Spit Against the Wind

by Anna Smith

  ‘Yeah, he was a pilot and he was maybe in some war, I’m not sure. But he died just flying a plane and it crashed. That was when my mom came home because her brother used to live here years ago. Then she met that Polack bastard. He came here after the war … He’s no use. He’s a tailor with his own shop in town, but he’s a bad bastard. He hates me and I hate him.’ Tony lit up a cigarette and tossed away the match, aware that Jamie and Dan were gazing at him in awe.

  ‘So what do you do around here for fun?’ Tony asked.

  We looked at each other, wondering how we could impress him. What could you say to a guy whose dad was a pilot and died in a plane crash and who was an American? We didn’t do anything. We never planned anything. We just went out of our houses because we couldn’t bear to be in them for any length of time. Outside we were free to make up stories and live out our fantasies.

  ‘We play football,’ Dan said. ‘And we swim in the burn, and make camps in the woods, and sometimes we steal turnips from the gardens. Oh, and we’re altar boys. Do you want to be an altar boy? You have to speak to Father Flynn, but I’m sure he’ll let you in.’

  ‘I wanted to be on the altar too,’ I said, not wanting to be left out. ‘But they don’t let girls in. Father Flynn said I could come to some of the altar boy meetings though, if I wanted … I might.’

  ‘I don’t know much about football, but I could do with a swim. Where’s the woods? That’s the stuff. An altar boy? Wow, Mom would love that, so would the Polack. He’s always praying and sitting with his hands joined, but he’s still a no-use bastard,’ Tony said.

  How we really hated that Polack, we were all thinking. That Polack bastard. For if Tony hated him that was all that mattered. We were all one now, and I could see by the looks of Jamie and Dan that I wasn’t the only one who was in love with him.

  Chapter Two

  St John Bosco’s Roman Catholic school stood at the top of the hill. It had been there for ever as far as I knew, because my dad used to tell stories about his grandad and others from the nearest village walking up to it in all weathers in their bare feet. It was the same with the chapel a few yards away from the school. People used to walk there in their bare feet too, and I was sure they must be in heaven by now if they made that much of an effort to go to mass. There was a story years and years ago, even before my dad was born, that one bad winter, when the village was covered in six feet of snow, a little boy of about seven who got lost in a blizzard was found dead the next day. They found him all stiff and blue in a snowdrift on the hill. People said that on a winter’s night if you listened carefully you could hear him crying in the wind. Sometimes in the snow on the way home from school I would stand at the top of the hill and look down into the greyness of the houses in the village all huddled together beneath a blanket of smoke from the coal fires that burned inside them. You could smell the smoke in the air and it felt good imagining everyone inside all warm and cosy. But if I was on my own I didn’t ever stand around too long in the snow, just in case I heard the lost boy crying.

  Most of the people in the village were Catholics, and my dad told me their grandparents and great-grandparents had come over from Ireland to Lanarkshire on the boat looking for work down the mines and in the ironworks because the Protestants and English were starving them to death in Ireland and burning them from their homes. They came here, he said, for a better life, and I used to think that it must have been disappointing for a lot of people down the years to find out that this was what they crossed the sea for. He said we were Irish as well as Scottish and we had never to forget that, but I couldn’t quite understand why he got so excited about it, especially when he was drunk and singing songs about Black and Tan soldiers. It was all too complicated, but as long as you knew what you were you were sound enough.

  The Protestants had their own school at the edge of the village, but there weren’t so many of them, and we were led to believe their school was smaller because they weren’t so important. We even felt sorry for them because they would never go to heaven like us, no matter how good they were. I supposed a lot of them might end up in Limbo like the Catholic babies who died before they were baptized to get rid of the original sin, but they would never be up there with us and God and the angels and saints. I couldn’t quite understand that but it was just the way things were. I felt sorry for my Protestant friends, though, who I used to play with in our street, because they just didn’t know any better.

  I also used to wonder why the teachers just wanted to punch and slap people all day long. Most of them looked ancient and there were one or two it was hard to work out whether they were men or women. They had moustaches and slicked-back hair and they smelled of mothballs and tobacco. I was three months in one class before I learned that the man teaching us was actually a woman.

