As I write, the remaining six Red Road flats are about to be reduced to rubble. It’s if they were convicts on death row, the time of their execution drawing closer, with no reprieve in sight. No sweat-lathered horse and rider are going to gallop towards the gallows, bearing a pardon. Nor are the small band of local protestors, fearful of the impact of the blast on their own homes, likely to change the course of events. It is much too late for that.

These once proud totems of a bright new age, stark and unreal as something from a sci-fi film, are no longer appropriate for these more empathetic and vote-sensitive times. The decision was made, long ago, to wipe them from the landscape, and so it will be, with the few floors remaining due to be taken down in due course.

It is easy enough to turn bricks into dust, but the memories this estate holds cannot be as swiftly eradicated. With the possible exception of the Gorbals, few districts of Glasgow have come to represent so tangible, self-contained and mixed a history, representing a conflict between unquenchable community spirit and poverty of hope.

The towers were built at the height of the Cold War, whose chill their brutalist shape and featureless surroundings terrifyingly conveyed every day of their existence. Although they dominated the horizon for just half a century, their impact on the city’s story has been disproportionately large. Some former residents, especially as children, recall happy times, and will mourn their departure. Others, isolated on the top floors or victims of crime, or asylum seekers, who felt threatened and stigmatised, will be glad to see an end to a place that for them represents misery on earth.

I doubt there’s a street in the world that hasn’t been home to both emotions. But what makes the Red Road flats stand out, and not just because of their height, is the intention, and the lack of imagination, behind their design. The architect, Sam Bunton, was working to a brief, so cannot shoulder all the blame for the lack of foresight they represent. Even so, pitching a community of the displaced to the periphery of the city, in a place starved of amenities, was like a survivalist experiment of the sort now only found on reality TV.

Within a few years, the flaws were glaringly obvious. Among the many complaints, as one onlooker observed: “People spoke of the difficulties doctors had in getting to their patients because of lifts not coming or out of order."

Once opened, these cracks deepened, until only the diehard or the hopeless would willingly choose to live there.

These tower blocks came to represent the worst evils of civic housing: isolation, desolation, ghettoisation and aesthetic nihilism. Yet even today, lessons we ought to have learned have yet to sink in. Too many architects, town planners and developers must have been sitting in the back row of class, comatose, when the flats made headlines, because to judge by housing policy, many of the old errors are faithfully being replicated.

It’s true, we no longer bus entire communities out of sight and mind. That much we have recognised as untenable, not to say cruel. But we seem hell bent still on building houses at the edge of the city, either on precious green belt, or on dwindling pockets of empty land between towns and villages, thereby burying the countryside under cement. Such dwellings are for those with cars, who will not care that the nearest shop is ten miles away. Yet the term ghetto still applies, in the sense of gated communities. As for despoliation of the wild, this kind of property-creep is as guilty of treating open, breathing space as a prime building site as the most gimcrack council estate ever was.

And, as with Mr Bunton’s creation, new building projects often converge on farmland and river plains rather than brown field sites or wasteland. What was inexplicable back in 1962 remains the case today. Why do so few choose to revitalise or replace existing property? Instead of destroying open land, thereby leaving gaping holes in town centres, why don’t more developers inject life back into city centres? Because whatever dream of rural living these house-sellers promise, as soon as the bulldozers move in the only blade of grass left to enjoy will be in the handkerchief garden, assuming it’s not all under decking and patio.

These problems might seem a world away from the lonely and sinister landscape of Glasgow’s soulless skyscrapers, but they share a common source: encroaching on green space which should by law have been protected. And refusing to recognise the long-term social and economic consequences of their actions. For years the Red Road flats have stood as a living reproach to such woeful or wilful lack of vision. No wonder they wanted them blown to smithereens.