A Billy or a Dan, or an Old Tin Can

by Paul Kelly

  I send all my fondest and dearest love with this letter.

  Aggie.

  P.S. The nuns leave me in awe. They are all so beautiful and I feel like the ugly duckling.

  Mary dried her eyes as Tom took her in his arms.

  “We have a jewel there my Love,” he said, “I couldn’t believe my eyes, how lovely she looked as she passed through that little door. It wasn’t like Aggie at all, was it? She was always lovely, Darling, but there was something different about her in that last moment. I can’t describe it.”

  “I know Tom. I know. Will you take me to see her when we are allowed that visit?”

  “Need you ask, my Darling? Wild horses wouldn’t stop me. I want to share everything you are and have you know that and I regard Aggie as my own daughter; my own little girl, who will one day become a very beautiful nun.” He reflected for a moment before he spoke again. “By the way I understand they have to have a bridal dress before they are clothed in the nun’s habit. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right Tom. It’s called a trousseau.”

  “Is that supplied by the convent, Mary?”

  “I don’t know Tom. I haven’t thought about that.”

  “Well Mary I have ... and I want to buy that trousseau for Aggie. I want her to look RADIANT on her ‘wedding day’.”

  “But Tom...”

  “No buts, Mary. You’re speaking about the daughter I love, don’t forget and I want her to have the best.” Tom laughed, but there was a pride in his eye that he could not hide.

  “Tom Carey. You’ll break my heart with your kindness,” Mary said and she dried her eyes.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Willie set up his plumb-line for his seventh layer of bricks and he was beginning to have quite a pride in his achievements, if it was slightly dampened by the thought that he would soon have to transfer to demolition. It was nice to construct, but not very pleasant to destroy.

  He thought about London and about his job there, if he could get one as a builder. It was such a large city and such a huge step away from Glasgow and more so from Rouken Glen.

  He imagined there should be quite a considerable amount of work for demolition when he heard on the wireless and read in the newspapers about the bombings that London had endured. Many buildings were totally flattened from the news that came over the radio and there was talk of television coming soon, where people would be able to see as well as hear what was going on all around the world. He sighed when he considered the prospects but his day-dreaming was soon shattered.

  “Come on Come on. Don’t just stand about dreamin’ all day, lookin’ at a few bricks. Get on wi’ the job and let’s get it done and done prop’ly.”

  Old Mr. Bangs spat on the ground in confirmation of his authority and Willie picked up his trowel to tap the first brick with professional precision as the foreman walked away. He took another brick in his hand and threw it into the air, catching it again as it fell and positioning it correctly on the wall.

  “Blair ... Blair You there?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bangs?”

  “Can you drive, Blair?” the foremen shouted as an afterthought as he returned to where Willie was working.

  “Yes, Mr. Bangs. I can drive.”

  Bangs was thinking Willie knew he was, as he scratched his balding head in a certain way when he was doing that. Willie had got to recognise the look in the eye as well, when a thought was trailing through the mind of his foremen.

  “Right ... At 4.30 today. I want you to take a load of bricks to an address in Clarkston. You live near there, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bangs I live in Rouken Glen only a few miles on from Clarkston.”

  “Well don’t go before 4.30 do you understand? There won’t be anyone at the house until then. Load the bricks up in the lorry at 4.0 an’ you can go straight home after the delivery, O.K?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bangs” ... Willie thought he must have sounded like a broken gramophone record Yes, Mr. Bangs. Yes, Mr. Bangs and he wondered if he would ever be able to say, ‘No, Mr. Bangs ‘

  The day passed without incident and Willie had lost count of the number of bricks he had laid. He loaded the allocated bricks onto the truck at the instructed time and reported to the Works Office for his delivery note. Charlie Bangs was sitting at an old wooden desk, which had three wooden legs and bricks for the fourth. Papers surrounded him and it looked untidy as he struggled with an abacus to add some figures from the papers lying in front of him.

  “Well?” He glanced up as he spoke and covered the abacus with an old towel.

