Remember When: Fun and games growing up in capital in 40s

BACK in the 1940s, kids had imagination. They knew how to amuse themselves - no TVs, computer games, iPods or mobile phones. Just innovation and curiosity to keep them occupied and generally out of trouble.

Old Ballantyne Road, before it was demolished in the 1970s, was an ideal haven for kids to play.

The quadrangle in its centre, surrounded by the tenements of Junction Street, Bowling Green Street and Ballantyne Place provided a safe sanctuary.

Games of the day included rounders, cricket, football, peevers and even sailing home-made ships in the huge stagnant pool that would form when it rained, due to the constant clogging of a central drain.

Making paper aeroplanes and tiny parachutes from a wee handkerchief and launching them from the open air tenement balconies was also a favourite game. Some kids even bred homing pigeons from a hut. On days when it was wet, we would sit on the balconies, playing board games or with toy cars.

It was here that our bonfire on Guy Fawkes Night was lit.

Having spent weeks collecting old chairs, mattresses, timber and anything combustible we could lay our hands on, finally the bonfire was lit (often far too early as we got tired of protecting it from theft from the Bowling Green or Bangor Road boys).

Bonfire in full glow, we put in a couple of large potatoes and roasted them until they were cooked and the skin was thick with black soot. Whilst this was going on we would let off our meagre supply of squibs, bangers, Catherine Wheels, Roman candles, sparklers and rockets... much to the chagrin of cats, dogs and the old folks.

An old Tate & Lyle syrup tin would often come in handy. Attaching a long piece of wire to this for a handle, to create a fire can. This was filled with a few very tiny sticks, pieces of old linoleum lying about, or any other small but combustible things. We would then light the fire can and swing it about our heads to stimulate the wee fire inside.

Playing in the piggery - the colloquial name for a large stretch of wasteland in Ballantyne Place - was another safe haven for kids.

In summer, we held our own Olympic games there, competing with our neighbours from Bowling Green Street (when we were not fighting with them over bonfire wood), using makeshift hurdles and high jumps from any bricks or wood laying about; using railing spikes as javelins; roof slates as the discus; and big yawkers (large stones) for the shot-put. Track events were marked out on hard compacted earth.

Whilst at play, having worked up a hunger, you would shout up to your ma's window for a piece (usually jam or syrup). This would be thrown out of the window, wrapped in newspaper, hitting the street with a splat.

During the war, West Cromwell Street, off Coburg Street, was blocked off at both ends and used by the Home Guard for war games.

The tenements, which we called the Commando buildings, had no floorboards, just rafters. We would precariously climb these buildings looking for spent cartridges and playing commandos... until the police chased us.

At the end of the war, we were able to buy ex-government mini-parachutes from the Co-op. Kids would strap them to their backs and pretend to be pilots. One day I convinced one lad, Eddie Hamilton, that it would be safe to jump off the first floor balcony onto a pile of building sand using his parachute. The poor lad broke his leg. Naturally I never followed.

Another favourite childhood pastime was a visit to Anderson Dam, the bridge crossing the Water of Leith at Anderson Place, or the other bridge at Pudicky near Warriston cemetery, where we would catch minnows.

We also loved a visit to a part of St Mark's Park where you could view the Greyhound racing at Powderhall stadium. Here there was a local worthy who would run a penny book taking bets on the races, with some of his young lookouts keeping an eye open for the local bobby.

Trips to Victoria Swimming baths and plunge were regular for us in the 1940s too.

If you hadn't a swimsuit, you could hire one along with a wee tablet of carbolic soap. The suit comprised briefs with a red strip down the centre with writing stating "Property of Edinburgh Corporation". These were made from cannibalised hand towels.

I had an all-in-one swimsuit, straight from the 1900s. It had broad black and bright yellow horizontal stripes, just like the suits you see on old Blackpool postcards. It probably belonged to my grandfather and it made me look like a bleedin' wasp! In embarrassment, I'd roll the top down to make it look like trunks.

Most working classes were quite poor back then. If you had holes in the sole of your shoe, lino or cardboard acted as insoles. If your socks had no toes, you folded the top of the sock under you feet and walked crippled. And if you pulled and stretched your cotton jersey at play, it kept that shape until after the next wash.

We got our hair cut at Jessie Baxter's, on North Junction Street. She was a butcher and kids were terrified of her manner; she stood no nonsense. Or there was Jim Bowies of the Kirkgate, reputed to placing a bowl on your head and just cutting around it.

Earning a few bob at the tender age of 12 for yourself and your mother, was very common in these days.We would get up very early in the morning, before school, to deliver milk for the Co-op.

In Bowling Green Street you collected your large wheeled bar off a pend at the collecting point, took your delivery book and load of milk, usually about four crates containing a dozen pint bottles in each. It was a heavy load for a wee skinny laddy like me.

My run started at the top of Bangor Road, then Burlington Street and Breadalbane Street, then the route back to base was Bangor Lane, which had a pillar in the centre of it to stop vehicles accessing. The gap between the wall and this pillar was barley enough to get the barrow through and you had to take a run at it because it was up a hill and after a shift, tired and weak, you might have to take a couple of runs at it.

On many occasions, I would skin my knuckles off the wall trying to get through this narrow gap. The other hazard with the barrow was it had a long piece of metal suspended from the front of it that acted as a break or stop. Bangor Road is a steep hill and if the barrow got away from you, and you let the front down too suddenly, to stop, the barrow would tip over, scattering the whole load of milk all over the street.

At Christmas, you would pay great attention to collecting your empty milk bottles, expectantly looking for your festive tip. In the darkness of the common stair, you would stick two fingers into an empty bottle, lift it up hoping to find a note or hear the rattle of coinage.

On most occasions, your fingers became coated with the thick, smelly and slimy dregs of green sour milk clinging to the inside as nobody bothered to wash them out. Or they smelled of urine, having been used as a night bottle; the empties were always a wee surprise.

On my early morning milk run, I used to meet the man from the gas board. His job was to go around all the tenements' common stairs and turn out the gas lighting. He suggested to me that if I turned out all the lights on the top and second top floors, he would reward me at the end of the week.

I did this for a few weeks, but somehow we never managed to meet again. I wonder why?! Naive twit that I was! Naturally I stopped doing it, so eventually he would get into trouble.

Some of my customers were comedians. One would give me a right telling off if I was late, or failed to knock on the door. Not because he was waiting for his milk, no, it was because I was his alarm clock for him to get up for work. Needless to say that when I delivered his milk after this, I laid it down very quietly and tiptoed away.

The winter time was the worst, no anoraks or parkas or suitable warm clothing on those days, at best a Balaclava, woolly gloves and a warm jersey. Bitter cold, and as a kid with a vivid imagination, climbing these dark stairs was quite frightening.

If not working or at school, bored kids of the 1940s would often take tram rides to their terminus and sit there until the driver turned around and came back to Leith. Or they may get off and ramble about the Braid hills, Hillend Park at the Pentlands, Colinton Dell and Liberton Dams. Some might even bring a tent and stay over night in the hills where there was fresh air, away from the Auld Reekie of Edinburgh and the then industrial polluted Leith.