A British Kid / Youth In The 1970s

A British Kid / Youth In The 1970s

1970: An Average British Kid Stuck In The Middle Of It All...

INTRODUCTION

I was still living in the Ibrox area of Glasgow (though not for much longer); with the good pals (boys and girls), all hanging around the neighbourhood together – playing hide and seek; going on biking adventures to far off parks (actually only a mile or two away, but we felt like Victorian explorers!), but mainly playing football (soccer) – that was a guys only activity..!

I WAS IN MY LAST YEAR AT PRIMARY SCHOOL (August 1969 – June 1970) ...

I had a pretty good last year in primary school. I’d had a good time over-all at this school, since joining it 1967, when my family moved to the Ibrox area of Glasgow.

Lots of good, positive things happened at school…

I was an established member of my class football team, and in the course of two weeks near the end of this final year we’d challenged and beaten every other class in the school. After our final victory, over the other top year class, our captain announced to the teacher that we were champions of the school. She was thrilled, and had the team members stand up to take the cheers of the class. Nice, and memorable moment. These things are important to kids… 

I had gained a reputation as the class artist (?!) and was chosen to paint the backdrop scenery for the class puppet show, which was to be shown to parents at parents’ night. The puppets were class made glove puppets, with papier-mache heads. It was a production of the Noah’s Ark story. My school did not push religion, by any means, but it was just a nice and well known story: all about working hard and being responsible; and, in a crisis, the importance of all pulling together to overcome disasters, by using hard work and intelligence. That’s what we got from the story…

Even at that age I had it figured out that this story was all about teaching a message and a lesson – and was not something that happened for real, at least not the way it was in the story. School kids do see things very logically, and will analyse, ask questions and come to logical conclusions. For example, the line: ‘We’re gonna need a bigger boat…’, now identified with the movie Jaws, must, I’m sure, have been uttered by many a Primary School kid before that, when considering the Noah story… Plus the fact that the brace of anteaters on the Ark must have surely starved – what with there being only two ants on board – and ‘not for eating’ ants at that, by order of Noah… ;)

But, like I say, my school didn’t push religion - a morning prayer; a prayer when there was a disaster somewhere in the world; making Easter and Christmas cards and so forth: just nice activities, aimed at learning about good behaviour, kindness and caring for others: no Hell fire and brimstone, nor indeed anything at all ‘preachy’…

Looking back, I’m inclined to suppose that if I’d been raised in a stricter religious environment (my parents were not at all fussed about religion, I was never Baptised, and we never went to church), I’d likely have been more inclined to rail against it. Instead, with complete freedom to think on it – or not - it fascinated me, and, I must say, inspired me. The music that I’d later get into as a teenager was steeped in spirituality, religious and metaphysical references – and that’s where I’d learn more and develop my fascination… To the point of being the geek on the subject that I am now… LOL!

My primary school achievement closed on a high; I got my best ever report card (lots of B grades – no As though…). For my hard work and improvement I got a school end of year prize for - ‘Effort’, awarded at the last big Assembly – the first time I’d ever won something, so it was very special. It was a book token, and my mum took me to a bookstore to choose a book. I chose a children’s’ hardback book about a wolf in the wild, called Loki. I can’t remember the title, but it was the first ‘proper’ book that I read right through.

The year ended with the school play – performed by my class: a dramatisation of the pioneering work of Joseph Lister, at Glasgow Royal Infirmary: developing antiseptic practices for use in surgery, in the 1860s. I got to play some medical big-wig or other, who gave the closing speech, summarising the whole show. It was a shortish piece, and was my introduction to – and only appearance in – acting: I was not bitten by the acting bug; a star was not born… But it was great to be chosen to part of it, and fun to do… 😏

MUSIC STILL WASN’T REALLY MY THING – BUT 1970 WAS A LANDMARK YEAR FOR MY MUSIC LOVING JOURNEY…

I still wasn’t into music, really, but in 1970 my sister left home, and I inherited her mono record player and her record collection. This was mainly Motown singles – and a few of the cheapo Top of the Pops and Hot Hits albums, which had sprung up in the previous couple of years: cheap albums of covers of current hit singles, performed by ‘nobody' jobbing. musicians and singers. The quality of cover on these albums was mostly awful, but it gave me exposure to a range of sounds. The Motown singles were all very familiar to me, and I liked them, but still, I wasn’t grabbed by Motown, or by music generally.

But some singles leapt out of the radio at me: George Harrison’s ‘My Sweet Lord’; Norman Greenbaum’s ‘Spirit in the Sky’; Deep Purple’s ‘Black Night’ – and others. But these songs all seemed a bit deep and serious to me – a bit too ‘grown up’; and besides, my Old Man spoke strongly against all those ‘weirdos’, freaks and long-haired layabouts – which actually piqued my interest, but all the same made that music a bit ‘woooo – scary’ to me at that age… LOL!

I had little idea about albums and the album charts – that too was an intimidating, ‘grown up’ world of sophistication; more than that - sophistication and subversive ‘weirdo-ness’ actually, as even my sister had given up on The Beatles when they went from cutesy Pop songs to very odd and abstract ramblings about marshmallow skies(?), and being a Walrus(?), and then George Harrison went all Hari Krishna… No, no -she’ll stick to what was comfortable I n the singles charts, and at that time in the U.K it was Motown, and Motown was was big…

But one single did grab me… It grabbed everyone… It was by a new and totally weird band, and it was fun – just fun..! Nothing deep, nothing dark, nothing spiritual or philosophical; not heavy; not moody… It hit the number 1 spot for about six weeks: it was Mungo Jerry’s ‘In The Summertime’…

I didn’t buy it, but my pal’s older sister did (she was only about two years older than us, and one of our ‘gang’ – excluding playing football, of course!), and she played it a lot at their place…

Oh, and I did think that a single called ‘Ride A White Swan’, by a band called T.Rex, was quite likeable – a bit odd, but nice… ;)

1971 would see Mungo Jerry, and soon after T. Rex, and the ‘New Wave’ genre, Glam Rock, become really big in my life, and my musical interest would be ignited…

PREPARATION FOR SECONDARY SCHOOL BEGINS…

In the last few weeks before the end of primary school I’d noticed that my Old Man had not ordered me and my older bro (he was in the second year of High school by now) to the barbers for our forced regulation ‘short back and sides’ haircut. I kept expecting it – but it didn’t come. The hair on my neck and around my ears was a decadent inch or so long. I felt almost ‘Beatnik’ (that was still my Old Man’s sneering reference to any guy who had hair that was even just long enough to pinch between thumb and forefinger; in his slow reacting social conservatism he was still trying to get used to the 1950s… LOL!) For me, these relatively flowing locks felt liberating. … 

I didn’t know it, but my mum had won the battle of wills with the old chap, and insisted that we were allowed to ‘go with the fashion’ and grow our hair. He was not happy, and, actually, only agreed because he was certain that once hair got over our ears we’d see how right he was, and come pleading to be cropped back to ‘normality’ – and not be ‘weirdos’. My bro did submit to hair trimming by my mother (she wasn’t very good at it though), but not me… I didn’t see the inside of a barber shop again until I was 40 years old. No joking… 🤣

The Old Man was horrified... This was the start of fundamental differences of opinion on social, cultural and philosophical outlook (LOL! ;) ) between myself: already swaying towards the Hippie school of thought; and the old fellow: very much entrenched in the Alf Garnet (Archie Bunker) philosophical tradition…

By the time I started secondary school my hair was about jawline level – and still growing. To add to my Old Man’s chagrin, my mum had taken me around the shops to buy me clothes for school. I had a black school blazer, with a badge on the breast pocket, a grey shirt (in horrific Bri-Nylon fabric!), and a school tie. But the trousers and footwear were my choice…

I chose dark blue flared trousers, which were speckled with tiny pale blue spots; and my dream footwear - known as ‘Chelsea Boots’: stylish black ankle boots, with a thin sole, a low heel. and which zipped up at the sides…

The Old Man was horrified… Folks like him, especially from his generation, are very concrete in their thinking, and do not really register change – it’s something that happens to the world around them, but not to them, and those who go with it they consider ‘weirdos’ etc. One particular term for anyone outside of the socially and culturally conservative comfort zone, which was a term all-encompassing and oft times repeated, was ‘kinky’. LOL! ‘Kinky’, to folks like my old man, was a catch-all term for anything weird, degenerate and socially subversive.

Now, stylish ankle boots on a guy were things that my Old Man considered ‘kinky’ anyway, but as the term ‘Kinky Boots’ was a common description for fashionable boot-wear at that time, well – that was IT! I had wilfully joined the ranks of the ‘kinky’: kinky boots; kinky trousers and kinky hair – I was the preening Archduke of Kinky, as far as he was concerned… ;)

But I didn’t care a hoot – and, thanks to my dear old mum I wasn’t going to secondary school in 1970 looking like the kid who delivers Hovis loaves in a well-known British T.V commercial set in the 1930s…

SECONDARY SCHOOL BEGINS – JACK BRUCE’S HONOUR..!

During the summer holidays the future secondary school new arrivals were coached by older brothers and sisters on what to expect by way of first day at secondary school traditional initiation rituals. These involved being grabbed by gangs of older pupils, carried bodily to the toilets, and having your head stuck down a toilet pan, which was the flushed… Charming – such jolly japes… :/

The closer to the day itself, the more lurid the tales became: the toilet pans were full of excrement; they were left unflushed since the end of the last term – in preparation for the newbies; it was possible to drown during a ‘dunking’… blah, blah… We awaited our fate with trepidation…

And so, that first day arrived… Throughout the day’s break-times First Years were chased, caught and dunked. I got my share too… But the horror stories were all bunkum: the toilets were, at least, in pristine shape. It was lunchtime before I was finally grabbed, and, oddly, I was glad of it: I felt as though I’d have missed out on a rite of passage if I’d gone through the day eluding my pursuers… LOL!

This new school of mine had only recently, and reluctantly, acceded to the new education policy introduced by the Labour government of Harold Wilson, which did away with the selection process for Secondary Schools – a process where Primary School pupils had to pass muster to get to the better state schools, or be sent to a lower achievement Secondary. Now they had to accept any old riff-raff… and through the gates I strolled… ;)

It still hung on to standards that were very grand – comparable to private schools: all subjects were taught to the highest, traditional standards (including Religious Education – my one year at this school was my only formal R.E learning experience at school!); teachers would wear the traditional black academic gowns; and, what was a big give-away in British schools that fancied themselves aloof: rugby was preferred to football in P.E lessons. Also, in years 1 and 2, boys and girls were taught in separate classes.

