More memories of first days at Glasgow School of Art

Well I am delighted that so many people enjoyed what I posted yesterday. Some really liked the journey my memory took us on, and even wished to carry on further. What was to become a daily ritual for those us after surviving that enrollment day. Climbing up those curved steps and then through the swing doors to be presented in a magical space of light and dark which was The Entrance Hall. As I explained in the earlier piece the stairwell beckoned one upwards, from here, to the light. The interior of this internationally renowned icon of modern architecture and design by Charles Rennie Mackintosh displays master strokes of his sheer genius. Just wandering around inspired ideas and creative thoughts. Back in 1979 I was simply delighted to have got a place there. Indeed I was very pleased with myself, possibly too pleased and certainly in need of being brought back to earth. Actually being there at all was very special and a privilege. Thank you Ms Queenie Rowan for reminding me of my heritage and bringing me back albeit quivering...

Above in the top lit Museum space, roof lights set into the oak beams and trusses filled the place with autumnal morning brightness. Here I met my fellow students for the first time and made lasting friendships. We required to report to a studio in the "east wing corridor", I think it was the central one number thirty-nine. More ebonised oak swing doors, with feature stained glass and lead panels, to go through. This corridor was also lit from above with four distinctive ogee-shaped ceiling lights. Into the big studio dramatically illuminated by one of the huge north facade windows for the specific function of creating art, especially painting. The whole north side of the first floor was the home of the Drawing and Painting Department and at that time it was starting to expand and spread throughout the building. In time I would come to know the place very well, as I became a drawing and painting student for my three specialising years.

On that memorable day we were each given a list and a black bin liner full of the basic or essential kit of materials to begin work as a Glasgow School of Art student. That in itself was exciting and our account with the "School Shop" was then opened. I looked forward to visiting what turned out to be a characteristically eccentric emporium run by two colourful middle-aged wig wearing Jewish women, whom we all eventually got to know..

An eventful morning was brought to a close when someone made the welcome suggestion of going for lunch and we ended up down the hill in Sauchiehall Street. The world was then our oyster. It was almost too much to take in and each of us was rather thrilled.

The following day we required to report to The First Year Department, actually housed in two former town houses, fronting to 6 and 7 Blythswood Square, and backing to Bath Street. Here we were divided into six groups. The Fresh student whom I met on the stair the day before was in my group as was a familiar face from Lewis, my dear friend Maggie. I was in my element.

At about this time we were all invited to The Director's Welcome Address to the new intake of first year students. Back up Garnethill to the Mackintosh Building, 167 Renfrew Street. This time we descended the stair into the West basement corridor and to the Mackintosh Lecture Theatre for the first time. The seats here were uncomfortable by design, so no chance of nodding off at any stage. The desk or book rest behind was at the very height to cut right into one's back and the seat hard and uncompromising. At some point years later the seats were covered but it did little to make them any more comfortable.

The Director of Glasgow School of Art at this time was Sir Harry Barnes, he had been a well known and highly respected designer. I had heard about him before arriving as a student. Sir Harry Barnes, lived in large Victorian Gothic Mansion in the prestigious Whittingham Drive, in the West End, called "Dumpy Dykes", it overlooked Binghams Pond. I well remember his kind address and warm welcome to all of us. First of all his entrance was unusual, as he was carried from his wheelchair and lifted by two carers up onto one of the tree curved desks that stood on the platform or stage. Clearly a very ill and frail man. He gently expressed his good wishes and hoped we would enjoy our studies at such a wonderful place of creativity and every possible success in our future careers. Everyone was touched and most impressed by this great dignity. It actually turned out to be his last ever engagement as sadly he passed away very shortly after he spoke to us... I believe he had cancer of the spine. We were all very sad.


