Govanhill Just Won't Stop
Two local writers shared their pen-scribbles on what the area means to them, in specially commissioned pieces for Greater Govanhill’s Arts, Culture & Subculture issue. This is Peter Mohan’s, Govanhill Just Won’t Stop.
Introduction by Jack Howse | Illustrations by Sasha Delmage
Sitting by the flagpole that stands atop a mound of earth named after Mary Queen of Scots – perhaps Scotland’s most mythologised character – you can see why Govanhill has become a place where writers congregate. The lookout that spans over streets of industrial pasts and uncertain presents, flanked by the bright purple of heather-laden hills seems steeped in metaphor. And below on Victoria Road are the plotline’s oddball players, where over-the-fence gossip is currency in a nation of 15,000.
For the writers and revellers in the area, there is always an eclectic assortment of groups and evenings on offer. The experimental writing open-mic night ‘Shrill’ at McNeill’s, the queer ecology reading group just across Victoria Road at Glasgow Zine Library and the printing press down at Burning House Books are just a few of the different outlets for writers in the area to flex their literary muscles.
Two local writers share their pen-scribbles on what the area means to them, in specially commissioned pieces for Greater Govanhill. This is Peter Mohan’s poem, Govanhill Just Won’t Stop:
Peter Mohan is the author of the blog Cheers Govanhill, semi-fictional tales from Glasgow’s weirdest neighbourhood. A podcast will be available soon. cheersgovanhill.home.blog.To read Isaac Harris’ poem I Love Ramsays, see the link below Peter’s poem.
Govanhill just won’t stop
By Peter Mohan
So I was with my brother but we weren’t in the pub and we weren’t at the game, we were walking down Victoria Road instead.
Does Govanhill always sound like this?
Like what?
Like a building site.
He’s right, of course. He always is. Just don’t tell him I said that.
Road works, cycle lanes or blocks of flats being built, sewers and drains and surfaces need replaced. Diggers and rollers on pavement tarmac, cutting and drilling through landscape concrete, hi viz slow motion lo viz blur.
You hear more languages round here, too. Arabic, Kurdish, Farsi and a hundred more to go with the high-density housing, exclusion and ill health. Creaking floorboards, a dripping radiator, the sound of a mattress dropped in an alleyway.
Up near the park now, buskers busking, almost jazz in the almost sunshine, or Roma musicians with fiddle and squeezebox. A siren in the distance, probably an ambulance or a fire engine or a cop car.
Does Govanhill always smell like this?
Like what?
Like a barbecue or a festival.
Aye, sounds about right.
Grand tenements up here, bourgeois views over the park, stoops that could double for Brooklyn. Aye, right. Flowers in a basket, fragrant wee plants from a scratched patch of land in a damp backcourt. Cake box over there, kebab shoap round the corner, spearmint ice cream from the Italian down by.
Is that grilled lamb?
Might be the vegan and veg café. Could be Anarkali, everyone’s favourite curry house. Maybe smoked sausage or black pudding from the chippy next door. A roll and fritter, a haggis supper, or a chicken taco from the place across the road.
The Asian dude from the supermarket, the Arsenal fan, on his way to the bookies to discuss in-game markets or Kieran Tierney or the odds in Govanhill on Bournemouth being relegated.
The friendly chef outside the pizza joint who was fed up working long hours for terrible pay but who’s much happier here doing something he loves with good people.
An old Sikh man on a bicycle, bright turban and long grey beard. Couple of bams drinking cans in a doorway, sounds of a barbecue from the backcourt. I could feel my brother trying to take it all in.
Every time I come here there’s something new. A café, a pet shop, a record store.
I know, it’s always the same round here.
Then he said there’s so many places to eat no wonder you’re a fat bastard and I said shut it Gorbals right and he said calm doon Govanhill what are you having and I said I’m having the lot.
Cheers.
Read more: I Love Ramsays — Greater Govanhill