Showing posts with label edinburgh nostalgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label edinburgh nostalgia. Show all posts

Sunday, 27 April 2014

A taste of Italy, 80 years and counting


A small Italian deli and restaurant in Elm Row holds a special place in many Edinburgh folks' hearts. Valvona & Crolla has weathered many a storm during eight decades - and it was a real treat to meet the hugely entertaining and passionate husband and wife owners.





THERE is opera - Italian, of course - playing softly in the background. Behind a heaving counter stuffed with cold meats and cheese, plump olives and sweet cakes, are shelves crammed with bottles, packets, tins and jars.
Hanging from the ceiling are massive bunches of dried chillies, cooking pots and legs of ham, to the side are jars of artisan honey sourced from a Tuscan hillside with labels lovingly created by the beekeeper's daughter, dried pasta, bottles of olive oil, jars of peppers, boxes of biscuits and countless bottles of wine.
Top to bottom, every inch of space inside Valvona & Crolla's Elm Row delicatessen is occupied, in what appears to be a supreme feat of controlled chaos.
Rewind time to the picture managing director Philip Crolla is holding in his hand. Black and white, it has captured his father, Carlo, behind the deli counter nearly half a century ago. He's jotting something down, while in front of him stand customers no doubt frantically trying to absorb the array of exotic products around them, above their heads dangle clusters of Italian sausages, bunches of garlic and string bags containing little pots of Italian deliciousness.
The years have passed but little - not even the wooden shutters that protected the front of the shop as a wartime mob turned on the innocent Italian community - seems to have changed.
Upstairs Philip and wife Mary Contini are in a room that once housed another Italian family of immigrants, recalling the incredible highs and lows of a family business that not only survived the past 80 years but has flourished.
On the walls around them is another charming sign of how little has changed on the premises - slightly faded pale green heavily patterned wallpaper from another age with rolling hills, white walled houses with terracotta tiled roofs, wooden gates and white turtle doves.
"The family that lived here must have missed home," smiles Philip, whose grandfather, Alfonso Crolla, came to Edinburgh from rural Lazio in 1906 and ended up co-founding the business 80 years ago with fellow immigrant Raffaele Valvona.
"And when you think about it, they would have come from the sun and countryside to a city that was grimy and smoky and dark. It would have been a huge change for them."
They certainly brought a refreshing change for Edinburgh folk, who found their tastebuds and linguistic skills challenged as they got their hungry tongues around spaghetti and linguine, tortellini and macaroni, cappuccino, prosciutto and gelato.
Many made the Elm Row delicatessen their favourite shop. And now, as the family business prepares to celebrate its 80th anniversary, a call has gone out to anyone with memories and photographs of the way it once was to share them.
"This is a special place for many customers," explains Mary, whose grandparents also came to Scotland from the Lazio region at the start of last century. "Their parents came here, or they came as students to buy wine. It's a place that triggers a lot of emotion for a lot of people.
"Food related memories are often very powerful."
Philip and Mary, who as well as company director is an acclaimed food writer, want to gather those memories and add them to their own in a bid to create a diverse portrait of a business that for many is much more than simply a place to shop for Italian food.
For as well as treating tastebuds, the shop introduced many visitors to sights, smells and sounds that transported them straight to a bustling and sometimes bizarre corner of Italy, right in the heart of the city.
Philip, 60, who joined the business aged 17 in 1971, recalls the frantic sight that greeted many as soon as they stepped over the door: "At the front door were two pieces of equipment, a very small Belling oven with five shelves for small pizza trays and a big coffee roaster.
"My father, Carlo, cooked the pizzas, roasted the coffee and served the customers, all at once.
"The pizza at the top of the oven would cook first, so he'd have to rotate them. If he forgot, smoke would pour out and the pizza would be burned.
"At the same time the coffee would be roasting. Roasting coffee was a great skill because you had a five-second window for the perfect roast. It was like the sign a new Pope had been elected: two puffs of smoke meant perfect, three puffs, it was burned.
"So there's a shop full of people at lunchtime who are hungry, and my dad Carlo, who had diabetes and needed to eat, is serving and trying to get the pizzas out and watching the coffee, and suddenly there'd be all this smoke and we'd yell Carlo!'," he laughs.
"The customers loved it. He'd shout, Burned pizza, half price burned pizza!'."
The action behind the counter was just as fascinating as the exotic products on sale, making shopping at Valvona & Crolla a complete sensory assault.
And for the staff, working there was never dull, especially when the coffee roasting system went on fire as oil from the process ignited, prompting them to rush to the scene armed with Fairy Liquid bottles filled with water.
It's almost a wonder that the much-loved deli actually survived for 80 years - especially as its darkest spell during the Second World War almost closed the shutters for good.
"Many Italians who had been born here or had come to start business were arrested," explains Mary, 57.
"It was just after Dunkirk, it was a tense time. The windows of the shop were shattered and the board at the front of the shop is the original one put up in June 1940 to protect the shop. There was a lot of confusion."
Shares in the business that had been forged by Newhaven cafe owner Alfonso and neighbour Raffaele, who ran a continental food warehouse, were temporarily passed out of family hands and the business run by a stranger.
And later, with the family reeling from tragedy and trauma, it fell to Philip's Uncle Victor's shrewd foresight and determination to rebuild the business, first selling shop equipment to fellow Italians whose shops had been damaged in the backlash to later running perhaps the strangest mobile shop imaginable, created from a tall-sided removals van.
"It was like the inside of the shop, but on wheels," laughs Philip. "It had huge shelves that were stacked full of Italian wine and food and it would head off to Fife with my Uncle Dominic driving.
"Unfortunately he quite often came back, having sold stock but without having been paid for it because he felt sorry for some of the less well-off customers."
For Mary, the abiding memory is the cacophony of laughter mixed with lively Italian chat as the family unwittingly turned the deli into a unique shopping experience for their customers.
"Some of the family was at the front counter serving and others in the back slicing the Parma ham, and all these in-jokes were going back and forwards," she smiles. "It was just a great big carry on."
But while the family pauses to reflect on eight decades, they are also looking forward.
For just as Alfonso introduced 1930s Edinburgh to pasta and pizza, and son Victor stunned the city in the Sixties by ditching corks in the family firm's wine bottles in favour of unheard of screw tops, the next generation ensured the Valvona & Crolla name lives on, strengthening ties with small niche Italian producers, developing a new Scottish-themed gift range and broadening their internet shopping service.
And eventually the next generation, Philip and Mary's daughter, Francesca, will take over the reins.
Before then, however, the family is keen to compile a comprehensive tapestry of living memories.
"It's a special place for so many people who shopped here, people bought their gallons of wine here for their student parties and many worked here," adds Mary. "There's a lot of attachment to the place, and we really want to hear about it."
 
How the Second World War tore family apart
GENEROUSLY rotund, thanks to a love for his native Italian food and in his sixties, Alfonso Crolla, below, couldn't have posed much of a threat to British security. But as the Second World War raged and Mussolini declared war, the hard-working Italian was soon caught up in the nightmare of hostilities.
Italy's declaration of war in June 1940 prompted a Cabinet meeting in London to discuss just what to do about the thousands of Italians who had made Britain their home.
Churchill's response would send shockwaves through towns and cities across the country: "Collar the lot."
Alfonso, who had arrived in Scotland in 1906, and his son, Victor, who was born here, were among those treated as "enemy aliens" to be torn from their families and put behind lock and key. For Victor - a kind-hearted soul who Mary recalls telling her during her first stint behind the deli counter to simply charge customers what she thought they could afford - there was a spell in Saughton Prison and then at a camp in the Isle of Man for five years.
Alfonso was sent there too. But he and Mary's grandfather, Cresidio Di Ciacca, were chosen to board the ill-fated SS Arandora Star to be transported to Canadian internment camps. The vessel was torpedoed by a German U-Boat. An estimated 700 people died among them Alfonso and Cresidio.
 
Appeared Edinburgh Evening News 7 March 2014

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE....


This is a fairly dated piece in terms of when it was written, but the issues, themes and the story are all timeless.
Indeed, it's actually quite relevant right now, as a new film, Belle - which tells something of this story  - is due for release sometime this year.