Sir Harry Jefferson Barnes, picture courtesy GSA

First Day at Art School

It is exactly forty-four years ago today, the 21st September 1979 that I enrolled in the Glasgow School of Art. Thus fulfilling a long held ambition. I was tingling with excitement, every few minutes pinching myself just to make sure it was a reality A few days before I had left Stornoway with my Dad, in a white transit van, the second or third such trip. In the previous weeks my parents accompanied me with that van full of my belongings, mostly the usual clothes, but vitally art history books, various drawing and painting materials, my old wooden desk and work table, which have remained with me all these years. These items were being moved to my new residence, a once grand Victorian tenement flat in the heart of the West End of Glasgow. My parents had bought the property the month before to ensure my older brother and I had adequate accommodation whilst we were students. We were finding it very difficult to find a place to stay and I was not actually allocated a room in the J D Kelly Hall until well after the term began. For a variety of reasons our family were also spending an increasing amount of time in the city and the old place would be very well used over the years (but that is another story, for another day).

Back then all I wanted was to explore my urban being and find anonymity, far away from the curtain chinking of home. I was a proud teenager who did not want it known what I was doing however harmless and dull it really was. At that time I was far from sentimental for my true homeland and it would take a number of years to be overwhelmed by the pain of "cianalas", which I certainly came to know in later years. But still, on that departure I stood on deck watching our Island recede into the horizon.

So here I was on my way to a new life, the journey to Glasgow was not without incident. As we came down through the gorge at Glen Coe, my father very calmly told me "Kenneth, I don't wish to alarm you but my breaks aren't working properly, I'll pull over at the next garage, and get them attended to!...". Well that was not until we hit the urban world, somewhere on Great Western Road. He managed to control the speed with skilled use of gears and careful attention of all other road users. Such was my confidence in my Dad's driving, I really did not think anything of this situation, until many years later when I heard him tell of how he felt on that journey. Of course he never let on how scared he actually was at the time. True to his form he found the garage he had in his mind and clearly knew them, or used his incredible charm to get help. He needed the van to collect a few things over the next few days before heading home.

I seem to remember my older brother was at the flat to welcome us and we went out for a meal. Over the next few days I enjoyed finding my way around and getting my bearings, it did not take long for me to feel very much part of my new surroundings.

I was up and out bright and early on the morning of the 21st September, so excited as not to miss a single detail. I reached 167 Renfrew Street, and ascended the iconic curving steps to the famous swing doors in the portal. Then I entered through the small vestibule, into the vaulted entrance hall. Though painted in off white hues the hall is dark but the beautiful light streaming down the the stairwell certainly entices visitors further into this building of art, design and creativity. I now find it impossible to believe that all this has been destroyed by fire twice. At the foot of the stair the janitor's box seemed the centre of all proceedings and knowledge and I was directed to the right-hand door, on the half landing, The Registrar's Secretary and Assistant, one Queenie Rowan's Office. This room was a hive of industry, as ALL the first year students arrived at an allotted time, that day, to enrol and matriculate. It was also buzzing with a flock of women each in awe of Ms Rowan, their reverence and near fear of the grand lady was contagious and filled the room. I wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible, so when the lady herself called my name all I wanted to do was be swallowed by the floor and disappear. What on earth had I done to be thus summoned? In her refined West of Scotland accented she announced, "Mr Burns, I wish say to you, please never lose your fine Hebridean accent, it is a special attribute and qualification that will serve you well throughout your life," Then she smiled at me and finished by saying. "That was all I wanted you to know". With that I left her office and continued up to the first floor space known as the Museum. To get photographed and receive a matriculation card, produced by a new technique - called lamination. My card had a blue spot with a figure 7%. Later when I asked what it meant I was told that this referred to the fact that I was what they then called a "Seven percent-er", indicating that I was one of only 7% of GSA students who gained entry there without the minimum qualifications or on the strength of their portfolios.

I had spent the summer cultivating some facial hair, which possibly made me look older. Though I hoped more sophisticated! As I wandered around a fellow first day, first year student, thinking I was a tutor stopped me to ask ..."I wonder if you tell me, Sir, where do I go now?...To which I had to own up to being in the same position, merely a fresh student. We laughed and became good friends.

