Platform after platform of puffing hissing engines resembling the starting gate at the racetrack, the nervous animals waiting for the off, was the first sight of the city for many arriving from the towns and villages and clachans of the Highlands and Islands. McAllister jumped on a tram and with a lurch it clanked off through the city. The Bank of Scotland, Royal Bank, Clydesdale Bank, Corn Exchange, all the monumental edifices around George Square, were familiar landmarks. He had passed them every day as a scholarship boy off to the Glasgow High School for Boys. The glories of wealth and history were pockmarked by bomb craters, bright pink with fireweed; daytime playground for children and dogs, nighttime territory of drunks and prostitutes. The tram trundled on up Duke Street. Glimpses of the cathedral and the necropolis flashed by up the steep side streets, marble angels silhouetted against the sky, wings outstretched, awaiting a photo opportunity. The tram halted outside Duke Street jail.
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