Scottish Field - - WELCOME - Richard Bath, Editor

At this time of the year, it seems that all any­one wants to do is to talk about Ed­in­burgh. If it’s not the Jazz Fes­ti­val, In­ter­na­tional Fes­ti­val, Book Fes­ti­val or Fringe Fes­ti­val, then it’s the Royal Ed­in­burgh Mil­i­tary Tat­too. For months, my in­box has over­flowed with no­ti­fi­ca­tions of events in the cap­i­tal.

So it’s ex­actly the time of year when my thoughts turn west­wards, to­wards the Dear Green Place. I have a deep and abid­ing af­fec­tion for Glas­gow, partly be­cause my great-un­cle used to live in the West End, partly be­cause I’m mar­ried to a Westie, and partly be­cause I en­joyed those years when it was where I worked.

For much of the year I visit Glas­gow most weeks, but with a son head­ing off there to univer­sity I’ve found my­self there ever more reg­u­larly. Both the place and the peo­ple are a tonic for the soul and if I don’t have time to get out into the coun­try, what could be more re­vi­tal­is­ing than whiling away a few hours at Kelv­in­grove Park, spend­ing an evening eat­ing in Fin­nieston or watching Glas­gow War­riors strut their stuff.

So this month we have de­cided to try and re­mind ev­ery­one of the splen­dours of the Weeg. Once you start think­ing about it, they are many – and cer­tainly far more than fel­low Ed­in­burghers care to re­mem­ber.

I’d par­tic­u­larly like to thank my old col­league, for­mer Her­ald Diary writer Tom Shields, for the time spent rem­i­nisc­ing. Many of the sto­ries weren’t suit­able for a fam­ily au­di­ence, but lis­ten­ing to this Glaswe­gian leg­end paint pic­tures of by­gone Glas­gow was a rare joy.

I hope you en­joy this diver­sion – as ever, feel free to let me know if not.

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