by Ian Todd
Christ, his haun wis throbbing like buggery noo. He hoped he wisnae jumping the gun by getting shot ae her. Mind you, there wis plenty mair swimming aboot in the pond and it wis wan less distraction while he dealt wae the serious stuff gaun oan roond aboot him.
“See? Ah’m starting tae feel better awready,” he informed Her Majesty, smirking doon at him fae the gilded frame up oan the wall tae the left ae the door, as he lit up a fag.
The current grief, in nae particular order, wis wae that bloody sticky-fingered brother-in-law ae his and his only daughter, who’d no only announced oot-ae-the-blue that she wis getting married, bit that hauf-breed boyfriend ae hers hid gone and put her up the stick as well.
“A hifty case wedding? Where the bloody hell wur they daeing it,” he’d howled in rage.
That wife ae his, Marge, wis bloody useless in the mothering stakes. Always hid been. He should’ve listened tae that ma ae his and stayed single. He’d bloody-well warned her tae keep they eyes ae hers oan them a thousand times, insteid ae oan that fucking telly.
“If you think Ah’m gonnae be sitting here staring intae space while ye’re oot gallivanting aw o’er the place, then ye’ve another think coming,” she’d warned him, efter he’d put his size elevens through it at the unwelcome news.
“Gallivanting? Chasing thieving basturts and tooled-up wee Neds aw o’er the place isnae gallivanting,” he’d bawled at her. “It’s ma bloody job.”
“Ah don’t gie a jack-fuck whit it is, bit there better be a telly sitting in that corner before Coronation Street starts at seven o’clock the morra night or they’ll be bloody trouble in this hoose!” she’d screamed back at him.
The TV itsel wisnae a problem. Aw the knocked-aff, untraceable burglary swag, waiting tae be picked up and taken doon tae the lost property office, included a few decent TVs in amongst it. He’d phoned that squinty-eyed bampot Crisscross earlier tae alert him that he’d be getting wan TV less. Crisscross hid been okay wae that, reminding him that it wis Bells he drank. Efter phoning Marge wae the good news, she’d hid the cheek tae tell him tae make sure that it wis a good make, like a Ferguson and no wan ae they shite, Rediffusion ex-rental wans, that could be picked up doon the Briggait fur a few sheckles any day ae the week.
Naw, it hid been Willie, that brother-in-law ae his, that hid been taking up aw his waking time, up until the announcement that his sixteen-year-auld daughter’s boyfriend, the son ae wan ae the maist rabid wummin’s lib cooncillors in the city, hid put her up the duff. It hid been a pity she hidnae instilled respect fur a wee innocent lassie’s virginity intae that randy son ae hers, when she wis oot pontificating against other people’s sons. Why the hell did life hiv tae be so complicated, he wanted tae know, lighting up another B&H. Willie Munro, fifty-two years auld, only brother ae his wife, Marge, wis yer typical pompous card-carrying Tory prick, who’d a big detached hoose across in Bearsden, a BMW dealership and a fancy car showroom oan a prominent corner site oan the Kirkintilloch Road up in Colston. He’d been the youngest Grandmaster in the history ae the local masonic chapter, chairman ae the Lambhill, Milton & Colston Business Club, chairman ae the Rotary Club and El-Presidente ae Briggsmyre Golf Club up there in sunny Bishopbriggs. He ran aboot in a tap ae the range Merc, or he did, until three months earlier, when he’d been floored by a massive heart attack while perching oan that hatchet-faced, skinny wee secretary ae his at his work. No only that, bit while he’d been in hospital recovering, it hid come tae light that the golf club hid seemingly been embezzled oot ae jist o’er fourteen grand. If only he’d known then whit he knew now. Fuck, he could’ve goat rid ae the basturt while he hid the chance, seeing as it wis him that hid been the first tae arrive oan the scene while the wee hatchet-faced secretary he’d been pumping a few seconds earlier, hid dashed aff tae the lavvy tae put oan they drawers ae hers, while he waited fur the ambulance tae arrive.
“Whit noo?” he scowled, as the desk sergeant popped his bawheid roond the door withoot knocking, as the sound ae phones ringing, wailing voices and pavement pounders’ feet, wandering aboot whistling tuneless tunes, invaded they ears ae his.
“That Elvis wan his jist entered the building.”
“Who?”
“The Sani Man…the wan that wis promoted recently? Ye’ve goat an eleven o’clock wae him, which is in exactly wan minute and nineteen seconds,” The Desk Sergeant cheerfully informed him, looking up fae his Timex.