This was the beginning of a wonderful and creative journey. Over the next four decades I met many people and made lasting friendships. Charles Rennie Mackintosh's masterpiece, the building we came to know and love as "The Mack", became my alma mater. I discovered a new detail every day I spent there. It now live on in our memories.

Visit to Glasgow - June 2023

Well, speaking for myself, I feel, the fourth dimension time, seems to just race through our lives, usually leaving us rather disoriented. I often wish we could reduce the pace at which we seem to be propelled through this life. That coupled with the busy "full-on-energized" activity everyone exudes, makes me, for one, dislike the modern way of being. I know so many people whom I believe are sadly deluded in thinking that being busy is productive, and that they have such busy lives and therefore unable to engage in the humanity of making normal communication and conversation. The Pandemic seemed to distort the values of our delicate society. I miss the pace of life in days of old. This is just one aspect of the progression of age that challenges our enjoyment of the maturity of the whole aging process. For so many reasons growing older can be a sad experience, but we are cushioned by the acquisition of wisdom.. Over recent months more valued friends have passed away and it is simply impossible not to feel overwhelmed by this great sadness....we must therefore continue to find and retain the strength we need from our faith.

The past couple of months seem to have simply flown by. The last time I posted here was in response to my sixty-second birthday, on 6th May. Since then I have spent time back out in my garden in order to reflect on the general presentation of life and work. The B&B Season had begun briskly, and I was fortunate enough to find a gap week at the start of June to get "off Island". I headed back to the urban world. I had a brilliant week in Glasgow, reconnecting with so much in such a brief time. A week is never long enough. But even time in my adopted city is now shrouded in extreme grief and loss of dear family and friends.

Now I feel it is vital to cram every moment off island with a power pack of activities that leave me the return home recuperating, hey ho.

Friday 2nd June a mad cap race to catch the lunchtime ferry and then relaxing the whole voyage in the good company of friends. Thank you...Ross Munro and Mary MacAulay.

I stayed with my nephew Liam and his wife Sneha, the following morning walking in the Glasgow sunshine through The Gairbraid Estate, Dawsholm and Maryhill Parks to The Western Necropolis to view my Dear Sister-in-Law Lorna's head stone and place flowers.

In the evening I went to the Roger Waters concert in the Hydro Stadium. Having got two tickets from a friend in Storoway, was unable to convince members of my family to join me. That was my first visit to the Hydro, and I was most impressed. Wondering why I hadn't been when I was a citizen.

Glasgow is a special place for me in so many ways and Glasgow in June my favourite time of all. I loved being a student at the GSA, then being involved with the West End Festival and it's Carnival. Making those huge costumes through the non-dark nights and walking home absolutely exhausted, are my memories of June in Glasgow.

As ever I keep a visual Journal. Sunday 4th June was hot from the start. Glasgow can get very hot, in summer. After breakfast I ambled off down the Switchback, crossed the Forth and Clyde Canal at Temple Lock and on to Anniesland via Crow Road and Morrison's Store. Then out into Great Western Road. Here I noticed a Turkish Barber and and treated myself to a pampering. Including an eye watering nostril hot waxing...Beauty standing pinching...och!

Then I did some drawing along the road at Binghams Pond.

Monday 5th June, I went for a most nostalgic walk through the West End, through the day and met friends Rachel Guthrie and Jim Mackechnie in the evening.

Tuesday 6th June, I went into "Down Town" Glasgow, still my favourite architectural set-piece. I met up with my sister-in-law Susan at John Smith house, the Unite Office, in West Regent Street, where we attended a special meeting of The Scottish Cuba Solidarity Campaign. The speaker was the Ambassador of Cuba. After the meeting I went back to Susan's new flat and we went for a wonderful Italian meal to Bella Vita, in Mosspark Boulevard.

