Easter Road 1992. That was probably the happiest time of Lindas life. We’d got married in the June but that was nothing compared to her excitement when we bought our first home together in December 1992. She’d had an abusive childhood, been a teenage single mother, moved from digs to someones couch to housing association flats for years. So she craved security more than anything else. So this was the big one for her.
Naturally it was tarnished. She always said there was a perpetual fly in the ointment. This time it was her teenage son who’d decided he didn’t want to stay with us and had went to stay with his bastard of a father. Of course, being a teenage boy he quickly forgot that and used to turn up at the door late at night, drunk, offering me out for a doing. Forgetting that back then I was a drunk biker with rugby muscles!
Regardless we made a life for ourselves. Linda never wanted a big life. She was happy having someone to look after her and a home of our own. We pottered about not doing very much. It all turned to shit when we left Easter Road as the butcher of a surgeon crippled her two weeks before we moved to our first house rather than living in a stair.
I carried her down the stairs and took her in a taxi to the new house, but she then had seven years of pain while the NHS bungled aftercare, told her she was a nutter (CRPS) before eventually admitting to their misdiagnosis. Which was too little too late. While that was going on we ended up with bad neighbours, sold the house, moved back into digs in Musselburgh and North Berwick before finally finding another house to buy. And then Linda got cancer. And died.
I was back in Easter Road today on my way to see her Uncle Tommy in the care home and nothing much has changed since we stayed there.
Top Row, left to right;
The Persevere – Sunday quiz nights for the pair of us.
Oor wee hoose.
Annas where the Sunday papers and rolls came from. She was a martyr to her stomach, that one.
The launderette used to be a bookies back then so that was my fixed odds coupon taken care of.
Bottom Row, left to right;
The Coopers Rest – Saturday pre match pint in the lounge bar.
One Handed Billys (as it was unofficially known) for a Saturday bacon roll each.
Our nameplate used to be the top one here. Seven years on it’s still empty. Prophetic.
Leith Links where we’d go for long walks every weekend. Money was tight so the open air used to have to do.
Linda and Uncle Tommy in happier times;