Sibling Safari to the Land of our Birth: The Firth of Clyde: Home of the Paternal Roots and our Childhood

The Firth of Clyde

We were awakened early by the Saturday market being set up on the main street below us after enduring the noisy Friday night pub goers until well into the wee hours. It was not much of a sleep and we were anxious to leave The Queen's Hotel and resume a quiet drive out of the Lake Country. Once again, the scenery did not disappoint us.

a pasture just outside Keswick

Then it was the motorway, leaving England and entering Scotland, birthplace of our father and our youngest brother, William. We were headed for the Firth of Clyde where Dad was born, where all three of us lived when we were small and Dad worked in the shipyards of the Clyde and the place where our parents retired and where Dad died. It was another trip down memory lane and one which Robert hadn't taken since he was a wee lad.

The Firth of Clyde: pleasure craft now not shipbuilding

We had booked into a small hotel, The Spinnaker Inn, just on the outskirts of Gourock, a short ferry ride from Kirn where our parents lived when they retired. Although it was on the main road, it had a nice little restaurant and bar and good views over the Clyde. We were there in time for lunch partially due to our speedy escape from Keswick.

The Spinnaker Inn, Gourock

In our usual fashion we made the most of the afternoon by first making some enquiries into the crematoriums in the area in order to find the final resting place of our Dad. One of the worries of this trip was that we seem to have "lost" our Dad. After he died, I had travelled to Scotland for his funeral; but Mum had been in such poor shape that I could not go with the coffin to the crematorium across the water in Gourock. My recollection had been that I had paid for a commemorative plaque to be placed on a wall there. We had not been able to find his name in any records of the crematorium. We had so wanted to put Mum's ashes with those of our Dad.

Having hit a brick wall with our enquiries we took the passenger ferry from Gourock to Dunoon and wandered the little town at the end of the afternoon. Not much had changed since I had been there last when Dad had died but Robert found it interesting.We did ask various people in the right age bracket if they knew of a couple of Dad's cronies who had lived in the town all their lives. We came up empty.

a drink in one of the many pubs of Dunoon

As usual it was not long before we found a pub to rest and reminisce.
We caught an early evening ferry back to Gourock and as we were walking back to the hotel, we were very cold. A neighbourhood Indian food restaurant popped up and we decided to eat the other national food of the UK. If not fish and chips then Indian. And very good it was too.

sunset on the Firth of Clyde

the mystery plaque

In the morning we drove the car on the other ferry to Kirn for our planned attendance at the church where Dad's funeral had been held. As we were early. we went up to the Golf Club which was now a new building and rather dark and dreary. We wandered around looking at old photos trying to find our Dad or some of his cronies. We eventually found a young lady to ask about the Dad's Army old codgers golf group but, although she had heard of it, it seems they had now disbanded as most of the members had passed on. We explained our mission and kept wandering around. After a trip to the washroom, I hunted for my brothers. only to eventually find them in the billiard room. Lo and behold they had found a framed picture of me and the Dad's Army bunch at the memorial golf tournament that we had held after Dad's death. There was a nice little gold plaque on the frame commemorating our Dad, Robert Turner. The "remembered plaque" mystery was solved.

Although, we didn't have to go to church looking for information, we did, and enjoyed the packed service and the very friendly female minister. Our story and our origins soon made the rounds and we were welcomed to the area.

the bakery - last attached row house on right

After the service we drove around the Holy Loch to Blairmore on the other side of the Clyde to where our Dad had passed his early childhood, brought up by his aunt and his uncle who was the local baker. Their bakery is now a gift shop and was closed that Sunday morning but the house above it is still lived in. The pier where our father passed many of his summer days watching the ships and waiting for the delivery boats is in better shape than it was forty years ago.

the remains of the bakehouse and stables

We enjoyed our "wander around" looking at the bakehouse and the derelict stables where the delivery cart and horses were kept and gazing out over the Clyde from the pier.

on the pier of Blairmore: where Dad lived as a child

And then we drove to the childhood home we remembered on Millburn Avenue in Clydebank. William was born there, Dad worked in the shipyards of the Clyde then, and Robert and I attended Yoker School. We found it all to be much as we remembered it.

William was born in this house

The house is lived in and well cared for, the corner store still serves the community, the church on the main road is still imposing against the sky-line and our school, while no longer a school, still stands in all its long-lasting stone finery. The creek, or burn as the Scots call it, where we used to play and where William fell in as a very small boy, (which was all Robert's fault) seems to have dried up.

We parked the car and walked for hours. Who would ever let small children walk that far to school on their own. nowadays? But we did and we are here to tell the tale. All the people who eyed us suspiciously and asked if they could help us, became enchanted with our story and fed us all kinds of extraneous information about our old neighbourhood.