Let’s take a minute, you and I, just to appreciate the beauty of this new bridge from Govan to Partick before we get into the numbers and the stories. I was down here a few weeks ago as the final flourishes were being applied and it was already looking tremendous. Then, it was at repose; resting in its entirety along its Govan flank and you tried to imagine what it would be like swung out across the Clyde to restore this old realm’s ancient alliance with the kingdom of Partick. The curvature of its dorsal mast was already making a statement.   

What is it about these bridges across the Clyde that evoke in Glaswegians such deep and fierce affection? The Govan-Partick Bridge is the fourth to be made in the first quarter of this century years after the Squinty and the Squiggly (the Millenium and the Tradeston). It’s the most serene and stately of the three.  

We love them, I think, because of what they signify and represent. They exist to reconcile; to restore; to (quite literally) reach out and to touch. They seek to enable; to support and to provide. For Glaswegians they carry echoes of a time when this city carried the world on the shoulders of its foundries and yards. 

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Perhaps that’s why on Saturday, they organised a festival for the debut of the Govan-Partick. And nor was this something contrived and cringey. As a traditional Scottish ceilidh band belted out their jigs and reels, groups of people joined hands and danced. Normally, you’d find yourself retreating from such public, day-time displays of exuberance, but not today. 

The bridge was soon teeming with people passing backwards and forwards over the Clyde. These twin kingdoms of Govan and Partick are stitched into my Glaswegian DNA. A couple of streets from here stood the St Francis Nursing Home where I was born. And dotted around Partick and its adjacent neighbourhoods are some of the flats where I’ve lived and caroused.  

Before long, you see familiar faces. If you’ve lived long enough in this city you can’t wander far before someone makes themselves known. “I used to drink with your dad in The Shakespeare,” or “is your mum still alive? Please tell her you met me.”  

Cat McFarlane, who lives in Kelvindale in Glasgow’s west end has been waiting for this day to happen since the idea of a bridge connecting Govan and Partick was first mooted. “I’ll tell you what I want,” she says, “for some of the money in the west end to flow that way into Govan and for some of Govan’s attitude to flow into Partick and the west. 

“Look, Govan is one of the oldest and most historically significant districts in the west of Scotland. People who’ve never been here haven’t got a clue about it. It’s unmatched in the beauty of its public buildings. People know nothing of the massive economic blow to this place when the shipyards closed. In recent years though, I’ve begun to see Govan fighting back. I think this bridge will be brilliant, so long as the planners and the Council listen to the views of the people who live here.”    

Soon, I’m becoming evangelical about this bridge. I meet Ian Wood with his friends, Frank and John. They like the bridge too, but Ian cavils at its £29m cost. “I just wonder if it might not have been better spent improving our roads,” he says. I reply (with unnecessary cynicism) that they’d probably just waste it on more cycle lanes. And then I outline the potential that the bridge brings. “As more people cross into Govan, they’ll see that it’s a cracking place. They might want to live here and spend money here,” I tell him. “Aye fair enough,” he says. 

And here’s another thing. At the midpoint of the bridge I stop and look east towards the city centre. In doing so, I realise that in all my years living around the Greater Glasgow area I’d never seen the city like this. From here, Glasgow stretches out before you on both sides of the river and you see its grandeur and its genius and its rich industrial heritage. In these moments you feel glad that you were born here and you offer a silent prayer for all those who came before you and who made this place.  

Chikdreb cross the new Govan-Partick bridgeChikdreb cross the new Govan-Partick bridge (Image: Colin Mearns)

At the Partick end of the bridge John and Caroline McGinlay are having a similar experience. “It’s just brilliant,” says John, “and it’ll be great for Govan to be re-connected to the west.” Just down there, a few metres away, sits the Transport Museum in its jaggy splendour and the Glenlee, the tall cargo ship that was built 128 years ago down the water at Port Glasgow. 

“It’s only when you see it from up here that you appreciate how lovely the museum looks,” says Caroline. “We need to give the bridge a name, though,” she says, and so we start throwing a few around. I’m in favour of calling it the Sunny G, even though that’s already been annexed by the Sunny Govan community radio station. Caroline thinks though, that it can be extended to the bridge. She repeats it out loud. “The Sunny Govan Bridge. It’s got something.”    

It’s only when you spend some time in this part of Govan that you see the evidence of its cautious revival and indications of a better future. Just back down the river the old Govan Graving Docks are coming back to life. On the landscaped plaza that forms the gateway to the Bridge there’s an enclave of handsome apartment buildings providing a mix of social and affordable dwellings and mid-market rentals.  

Like New Gorbals, a mile or so east along the river, they represent new thinking about what social housing can look like. This could be Amsterdam or Copenhagen. They’re handsome and spacious and a rebuke to the uniform brick mindlessness favoured by Scotland’s major private house estates.  

The new Govan-Partick bridgeThe new Govan-Partick bridge (Image: Colin Mearns)

A few hundred metres along the walkway and up through a grassy path, you come upon the 1500-year-old Govan Old Parish Church kirk-yard. Inside the church you find the Govan Stones, the unique Celtic and Viking sculptures that form one of Europe’s most important medieval collections.  

Today, the church is getting a turn from the opening of the bridge. It’s jumping and the young lad on the souvenir table is buzzing. “It’s only 1pm and we’ve already had 400 people through the door. That’s more than we get on Open Doors Day.”    

Glasgow University is one of the key players (stakeholders in the civic argot) in what is officially known as the “Glasgow Riverside Innovation District.” It’s one of those ugly designations that academics and panjandrums deploy to suck all sense of time, place and belonging from hallowed ground.  

It’ll take another five to ten years before we know if the ‘Innovation District’ delivers what Govan, like all other working-class communities need: many more affordable homes; real jobs that pay well and bring dignity and politicians (for a change) worthy of the people who elected them. The Govan to Partick Bridge is good to be getting on with, but it’s only a start.