this is a wee story based on my Scottish journals from living in Glasgow Sept 2001 to May 2002. i tried to think back to how it looked, felt, smelled & my initial impressions of this mid-winter move Dec. 2001 from one flat to another due to circumstances out of my control.
"Rose opened the cupboard and to her surprise, discovered a filthy syringe and a dirty spoon; remnants of some former tenants’ drug paraphernalia. The cupboard was located in what would be one of our bedrooms. This was the day we were inspecting a flat in Cessnock (one of the worst neighborhoods in the inner city of Glasgow) in order to move into it.
There were 8 of us from different countries who had come to live together in hopes of learning how to minister to those in the inner city of Glasgow. We barely knew each other, and we barely knew what we had signed on for.
It was easy to distinguish the flat from the rest in the look-a-like row houses…we were the entrance with the smashed television on the sidewalk. It never moved from its’ resting place, probably dropped there by some thief in a hasty exit or thrown there by some rageful spouse in a domestic dispute. Regardless, it was the first thing one saw before entering the stairwell to the 6 flats in our building.
The stench in the old entryway (called a close) was a combination of urine, vomit, spilled beer, garbage, and the moldy-mustiness of years of water seepage. The close was dark except for the glow of a small fluorescent light at the entrance that seemed to cast eery green and yellow shadows upon the walls.
The flat we were to move into shared the ground floor with another flat. There was a concrete staircase with metal railings in a circular fashion that led up to the other floors. The sound of your shoes scuffing on the tiled flooring and any tinkling sound your keys made as you unlocked the door or any voices spoken out echoed up the stairwell and bounced off the concrete walls for all to hear.
The staircase also led down from the ground floor through an old wooden door to a very small dark graffitied passage way with a dirt floor. The narrow passageway got smaller as it led to an outside courtyard behind the building where we were to take out our garbage. The smell and littered trash that you experienced up in the close was even worse below in the damp darkness of the passageway with the added odor of reeking sewage. There was no light except what was visible through a crack underneath another wooden door at the end of the narrow tunnel.
Upon entering what would be our flat, we were halted by a rather large mound of junk and trash that was piled in the middle of the room. Evidence of past drug addicted tenants was everywhere. There were remnants of old carpets, pieces of wood, old stained mattresses and trash scattered throughout the flat. The walls were dingy and defaced with slanderous words and symbols. The paint was peeling off the walls and that familiar smell seemed to waft everywhere.The landlord assured us that by the time we were to move in (in a fortnight) he would have all of the mess cleaned up and would repaint the flat for us.
I was told that Glasgow was named Europe’s heroine capitol (they even made a movie called “Trainspotting” graphically depicting Glasgow’s drug culture). I knew all of this going in, but to find myself actually standing in a run-down, trashed & graffitied flat on the southwest side of Glasgow, knowing that this was to be my home in bonnie Scotland, was quite a wake up call. Somehow I didn't feel very much like the braveheart I thought I was."
There were 8 of us from different countries who had come to live together in hopes of learning how to minister to those in the inner city of Glasgow. We barely knew each other, and we barely knew what we had signed on for.
It was easy to distinguish the flat from the rest in the look-a-like row houses…we were the entrance with the smashed television on the sidewalk. It never moved from its’ resting place, probably dropped there by some thief in a hasty exit or thrown there by some rageful spouse in a domestic dispute. Regardless, it was the first thing one saw before entering the stairwell to the 6 flats in our building.
The stench in the old entryway (called a close) was a combination of urine, vomit, spilled beer, garbage, and the moldy-mustiness of years of water seepage. The close was dark except for the glow of a small fluorescent light at the entrance that seemed to cast eery green and yellow shadows upon the walls.
The flat we were to move into shared the ground floor with another flat. There was a concrete staircase with metal railings in a circular fashion that led up to the other floors. The sound of your shoes scuffing on the tiled flooring and any tinkling sound your keys made as you unlocked the door or any voices spoken out echoed up the stairwell and bounced off the concrete walls for all to hear.
The staircase also led down from the ground floor through an old wooden door to a very small dark graffitied passage way with a dirt floor. The narrow passageway got smaller as it led to an outside courtyard behind the building where we were to take out our garbage. The smell and littered trash that you experienced up in the close was even worse below in the damp darkness of the passageway with the added odor of reeking sewage. There was no light except what was visible through a crack underneath another wooden door at the end of the narrow tunnel.
Upon entering what would be our flat, we were halted by a rather large mound of junk and trash that was piled in the middle of the room. Evidence of past drug addicted tenants was everywhere. There were remnants of old carpets, pieces of wood, old stained mattresses and trash scattered throughout the flat. The walls were dingy and defaced with slanderous words and symbols. The paint was peeling off the walls and that familiar smell seemed to waft everywhere.The landlord assured us that by the time we were to move in (in a fortnight) he would have all of the mess cleaned up and would repaint the flat for us.
I was told that Glasgow was named Europe’s heroine capitol (they even made a movie called “Trainspotting” graphically depicting Glasgow’s drug culture). I knew all of this going in, but to find myself actually standing in a run-down, trashed & graffitied flat on the southwest side of Glasgow, knowing that this was to be my home in bonnie Scotland, was quite a wake up call. Somehow I didn't feel very much like the braveheart I thought I was."
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