I see… hotter days
Silverburn
More rain
Less insects
Less mammals
Climate change

I could see… More trees before
Green everywhere
Flat grass for miles
Wilderness
Mountains and mines
Giants
Now I see shiny cars

I will see…
Inventions save the planet
Climate Superheroes
Flying Cars
Giant robots cleaning the air
I will see no more extinction
More parks
Birds singing in the city
Boats on the Brockburn
People growing food on their roof’s
New farms on the hills
Wild flowers everywhere
My garden full of foxes
I will see nature thriving

مجھے یاد ہے کہ میں خوش تھی جب میں پرندوں کو کھالتی تھی
پرندوں کو کھالتی تھی
مجھے یاد ہے پارک میں جانا
میں ایک شہد کی چھت دیکھی
مجھے ڈر لگا
میں کبھی بھی اسکو پکڑ نہیں سکتی میں بہت زیادہ گھبرا گی
میرے آنسو نکل آئے
مجھے یادہے پارک میں جانا
مجھے معلوم تھا کہ مجھے ڈنگ کے کاٹنے سے بچنا ہے
میرا خواب وہی پارک دوبارہ جانا ہے
امید ہے کہ پارک اب بھی وہی ہوگا
مجھے یاد ہے پارک میں جانا اور وہاں سیر کرنا

I remember I was very happy feeding the birds
Feeding the birds
I remember going to the park
I saw a hive
I was scared
I could never catch it, I was very nervous
Tears came out
I remember going to the park
I knew I didn't want to get stung
My dream is to go back to the same park
Hopefully the park will still be there
I remember going to the park and strolling there.

Mum wasn’t worth a button. She was up to high doe. There hadn’t been a good drying day for over a week. The pulley was sagging with washing, the coal fire had to be lit, an expense she could do without. School shirts hung over the guard to be ready for the next morning. We were under her feet as we couldn’t go out to play so we kept out of the way. With our baby brother settled for the night, bed was brought forward so she could ”Get on.”

All was quiet.

In warmer climates flat roofs could be a thing of joy, a space to entertain visitors or somewhere to sleep on balmy summer nights. However in Glasgow not so much.

In the postwar building trade the consensus was there were two types of flat roof, one that leaked and one which will.

The drip, drip started slowly in time with the tick , tick of the alarm clock on the bedside cabinet so we didn’t fully awake to being with.

The cry’s from my older sister did stir me. I looked over to her side of the room. She was sitting up in bed looking up to the ceiling, the drops of rainwater hitting her forehead and running down to drip off the end of her nose. Her crying soon brought my mum and oldest sister to the door, just in time to see the wet patch on the ceiling start to sag and the water start to pour down onto the beds.

Mum went into panic mode. Her drookit weans weren’t the cause of her concern. No, this was another laundry nightmare. How would she dry out blankets and bedcovers in this weather. This would take a trip to the steamie for sure, more money! Through tears she called out to our dad “Donald, Donald quick!!“

In his usual calm way he quickly went into action. The mattresses were pulled from the beds and dragged into the living room. We were sent to collect buckets and pots and pans , anything that would catch the water. Mum gathered herself together and stoked up the fire, found dry blankets and put on the kettle.

After the various utensils were doing their job we were sent into the living room. Mum would walk down to the factors next day and speak to the man from the council to come fix the roof.

With mattresses on the floor, the curtains drawn, the only light coming from the roaring fire our campsite was complete. And even although it was late a feast was served of hot sweet milky tea and ‘birds nests’, a dad speciality, morning rolls cut in half, buttered and filled with baked beans.

As we all corried in together even mum seemed to relax and enjoy our first and only family glamping experience.

I remember going to Pollok Park with my dogs and Grand Children.

I am happy
I hear the birds
I see the highland cows
I want to stay here

I pretend I’m a child again, running about
I feel tired, but happy
I cry as my dogs have now crossed the rainbow bridge
I dream for long and happy life
I try to do as much as I can
I hope for peace

The air was loud with talk about the new road coming our way. In the Café, at the bus stop, sitting on the bus, waiting for the children from school... This was talked about all over Pollok.

It was a strong fight for all the protesters. So, when I heard they needed help with food, I had a think about how to help in a small way. That was something I could manage.

I had a small function coming up in 1994. As the party came to an end, guests helped me wrap up all the food that was left over. John and I were happy to deliver this food to the ‘tree people’ as we named them. The delivery was to Barrhead Road end of Pollok House Park.

We did this at the end of most functions when we were on the way home. Come to think of it… I never got my pots back! I wonder where they are?!

‘How can I help?’ A sentence I would use countless times throughout the day greeting customers as they approached the counter. I liked helping people and feeling that I’d done a good job.

