It's in Gorgie - do you know it?

It’s a distant memory now but one of the many Christmas gifts I received was the book Black Boots & Football Pinks by the brilliant Daniel Gray. Although Daniel is a proud Englishman and supports Middlesbrough, he resides in Leith and, to my mind, this makes him one of Scotland’s best authors.

There’s a chapter in his book about houses overlooking football grounds. Gray ponders what the feelings of those householders are, having in some cases effectively free football just by looking out of their window. 

I lived in Aberdeen many years ago and moved to Scotland’s capital city in 1990. Having secured a job with what was then Lothian Health Board my next task was to secure accommodation, rented at first as a temporary measure. I saw an advert in the Edinburgh Evening News which read ‘city centre flat, one-bedroom and box-room, excellent amenities, ideal for young couple’. As Graeme Souness used to say at that time I thought ‘that’ll do me’.

When I phoned the estate agent the young chap told me the flat was in the Gorgie area of Edinburgh – did I know Gorgie at all? As a Hearts supporter of more than twenty years standing (and falling over) at that point in my life I replied rather too sarcastically ‘I think so’.

He picked me up in his car and pulled into Wheatfield Street. Promising, I thought. Adjacent to Tynecastle home of the mighty Heart of Midlothian FC. He managed to find a parking space with relative ease and showed me into the doorway of a tenement building.

‘I’m afraid it’s the top floor’ he said with an unbecoming grin.

He was right. About 16 flights of stairs later and with me struggling for breath I staggered behind him and fell into the flat. ‘Ah’m no’ taking this’ I muttered under my breath, ‘It will bloody kill me’

I followed him into the living room. Before me was a panoramic view of Tynecastle’s glorious pitch.

‘I’ll take it’ I gasped.

‘I need to show you the rest of the flat’ the estate agent said.

‘No need’ I replied. ‘I’ll take it’.

When my wife at that time saw the flat for the first time she hit me over the head with a copy of the tenancy agreement.

“You did this on purpose!’ she sniped. As if I would…

For six glorious months I and my wife and two young children lived looking on to the home of Heart of Midlothian FC - although being a die-hard Jambo I still nipped down the 16 flights of stairs and a few short paces to the Tynecastle turnstile to pay to get in. Something my wife at the time couldn’t understand.  And I received a sudden rush of requests from friends and family in Aberdeen wanting to spent a weekend in April with us. My wife was joyed at the thought her family were keen to see our new abode. It was nothing to do with the fact Aberdeen were playing Dundee United in the Scottish Cup semi-final at Tynecastle…

Photo: Pie and Bovril website

Needless to say, I loved that flat. It was, as Mr Gray put so eloquently in his book, a 365-day season ticket for my team. I found myself gazing at the pitch even when there was no one from the club around. We moved in during the spring so there were long summer nights when I just stared out of the window, my 6-month old daughter screaming for attention in her cot in the box-room (it was a small flat). I imagined the likes of John Robertson, John Colquhoun and Craig Levein strutting their stuff across the field. I thought of Hearts players from their glorious past, from the golden age of the 1950s, players like Willie Bauld, Alfie Conn and Jimmy Wardhaugh, cup-winning captain Freddie Glidden (who sadly passed away a few weeks ago) and John Cumming. I even imagined Jim Jefferies and Alan Anderson never shirking a tackle. All on that hallowed turf which lay before me.

It's changed days now, of course. Many years have passed since I was in that flat (they day we moved out was the day Margaret Thatcher was ousted from Downing Street, so it wasn’t a complete waste of a day…) I suspect all you will see now from that flat in Wheatfield Street is a looming piece of metal structure that is the back of the Wheatfield Stand.

Which isn’t quite the same as watching Dave McPherson jogging round the Tynecastle pitch on his own in the middle of summer…