by Ian Todd
While there wis a stunned, confused silence fae the public gallery and the members ae the jury, the officials in the court hid leapt intae action and wur in the process ae thumbing through leather bound volumes ae legal books oan Scottish Law that hid been sitting collecting dust at a table set aside fur situations such as the wan that hid jist landed in amongst everywan. If anywan hid bothered tae look up at Lord Campbell, they wid’ve seen a look ae total shock, followed by disgust, as he thumbed through his wee pocket diary, coonting forward fae the first court appearance ae the defendants sitting in the dock. Efter two minutes ae utter confusion, the judge invited Maureen Bankheid, The Crown’s Advocate, tae address the court.
“Ah, er, unfortunately, I believe there has been a terrible mistake and miscalculation, milord…on whose part, I honestly can’t say at this moment in time. All the defendants sitting in the dock were charged on Friday the 24th of October last year. On Saturday the 25th of October, the defendants appeared at a special sitting of Glasgow Sheriff Court, where they were remanded in custody for up to one hundred and twelve days. Having counted the days spent on remand in Barlinnie Prison, taking into consideration that the remand period started the day after the Sheriff remanded them without plea or declaration, it seems the defendants in the dock have spent 114 days on remand, milord. In fact, the trial should have begun last Friday, the 13th of February, at the very latest. It is most unusual for a trial date to be set by the procurator fiscal’s office on the last day of an accused’s official remand period,” The Crown Advocate admitted, as the public gallery erupted…some in howls ae frustration and anger, while a few others cheered. “My only explanation for the mistake on our side was that the last trial, here in the south court, in the interests of justice, took longer than what had originally been planned for. I can only offer my humble apologies, not only to the court, milord, but to Miss Bain’s distressed family.”
12.50 PM
“Who the hell is that?” Sergeant William Borland ae Glesga traffic division shouted across tae his partner, PC Charlie Barrow, oan the other side ae the single line ae traffic.
“Eh?”
“There…look. They’ve jist gone and stood up oan the rail in the middle ae the fucking bridge, fur Christ’s sake.”
“Oh aye, so they hiv. It’s probably wan ae the firemen.”
“Look, gie’s a minute tae Ah go and see whit the score is. In the meantime, don’t let any mair cars through until Ah come back,” The Sarge warned him, stepping oot oan tae the road surface, jist beyond the Charing Cross underpass that led directly oan tae the bridge fae the north and east, as the horns in that line ae traffic began erupting.
“Hoi, you! Aye, you! Ur you meant tae be staunin up there? Who ur ye?” he demanded tae know, as the wummin looked at him fur a second, before she turned back and stared alang the Clyde towards The Glesga Bridge.
He stood looking at her, no sure whit tae dae next. He turned and squinted back alang fae where he’d jist come fae. Charlie, his side kick, lifted his erms up, gesturing fur him tae get a move oan. He looked the other way. The west carriageway oan tae the bridge, fae the south side, wis empty and deserted noo. Across tae his right, the firemen wur hosing doon the still smouldering tanker, whose sides wur buried in whit looked like sandbags. He gazed alang towards the toon centre in the distance. There wur cars, lorries, vans and buses at a staunstill, while masses ae people, aw looking like crawler ants, wur coming and gaun in aw directions. Him and Charlie hid been oan the bridge since early morning, directing traffic, listening tae the reports ae whit wis happening o’er their radios. It hid sounded bad, bit nothing hid prepared him fur the noisy, chaotic sight that he wis noo witnessing in the distance. He looked back up tae the trembling lassie staunin oan tap ae the stanchion post ae the crash barrier.
“Look, hen, Ah don’t know whit’s the matter wae ye, bit gonnae no dae this? Me and that partner ae mine hiv been staunin alang there since this morning, freezing oor baws aff, withoot a break. Why don’t ye jist gie me yer haun and Ah’ll help ye doon, eh?” he asked, moving towards her wae his haun ootstretched, as she turned and looked at him before stepping closer tae the edge. “N…naw, wait! It’s…it’s okay, hen. Ah’m no gonnae come near ye, look?” he said, stepping backwards wae his erms ootstretched at his sides.
“Hoi, you! Aye, you!” a strange voice suddenly shouted fae nowhere.
“Eh?” he gasped, looking aboot, trying tae see o’er the bridge withoot freaking the lassie oot.
“You, ya numpty, ye. O’er here,” the voice shouted again, as he spun roond.
“Aye, whit is it?” he shouted back across the gap separating the west and east carriageways, glancing nervously doon intae the water below, before looking at the fireman staunin there wae an oxygen tank oan his back and his face covered in a mask.
“Whit is it? Hiv ye any bloody idea whit the hell we’re dealing wae across here?”
“Naw, bit Ah’m sure Ah’m gonnae find oot soon enough,” The Sarge drawled.
“Fucking typical. Here we ur trying tae save lives, putting oorsels in danger and there’s wan ae youse shiny buttons, fannying aboot, as per usual.”