From 1988-1996 I worked in the Bank of Scotland in Cowglen, within the National Savings Bank Building. Back when people carried and spent cash, and would usually only use their card to get money out of the auto teller. A wee bit different from how things are now, now that cards are king and contactless will likely put an end to that.

How can I help? I would say as the environmentalists approached the counter, smelling like fire and with fire in their hearts. They would come in to exchange small coin for something more usable in the shops and we’d hear that across the road something was happening in the Barrhead Woods, something impactful. An eco camp had formed to protest against the construction of the M77. I was all for them! Unfortunately some were less welcoming, coining them as ‘hippies holding back progress’. In my mind the activists were just trying to save a green space to benefit the local community. My children at that point were aged 3 and 7, so I could empathise. Who wouldn’t want cleaner air and less pollution? Who wouldn’t want to avoid damaging woodland and impacting on wildlife? It’s no wonder they were advocating for alternative approaches and different ways of living, after all, mortgage rates were through the roof, one of the main reasons I had to return to work so quickly after having my kids. The activists became part of the landscape and I got used to them being there.

One day I was travelling to work, but something had changed. The road leading to the bank was closed. The full road, from the Pollok roundabout all the way to the Round Toll roundabout. I knew the activists were being evicted. But this time, I couldn’t help, it made me feel really sad. Looking back, I admire their resilience and humanity. I think of them and I thank them even now, as we watch news stories about the changing climate and the cost of living crisis. But I think it’s true to say, that community spirit and people coming together always wins. You can bank on that.

Medals? Keep them. Commendations? Don’t need them.

Ten cups of tea and a packet of biscuits from a wee wifie in Pollok for the crew is the greatest honour of all!!

It’s six o’clock at night and the shift has just begun. What to expect, who knows.

Checks all done, equipment all good, tonight’s training begins.

Bobby’s on canteen duty tonight, he’s making a curry. Hope it’s better than the last one, cause it gives us all a dicky tummy.

Training was good tonight covering all aspects from cats up trees to towering infernos. First priority three cans of tuna and a tin opener, also handy if the curry is rotten again. Extra hoses incase it is a towering inferno.

9.15pm: It’s been relatively quiet, couple of bin fires and a false alarm at the

Pollok Centre. Back to base again , almost time for supper. Fire kit off, wash up, just about to go upstairs, bells go again. This time it’s a house fire.

Two minutes up the road, turn the corner and the flames are coming out of the window. The crew are ready and geared up on arrival, with breathing apparatus, and everyone bursts into action. We all know our role.

Four firemen go in with hoses. People are out in the street and the message comes through, thankfully no one is home. The fire is extinguished within minutes and the crew has worked really hard.

The smoke settles and neighbours are relieved no one was at home. But still the crew has to attend for an hour or so more to make sure all is well.

And then from an adjacent house comes a wee wifie with ten mugs of tea and a packet of biscuits.

It’s Sunday 12th May 2024. People are beginning to gather on Pollok hill for the Kite Festival. I arrive with a big group of friends and we’re looking forward to it. It’s supposed to rain later but hopefully it’ll stay dry during the festival. Even if it does rain there’s always so much to do and the food made by the local caterers is amazing.

Confidently I choose a kite to fly, it’s white with rainbow tails and I decide to name it ‘Fly High 6000’ because, well why not?! I’m flying my kite and jokingly my friends try to hit it down, but that won’t stop me! The story yurt is full of people hearing exciting tales, told by the Village Storytellers, so busy in fact I couldn’t get in. I notice that nobody at the fest is paying any attention to their phones, just enjoying the activities and chatting to each other. A welcome change.

In my mind I flash back a full year to the first ever kite festival - the first time I had ever flown a kite. I have to say it felt good to finally master it. I felt accomplished! I’ve definitely come a long way since then.

Back to May 2024 and the sun still shines in the sky as a kaleidoscope of colourful kites dance in the warm air. When the day is over and everything is packed up we feel the first spots of rain, couldn’t have worked out better. I hope there’s another kite festival next year. Return of the ‘Fly High 6000’!

I remember playing in the rolling green fields
I am grateful for these memories
I hear the children’s excited voices, the trickle of the burn, the buzzing of the insects
I see the sun shining (did it always shine then?!), the boys bravely jumping the burn
I want to be brave like them and leap across to the other side
I remember playing in the rolling green fields

I pretend to be a princess and build a castle from the wood and stones
I feel safe in my den
I touch the grass as I lie on my back and look up at the clouds
I worry that the day will be over too soon, that my Mum will be angry at my dirty hands and knees
I remember my Mum pretending to be annoyed at how dirty we all were as she scrubbed us in the sink
I remember playing in the rolling green fields

I understand that progress can be a good thing
I say ‘but at what cost’!
I dream about by gone days and making new memories
I try to embrace the changes that have been made
I hope that the next generation remember Pollok is theirs
I remember playing in the rolling green fields

There was once a vast, open space, filled with everything that everyone wanted. A market in the heart of Pollok, that could be found in the old Pollok Shopping Centre. A space that felt it was for the people of Pollok.