The school had a famous son too… But not in politics, sport, education or Classical culture; woah no… Its famous son rose to high acclaim in the ranks of vulgar, popular modern culture: Jack Bruce, bassist in Cream… (I must assume the disappointment of the grandees and ‘Old Boys’… LOL!)

But the legend of Jack Bruce was writ large among the senior pupils, and they cooked up their own tribute: any declaration of honesty and fidelity among them was made in their corruption of the Boy Scout pledge ‘Scout’s honour’ – they’d raise a ‘V’ Peace salute and say: ‘Jack Bruce’s honour’… Love it…

Once my hair had dried from my ritual dunking, I settled into a good time in that school. Some of my pals were in the same class as me, so that was good; I quickly established myself in the class football team – that was pleasing, with so many new kids to compete against for a place; and the education and teaching standard was very good, so I began to do pretty well in some lessons. O.K, my Maths never improved at all; French, to me, was – well, a foreign language (LOL!); and I was awful at the ‘industrial’ subjects - Woodwork and Technical Drawing - and these failings earned me a few whacks on the hand from the leather strap that was still in use by teachers at that time for discipline (and in Scottish schools, ‘discipline’ meant a whacking even for not adequately learning things that you were simply no good at!), but that was just me – and that was just the system. But all in all, I was happy and did O.K there…

MY KIDS-EYE VIEW OF EVENTS IN THE WORLD AT LARGE…

In June 1970 there was a General Election in the UK. The Labour Party had been in power since 1964, but a weakening Pound and the popularity of the charismatic new Tory leader, Edward Heath made a Tory victory look likely, and that’s how it turned out. I had no idea what it all meant – Labour? Tory? Just old guys running the country – so what..? At breakfast before going to school, I could see my mum was unhappy as she listened to the radio talking about the Tory victory. In my childish way I wondered about how bad this might be. I related it only to my worst fears as a kid, and asked her: ‘Does this mean I’ll have to go to school on weekends too..?’

She sighed, and gazing vacantly replied: ‘It’s more likely to mean that you’ll get no school at all, maybe…’

It was my first political insight; the first time I’d ever been made to think about how things are run, how society was organised and structured. ‘No school?’, I thought. ‘How could that be? There has been always school…’ But the look and the tone of voice of my mum told me that she remembered a day when schooling was not so freely available to everyone; that it was something to value – and something to defend and cherish. The society that I was growing up in was different to the one she’d grown up in. The level of freedom and equality my generation had at that time (such as it was) was not simply then natural way of things; and it was not freely granted – it had to be won.

The situation in Northern Ireland, the Republican / Roman Catholic community’s campaign for equality and civil rights, which had begun with peaceful demonstrations in 1968, but, met with Loyalist / Protestant opposition, soon descended into more and more violence, by 1970 had become another attempt by the Irish Republican Army (IRA) terrorist group to achieve Irish reunification, and a long conflict of terror and politics, involving the IRA on one side, and various Loyalist terrorist groups on the other; while the British Army in between as a peace keeping force, and politicians in the province of Ulster, in Dublin and in Westminster wrangled, debated and manoeuvred, had begun…

In October 1969 the section of the Royal Ulster Constabulary known as The Ulater Special Constabulary, aka The ‘B Specials’, which was especially despised by the Republican community, as it was almost entirely (or entirely?) Protestant, and used strong-arm tactics to suppress Republican protest and dissent, was ordered to be disbanded, at the behest of the British government. In 1970 the Ulster Defence Regiment was formed as a new infantry regiment in the British Army.

Glasgow is a city where the majority of people have Irish ancestry, and the ‘Irish Troubles’ impacted greatly on that city. Notoriously, the conflict is played out on the football field, between Glasgow Rangers (the British Establishment, Protestant club), and Glasgow Celtic (the Irish Republican, Roma Catholic club). This derby match is known worldwide as the most intense atmosphere in world football – sadly, for reasons that have nothing to do with football… :/

My family were traditional Rangers supporters, and my non-religious, but all the same socially conservative Old Man brought us up fully immersed in this sense of US and THEM, so the developments in Ulster caught my attention. As a kid, though, I was torn between learned tribal prejudices and, even at that age, an inner awareness of how wrong and how utterly foolish all that was. That inner awareness would develop, and the learned attitude fade away as I grew older…

But as a kid, and a football fan, the big event for me was the World Cup Finals, in Mexico. All those who watched that tournament witnessed the football te4am that is widely acknowledged as being the greatest team ever: Brazil, 1970; and the player widely acknowledged as the greatest player ever: Pele. Brazil beat an excellent Italian team 4 -1 in a breath-taking final.

So, there we have it – my 1970: the year I quit primary school and joined the big kids at secondary school; the year that I took my first steps in getting into music in my own right; the year of football greatness; the year when my personal questioning of bigotry and its tribal, learned roots was again piqued; the year that politics and the process of achieving, and caring about, social change and fairness chimed with me for the first time… It was the start of the 1970s – and a pivotal year in my life. It was a good year… 

(M).

Textual content and original artwork: ©Copyright: MLM Arts 20. 11. 2016. Edited and re-posted: 30. 11. 2018. Edited and re-posted: 14. 10. 2019

1971; an Average British Kid Stuck In The Middle Of It All...

INTRODUCTION

1971 was a very important year in my life. I learned a lot - and it was a year of significant changes... 🤔

The most important thing I learned, happened on the 2nd. of January... But such is its poignancy, I must save it for the end of this article...

1971 was the year that I finished my first year in Secondary (High) School... And the year that I became a teenager... And the year that Glam Rock was invented... And the year I first got into music in my own right, and bought my first records... And was the year that my family moved from Glasgow to the concrete sprawl of what was then called a New Town, some 10 miles or so outside Glasgow....

Phew... There's a lot to tell - please read on... ☺️

THE END OF FIRST YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL

In the early months of 1971 daily life just ticked along... But Springtime brought study for my end of First Year exams - and Summer brought the actual exams.

I got my final assessment for the school year just before break-up, and I'd done exceptionally well: I was allocated to second top level classes for my Second Year in high school.

I'd been desperate to do well - so as to avoid the stigma of the dreaded 'repeat year': back then, if a pupil really flunked a year at high school, they were made to repeat it, rather than move on to the next year. Ya might as well have had a sign saying: 'VILLAGE IDIOT' hung around you, to wear all that year at school. 😏

THE MARCH OF THE ADOLESCENT HORMONES ARMY... 😳

Another major thing that was 'happening' was hormones... My hormones - and, it seemed, the hormones of everyone I knew as buddy's and / or classmates... Love was in the air... Or, more accurately - hormones were in the air: not so much 'in the air' as riotously scooting around internally... 😵 😳 😂

Girls that had previously just been part of my neighbourhood crowd - whom we played hide and seek and other guys and girls games with (never football (soccer) - that was guys ONLY..! 😒 ), suddenly became strangely interesting... And I (and the other guys) became similarly interesting to them... 😍

We were all becoming infatuated all over the place. My best buddy's sister - a year older than me - suddenly became a creature of wonder and attraction to me... I took time to think on this - it was all too much.... 🤔

Then I noticed that she took to watching me play soccer with the guys in the local park: eerily, fixedlly staring; following my every move - never so much as blinking, it seemed... 😳

That was a bad move for her in the psychology of woo and win: because I knew then what the poor girl was smitten; I was in the driving seat and I knew I didn't have to be the one getting all doe-eyed and love angst... I could play it cool... But the cold reality was that it meant I could wuss out of making any moves - and so I did... 🙄

It was all too much; to 'grown-up' for me - I wussed out - every time. I wussed to Olympic standard... 🙄 😂 😌

When school ended, and my time in the neighbourhood grew short, as my family would soon be moving to that 'New Town' that I mentioned, I was called to the telephone at home - and to my shock, some girl I'd been at primary school with, but had never taken any notice of, was on the other end, and started crooning: 'I loooove you..!' down the phone at me... 🙄

I panicked and hung up... 😵

Wussed out again... I felt bad about that one - it must have taken the lass time to pluck up that courage - and she must have felt so bad when I hung up... 😢

But I got my Karma pay-back after we moved out to that New Town early on in the Summer holidays... 😦

LEAVING OLD GLASGOW TOWN FOR NEW TOWN 'UTOPIA'... :/

These towns began to spring up all over the UK in the mid-1950s, as a solution to the post-WWII housing shortage. By 1971 they were still only about half built, and their expansion was on-going...

Genesis fans will be familiar with the line from the song 'Get 'Em Out By Friday' (1972): 'Here we are in Harlow New Town...' Harlow is in Essex - not far from London.

Well, my family were similarly 'got out by Friday' in 1971, when the Glasgow City Corporation issued a compulsory purchase of all the buildings on our side of our street; we were decanted from Glasgow to a Council owned house (not an apparent) in Cumbernauld New Town; the architecture in these all New Towns is very similar: grey, concrete, bland little boxes - with attempts to add some charm to the scene by the inclusion of some little neighbourhood shrubberies to break up the monotony... But the little rows of terrace boxes had the added charm if a small back garden: for many families (including mine) the first experience of having a garden. I must admit, it did feel like something special. 🤗

Our part of this town had been built about a year earlier - and, in fact, was still being built: there were open fields all around, and a deserted old farm house (the farmer had been bought-out, so that the land could be built on), and building sites where new houses were going up. This kind of environment is great for kids - an adventure playground. 😀

EARLY 1970s TEENAGE MUSIC AND FASHION 'SENSE'...

My parents were flush with cash too - after getting money for our old apartment, and not have to pay for this new house - which was a Council owned, rented property. My mum took me and my two brothers into Glasgow to choose new clothes - whatever we wanted... The results of my choices horrified my socially conservative Old Man...😠

Glam Rock was IN... Bright colours for guys was IN... I pick myself out a pair of pink corduroy flared jeans; s pink and white patterned shirt; and a - trendy at the time - navy blue, naval style reefer jacket... To my Old Man's eyes, what with theses clothes and my near shoulder length hair, I might as well have returned from the shops as a drag queen... 😂

It was T. Rex's invention of Glam Rock in 1971 - the New Wave music for my age group in the UK - that got me into music in my own right - and into a record shop to by my first single: 'Co-Co' by Sweet - more singles followed.