  ELEGANT and perfectly poised, the young lady sits in all her finery with a book laid open on her lap, her dusky companion by her side.
Lady Elizabeth Murray's hand reaches out to the pretty young woman, gently touching her gown.
On the surface, it's a fascinating image of two young women born in the same era but surely separated in society and status by the mere colour of their skin.
One has been delivered into 18th-century aristocracy. The other, presumably, can be little more than her slave.


It is a striking painting but the assumption that this is a lady and her subservient maid couldn't be more misguided.
For in an era of slavery, when many of African descent could only look forward to a life of service and misery bereft of basic human rights, when even Edinburgh banks were involved in the owning of ships transporting slaves, Dido Lindsay was the rare exception to the rule.
Born the illegitimate daughter of a liaison on the high seas between a Scots aristocratic naval officer and the black slave he captured, Dido enjoyed privileges, wealth and a social status that her contemporaries in the latter half of the 1700s could only wish for.
But there was more to Dido than simply being lucky enough to be born into an enlightened and loving family who refused to allow the colour of her skin to relegate her to a life below stairs.
In fact, the graceful, elegant and enigmatic Dido may well have been the spur which prompted her great-uncle, the First Earl of Mansfield, William Murray, to deliver a historic ruling that led to freedom for thousands of those less fortunate than her.
 With her portrait going on public display for the first time at the Scottish National Portrait Gallery in Edinburgh (FEB 2002), interest in her remarkable story has been reawakened.
"Her story is fascinating," agrees Margo Norris, archivist at Scone Palace, ancestral home of the Earls of Mansfield. "Her role was unusual - most black people in Britain at the time would have been employed as servants, pageboys or footmen - she was treated as a member of the family.
"And she went on to become reasonably wealthy in her own right."
The picture, by one of England's best artists of the late 18th century, Johan Zoffany, is among the most thought-provoking items at the Great Houses of Scotland exhibition currently running at the Portrait Gallery in Queen Street.
Curator at the time James Holloway says the very fact Dido's image appears in a painting, which would have cost her family thousands of pounds to commission at the time, indicates her elevated status.
The portrait is among a beautiful collection of works contributed by Scone Palace, including a magisterial painting of William Murray, dubbed "the greatest lawyer of all time", resplendent in the robes of the Lord Chief Justice of England.
Born at Scone in 1705, he had left post-Union Scotland and Jacobite turbulence in the hope of establishing his career south of the Border. He was called to the English bar in 1730, quickly earning a reputation as a brilliant lawyer and the nickname "Silver-tongued Murray" for his public speaking gift.
He would go on to become the only man to serve as Lord Chief Justice for 32 years. He was also an MP, Solicitor General of Scotland - during which time he and his family lived in Edinburgh - Chancellor of the Exchequer and was on good terms with many figures in the intellectual movement Scottish Enlightenment.
But the legal tangle which confirmed his position in history was a landmark decision to emancipate the slave James Somerset by declaring in 1772 that his master had no right to sell his freedom.
His decision sent shock waves through the land. It spelled the beginning of the end of a shameful chapter in British history and gave hope to thousands of black people who had been driven out of their native homes, on to slave cargo ships in horrific conditions and sold into a life of slavery, lining the pockets of their wealthy owners.
That would probably have been the fate awaiting Dido's mother. Wrenched from her homeland, she was crammed into the hold of a Spanish slave ship for what would have been a terrifying and life-threatening journey across the Atlantic. Conditions would have been horrific: many were doomed to die on board from outbreaks of smallpox, dysentery, scurvy or from sheer terror. Some jumped overboard.
Those who refused food would be forced to their knees and a red-hot coal pressed to their mouth to make them scream. Their jaws would be wedged open and food emptied down their gullet.
But the Spanish slave ship was captured during the siege of Havana by William Murray's nephew, Rear Admiral Sir John Lindsay. His eye was clearly caught by one young woman in particular, and remarkably he refused to abandon her when she inevitably fell pregnant.
Instead, he brought her home and organised a job below stairs as a housekeeper at his uncle William's mansion, where Dido was eventually born.
But, as John Cairns, professor of legal history at Edinburgh University who has studied the 18th-century black population in Britain, explains, the childless Murrays had no desire to relegate this "bastard" infant to the kitchens.
"We have to remember that these people were aristocrats with a high sense of their own importance," he says. "It was of tremendous significance to have aristocratic blood in your veins - and Dido had aristocratic blood. The blood of William Murray's nephew, Lindsay, flowed in her."
Although she may not have had the entire run of the house, and it is not known whether she travelled north to Edinburgh when Murray did, Dido certainly enjoyed an elevated status.
"She had particular responsibility for running the dairy and poultry," says Ms Norris. "But judging by her fine clothes and the fact she had a reasonable income - especially after her father's death when he left her GBP 1000 - it's highly unlikely she ever got her hands dirty.
"She grew up with the other young woman in the painting, Elizabeth, the Second Earl of Mansfield's daughter, and would have been her playmate. Dido was treated a little bit like a nanny governor - neither below stairs but not quite completely above the stairs."
Certainly her presence among an aristocratic family did not impress everyone who came to visit, or attract their approval. American Thomas Hutchison, Governor-in-Chief of Massachusetts Bay, seemed to question the motives behind William Murray's affection for her when he wrote: "A Black came in after dinner. She had a very high cap and her wool (hair) was much frizzled in her neck, but not enough to answer the large curls now in fashion. She is neither handsome nor genteel. They call her Dido. He (William Murray) knows he has been reproached for showing fondness for her - I dare say not criminal."
Dido's role within the family may have remained little more than a curiosity, but for one particular court case which came before her great uncle in 1772. He was by this time Lord Mansfield and his ruling would have ramifications on both sides of the Atlantic.
It's not clear just what influence Dido's presence in Kenwood House may have had as he ruminated over the case of a negro called James Somerset, whose desperate bid to escape the chains of slavery had posed the groundbreaking legal question over his right to freedom.
However, Lord Mansfield found in Somerset's favour, and set him free. It was a ruling that created mayhem in Britain and America, as downtrodden slaves saw the Somerset finding as a sign that their term of imprisonment was finally at an end.
They gathered up what few possessions they had, and deserted their masters in droves.
At last they too could count themselves as free as a young girl called Dido.
 
Cutting the chains
EXACTLY what influence Dido Lindsay may have had over her great uncle's finding in a landmark legal case is lost in the mists of time.
But what is clear is the profound impact Lord Mansfield's Somerset finding had - not only on the slave trade but on Britain's relationship with America.
Somerset had been brought to England from Massachusetts in 1769 by his master, a Scotsman called Charles Stewart.
He absconded but was recaptured, put in irons and placed on board a ship bound for Jamaica where he was to be sold into slavery.
Anti-slavery campaigners, seeking a test case, decided to challenge Stewart's right to buy and sell his servant's liberty.
Although Lord Mansfield's decision referred specifically to Somerset's case, his finding that "No Master was ever allowed here to take a Slave by force to be sold abroad because he had deserted from his Service" was seen as a fatal blow to the future of slavery. The case was cited as ending the slave trade in Britain on both sides of the Atlantic, prompting slaves to desert their masters and, citing the Somerset case, seek independent employment.
But there was a further side-effect of Lord Mansfield's ruling.
American colonists fighting for white colonists' freedom from Britain were quick to use it to boost their own argument: that if all men are created equal, why then should they remain "enslaved" to a country thousands of miles away?
 
First published Edinburgh Evening News February 2002.

Friday, 11 October 2013

Grand old lady shines again

 

The elaborate hand painted wall panels depict pretty birds perched on entwined branches with delicate Oriental blossoms. The carpet is sumptuously soft, the view from the window among the most stunning Edinburgh has to offer.
It's here, where crystal glasses and silvery cutlery sparkle, under a glittering deep pink chandelier in a room that oozes boudoir chic and feminine charm, that Craig Sandle is discussing how to go about shoving a plump raw chicken into, of all things, a pig's bladder.

