IT was always Calder Street for the great unwashed. I was one of them. The imminent renaissance of Govanhill Baths on the south side of Glasgow sparks both memories of a boyhood past and inspires hope for the future.

The past is best revisited first. Govanhill Baths was the nearest swimming pool in the 1960s to the Busby aquatics team. We played football every day, sometimes all day, but Saturday morning was reserved for a race to the bus stop, with towel and trunks wrapped tightly, and some silver stuck deep in the pocket, where it was constantly checked.

We alighted on Victoria Road after desperately and unsuccessfully trying to elude the bus conductor. We turned into Calder Street where the queue would resemble a Saigon rooftop awaiting a helicopter, though it was obviously more raucous and considerably more violent.

Govanhill Baths was a sort of Studio 54 of the south side. It was the place to be in the 1960s. In truth, there were not many other places a kid could be. The entertainment options to children in those days were restricted to playing outside and the weekly trip to the baths.

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Staying indoors was frowned upon, if frowned upon means being chased out under threats of violence so awful they would have embarrassed Pol Pot.

So Calder Street it was on a Saturday morning. There was thus an extraordinary excitement when we pushed and jumped and roared as the queue inched ever nearer the door. There have been shorter lines outside a 1960s Moscow bakery.

It was, though, a frenetic business once inside. Time was as tight as Scrooge on Christmas Eve. Basically this was the drill. A load of kids was thrown into the water and then told to leave after 20 minutes under threat of the the sort of stringent penalties that would have made a medieval monarch blush. Then another load was thrown in.

Entry to the pool was sometimes made by jumping from the first-floor changing booths. This could earn one a warning. Jumping from on high or from poolside was always completed by landing on top of another young swimmer. There are sardines who have had more room in a tin than we had at Calder Street.

The effect of this was to create a sort of continuous threshing that Steven Spielberg used to such good effect in Jaws. It must be pointed out his shark may have caused mayhem off the shores of Amity Island but it would have never survived Calder Street. It would have been gutted and deep-fried before one could have said: “What are we having to eat after the baths?”

The answer to this query was always peas in a cup with vinegar poured on top. This was because the cafe never had larks’ tongues in aspic or at least had run out before the Busby boys raced along Allison Street. We gulped this down and then dawdled in Victoria Road – a street we viewed as highly chic (lawyers lived at the top off it, for goodness sake) – before getting the red bus back up the road.

With luck we would return with towel and trunks and all the clothes we left in.This was not a given. But Calder Street was worth the strife, the waiting, the losses and the more than occasional bruise. We would have cried with happiness if our chlorine infected eyes were not already weeping in pain.

The baths thus retain a place in blessed memory. Outside the school gym – a rope, a couple of benches and criminally deranged PE teacher – it was the only indoor recreation facility for my generation.

It was where one learned to swim by learning not to drown. There may have been swimming lessons then but there may also have been introductory classes on dialectical materialism. Both had little relevance for the Busby boys.

I swim on now, or I did pre-covid, but Calder Street is more special that any spa because it was where I took my first desperate strokes.

It was important then because it offered affordable and available recreation where there was no alternative for some. It is important now because it also testifies to the triumph of perseverance and the power of indefatigable spirit.

The Govanhill Baths Community Trust has been fighting from almost the beginning of this century to reopen the venue as a fitness and wellbeing centre. It has been successful. Work starts on Monday and, if events go as they should, it will be opened next year.

A splendid, refurbished interior will be provided under the auspices of Govanhill Baths Preservation Trust. There will be two swimming pools, a yoga studio, Turkish suite, kitchen, cafe and meeting spaces.

It also involves, of course, preserving a splendid building for modern use. But it has a significance beyond bricks and mortar. It shows that the past need not be forgotten but can have a beneficial future.

It shows that dedicated people can bring out about substantial change against the longest of odds. It shows that resilience can be rewarded, that effort may be regarded as hopeless but can ultimately bring a dividend not just for the campaigner but for the wider community.

It is, in short, a good news story at a time when we all need one. The finishing date is eagerly awaited by a Busby water babe of a vintage whose longevity almost matches the Edwardian provenance of the building.

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The trunks are already wrapped in the towel. One detail has to be incorporated into the plans before I take the bus south.

Can anyone tell me where to find peas and vinegar in a cup on a Saturday morning in Govanhill?

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