Chapter Five
Sharon tucked her legs under hersel, as she leaned forward and picked up a few stray, crispy, withered flower petals fae the week before in the slightly sunken grass in front ae Helen’s heidstane. She wis pleased that there wis fresh flowers sitting there, courtesy ae Squinty Alex. It wis hard tae believe that three years hid come and gone since they’d lost her. Wan minute she’d been there, at the start ae a new chapter in aw their lives and then the next? She looked aboot. Sighthill Cemetery always seemed tae appear empty ae people oan the Keppochhill Road side, despite the fact that there wis always wee colourful wreaths sitting in front ae some ae the heidstanes. Sharon couldnae remember ever hivving been oan the Sighthill side, apart fae the wance, back in 1970, when Helen hid marched aw the lassies o’er the hill tae visit the monument where some Scottish revolutionaries fae 1820, who’d risen up tae demand the right tae vote, wur buried efter being hung in public. That hid been the thing aboot Helen. She’d always come up wae wee stories and distractions tae keep the flaggers amongst the lassies gaun. The troop up and o’er the hill oan that warm summer’s day, tae visit The Martyrs, as Helen called them, hid been wan such interlude. None ae the others hid heard ae the poor craters, bit Helen knew the story well and hid gathered them up oan whit she claimed wid’ve been the 150th year since their uprising.
“Bit none ae us vote. Is it no a wee bit ae a cheek us coming o’er here tae remember them? Talk aboot mair faces than the toon clock,” Ann Jackson hid come oot wae.
“Ann, we don’t vote through choice...at least, that’s ma excuse,” Helen hid reminded them as everywan chuckled.
Everywan always appreciated Helen’s gift ae hivving an answer fur everything…well, maist ae the time.
“They poor basturts lying six feet under us didnae hiv that choice,” Joan Ae Arc hid pointed oot tae them.
“Well, whitever they done couldnae hiv been that important,” Soiled Sally hid come oot wae, as they’d aw sat, chomping oan their jam pieces and slugging milk or water oot ae their jam jars. “Ah mean, how come we’re the only wans sitting here? Where’s aw the dignitaries fae doon in George Square that we see celebrating anything that moves in The Glesga Echo wae a glass in wan haun and a big fat cigar in the other then?”
“Never you mind that, Sally, hen. We’re here, so we ur. That’s aw that matters. Ah know who Ah’d rather hiv here the day if Ah wis lying under there,” Helen hid replied cheerfully, nodding at the big moss-covered monumental gravestone, poking-up skywards oot ae the wild bracken, rusty auld beer tins and faded newspaper heidlines that hid goat stuck efter being blown across the graveyard, as the echoing ae the loudhailers, oan tap ae the cars, urging people tae go oot tae vote in the 1970 General Election, could be heard fae across oan Auchintoshan Terrace.
Apart fae the noise ae the loudhailers in the distance, it hid been the quiet seclusion, sitting beneath the monument, surrounded by the overgrown weeds that Sharon remembered.
The location ae Helen’s grave wid’ve been a lot better if there wisnae the constant sound ae buses, vans and cars whizzing up and doon Keppochhill Road, Sharon mused tae hersel, putting her hauns above her eyes tae shade them fae the sun, as she squinted at a number 32 heiding alang Keppochhill Road in the direction ae Coocaddens. Mind you, she didnae suppose Helen wid’ve minded that. If there wis wan thing everywan could agree oan, it wis that Helen Taylor didnae dae quiet.
“So, Helen. Nae doubt ye’ll hiv heard the news, aboot aw this carry oan wae the men…the meeting, that is?” Sharon said tae the heidstane. “Ah’m still no convin
ced that it wis Stan, Betty’s man, that led the charge, despite whit the others believe. Ah mean, be honest. Could you see Betty allowing that tae happen? Ah’ve only started really talking tae that swine ae mine last week. Before that, it wis barely a grunt here or there fur the basturt. Anyhow, they ganged up oan us, so they did. It wid’ve been aboot six weeks before Soiled Sally and masel goat jailed that last time. Ah think people ur blaming Stan because he did maist ae the talking.
‘We’ve hid a meeting, so we hiv,’ says His Master’s Voice.
‘Oh, is that right. And somewan actually turned up, did they?” Soiled Sally hid hit him wae.
‘Carry oan, Stan. Jist ignore the cheek and the undermining hijacking tactics, son.’
