Teatime Tales From Dundee Read online

  This all came about because of the coronation of Charles II, which took place at Scone on New Year’s Day 1651. He led a Scottish army to a disastrous defeat at Worcester and because of Dundee’s support for the king, this slaughter was Cromwell’s retaliation.

  General Monck’s headquarters at this dreadful time was a house at the foot of the Overgate. Centuries later and for reasons unknown, the city’s councillors of the day seemed determined to erase the old city and replace everything with modern buildings. Now I’m not denying some of the old houses needed to be demolished but entire swathes of medieval streets were bulldozed; streets like the Wellgate and Overgate. The Overgate in particular was turned into a grey, bleak, windswept shopping mall with as much personality as a lump of concrete.

  On the day of the party, all signs of General Monck’s house with its distinctive tower and staircase, had been replaced by the frontage of Littlewoods department store. Not that there was anything wrong with the shop, but it could have been built anywhere.

  Also gone was the Sixty-Minute Cleaners; a business that was situated under General Monck’s house. I often wondered if they ever cleaned any garment in an hour because I recall having to wait a few days for a dress. But maybe I was unlucky.

  One part of medieval Dundee has fortunately survived. In 1564, land was gifted to the city by Mary Queen of Scots and this later became the Howff Graveyard, which for years was the meeting place of the Nine Incorporated Trades of Dundee.

  Several years on from the birthday bash, Dundee has regained some pride in her heritage and the people in power are finally waking up to conservation instead of demolition.

  The Wellgate and Overgate although sadly missed now have well-designed shopping malls. The Overgate is especially pleasing with its huge windows overlooking the most ancient building of the city, the Auld Steeple.

  Soaring into the sky, the steeple is the remaining part of the old St Mary’s Church which was founded in the twelfth century, but was a casualty of all the carnage left by the various armies until Monck’s army finally left it in ruins. However, St Mary’s Church, now known as the City Churches, was restored in the nineteenth century.

  The homecoming of Discovery, the ship which took Captain Scott and his crew to the South Pole, has also contributed to the regeneration of Dundee.

  Dundee, now into the second decade of its ninth century, has seen many changes. The old industries of whaling, jute and shipbuilding have vanished. New ones which replaced them, factories like Timex, NCR, Valentines, Astral, Vidor Batteries and the other factories of the Industrial Estate of the 1940s are also long gone. But, as away back in 1191, the people of Dundee remain the city’s best asset and that’s the way it should be.

  Buildings and armies fade away but people stay the same.That is why an estimated 50,000 people were out in the streets to celebrate Dundee’s historic milestone on that wonderful hot and sunny day in June 1991.

  20

  Market Days

  Dundee is a city of markets, going back to Lady Mary’s Fair and the Greenmarket which were held in the shadow of the Vault, a medieval collection of houses and shops that the building of the Caird Hall has long since erased.

  In its heyday the Greenmarket was a mecca for the shopper looking for household goods or any other item of bric-a-brac, from chipped ornaments to items of furniture. My grandad sometimes had a site here but what he sold was never recorded. What was recorded was my mother’s annoyance at having to look after the collection of items on sale. I recall her telling me that she hated having to haggle with any potential customers and keep an eye on any would-be pilferer, not to mention having to sit out in all weathers, as this market wasn’t undercover. Goods for sale were laid out on the ground and customers could take in at a glance what was on offer and a lot of it was either tatty or well-worn. I don’t recall if she ever mentioned her brother, my Uncle Charlie, taking a turn. But knowing grandad, he more than likely did.

  The Greenmarket finally stopped trading in 1934 but as one site closed down, another popped up somewhere else.

  A great trip on a Saturday was to the stalls at Mid Kirk Style, a narrow lane that ran between South Lindsay Street and Tally Street, and was bordered on one side by the wall of the Old Steeple. This was a popular place to be because this market was home to the famous Buster Stall, that ambrosial dish of chips, peas and vinegar.

