Vasili Arkhipov and the last tram to Auchenshuggle

Every Sunday, my father took me somewhere on a tram. Mystery tours, rattling across a sprawling, jumbling, clanking weave-work of metal sunk into cobbled streets that ran for miles into districts that essentially were other towns. Boarding at Glasgow Cross, sometimes we rattled beyond Broomielaw to marvel at the uncanny gods and fearful monsters that … Continue reading Vasili Arkhipov and the last tram to Auchenshuggle