A Day of Freebies

Edward Burns

Glasgow's Kelvin Hall is famous for many things. Sitting across from the fairytale Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, its red sandstone frontage looks suitably grand for it to be moderately famous for its appearance alone. But I suppose its main claim to fame lies with the fact that every Christmas it was the magical location of the carnival and circus, including the elephants whose earthy smell some say persists to this day. To me, it is famous for something not a lot of people know about.

Amongst the many events hosted by the Kelvin Hall, each year there was the Food Exhibition. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure if it was called the Food Exhibition, but certainly for many Glaswegians it was an event of saliva-inducing smells, deep fat fryers, and demonstrations where you could see the latest kitchen gadget cut up everything from a carrot to a thumb into every shape imaginable.

And, of course, there were the free samples.

On this particular day I vaguely recall arriving full of anticipation. The memory is vague because I was just a wee boy, probably around ten years old, and the proud owner of grey stripy socks, a balaclava any bank robber would have been proud of, and a duffel coat that cocooned my tiny body tight within its safe confines.

It is difficult to amply describe the feeling on first walking into the Kelvin Hall during such an occasion. All of one's senses instantly go into overdrive and the instinct is to throw one's arms in the air and run wildly around screaming stuff like, 'This way, Mam! This way Mam, this way!' It is just such a large internal space, and all given over to food, aisle upon aisle, row upon row, and veritable streets and avenues lined with stalls offering tempting free samples. What then followed, without beating about the bush, would normally be a feeding frenzy with everyone trying to maintain an air of decorum whilst surreptitiously elbowing others out of the way.

Me and Mam stuffed ourselves full of free food. Apart from the need to shoulder-charge grannies out of the way, it seemed proper to at least appear slightly interested in what the stall was promoting. If, for example, someone was frying some new crisp potato treat, an early forerunner of Quavers, for example, then you would stand for a moment looking suitably impressed, perhaps ask a question, then gather round the free plates on the stall shelves and stuff yer gob, as they say in this fine city.

It was not unlike an urban version of hunting, where your eyes would be darting hither and thither in search of samples not attended by a crowd, or returning again and again to a stall whose goods tasted better than any other stall's, the owner kindly replenishing empty plates on a regular basis.

As me and Mam strolled (I lie; sprinted) around, I spied a woman standing at a counter munching from a plate of chips. Without letting on to Mam I ran over, sidled up to the woman, and helped myself to a handful of chips. They were quite delicious. Never in my life had I tasted chips so good. They seemed somehow thinner than I was accustomed to, soft and squishy on the inside yet crisp on the outside, liberally coated in lashings of salt and drizzled with vinegar the likes of which had never previously passed my lips.

I pumped more chips down my throat and moved slightly nearer the woman so that our small scrum of bodies would block anyone else's view, including Mam's. This was too good to allow anyone else in. Our secret hoard.

Standing there beside my feasting companion I turned my beaming face towards her in a moment of intense camaraderie. She seemed to be spluttering. A chip gone down the wrong way? I smiled, wondering if I should put my Life Boys' first-aid experience to use and slap her between the shoulders to dislodge the morsel.

She stopped spluttering long enough to say, 'Oh, the cheek!' I looked at her long and hard. Then I looked at the chips. Then the penny dropped. Oh my god; they were her chips. She must have bought them, brought them to this quiet counter to eat in peace, and here was some cheeky young scallywag stealing them from her very plate.

In a moment in which all the world went hazy and welcome deep craters in the ground threatened to swallow me up, I sidled away, taking Mom's hand and leading her away from the threat. Mom didn't say anything. She knew by the expression on my face that something quite terrible had taken place, and that it was perhaps prudent to vacate the premises. It was only when we got outside that I was finally able to speak and tell her what happened. She thought it was funny. Me; I was mortified. Could feel my ears burning for a full month afterwards. For as long as I live I will never forget that day. And I'm sure the woman with the chips would say the same.