by Ian Todd
“Oh, right, er…” The Procurator coughed, slightly ruffled. “What I was expecting to hear was that you and your good wife woke up in pain after experiencing severe cramps in your stomachs.”
“Well, Ah don’t know aboot clamps, bit Ah also shat oan that new lobby carpet ae oors, the wan we’d jist goat put doon the week before, efter that Marjorie ae mine managed tae get tae the lavvy oot oan the stairheid landing, two steps in front ae me…oan account ae an auld fitba injury, mind ye,” Mr Watson managed tae slip in, jist in case people goat the wrang ideas regarding his fitness levels.
The gallery wance again, erupted fur a second time in as many seconds wae laughter.
“Any more interruptions from the public gallery and I’ll have everyone removed,” The Sheriff glared, issuing another warning, nodding tae the procurator tae continue.
“So, Mr Watson, the person who sold you a large round mince pie on the afternoon of Thursday, the 19th of June? Can you see the said person in this courtroom today?” The procurator asked confidently, staunin aside tae ensure the witness goat a good swatch ae the accused in the dock before visibly starting tae get irritated as his witness peered at the court officials sitting at the solicitor’s bench in front ae the sheriff, before starting oan the public gallery. “Er, how about over in this direction, Mr Watson?” The procurator advised.
“Objection, your honour. The fiscal is leading the witness.”
“Objection sustained. Carry on, Mr Dunn,” The Sheriff replied, as the witness gied the sheriff a good gaun o’er wae they beady eyes ae his as well.
“Is the person who sold you the large minced round pie sitting in the dock, Mr Watson?” The Procurator demanded tae know, staunin aside and pointing at the accused, deciding tae ditch that Mr Good Guy persona ae his before things goat oot ae haun.
“Naw.”
“W…what?”
“The manky wee toe-rag that punted that pie tae me wis a wee snottery-arsed cretin in short troosers, wearing a pair ae sandshoes that wur falling apart.”
“Er, yes, quite, but the man pulling the strings, the one who sent the boy up the stairs to the tenement flat that you and your good wife share, is surely sitting in the dock, is he not?”
“Ah’m sorry, son. As Ah telt that nice polis sergeant wan, the wee bastu…er, manky toe-rag’s hauns wur bloody-well mockit, so they wur. Nae wonder we ended up wae a dose ae the Aberdeen Harriers. He looked as if he hidnae hid a bath in a month ae Sundays.”
“But, Ah, er…”
“Naw, the pies themsels wur lovely, so they wur...and Ah’ve scoffed some crackers in ma time, so Ah hiv,” the witness reminded him in case there wur any doubts.
“No, Mr Watson, it was the pie that caused you and your wife to be admitted to Gartnavel Infectious Diseases Unit with gastro enteritis poisoning,” The prosecutor reminded him, growling.
“Objection, your honour. The procurator fiscal is threatening and intimidating the Crown witness, his witness.”
“Accepted. Please lower the threatening tone, Mr Dunn,” The Sheriff warned him, as the witness looked across gratefully at Mr Crankie, the defendant’s brief.
“Did you not inform the police that you looked out of your window and spotted a man, fitting the description of the accused, the person sitting in the dock, of distributing large round mince pies and other savoury bakes to a group of young street urchins who then proceeded to disappear up the closemouths of the tenements with the said savouries and reappear a short space of time later and hand over money to the accused, before he pushed his wheel barrow further up the street in the direction of Springburn Road.”
“Aye.”
“So, can you explain to the court why you can’t identify the same man in this court today?”
“The man ye’ve goat in the dock isnae wearing a bunnet and the man pushing the barrow wisnae wearing a pin striped suit wae a Tiger’s Eye pinkie ring oan that finger ae his.”
“What?”