  “I’ve done it, Mr. Bangs ...The bricks, Mr. Bangs, the bricks for Clarkston. I’ve loaded them onto the truck.”

  “Oh the bricks ... Yes, yes, of course. Did you see the right pile at the end of the yard? I marked then clearly for Clarkston. Did you see that?”

  Willie nodded and smiled ... Anyone with any sense at all could tell that Clarkston was spelt with a ‘K’ well couldn’t they?

  “Yes, Mr. Bangs. Can I have the address now please?”

  Bangs scattered some papers around the desk with his fat little hand.

  “She’ll be the death o’ me, that one will,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Pardon, Mr. Bangs?”

  “It’s nothing lad ... ah! Here it is ...It’s er ... It’s ... I haven’t got my reading glasses Lad. Can you see that O.K? Willie accepted the excuse, meagre though it seemed and read the delivery address allowed.

  “52 Graham Road, Clarkston is that it, Mr. Bangs?”

  “Yes of course it is Blair. That’s what it says there ... doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bangs.”

  “And it’s best you take the load living so near there yourself Laddie.”

  “Is there a delivery note, Mr. Bangs and should I collect any money?”

  Bangs flustered and puffed his cheeks.

  “Money ... what the hell’s that got to do with you, Blair. I’LL SAY WHEN THERE’S ANY MONEY TO BE COLLECTED ... Do you understand?

  “Yes, yes, Mr. Bangs. I’m sorry, I just thought ...”

  “Well then DON’T THINK, Blair. You’re not paid to think. Leave that to people who can do it prop’ly ... Now GIT and just ask for Mrs. Parsons.”

  Willie jumped into the truck and started the engine He looked round to make sure that he was clear to drive off and observed a great crack in the driving mirror, which gave him two dimensions of the road behind. He grinned and pushed the first gear into action which clanked loudly and he started again, before the truck moved and he drove slowly towards the Site entrance. As he braked sharply, a dog raced across his vision and the bricks slid down the body of the truck and he glanced through the rear view window to check that everything was alright. No harm had been done and he watched the dog cock it’s leg as he drove off noisily and a cloud of dust powdered the animal and made him sneeze.

  “Graham Road ...Graham Road,” he kept repeating to himself until he eventually arrived, after only driving for half-an-hour. It was a quiet residential area and number 52 was a detached brick house opposite a park. He drew up alongside the front wall of the house and parked the truck.

  “Ah! that’s what the bricks are for, I suppose,” he muttered as he saw that the wall of the garage at the side of the house was dilapidated. One wall was totally down and bricks and debris were strewn all over the path. “Somebody’s car must be bashed about a bit,” he sniggered as he looked closer at the damaged wall. The remaining bricks were badly broken and beyond repair. New bricks were required and here he was ...an answer to someone’s prayer. He jumped down from the driving cab and slammed the door of the truck behind him as he made towards the front door of the house and rang the bell. There was no answer. He looked around the side of the house for a possible entrance at the back, but the s
ide passageway was locked. He dusted his trousers from sheer habit because they never looked any better after this ritual but it gave him a sense of personal satisfaction. After a short time, he rang the bell again but with the same response and as he stepped a few paces away from the house to observe the windows, someone tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped round with surprise as he hadn’t seen anyone on or near the drive.

  “What do you want young man?”

  A stout little lady was standing behind him with a head scarf over her head, surrounded by a bundle of heavily laden carrier bags.

  “Mrs. Parsons?” he enquired as soon as his breath returned. The lady removed her scarf and blew into the air.

  “Carson,” she corrected, “MISS Carson,” she emphasised without apology and her eye twitched.

  Willie gasped as he stood before the stout lady, cap in hand and looking like as though he had seen a ghost. It was ... It was indeed, Miss Carson of happy memory and she had apparently been unable to recognise her former pupil of disrepute from St. Bonaventure’s

  “I’ve brought you a consignment of bricks Miss Carson” he said and it sounded strange to be using her name again after so long.

