In the early to mid-1960s a party of us would leave our Oxgangs Avenue base and head up to the Pentland Hills each summer.
On a hot day and with our wee legs Swanston Road always seemed a long, long road. A few of the older boys had bicycles and would journey back and forward giving some of us backies i.e. we sat on the leather seat whilst the rider danced on the pedals. We were dropped off just before the old pig farm which is now converted into holiday cottages and office space.
Because of the smell we all turned up our noses as we passed the farm. But sometimes there was a little excitement if one of the farm dogs which wandered around the farmyard caught our scent and began barking and come chasing after us.
The barking was actually the worst part as the farmyard always seemed very quiet and opur primary concern was that the noise might attract the attention of the farmer.
Because of the smell we all turned up our noses as we passed the farm. But sometimes there was a little excitement if one of the farm dogs which wandered around the farmyard caught our scent and began barking and come chasing after us.
The barking was actually the worst part as the farmyard always seemed very quiet and opur primary concern was that the noise might attract the attention of the farmer.
Back in the day knowledge came slowly and we were never quite sure if we were allowed on this quiet country lane.
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