  Like the Greenmarket, vendors just placed their wares either on old wooden barrows or on the street. Some enterprising sellers had the foresight to have a piece of tarpaulin over their goods but more often than not, they were left out in all kinds of weather, rain, snow or wind.

  This market closed down in 1957 when the Overgate was demolished, but before this happened, another small market was held on spare ground beside Long Wynd. I loved this market because it sold a mixture of really old things and brand new items.

  I read somewhere that one vendor regularly sold old spectacles from a large suitcase. Customers tried them out by looking at a newspaper and if the print was readable then a purchase was made. Where was the sense in paying for an eye test when there were so many spectacles to choose from the suitcase?

  Nylon stockings were very difficult to get after the war but by the early 1950s they began to appear for sale. On one occasion I was at a stall with scores of packets of nylons on sale. There was a huge crowd of women all clamouring to buy these wonderful sheer stockings and I was one of them.

  I was sixteen with very little money but the salesman, a man with a glib patter and his eye on making a quick half crown, persuaded me to part with my hard-earned cash. I should have been a bit more on the ball when he kept asking everyone who made a purchase if they were happy with it. There were to be no returns he said, or any cash given back.

  Feeling a bit alarmed by this insistence, I turned the cellophane packet over in my hands and everything appeared to be just hunky-dory, until, when trying them on at home, I found that although the stockings were fine, the seam and the heel were only finished on one side. In those days, stockings had a seam and a shaped brown heel at the ankle, but one side was brown and the other unfinished.

  Viewing the stockings from the left they looked perfect but from the right they looked odd and it was worse from the rear as it made your legs look misshapen. My mother roared with laughter when she saw them and said, ‘Aye thir’s aye some spiv ready to sell duds.’ Or words to that effect.

  Like Queen Victoria, neither the spiv nor my mother’s derision amused me. I tried to make the best of a bad bargain. ‘Och eh dinnie think fowk will notice,’ I said hopefully. This brought another burst of mirth. ‘Naebody will notice. Hivvens they mak yer legs look squint.’

  Well, that was it. I wasn’t going around with squint legs, nylons or no nylons, so they went in the bin. I kept going back to that market but the stocking man was never seen again.

  After the demise of Mid Kirk Style, another market opened in Dens Road. This one was situated in a building and the days of tea sets and clothes lying out in the elements were long gone as there were proper stalls that enabled the vendor to artistically exhibit their goods.

  And there was a Buster Stall.

  One market I was only ever in once was Craig Street, also known as ‘Paddy’s Market’. Perhaps I picked the wrong day but it was full of foreign sailors from boats in the docks and I thought everything had a mouldy smell. I was with a friend and we both made a quick exit.

  Dundee was also full of second-hand shops that stocked piles of clothes and old shoes but these shops are no longer with us. They’ve metamorphosed into upmarket charity shops with loads of great bargains.

  I’ve often wondered who puts out such good clothes, shoes, handbags and household goods. I know it isn’t me because I’m like a squirrel and have things dating back years when I was a size 12. And that wasn’t yesterday.

  As a child, I remember the travelling ‘cutler’. He had a little wagon and people brought their knives and axes to be sharpened. I would stand
watching him and the sparks would fly into the air and there was the sharp rasping noise as metal met stone. We never used his services but he must have had a clientele because he appeared regularly, parking his wagon outside the Plaza Picture House.

  Although not in Dundee, one market I remember very well is the Barras in Glasgow. Like Craig Street, I’ve only visited it once but on that occasion I got such a laugh that I’ve never forgotten it.

  On that Saturday morning, there had been torrential rain and we quickly skirted around the open air stalls. On one stall was a clothes rack filled with fur coats and they were soaking wet. Suddenly the sun came out in the afternoon and I couldn’t believe my eyes as the fur began to dry out, sending huge steams of moisture and the smell of moth balls into the air.

  I had just made the remark about what idiot would ever consider buying a sodden wet fur coat when this wee woman started trying them on. It was so funny when she began to pick her way through the selection in order to find her size. ‘Eh cannie see meh size here, son. Dae ye hiv oanything thit will fit me?’

