"Full of affection for Love Street".

Byline: JOHN HILLCOAT

FIRST it was my childhood home ripped down, now it's my spiritual home.

Yesterday's last ever match at Love Street brought loads of happy memories flooding back and they'll stand the test of time longer than any bricks and mortar.

Same with my humble starting point in life. My dad was the janitor of Linwood High in Renfrewshire from1970 to the mid-90s and we all lived on-site in the schoolhouse.

The gaff must have been about a hundred years old and only had two bedrooms the size of Tom Thumb's shoebox.

So my five siblings and I would arm wrestle at night to see who got the single bed.

I always took second prize but the experience helped me master breathing through one nostril due to my brother Robert's big toe being lodged up the other one for the best part of my childhood.

Despite all that though the wee house gave us some magnificent times.

When my old man retired in 1996 and we had to give up our crumbling bungalow the council decided to flatten it.

I remember watching the bulldozers rip the walls down as if they were made of paper.

The sadness of seeing the place where I was born torn to shreds was so heart-wrenching I ended up buying one of the new houses on the land where our wee place once stood.

But sentiment only lasts for a while and it is the memories of a place that are important.

Thankfully when it comes to St Mirren Park, Love Street, I have enough to last a lifetime.

Yesterday's game against Motherwell was the last ever on the hallowed turf and for many folk, myself included, it was a truly emotional occasion.

I couldn't make the special day due to coaching duties at Alloa but regard the old stadium as a real home from home.

First time I set foot in the place was 1980 when my dad took me to the North Bank end to watch Buddies play an exhibition match against American outfit Tampa Bay Rowdies.

It was my first ever football game and I can still smell the Bovril and tobacco smoke.

Little did I know back then the famous North Bank would have a profound effect on my adult life as my first ever job included maintaining it.

And 22 years ago almost to this day saw me join the club straight from school as their first ever YTS keeper.

Alex Smith had just taken over as manager and needed a kid gloves on the books.

I had been working with Saints legend Campbell Money on Monday nights and the big man recommended me.

It wasn't until then I realised my love for the club as my remit involved training every morning with the first team then maintaining the ground in the afternoon.

Guys like Norrie McWhirter, George Shaw, Danny McGriesh and Danny McGill came through the ranks at the same time and we spent every spare minute cleaning the place.

The big wall outside the main stand that separates the houses from the stadium?We painted it.

The black and white striped roof that covers the legendary North Bank? We risked life and limb on a cherry picker cleaning its gutters during the summer of '87.

And Jimmy Bone's old yellow Manta car? We washed it every day for two years.

It was always intriguing when the Old Firm came to town as the stuff we found on the terracing kept us amused for hours.

Everything from money to jewellery was left behind and I remember finding the latest edition of Mayfair magazine which got passed around the dressing-room until it was torn to shreds.

After everyone had had a shot we stuck it under the wooden seat of a season ticket holder at the back of the main stand to give him a cheap thrill.

I used to risk my life walking to and from the stadium every day as the bus from Linwood dropped me at Paisley Cross which meant I had to be onmy toes in case the local Shortroods gang were looking for a victim.

But the danger was worth it as I loved every minute of my time at Love Street. We would play head tennis on the red gravel track for hours and the loser had to do a 70-second lap around the ground in the nude with someone giving full commentary over the Tannoy for the whole of Paisley to hear.

That massive track would see us puffing around it every Tuesday morning as guys like Ian Ferguson, Frank McGarvey and Kenny McDowell endured arguably the hardest training sessions of their lives.

Every Friday we'd play the "nanny goat" game which resulted in someone singing a song in front of the whole squad.

It was like performing at the Coliseum in Rome because if the singing wasn't to our satisfaction the thumbs would go down and Fergie would take the poor soul into the shower area for a full minute's blast of the cold hose. Barbaric I know but hilarious at the time.

And the damp, fusty smell of the boardroom will live with me forever as the Scottish Cup stood proudly for all to see while I hoovered around it during that famous season.

St Mirren Park was an institution in Scottish football and means so much to so many people.

I loved the place like my own and am sad to see it go.