  “Bricks ... Bricks... What ARE you talking about?” she barked. “Oh never mind ... I suppose my friend knows all about that. She’ll be along in a minute. She’s just gone to the newsagent to collect a paper.” Her head bobbed in the direction of the shops a little way along the road. “Would you mind very much giving me a hand with this shopping? It seems to get heavier every week. I can’t understand why.”

  “Of course ... Of course, Miss Carson ...”

  Willie lifted the bags as she produced her latch key and opened the door and he sheepishly followed her inside.

  “Well and what can I do for you,” she asked again, obviously forgetting for the moment that he had told her about the bricks he had delivered and then she remembered. “Oh yes, the bricks ...They must be for the garage, yes?” She gazed into Willie’s face but still without recognition and her eye twitched twice.

  “Yes, I think so Miss Carson. I was told to deliver them to number 52 Graham Road.”

  “What a clever young man you are,” she patronised sarcastically, “You’ve got the correct address. Now where are the bricks?”

  Willie was puzzled by her attitude until he remembered that she was a teacher and that she was used to talking to little boys, but his charitable reaction was rewarded as Miss Carson observed the look on his face.

  “I am sorry, young man. I am being rude. I’ve had a busy day, but that’s no excuse for bad manners. Please unload the bricks and then come and have a cup of tea.” She dusted her forehead with a scented hankie and Willie was filled with nostalgia. “The bricks are G.P’s doing, I have no doubt. She will be here in a moment.”

  Willie unloaded the bricks as near to the garage as possible before he returned to the house for his tea.

  “Well, Well ... it can’t be. It is ... I’m sure it is .It’s Willie Blair, isn’t it?” A voice came from out of the blue and Willie spun round. His pulse raced and he coloured from head to knee.

  “Yes Miss Golding-Potts. I’m Willie Blair.”

  Miss Golding-Potts threw a newspaper she had been reading onto a small table and strode across the room to meet her visitor and the floor boards creaked.

  “Sit down Willie. I saw you unloading those bricks out there. Thought you were a handsome young thing, but I didn’t recognise you until you came into the room. How are you? Not married yet I hope,” she giggled.

  “N... N...No, Miss Golding-Potts,” he stuttered and she grinned again.

  “Call me Trottie. Everybody does. I acquired the name when I used to teach at St. Bon’s.

  Willie blushed to the roots again He wondered how much more Trottie knew about St. Bon’s and of what the boys thought about Miss Trottie. His colour deepened when he remembered her sandshoes and matching coloured knickers. He looked around for a place to sit mindful of the state of his working trousers, but it was Trottie who apologised.

  “Sorry Willie please sit down ... Sit down anywhere or better still come and sit down here, beside ME,” she beamed, “And tell me all about yourself ... Gracious, Beattie, Beattie ... Are you there?”

  Miss Carson came back into the room carrying a tray with the tea things and Trottie took control of the situation, pouring the tea and offering the biscuits around as Willie folded his cap and thrust it into his hip pocket as he sat down.

  “You MUST remember Willie Blair, don’t you Beattie?”

  Miss Carson studied Willie’s face closely with another of the familiar twitches of the eye.

  “Well well, I don’t believe it....Of course, Willie Blair. My, my, haven’t you grown?”

  She studied Willie from head to toe with utter astonishment as she used the hankie again to mop her brow.

  “Are you a builder?” asked Trottie as she took a cigarette from a silver case and offered one to Willie.

  “No thanks. I don’t smoke and no, I’m only an apprentice bricklayer, as yet.”

  “So modest,” she proclaimed and looked to Miss Carson with pride in her eyes. “Don’t you think so Beattie and look at those muscles ... Oh” Gawd, I bet you drive the girls wild, Willie Blair.”

  Beattie Carson pulled a face and glared at her friend.

  “Trottie You’ll make Willie blush, you will.” she said, but she wasn’t averse to looking at the muscles herself with a single eyeglass that she produced from a pocket in her tweed skirt. “I’m sure you’re very good at your job, Willie,” she said as Trottie lit her cigarette.

