Postscript - On The Cusp Of The Year

When that summer of 1972 came to an end it marked a point in time - a line in the sand - the bell was ringing for the last lap and the end of my boyhood. It wasn't long afterwards, indeed only a few weeks later that I decided to leave school. And a few months after that, at the start of winter, I left The Stair and Oxgangs, only to return for occasional visits.

And as summer meets early autumn looking at an old photograph taken up at Swanston Road with the T Woods in the background on the lower slopes of the Pentland Hills a local farm worker is atop a cart and horse carrying hay; they are making gentle progress up the slope on a golden afternoon at the cusp, as summer turns to autumn. It was on such afternoons throughout the 1960s and on to 1972 that I, along with the other twenty five children from The Stair contemplated our return to school.

Hunters Tryst Primary School; photograph David Steele

Quite often the weather remained similarly fine and sunny which made it a struggle to return to stifling classrooms at Hunters Tryst; Firhill and Boroughmuir. 

Viewforth; photograph Roger Musson

Those of us with an awareness of the English system would be envious that our peers across the border wouldn't return until the cool of September.

Boroughmuir Senior Secondary School

Most of the kids didn't really want to go back even if by the back end of the holidays being off school had perhaps lost a little of its sparkle. I've no doubt though that a few of the more studious individuals such as Gavin Swanson next door looked forward to the start of the autumn term and the new school academic year. 

I don't think I ever did, but there was always a certain buzz about going back to school and the new rhythm of the year which as an adult you miss – children strive on some structure and security brought about by the seasons of the year and the beginning and end of school terms.

So we boys had visited the local barber, Ben Mackenzie, for a haircut with Michael; Boo-Boo; Colin; and Alan Hanlon getting their number ones, whilst Iain Hoffmann and I had our hair plastered down with ‘jungle juice.’ 

For those with new schoolbags (and that unforgettable smell of new leather) or school clothes and ties or perhaps those going up to secondary school for the first time, many will recall these days with a mixture of excitement and pleasure. 

However, some of us were keen to squeeze the last drops from the summer fruits and as the countdown began we played amongst the hay in the fields at Swanston; had grass fights with the mown grass in the front garden of 6/2 Oxgangs Avenue; and late evening enjoyed games of Kick-the Can or British Bulldog at The Field. We might even manage a final visit to go jumping the burn at Colinton Mains wandering all the way downstream to the Braid-Burn Valley but by then the grass and wild flowers and weeds and nettles had perhaps become too overgrown.

And if it was wet, Iain, Paul and I would enjoy card games upstairs at the Blades’ home at 6/6 Oxgangs Avenue with Fiona and some of her sisters or play mischievously with their giant tape-recorder with Paul Forbes blowing enormous fart rasps onto the tape.

What was truly lovely about the summer was that it brought many of us at The Stair together whilst the return to school would unfortunately divide us. At the start of the autumn term the Duffys (6/8) returned to St Augustine's whilst the Hanlons (6/7); the Hoggs (6/4); Norman Stewart (6/3); the Swansons (6/1); and the Hoffmanns (6/2) were divided up between Boroughmuir; Firhill; Royal High; and of course Hunters Tryst.

The cusp was thus metaphorical and literal.

Summer Has Gone 

I have tidings for you, The stag bells; Winter pours; Summer has gone

Wind is high and cold; The sun is low;

Its course is short;

The sea runs strongly…

Cold has seized The wings of birds; Season of ice.

These are my tidings

Anon.