I used to see a lot of "gang fights" from the safety of a tenement window. Most involved ritual drawing of lines, running back and forth and occasional, inaccurate stone throwing. They usually took place during the summer school holidays in the late evening (I'm typing this at 10:20 p.m. and it's just beginning to get dark).In many ways they were as well regulated and as enthralling as a cricket match.
What was really interesting was the sight of the older guys (16+) coming home from the pub. I don't use the singular lightly. For a long time there was only one pub to service a housing scheme (that's Glasgow council-speak for "estate") with a population nearly equal to the city of Dundee (100,000 or so). Like all Scottish pubs at the time it was only allowed to sell alcohol between 11a.m. and 2:30p.m. and then in the evenings from 5 until 10.
About ten minutes to ten the barman would ring a bell for "last orders".This provoked scenes almost identical to the Oklahoma land rush so often depicted in the Western movies ("Cowboy Pictures") so beloved in Glasgow. As a general rule no wagons or steers were involved but carnage was common as everyone leapt for the bar and ordered anything up to 3 rounds each all at the one time. It was accepted wisdom that at least one of these drinks should be a spirit. Let's face it, in Scotland we're talking whisky, here. Unfortunately, given such a sudden boost to blood alcohol levels and a leisurely drinking up time of 10 minutes we're then talking gibberish.
The pub (the "Brig Bar") was about 3/4 of a mile away from Easterhouse proper on the other side of the Monklands Canal (now the M8 motorway). If you positioned yourself strategically near the main road you could look down the hill and see the "Brig" discharge its customers into the night. I suspect that George Romero may have ripped off the scene to use in "Night of the Living Dead". Men would be bouncing off lamp posts or zig-zagging across the road thinking that they were still talking to their pal who had rolled down onto the canal bank.
The more street-wise kids would mooch for money which the jollier drunks would pitch in their direction. Discarded cigarettes would be scooped up and puffed into life again by 8 year olds trying to look tough. (We all watched Jimmy Cagney and Humphrey Bogart movies. Perfect for our black and white TVs)
The women who had spent their evening ironing or using the mangle in the kitchen/laundry/dining room (all actually the same cramped space) would face the return of their husbands with a mixture of emotions, none of which was joy. Looking back and piecing together the clues that were too obscure for a child to pick up on I know that some of them were having a hellish time of it.
A lot of them used humour to leaven the situation.It was a friend of my mother's whom I first heard talking about her husband as the "incredible rubber man" because of the way he would stagger around when drunk ( he was vulcanised most days). The term is common parlance now because Billy Connolly used it in his early days on the comedy circuit. He also wrote a terrific song which still holds true to-day for Glasgow.
I've mentioned that Glaswegians had an inordinate love for cowboys. This carries over into an affection for "Country and Western".This little number can be sung to the tune of "it's Crying Time Again":
“Closing Time” - Billy Connolly
Chorus : Oh it's closin' time again you'll have to leave us Yous have got that far away look in your eyes We've got to hose the lavvy down and count the tumblers
And wipe the stoor from off tomorrow's pies
Oh the Scottish pubs they're gaunnae be like England
They're lettin' us drink up an hour late But that’ll no affect the crowd in my pub
'Cause they're a’ steamin' drunk by half past eight
Chorus
You should see the way they come in here at openin'
It's a wonder they're allowed out on their ain
Stone cold sober they come in like Mickey Rooney
Three pints later they barge oot like big John Wayne
Chorus
Oh there's gonna be big changes made in this pub
There'll be topless lassies servin' up your beer
Well I told the boss that's sex discrimination
I've been wearin' topless trousers here for years
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