Wednesday 7th June, I met up with my friend John Cunningham, who came up to Byres Road, from Ayr. I enjoyed the afternoon showing John round my old haunts and adopted home of Hillhead. For four years from May 1999 to May 2003, I was the Glasgow City Labour Councillor for the Ward. I got to know ever inch of the place, which was more like a town within the city.

Thursday 8th June, it was time to travel home to Stornoway. My nephew gave a lift to the bus station. All seemed well but then there was an alleged bomb threat with a suspicious suitcase being left in the very centre of the bus station. The place had to be evacuated, which caused a delay. In situations like that we just have to remain calm and patiently wait. We made the necessary connections and, that evening, I had a pleasant ferry journey in the company of Alison and John Cunningham. I have known Alison since we were children. Its seems that I know a few John Cunninghams, each are very much one off characters.

I really enjoyed my trip off the island and currently have no idea when I will get away again. But this weekend I had a lovely visit from my sister-in-Law Susan, and look forward to various other members of the family visiting.

June was a warm month and I kept myself active out in my garden, almost every day. It is very much a project in progress. When it does reach a level of completion I intend to hold a special party.

This July has been a very wet month, But our gardens and rivers needed hydration.

Today the 17th of July would been my dear mother's 86th birthday, so I will be thinking of her and doing something special to mark it.

KB 17 July 2023.

My sixty-second birthday weekend

THANK YOU FOR THE KIND BIRTHDAY THOUGHTS AND MESSAGES

Wow, I'm overwhelmed in beautiful way I never felt possible...but then everything is possible when there is friendship in the world and kind words express well wishes of happiness. I would like to thank all of you, who took time to send me such lovely birthday wishes. You certainly cheered this old chap and for that thanking you ALL cannot be enough. Having such special friends for support is awesome and wonderful.

Yesterday, Saturday, 6th May 2023 was among other things my Sixty-second birthday. Of course there was clearly a lot going on... The King's Coronation was being broadcast live... Then amongst it all I noticed that a good friend of mine was delighted to announce the birth of a grandson, such good news is heartwarming and happy.

Now with all the preparation for my summer season requiring my deplete energy of late. I was rather tired and thought I'd have a leisurely sort of day. To follow, the annual emotional juxtaposition of my Dad's Anniversary, a significant one this year and very poignant. Now, being as it was a Saturday. First thing was to get the weekend food shopping done and dusted quickly. Regardless, I had actually decided to go out for a meal, nothing fancy and not to extravagant, We went to the Crown Inn's, Harbour View, with it's fine food and equally fine location. I meet so many people I know friends from school, cousins I haven't seen for a couple of months., and so many others. Earlier I had a lovely phone call from a nephew in Glasgow and later a wee video by my youngest nephew, aged seven, to serenade me on his violin from Portugal. I loved being out in company but then was getting more tired by the minute.

When I got home there were many messages and I have enjoyed reading each of them. I will also be spending time to give each a special reply. XXX KB

In memoriam of my father

Exactly thirty years ago, this morning, at 10.30am, on Wednesday 5th May 1993, our father Willie Burns, was suddenly taken away. Leaving us stunned and shaken. It was a bright,cloudless spring morning and what should have been a routine mid-week working day will forever be remembered as the moment our world came crashing down.

He was only sixty and a half, very active and in the middle a repair job in his workshop... when he collapsed without warning, suffering a massive heart attack. He died within the hour in the Western Isles Hospital. We still grieve and miss him so... He still had much to give. It will always hurt and I will always find it virtually impossible to think of thirty years without him or imagining him having grown old.

Time, did as it always does, left our loved one back in the moment when he past. Time, it does not soften, it does not heal, it merely takes us further away from that terrible moment of loss.

This a time to remember a very special person and reflect. He was a positive man and would prefer to be remembered in a happy positive and constructive way. So as every year I steal a few silent minutes on my own... and then get on with the chores of the day.

