Reminiscences

This article was written by Helensburgh shop owner Walter S.Bryden, former proprietor of the Helensburgh and Gareloch Times, for inclusion in a special Civic Week supplement in the Helensburgh Advertiser on May 9 1975 to mark the passing of the Town Council in the reform of local government in Scotland. Where necessary, up to date information is included in brackets in italics.

ONE of Helensburgh’s most beautiful spots is Hermitage Park — yet how many local people walk or drive past without ever venturing in.

Through the three gates on Sinclair Street, Victoria Road and Grant Street they will find a feast of flowers and shrubs, in fact a beauty which is only matched by its history.

This article was written by well known Helensburgh artist and author Gregor Ian Smith for inclusion in a special Civic Week supplement in the Helensburgh Advertiser on May 9 1975 to mark the passing of the Town Council in the reform of local government in Scotland. Where necessary, up to date information is included in brackets in italics.

FOR a resident of over fifty years changes in the Burgh have been substantial. For those approaching the seventy mark, innovations and developments have been overwhelming.

I recall my mother telling us how her great grandparents had complained about the growth of Helensburgh. They were watching the process from their croft — now obliterated by Low’s Supermarket (now Tesco), and weren’t altogether happy with what they saw.

This article is an excerpt from 'Birds of a Feather: A Wren's Memoirs, 1942-1945' by the late Patricia B.Farley, and tells of her life at Portkil, Kilcreggan, during the Second World War.

AT the beginning of World War two, the Royal Navy was considered to be the finest of its kind. It ruled the oceans, literally. But not under the seas.

The Germans had been masters of that area since the previous global struggle, World War One, and were intent on disabling their enemy's power by any means they could.

NOT many people can be described as ‘a one-off’, but that description certainly applied to Garelochhead playwright Tom Gallacher.

Tom was very particular that it was Gallacher with a ‘c’ and not a ‘g’, but then Tom was a very particular man and he had very special talents. Let me give you a flavour . . .

TONIGHT, with the muffled roar of London in my ears, I look down the long vista of the past and see again the little white town by the sea, the hills above it tinged with the warm sunset light.

I hear again the soft music of the evening bells, the bells of which they told us in our childhood that though we did not heed them now, we would remember them when we were old.