  But nobody terrified us more than Miss Grant. I had seen movies before with people like her in them and they were always in asylums or locked up somewhere. She haunted me in my dreams and made my stomach churn every time she looked at me with her slightly wall eyes under her butterfly glasses. Sometimes when she looked at you you thought it was the person behind, and if you turned around you might just feel the wooden duster hit you on the side of the head. For impertinence.

  Tony had been put in our class although he was a year older. Jamie, Dan and me reckoned that it was because he knew more than us and we would learn from him. We used to ‘reckon’ a lot lately and we used to say ‘I guess’ a lot, just little Americanisms we were picking up from our new friend.

  Tony was only in the class about four days when he got his eyes opened to daily life under the regime of Miss Grant.

  She had gone out of the classroom for some reason and we immediately started carrying on. Someone rolled up lots of paper and made a reasonable-size ball which we started throwing around the room and punching like a volleyball. In minutes the whole class was up, diving across desks and hooting with laughter. It was great fun. Tony was brilliant at punching the ball and could jump higher than anybody else.

  We were so wrapped up, we didn’t even hear Miss Grant come in until she slammed the door shut, nearly shattering the glass. We stopped in our tracks.

  ‘Rrrr … right! Quiet!’ She was screeching, her mad eyes bulging behind her specs. ‘Rrr … right! Who started this? Come out, the culprit, and take your punishment, you dirty little vagabond. Come out! Come out!’ She strode up and down the front of the class, swaying with rage.

  Nobody moved. Everybody stood rooted to the spot because they knew what was coming.

  ‘Hmmm. OK. One by one. You will all get punished until the culprit owns up!’

  In a flash she grabbed Marie McCann by the shoulder and pulled her on to the floor. Marie was already in tears. Miss Grant lifted her skirt and her pants and started to slap rapidly, about thirty times. We watched as Marie screamed and her bum went all red. Then Miss Grant tossed her to the side and grabbed Martin McGuire. She pulled up his shorts, exposing the fact that he had no pants on. He was one of nine children, and I guessed there weren’t pants for everyone. She started to slap him with the same frenzied motion as she had the girl. Then she grabbed another and another, slapping them then tossing them to the floor. I wished the door would open and another teacher would come in and help us. But then again, I thought, maybe they would join in.

  We all stood terrified, waiting our turn. The girl next to me started to whimper and a puddle of water formed between her feet. Still Miss Grant continued with her orgy. She was sweating now and saliva was gathering at the side of her mouth. I wanted to go out and push her to the floor, but I was so scared I couldn’t move.

  Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tony push past me and run out to the floor.

  ‘Stop,’ he said. ‘It was me. I started it. Leave them alone. It was my fault.’ He stood over the huddle of beaten children sobbing on the floor.

  His face was ashen. We all breathed a sigh of relief but we couldn’t believe what we were seeing. She would kill
him.

  Miss Grant was crazed. ‘Oh, it was you, Mickey Rooney. I might have known. Well, you’ll be sorry now, you wee Yankee pagan.’ She was almost smiling with delight.

  Tony was wearing his blue shorts and she made him turn his back to the class as she pulled them right up at the leg, exposing his left buttock. His head was trapped under his arm as she leaned over him with her full weight. She started slapping him feverishly, longer than the others and harder. She even stopped for a breath and started again. No sound came from Tony. We thought he was maybe dead from shock. Then she seemed to stop, like she was spent or exhausted. She let Tony go and he stumbled, pulling his shorts down.

  He limped back towards us. I caught his glance and my eyes filled with tears. His face was red with anger. There was a strange look in his eye, but he said nothing. He never shed a tear. Everybody sat in their seats, well, those who could sit down. Miss Grant sat back in her chair looking like a rabid dog who had just been shot by a tranquillizer dart. She seemed to be drifting away in a different world. The bell rang, and she just looked up and barked, ‘Go! Get out!’