  The stallholder began to rummage along the row and finally produced this apparition that resembled a shaggy brown bear. The woman loved it and then tried to haggle a price with the man. Not once was the wet fur or the mouldy smell mentioned and she went away quite happy with her purchase.

  Now, when I view the hygienic and squeaky-clean farmer’s market stalls or the exotic smells from the continental markets, I recall the steaming wet fur coat.

  Nothing, but nothing could ever top that.

  21

  Crossing the River

  The River Tay’s origins are in the hills beyond Loch Tay and it sweeps down through small towns and rural meadows until it reaches Perth, and then beyond to Dundee and the North Sea.

  On 18 August 1966, after years of deliberations and setbacks, a road bridge was built over the river from Dundee to Fife. W. A. Fairhurst designed the bridge and the original plans for the bridge are still kept with the firm. The main contractor was Duncan Logan Ltd and Willie Logan was the man on the spot, overseeing the subcontractors and the general daily construction of the bridge.

  It brought many jobs to Dundee and on the opening day when the late Queen Mother cut the ribbon and was then driven over in style, the route was lined with hundreds of spectators, workers with their families and friends plus many people from the city who wanted to see a milestone in history.

  But like all dangerous work, the bridge wasn’t built without tragedy and three men were drowned when a temporary section fell into the river. Then there was the sad, untimely death of Willie Logan. All the celebrations on the day, when the late Queen Mother officially declared the bridge open, must have been heartbreaking for the families of these men. Just looking at all the flags and colourful displays must have brought back all their unhappy memories.

  The new road bridge also heralded the demise of the beloved Fifies; those flat-bottomed boats that regularly ferried people and vehicles over the water. For many years these ferries were used for pleasure trips over to Newport and they played a huge part in my young life. George and I were devotees of this form of transport and many happy days were spent on the water. Mum however was a bit lukewarm about crossing the river. She never like being near water.

  On that last day, The Scotscraig was bedecked with flags and many passengers crossed over to Fife to be met by hundreds of people who had all come to the pier at Newport to say farewell to an old friend. They all joined in singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and the return journey saw passengers dancing.

  The bridge has gone from strength to strength as the car-owning population has grown year by year since 1966 and thousands now cross every day. The poor Fifies would have sunk under this onslaught and it’s true that the old must give way to the new. Just as the old fateful railway bridge with its tragic history gave way to a better designed and safer bridge.

  Dundee is blessed with a beautiful waterfront with the long walk of the Esplanade leading up to the magnificent structure of the Tay Railway Bridge, sweeping in a gentle curve to the shores of Fife on the opposite side

  Up until 1870, crossing the river was done by steamers that regularly sailed between Dundee and Sea Myles, latterly known as Newport. 1870 was the year Parliament agreed on the building of a railway bridge and, at over two miles long, was at the time the longest bridge in the world.

  Engineer Thomas Bouch designed the bridge and work began in 1871.The first problem that Bouch encountered was his mistake in thinking there was a foundation of solid rock when, instead, there was only sand. This meant that the bridge had to be redesigned.

  The building of the bridge was fraught with danger and many men lost their lives. One terrible accident stands out. On 27 August 1873, a quarter mile from shore, six men were working on pier 54 when they were trapped in a shaft and drowned. James Gellately, Charles Thomson, Alexander Clelland, James Herd, W. Stewart, and John Denholm all lost their lives that day and ten children were made fatherless.

  Another incident, which fortunately didn’t result in deaths, was in February 1877 when, during a fierce storm, fifty-four workmen were marooned overnight. The storm caused a lot of damage and with hindsight, it was a taste of what was to come.

  The bridge however opened on May 1878 with the designer, now Sir Thomas Bouch, crossing in triumph. A triumph that didn’t last long.

