Bank holiday reflections from Clootie City
BANK holidays are a novelty to me after a lifetime on the media frontline, and while I am getting used to them I still find it a bit odd trying to plan something useful to do with the spare time.
Last weekend I decided to visit my home city of Dundee – or Clootie City as it’s sometimes known – and despite the fact that it’s a vast improvement on what it used to be, it is still sadly lacking.
After putting some flowers on my mum’s grave I went to Broughty Ferry, the scene of many shenanigans in my younger days and quite sad today. Amongst the main features of this posh suburb of Dundee are the many massive stone houses built for the jute barons back in the day and, of course, a smaller number of ultra-modern homes commanding similarly high six- and seven-figure prices.
Many sit on elevated positions with fantastic views over the Tay to Fife, and the older examples would have had the same view of the rover as the Fifie (Tay Ferry) cross back and forth between Dundee and Newport-on-Tay.
I mention this because somebody told me while I was there that there was talk about bring back a ferry service to help cut congestion on the Tay Road Bridge and in the city itself.
While I think it’s a good opportunity to promote greener transport, I think Dundee has other priorities.
In downtown Brought Ferry I expected to see the same collection of niche boutiques, tailors and gift shops. What I didn’t expect was to see empty shops on its main thoroughfare. The Ferry doesn’t appear to have escaped the decay that has blighted towns and cities across Scotland, although the bookies seem to be doing a roaring trade, along with the many pubs, cafes and charity shops.
I walked around for a while, thinking how much it had changed in the decade or so since I was last a regular here.
Perhaps Dundee itself might be a bit more appealing, I thought as I got back into the car and headed for the city where I cut my teeth in journalism.
Alas, it was worse.
I parked at the Apex, where I was staying, and walked up Trades Lane into St Andrews Street, which brought me to the monstrosity that is the Wellgate. As a child I remember the Wellgate and its famous steps which we had to negotiate to get a bus home. It was a bustling, fun place, full of neat, cheery little shops, whose owners always seemed to be on first-name terms with my mum and my gran.
The Wellgate was usually the last street we visited in town after Cowgate, the Murraygate, Overgate and Reform Street – a sort of Saturday ritual that ended with us lugging bags of shopping up the Wellgate to the bus stop in Victoria Road.
When I was growing up, there were a few shops that were of interest, but now the Wellgate Centre – like many others across Scotland – is a charity shop empire, topped by the ubiquitous gym club.
I don’t know what the council has planned for the it, but demolition would be a blessing.
Moving on, it was sad to see the state of Reform Street and the Overgate, once home to several reputable tailors and menswear shops and at one time the Angus Hotel, where I worked part-time as a wine waiter and barman with one-time politician George Galloway (who was known as the man who ran the local Labour Party and therefore, the council).
Nothing much of interest in the Overgate now – unless you’re of an age when Primark is the go-to fashion shop.
I did the rounds of the Nethergate, Castle Street, Union Street, High Street and Crichton Street, which I remember because of The Pillars bar, where we hacks used to imbibe with local councillors.
I thought about going into the bar, but the site of a massive Union Jack in the window was enough to stop me.
Instead I headed up Reform Street to Meadowside, and was happy to see the D C Thomson building and The McManus Art Gallery and Museum both looking as magnificent as ever.
Memories of times spent in the DCT offices in Meadowside and Bank Street flashed through my mind as I walked back towards the Cowgate, where I was delighted to see that Caws Bar – my late dad’s local – was still doing brisk business.
I went in and could picture him leaning at the bar, eyes glued to the overhead telly as he spurred on his horses. I snapped out of it when a friendly barman asked me what I’d like. I ordered a pint (pity the pub’s now in the hands of the brewing giants) and nearly fell over when he asked me for less than three quid!
Other nearby hostelries owned by the same brewer are charging nearly double that. The interior has been cleaned up, perhaps even refurbished, but Caws has the same, friendly atmosphere as it had the last time I visited some 20 or so years ago.
When I later walked back to the Apex, I passed the now normal empty city-centre premises, doorways occupied by those with nowhere else to go sheltering from the awful weather, and reflected on various occasions over the years when I’ve been in Clootie City for work.
I covered the opening of V&A Dundee, witnessed the fireworks and the music and dance spectacular, and even interviewed the architect responsible for the building, Kengo Kuma.
On the night of the opening, various politicians – mostly of the SNP persuasion – were only too happy to talk about how the V&A would transform Dundee, how it would bring in tourists and new businesses and help the city’s economic development, perhaps bringing back a taste of its former glory days of Jute, Jam and Journalism.
Sure there are flashy new hotels, a new train station and a new road system that’s every bit as god-awful as the old one.
As far as I can see, Dundee is still one of the most deprived areas in Scotland, and its politicians appear to be doing nothing much to combat it.