Holidays In Easterhouse
"I went on my summer holidays to Easterhouse," said the man from the Glasgow .
I waited for the punchline, but it never came. I was reminded of the late writer and broadcaster Frank Skerrit who once wrote that "you can tell if a letter comes from Easterhouse just by looking at the stamp. The Queen will be holding her nose." Most of us who lived there at the time thought this was hilarious. Really.
Brian Beacom, however, is above such cheap gags. He explained that he had cousins who lived in Easterhouse and that he would spend school holidays with them when he was young. That got us talking about our respective childhoods. I described my own as "idyllic" despite one or two bizarre incidents.
"Such as?" said Brian, switching on his little tape recorder.
"Well there was the time someone pulled a gun on me on my way to school. I think it was an air pistol, but I didn't hang around long enough to find out. Oh...and there was the night me and my pal were train-spotting and we got caught between two rival gangs wielding cavalry swords."
I paused. This seemed like such an unlikely episode that I began to doubt my own memory. Brian confirmed it was very possible.
"They could have been bought as ornaments," he explained, "then used as weapons."
Indeed in photographs of Frankie Vaughan's infamous weapons amnesty you can clearly see swords being placed in the sin bin.
It's almost thirty years since I lived in Easterhouse, but reporters seem fascinated with this part of my biography. I often think it gets in the way of me talking about our radio plans but then, just the other day, something happened to make me realise it's no bad thing to be reminded where you come from.
I was walking down a flight of stairs at Pacific Quay when I came across a group of schoolgirls being given an official tour. They were leaning over a balcony looking at David Robertson in the newsroom.
I asked their tour guide which school they were from. One of the girls hesitated and then answered.
"Lochend Community School," she said.
"Oh I know that, "I replied, "It's in Easterhouse. Not far from where I used to live."
And there was something about her look of astonishment that told me I had made a big mistake.
I should never have laughed at that Frank Skerrit joke.
