The Glamour of Being a Celtic Star – Maryhill Style

Being a Celtic player in the 50s wasn’t all glamour and adulation. If you lived in Maryhill it sometimes meant taking your neighbour’s soiled nightshirt to the pawn shop. Here’s an extract from A Bhoy Called Bertie recounting just such an experience…

My wages had gone up ten shillings since my signing and I’m sure my weekly earnings of £3 made sure the family of a certain Glasgow cabbie had a wonderful Christmas at my expense.

My mum, on hearing of my lack of travelling facilities, thought it would be a good idea to buy me a car, a Vauxhall Velux. There was only one snag – I didn’t possess a driving licence at the time. The vehicle was duly delivered to Panmure Street and my brother-in-law, who could drive, told me he would teach me. Another little problem – there was no petrol in the car. I think my mum had spent everything on buying the Vauxhall so we had to get money from somewhere. That normally meant the pawn, those quaint establishments that no-one ever admitted to using but everyone seemed to know where they were. Well, no-one was ever going to say they were hard-up, were they?

Margaret, my big sister, had bought me a new suit when I started to go on my travels with Celtic. I think Marion also dipped in to buy the new checked outfit. I’m not too sure what it would have cost, but Margaret and Marion, who both worked as bus conductresses, must have saved up a few quid to spend on their wee brother. I was wearing it one day when I got a tap on the shoulder from a Celtic official. “Those trouser bottoms are too tight,” I was informed. Drainpipes were all the fashion back then with trousers that tapered all the way to your ankle. I didn’t think they were that tight, but Celtic didn’t agree and I knew that was the end of the argument. My prized suit went back in the wardrobe.

When we were exploring ways to make dosh to put petrol in the car, I had a sudden thought. The suit would never be worn again, so why not take it down to the pawn and see if we could get two quid for it?

I got the OK from my sisters so my brother-in-law and I set off for the pawnbroker’s, to give them their  proper title. We wrapped up the suit in a big brown parcel, tied it up with string and off we went. 

I had only gone about six yards when one of our neighbours, looking out of her upstairs window, spotted us. “Bertie, are you going down to the pawn?”

I tried desperately to get her to lower her voice. I was a Celtic player, after all, and I was supposed to be rolling in cash. 

Anyway, she said she had her husband’s nightshirt that might be worth two shillings (ten pence these days!) and asked if I could take it down for her. She too had wrapped the garment up in a brown parcel and then threw it down to me.

In Maryhill the pawnshop was up a close so you always went through the entrance next to it and climbed over the wall behind it before entering the pawn via the back door. There were little cubicles in the place and about three or four employees worked behind a long desk. They were probably there to protect your privacy although, of course, everyone knew everyone else’s business in Maryhill. 

The bloke behind the desk asked, “Name?”

I whispered, “Auld.”

“Sorry?”

I kept my voice low again, “Auld.’”

Suddenly this big guy from the next berth looked around the partition and said in an ear-splitting roar, “Bertie Auld, of Celtic? What are you doing here?”

I mumbled something and the guy at the desk took the two parcels. He opened mine, looked it up and down, inspecting both the trousers and the jacket. “How much?” he asked.

“Two quid?” I ventured. He said nothing. 

He opened my neighbour’s parcel. He shook the nightshirt and I noticed it had been slightly soiled. Again he was quiet and merely asked, “How much?”

I swiftly disowned the garment. “My neighbour’s looking for two bob,” I replied.

“OK,” he said, slamming down some cash with a receipt. “Two quid suit jacket and trousers.” 

Then, in an unnecessarily louder tone he added, “Two shillings shirt and shite!”

My brother-in-law and I picked up the money and got out of there as quickly as possible. Maybe the bloke was a Rangers fan!