“Look, ya prick, ye, Ah’ve goat masel a jumper here, so Ah hiv,” he shouted, quickly turning roond, cursing under his breath, embarrassed that the lassie hid obviously heard him calling her a jumper, as she’d turned and looked at him again. “Ah’m trying tae fucking save a life here as well, ye know. Ye’re no the only wan, so ye urnae.”
“Look, unless ye kin get her doon aff ae there, as in like the noo, then ye better jist fuck aff and leave her tae it.”
“Eh?”
“Ye heard me. If this thing goes up, ye’ll be joining her oan George’s Square, so ye will.”
“George’s Square? Whit the fuck his George Square goat tae dae wae anything?”
“That’s where the pair ae ye will probably land, if this bloody thing explodes, so it will…aye, and it wullnae be a pleasant sight for the wee cleansing department boys who’ll be the wans that’ll hiv tae come and shovel youse up aff the ground either, so it wullnae.”
“Look, why don’t ye go back tae playing at being an extra in a some shitey wee sci-fi B movie wae that mask and tank oan yer back and let this professional get oan wae whit Ah’m good at, eh?” The Sarge shouted back at him.
“Aye, well, don’t say ye wurnae warned if this thing goes up…which it probably will,” The Fireman growled, turning and walking away.
“Ach, away and bile yer heid, ya imposter, ye,” The Sarge shouted efter him, as he turned back tae the task in haun, unclipping his radio fae the lapel ae his jaicket. “Charlie Victor. Ur ye receiving? Over. Charlie Victor, this is Charlie Six. Ur ye receiving? Over.”
“Charlie Victor, receiving. How’re ye daeing doon there, Willie? Over.”
“Never mind that, Charlie Victor. It looks like we’ve goat oorsels a jumper, so it dis. Over.”
“A jumper? Oh, that’s good, Charlie Four. The temperature’s meant tae be drapping even further, so it is. Ah’ve jist heard the forecast. It’s looking grim oot there, so it is. Over.”
“Ah’m talking aboot a bridge jumper, Charlie Victor, no the fucking knitted variety. Over.”
“Kin ye say again, Charlie Four…a wee bit louder? Over.”
“Naw, Ah fucking cannae, Charlie Victor. She’s bloody well staunin aboot ten feet away fae me oan the middle ae the fucking Kingston Bridge, ya diddy, ye. She’s lugging in, so she is. Over.”
Silence.
“Charlie Four. This is Charlie Victor. Kin ye no tell her tae get her arse doon fae there? The toon’s in bloody turmoil, so it is. Over.”
“Ah cannae fucking believe this, so Ah cannae,” The Sarge shouted at his radio in disgust, before turning back tae the jumper. “Look, hen, Ah’m…Ah’m jist aff tae get some help. Stay where ye ur. Ah’ll be back in a jiffy, so Ah will,” he said, heidin back towards his partner at the far end ae the bridge at a brisk pace.
1.20 PM
>
“Hellorerr, listeners. This is Donald Dingle, yer suicidal ex favourite traffic reporter fae the nation’s favourite Radio Clydeside, oan medium wave two-six-wan and ninety-five-point-wan FM. Unfortunately, things urnae improving at aw, Ah’m afraid. John Bower, the traffic superintendent fur Glesga polis his jist informed us that there’s a jump…er, person, jist climbed up oan tae the parapet rail running the length ae the Kingston Bridge. Unfortunately, traffic that wis allowed across the west bound carriageway ae the bridge fae the Coocaddens and the Toonheid Interchange earlier his noo been stoapped fur the time being, at least until they kin sort the situation oot. So, the warning tae aw youse travellers is the same mantra as before. If ye kin avoid Glesga…aye, that’s whit Ah’ve jist said, listeners. If ye kin avoid the whole ae the toon, then please stay away. If ye don’t awready know, it’s total gridlock in the city the day. Ah’ll be back if and when Ah get any new happy updates fur youse. In the meantime, kin people stoap abandoning cars aw o’er the place. The emergency services cannae get through tae those in need.”
1.45 PM
“Mr Broon…Mr Broon, whit’s yer thoughts oan the trial collapsing?” wan ae the reporters shouted, as some ae the cameramen goat intae a wee jostle wae each other, as Wan-bob Broon and Charlie Hastie made their way tae the waiting car sitting idling oan the pavement in front ae the steps ae The High Court.
“Ah think it’s terrible, whit the family ae that wee nurse his gone through. The incompetence ae the polis in this city is beyond belief, so it is. Ah eagerly looked forward tae hivving ma day in court despite ma good reputation noo being in tatters efter the dreadful allegation against me and ma business partner, Charlie Hastie. Ah’ve goat daughters and grand daughters ae ma ain. Ah’m no capable ae hurting anywan, let alone some poor wee nurse. Ah’ll be speaking tae ma lawyer, Joshua Crankie, in the morning, wance Ah spend a bit ae time opening overdue Christmas presents wae ma granddaughters.”
“Wur ye aware that the time spent untried in Barlinnie hid run o’er by a couple ae days?”
