At the foot of our street was an open space bounded by the wall of Strathclyde Juniors Football Park on the left, by the fence belonging to Coulson’s Wireworks at the bottom and up the right hand side were the lock-up garages, the milkman’s stable for his horse and cart and Stark’s Wood Yard. Despite the fact that it was totally disreputable, full of an uneven surface, bits of stone sticking out, patches of grass, bunches of nettles and a last resort for street rubbish, nonetheless it was our playground. We played football there of course, rounders and our version of cricket. We even learned to ride our bikes going in and out the obstacles. Altogether it was our leisure resort. We called it The Park.