“The geezer who sent the wee boys up the stairs selling the pies wis wearing a bunnet, so he wis. The only person that Ah kin see in this room that comes close tae looking like him is yersel apart fae the fact that he wisnae wearing wan ae they wee white curly crown toppers,” the Crown witness replied, looking across at the dapper looking man in the smart suit, staunin in the dock wae an amused expression oan his face.
“But, you saw the accused…”
“As Ah telt that nice big sergeant wan, Ah saw the guy sending the boys away wae the pies, bit fae ma fourth flair kitchen windae, aw Ah could see wis the tap ae the auld tartan bunnet the pie-man wis wearing oan tap ae that napper ae his. It wis the big sergeant who showed me some photos, mugshots, who pointed oot who the fella wis, that wis under that bunnet.”
“So, if that was the case, why can’t you identify the accused sitting in the dock then?” The Procurator shrilly shouted, spreading his erms oot wide in the middle ae the courtroom in exaggerated disbelief.
“Because Ah don’t recognise the man in the dock as the man that the nice big polis sergeant pointed oot tae me, that’s why,” the witness replied, as the defence table, court usher and the whole ae the public gallery aw burst oot laughing.
“But…”
“Case dismissed. Your client is free to leave the dock and the court, Mr Crankie,” The Sheriff announced aw ae a sudden. “Send in the next case.”
“An apology…what about an apology for wrongful arrest, your honour? My client has spent the weekend in the cells,” the defence brief, Joshua Crankie, shouted up at the sheriff, as his client wis released fae the dock.
Chapter Eight
“Sorry, hen,” The Inspector muttered, nodding, as a sergeant and him stood aside tae let her pass, efter nearly running her o’er at the entrance tae the ward.
“Senga, it’s yersel. How’re ye daeing, hen?”
“Hello, Geraldine, Ah’m fine and dandy, so Ah am. And you?”
“Ach, ye know whit like. Each day is truly a wonder in a place like this. Is that no right, Marie, ma wee darling?” Geraldine asked the patient, smiling as she tossed the pillow up in the air in a spin, gieing it a good palm-handed thrashing efter catching it, before placing it behind the smiling teenager, who’d been leaning forward in anticipation ae it coming.
“Ah’m looking fur wan ae yer new admissions…a Collette James,” Senga said, winking and smiling at young Marie, who’d allowed somewan, probably Geraldine, tae draw a beady eye oan tae the white-bandaged eye-patch that wis covering her right eye.
Geraldine Baker normally worked oan the opposite shift in casualty tae Senga, bit hid been slung up tae the wards efter hivving hid a run-in wae wan ae the consultants who’d threatened tae resign if she wisnae removed. Geraldine hid caught the consultant, Sticky Fingers Hamilton, groping the arse ae wan ae the young auxiliaries who’d been bending o’er, picking up a bedpan. Of course, Sticky Fingers hid been outraged at the accusation, while the young auxiliary hid been scared tae side wae a nurse against a consultant. The ward sister hid been well annoyed at Geraldine fur confronting Sticky Fingers rather than gaun via her. There wis only ever wan winner if a nurse and a consultant hid a run-in. Geraldine wis noo waiting fur Sticky Fingers tae move oan before she could return tae casualty. No only wis Geraldine Baker the chair ae the Justice Fur Rose Bain Campaign, set up efter the young nurse hid been killed efter finishing her shift up at Stobhill General Hospital, the victim ae a deliberate hit-and-run road incident, bit she wis also The Royal Infirmary’s rep oan the SHOWW committee. The Sexual Harassment ae Wummin in Work committee wis the political front fur The Showgirls who organised direct action initiatives against men who sexually harassed working wummin in the workplace. Only a few people knew who The Royal’s rep wis, and fewer still knew who the central committee members wur ootside the workplace. It wis Geraldine and Senga’s job tae identify and recruit spotters up in The Royal. The spotters wid report back regularly wae the names ae sexual predators, as well as wae details ae any incidents or confront
