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Trees sprout from the broken windows and gutters of the former Sir John Maxwell School in Pollokshaws, Glasgow. They have laid claim to the Edwardian edifice, digging their roots into cracks in the red sandstone bricks, while a crow stands sentinel on the highest chimney pot.
IN the Hindu Temple in Glasgow’s West End, Pauline Lambie is counting baby bottles and beakers as she places them one by one in a giant bag. By the time I arrive, she has reached 100. We survey what remains - a mish mash of plastic drinking vessels in a see-through container - and agree it looks like a “guess the number” contest. Later, as I watch other bags being loaded onto a lorry, she will shout the final tally - “600” - to me as she passes.
Jamielee Caterisano is jittery with excitement. Seven days ago, the 36-year-old secured her first ever tenancy. Having left her ex-partner’s home and spent five weeks in bed and breakfast accommodation, she moved into the unfurnished flat in Glasgow.
I remember the first time I saw the little brass plates tucked between cobblestones in the German town I grew up in – the street my grandmother had lived on for a large part of her life. I was a teenager, walking with one of my friends when they stopped us in our tracks; their small inscription forcing us to kneel to read them: Here lived Max Mayerfeld. Nanny Spiro. Leo Spiro. Frank Spiro – aged only 12 at the time of his death. Deported 1942 towards the East. Killed 1942 in Treblinka.
When Arusa Qureshi was six, she and her older sister Rabia would dance round their Edinburgh living room to R&B/hip hop videos on MTV. This was around the turn of the millennium. Hip hop was on the cusp. Most of the best known acts were male. So they listened to Biggie, 2Pac, OutKast.