I would get the bus there, the 57, back when you would pay the conductor – ‘Fare’s Please!’. Back when the buses were frequent, they came all the time, not like now.

You would come equipped with your tartan trolley, and sometimes a string bag – that was our ‘bag for life’. There were also brown paper bags if you needed them. There was a butcher, with the good meat, a fruit shop, fresh fish, there was everything – really everything. Nothing wrapped in plastic, you could feel things, it was a tactile experience. You would just pour the fresh potatoes into your bag - still covered in dirt - but those taste the best!

The old clock was loud, but the design was detailed and impressive. People would meet each other underneath it. You would always see someone you knew – ‘How’s your Granny keeping?!’ - and you would exchange information about what you could find in the shops. Most of the staff were local people, sometimes local families all working in the same place. It wasn’t your designer clothes and shoes, it was wearing shoes. Things that you wanted, things you actually needed.

There is now an even more vast and open space, that is filled with everything that people don’t really need and, unfortunately, a sense that these shops aren’t really for the people of Pollok, But there’s always hope, hope that in the future there will be a place to shop, to come together and to chat, that sparks joy for future generations, like the way it did for us.

Across the road from my house were big mounds of red ash. This was from a residue of the mining of Red Clay in a local mind which was used to make red bricks by a factory in the area known locally as “The Red Hills”. It covered a big area of land. There was tons of these red mounds of ash.

As kids we would ride our bikes round about these mounds. Mine was a red bike which I loved. We would squeal and shout as we raced about seeing who could go the fastest. Our shoes and trousers would get covered in the red ash so we could not lie as to where we had been. If it was windy the ash would blow into our mouths and eyes. It tasted awful and stung your eyes. It was great fun playing in the red ash mounds.

I have fond memories of this carefree time on my childhood. I remember one day my mum sent me and my cousin down to the local shops. We came back home through the red hills. When I got home I discovered I had lost a ten shilling note from my pocket. My mum sent us both out to look for it as it was a lot of money back then. A ten shilling note was a brownish colour and blended in with the red ash, as you can imagine, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Thankfully, after a long search amongst these mounds, we found it.

Once a year, travelling people would come and park the caravans on a patch of land in the hills and used to go round the doors looking to do any odd jobs. We used to go and look at their colourful vans. They would fascinate is with their bright colours.

The mining stopped when there was a collapse in the mine and was closed down. There was a legend that on a windy night, if there was a full moon, you could hear the miners working away with their piks and shovels.

Summer holidays. Freedom from the restriction of school. The sunniest, warmest of days, as they always seemed in retrospect.

The melting tar at the edges of the roads and pavements, enticing, and pulling with magnetic force the prodding with an old ice-lolly stick. Though woe betide if any got on clothing. The slow reluctant journey home, the oppression casting gloom and despondency, the ‘fright’ of a right bawling out from an irate ‘Ma’.

But more, so much more so was the excitement and allure of the fields.

Armed with chicken paste sandwiches, wrapped carefully in the greaseproof wrapper of a plain loaf, a bottle of orange Cremola foam all tied together in a string bag, we, the weans, under the questionable supervision of the older kids, set forth for adventure to the ‘Fields’.

Up through the housing estate, right to the outer limits where the houses suddenly stopped and a vast green paradise opened up before us.

Not only (to us) a vast green landscape of freedom and adventure, but a wee burn where many happy hours were spent with a net and jam jar catching ‘Baggy Minnows’. There was even a stone bridge so one could run back and forth across the bridge choosing the choosiest catching grounds.

Tho we were only out of our poor mother’s hair for an hour or two, we felt we were away on an odyssey, gone for aeons.

It was not always bliss however. I remember one day my wee sister threw her jacket onto the ground , intent on pursuing the pleasures offered by our green and pleasant retreat. Unfortunately she had thrown it atop a hornets nest. OMG we were so ‘FOR IT’ when we got home minus Irene’s anorak.

Fortunately a ‘Knight’ came to our rescue, and with his sword retrieved the said jacket. That is, an older gent passing by hooked Irene’s jacket with his walking stick and throw it off the hornets nest. All was well and mum would never know !!

But now, alas, our fields of green are gone, built upon by probably much need housing. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if some of those who now sleep and slumber within that brick and mortar could catch , within their dreams, the laughter, love, adventure, and innocent freedom we felt and experienced in those days of summer.

Simple values but profound.