‘Aye, so where wis Ah? Oh, aye, these warrant sales. The wans that ur getting aw youse eejits slung in the jail? It’s gonnae stoap, so it is,’ Stan hid declared, no even a quiver in that hardened voice ae his.
‘Says who?’ says I.
‘Us!’ eight voices chorused back.
Well, Ah’ll tell ye, Helen, none ae us knew whether tae pish oorsels laughing or jist hit them wae a dose ae verbal where the stupid basturts wur staunin.
‘It stoaps, right here, right noo, so it dis.’
‘And if we don’t?’ Issie comes back wae, that voice ae hers in full taunt mode.
‘Then everywan ae youse ur oot oan yer arses. If ye think we’re kidding, then jist bloody well try us.’
Silence.
‘Bit…’ says Ann.
‘Naw, nae bits, Ann,’ that ugly cretin ae a man ae hers said tae her, gieing poor Ann a showing up in front ae everywan. ‘We’ve met and hid a confab. Yer days ae swanning aboot upsetting everywan, bringing the polis up tae the door ur gone, finished, over wae, so they ur. Poor Helen is long gone and youse urnae disciplined enough no tae keep yer hauns tae yersels and no attack the Sheriff officers, despite repeated warnings fae us. The lot ae youse will end up oot in Cornton Vale, daeing some serious time, so youse will. So, here’s whit we’ve come up wae. The next wan ae youse tae end up in a cell through a warrant sale will find the locks oan the ootside door changed. Youse kin fuck aff and live in a commune somewhere else. We’ve hid enough!’
‘Well said, Dougie-boy,’ Tam McManus said tae nods fae the others.
And wae that, the basturts aw stood up and fucked aff tae the pub,” Sharon scowled indignantly at the heidstane. “Ah know whit ye’re thinking, Helen, hen, bit it wisnae as blatant as it sounded. Naw, the fly basturts hid obviously been planning contingencies fur a while. Big Jemima Flint and Wee Nan wur the first tae get huckled by the polis efter that. Nan fur breach ae the peace and Jemima fur punching that Spencer Tracy plod in the eye roond in Cowlairs Road efter he hit her wae a load ae verbal. Talk aboot being personal? Anyway, Nan goat a fifteen quid fine and Big Jemima goat hit wae seven days in the clink. Nowan said anything, although everywan wis waiting wae bated breath tae see whit happened wance she wis liberated. Efter heiding hame, Ron didnae say a word, at first, the sleekit, dirty reprobate shitehoose that he is. Aye, ye’ve guessed it, Helen, hen. Foul play wis afoot, so it wis. It never occurred tae anywan that the dugs wur awready aff the leash, so it didnae. Nowan hid clocked Wee Nan since she’d been lifted apart fae Soiled Sally, who’d bumped in tae her the day efter she’d been issued wae her freedom notice by Sheriff Burns, coming oot the Co-op up oan Springburn Road.
‘Everything awright, Nan?’ asks Sally.
‘Oh, aye, fine and dandy, so it is, Sally, hen,’ says the poor wee innocent, unaware that their plans hid been set in motion. ‘Ah’m jist in getting a few wee provisions and ma fags. We’re aff oan a wee caravan holiday, so we ur.’
Unknown tae anywan at the time, the start ae the retribution wis aboot tae be inflicted oan poor Wee Nan. The same day she spoke tae Soiled Sally, that Squinty Alex wan lured her doon tae his sister’s caravan oot near Balfron. It aw sounded so exotic, them gaun oan a two-week holiday and aw that, bit basically, it wis a wee smelly caravan stuck in a field, miles fae anywhere. The first time Nan realised that something wis up, wis when she’d smoked the last fag fae wan ae her packets. She’d asked that fork-tongued basturt tae put her three packets ae woodbines in tae the wee suitcase while she packed the big wan earlier. It wis only when she clocked that evil look in they squinty eyes ae his, that she knew she wis in trouble…aye, deep shit trouble.
‘Right, Nan. Ye wur well warned, so ye wur,’ Alex said tae her. ‘Why don’t ye jist sit back and enjoy yer holiday. Ye kin hiv a fag when we get hame.’
Nan said she didnae know how she survived that first week. She’d howled and screamed the whole field doon. She says that when they arrived, aw the coos came trundling across tae check them oot. Forty-five minutes and five seconds later, the five seconds being how long it took him tae spit oot his evil intention, she realised that she wis goosed, as the dung-stained arses ae the coos disappeared o’er the horizon.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch the following week, Big Jemima’s sitting waiting fur her broon pay packet tae arrive efter hivving paced her fag intake tae perfection, when Ron arrives oan the scene wae a bottle ae milk, hauf a dozen eggs and two loafs at hauf five oan that Friday night.