  On the night of 28 December 1879, there was a gale blowing which reached force eight or nine as the northbound train from Edinburgh reached St Fort Station. The tickets were collected here but there were at least five children on board who didn’t need a ticket. There were also two young adults, Margaret Kinnear aged seventeen and James Peebles aged fifteen.

  The train set off across the bridge and while it was within the high girders, this section broke off and took the girders, train and passengers into the dark, cold waters of the Tay.

  It’s not hard to imagine the panic-stricken thoughts of those poor people. Passengers like Robert Watson and his two small sons, David and Robert aged six and nine, Mr Neish from Lochee and his five-year-old daughter Bella, and Elizabeth Brown aged fourteen who was travelling with her grandmother Elizabeth Mann. Then there were brothers Alex and William Robertson, who had visited their parents at Abernethy, Mrs Meldrum who left a family of six, Councillor Jobson, and brother and sister, Archibald and Jessie Bain.

  The saddest ones were the passengers who got on the train so close to the bridge, at St Fort; James Peebles; George Johnstone and his fiancée Eliza Smart, who was a niece to Annie Cruickshanks, another passenger on the train. Then there was Mrs Cheap who left a grown-up family, Alice Upton aged sixteen and William Macdonald along with his eleven-year-old son David.

  Another sad tale which makes one wonder if there is such a thing as destiny was the journey of two ladies, Mrs Easton and Annie Cruickshanks. Mrs Easton was the niece of Lady Baxter of Edinburgh and Annie was a housemaid at the house. The tragedy was that both ladies should have travelled on an earlier train but the cabbie that had been hired to take the fare to the station slept in which meant they took the later train.

  The first items to be washed ashore were mailbags on Broughty Ferry beach and out of a total of forty-six bags, thirty-seven were recovered and the mail delivered, which sounds a bit gruesome but these were different times. Debris from the carriages was also soon washed up on Broughty Ferry beach.

  The first passenger to be found at Tay Grove, East Newport was unknown until Elizabeth Cruickshanks identified her sister Annie Cruickshanks, the housemaid from Edinburgh.

  More debris was washed ashore, drivers’ caps and flags, a muff, a black lace shawl, and a travelling bag, which was later identified as belonging to Mr Robert Sime, who was a clerk at the Royal Hotel. Also found was a box containing fruit knives and forks; no doubt a gift from one of the passengers to someone special.

  The inquiry, which was held a few days later didn’t hear all the facts and as a result the hurricane was blamed, and because Thomas
Bouch admitted he hadn’t allowed for this, the wind factor was considered the main reason for the disaster.

  What didn’t come out at the time was the fact that two of the girders had fallen into the river during the bridge’s construction. One was damaged beyond repair but the second one was lifted and straightened and deemed suitable for use. Unlike today, engineering experts in Victorian times didn’t understand the theory of straightening metal and the damage it could cause. At the time of this fateful decision, it was touch and go if the girder was to be used or scrapped. What a great pity the argument for saving it won. There was also evidence that the iron used for the girders was flawed with holes being filled up and painted over.

  Also known at the time but never mentioned at the inquiry was a kink in the rail. This kink in the rail was in the girder which had been damaged and reports that the 5.50 p.m. train from Tayport, the train before the ill-fated one, had seemingly had a rough journey shows that damage to the bridge was evident. Nothing however was noticed.

  Another fault was that the bridge was liable to suffer from vibrations and the tie bars were seemingly snapping before that final and fateful journey.

  One of the theories put forward, when the reports from the disaster were opened to the public, was that the second-last carriage became derailed by the kink in the line and by the time the train reached the fifth girder, a disaster was inevitable.

  One of the divers found debris from the train near Wormit and much further away from where the train was eventually located, which looked as if this carriage had suffered from derailment and was running along the wooden floor instead of on the line.

  What must the thoughts of these passengers have been like as they realised they were in trouble? It must have been pure panic. At the time they wouldn’t have realised they were trapped in a cage as both the train and girders fell into the river. This was proved right when the girders were raised and the engine was still trapped inside.