Why Mary Hill would be proud of the land her father sold
ALWAYS liked the old-style Glasgow Herald’s insouciance. In 1878, the burgh of Maryhill, then a separate entity from Glasgow, built its own municipal facilities, the Maryhill Burgh Halls. A Herald reporter was dispatched and wrote: “Though the burgh of Maryhill presents few attractions to the rambler in search of the picturesque, its development and dimensions exhibit many pleasing signs of progress.” No, not patronising at all.
The unnamed reporter – no bylines in those days – then stirred himself to look round the new buildings at Gairbraid Avenue which housed a hall for functions, a police station, court, fire station and offices.
He noted that there were 15 cells “four of which have been specially designed for the accommodation of drunks”. Ah yes, drunks. You see at one point Maryhill had one pub for every 59 residents, a ratio that even the wildest holiday party town on Ibiza would be hard-pushed to top.
No wonder Maryhill had a reputation for being a bit challenging. Even the first Taggart episode set its initial murder in Maryhill, where Taggart’s universityeducated sergeant explained that the poor woman had been strangled with a ligature. “This is Maryhill. We don’t have ligatures,” actor Mark McManus rasped in reply.
As a young reporter in Glasgow, it was a murder in Maryhill that led to me being cited as a witness at the High Court. Local money-lender and pimp Joe “the Pole” Kotarba had been stabbed to death in his Maryhill flat, and I had interviewed his girlfriend Agnes before the police got to her.
My story consisted of Agnes saying what a decent chap Joe was despite his anti-social employment. She was later charged with stabbing him some 60 times, suggesting perhaps that investigative journalism was not my forte.
But to brighter times. Readers in Bearsden and Milngavie may have fleetingly noticed the Burgh Halls as they are to the left of the main Maryhill Road just before you drive under the aqueduct of the Forth and Clyde Canal on your way home. And if you haven’t realised that there is a canal overhead and not a railway line, then you really haven’t been paying attention.
When Maryhill was subsumed by Glasgow, a wash house and public baths were added to the structure. The Glasgow coat-of-arms can still be seen etched in the golden sandstone. But the police and fire service eventually moved to more modern premises, the baths closed down, and even the hall, scene of many a local dance and wedding, became shabbier, underused, and closed as well.
You could almost hear the thrumming of bulldozer engines as demolition was considered, but just in time community groups, charities, and Glasgow City Council actually did the right thing, and with a lot of time and effort the halls were not only saved, but an ambitious plan that gathered nearly £10 million of local, national and European funding was put in place to transform the buildings into a play area, cafe, offices and a pleasantly refurbished hall, now hosting the weddings of young people whose own parents and grandparents had done likewise.
Last week I joined a tour of the new Burgh Halls and learned something which as a Glaswegian I had never known. Maryhill was indeed named after a woman called Mary Hill. It really is that simple. Christine Grady, heritage development manager at the halls, who hosts the tours, explained that Mary’s father Hugh Hill owned the land around the area, which didn’t really make him much money until he was approached by the builders of the canal who wanted to buy his land. He agreed, as long as any settlement in the area was named after his daughter. So nothing to do with local hills, of which there are none, or queens or anything like that.
The canal was the main route of moving goods in those days, and many industries such as boat-building, glassmaking, paper-making and chemical supplies built up around the canal, which is why so many pubs congregated there to attend to the needs of thirsty workers.
In fact if you stroll up behind the halls it will take you on to the canal bank, which is particularly lush just now. I watched a solitary fisherman cast his line in a scene that could easily be in a Constable painting, as traffic rumbled on Maryhill Road below, unseen and almost unheard.
The tour of the halls I joined had attracted former Maryhill residents –
‘‘ She was later charged with stabbing him some 60 times, suggesting perhaps investigative journalism was not my forte
imagine Jack and Victor from Still Game – who were able to share their memories of the area as well as learn abut the halls. “That’s a good dance flair,” said one, tapping his foot down in approval as we stood in the hall. The main attraction is the stained glass windows which have been preserved from the halls. They show workers from the local industries which is a rarity for glass windows which are usually biblical or of rich land-owners or classical warriors.
Fortunately they were removed from the building in the 1960s and cared for by Glasgow Museums. Eleven of the original 20 windows are now back on display at Maryhill, with the museums people holding on to the other nine just in case anything happens to the halls.
In addition, new stained-glass windows have been made, portraying modern Maryhill. One has the badge of local club Patrick Thistle. “We were beaten by Honved of Hungary in the Uefa cup in 1973, and have not been beaten in Europe since,” said one of the old-timers with a chuckle.
Upstairs there is another treat – the model tramcar which used to be on display above the Tramcar Vaults. On a wall is the wooden red-tunic wearing kilted soldier who stood to attention in a blue sentry box above the HLI pub. Even he seemed to have a smile on his face enjoying the transformation of the area. There are indeed “many pleasing signs of progress” in Maryhill these days.
KEN SMITH
AT LARGE