‘Whit dae ye mean, you’re in charge ae the money fae noo oan,’ she screams in disbelief.
‘Jemima, ye wur bloody warned, so ye wur. Ah’m in charge ae the money until ye convince me that ye’re putting this family first. If ye’re no happy, then there’s the door,’ he’d hollered, pointing oot in tae the lobby.
Christ, nowan saw that coming, so they didnae. Of course, it goat far worse efter that, so it did. Auld Mary Flint hid tae be held back fae nipping oan tae a number 32, tae take her doon tae Blythswood Square, tae try and flog that auld arse ae hers fur the price ae a packet ae five fags, bit everywan held her back. Kin ye imagine the desperation and shame, if she ended up wae nae takers efter spending her last few coppers oan the bus fare? Naw, Helen, hen, the buggers hid us by the short and curlies, so they did. Efter that, everywan jist fell like scattered skittles. It wis the fags, or the lack ae them, that brought everywan tae their knees. That first two weeks ae that first month, everywan hid rallied roond by making sure that everywan hid a fag in their haun before they put the lights oot at night. By the second two weeks efter everywan hid been sacked fae being in charge ae the money, wae no a packet ae dry tea leaves left in the cupboards, the opposition…us, collapsed like a pack ae cards. It didnae end there either, so it didnae. The basturts still rationed the fags tae keep us in check, so they did. Despite masel and Soiled Sally trying tae rally the troops, oor efforts ended up, aw in vain, so they did. The baith ae us goat sent doon fur three months fur assault and breach ae the peace. By the time we wur released, aw the lassies hid succumbed and wur noo cowed by the tyranny they wur noo living under. Ah’m telling ye, hen, ye couldnae make aw this up, so ye couldnae. While Ah wis in the jail-hoose, Ah spent a lot ae ma time trying tae figure oot an alternative tae being dependent oan the men back at the ranch. The problem, as Ah saw it, wis that aw the power wis in the hauns ae the men due tae them bringing in the money. We wur so dependent oan them because ae that. It seemed tae me that the only way tae wrench back control, wis tae fight fire wae fire. Bit how? Of course, the answer lay under they eyes ae mine, as Ah stood there, kneading a big batch ae dough fur him tae take pieces tae his work in the mornings. The only fly in the ointment noo, is that we’re too busy tae get as involved in the warrant sales as much as we used tae. There’s a wee group ae lassies who’ve took up the mantle fae the Balgrayhill flats, so that’s something. We’ve set aside a wee fund tae help oot where we kin, fur when the Balgrayhill crowd end up getting lifted and fined. It isnae much, bit we’re hoping tae keep it gaun by making sure we add tae it every time we get paid fur a wee job. Ah don’t mind admitting it, Helen, bit it’s been a bit ae a struggle trying tae reinvent oorsels efter whit they men did tae us. Life wullnae be the same, so it wullnae. Poor Wee Nan hivving tae sit in a caravan fur two weeks w
ae that squinty-eyed gravedigger man ae hers, sitting there withoot a fag tae her name, in this day and age? Ah mean, whit kind ae man wid dae that tae his missus, eh? The poor soul his gied up smoking noo, so she his. Everywan wis fair worried aboot her, so they wur, bit she seems tae hiv come through it wae help fae the lassies. Anyway, Helen, the reason Ah hivnae been across here tae talk tae ye in a wee while is because Ah’ve been so busy trying tae sort the lassies oot, the rotas, ordering aw the ingredients fur the funerals and aw that. Ah feel so guilty, so Ah dae. Ah’ve jist been up tae see Issie. Donna The Prima Donna his been up talking tae Wee Mary aboot taking her under her wing when she leaves school. Issie thinks she should stay oan until she’s sixteen, bit Wee Mary wants tae leave and go and work fur Donna. Donna telt Issie that it wid be a wasted year keeping the lassie in school fur another year when she disnae need tae. Of course, she said this in front ae Wee Mary, so there’s been a battle ae wits gaun oan ever since. When Ah mentioned how guilty Ah felt aboot no being o’er here fur a while tae Issie, she said that ye’d no want me tae be worrying aboot things like that, bit jist tae get oan wae life in the here and noo. The challenge fur everywan his been tae stay away fae the warrant sales. Everywan knows fine well that it’ll be a jail sentence if they’re lifted fur breach ae the peace or assault.
