The rain pelted the pavement up and down Highgrove Close and splattered the cottage windows, smearing against the panes as if trying to get into the warmth and light beyond the curtains But there was little warmth in the hearts of eight little girls as they filed silently up the path leading to Grannie's house.

A visit to Grannies was a painful weekly ritual - for I was the seventh of those eight little girls. Every Sunday afternoon our Mother would dress us in our clean, but well worn best, and, with warnings to be good girls, sent us on the long dreary trek which took us through bleak city streets, unrelieved by any greenery grass or trees.

Grannie lived in an old stone building which, over the years had become blackened by the smoke of Victorian factories fired by the coal used to produce the steel for the giant shipyards. The house itself was small consisting of a bedroom and kitchen. Although it was referred to as a kitchen, it was so much more. In actual fact, it was the main focal point of family life, partly because that was where the fireplace was.

Coal was burned on the fire thereby providing the only means of cooking and heating the house. Another feature of the kitchen was a recess in the wall which was just big enough to hold a double bed. Very often people would hang a drape which was drawn by day to conceal the bed and by night was also a protection from draughts. The toilet - known as "the lavatory" was outdoors and was shared with the neighbours.

I don't think Grannie enjoyed these visits any more than we did, there was never any conversation, in fact the only sound I can remember is the big black kettle hissing on the fire.

Grannie would sit on a high back heavy wooden throne like chair, dressed in a long black garment, her hands in her lap, twiddling her thumbs. A joyless sombre scene indeed through the eyes of a child.

We would just be there long enough to disrupt the solemn Sunday afternoon when Grannie would send us out to play at the swingpark nearby. Swingparks were to be found in the older parts of the City, no doubt to provide recreation for children living in tenements. The swings were made of heavy black metal chains on either side of a wooden seat, there was also a black metal roundabout - but not a blade of grass to be seen. What should have been a fun place for children was, in my memory a dreaded depressing spot.

After staying there until we thought it long enough to return to Grannie’s, we sat quietly until she announced it was time for us to go home. No cookies or refreshments were ever offered.

As we were lined up to leave a halfpenny was pressed into each little hand - for us the highlight and whole selfish purpose of quietly enduring the visit.

Now came the painful decision - should we use the halfpenny for the tram car home, thus avoiding the long tedious walk or, should we splurge and buy sweeties - a rare treat for us. The sweeties usually carried the vote, but oh, how unhappy we were when they were so quickly gone and the walk still loomed ahead.

Although Grannie seemed like a non person to me, she was apparently quite a tyrant. She came to Glasgow from Ireland after her husband died leaving her to raise their four young sons on her own. She outlived my father.her youngest son - who died on his forty third birthday. By this time we had moved to a bigger house on the outskirts of the city so the Sunday afternoon visits to Grannie gradually dwindled. She died two years after my father.

We never knew our other Grannie, my mother's parents both died when she was very young and she was brought up by her grandmother to whom she was devoted.