THE FULL-ON CHARGE OF THE TEENAGE HORMONES ARMY... 😵

The big single of the summer was 'Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep', by Middle of the Road. I didn't buy it - but it was a phenomenon that played hell with my newly assembling legions of hormones: blonde, attractive singer Sally Carr was on the singles show Top of the Pops every week - in hot pants and thigh boots... Every appearance caused my insubordinate hormone battalions to sound the bugle and charge... 😵; I was not in control of this force - they were an undisciplined rabble! - a rabble, I tell you..! 😒

During the summer my older sister returned home for a visit from abroad...

I'd inherited her old mono record player when she's left home - and her Motown singles and cheapo 'Top of the Pops' albums: these were albums of covers of chart singles made by jobbing session musicians. On her visits home she'd buy the latest edition of those albums to listen to - and leave them for me as a gift.

These albums always had racy album sleeves: models in bikinis, that sort of thing. But this one pushed the limit of all out hormonal rebellion for me. 😳 It featured a model in a see-through, psychedelic chiffon top - and revealed... a nipple... 😱 A right nipple... Just the right one, mind - but I assumed that the left one would be very much the same, and in my mind conjured a picture of the lady that revealed her full complement of nipples. 😜

Clearly, my hormone Joint Chiefs of Staff had staged a coup - and taken over control of me... 😨

This hormone thing was challenging. It just crept up on me and - POW..! without warning... 😓

Then there was my new school... I started flunking English because I was infatuated with a girl who sat in the opposite side of the class, and I spent the whole of lessons staring at her, wistfully... 😍

Just before Christmas, at the end of a lesson she walked straight towards where I sat... I became flustered - but thrilled: 'hold on to yourself, boy', I thought, 'she's finally noticed you..! Play in cool...'

But she went up to my buddy, who was sat next me, and asked HIM to her upcoming party... 😭

My hormones were routed... 😖

A few days later, a girl approached me after geography class and said that her friend 'fancied me' (as the saying was) - did I fancy her..?

"Eh..? Who..?" I asked - still hopeful that the girl if my dreams might have taken a shine to me.

Turns out it was the class nerdy boffin - immaculate school uniform and carried a brief case as her book bag; picture Velma, the nerdy girl from 'Scooby Doo'... 🙄

"No. No I don't..!" I flustered in reply. I'd hardly even noticed the girl; what was she fancying ME for...???!!!

Her messenger took the disappointment back to her - I felt awkward when I saw her sag at the news...

What was going on with this teenage / hormone nightmare...???!!! Whoever or whatever created people, really messed up the coordination process in the hormones / attraction department: everyone was getting infatuated with everyone else - but everyone was getting infatuated with the WRONG person..! 🤔

Teenage was going to be hard work in many ways... 😏

Christmas was a goody that year - with my parents still packed with cash - which was added to by my Old Man getting a well paid job as a trucker with a major oil company, around the same time that we moved to this New Town.

Me and my two brothers were promised brand new bikes each. That was made especially exciting as for about the last year gone by the 'must-have' craze for kids about my age in the UK was the Chopper bike: high handlebars, comfy saddle. But after a year of coveting these bad-boys, teenage image consciousness stomped on the idea.

As Christmas approached, the question: 'what ya getting for Christmas?' began to be asked by everyone at school. I couldn't wait to be asked - and to reply: 'A Chopper'... 😎

I asked a kid in class what he was getting. "A new bike", he replied.

"Oh, what kind?" I baited.

"A racer - of course", he answered - and then completed the demolition of my childhood dream - and completed my rite of passage from child to teenager - by adding: "My kid brother is getting a Chopper. Ha! Kid's bike! Useless gears; weigh a ton; slow; clumsy... What are you getting..?"

I was a bit crestfallen - but I knew he was right... There was no way I was going to answer him with: 'A Chopper': I might as well have said: 'A tricycle'... 😳

So from then on I decided on a sleek, drooped handlebars, 5 gear racer mean-machine... 😎

What we also got for Christmas - as a family - was a new TV. This was something else that was especially significant - as it was our first colour TV - AND - our first TV that picked up the third UK TV station: BBC 2. (only opened in 1967). At last! No more would I have to pretend at school that I had the wondrous BBC 2 - and that I had watched 'Alias Smith and Jones': screened on BBC 2, and the show used by those at school who had a BBC 2 TV to boast about having that status symbol... 😂

So, 1971 ended well - but it was the start of getting used to teenage angst and all the adjustment to a new phase in life that it entailed... 🤔

_____________________________________________

These, hopefully light-hearted, good humoured, recollections aside, I now return to the poignant event from the start of 1971..

A POIGNANT LESSON LEARNED FOR LIFE...

An tragic event happened at the very start of the year - on January 2nd - that had an important influence on informing my view of life and the world: The Ibrox Disaster - when 66 Glasgow Rangers football fans died, and many more were injured, when safety barriers on a stairway at the Copeland Road end of stadium collapsed, while supporters were leaving, at the end of the derby game against city arch-rivals, Glasgow Celtic... 😢

To understand the full import of this, and the deeply poignant effects of it, it's important to know that the Rangers v. Celtic football rivalry is notorious as the most vitriolic, bitter, hate fueled rivalry in world football. It's an extension of the British Loyalist / Protestant vs. Irish Republican / Roman Catholic / divide in Northern Ireland: Rangers have the support of British Loyalists; Celtic the Irish Republicans.

Supporters of both teams are raised being taught about the history of this rivalry - and encouraged to hate and have contempt for 'the other side'. I was too - but even as a small kid I always felt very uncomfortable with the idea - though I went through the motions.

The majority of people in Glasgow have ancestors, and / or current family connections in Northern and / or Southern Ireland; and large numbers of people from Ireland travel to be at this game.

Tribal conflict is played out on the football field - and in tribal songs and chanting from supporters: some of these songs in support of the paramilitary terror groups involved in the conflict in Northern Ireland: the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF), and later the Ulster Defence Association (UDA) for the Loyalists; the Irish Republican Army (IRA) for the Republicans.

At this game, the crowd was some 80,000 strong (the home side (Rangers in this case) having the majority, but still, I think the crowd was a percentage split of about 60 - 40(?)): and, as at every game between the two, the two sides were strictly, forcefully - and necessarily - kept apart by a huge police presence: including empty gaps with a line of police officers forming a cordon, at the two sides of the arena where the supporters were divided and close to each other).

I listened to the game on the radio, at home with my family; it ended 1 -1 - with Rangers equalising in the very last minute, so everyone was happy. In my family there was great celebration at the end of the game, because if that last minute goal... At that stage, we were unaware of the disaster that was happening at the stadium.

But when we switched on the TV for the football results and report of the game, the images shown were not of football, but of the tragedy that had occurred - and was being reported on the TV news to a stunned Britain - as the scenes of carnage, and the efforts to save lives, appeared on our black and white screens. 😦

Those images showed scenes of supporters of both Rangers and Celtic (and the coaches of both clubs) frantically, desperately working together to try to rescue trapped Rangers fans, and try to save lives. There were Celtic fans consoling and comforting shocked, perhaps bereaved, Rangers fans in the midst of a a scene of utter carnage...

It was clear that as soon as they'd heard the news on their transistor radios, many of the Celtic fans leaving the game had rushed from their end of the stadium, streaming towards the Rangers Copeland Road end - desperate to help...

I was confused by these scenes: this was contrary to everything I'd been taught to believe about Celtic fans...

This confusion quickly resolved into one of the most poignant and enlightening moments of my life; I learned then, and have never forgotten, that hatred, division and tribalism is learned, indoctrinated behaviour; that human beings instinctively, naturally, intuitively care about one another - and in times of danger, when life is at risk, all indoctrinated hatreds, bigotry and division is instantly forgotten - and humanity instantly takes over and dictates our conduct...

I keep that as my core belief about Humanity - even through the worst examples of human behaviour...

Textual content and original artwork in the graphic: ©Copyright MLM Arts 14. 04. 2018. Edited and re-posted: 26. 03. 2019. Edited nd re-posted: 01. 11. 2023

1972: An Average British Kid Stuck In The Middle If It All...

SCHOOL

Such a confused and confusing time, being 13 / 14; ending second year at high school and going into third year...

School confusion and odd tales make up a chunk of this. I don't think I ever really 'got' school, if I'm being honest... 😳 I mean, it wasn't all bad, by any means - I loved English and History lessons - and football in PE was just football - great fun - but the overall concept of school didn't seem to be quite straightforward... 🤔

Think about it: a bunch of assorted adolescents, of various shapes and sizes; various temperaments and sensitivities; and of course, the angst inducing, emotional rollercoaster that was l the mix of males and females... 😳

(Though, looking back, we can happily say that the range of options was strictly confined to those two - male or female - and there was no option to 'take yours back to the shop and ask to change it' - like it was some 'try before you decide' optional. No, no - these issues were purely a matter of old-fashioned, home-cookin', no fuss biology back in the day. We were just simple folk back then, I guess... 🙄)

MY HIGH SCHOOL YEARS WERE NEW START AFTER NEW START... 🙄

My second year had been at a new school, so I I'd had to make friends all over again, in a class where friendships were already established. That set back my academic progress, but I managed it... Then, because of the set backs, my grades flunked somewhat, and for the important third and fourth years I was demoted from second top classes to bang average middle...

That meant having to make new friends all over again... 🙄 This whole schooling hoo-ha was challenging... 😳

THE JUNGLE THAT WAS STATE SCHOOL EDUCATION

The state school high school system, for us kids, was not at all purely about formal education. It was a jungle; it was about survival; it was about educating yourself 'on the hoof' in the arts of getting through it all... 😳

I was a short kid throughout high school. At this stage, maybe about 5'.0". I wasn't one of the little thug kids - but the trick was to not be one of their prime target victims either... 🤔 That required developing my skill set... I was funny - great wise-cracker - I made them laugh. And, even by second year - thitd year, I was easily thev longest long-hair guy in school - that gave me a certai8n rebellious cudos. At football (soccer), I was a tough tackling, good little football player: that's high respect right there. After all these things that were plusses, it was all about using wits and keeping out of the way as far as possible...