The pig's bladder, he explains enthusiastically, is actually a beautiful thing. Big and, obviously, watertight, pop in the best chicken he's ever found, herbs and a slug of Armagnac and watch it simmer and inflate. Once it's puffed up like a balloon ready to go "pop", a smart young waiter will carry it high on a silver salver, lay it with due reverence on the pristine white linen tablecloth, and watch as the words "pig" and "bladder" melt away like a knob of creamy butter smoothed over steaming hot baby potatoes.
The theatrical display of punching it open to release its steaming, aromatic contents is often enough to spark a scramble among diners. Pig's bladder at The Pompadour by Galvin, it seems, is going down a treat.
"We've done five or six in one night," nods Edinburgh-born Craig, executive head chef at the newly refurbished, as strikingly pretty as ever restaurant on the first floor of the Caledonian Hotel. "Diners like it. Usually when one table orders it and the others see it, then they want to try it too."
Unusual perhaps, but those pigs' bladders - actually the dish is called poulet en vessie - along with award winning chef Craig, the backing of two superstar restaurateur brothers, the Galvins, and a £24million plus investment are combining to restore this grand old lady of Princes Street to former glories.
Not before time too. For years she was left to slowly decay as her flamboyant "sister" at the other end of the strip slapped on the style and lured the cream of city guests through her constantly revolving door.
Both railway hotels, both built in lavish style for Victorian travellers, The North British, as it was before becoming the Balmoral, provided rest for tired travellers at Waverley, while the red sandstone edifice of the Caley gave sanctuary for steam train passengers stepping off the platforms at the Princes Street railway station below. Like wally dugs on the mantelpiece, they've stood sentinel over tramworks, buses, cars and weary shoppers for over 100 years.
Competition over which could claim bragging rights as the best swung back and forth, east versus west, North British or the Caley. In recent years, however, there was an outright winner and it definitely wasn't the faded and dishevelled Caley.
Now with the Waldorf Astoria brand behind her, the Caley has fixed her smudged make up, put on her best frock and is clawing her way back. And it's entirely possible that some time soon The Balmoral will have some Michelin star competition from her old chum at the West End.
The Caley's not so secret weapon is sitting on a velvety soft, pale green and dusky pink chair beside huge windows in the rococo dining room, the view on one side is of the castle towering above, on the other, Princes Street and her bitter rival.
Craig Sandle only had to stroll along that street to take up his new executive chef title here - he used to be head chef at the Balmoral's fine dining restaurant, Number One, working under the hotel's executive chef Jeff Bland and a key figure in helping it achieve and retain its Michelin star for an impressive nine years.
He was lured along the road by the Michelin star Galvin brothers Chris and Jeff, who sealed the deal to bring the Caley's Pompadour and Brasserie dining rooms into their stable of London based French inspired restaurants. While Craig is not going to confirm he's setting his sights on a precious star for the newly revived Pompadour, there's clearly everything to play for.
"It's not something I think about," he shrugs. "It was the same at Number One, once you get a star, you don't spend all your time then thinking that you must do this or that to keep it, you just get on with what you do because you have 50 covers booked that night and you want to make sure it's nice and you're doing the best you can.
"If we achieve a standard here that Michelin think is worthy of a star, then fantastic. But the real reason I do this is because I like cooking, I like it that people come and enjoy themselves and have a nice time."
 
Taking on the role at the Caley is only natural for Craig, born and raised in Edinburgh until he was six, he recalls returning on summer visits to play in Princes St Gardens, beside the fountain and to climb the rocky path up to the Castle.
While he can't specifically remember looking towards the Caley and thinking "yes, one day I'll be chef there", there's no doubt the grand lady must have been in his line of vision.
"Mum's Scottish, dad's English," he explains. "

We moved to Derby when I was still quite young but we'd come back here in summer. I reckon I'd have been ten or 11, I remember walking around the Gardens, the Castle, seeing the sights."
He learned to cook the basics at his mum's side: "Just good home cooked stuff," he recalls, no pig's bladders that he can remember. The need for pocket money drove him to working as a kitchen assistant in his spare time and by the time he was 16, it seemed natural to just keep on going, learning on the job and working hard enough to keep on impressing his superiors.
He returned to Edinburgh aged 17 even though the city then was hardly a gastronomic centre of excellence with just a handful of decent restaurants and most "fine dining" opportunities limited to a few hotels.
So he worked his way through the three-star Ellersly House Hotel at Murrayfield, moved up to four stars at Norton House Hotel and then hit five stars at the Balmoral when the old Grill was evolving into what would become the Michelin star restaurant Number One. En route there have been too many awards and honours to list, certainly enough to suggest Sandle, a father of two young daughters, could easily break out of hotels and put his own name above a restaurant door.
Instead he seems content to set sights on ensuring The Pompadour can return to its former glory as one of the places to dine in Edinburgh. And to persuade old diners to return - and lure new ones in - The Pompadour and the Galvin Brasserie de Luxe are setting out their stalls this week, in a week-long Galvin Festival of Food and Drink which is running at all of the brothers' six outlets. The highlight of the event here is an exclusive masterclass led by Craig at The Pompadour on Sunday, already sold out.
"For years the Caley wasn't in the running," admits Craig, 37. "It wasn't competing with the Balmoral, it was shabby and run-down and a complete mess. Everything needed work, the kitchens were a shell, it all had to be started from scratch.
"What is great about here is that Chris and Jeff Galvin didn't want to create a hotel restaurant. They wanted this to be a restaurant that happens to be in a hotel."
"I think we're giving people a good reason to come to the Caledonian again."
 
 
Hand-painted panels lovingly restored
THE Caledonian Hotel has undergone a major GBP24m refurbishment to restore it to its former glory.
At its heart is The Pompadour by Galvin restaurant on the first floor. Its listed interior decor is designed to reflect the sumptuousness of the Palace at Versailles, with elaborate cornice work, large windows and delicate Chinese style painted panels.
Smoke, food damage and wear and tear had left the hand-painted panels, created by Paris-based De Gourney and hung in the dining room in the mid-70s, in dire need of restoration.
Faced with ripping them out or attempting to replace them - re-papering an average sized dining room with the paper would cost around GBP15,000 - the hotel opted to have them restored.
Incredibly, having searched UK-wide for over a year for an expert to restore the panels, a chance discussion with one of the interior designers working on the refurbishment led the hotel to Leith-based artist Rachel Bell.
The 51-year-old, who has worked on interiors for The Honours, Prestonfield House and The Witchery, had already worked on panels in the hotel's Castle Suite two decades earlier. And as a little girl, she remembers being taken to The Pompadour for tea and marvelling at the pretty panels. She has since completed several panels.
 
Built above station
1. The Caledonian Hotel opened in 1903.
2. Its famous guests have included Charlie Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy, Elizabeth Taylor, Bing Crosby, Grace Kelly and Nelson Mandela.
3. Sir Sean Connery has described the hotel as his favourite place to stay in Edinburgh.
4. The hotel's most unusual guest was Trigger, Roy Rogers' "wonder horse" who entered the hotel's foyer with his famous owner in February 1956.
5. The hotel was built over the three main archways of the Princes Street Railway Station. Trains ran from there to stations at the likes of Balerno and Leith.
6. The hotel was constructed by the Caledonian Railway Company from red sandstone, unusual for Edinburgh, it is the same kind of stone used in all of its railway hotels.
7. The railway closed in 1965 and demolition work began four years later.
8. The hotel's Peacock Alley is a favourite spot for afternoon tea, but was once the entrance to the hotel from the station. The original Caledonian Railway crest can been seen carved above the doorways.
9. When Marlene Dietrich stayed at the Caley in 1963, she demanded a king-sized bed. One wasn't available, so the hotel handyman, Jack Herckes, was sent to make one. He still works at the Caley today.
10. The Caley's staircase has impressive stained glass windows which depict all the towns located on the Caledonian Railway network.
 
Appeared Edinburgh Evening News May 2013
(c) 2013 Johnston Publishing Limited

 
 

The Edinburgh rooms with a view: 50 years of estate life.

EVERY morning, almost without fail, for the past 50 years, Jean Rooney has thrown open the living room curtains in her council flat to gaze upon one of the most spectacular views Edinburgh can offer.

