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Despite the poverty and desperation that stalked the streets of Glasgow during the Depression, parents had no fear for the safety of their children. How different it is today.
    One of the great entertainments for the children in those days was the cinema. The whole area abounded with picture houses, with the ‘penny matinée’ one of the most popular occasions. For the princely sum of one penny, or twopence if the upstairs balcony was preferred, the youngsters could see a whole show and many a Saturday afternoon was spent watching comedy or western films. Cowboy films in thosedays were very popular and the children loved them despite the absence of sound tracks. A favourite hero of the Old West was a wisecracking cowboy by the name of Drag Harlin. This gunfighter did not appear on film, but was a character in some of the popular books of the day. Years later, Alf and Alex would roar with laughter as they recalled their boyhood days reading these ‘scholarly’ descriptions of life in the Old West. Alex recently recalled an example of the author’s peerless style of writing: ‘A blue-black hole appeared in the middle of his forehead. An amazed expression crossed his face as he slumped slowly to the floor!’ Such passages as these deserved, Alf once said, ‘recognition as literary classics!’
    Sundays were days for going to church. During his adult life, Alf was not a regular church-goer, but in his primary school days he attended Sunday School each week. His memories of going to church in Yoker were not as vivid as those when he occasionally attended in Sunderland with his uncles and aunts. The Methodist services in those days were conducted with fiery enthusiasm. The minister would frequently be interrupted from the floor with cries of ‘Hallelujah!’ or ‘Praise the Lord!’, followed by splinter groups chanting hymns with rhythmic and deafening abandon. It was pure ‘fire and brimstone’ which young Alf found quite daunting. The services in Yoker Church were not quite so dramatic but one story he told about his Sunday School was rather more intriguing. The small children who were taken out regularly for short walks were taught to spit whenever they passed the Catholic church.
    When the history of the city of Glasgow is considered, the spectacle of small children spitting at a church should come as no surprise. Glasgow has had a strong Irish-Catholic population since the middle of the nineteenth century when thousands poured into the city to find work during the boom years. This resulted in Glasgow becoming a city split by religious beliefs, and feelings could run high. In Alf’s day (and still now) you were either a ‘Proddy’ or a ‘Papist’ in parts of Glasgow and, along with his friends, young Alfie Wight, the little Protestant, was instructed by his teacher to vent his feelings against the Catholic enemy. Fortunately, this sectarian dogma failed to establish a hold over young Alf, and he grew up to be a most fair-minded and tolerant man who could never understand the hatred engendered by these strong beliefs.
    Life at Yoker School prepared Alf well for the next step in his education. Most of his schoolmates went on to government-maintainedsecondary schools – including Alex Taylor who went to Victoria Drive School – but Alf’s mother had other ideas. She wanted the very best for her son and decreed that he would go to one of the foremost fee-paying schools in Glasgow. Alf obtained the grades necessary for his secondary education and on 3 September 1928, he travelled three miles into the city to the leafy suburb of Hillhead where he walked, for the first time, through the doors of Hillhead High School.

Chapter Two
    At the time of Alf’s admission, Hillhead High School had an excellent reputation, and there was strong competition for places. Alf found himself mixing with many pupils who came from more affluent homes than his own in Yoker. This did not worry him. For the next five years he played his