Then it was dealing with the rest of it: the actual education in classes... And the challenging hormones...

The classes were a case of dealing with them on an individual basis: depending on how interested I was in the subjects - and the composition of the class - meaning, what and who else I had to be ware of...

The hormones thing was kept in check by having the girl of my dreams in second year, whom I adored from afar (the other side of the class) fancy my good buddy and not me... And then having the class nerdy girl fancy me - and me having to disappoint her... 🙄 I decided it was all too much; all too 'grown up'... I'd undoubtedly be infatuated again - but I'd be content with 'from afar'... 😏

CLASSES: SECOND YEAR...

But as to the lessons... Weird...

Strangely, music class was the weirdest for several reasons. I'll explain: during second year we got a female student teacher who just wasn't at all 'teachery'. She was a look-a-like for Brit Ekland for a start - and she wore miniskirts. 😮 She was funny; and she started classes by going outside of the (frankly ridiculous - more in that later) syllabus and playing a chart tune on the piano. 🤩
Moreover, even her name was a name that resembled an exclamation that a building site worker might use towards a particularly attractive young lady... 🙄 I won't say her name, but substitute Miss McWow-zaa...! instead... 😏

Well, so far, so weird (in a good way)... But there's more... You see Miss McWow-zaa followed the Music Dept. disciplinary code: when all class singing (of those ridiculous syllabus songs) was demanded - embarrassed muted or mumbling pupils would be punished... 😳
We'd all be told to stand - lyric books in hand - and sing the ridiculous songs on the syllabus (I explain what I mean by ridiculous later), to piano accompaniment.

I couldn't. I just couldn't. I was embarrassed; I muttered, but that was it; others were the same.

Finally we were noticed - and called to the front of the class for prescribed music lesson punishment: four of us had to sing solo, one by one... 😔 The first three bravely tried to howl like cats with their tail caught in a shredder... 😑

That sufficed - they made a sound.

But I just clammed up - not from defiance, but from embarrassment. 🥴 That meant the ultimate sanction from the Scottish education system - administered by Miss McWow-zaa!: whacking on the outstretched hand with a leather strap... 😳
Whack..! It was lame... But I SO didn't want to disappoint the beautiful Miss McWow-zaa!, so I went into a theatrical:

'Ouch! Ouch! Oh-ya...!'

The class sniggered. Miss was furious - thinking I was mocking her. 'Again!' she barked.

Whack...!

'Ouch! Ouch! Oh-ya...!'

'AGAIN...!'

Same response from me - but as the class was a tremble of stifled sniggering, I played to the gallery, by adding: 'Mercy! Mercy!'
Steam was coming out of Miss McWow-zaa!'s ears.

'AGAIN...!!!'

Whack...!!!

I was in full on amateur Olivier mode now. 'Ooowww-yaaaa...! No more - I beseech thee...!'

'AGAIN...!!!'

WHACK...!

My hands are flapping wildly. 'Ouch! Ooo-yaaa!'

The class is howling. The end of class bell rang - and she had to let me go... 🤪

It was this kind of thing that earned me lee-way with the thug kids; I was agreeably rebellious and amusing... 🤪

Looking back, it really is very, very bizarre - and even a little disturbing - to think about... I mean, there are wealthy politicians, businessmen, and celebs who'd go to seedy places and pay serious money to have a mini-skirted Britt Ekland look-a-like give them a damn good thrashing with a belt... But back in the day in the Scottish education system, it was all included in the service... 😳

SUMMER BREAK

Leisure times... Playing football; rambling in forest and fields; playing football... And taking an avid interest in the new Beatles vs. Stones rivalry for UK teens: Glam Rock's T.Rex vs. Slade... 🤩
I was a T.Rex loyalist - but Slade were edging ahead. The album 'Slayed?' was racking up some kind of record in pre-release orders.

The guys were dumping the pouting, preening effeminacy of Marc Bolan for the laddish joking and Glam Rock mockery of Slade. By the time I returned to school for third year, to be a bloke and a T.Rex fan was something akin to being Liberace at a coal miners convention... 😳

That was going to be something else to deal with... But before that, I bought my first album: 'Ride A White Swan' - a cheapo label compilation of Bolan songs from when T.Rex was the highly respected Folk Rock duo Tyrannosaurus Rex. 🙂

CH-CH-CH-CHANGES - HAPPEN A LOT AT THAT AGE AND THAT ERA OF MUSICAL CREATIVITY...

So - third year. I'm dumped out of the studious, smarty classes - in among a whole new crowd: the bang averages: interested in the subjects that appeal - couldn't give a monkeys about the rest... 🙄 Oh, and the percentage of thug kids is higher. 😳

In history, I make friends with a few guys that are of my ilk: like a game of football; interested in history; not prime targets for the thugs - and there are a couple of dweebie guys for the three or four thugs to pick on... 🙄

A big thing was our music rivalry: I was T.Rex and so was another guy (though he kept it quiet from the thugs); one guy was Slade; and a fourth was breaking into the sophisticated, album sounds already... 🤔

My football qualities and humour continued to serve me well in keeping the thugs at bay - even though I made no secret of being a T.Rex fan. . 🤩

CLASSES: THIRD YEAR...

Music again was weird... But for different reasons. Miss McWow-zaa! had left. We had a new teacher - good guy - very into traditional Scottish Folk music. Fair enough... But he also had to teach us that aforementioned ridiculous stuff...

Ridiculous? How? Well, as gruff, working class Glasgow kids we were compelled to chorus out what were called at the time 'Negro Spirituals and Plantation Songs' ... What the actual... Ect...? 😳
'Oh, 'Dem' Golden Slippers' - ''De' Camptown Races' (Doo-dah, Doo dah)... 🥴 But it was 'Massa's In De Col' Col' Ground' that jolted me out of cringing and made me speak up - asking:

'Why the heck would people kept in slavery sing sad songs about the git that did that to them...?!'

The teacher fumbled for an answer, but fair play to him, he came up with something. He said that slaves had to keep on the right side of their owners - and also, they were afraid that the next 'Massa' would be worse than the one who'd died. 🤔
It was a good and thought provoking answer. It gave me something to think about regarding slavery and slave - owner dynamics... 🤔 Music gave me a history lesson... 🤔

But as for the quality or use of our music lessons...? Ridiculous... 😕

RELIGIOUS EDUCATION GAVE ME MY MUSICAL TASTES... 😮

The British education curriculum is based on the model in Plato's Republic - which lists the essential elements needed for preparation for adult life. The study of philosophy, spirituality and metaphysics is part of that: not teaching to BE religious; but teaching what religion is all about.

My school disregarded it altogether. We should have had two lessons per week, but there was no RE teacher, so we just got any old teacher - who'd sit marking work while we were allowed to listen to albums that we'd brought in.

It was in RE lessons that I first got into Genesis - though ironically, the band, not book in the Bible... 😏 I heard various sophisticated album sounds in RE class; from this my tastes in music began to slowly develop away from Glam Rock and towards album music... 😎

ENGLISH CLASS

English was a favourite subject of mine, but all this chopping and changing caused my grades to flunk there too. The problem was increased by two factors:

1. Finding my latest 'adore from afar' gal - who sat on the opposite side of the class... Most distracting... 🥴

2. Striking up what turned out to be a comedy double act with the chubby, middle-aged teacher, Mr. A. We clicked as an impromptu comic duo. He'd feed me questions made for comic responses - sometimes cheeky - he'd wise crack back - or sometimes order me to the front and give me a whack with the belt (just as show, to make the other kids see that I wasn't getting away with my cheek. 🙂)

(A sub-factor here, was that a gal at the back of the class adored ME from afar, but I didn't adore HER - so I had to disappoint her; consequently, any time I cheeked Mr. A she was quick to chime:

'Belt him, Sir! Belt him...!')

Close to Halloween, Mr. A told the class that he'd be out that lesson and we'd have another teacher to supervise - as some primary school kids were visiting to check out high school. He joked that he'd wear a hideous Halloween mask to scare them. I couldn't resist it:

'With that face? You don't need no mask...' The class roared with laughter.

'Out here you..!' Whack... 🙄 But only lightly and I fun.

And he got his revenge towards Christmas. The Osmond fan girls in class were all cooing and mumsie over Little Jimmy Osmond in the charts with 'Long Haired Lover From Liverpool'. Mr. A pointed at me and asked:

'M - can you sing? You could make me a fortune as your manager.

I was flustered. 'No. No. Not at all...'

He frowned; looked me up and down, and droned:

'Nah... You're no long haired lover from Liverpool... More an ape-faced eejit from Aberhill...' [my part of town] 😅

FOOTBALL (SOCCER)

In May 24th. 1972, my team, Glasgow Rangers, played the final of Europe's second top trophy: The European Cup Winners Cup. It was the third time that they'd reached the final in a decade - and this time, they WON it...! 🤩 They beat Moscow Dynamo 3 -2. It's a very happy memory for me... 🙂

CHRISTMAS

This was the Christmas that I achieved the teen rite if passage that was getting my first brand new record player (as opposed to the old shabby one that I'd inherited from older siblings). 🤩 There's a picture of the model in the collage that goes with this article. It was plastic - mono - and to my eyes and ears, a thing of beauty. 🥰 I'd bought the T.Rex single 'Solid Gold Easy Action' earlier in December, but I waited until Christmas Day to play it in my new record player. 😎

ON THE HEAVY SIDE... 😔

NORTHERN IRELAND

In youth, depending on where you live some events in the world, no matter how big, are background noise, and others hit home... 😔 Being from the West of Scotland, events in Northern Ireland were considered backyard news - for reasons described in previous articles; basically, most people in Glasgow had Irish ancestry - from either the Roman Catholic or the Protestant side. Glasgow was pretty much a 50-50 split.