From her vantage point above the tree tops, she looks down on scampering grey squirrels, birds' nests and the lush carpet of grass beneath her window, and up towards the bright yellow flowering gorse bushes that are sprinkled across the rising slope.
Above the bursts of green and yellow, the Radical Road gently winds on a journey up the rugged face of Salisbury Crags, where the ripples of rock appear to change colour and texture as the sky shifts from sun to rain, to cloudy grey, occasionally even brilliant blue.
The scene is stunning, not that Jean knew much of it on June 16, 1963, when she was one of the first tenants in a brand new block of high-rise flats built to replace grim slum tenements.
"It was a Tuesday," nods Jean, who is counting the weeks to her 90th birthday but remembers walking through the door of her eighth-floor flat in Holyrood Tower as if it happened yesterday. "The mist was right down to the park, I couldn't see what was in front of us at all.
"It was like that for three weeks, right up to the Trades' holidays. We didn't know what the view was like, we couldn't see it."
When the mist finally cleared, Jean discovered that along with her husband Jimmy and their young son Brian, she had snared a council house in a prime location with the kind of five-star view that today's property developers would surely gaze at with pound signs rolling in their eyes.
Back in 1963, the area around Holyrood was an industrial melting pot of breweries and printers, humble and rundown houses, bakers, butchers and spit-and-sawdust pubs - a far cry from today's mix of upturned boat Parliament, glass-fronted media offices, the white shrouded visitor attraction of Dynamic Earth and bars and cafes with their pavement tables and outdoor dining.
But while all around has since morphed into the modern age, Dumbiedykes - with its two high-rise tower blocks dominating the skyline and the honour of being the only council estate slap in the heart of the city centre - has, apart from a frantic tidy-up to coincide with the influx of MSPs and a dramatic rise in rent from $4 a fortnight to around £80 a week now, barely changed.
Jean was one of the first to arrive at Holyrood Tower, arriving from a prefab in West Pilton Crescent so prone to flooding that it made more sense to move than to continuously try to dry it out.
She left behind a bungalow with two bedrooms and a garden with a crop of potatoes that was usually submerged and crossed town to an area that had housed crumbling slum tenements and was then what the council clumsily called "St Leonard's Comprehensive Development Area, Phase 1a Dumbiedykes".
High-rise life might not suit all, but other than the pigeon deposits on her little balcony, Jean found she liked it just fine: "It's lovely to be above the treetops," she says with a smile. "My dad used to visit me and he'd say how well I looked and I used to say, 'it's the hill air, dad, it's good for me'. Look at my big garden," and she points out the window to the glorious view outside, "isn't it lovely?"
From the window of the newly-renovated kitchen - where just two years after moving in, Jean, then 39, stood trying to make sense of what her sister-in-law was saying, something about her husband being hit by train at work - there's an alternative view, equally fantastic, that takes in the roofs and spires of the Old Town.
"Our son Brian was just seven years old, he was in the living room and I was in the kitchen," recalls Jean of the awful day she went from wife to widow. "It was the Talisman that got him, the London-Edinburgh express, ten past two, it was running late. He must have stumbled on the line.
"It was at the time of Beeching closing down the railways," she continues sadly. "He was a train driver and a union man and he was going to tell the fire droppers their jobs were safe for another six months. He crossed the railway - he should never have done it - and he was killed.
"Never got a penny," she shrugs. "I got a widow's pension, 25p a week more."
Across in Lochview Court, Isa Duncan's ground-floor home is a lonelier place since her husband Joe passed away a few years ago. They arrived, a young couple with dark hair and broad smiles, with 14-month-old son Alastair in their arms from a rented flat in a house in Portobello to what Isa remembers thinking was "heaven".
"Everything else was a building site," she remembers, "Lochview Court was the first to be built and then everything happened rapidly after that. The low-rise flats went up like Lego houses and there were lots of complaints about them.
"People weren't happy they weren't allowed to keep dogs, it was choose the house or the animal. It was a bit unfair - the folk's dogs were more civilised than some of the men in those days."
Isa and Joe, an engineer, were in the house three years when second son Gordon was born in the back bedroom. Children welded the new community together, young mums met at the gates of what is now the Royal Mile Primary School - back then it was called Milton House - or at the nursery in Braidwood House which is now the community centre, and planned Avon and Tupperware parties and bus trip away days.

 
Isa, now 73, keeps the solitude at bay by throwing herself into the local writers' group, penning the estate newsletter and various community events. "There have been lots of changes here," she adds. "A lot of them have been good, like the Parliament and Dynamic Earth.
"And for all the area is decried by some, I've never had any bother. These flats will still be here long after I've gone."
More than 80 families moved into Lochview Court and then Holyrood Court in 1963, some from well outside the area, others from just a stone's throw away.
Ann Cameron moved less than a mile, from a tiny room in the Royal Mile for a house a couple of storeys above Isa.
"I didn't think we were going to get one of the houses," recalls Ann, 72, who turned out to be first to get keys to a Lochview Tower home. "We were in a room that had a kitchen-come-living room with a wee recess where the bed was, for me, my husband and two kids, Jean, who was three and Steven who was two.
"Lots of people lived that way, we weren't unusual, but I put my name down for a house as soon as I saw them building these flats."
She was over the moon when the keys to the second-storey two-bedroom house finally arrived. "Someone said 'you've not got a hope in hell of getting one of those'. There was a stampede for them. It meant we had to find more rent - £4 a fortnight - but it was worth it.
"I got a house with a lovely view. I open the curtains and it's lovely. I think that's why a lot of private landlords have come in and bought up a lot of the houses, because of the views."
Indeed, many of the council homes were sold under the right to buy scheme and are now in the hands of private landlords. It's meant a fluid community with an older generation like Jean, Isa and Ann rooted at its heart and a much younger, itinerant and multi-cultural influx around them.
Jean, who as a young widow relied heavily on the support and kindness of her neighbours to help look after young Brian so she could work, has seen many of her old neighbours pass away. Today, she hardly knows a soul.
"There's Nigerians living here, people from Eastern Europe, Chinese, Polish, they come from all over. They all seem nice enough, but it's not the way it was, because everyone used to know each other. Now you don't see your neighbours at all."
The 50th anniversary of the multi-storey flats has not passed without recognition: recently Sheila Gilmour, MP rolled up to have a celebratory lunch with Jean and other high-rise residents and there's a plan to tidy up the area by covering unsightly stone planters with some wooden cladding.
"Doing something about the pavements and the road might be better," sighs Jean, whose failing eyesight means she rarely ventures outside.
"There are times when I think I'd like to get a wee sheltered house somewhere, without any stairs and near the shops," she adds.
"I'll be 90 soon. I don't think I'll be moving from here. This is my home."
 
 
Answer to the big question - Where did the name come from?
THE area that stretches from the Pleasance to Holyrood was once farmland divided into sections by a series of dykes.
The name Dumbiedykes emerged after Thomas Braidwood's Academy for the Deaf and Dumb - the first school of its kind in Britain - was founded in the area in 1764.
The academy, built on St Leonard's Toad - later Dumbiedykes Road - became known as the Dumbie Hoose.
It was there that Braidwood pioneered a form of sign language - the foundation for the modern version. The academy closed in 1873 and was demolished in 1939.
The area became a thriving hub of industry, with breweries such as William Younger's in Holyrood, MacKay's in St Leonards standing side-by-side with printing firms like Cowan's at the foot of Arthur Street and Nelson's at Parkside and McNiven and Cameron in Blair Street.
The factories provided work for locals but housing conditions were poor and the slum tenement homes were knocked down and the tight-knit community dispersed.
Modern Dumbiedykes was built between 1959 and 1964. It consists of 650 homes including two multi-storey tower blocks - Holyrood Tower and Lochview Tower - of ten and 11 storeys.
 
 
More than a few famous sons...
 
 
DUMBIEDYKES is home to Benjamin Ellis, one of Edinburgh's brightest opera prospects.
Ellis, 23, was chosen to take a key role in Edinburgh Grand Opera developing artists programme and quickly secured a leading role performing at the Queen's Hall.
He is now studying singing at Trinity College in London.
Father of geology James Hutton could be loosely described as a Dumbiedykes boy. He lived just behind where the modern estate is now, in a cottage that looked on to the Crags.
Super featherweight boxer Alex Arthur MBE grew up on the estate. The former British, Commonwealth, European and WBO champion's last fight was in April last year at Meadowbank, just a few miles from his childhood home.
Former Bay City Roller singer Nobby Clark lives in the area. He was appointed to fight for the estate in the role of chairman of the Dumbiedykes Environmental Group.
Redevelopment of the area with the construction of the Parliament has pushed up prices in neighbouring properties - among the owners of one penthouse apartment nearby was Simple Minds singer Jim Kerr.
Appeared Edinburgh Evening News June 2013
(c) 2013 Johnston Publishing Limited

Thursday, 8 August 2013

Heroes who must not be forgotten.