“Look, Ah lost aw track ae time in that filthy horrible place, so Ah did. The conditions that poor innocent untried prisoners hiv tae live under is an utter disgrace in a so called modern cultured society, so it is. Ah didnae know whit day it wis, never mind the dates. This his been as much ae a shock tae me as it his tae poor Rose Bain’s family. Ah hope tae God the polis here in the toon don’t stoap investigating that wee lassie’s death. Justice his tae be seen tae be done. Noo, if ye’ll excuse me, ma grandweans ur expecting me,” Wan-bob said, as Peter The Plant and Danny Murphy ploughed a furrow through the pack tae the waiting car.
“Hiv ye anything mair tae say that wid comfort Rose Bain’s parents, Mr Broon?” a journalist shouted efter him.
“Aye, Ah hiv,” Wan-bob said, turning back tae face the cameras. “Never give up. Ah never did, when Ah wis lying in that filthy prison, feeling as if Ah’d been abandoned by society. If Ah kin dae anything tae help that poor we lassie’s family, ma door will always be open, so it will.”
2.55 PM
“Did youse baith know whit wis gonnae happen doon at The High Court the day?” Pearl asked Tony, as she lifted up her mug ae cappuccino in The University Café across in Byres Road.
“Us? How the hell wid we know? Ah wis jist as surprised as everywan else, so Ah wis,” Tony replied.
“Simon?”
“Pearl, be honest noo. Even if Ah did, ye don’t think fur wan minute that Ah’d tell a wee scurrying reporter, even if she is good at her job,” Simon replied laughing.
“It’s her family that Ah feel sorry fur.”
“Ach, well, maybe ye should’ve helped them, insteid ae gaun efter that Teddy Bare wan,” Tony hit her wae.
“Ah didnae hiv any choice. That boss ae mine instructed me tae pursue him.”
“Fuck, remind me no tae cross you, Pearl. Ye wur like a wee nippy dug, so ye wur.”
“Ah’ll take that as a compliment then, shall Ah?”
“Well, Ah widnae go that far.”
“So, whit time’s the party fur the birthday boy kicking aff then?” she asked, back tae Tony.
“Kim Sui wants people roond at the flat fur seven. It shouldnae be a problem, seeing as we’re aw living close by.”
“Everywan’s surprised that ye’re hivving a birthday party, so they ur.”
“Everywan?”
“The lassies. They think ye’re up tae something, especially Senga.”
“Ah am. It’s no every day that ye turn twenty wan, plus Kim Sui insisted in killing two birds wae the wan stane by hivving a wee hoose warming while we wur at it. This is a wan aff, so it is. Ah know Kim Sui his been wanting tae throw a party fur ages noo. This seemed like the best time. The next wan will be in ten years time.”
“Any idea how Ah’m gonnae get intae the toon centre?” Pearl wondered.
“Well, ye kin furget the underground. The queues ur hauf way up the street ootside every subway station across the city. Ah heard that dangleberry traffic guy oan the radio saying there wis a jumper oan the Kingston Bridge. That’ll tober Mr Plod up and keep him oan his toes,” Simon said, as Tony and him sniggered.
“Ah heard that it’s some poor lassie. Ah wonder whit her story is?” Pearl said, picking her shoulder bag up aff the flair and putting her coat oan. “See ye the night, Birthday Boy,” she said, leaning across and gieing them baith a peck oan each ae their cheeks, before heidin fur the door.
“Pearl?” Tony shouted efter her.
“Aye?”
“The sergeants that gied ye a doing, doon in Hanover Lane?”
“Whit aboot them?”
“Ah heard that they wur lifted this morning across oan Victoria road, so they wur.”
“Whit? Fur assaulting me?”
“Naw. They goat caught ferrying a load ae hash fur The McGregors in the boot ae their car, so they did.”
“They did not!”
“Fucking crooked basturts,” Simon growled.
“Anyway, they’ll be daeing some amount ae porridge efter being caught wae that kind ae stuff, so they will. See? Whit goes aroond comes aroond.”
“Aye, well, Hell mend them. That’s aw Ah kin say,” Pearl sang, sounding cheery, before disappearing oot oan tae the pavement.
3.00 PM
“At fucking last!”
“PC Hyde?”
“Aye. Whit the hell kept youse?”
“And you must be PC Rodney Rose? Is that right?” The Stretcher bearer asked him, quickly bending doon, ignoring the aggressive undertones ae PC Hyde.
“Er, aye.”
“How’s yer heid?”
“Bloody louping, so it is.”
“Okay, ye’re gonnae hiv tae remove that manky hanky tae let me hiv a look at the tap ae yer skull, so ye ur,” he said. “How’s yer vison?”
“He says it’s blurred.”
“Is that right, PC Rose?”
“Aye. It’s coming and gaun.”
“Okay, here’s whit we’re gonnae dae. Ah want ye tae lie doon oan this stretcher we’ve brought wae us,” he said, as the pimply faced boy he’d arrived wae jumped intae action and unfurled the canvas stretcher oan tae the pavement beside them and a wee group ae curious onlookers gathered tae see whit aw the commotion wis aboot.