1972 was the most horrendous year to date in the most recent inflict in Northern Ireland. January saw the massacre of Republican protestors by British troops on 'Bloody Sunday' - and later in the year the reprisal by the two conflicting factions of the Irish Republic Army: first, the mass bombing of Belfast by The Provisional IRA on 'Bloody Friday'; then the bombing of the British Army barracks in Aldershot, England, by The Official IRA - which killed 6 civilians and a Roman Catholic army padre... 😢

These events cranked up emotions at street level in my community. Let's be honest about these feelings - especially at that age: it's an inner struggle between knowing that these things are horrifically wrong - and age old tribalism - and the reporting of these events, that we are all brought up with - all of which influences and skews our perception and reaction... 😔

It's only by realising that our divisions, of all kinds, are learned, and by trying to see past that, that we can truly evaluate events as clearly objectively wrong. That process has to be voluntary. I've tried to pursue that course in life. 🤔

THE MUNICH OLYMPICS

We should be talking only about the achievements of athletes; especially the magnificent record breaking 7 gold medals winning U.S swimmer, Mark Spitz... And And at school we did...

We should not be remembering an Olympic Games for horrific violence and tragedy... But we must, for the Munich Olympic Games: which saw the killing of 11 Israeli team members, a West German police officer, and three terrorists, during a terrorist operation by Palestinian terrorist group, Black September... 😔

The above described acts of violence and terrorism - the worst the world had seen in modern times, tragically, were not a check on where the world was heading in the 1970s - they were only the start of a decade of horrendous violence around the world... 😔
The 1970s would be a turbulent decade...

ASIANS EXPELLED FROM UGANDA

In 1972 the Ugandan dictator Idi Amin expelled Asians from Uganda. The UK took many of the refugees, and my school - and year group - got a new pupil from there. He was a great bloke - friendly, chatty, smart guy - good football player. We were fascinated by his stories of life in an African country - so different from our oswn, but also so similar in many ways... He was just one of the guys to us...

(I found the Images used in the collage for this article online (except the central cartoon image - that's my own work); my acknowledgement and thanks to whoever posted them / owns them (identity unknown to me) 🙂). (M).

Textual content (and original artwork): © Copyright MLM Arts 08. 08. 2023

1973: AN AVERAGE BRITISH KID STUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF IT ALL...

I start 1973 at 14 years old and I turn 15 in the summer. Third Year at high school moves into Fourth Year (10th. Grade to 11th. Grade). So as with the previous couple of adolescence years, school life dynamics dominate my recollections...

HIGH SCHOOL: LEARNING WAS SECONDARY; GETTING BY AND DEALING WITH THIS HOSTILE ENVIRONMENT WAS THE MAIN CONCERN... 😳

When you think about it, what is schooling and education all about? Cynically, for a start it's just programming kids to fit into the socio-economic system of the particular society that they're born into; to fill the spaces of the retiring or dying previous generations... To be, as Pink Floyd put it in1979, '... another brick in the wall...' Cynical, but realistically true... 😳

Schooling and the education system is not designed to bring out the best in individuals; it's designed to sift the next generation into their place in the particular society in which they are being educated: from low paid labourers; to tradesmen (and back in the day, carpenters, mechanics, engineers, electricians and do on, were trades for men only); to middle management, or civil service positions... At my - bang-average - strata of high school schooling, no one was expected to get any further on than that... 🙄 The highest level students could aspire to the highest levels.

And so what did we have here? - hundreds of disparate, insecure, moody, competitive adolescents - of all personalities, temperaments, and shapes and sizes - forced together by law, to mix and mingle; compete, and form friendships... just to survive this 'human menagerie' (to use the term from the title of the Cockney Rebel debut album (1973))... 🙄

It was all about using your wits and your maximising skills. I was a a funny guy - I goofed around, wise cracked, and made 'em laugh. I was also a tough tackling, good little football player - and that alone was guaranteed respect from the thuggish element. 😏

And - I was smart enough to keep under their radar; play dumb; not attract reasons to provoke their ire... 😳

HARD TIMES... 😳

My old man had lost his job around this time, and times were tough. My family, like many others, were so used to hand-me-down clothes from older siblings that it was surprising not to have classmates showing up to school in doublet and hose... 😏 But by now I didn't even have 'new' hand-me-downs: I was still wearing last year's, now very threadbare, hand-me-downs...

I used this to my advantage; because with my outrageously long hair (about halfway down my back), my goofing around, and my cheeky smile, and my threadbare appearance, I was seen as the class clown - harmless entertainment - a protected species among the thuggish element, some of whom I hung around with... 😏

The comedy repartee I had with my English teacher also helped. It made me seem rebellious and anti-Establishment.

I mentioned in my recollections of 1972 that it was in my English class that I was distracted by my latest adolescent infatuation - who sat at the opposite side of the class to me, and whom I spent much if my time gazing at wistfully... 😌

One of the other gals told me that the gal liked me too, but was just as shy and retiring as I was about it... 😳

(Man, oh man, this is where my discovery at this time of the George Harrison album 'Living In The Material World', and the Cat Stevens album 'Teaser And The Firecat' came to my adolescent rescue... Some of the songs on these albums at least enabled me to understand this emotional angst; as I'll mention later...)

Well, my teacher, Mr. A, must have noticed all this adolescent anxiety, because I think he tried to arrange an end of 3rd. Year solution...

In the course of the last few classes, Mr A organised a class quiz - knock-out rounds leading up to the last lesson and the final... To my astonishment, I found myself in that final - the last four... And so did my dream gal... 🥰

Mr. A arranged four seats side by side at the front of the class, and told each of us where to sit. My dream was in the second last seat - and I was to sit beside her at the end... 😳 I was flustered. I panicked. I wussed out... I edged my seat a couple of feet away... 🙄

Mr. A was exasperated. He yelled:

'Oh f'gawd's sake you! Stand up!'

Then he moved the chair back, muttering:

'What's your problem, boy?! Moving the chair away... By the end of this quiz the two of you could be engaged to be married...!' (LOL...! 😅)

Anyway, I won the quiz. My dream gal gazed at me with a beaming smile, and applauded... For that moment I had adolescent angst relieved; for that fleeting few seconds the world melted away and consisted of just me being smiled at and admired by my dream gal...

But it backfired...

You see, at my school, or at least, my bang-average level at my school, being at all smart at anything was a sure way to attract the wrong kind of attention... 😳

It would result in shouts of:

'Swot...!' - a British school kid term for someone who studies hard and achieves good grades.

And (and here honest reporting of the situation on the ground back in the day will be wide open to modern day misinterpreting and outrage; maybe even a Facebook ban... 🙄 But Im only recording society as it was... 🙄):

'Poof...!' - the colloquial British equivalent of 'faggot' in North America... 😳

This needs some explanation...

'Poof' was still at that time the most damning affront to s chap's character; but it had become so over-used that it became a throwaway line, quick and easy to just cast at someone. And it was prompted by a very wide range of observations: anything that might be considered ostentatious:

Academic achievement*, certainly
Showy clothing
Prim, proper behavior... Etc... Etc...

My being (I think) the last guy T.Rex fan in the whole school (the lads had all gone over to Slade) in this peak year for Glam Rock - and owning the album 'Tanx' - also earned the slur 'poof', but the uniqueness of the situation, and the fact that I got along with some of the thug element, turned that into my being nicknamed 'Tanx'... 😏

(*The 'academic achievement' part of that could, in my school circles, even extend to, say, being able to read quietly without moving your lips... 🙄)

Achieving anything 'clever' would guarantee being hounded by these chants, but much worse: also... The Gauntlet.... 😮 Two lines of pupils facing each other to form a corridor; the victim would be forced to run down it, being kicked ay punched the whole way... Then back again... 😳

My winning the class quiz blew my cover as an apparently harmless, scruffy, long-hair, hippie dimwit. It was enough to earn me The Gauntlet - if I didn't move fast... 😳

At the end of class, which was as soon as the applause for my win ended, I saw 'Gauntlet intent' in the eyes of the thugs, who stared at me and made violent kicking motions with their feet. There was just one more lesson until the end of the day, and three more days until the end of the school year, I had to flee the thug element at the end of the lesson - abandoning my dream gal... 😢 At the end of the day I got out of school fast - and home free... And I took the next three days off... 🙄

I escaped The Gauntlet - but it cost me the chance to capitalise on my romantic moment and maybe - maybe - get friendly with my dream gal... 😕

During the summer break, the ridiculous notion that whacky Tanx might be smarter than believed was wiped from the psyche of the thug element... But so was my 'moment' in the sun and the chance to capitalise on it... 😔

MUSICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL TRANSFORMATION...

It was during this summer break that I gradually I drifted away from Glam Rock and into heavier, deeper sounds. I bought the Sabbath album 'Paranoid' second hand, from a guy I knew from school... But more significantly, on the back of me loving the George Harrison single 'Give Me Love', I got the album 'Living In The Material World' as a birthday present... It was nothing more or less than life changing... 😮

What can I say? It opened my mind to spiritual, philosophical, and religious matters - which I'd always had a natural fascination for, but being in a family environment, and an education that didn't bother about these things either way, I had no point of enquiry. And what was vital at that time too - it gave me a handle on emotional angst... 🤔

An older friend of mine was getting into Cat Stevens, and Jethro Tull at the time; these artists too supplied food for thought... So did 'Paranoid', now that I began to pay attention to the lyrics... 🤔 My musical taste was developing... And my music was supplying the important 'Big Questions' and emotional education that my formal education did not... 🤓

FOURTH YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL: TOO SERIOUS TO MESS AROUND...

The Scottish high school system back then was similar, but different, to the rest of the UK. I've described in earlier articles how in 3rd. Year we began the two year courses that would end in the first major qualifications: 'O' (Ordinary) Levels.

We were streamed into three groups:

Top: chose 9 O Levels: the students with university ambitions.

Middle: chose 5 O Levels: likely tradesmen / craftsmen; girls would be nurses, primary school teachers, secretaries. Or, boy or girl, maybe junior civil servants or bank tellers...

Bottom: forced to take the two compulsory O Levels: Arithmetic, and English. No expectations at all... 😳

I was middle. In 2nd. Year I'd been a candidate for top.

Other than those two compulsory O Levels, we had to take an industrial subject: Woodwork, Metalwork, or Engineering Drawing. I chose Metalwork; a Science: I chose Biology; and a Humanities: no question about it - History for me... 🤓

4th. Year was serious. We could, if we chose (and most did) leave school at the end of it. But before that we'd be taking exams that would be how we'd be judged in the employment market... 😳

I got lucky in a way.