A very old one this*... stumbled across, forgot I'd ever written it although obviously the research must have been agony. No reason in particular for suddenly posting it, just that it's always fascinating and humbling to remember those who fought and died in two world wars.
Story mentions plans for a national memorial in honour of the Victoria Cross medal holders... ten years on and I don't believe it's ever happened.
Poignant anniversary next year.... Time to revive the idea, perhaps?


THEY were the bravest of the brave, men who fearlessly disregarded their personal safety to save the lives of others.

In remarkable acts of selflessness, displaying extreme courage and with incredible strength of character as enemy fire poured down, they revealed almost superhuman qualities.
Their reward for laying their lives on the line - and, indeed in many cases, sacrificing them - was to come in the form of a small but enormously precious medal, cast from the bronze of two Russian Crimean War guns captured after the siege of Sebastopol in 1855 and awarded in recognition of exceptional gallantry, regardless of rank or grade.

There have been just 1354 awards of the Victoria Cross since it was instituted in 1856, the merest glimpse of its distinctive crimson ribbon on the breast of a veteran enough to establish him as a military monarch - irrespective of whether he was a private or a colonel, a corporal or a major.
Its civilian equivalent, the George Cross, was instituted in 1940 to replace the Empire Gallantry Medal, the Albert Medal and the Edward Medal.
The decoration has been awarded to a mere 400 people, who, just like their counterparts in the armed forces, have all displayed incredible bravery for others.
While the courage of this select band of individuals could never be in doubt, it is only now that plans are being made to create a National Memorial in their honour and to establish a fund to ensure the restoration and upkeep of many of their far-flung graves - assuming, that is, that the necessary 250,000 pounds can be found.
Of course, such matters would have been far from the minds of the fearless fighting elite from around the Edinburgh area, whose split-second reactions, and fortitude in the face of almost certain death earned them the recognition and gratitude of an entire nation.
They include the likes of Lance-Corporal William Angus, the Great War light infantryman from Linlithgow who voluntarily left his trench in the face of enemy fire to rescue an officer, a deed accomplished despite him sustaining some 40 wounds for his troubles; Leith-born Sapper Adam Archibald, who in 1918 defied machine-gun fire and poison gas to persevere in the essential construction of a floating cork bridge across the Sambre-Oise Canal in France; and the remarkable Corporal Thomas Peck Hunter, a 21-year-old Royal Marine commando from Stenhouse, who sacrificed himself as a target to save his troop. It was April 2, 1945, when Cpl Hunter and his 43 Commando Royal Marine comrades were on the German Gothic Line defences at Lake Comacchio in Italy. Barely more than a teenager, Cpl Hunter was in charge of a Bren gun section when he spotted his men were devoid of cover.
Seizing his gun, he charged across 200 yards of fire-swept open ground towards a group of houses where three heavy machine-guns were lodged. Their gunfire was intense, yet so determined was his bid to detract the Germans from firing at his own men that the enemy was confused. Startled by the ferocity of Hunter's shooting, six of the enemy machine-gunners surrendered, while the remainder of them simply fled.
Cpl Hunter then cleared the entire house, changing several magazines of ammunition as he ran, firing accurately and continuing to draw the enemy fire away from his men. Most of his troops had reached cover by the time he was hit in the head, a single German bullet all it took to snuff the life out of a fighting hero.

Today, the VC which he never lived to see is on show at the Royal Marines Museum in Southsea. Closer to home, there is now a memorial plaque to remind pupils at the Capital's Tynecastle High School of his heroism, while eight cottages in Stenhouse Street West stand in his memory.
Almost 100 years separated him from Lieutenant Robert Blair of the 2nd Dragoon Guards, a 23-year-old from Avontoun in Linlithgow who found himself at Bolandshahr, India, in September 1857. Yet they are linked by the same indefatigable fighting spirit.
Lt Blair had been ordered to take a party of one sergeant and 12 men and bring in a deserted ammunition wagon. But as they approached, almost 60 Indian mutineers on horseback moved in.
It must have been a terrifying sight yet, without hesitation, Lt Blair formed up his men and gallantly led them through the rebels. He made good his retreat without losing a single man, leaving nine enemy dead in his wake. Two years later, however, he was himself dead, a victim of a far trickier foe - smallpox. Today, a plaque in his memory can be seen at the Covenanter's Prison Section in Greyfriars Cemetery.
 
 
In all, more than 30 military elite from around the Edinburgh area were awarded the VC, their heroic deeds stretching from October 1854 and the Crimean War, when Morningside-born Sergeant Henry Ramage of the 2nd Dragoons (Royal Scots Greys) galloped to the assistance of a private surrounded by seven Russians whom he duly dispatched, to Cpl Hunter's astonishing Second World War exploits.
Judging whether an act of valour is worthy of a VC is no easy task - the rules stipulate that the event should be witnessed by at least two others and that there should have been a 90 per cent chance of death. And, explains Didy Grahame, joint appeal director of the Victoria Cross and George Cross Association, these were no "brainstorm" incidents by battle-scarred men unaware of the risks they were taking. This is why 294 VCs have been deservedly awarded posthumously throughout the UK since the medal was first introduced.
"These awards are only given when it's known they understood the risks," she says. "Usually they are given to people who have already shown this kind of behaviour on frequent occasions, whose colleagues can confirm that he would have been fully aware of what he or she was doing. That is what underlies these awards."
Now is the time, Ms Grahame says, to ensure an appropriate memorial to VC and GC holders is established - it will be a two-foot square inlaid stone which will rest near the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior at Westminster Abbey, along with a fund which will help guarantee their graves are not allowed to be forgotten.
Of course, acts of supreme courage and bravery do not only occur on the battlefield. And for those civilians who put their own lives on the line for others, there is the George Cross.
There can be few better examples that than of David Brown, the West Calder mine overman, when in January 1947, he continually entered Burngrange Shale Mine pits after a massive explosion, braving raging fires and the threat of collapse, in a bid to reach trapped miners. Finally, while few of us would even be called upon once in our lifetime to commit such unselfish acts of bravery, perhaps it's worth remembering the supreme sacrifice of Private Charles Kennedy, 2nd Bn., The Highland Light Infantry.
Born in West Port, Edinburgh, he was just 24 and serving in Dewetsdorp, South Africa, in 1900 when he carried a wounded comrade three-quarters of a mile to hospital. The next day, he volunteered to carry a message across country over which it would be almost certain death to venture. He had gone barely 20 yards when he was severely wounded.

Pvt Kennedy was made of particularly sterling stuff. Seven years after receiving his VC, he was back home in Edinburgh, casually strolling along Leith Walk, when a runaway horse and cart thundered past. Realising it was heading straight for a group of children playing in the street, he again displayed astonishing courage as he tried to prevent disaster. Tragically, that heroic deed cost him his life.
In an age when footballers, pop idols and movie stars are often referred to as "heroes", Pvt Kennedy was the genuine article. Yet the man who put his life on the line for duty no fewer than three times today lies buried on common ground in North Merchiston Cemetery. His grave is unmarked.
Donations or requests for further information to: The VC and GC Memorial Appeal, Horse Guards, Whitehall, London SW1A 2AX.
 