  We all shuffled out in silence. Everybody walked close to Tony just to touch him. We had a new leader.

  *

  There was a place we were not supposed to go to. A dark, secret place that the bigger girls and boys from the junior secondary went to at night, away from the eyes and ears of the village. It was deep in the woods, further than the old steelworks, which was nearly three miles in and much further than we would ever have ventured. It was here, many years ago, when everybody’s father in Lanarkshire went down the pits, that the coal was carried by rail across an enormous viaduct to fire up the furnaces for the steel that made the big ships. Or so we were told by teachers and parents.

  But we only knew it as Shaggy Island. We weren’t quite sure what the Shaggy part meant, but we knew it involved boys and girls and that every time it was mentioned in whispered tones people sniggered behind their hands. For there were a lot of inhabitants of Shaggy Island of an evening, teenagers who used to steal quietly away from the village at nights to smoke and drink and do whatever it was they did.

  I often wondered if it was a bit like the Garden of Eden, with people walking around with no clothes on and the kind of funny looks on their faces we saw in the catechism stories about temptation. The very thought of ever going there, just for a look, used to occupy much of our time, and eventually curiosity and temptation overcame us.

  I was already feeling guilty by the time I left the house, even though I wasn’t sure what I would find at Shaggy Island. I slipped out without saying where I was going while my mother was upstairs and my dad slept on his chair.

  Tony, Jamie and Dan were waiting for me by the time I got to Tony’s gate. We didn’t say much to each other, we just nodded knowingly. This was a mission, a bit like the Man from Uncle, and sometimes special agents like us just had to do things.

  It was a warm June evening, the sun slipping lower in the sky, sending a huge orange glow across the fields that stretched ahead of us. One side of the sky was bright red from the chimneys that belched blazing fires from the furnaces inside the steelworks. We jumped the fence into the fields at the edge of the village and on into the countryside, watching for cattle that might be in the mood to chase us.

  The grass had just been cut by the farmer and it was flat, hard ground like a racecourse. Some kids who had been there before us had built make-believe fences from grass piled up, and immediately Jamie assumed the voice of a racehorse commentator.

  ‘They’re under starter’s orders … and they’re off!’

  On cue we all started running, racing against each other with Jamie commentating as we chased across the field.

  ‘And coming up to Beecher’s Brook now it’s Scobie Breasley on Arkel on the outside from Joe O’Brien on Black Shadow chasing him on the rails. There’s only five furlongs to go … it’s

  We ran and ran, whipping our horses with imaginary sticks and pushing ourselves faster and faster, jumping over the flimsy fences. Tony was like a gazelle, but Jamie was catching up, even though he was still commentating breathlessly.

  ‘And they’re at the winning post, it’s a photo finish in the Grand National… What a sensation…’ We stopped, panting and laughing, by the big oak tree.

  ‘A photo finish my ass,’ said Tony, laughing and wiping the sweat from his head. ‘I won.’ He danced around with his hands in the air in triumph, saying, ‘And here he comes to receive the trophy from Her Majesty the Queen … the Grand National winner, Tony Keenan!’

  He came up to me and I handed him the trophy, shaking his hand. He bowed.

  We quickly got our breath back and all four of us stood looking out at what lay ahead. We had important business to attend to. Shaggy Island was only a short walk away. But we had to be careful that nobody spotted us.

  Dan put his hand to his mouth and flicked up his thumb, which was the aerial of his walkie-talkie. ‘OK, all systems go.’ He murmured into his hand as we all clenched our fists and held them close to our ears, awaiting further instructions.

  It was dark in the woods and we kept looking back for a glimpse of the daylight that was getting further and further away. We were all a little scared, hardly breathing, walking softly, almost creeping into the thicket.

  ‘Stop!’ Dan said, sniffing the air. ‘I can smell smoke … we must be nearly there.’

  We all stood hushed, our ears pricked. Somewhere in the distance there was the sound of girlish laughter and boys mumbling. We had to be very careful. We followed the sound, darting in and out of trees, watching for snipers.

  Further into the woods and down a steep embankment, there it was. Shaggy Island.