In quiet reflection of William Burns, Marine Engineer, 3rd November 1932 - 5th May 1993.

KB

In memory of my great-aunt, Peggy Ann

Yes indeed this is a profoundly sad story. It needed to be told at this time a century on. It is a vital part of my maternal grandfather's family history, it was told to me when I was a child, by my Dear Mother. I have since researched and gathered more information on that history.

Today, 1st May, would have been Peggy Ann's birthday.

Sadly the nature of history is retrospective and the individuals it relates to are often no longer around to tell or respond to what we might wish to know. It is also important, while studying, interpreting and transcribing to use factual information and not conjecture. But by all accounts the loss of these two sisters Mary and Margaret ("Peggy") Ann, in their twenties, at 1 Dalbeg, in 1923, had an understandably devastating effect on their siblings. Four brothers John Angus, Murdo, Kenneth and John, and two sisters Dolina and Catriona. Their sisters who died so young were fondly remembered and the memories were passed on throughout the years. I learnt of this sad story as a young child, from my own Dear Mother Barbara, who had been told of it by her father Kenneth, who died when she was ten years old.

Now the naming of children has always been important, especially as a way of commemorating relatives. It is my understanding that in island communities there is an established custom of naming children after or in honour of recently lost close relatives, (I do know that my grandfather, who I am proud to be named in honour of, was indeed named after his uncle Kenneth who died aged twenty-eight years in1892). I have been told that my grandfather Kenneth MacLeod and my granny Barbara MacNair, made it known that he wished his eldest daughters my twin aunties to be named Mary and Peggy, directly in honour of his young sisters. Eldest brother John Angus and his wife Jessie Nicolson's family were a little older. Murdo had no family. But it does become evident that the others also wished to name daughters in honour of their two sisters. John and his wife Mary Murray's , eldest daughter was born in 1923, and named Peggy Ann and his youngest daughter was named Mary. The youngest sister Catriona "Codaidh" and her husband Malcolm MacArthur named their eldest daughter Peggy Ann, and younger daughter Mary.

I knew Auntie Codaidh, she was exactly the same age as my granny Barbara, they had been close friends since early childhood and gone to the Shawbost Primary School. She would visit us and we would often visit her in her home in Upper Carloway and latterly when she moved to Stornoway, before she passed away in 1989. She loved to reminisce and had clear memories of her lost sisters, whom she did speak of quite often. She also had a good knowledge of the history of the family, going back many generations. One day when we were visiting she actually wrote out the precise dates of birth of all her siblings. My mother gave this list to me before she passed away, and it is now a much valued item.

Dolina, and her husband Murdo MacIver, did name their eldest daughter Mary , though not necessarily after the lost sister Mary as there were paternal grannies and great-grannies named Mary. Their, second daughter, was Catherine Margaret Ann, who sadly passed away only very recently. I do not believe that I am in a position to say, others may certainly know better than me, if her last two Christian names were in honour of the other lost sister Margaret Ann.

Catherine Margaret Ann and my mum Barbara, were first cousins, and the family connection was very strong and lovingly kept. In all there were twenty first cousins, fourteen girls and six boys, none of whom knew the two aunties who passed away so tragically in 1923. I was brought up to know the connections and keep them going. Then as I got older I became increasingly more interested in the history of the family and have over the years made quite an extensive and on going research. I wanted to tell the story of those two girls who died in Dalbeg, a century ago, before every vestige of them goes without trace. This is a good time to tell it.

KB.

The SS Metagama Also Came Back

We have been commemorating the centenary of that most historic day, 21st April 1923, when the SS Metagama, the huge liner which came to take 260 mostly young men and women away from their homes in Lewis. 

I have been thinking and reflecting on what it must have been really like for our community of that time still struggling to come to terms with the tragic impact of the losses and effects of The Great War and HMY Iolaire. 

