Perhaps the promise of a party at my parents’ house had softened the girls’ resistance to our charms

By George Burton

On most occasions, even when we’d had a pint or two, Charlie, Ricky and I would manage to get in with no fuss. The standard procedure was for the girls, in pairs and small groups, to dance together in the middle with their bags at their feet. The boys circulated, sizing up the prey and preparing to make their move. The usual procedure was a bold stride, a tap on the girl’s shoulder and a big smile. You could usually judge from the girl’s face if the first impression was good.

At the end of the first dance, you could ask the girl if she wanted to “stay up”. If she agreed there was a fair chance you’d pulled. To seal the alliance, it was normal to invite the girl to go upstairs for a chat and a drink (no alcohol, of course).

Rejection was quite a likely result of asking a girl to “stay up” but we’d simply move on to the next girl. It was awkward if Charlie, Ricky or I found a girl whose friend wasn’t keen on the other one of us.

This led to “male friend versus girl” decisions but the truth is that the male friends got dumped almost every time and the successful chatter-up would walk away with the spoils, leaving his less lucky pals to try the Lone Wolf method or pack it in and go home.

However, even if earlier approaches had been unsuccessful, there was always the final chance of getting off with a girl at the last dance, which was always slow or smoochy.

Relieved

This involved anticipating the dimming of the lights, leaving as the only illumination the huge glitter ball dangling from the middle of the ceiling, then making for your target before she had time to bend down to retrieve her bag and head for the cloakroom.

This ploy quite often worked as the girl was either too surprised to object or relieved that she hadn’t been spurned for a slow dance at the end of the night.

Coming out of the JM was sometimes quite scary. Firstly it was just possible that the boyfriend (or husband) of the female you had your arm around could be standing outside waiting for her.

That only ever happened to me once, a rejected ex-boyfriend making a last effort to win back the love of his life, despite the fact that I was on her arm and she wasn’t letting go. Fortunately he left peaceably. The second problem was that members of gangs would sometimes line the wall on the other side of Marketgait from the JM and study the young folk as they left, hoping to spot someone they had it in for.

Luckily I was never a target, but I kept my radar on red-alert until I was on the bus home or all the way up the Lochee Road, Ancrum Road and Charleston Drive on foot as was very often the case.

The musical entertainment in the JM was provided by a resident live band and one or two guest groups.

We were never very impressed with the house band, even though they were highly accomplished.

The residents were called the Pat’r 4 and when they added two girl dancers to gyrate in front of them they of course became the Pat’r 4 + 2.

They even moved on later to become the Pat’r 4+3!

Tartan-clad

Over the three years we went there, we got to know which bands were not to be missed, including the Poets who did a fantastic cover of “I am the Walrus”, the Chris McClure Section out of which Christian made a successful singing career, and the fantastic Bay City Rollers.

These weren’t the tartan-clad version that conquered the world in the 70s, but a slick white-suited band who needed crash barriers to keep them safe from their adoring groupies.

Charlie met the lass who would become his wife at the JM in 1970. Two tidy girls dancing together caught our eyes and we moved in.

Charlie danced with Elaine, a pretty girl with gorgeous long brown hair, while I danced with her pal Carol who sported a lion’s mane of ginger hair.

Both looked interested so we made our play, danced a bit, went upstairs for a drink, danced a bit more then took the girls home.

Both lived in Menzieshill but we had to separate at the end as they didn’t live right next to each other.

I had a great kiss and cuddle with Carol in the close of her tenement and the next day at school Charlie told me he had been equally successful.

Sometime later, Carol told me that she fancied another of my pals.

We split up, she went out with the new bloke, and eventually she married him. Charlie and Elaine became life partners too.

It was straight from the JM that I came one fateful evening, complete with a new girl, along with half a dozen of my school friends, each of them with a girl he’d picked up that evening.

Perhaps the promise of a party at my parents’ house had softened the girls’ resistance to our charms, but a very happy group of us walked up Lochee Road, over Ancrum Road into Menzieshill and across the field to 593 South Road.

A party

There was an opportunity for me to give a party because Mum and Dad were visiting Coupar Angus and Joe was at university in St Andrews.

I confess that it was unplanned and I didn’t have permission to bring six of my male pals and seven strange girls into our home.

The thing went really well, although when my new girl admitted she was only 13 I had to throw her out, with the lyrics to “Young Girl” by Gary Puckett & the Union Gap ringing in my ears.

There was no mess, everybody was gone by 10 in the morning and when Mum and Dad came home they didn’t notice anything at all.

However, the next morning when Dad went to put on the watch he always left on the chest of drawers at the bottom of his bed, it wasn’t there.

He searched everywhere and even went next door to phone Auntie Mary to ask if he’d left it in Coupar Angus. No, he hadn’t.

Eventually I admitted my guilt and received appropriate punishment.

Despite investigations, neither I nor any of my pals ever found out who had stolen the watch, but there would be no more secret parties at the Burton household.

My Mum’s eldest sister was Julie, who was so old that her daughter Mary was second oldest child of my generation in the extended family of which I was the youngest.

She lived in Aboyne Avenue with her husband Wull Blacklock, in the housing scheme we always called Douglas & Angus. (More tomorrow.)