The feedback I received on my first chapter in my novel, The Skye in June, has given me a wonderful opportunity to realize a goal of writing it – present to my (upcoming) readership a part of Glasgow's history. I did much research on my story and a good link for Bandito's interest (my first and only feedback) www.bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar/categories/c1112/index_8.shtml - 20k . But my best research was with the people who had personal experiences such as through listening to conversations between my parents, older siblings and Scottish friends about the affects of WWII on Glasgow.  Like the one about my mother's cousin and his family killed by a German bomb that took out the whole street block and no one survived. My grandfather was a fire chief on Sandy Road in Partick in Glasgow and pulled many charred remains from rubble after the bombs. In 1969 when I visited and stayed with him in Glasgow the subject was still very emotional. It's a sair fecht (anyone know that Scottish term?) Catching the emotional reaction while weaving in the historical facts became easy when witnessing the affects a war had/has on another. The conversations between the Glasgow Catholics about "Proddy" troubles was intereting to me because that wasn't that kind of prejudice I experienced growing up in US.  I remember an airmail letter arriving with the news that an uncle's car had been overturned during an Orange Walk in Drumchapel (Glasgow burb.) He was in it but lived to tell the story. In 1959 my sister married a Protestant and the turmoil over that affair at that time presented in my staunch Catholic household, remains in my memory, unpleasant. I'm glad that my story will teach a bit of history to US readers that don't really know Scotland.  And the Glaswegian spoken in the book, with original songs words known to  the town's citizens will give it the authencity that readeres want. It'll be great fun too. Och aye! http://www.catholicpagan.typepad.com

I queried my mother about the Orange Walk to how it looked, sounded and felt to her when she experienced it from behind a window (of course, being Catholic) An excerpt from "Skye" about an Orange Walk -

The high afternoon sun directed its brilliance onto Jimmy’s face as he emerged from the dimness of the building. He put one arm up to his eyes to defend from the sun while the other arm tightened around the blanketed girl. He paused, uncertain of the best way to get around the crowd. Cathy, frantic to keep moving, bumped right into him. Granda B, bringing up the rear, moved the family forward with purpose. “We’ll go to the corner shop and phone for a taxi,” he said.
    The marching band passing by brought forth loud singing of a tune well known to the Protestants on the street, and meant to offend the Catholics. The anxious trio knew they were in a dangerous situation, and worried about being stopped. But it wasn’t easy to move past the exit of the building. It was blocked by a group of young men watching the parade, cheering and yelling as it passed by. Jimmy tried to push his way through the group by throwing out his arm in a sweeping motion. “Come now. Out the way,” he yelled.
    A young dark-haired man, who appeared to be drunk, took quick offense at being pushed aside. “Hey, Mac, where you think you’re going?”
In an uncharacteristically quiet manner Jimmy answered, “Look man, we’ve a sick wean here. Will you no get out of our way?”
    The troublemaker grinned foolishly for a second, then drew his lips into a sneer. A fighter himself, Jimmy knew what could follow a look like that. In a preemptive first strike, he shoved the hooligan, sending him stumbling backwards. The group of young men, in anticipation of the escalating rhubarb, tightened the circle around Jimmy’s family. Granda B stepped out from behind Cathy to tower above them all. He addressed the dark-haired young man, “Come on now, Andy.” And to the others simply said,  “All of you — move aside. Let the woman come through.” The group parted.
    Jimmy stood silently, awed by how his father-in-law seemed to know so many people in Glasgow. Still apprehensive, Jimmy handed Helen to Cathy in order to free both hands in case of a fight. A very tall, broad-shouldered young man pushed Jimmy from behind. The shove felt more like a punch and forced him to stumble forward into the group of Protestants.
    An older man, empathic to the family struggling to get through, put a hand up to the tall bully, stopping his next move. “Easy now, lad.”
But the young Protestant did not back off. His beet red Scottish face showed his eagerness for a confrontation — a good fight for the cause. He raised his fists and spat out from his snarled lips, “Bloody papists pigs.”
    A small, round ball of a woman holding an orange banner on a wood stick slapped the aggressor’s arm. Her strong hit was precise and stinging “for such a wee lady,” according to revelers at the pub later that day. “Glenn Sweeny! Don’t you dare hurt that wean. Hands down, now! Come along, missus.” Everyone stopped as if frozen in time. The young man’s fists dropped as he stepped back, carrying out Mrs. MacSwan’s instructions. The little woman continued to stare down the hooligans. Her many years as a schoolteacher had perfected her ability to not waver in the face of defiance.
    The group stopped bothering Jimmy’s family and turned away to watch the parade. They were soon too absorbed to take heed of the small woman clutching a bundle in her arms. The three scurried quickly down the street, close to the safety of the buildings and away from the crowd.
    The sign hanging lopsided on the door of the corner store stopped them in their tracks. It said in bold capital letters, “CLOSED FOR ORANGE WALK.”
“That can’t be. It bloody well can’t be,” Jimmy mumbled over and over as though chanting.     At first he knocked loudly on the door and then began to pound frantically on it. His voice got louder. “Open up! It’s Jimmy MacDonald. We need your phone. It’s an emergency. Open up!” He kept yelling for the shopkeeper as though by sheer volume it would force the door to open. Cupping his eyes to peer into the darkened shop, Jimmy could see a telephone but could hear no sounds inside. No one would open up for him.