In 4th. Year class composition was changed: a new mix of pupils; we also got different teachers from 3rd. Year. In History, there had been no thugs in my 3rd. Year class, and no romantic distractions. That remained the case in 4th. Year. I loved the subject. I sailed through.

In English, the only thugs were the ones I got along with, so I wasn't troubled. I scored big in English tests too - but my grades went under the radar; the thugs just happily assumed that I was wisecracking, whacky Tanx - a bit dim... 😏

And no romantic distractions in that class either...

But my outstanding aptitude in History nearly blew my cover good and proper... 😳

My teacher, Mr. N, was Head of Dept. For the December O Level practice exams (mocks, we called them), I racked up the highest score ever recorded in the school (98% or something). Mr. N was over the moon. I'd beaten anything that even top setters had ever achieved. He told me that he wanted to announce it in the next school assembly.

'No thank you, Sir. That's not necessary.' I said, trying to be calm and modest, but panicking on the inside. Such an announcement would mean a Gauntlet that I might not get out of alive...! 😱

I finally persuaded him that my modesty couldn't cope with the attention...

But the rumour mill was turning. One of thugs confronted me:

'Hey, Tanx - ya poof...' (He was agitated, so felt obliged to add 'ya poof') 'Did you get a record score in History...?!!'

I acted my way out of it: 'ME...?!! Hahahaha...! ME...?!! You know me, Grunter [not his name, but it suits my memory of him...😏] I can't even SPELL history... Hahahaha...!'

'Who did then?'

'Phooaa... I don't know. It's got to be one of the top set though, ain't it...?' I blustered.

'Who? The usuals? Poofy Perkins? Swotty Smith?...' Alliteration was popular when assigning this kind of nickname....

'Yeah, likely - or one of the others...' I agreed, and gave my most endearing smile and walked away... 🙂

Later, during lunch break (dinner break in Scotland), I watched from a corner as a group of thugs confronted Perkins...

'Hey, Poofy....!'

Perkins did his chances no good by not only being an immaculate school uniform - and carrying a briefcase - type, but also having a VERY snooty, superior attitude... 🙄

'It's SIR, to the likes of you, Grunter...'

Grunter wasn't fazed; he knew that he had brutality superiority over Perkins. He chuckled and replied:

'A'right. SIR Poofy... Now, did you get a record score in History...?'

'Obviosly I scored excellently well in Hiiii...' Perkins attempted to smugly smarm a reply... But before he could finish, he was grabbed, and up went the shout:

'GAUNTLET...! GAUNTLET...! We've got a record breaking SWOT...!'

Around 30 or so pupils of all ages assembled (not just thugs: this was considered 'fun' for all - so long as you weren't the victim... 🙄)

Perkins clutched his briefcase to his chest, protesting that he'd report everyone. No good... He was forced to start his run... 😳 Eeks! Aarghs! Ouches! - and so on and so forth...were heard going up and down this corridor of school kid savagery... 😮

I watched from my corner, sighing: 'There but for the grace of God...' Etc... 😔

And so the Christmas holidays ended the first half of 4th. Year... And Christmas came... 🌲

CHRISTMAS

That Christmas was a Glam Rock Christmas... 🤩 It was THE Glam Rock Christmas.... Glam Rock effectively peaked in 1973, but went out with a bang - with the two singles that are today the best known Christmas songs in the UK: Slade's 'Merry Xmas Everybody' at number 1; and Wizzard's 'I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday' in the top 5. 🤩

WHAT ELSE IN 1973...?

Football was significant for me. It was the Scottish Cup Centenary Final, and my team, Glasgow Rangers, played arch rivals - and 9 times in a row Scottish Champions - Glasgow Celtic. Rangers won a 3 - 2 thriller... 🙂

TV HISTORY CLASSIC

As a kid who was fascinated by history, the UK TV documentary series 'The World At War' was a delight to me... And to a great many people around the world. I rate it as the best documentary ever made. 🤓

HEAVY STUFF... 😔

At that age the news and current affairs still went a bit over my head - I can't pretend to have been all that interested...

But the events that impacted the most did register...

The UK Government trying to crudely hoodwink the population of Northern Ireland - both Roman Catholic /Republican and Protestant / Loyalist - by holding a referendum on whether to remain in the UK or reunite with the Irish Republic.... When the voting was clearly skewed in favour of the Loyalists.... The Republicans boycotted the whole scam excersise... 🙄

There was irony amongst the Euro-skeptics over this, as the UK was officially taken into the European Community (EC) trading block - without a referendum...

Both of the above only served to fuel.more disputes and discord in the future... 😔

But in a bright and optimistic note: the long running Vietnam War peace talks in Paris, France, had a very major breakthrough: the USA agreed to withdraw the last of its (already much reduced) military force from Vietnam; and a demilitarized buffer zone (similar to that dividing North and South Korea) was agreed...

This too was news that I could sit up and take notice of - it looked so positive... 🤗

Sadly, if course, it wasn't to be the end of The Vietnam War after all... 😔 But that's for future articles....

Well, it's oa long reminiscence this one - sorry folks...! - but that was my, personal, average British kid account of the year that we are currently reviewing: 1973... 🙂

(I found the images for this collage online. My acknowledgement and thanks to whoever posted them / owns them (identity unknown to me: except the D C Thompson Beano comic image (bottom right), which I cheekily adapted by changing the Dennis The Menace character's comment). The original artwork scribbles are my own... 🙄) (M).

Textual content © Copyright MLM Arts 07.11. 2023. Edited and re-posted: 08. 11. 2023

1974: AN AVERAGE UK YOUTH STUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF IT ALL...

1974 was a very significant year for me: school; music: social scene - this was a big year...

At the age was at - 15 going on 16 - politics and world events swirled around me, and in some ways impacted on my life - but these were not subjects that I was equipped to understand or trouble about at a significant level - and anyway, the above mentioned aspects of life were what occupied my time and considerations...

SCHOOL

1973 - 1974 was a big school year for people my age in the UK: it was the last compulsory year at school - and the year that we studied for our first significant qualifications in life: 'O' (Ordinary) Levels - with exams around May 1974.

There were three categories of students:

Top: took 9 'O' Levels

Middle: took 5 'O' Levels

Bottom: Couldn't even spell 'O' Levels... (Well, not exactly, but you get the idea: these were students who only wanted to leave school as quick as possible - they had no interest in being there. They were compelled to take two 'O' Levels: English and Arithmetic.)

I was in the bang average middle group. I was only ever interested in two subjects: English and History - but had to take three more: an industrial subject: I chose Metalwork; a Science: I chose Biology; and Arithmetic was compulsory.

January 1974 we took our practice (Mock) exams. I did great in the subjects that mattered: a B in English; and an A in History (I was my teacher / Head of History's top student. )

So January through to May was all about study and anxiety about passing our first major test within the education system: 'O'Levels...

BUT OUTSIDE OF SCHOOL - ANOTHER MAJOR RITE OF PASSAGE: MY FIRST GIG...

My musical tastes were in flux between 1973 and 1974. My early, teeny Glam Rock years (1971 - 1973) were fading as Glam Rock faded - and I became more musically mature... But my first gig was Glam Rock gig: on the sellout tour by Wizzard: February 1974.
It was scary and exciting; it broke down the mystique of what going to a gig was all about - and paved the way for becoming a regular gig goer: a necessity for our generation.

...AND ANOTHER SIGNIFICANT EVENT IN MY LIFE: WHO'S THE BIG GUY MOTOR MECHANIC AND GUITARIST...?

Weekends were mostly spent playing football - mostly at the well manicured grass fields of the town park. On Sunday a new guy was brought along by one of the guys. He was a couple of years older than us; tall bloke - over 6': already out of school and on an apprenticeship as a motor mechanic... And he played guitar: had white strat copy (not a Fender original) - in tribute to his hero, Richie Blackmore. Impressive credentials... But what's he like as a bloke...?

He cracked a friendly joke about my impressively long hair; we fell about. I cracked a friendly joke about his height. He fell about... We'd just gelled instantly. A friendship was begun... It was Big D...

...BUT BACK AT SCHOOL...

Exams. May 1974. Took them. Waited for the results in August. English - I got an A; History - I got an A... And Metalwork - a pass - a C... The other two - nah - but I didn't care... Even the Metalwork was a bonus...

(Strange though: but I now look back with satisfaction at getting that Metalwork O Level. It gives me a broader credibility - a connection to my social background. English and History are all very academic and all that - but Metalwork was hands-on; getting hands dirty; using tools and machinery; and able to do so basically, adequately well... A down to earth blokey cred thing... )

REWARDS FOR SUCCESS - AND MY MUSICAL DEVELOPMENT

My parents promised me an album for every O Level I passed. So I had three albums to buy. At this stage in my musical progression I was ready to take a leap into sophistication: the music that the aleady starting to shave, chin-stroking, thoughtful studenty guys - and their beads and Afghan coats, pachuli scented girlfriends were listening to...

Yes was the apex of studenty cool. I dipped my toe in with 'Close To The Edge'... Woah...! Too much too soon, for a guy who was still spliced between Glam Rock and Heavy Rock (I had the Sabbath album 'Paranoid') and George Harrison. This was WAY over my head. I took it back and swapped it for an album by the other favourite 'student cool' band: I got Led Zeppelin III...

It opened with the very accessible 'Immigrant Song' - it had other big riffing heavies on there to keep me interested... The other tracks took a long time to get into - but I did. I became a big Zeppelin fan.

For my other two albums, I played fairly safe: 'Sabbath Bloody Sabbath' and an album I'd heard at a friends place: Heep's 'Look At Yourself'.

DECISIONS - DECISIONS...

So - stick or twist: leave school - or stay for one more year... The guys I hung around with were staying at school... so I did.

It was a very strange year, that 5th. Year at high school. The school thugs and yobs (whom I managed to mostly either get along with or duck out of the way of) had left school.

Now, that left me as a kind of whacky, prankster personality who'd been associated with them - but not one of them - in a strange situation: my three school friends (I don't know any of them now) were quiet 'heads down' types; my joking around, and my extremely long hair and unconventional attire (I wore an army combat jacket - festooned with patches and badges, and carried my school stuff in an Army Surplus gasmask holder) made me a stick-out in what was otherwise a serious academic environment: mostly populate by university aspirants: 'matured early' guys and gals (some of the guys had started shaving already - woo...!); all in immaculate school uniforms and carrying their books and other school materials in briefcases; and many of them prefects...

