The phoney war
The wind was cold as it howled and screamed around the old tenement building in this the partick district of Glasgow,I was warm enough bye the old, black range in my Grandfathers house, the fire was blazing in the grate, the kettle was singing happily on the hob. / My granda sat opposite me quietly reading the Evening Times, I remember it was a Friday night, about seven thirty, my uncles John a…