There would, no doubt, have been a great amount of excitement and anticipation amongst the young people embarking on such a new future, and an equal amount of sadness and sense of loss amongst those they were leaving behind. There would also have been a tender understanding by the older generations of the oppertunity that might be offered by such a departure. Every emotion of migration would have been expressed. An event of such a scale would have had a huge and imediate impact on the community, the effects of which could only be long lasting. I have been thinking and reflecting on its effects on that community and indeed on my own family and relatives. Through some research a very sad and poignant story was revealed and I would now like to tell it.

SS Metagama did not just sail from Scotland to Canada. She also made return voyages across the Atlantic. On the 3rd June 1922, my great-aunt, Mary Rennick (nee) MacLeod, departed Montreal in Canada on board the SS Metagama. She was the sister of my maternal grandfather Kenneth Macleod. Mary was headed back to Scotland to visit her family, but would never return to Canada. On 31st December 1923, she passed away at 1 Dalbeg.

Mary was born on 10th June 1896 at 50 North Shawbost, the eldest daughter of Malcolm MacLeod (Calum, Dhòmhnall, 'ic Mhurchaid / Buicean) and Kennethina Murray (Ceanag, Aonghais, Choinnich, Aonghais Gobha). After war ended in 1918, Mary met an American serviceman, Private George William Rennick. The pair married on 6th May 1919 in Glasgow. The ceremony was performed at 19 Howard Street, warranted by the Sheriff Substitute of Lanarkshire, in the presence of Police Constable Roderick Smith and domestic servant Effie MacKay. George was a chauffeur in civilian life,the son of Harry Rennick (a fisherman, by then deceased) and Mary. His mother had remarried after his father died, and was by that time Mrs Cooke.

Four months after their wedding, Mary and George left Scotland on 15th September 1919 and arrived at Detroit ten days later. They lived at 1264 Belvedere Avenue, Detroit, for nearly three years. By all accounts, Mary contracted TB and wanted to return to Scotland to visit her family.

Mary applied to the authorities in Washington DC for a new passport. On the application, dated 23rd May 1922, she declared that she was going abroad temporarily and would return within two years. The photograph with the passport application, as displayed at the top of this post, shows her looking unwell. It appears that she was suffering from tuberculosis since before leaving North America. 

I copy the description on her passport application:

Age:	22
Stature:	5 ft 2
Forehead:	Low
Eyes:	Brown
Nose:	Small
Mouth:	Small
Chin:	Narrow
Hair:	Dark brown
Complexion:	Light
Face:	Small
A small scar between the nostrils.

Mary departed Montreal for Greenock on board SS Metagama on 3rd June 1922. She then returned to Lewis, to be with her family.

All through my life I have heard of the truly sad story of this young relative of mine, whose voyage back home to Lewis could not have been sadder or unlike her peers'. Those young people who were so filled with excitement and expectation, as they gathered, in Stornoway. Then got ready to set off to board the same SS Metagama to cross the Atlantic to Canada. That day exactly one century ago. By contrast, Mary’s story was very different.

As I researched her short life, it became clear that her experience in North America was far from a happy one. That return home, on her own, to her family, would be marked by tradgedy and grief. Both Mary and a younger sister Margaret Ann (“Maggie Ann”or “Peggi Ann”) were ill with TB. Their illnesses were apparently, unconnected and contracted at different times. Then for nearly a year the sisters nursed each other at their family home, at 1 Dalbeg. At that time people referred to the extremely moving and sad scene of the two beautiful sisters caring for each other there. The family had moved from North Shawbost, early in 1922, it was evidently not to be a happy home. Maggie Ann passed away on 11th May 1923, she was twenty-one years old. Mary passed away seven months later on 31st December 1923, she was twenty-seven years old.

In the next decades, Mary and Margaret Ann’s brothers and sisters married and raised a family. In each family that followed, the first two daughters were named in remembrance of the tragic sisters who died in 1923.