Roll-call of honour for acts of bravery by Edinburgh's finest
VICTORIA CROSS
Captain William Bloomfield, of Broomfield, Edinburgh, 2nd South African Mounted Brigade, braved 400 yards of machine-gun and rifle fire to reach a wounded man in Miali, Tanganyika (now Tanzania), 1916.
Cpt Walter Brodie, Highland Light Infantry, of Belgrave Crescent, Edinburgh, led charge to evict Germans from British trenches in Belgium, 1914. Eighty of the enemy were killed and 51 taken prisoner.
Lieutenant William Bruce, 59th Scinde Rifles, captured an enemy trench near Givenchy, France, 1914. Despite neck wound, encouraged men to hold out against several counter-attacks until he was killed. 
 Lt Thomas Cadell, 2nd Bengal European Fusiliers, born in Cockenzie. During siege at Delhi, India, 1857, defied enemy attack to bring in two wounded men.
Cpt John Cook, Bengal Staff Corps, Indian Army, braved heavy fire at Peiwar Kotal, Afghanistan, 1878, charging out of the trenches with such impetuosity that the enemy broke and fled. Fought a hand-to-hand battle to save a major's life.
Lt-Colonel Arthur Cumming, Commander of the 2/12th Frontier Force Regiment, Indian Army. In Kuantan, Malaya in 1942, Japanese soldiers attacked his battalion. Despite two bayonet wounds, led successful counter-attack. Wounded in heavy fire as he collected isolated detachments of men.
Lt William Dick-Cunyngham, Gordon Highlanders, born Prestonfield. Inspired faltering men during an attack on the Sherpur Pass, Afghanistan, 1879, by charging alone into enemy fire.
Pvt James Davis, 42nd Regiment, born in Canongate. At Fort Ruhya, India, 1858, offered to carry the body of a dead lieutenant back to the regiment.
Lt Robert Digby-Jones, Corps of Royal Engineers, at Wagon Hill, Ladysmith in South Africa, 1900. re-occupied a hill just as three leading Boers reached the summit.
Lt James Dundas, Bengal Engineers. At Dewan-Giri, Bhootan, India, in 1865 he climbed a 14ft wall and crawled through a 2ft-wide opening to reach around 200 enemy soldiers barricaded in a blockhouse.
Lt John Graham of the 9th Bn, The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. At Istabulat, Mesopotamia, 1917, despite two wounds, insisted on carrying ammunition and operated his gun with fearsome accuracy.
Sergeant-Major John Grieve, 2nd Dragoons (Royal Scots Greys), from Musselburgh. In Balaclava, Crimea, 1857, saved life of a Heavy Brigade officer, cutting the head off one Russian and dispersing others.
Surgeon Anthony Home, from Dunbar, 90th Regiment. 1857, Lucknow, India, protected wounded men from attack for more than 22 hours.
Lt William Hope, 7th Regiment. Sebastopol, Crimea, 1855, twice braved open fire to rescue an injured adjutant.
Cpt William Johnston, born Leith, 59th Field Coy, Corps of Royal Engineers. On River Aisne, Missy, France, 1914, worked two rafts with his own hands, returning with wounded from one side and taking back ammunition, while continuously under fire.
Lt Allan Ker, 3rd Bn, The Gordon Highlanders. In St Quentin, France, 1918, used a single Vickers gun to hold up the attack, inflicting many casualties. Surrendered only when out of ammunition and the situation hopeless. Single-handed, he held 500 of the enemy off for three hours.
Lance-Corporal John Mackay, 1st Bn, The Gordon Highlanders. Crow's Nest Hill, Johannesburg, 1900, repeatedly rushed forward under fire at short range to attend to wounded comrades.
Pvt John McDougall, 44th Regiment, born Old Town. Taku Forts, China, 1860, joined two others to swim through ditches to become the first British troops to mount the Fort walls.
Lt David McGregor from Craigs Road, Corstorphine, 6th Bn The Royal Scots. 1918 at Hoogemolen, Belgium, used his own body to successfully protect guns concealed on a limber from enemy fire. Killed in action later that day.
Cpl James McPhie, 416th (Edinburgh) Field Coy, Corps of Royal Engineers, born Rose Street, Edinburgh. In 1918, assisted troops to cross a floating bridge at the Canal de la Sensee near Aubencheul-au-Bac, France, under shell fire when it began to sink. Attempted vital repairs before being fatally wounded.
 
 
Pvt William Reynolds, Scots (Fusilier) Guards. At Battle of the Alma, Crimea in 1854, gallantly rallied the men round the Colours.
Commander Henry Ritchie, Royal Navy, of Melville Gardens, Edinburgh. On board HMS Goliath in command of the search and demolition operations at Dar-es-Salaam, Tanganyika in 1914 when wounded eight times in 20 minutes. Carried on until fainting from loss of blood. Died at home in Craigroyston House, Davidson's Mains in 1958.
Pvt Same (John) Shaw, 3rd Bn, The Rifle Brigade, from Prestonpans, East Lothian. 1858 at Lucknow, India, confronted and killed an armed rebel, sustaining a sabre wound.
 Quartermaster-Sergeant John Simpson, 42nd Regiment, born Edinburgh. 1858 at Fort Ruhya, India, twice went out under heavy fire to rescue wounded men.
Lt Harcus Strachan, from Bo'ness, served Fort Garry Horse, Canadian Expeditionary Force. Assumed command from dead squadron-leader at Masnieres, France, 1917, leading men through enemy machine gun and killing seven gunners with his sword.
Lance-Corporal Alexander Thompson, 42nd Regiment, born Tolbooth. Fort Ruhya, India, 1858, volunteered to retrieve the body of a lieutenant.
Pvt George Wilson, 2nd Bn, The Highland Light Infantry. 1914, Verneuill, France, located a German machine-gun by shooting six of the enemy and bayoneting the officer.
Cpt David Reginald Younger, 1st Bn, The Gordon Highlanders. Krugersdorp, South Africa, 1900, braved fire to drag an artillery wagon under cover. A later attempt to bring in the guns cost him his life.
 
GEORGE CROSS
John Alexander Fraser was Assistant Attorney General (Colonial Service) in Hong Kong, serving with the British Army Aid Group when the Japanese invaded in 1941. He was interned in the Civil Internment Camp in Stanley and immediately organised escape plans and a clandestine wireless service for his fellow prisoners. Despite being subjected to prolonged torture he refused to utter one word. Unable to break his spirit, the Japanese executed him on October 29, 1943.

David George Montagu Hay, later Marquess of Tweeddale, from Gifford, East Lothian, was serving on SS Eurylochus when it was sunk by an enemy raider 600 miles off Sierra Leone in 1941. He managed to reach a liferaft but - despite sharks infested waters - he dived back in to rescue a radio officer and survived.
Archibald Young, a chartered accountant, was working at Curtis & Harvey Ltd, an explosives factory at Roslin in 1916 when an explosion tore through the building. Aware that four girls were inside, Young and two colleagues defied the risk of explosion to rescue the occupants.
Eric Watt-Bonar, Flight Sergeant RAF (Voluntary Reserve), originally from Edinburgh, was based at a small airfield in Eccles in 1932 when an aircraft crashed and caught fire. From underneath the protection of an asbestos blanket, he unfastened the pilot's straps, released him and dragged him from the burning wreckage before administering first aid.
 
*This was written a while ago now, so it is entirely likely that the figures for medal holders has changed since then. Apologies and perhaps one day I'll get around to updating those figures.
Edinburgh Evening News 3 December 2002
Scotsman Publications.

Meet James McLevy - the original number 1 detective

Another oldie, may have posted  previously and maybe a bit out of date with reference to radio programmes and so on, but still kind of interesting. Hopefully.

 

 

LURKING in the eerie closes, the crowded, stinking tenements and along the Old Town's dark, damp wynds, petty crime, debauchery and all forms of human brutality festered. Pilferers, pickpockets, prostitutes, vagrants, robbers and burglars. And, very often, murderers.