I (just kinda naturally - as a matter of my natural personality) played up to this prankster, 'outsider' image... I became a school 'celebrity' - but not in a good way as far as the teachers were concerned...

Before Christmas, I'd already gotten the first of my three threats of expulsion: for organising a pass the ball game at the back row of a very special school assembly: the school had a a visiting grandee of some kind (Mayor, or something). Me and my buddies (and a few others, who just decided to go along with the prank) spaced ourselves at intervals along the back row of seats. had one of those solid rubber super-bouncy balls pinging alomg the row - kicked from one to another... But the inmevitabler happenend: the ball finally shot out the end of the row at speed - hit the wall - and went jigging it's merry way around the back of the assembly hall...

The teacher in charge of that section of the assembled students was red in the facer with fury. He looked along the line until he saw me, and then pointed and in a rasping whisper exclaimed:

'YOU...! I should have guessed it'd be YOU...!'

I was sent to the office of terrifying, Sgt. Major like, booming bass voiced Depuy Headteacher - Mr. St. Claire... I dunno why, but the formidable 'Saint' (as we called him) liked me - he found me and my pranks amusing; he let me off with a warning*.

At the end of December parents evening (notification of which never reached my parents: I made sure of that... ), my three amigos' parents were told to 'keep your boy away from that M...' They told me about it - and we laughed...

My grades flunked badly though: I went into History Higher Level as my teacher's prize student: thinking I only had to show up to pass... I didn't bother to even try...

In English Higher Level, I was in the second top class: but surrounded by the uniforms, briefcases, and prefects - and scorned by them...

I also took O Level Biology, Art, and Home Economics (cookery: an almost entirely girls subject) - only because my three buddies took them. Home Economics we took because there'd be girls there - and also because you got to make and later eat delicious food...

By Christmas, I was flunking badly. The mock exams loomed in January 1975 - and the actual certificate exams in May 1975...

How did that work out? That's for 1975...

(*From January to May 1975, I'd be back to see 'Saint' two more times, with the threat of expulsion his decision to make... But that too is for 1975.)

CHRISTMAS: I CONSOLODATE AS A LED ZEPPELIN FAN - AND BIG D GETS THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT OF HIS DREAMS...

Christmas for me was albums: Zeppelin I - II - IV -...

Since our introduction, I would be round at Big D's (still at his parents' place, of course) a lot. He'd been saving up for his dream guitar. - and his parents had agreed to pay the balance as his Christmas present. He told me to come around his place on boxing day - to be amazed.

I did - expecting a genuine white Fender Strat - but no: with awe, he presented a Jimmy Page style Gibson Les Paul sun-burst finish... 'It's the better guitar, M...', he told me - and went into technical detail that went right over my head...

The Year ended with me as a changed guy: kid to youth (still a vdery immature youth, mind you...); musical tastes advanced; a new great buddy... But I knew that I needed to do better in 1975 - at school.

A BIG YEAR FOR SPORT

Soccer featured big in my life. In the summer I witnessed history: my team, Glasgow Rangers, FINALLY stopped rivals Glasgow Celtic's run of championships (9 in a row), and got special permission to have the trophy awarded on the pitch at Ibrox Stadium, at the end of the final match. It was the first time that the Scottish League Championship trophy had been awarded in public. I was at the game to witness it.

The trophy has been awarded in this way ever since.

WEST GERMANY WIN THE FIFA WORLD CUP

Bayern Munich was my favourite European club. West Germany was my favourite international team (after Scotland). Franz Beckenbauer of Bayern Munich was - and remains - my favorite soccer player of all time. So, when West Germany, made up from a core of Bayern Munich players, and captained by Franz Beckenbauer, won The FIFA World Cup - it was a memorable event for me.

THE RUMBLE IN THE JUNGLE (FOREMAN vs. ALI)

Muhammad Ali had been a hero to me and to just about everyone in the UK since he became World Heavyweight Champion in 1964. His stance on US civil rights - and against the Vietnam War, which cost him his title in 1967, was understood and admired - even by small kids like me.

The reinstatement if his licence in 1970 surely meant a quick regaining of his title...? But he badly underestimated champion Joe Frazier - and paid the price... A loss to up and coming fighter, Ken Norton in 1973 surely meant he was no longer the Ali of the 1960s...?

Meanwhile, a giant - a juggernaut - if a young fighter called George Foreman was demolishing all in his path: he swatted Frazier and Norton aside...

1974 saw what everyone thought was an easy pay day for 23 year old World Heavyweight Champion George Foreman: a fight against 32 year old Muhammad Ali I Zaire: 'The Rumble The The Jungle'.
It was in that fight that Muhammad Ali truly earned his claim to be 'The Greatest': he out-boxed - out-fought - and out-thought the seemingly invincible Foreman - and regained the World Heavyweight Champion title.

A hero to humanity now became a living legend...

POLITICS - AS A TEENAGER, IT'S THERE - IT'S IMPACTING MY LIFE... BUT I CAN ONLY LOOK ON BEMUSED...

THE UK

The year began with the country on a three day working week - because the UK Conservative Government was slugging it out with the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM) and the Trade Union Council (TUC) over who dictates policy in the country: the elected government - or the trade unions...?

We had power cuts - whole neighborhoods plunged into darkness for hours in mid-winter... But to us kids it was fun: we'd tell ghost stories and prank around...

It all resulted in a shambolic year for UK politics. A 'Who Governs?' snap General Election in February - which resulted in a nightmare stalemate: The Labour Party taking control, but with no overall majority of seats in Parliament....

Then the inevitable second General Election in October: this time Labour squeaked by with a flimsy three seat majority... And the UK was set for 5 years of weak government - with the TUC taking advantage and flexing it's power - and anarchist groups springing up here and there...

Meanwhile, the Conservative Party regrouped and set a right wing agenda that would grow throughout the rest of the 1970s...

THE USA

The controversies that had circled the Richard Nixon presidency since President Nixon's landslide Presidential Election victory in 1972, finally brought about his resignation in August 1974.

He was replaced by Gerald Ford - the Vice President that had replaced Nixon's choice of VP - Spirio Agnew - who'd been forced to resign due to tax irregularities in 1973; thereby making President Ford the first U.S President that was not elected as either President or VP - and leading a damaged and corruption riven Republican Party...

The USA too, was in for a time of weak government..

As youth, aware of these events, but outside of them, it's frustrating: all you can do is just get on with the life that's in front of you day to day... But there was a sense that things were changing - and not for the better...

ULSTER

In the UK - and especially in cities with a significant Irish rooted population - like Glasgow - the events in Northern Ireland were important. 1974 was a continuation of British Government blundering and blustering and failure to understand the issues...

In 1973 the UK Government had offered an insulting, patronising referendum: stay in the UK - or reunite with the Irish Republic? It was a foregone conclusion that the British Loyalist majority would win - and somehow the UK Government thought that the Republicans would be OK with that...

They weren't... They boycotted the referendum

In 1974 they reversed the patronising: the 1973 Sunningdale Agreement brought about a power sharing agreement in January 1974: between the ineffectual, unpopular middle ground political parties and politicians in Ulster - with input from the Government of the Irish Republic... and somehow thought that the Loyalists would be OK with that...

They weren't: in May 1974 they called a General Strike that brought the province to a stand & still. In May 1974 the Labour UK Government returned governance of Ulster to Westminster.
Meanwhile, the terrorist violence on both sides escalated - and Irish Republican Army (IRA) violence increasingly targeted mainland UK...

Politics failed on every front in 1974... And we could only look on in dismay...

CONCLUSION

Well - that was that - 1974 as a kid now turned youth in the UK: it was an age of growth and change in terms of growing up and developing from kid to youth - and that was challenging: fun, exciting in terms of feeling more mature and learning... Demanding - in terms of school... But, thanks to being young at this particular time - it was scary, thrilling and adventurous: time to explore new challenges and opportunities in life... And back then, still with the freedom to do so.

(I found the cut and pasted images for this collage online. My acknowledgement and thanks to the various people who posted them / own them (identity unknown to me.) ) (M).

Textual content © Copyright MLM Arts 11. 02. 2024. Edited and re-posted: 20. 03. 2024

1975: LIFE AS AN AVERAGE BRITISH YOUTH STUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF IT ALL...

1975 was a big and eventful year in my life; a year of change, development, big adventure, traumatic events, historical events... It was my year of stepping from the life of being a kid into the world of youth... Exciting - bewildering - uncertain...

Let's start with what seems like trivia - and should be - but there's something about human nature and the inherent need to ritualise, that it was a tedious trial...

... The involuntary, irresistible appearance of racial hair on my upper lip...

Jeez Louise! This is one of the events I male youth that should be just ignored by everyone as a simple fact of biology. But oh no... It's ritualised - and reacted to...

While the rest of my youthful peachy face remained just that, my upper lip decided to declare its independence and become an isolated enclave of facial maturity: ever thickening whispy hair occupied the territory between nose an lips. It was just yet another cause for self-consciousness: adolescence is all about self-consciousness really - and for guys this is often just another layer of that...

For a start, my old man at home (being the socially conservative, rule his roost type that he was) appeared to see it as a threat; he'd mockingly ask if I was 'TRYING to grow a moustache'; assert that it didn't make me a man now - and don't think that it does...! - that kind of thing...

This was, to me, both irritating and utterly absurd. I mean - I had no say say in the matter: this wrenched 'lip cosy' just crept up on me and appeared. And besides, how the hell can you TRY TO grow a moustache? Did the old fellow suppose that I'd been attending lip gym and performing vigorous upper lip exercise? Or maybe sleeping face down in a fertilizer grow bag?

But, now that I've addressed this biological phenomenon, I'll step back a bit: because my feeble involuntary attempt to impersonate Joe Stalin didn't begin until summer - once I'd left school...

That, and a sudden surge in height: I left school about an average 5' 8" or so, but within months of leaving I was 6' 0"...

SCHOOL

When I left off the end of my account of 1974 I was in the doldrums in terms of academic performance: I'd passed the mock (practice) exam in Higher Level English - but my other - and best loved - subject of interest, History - where I'd double A'd the previous, Ordinary Level, exams the previous year, and was my History teacher, Mr. Norvelle's, star student - I mega flunked: an F - FAILURE...

