Bay.
And when we got into more open water, the view was dominated by the distinctive “sleeping giant” form of Arran.
The skies were quite grey, as you can see, and it was windy and cold on deck. However, fleeces and cagoules dealt with the temperature and we stayed in the open most of the day, only disappearing downstairs for a beer towards the end. That, and a delicious Thai curry on the way home, rounded off a great day out.
I thought I had broken my jinx on walks – last year, I seemed to get soaked every time I acted as a tour guide. This year, I’ve done two walks for the Women’s Library, both in bright sunshine, and Processions was also a lovely day. My luck ran out the following weekend when my Maryhill Women’s History walk attracted the rain back. Despite that, all 15 participants turned up and stayed to the end. Jessie features in it too – here, I’m passing her picture around. (Though since I drafted this, I’ve done another Women’s Library Walk – yesterday, 1st July, which was scorching.)
It’s been a sad month for Charles Rennie Mackintosh fans, so here’s some more cheerful stuff. During the recent West End Festival, the Mackintosh Church at Queen’s Cross (the only one he designed which was actually built, and now home of the 
Reluctant to end my gallivanting just yet, I hopped on the Subway to Govan because I still hadn’t viewed the Mary Barbour statue without the hundreds of people surrounding it at its opening (as described in 
For my last selection of roofs for 
Another imposing building is the neo-Gothic University of Glasgow, but I’ve not chosen an external view this time. Above are the Cloisters, also known as the Undercroft. It’s graduation season at the moment and they are a-flutter with colourful gowns, but this shot was taken around Christmas.
Just look at the carvings beneath the roof of this building at 1 La Belle Place, Kelvingrove! Currently a Hindu Mandir, it was built as the Queen’s Rooms in the 1850s to be used to celebrate the arts and sciences. Of particular interest to me: it was the location of a Suffrage Celebration meeting (tickets sixpence) on Saturday 20th April 1918 after the planting of the Suffrage Oak on nearby Kelvin Way. I only learned this recently and it has made me look at the building with new affection.
The houses at each end of this terrace on Kirklee Road have a splendid round turret. The one shown, until recent years, was supported by concrete buttresses which made it very ugly, but it has now been strengthened and restored. I can imagine sitting in that bay window with a good book and a glass of red – though I’d love that even more in this next one.
This is Kensington Tower (1858). Wow, just wow! I would love to have that tower room.
If you think the roofline of Lancaster Crescent looks like a terrace has been bolted on to a standalone villa, you are correct. Redlands House was built in 1870-71 and originally stood in grounds of 24 acres. For much of the 20th century it was a women’s hospital before being converted back into residential accommodation. The terrace was added in stages between 1898 and 1907, which you can probably tell by the different windows at roof level.
Ayton House (c. 1859) was badly damaged in the Blitz in 1941, and by the 1980s was threatened with demolition. However, it was rescued by a developer who added a modernist penthouse flat. What do you think? It certainly divides opinion locally – but it’s another place I could imagine myself sitting, glass in hand, at sunset.
It’s an extension bearing the unmistakable hallmarks of Charles Rennie Mackintosh who designed it. Which brings me back to the sad subject of the Art School – the 
Many thanks to Becky for running such a great challenge. I’ve enjoyed participating.
Last month, I started working my way through the Sunshine Blogger Award questions as set by 
In like a lion, out like a lamb? March certainly lived up to the first part of that proverb: in fact snow has been a feature of most of it. There were plenty of snowmen/women about, but this year igloos seemed to be in fashion too. This one is in the Botanic Gardens.
Do you know Kim from 
What’s your favourite food memory, a meaningful meal that you will never forget, and why? What was so special about it? Well, at the moment Airds Hotel, mentioned above, is uppermost in my memory. Unlike many fancy hotels and restaurants, which usually only offer one vegetarian choice, often bland, I had a whole menu to choose from and everything I ate was delicious. In fact, everything everybody ate was declared delicious and dinner was a real event on both nights. As you can see, Mark and John were most definitely relaxed afterwards.
Going nowhere!