It was Edinburgh in the mid-19th century, the birthplace of the Enlightenment, a respected seat of learning and home to the cream of Scottish society.
But, as Irish farmer's son James McLevy quickly discovered, Scotland's capital was also a rich melting pot for its vile, lawless dregs. So it was just as well that he was on the case.
Officially named on Edinburgh City Police's payroll records as their 'number 1' detective in a team of six, over three decades McLevy was involved in around 3000 cases.
McLevy's name went on to become famed in the annals of police history, thanks to his own diaries recording in vivid, sometimes caustic and often humorous detail the crimes, the people and the city streets where he worked.
Edinburgh's criminals were said to have fled at the sound of his giant footsteps, but it was his unique detection methods - one moment rubbing shoulders with the criminal fraternity, the next probing the educated minds of Edinburgh University's professors using scientific advances to develop clues - that sealed his reputation.
He might have been forgotten had he not published - in the 1860s - his account of his investigations.
And now his name and his position at the heart of Edinburgh's budding police force is - perhaps ironically for a man said to have been the inspiration for Sherlock Holmes - providing the heart and soul for yet another Edinburgh fictional crimefighter.
McLevy's name has already been loaned to a BBC Radio 4 crimefighting character, loosely based on his 150-year-old writings but given a dramatic edge by actor and author David Ashton.
Currently in its fifth series - "quite an accomplishment for radio," declares Ashton - he has now moved into print to with the Inspector McLevy Mystery novels. Eventually it's hoped that tales of the crimefighter, born in County Armagh, who trained as a linen weaver and came to Edinburgh to work in the trade, could make the transition to TV - perhaps even played by the actor who has brought the radio character to life, Hollywood-based star Brian Cox.
It's a remarkable revival for a detective whose writings were adored by Victorian readers. Even back then, it seems, everyone loved tales of a good Edinburgh detective.
"I was doing research for a television play about Conan Doyle and came across a passing mention of James McLevy," recalls David. "I asked at the British Library and after what seemed like a couple of hours this book appeared, a sorry looking thing, falling to pieces and tied up with a piece of dingy ribbon.
"I opened it up and it was like entering another world. Here was this person with this wild humour which I liked, a kind of grandiose quality, someone who really fancied himself as a philosopher with a big character.
"He was known as 'Jamie McLevy, the thief taker' and this idea of him being so proud of what he was doing struck me. I saw the kernel of a character."
While his two novels - Shadow of the Serpent was published last year, and the second, Fall From Grace, is about to come out - use McLevy's name and an outline of his character in a string of fictional episodes, the real McLevy was just as fascinating.
He pounded a beat that took in Edinburgh's Old Town slums and Leith crime hotspots, areas like Calton Hill and Princes Street which were popular with pickpockets, and the slums of the High Street and Canongate.
McLevy had decided the best way to solve crime was to mix with the pickpockets, prostitutes, body-snatchers and thieves, using the information some let slip to drive down the crime rate, and mingling with the population in plain clothes, undercover.
He used his ability to blend into a crowd to great effect to snare notorious pickpockets Holmes and Angus McKay. The pair had taken to following McLevy to his home in Old Fishmarket Close each night to ensure he was safely out of the way before they went out looking for victims - a tactic that didn't impress McLevy.
"And what made it worse was that they thought I was utterly ignorant of all this care taken of me," he wrote.
So, he hatched a plan, perhaps the first recorded example of a police sting.
Aware that one of Holmes' favourite tricks was to use a woman, who was known as The Swan, to sing in public to attract a crowd whose pockets he could then pilfer, McLevy waited until the thieves had followed him home.
Then, heavily disguised, he crept out to join the crowd as they enjoyed the music. As Holmes sneaked up, ready to dip McLevy's pockets, one of his colleagues nabbed him.
"The strains of The Swan were hushed; nor did she begin again; she was too much affected to be able to sing when her tender mate was in the claws of the eagles," wrote McLevy.
On another occasion, he revelled in what amounted to hero worship from women after snaring three child-strippers - a 19th century crime which saw well-dressed youngsters stripped naked in the streets by thieves who then sold the stolen clothing.

As for his love life, McLevy wasn't averse to becoming involved with female criminals.
Jean Brash, known as the Princess of Pickpockets and the Queen of Thieves, plied an alternative trade from a beehive-shaped brothel known as the Happy Land in Leith. McLevy was a regular, and she was one of the few criminals to outwit him.
Former police inspector John McGowan studied McLevy as part of a masters degree course.
"That he existed is without doubt," he says. "But just how much of what he wrote about was true, how much was anecdotal and how much had been changed to make the story... well, who knows?"
Fall From Grace, An Inspector McLevy Mystery by David Ashton, is published by Polygon
 
30 May 2007
Evening News - Scotland
EENS
English
(c) The Scotsman Publications Ltd.

The mail order doctor

Sitting at his desk in his Edinburgh study, Dr James Cullen laboured intensely over every single response, carefully instructing his long-
distance patients on what to do – cold baths and travel were particular favourite remedies – meticulously logging each patient’s correspondence and then copying one of his replies for his records.


Sealed and stamped, letters between doctor and patient winged their way – or, as this was the 18th century, they trotted along in horse-drawn carriages and bobbed over sea by boat – to places as far distant as Elgin and Manchester, Antwerp, 
Berlin and Madeira.
After all, Dr James Cullen was the most famous medicine man of his era, a mail order medic whose knowledge, advice and flair for communicating the mysteries and marvels of his profession had turned him into a global superstar.
And one who, for some of his despairing patients, must have been their final, maybe their only hope.
At his peak and at a time long 
before modern communication, the Edinburgh doctor was known around the English speaking world. Eventually, however, his fame dwi
ndled to within the walls of the Royal College of Physicians, Edinburgh (RCPE), where he was once president and where his portraits hang and items he once used – such as his pestle and mortar – are currently on show.
Now his fame in a fascinating and at times bizarre role as global mail order medic is being revisited in a Fringe production, using letters drawn from his own collection which not only reveal in absorbing detail the myriad of medical woes that afflicted his patients but his own, sometimes quite surprising, recommended cures.
“He became known as ‘The Doctor’,” says Iain Milne, Sibbald Librarian at the RCPE, where Dr Cullen’s letters are kept. “He was probably the most famous doctor in the English speaking world, so well known that people would simply address their letters to him as Dr Cullen, 
Edinburgh.
“What’s remarkable is that he wasn’t famous because he discovered anything in particular, but because he had this remarkable reputation that spread across countries. “
Patients hundreds of miles away would hang on his every word, taking advice for remedies – perhaps much to their relief he did not favour old-fashioned prescriptions involving things like snails, cobwebs, vipers and powdered skull – and accepting suggestions that they exercise, take cold baths and travel.
Among the letters that arrived at his Edinburgh study were some from patients with what seem to be very modern troubles. For in an age before vaccinations and antibiotics, when it might be expected that people’s health troubles would focus on how to survive everyday illnesses, many instead dwelt on issues like weight gain, stress and stomach ache. “The problem was that 18th century doctors couldn’t do much about things like infections or curing many diseases, they didn’t have the knowledge,” adds Iain. “So they tended to prescribe for the patient rather than the disease.”



People wrote seeking advice over fevers, colic, tumours and scabs. Some wanted help with toothache and worms, others for troubles with itches, nauseas, deleriums and 
ravings.
Some of the letters, viewed through modern eyes, can be amusing, Iain adds, others devastatingly poignant, oozing the writer’s misery for the plight they find themselves having to endure.
“One,” he explains, “from a man in Dumfries is a brilliant description of depression,” he explains. “Another letter from Perth was from a man suffering from venereal disease – who pleads for discretion – who is given a very long and complicated 
prescription.
“Jane Webster from Yorkshire wrote to him very concerned about her weight,” adds Iain. “There’s one long letter from her wondering what her weight should be for her height, she says she is a ‘44-year-old with dark hair, dark complexion and warm temper’ but had begun to grow fat before she was 20.
“She talks of having a father who was also very ‘corpulent’, and tells how she was 18st 2lb but had reduced her weight,” he adds. “She writes to him to ask what she should do, and his reply is that she ‘persist in present measures’.
“He also suggests she take great bodily exercise and cold bathing.”
Indeed, cold bathing features in many replies, adds Mr Milne, who presents part of the Fringe show, in which a selection of letters and Dr Cullen’s responses are shared with the audience.
“He often suggests people travel because he thinks that is good for them and also so they can take the waters at various spas.
“He suggests travelling to Germany for some patients and cold bathing in Peterhead during winter for others.”
He meticulously detailed what his patients should do while travelling, even down to choice of clothing, vehicle, where to sit on the coach and which windows to open.
Letters arrived daily and Dr 
Cullen, having risen every morning at 6.45am, would spend around two hours composing his responses before visiting his Edinburgh patients.
Incredibly, he would copy out his response – word for word – to create a full medical record of his patients’ troubles, eventually in 1781 opting to use an early copy machine designed by his friend, James Watt.
“One patient’s letter was 12 pages long and describes everything about diet and environment, the weather – if it’s cold or windy – and wonders what impact it has on their health,” adds Iain.



“There were a lot of people who’d write with stomach pains. One from Aberdeen suffered from an excess of bile and writes to Cullen detailing all the things he’s taking for it – it’s an extraordinary letter – and Cullen writes back saying he’s worried about him taking too many medicines.”
In return, his patients would part with two guineas for each consultation – around £250 by today’s standards, not only making Dr Cullen a world famous doctor, but quite a wealthy one too.
His fame, explains Iain, was the result of his fine reputation as a medical lecturer, his status at the head of the RCPE in a city recognised globally as a centre of excellence for 
medicine.
“It was during the Enlightenment, the Edinburgh medical school was at its height, and he was one of its leading professors,” he adds. “He wrote two very important textbooks – one, First Lines in Practise of Physique, was a hugely successful medical textbook at a time when lots of people were learning medicine.
“And he must have been a fantastic teacher. He was certainly very 
famous.”
Dear Doctor, with Professor David Purdie, College Librarian Iain Milne and actress Elayne Sharling, is at the Royal College of Physicians, Edinburgh, until Saturday. Tickets £8 (£6).
Appeared Edinburgh Evening News, 7 August 2012.
Scotsman Publications.