  “I shouldn’t, you know I really shouldn’t,” she complained, holding the cigarette between her forefinger and thumb as she pursed her lips and screwed her eyes up with the smoke that trailed across her face. “I used to be such a keep-fit fanatic too,” she sighed “I used to be a lot of things ...”

  Her voice took on a despairing note and her eyes saddened for a second, but Miss Carson was too absorbed in Willie’s muscles and fine tan to notice. She was beginning to recall incidents that happened at the school and her pulse quickened as her twitch performed a merry dance.

  “Oh dear,” she said as she used her handkerchief again, “This is quite exciting, isn’t it, Trottie?”

  Trottie smiled and blew some more smoke into the air.

  “It certainly is when you call me Trottie, my Dear. It’s usually G.P. or something even more disgusting,” she laughed, but Beattie Carson ignored the remark as she kept her eyes on Willie.

  “It took me some time to recognise you, Willie. You’re quite a well, a man now, aren’t you so tall and ... “Miss Carson was running out of adjectives but her imagination had been enlivened at the sight of her ex-pupil who was definitely no longer anything like a boy...

  “He is a man now, Beattie. They all grow up in time, you know. It’s only we old fogies that remain the same size year in and year out if we’re lucky ...”

  Trottie looked down at her waist line as she spoke and threw her head back as if to ignore what she saw there whilst Willie drank his tea in the midst of all the adulation that surrounded him as the two ladies admired him more than he would ever realise although each in a different way.

  Trottie observed his muscular tanned arms through the smoke that she blew carelessly into the air before shooing it away with her hefty fist and his bronzed, handsome face with that well cut and chiselled chin. She recognised his eyes immediately, of course and his hair was the same too but more ... well, more like a man. She indulged her fantasy as she crossed her sturdy legs and stubbed her fag in a pink and green china ashtray. He’s gorgeous absolutely gorgeous, she thought as she closed her eyes. I wonder how many young maidens he has de-flowered since he got his first pair of long breeks in the first year at St. Bon’s, she went on ruminating and choked o
n her tea, astonishing herself at the untamed thoughts that paraded in her mind But it was fun. What the hell, she thought I don’t indulge every day and she continued to allow her imagination to run riot and revelled in the momentary diversion from sharing a house with the virginal Beattie Carson lovely though she was, poor dear. I bet he looks lovely in shorts ... she concluded and lit another cigarette in utter and total debauchery whilst Willie sat quietly drinking his tea unaware of the interest that he had aroused. Even Beattie Carson was not unmindful of this masculine presence before her. Such a beautiful man, she thought. What an Adonis. Face like an angel. He should have been a priest. He’d look dewy in a kilt She coughed and tried to dismiss the thoughts that would not leave her mind, but with great effort. Thoughts that demanded great discipline from a lady bachelor, she concluded ... or thought she had.

  He looks so scrumpish .Oh dear, I’m getting carried way and it’s not good for a lady of my advanced years is it ... she asked herself and coughed again to clear her throat as if this action would also clear her mind, but an uncontrollable smile crept over her face and her thoughts defied her intelligence. “I wonder if he’s still into lady’s brogues?” she giggled audibly and coughed again into her scented hankie. “Pardon me,” she said, “Something caught in my throat,” she explained untruthfully and Willie continued to drink his tea as his two lady admirers plied him with chocolate biscuits until eventually he managed to speak.

  “Will the bricks be alright where I’ve left them?”

  Miss Carson looked dreamily at him and her eye twitched.

  “Bricks?” she asked, “What bricks?”

  “The bricks that Banger sent us,” drawled Trottie, still gazing at Willie threw the blue smoke of her fag and Willie spluttered on his tea, apologising as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He had never heard Charlie Bangs called by that name before, but Trottie smiled seductively.

  “He’s a good old sport is Banger. He must be your foreman, yes? Will he let you do the garage repairs for us, do you think? We’ll pay of course.”