Paper job gave me bagfuls of memories
Alda and Johanna gave me my first job in Sunday papers.
At 15, I’d traded in my daily morning run around the mansions of Kilmacolm for a Cross Cafe run in the pocket of local authority houses I came from in this Renfrewshire village dubbed by some as Millionaire’s Valley.
An interesting insight in socio-economics – smaller houses but bigger tips. The sisters – and spaniel Nico – were key characters in my childhood.
Blindfold me now and I’ll tell you I’m at the Cross Cafe just by touching the Art Deco door handle, the door’s weight and creak as familiar as the shout of an old pal.
Memories of the sweets are burnt into my mind like the fizzy bits on a Wham bar. Quarters of cola cubes and cherry lips, 10p mixtures and astro-belts, and long-forgotten crisps called Farmer Browns, my formative confectionary experiences at the top of Smithy Brae.
I left home aged 18, yet when I popped in last
week to scoop up bags of violet creams and peppermints, I was soon balancing on a stool eating a cone and fixing their final window display.
I couldn’t have been more chuffed if I’d been turning on the Christmas lights at George Square.
The shop’s beautiful hand-carved oak gantries holding their final jars of sweets, have been gazed upon by generations of wide eyes, many who’re no longer around to see it close.
The Cross Cafe has served its community much more than chocolate, coffee and ice cream for almost 100 years.
It’ll be remembered – sweetly, of course – for many more to come.