Tuesday, 10 April 2012

Titanic centenary and a time to remember

It's almost 100 years to the day since RMS Titanic made maritime history for the most tragic of reasons.

We might think we know all there is to know about the disaster that claimed more than 1500 lives. Certainly it was thought that the Edinburgh victims numbered just a few.
Yet even now, a century later, fascinating and forgotten detail of the sad souls who perished on that April night can and does emerge.
For decades, passenger Robert Norman was listed as being from Glasgow, in fact, he was from Edinburgh. A small detail, perhaps, but one certainly worth recording...
This story appeared in the Edinburgh Evening News on April 3, 2012. RMS Titanic sank on April 15, 1912.

 

 

 


 

 

Robert gave his lifebelt to save others


THE hands on Robert Norman's gold pocket watch nudged towards noon and the fair-haired young Scot prepared to take a last, lingering look at the bustling Southampton dockside before embarking on an adventure to a new life in a new land.

Robert, 27, had left home days earlier on the first leg of what was to be the start of a whole new chapter in his life. His brother Stanley was already living abroad. Now, with their father dead and buried, there was little to keep him home in Scotland.

His time here was over. No doubt as the gold watch in his jacket pocket ticked away the final minutes towards his ship's departure, Robert would have joined his fellow passengers in momentary reflection, thoughts turned to what they were leaving behind - and forward to the thrill and excitement of the voyage ahead.

After all, this was the finest ship ever built. Glittering and high-tech, she was a fascinating example of modern engineering - her mod cons and new-fangled electrical systems particularly thrilling for Robert, an electrical engineer.

This was her maiden voyage, a chance for her excited passengers like Robert to be among the first to experience the fastest Atlantic crossing ever.

And, for all the wrong reasons, this ship was about to become the best known vessel in the world.
Robert was, of course, on board RMS Titanic. Sadly this clever and amiable, calm and brave Scot would become one of the many tragic souls who would perish with her in the icy waters of the Grand Banks of Newfoundland.

His lifeless body - dressed in dark trousers, vest, green-striped flannel shirt and missing his boots - was among many recovered from the freezing water. On him was found his gold pocket watch, the hands poignantly stopped at the moment the Atlantic waters flooded inside the case.
It all happened 100 years ago this month, yet the hands of time have clearly not eroded the sheer scale and horror of events that claimed 1514 lives that April night in 1912, when the ship that couldn't be sunk slid beneath the waves.

Yet for Robert, throughout many of those years he'd be Edinburgh's forgotten Titanic victim - named on most passenger lists of the dead and missing as being, not a proud son of Scotland's capital city, but from Glasgow.

It was a simple mix-up. He had been working in the west of Scotland for electrical company AEG, based in Wellington Street in Glasgow and living for a spell in the city's Sauchiehall Street.
But Robert, a former pupil of Merchiston School, was most certainly of Edinburgh stock, one of six local men now known to have been on board the vessel when disaster struck.

Home for Robert had been at Nordcroft, South Oswald Road, in Newington with his father, also Robert, a partner in a London-based legal firm, and brother Stanley, who'd already left Scotland, bound for Vancouver. As he prepared for his journey across the Atlantic, picking up his second- class ticket for £13.10s, Robert quit his Glasgow job and moved to his uncle Walter Hick's home in Dalrymple Crescent in the Grange.

According to Titanic enthusiast Susan Morrison, the vessel would have fascinated Robert, with its up-to- the-minute electrical fixtures and devices. "He was an electrical engineer - and they were the dotcom boys of the day," she explains.

"Electricity was still very much a novelty, it was like computers were in the Nineties. I would not be surprised if Robert didn't get a tour of the turbine rooms that powered the ship because they would have been of huge interest to an electrical engineer.

"They were cutting-edge and I think the ship itself would have interested him greatly - perhaps the reason why he was on board the Titanic in the first place."

The electrics powering the ship would, of course, become remarkably significant in its dying moments, she adds.

"Everyone mentions how the lights stayed on right up to the moment she sank," adds Susan. "What happened was that the electrical engineers in the turbine rooms knew the only way to keep the radio running was to keep the turbines going. They sealed the water-tight doors to the turbine rooms - effectively sealing themselves in to certain death.

"So there's this famous moment when the stern of the ship rises in the air and the lights flicker . . . the moment when the water bursts through the doors and floods the turbine room."

By that time Robert and hundreds of other passengers and crew were already fighting for survival in the cold waters around the stricken vessel.

Earlier that evening Robert had settled down to play the piano at a hymn service presided over by the Rev Ernest Carter and attended by around 100 passengers in the second class dining salon.
Many passengers had already retired to their bunks when the iceberg was struck, at around 11.40pm on the evening of April 14.

One woman who would go on to survive the tragedy, Kate Buss, later recalled meeting the helpful young Scot, who guided her and a companion back to their cabins for warm clothes.
When they reached lifeboat No.9, Robert helped Kate to board only to be told that there was space only for women and children - despite Kate's protests, he would have to stay on the Titanic.

Later he is said to have handed over his own lifebelt to a woman and a child, helping save their lives. Confident of his ability to swim to safety, Robert jumped into the water, perishing, like many others that night, in the freezing ocean.

Robert's lifeless body was recovered by the cable ship Mackay- Bennett which had been sent to the scene to help only to discover a sea covered in bodies.

He was buried at Fairview Cemetery, Halifax, Nova Scotia on May 6, 1912.

Today his pocket watch survives - on show at the Royal Museum Greenwich, a poignant reminder of one tragic moment in time.

It was just another job
ROBERT Douglas was not the Titanic's only Edinburgh victim.
Andrew Cunningham was in his mid-30s. For him the journey across the Atlantic on board the most thrilling vessel ever to sail was just another job, one that he would continue to do even when confronted with the horrific realisation that the ship was fatally wounded.

Born in Edinburgh, he'd been living in Southampton, like many earning a living from the many vessels that came and went from the English dock.

He joined the Titanic in Belfast, to begin work as a bedroom steward, serving the moneyed on the first -lass deck.

He was on his way to D deck - where the first-class dining room and reception room was located - to "answer bells" and respond to passengers' needs when the collision occurred.

According to the online Encyclopaedia Titanica, he recalled looking down from E deck to see the rising water below and then helping passengers to safety until just three remained.

He told how one passenger, perhaps unaware of the dangers or simply determined to take precautions to aid his survival - nipped back to collect a coat, another wrestled with his lifebelt while Andrew dutifully helped the third strap up his life belt. "I helped him put it on and that was the last of my passengers."

At around 2am, with all the lifeboats gone and nothing else for it, Andrew plunged from the sinking boat into the water. "I had a mate [Sidney Conrad Siebert] with me," he said. "We both left the ship together."

He swam as hard as he could clear of the ship. 30 minutes later, it was gone. Andrew was picked up by lifeboat four. He took an oar and rowed.

He was rescued by the Carpathia - his friend, Sidney, however, perished - and three days later was delivered to a dockside in New York City where, according to Susan Morrison, many of the surviving crew were simply left to their own devices.

"The Titanic was just another job to them. And as soon as the ship sank, they stopped getting paid."
Also rescued was John Steward, a 27-year-old married man whose home was Earls Road in Southampton, but Edinburgh was where he was born.

Like Andrew, he joined the Titanic in Belfast for her delivery trip to Southampton. As a first-class steward, he would have been paid £3.15s a month.

As the Titanic sank, he was hauled on to a lifeboat and eventually given safe passage to New York on board the Carpathia.

On board the Carpathia was another Edinburgh survivor, a 34-year-old waiter known as only Mr AM Govern.

And it would be a thankfully safe ending for Able Seaman Thomas Cheyne, 29, also from Edinburgh, and also hauled to safety on board the Carpathia.

But for third-class passenger Simon Kutscher or Lithman, his dreams of a new life in America, would end that night.

The 26-year-old baker had been making his living in Edinburgh, perhaps saving until he had the £7 11s required for a passenger ticket, number 251.

He died in the sinking. His body was never recovered.

Appeared Edinburgh Evening News, www.edinburghnews.com
The Scotsman Publications Limited