  It was walled off by branches that had been cut down from trees and piled on top of each other to block the way in. We picked our way around the wall and found a pile of branches so we could ease ourselves up one by one and peep over to see inside.

  Jamie was first, standing on Dan’s bent-over back and pushed up by Tony and me. He peeked over the wall.

  ‘What d’ya see?’ Tony whispered.

  Jamie strained his neck. ‘A lot of boys in a queue. They’re all laughing … I don’t know.’

  ‘Come down,’ Dan said, then we helped him up. ‘I can hear a girl, but I can’t see her … just the guys.’ He jumped down. It was Tony’s turn.

  Whatever he saw he said nothing. He just stared with his eyes wide. He seemed to be there for longer than the other two.

  ‘C’mon, you, let me see,’ I demanded. Tony looked at me and jumped down. I was up like a shot.

  My eyes scanned the camp from one side to the other. There was smoke coming from a small campfire and jackets and bottles lying scattered around it. Then I saw the crowd of boys in the queue and wondered what they were waiting for as they giggled excitedly. I thought maybe somebody had some drinks or food for them and they were waiting in line. Then suddenly my jaw dropped at the vision before me and I almost fell. As one boy walked away from the queue, the crowd seemed to part momentarily and I saw what looked at first like white breakfast rolls jiggling in mid air against a tree. But when my eyes focused I could see that there were legs attached to them and a pair of trousers at the ankles. What was happening? Was he dancing? Who was he dancing with?

  ‘What is it?’ Dan asked. ‘What d’ye see, Kath?’

  ‘Sssh … wait… I think they’re dancing.’ I was transfixed.

  Then the flushed face of a girl I thought I recognized seemed to emerge over the boy’s shoulder. Hold on, I knew that face. I knew those auburn curls, that pouting red mouth. It was my sister. Ann Marie. She was smiling and giggling. Her skirt was up. What was she doing? She couldn’t be. This couldn’t be. Not Ann Marie. Jesus, I thought. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. My dad’ll kill her if he ever finds out.

  I don’t know how I managed it, but I calmly jumped down and said to the boys, ‘Right, I think that’s enough now. I think one of them saw me. We’d better get go
ing.’

  Tony caught my eye. He knew. He had seen it too. The look said it all.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said, and we ran and ran.

  We didn’t speak until we were out of the darkness of the woods and back across the field. Then, as we slowed down, Dan said, ‘What d’ye think they were doing?’

  ‘A line-up,’ Jamie said with an air of authority. ‘It’s that shaggin’ thing, with a lot of guys and one lassie. I’ve heard big Joe Murphy talkin’ about it.’

  ‘One lassie?’ Dan said. ‘I didn’t see any lassie.’

  I said, ‘I think Jamie’s right. But we shouldn’t have seen that. We’ll need to tell it in confession now. Anyway, never mind about it now. We better get home, it’s getting dark.’

  We walked home almost in silence. Nothing would be the same again now that we had seen what we saw over the wall in Shaggy Island. Our minds were confused. I don’t know if Jamie or Dan saw everything and were just being kind by not mentioning it, but I knew that Tony had seen it all. He could see my shame.

  By the time we got to our street, the others had gone home and it was only Tony and me who walked together. We didn’t speak. There was something more between us now, and we didn’t have to say anything.

  When we got to Tony’s gate we stopped and stood for a moment. The light from the streetlamp shone on my face and I could feel my eyes fill with tears.

  He reached out and touched my arm, squeezing it gently. I wished he hadn’t done that because now I felt like sobbing. I bit my lip and felt my throat choke.

  ‘It’s OK, Kath, it’s OK … Don’t worry.’ His voice was soft.

  Tears spilled out of my eyes. I turned from him and ran all the way home.

  I was surprised to find my mum and dad sitting watching telly together with my brother Kevin. They hardly ever sat like that. She was always working about the house and he always seemed to be getting ready to go out or was coming back from the pub to set the tone of the night. But this was good, and I felt happy for a moment, forgetting what had happened earlier.