I'd been full of myself; I thought I only had to show up and cruise through... Mr. Norvelle was furious. I felt ashamed of myself. I had to plead to be allowed to take the real exam in May.

So, from January 1975, I had only ONE thing in focus: bust a gut studying History - to pass the Higher Level exam.

Then, around March, a major distraction intervened: Led Zeppelin announced major gigs at Earl's Court in London for May... Even though I was only 16 and London was hundreds of miles away, I had to be there: I now had TWO points of focus...

The story of my January to June last months at school is a separate article - which I must repost soon; it was a very eventful short phase in my life - in an amusing kind of way, but it's a separate story, so to to cut to the chase: January - June culminated in me achieving my dream of seeing Led Zeppelin live - AND (as was revealed when the results came out in August) passing my History exam, before leaving school for good...

MY FIRST BIG ADVENTURE

I've described this over and over down the years, but going all the way to London (we were warned about London as kids in Scotland: woo! 'the forbidden city'...! ) as 16 year old (still at school), along with a 19 year old friend I had at the time - who worked in a grocery store, was the first big adventure I had in life. The fact that it was also the realisation of my dream of seeing the legendary Led Zeppelin live - made it a WOW...! memory that's still a wow now...

Long train journeys there and back; sleeping rough on the streets overnight after the gig; the whole thrill of just being in this historical major city that only existed for me on TV and movie screens up to that point... It was all so mesmerising... And the return back to school - in triumph - the envy of friends and foes alike: that was a little extra bonus.

Before leaving school we all got an interview from a government Careers Officer. Most of the guys that I knew in school had no idea what they wanted to work at - not did I... Kinda... I mean, I did, but... Nah...

You see, writing was what I wanted to do... I loved messing around with English language: I'd entertain school friends by translating Glasgow slang into eloquent English - making common expressions sound like something from Classic literature. And, although invited to join my buddies bands (purely because of my passing resemblance to Ozzy Osbourne and my natural blooming voice), all I wanted to do was write lyrics to their songs - which I did.

But writing? That wasn't for the likes of me and my background. I was expected to get an apprenticeship in heavy industry - or an office job - at best: or at least a labouring job of some kind...

When discussing my upcoming careers interview with my, by then great buddy - our very own Big D, and shrugged that I didn't know what career I wanted, he said: 'What do you mean you don't know? You want to write. That's what you always say no- so go with that'. I replied with 'Yeah, but - that's fantasy, ain't it...?' But he insisted that I go with what I really wanted to do - even just for the sake of being true to myself.

I did. I boldly had the audacity to tell the careers woman that what I wanted to do was write. She was wrong footed... Flustered... But to be fair to her, she said that normally she'd have recommended journalism, but a year earlier Beaverbrook Newspapers had pulled out of Glasgow, and the market was flooded. So she suggested what she suggested to every bang-average student who didn't have a settled career path: a junior position in the Civil Service... I wasn't interested...

But that advice from Big D always stayed with me: it's what you really want to do - so don't be dissuaded by what convention expects of you: keep it in your heart and keep it alive.

I did that - and, after years of wandering around, I finally, in my 30s, got on that path.

Big D was an apprentice motor mechanic back then; but, being from an engineering family, he liked that; but at the same time, he was a guitarist - and went on to played in bands; he was also a post - and won local awards for that; and he was not bad as an artist too...

Back then, in the UK anyhow, breaking out of conventional and social class expectations wasn't easy - it was part of what our generation was trying to achieve...

LEAVING SCHOOL IN JUNE - THE END OF 1975

Weak government, Industrial unrest in the UK and economic strife around the world meant that unemployment was high when I left school. But we were all SUPPOSED to have been registered by the Careers Officer with the Youth Employment services - which would prioritise sending us for jobs... It was only much later that I discovered that, by error, I hadn't been registered with them...

School buddies were getting various junior jobs - but for me it was a lazy, hot summer... Football down at the park on Sundays - and cross country running (this was years before jogging became fashionable: I was ahead of my time. ) I got a small amount of unemployment benefit money (welfare), and I applied for lots of jobs - apprenticeships mostly - out of conventional expectation - but without success...

But heigh-ho - all this was new to me; I was just stumbling around not knowing what was what, really...

The year ended with my first proper New

GREAT YEAR FOR GIGS

1975 was my first big year for going to gigs. Besides Led Zeppelin, it was a fabulous year for that. Two of my all-time top 5 gigs happened in 1975:

Hawkwind's 'Warrior On The Edge Of Time' tour - with its mind boggling visual effects and light show - and the artistic dancer, Stacia was still with the band then: Stacia had a cult following of her own, and I'm glad that I got to see Hawkwind with her as part of the show.

Bachman Turner Overdrive - with Thin Lizzy as support.

BTO was still touring and basking in the international glory of the album 'Not Fragile' and the all-time classic single 'You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet' - and also, had released the very good follow-up album 'Four Wheel Drive' - so they were a big attraction.

But Thin Lizzy had already broken into chart success with another all-time classic single - 'Whiskey In The Jar', and were generally highly regarded, especially in UK cities with a high percentage Irish population - like Glasgow.

BTO would have to be as great live as they believed they were if they were to follow the very popular Lizzy - who'd delivered an outstanding set - at a gig at The Glasgow Apollo.

... BTO take to the darkened stage... A pensive, sweaty, savage Apollo crowd cheer - but almost challenge the band to entertain - or face the consequences.

The booming riff of the 'Not Fragile' single hit 'Roll On Down The Highway' blasts out and the stage lights flare on - and the mob is won over right from the start - an evening of almost non-stop headbangin' ensues.

Another notable gig that year was one of the record breaking 13 nights that Billy Connolly played at the Apollo. 1975 was the year that Billy broke BIG outside of Scotland - after his barnstorming appearance on the prestige BBC chat show 'Parkinson'.

LOCAL HISTORY

✓ Glasgow celebrated being 800 years old (as a city) in 1975. There was a sense of history about it all of course, and that appealed to the historian part of me. But I always have to smile about the Glasgow coat of arms logo:

The fish that never swam

The bell that never rang

The tree that never grew

The bird that never flew

During a 1970s that was riven with extreme trade union actions: strikes, go-slows, working to rule, etc., I had to think wryly: 'Aye - that's Glasgow in 1975 a'right - nuthin' works...'

EVENTS IN THE WORLD

UK POLITICS

At that age, big events happen - do we / did we really take them in and ponder them...? Hmm... A bit, yes - but perhaps through a naive lens...

Margaret Thatcher wins the Conservative Party leadership contest. Mixed feelings about this from me - and many others. On the one hand, the prevailing feeling was that this was another win for the social progress that the 1960s and 70s had been all about: it was a huge step forward for women's equality. That was a good thing.

On the other hand, as a Conservative Party UK Government Secretary for Education, Thatcher had already gained a reputation for cutting provision to the poorest and most needy.

We'd have to see how real power would affect her when - not IF - she became Prime Minister...

When not if...?

Oh yes - that was the mood in the country. The Labour Party UK Government was weak - and its supposed ally, trade union movement, rather than being cautious and conciliatory, applied increasingly pressure and made increasing demands. The UK public was getting increasingly tired of the shambles...

1975 saw the UK Labour Government fulfill its 1974 General Election promise to give the UK public a referendum on whether or not to remain in the European Economic Community (EEC), which the previous Conservative UK Government had taken the country into without a referendum.

The vote was in favour of remaining.

My thoughts on that at the time were also positive. It too seemed like a win for 1960s youth revolution values: cooperation between nations that had a long history of war against each other. And remember, the Cold War was not only at a peak then - what was more frightening was that the Soviet Union and communism appeared to be winning. Close cooperation within Western nations in Europe seemed necessary.

✓THE BRITISH - IRISH 'TROUBLES'

It was another violent, bloody year for 'The Troubles': another depressing round of murder, bombing, shooting, tit for tat reprisals - and political intrigue...

But this year one particular event hit home for me like never before: the murder in November 1975 of Guinness Book of World Records co-founder and popular kids TV show host, Ross McWhirter, by the Provisional Irish Republican Army (P-IRA) unit active in the Southeast of England.

For several years before I'd watched the BBC TV kids show 'Record Breakers' - hosted by much loved family entertainer Roy Castle - and identical twin brothers Ross and Norris McWhirter.

Ross McWhirter was a great advocate of civil behaviour and the rule of law. When the P-IRA unit in the SE of England committed a series of atrocities, he offered a reward for their capture: not as an anti-IRA gesture - just a pro-civilization and rule of law gesture.

I didn't believe the P-IRA would risk the bad public relations that the murder of a kids TV show host would bring... But they did.

The P-IRA unit was finally captured in Balcombe Street, London, in December 1975.

Ross McWhirter's murder was like the death of part of my childhood...

SOUTHEAST ASIA

✓The Soviet Union seeming to have the upper hand in the Cold War was never more emphasised than by the fall of Vietnam to communist forces - at around the same time, the fall of neighbouring Laos and Cambodia.

The above events were certainly things that, even as a youth, I had to do some of that naive, but serious, pondering on...

✓USA - SOVIET COOPERATION

The Soyuz - Apollo / NASA cooperation mission to dock a Soyuz space capsule with an Apollo space capsule - and have the cosmonauts and astronauts meet and greet in space was something that excited me - even as a youth.

We'd been brought up with the rhetoric and propaganda, the sabre rattling, of The Space Race - which, depressingly, had turned human genius and adventure into just another side of The Cold War...

But in the mid-1960s modern popular culture - this time TV - offered a visionary alternative to where space exploration could lead: Star Trek - with its international crew - including a RUSSIAN...

The Soyuz - Apollo mission chimed with that vision: it seemed to bring that apparently fanciful Idea the first step towards becoming reality.

SPORT

I must make a correction to my 1974 memories: I said that my team, Glasgow Rangers, finally stopped rivals Glasgow Celtic's record breaking run of championship titles - 9 in a row, and as a result, Rangers asked the Scottish Football Association for permission to have the trophy awarded in public for the first time ever - at the end of the season's final match. It wasn't 1974 - it was 1975 - and I was there to see it. It was another history making event that gave me a thrill to have been part of...

Well folks, that was my 1975...

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