ations between male offenders and their female victims. Given the nature ae the environment, The Royal and other hospitals across the city wur happy hunting grounds fur sexual harassment perpetrators. In ranking terms, the consultants wur number wan, porters a close second and the young student doctors brought up the rear. Bending o’er tae lift something up wis never advisable when wan ae that species wis loitering aboot wae intent. Geraldine and Senga hid set up a network ae nurses who kept their eyes and ears open and fed back oan a weekly basis, even if there wis nothing tae report. Very rarely, Senga hid tae feedback oan behalf ae Geraldine if she couldnae make wan ae the monthly SHOWW meetings, who met under the guise ae The Glesga Wummin’s Film Club. In the past year, she’d been tae three meetings oan Geraldine’s behauf. They wur aw a fantastic dedicated bunch ae wummin, who didnae believe that things wid change fur the better through talking o’er cups ae tea and sitting doon in smoke-filled rooms, asking men kindly if they widnae mind keeping their hauns…and their dicks, tae themsels. The Showgirls, aw dedicated militant feminists, came across as being totally aff their heids wae the majority ae the traditional male and female trade unionists in the work place if their name came up in conversations. They saw themsels ae being at the forefront ae another working class revolution, where wummin wid be centre stage and take o’er the running ae the country. Tae a Showgirl, world domination wis always jist roond the corner. Senga hid been asked mair than a few times tae join The SHOWW committee as a permanent member, bit hid always politely refused by highlighting how busy she wis elsewhere. While she supported where they wur coming fae maist ae the time, it wis well-known that her loyalties and focus wur spent elsewhere. Senga’s boyfriend, Johnboy Taylor, wis serving fourteen years in a young offenders’ institution fur a crime he hidnae committed. The sentence hid been the longest prison sentence ever handed doon tae a teenager in Scotland. He’d been found guilty at The High Court in May 1973 fur the shooting ae two unarmed polis officers in a bank up oan Maryhill Road, back in November 1972. The majority ae her spare time wis spent as an organiser fur the Free John Taylor Campaign. She wis also heavily involved as a volunteer in the daily realities and the coming and gauns ae domestic violence victims who sought oot sanctuary in a wummin’s shelter. She’d been approached tae become active wae The Showgirls efter it hid become known that she wis wan ae the main fundraisers fur Johnboy Taylor’s campaign group. The successful fundraising and the amounts being raised by the Johnboy Taylor Support Group wis constantly being speculated aboot in the press and hid been the subject ae numerous polis investigations. The thing that Senga liked aboot the wummin involved in SHOWW, other than them never being wrang aboot anything, wis that they wore their hearts oan their sleeves and didnae gie a shit fur authority. Senga hid never seen hersel as being against authority until the tactics ae the polis and the judicial system hid shifted up a gear and used every dirty smear in the book tae undermine those involved in the campaign tae get Johnboy Taylor a retrial. The dirty tricks being used against the Johnboy Taylor supporters hid politicised her and her pals. It hidnae taken her long tae realise the type ae company that attracted somewan tae become an active Showgirl. Authority in the hauns ae men wis like a red rag tae a bull fur every wan ae them.
“Imagine whit it wid be like tae hiv a wummin as a prime minister…somewan who wis born a female, who’d instinctively understaun the plight ae us wummin and who suddenly hid the power in her hauns tae dae good, tae abolish discrimination based oan people’s sex and sexuality and impose equality fur aw…especially oan aw they men!”
“Aye, a real role-model fur everywan, eh?”
“We Arra People!”
“A wee bit ae respect fae they basturts noo and again widnae go amiss, so it widnae.”
“Imagine wummin bus drivers?”
“Nae mair wars.”
“Equal pay fur a start wid dae…jist until we settle in like.”
“Wummin as chargehauns, in positions ae power…kin ye imagine?”
“A female Chancellor ae The Exchequer. That wid send the basturts scurrying, so it wid.”
“Aye, and a minimum wage fur aw the wummin at hame, bringing up the weans.”
“Annual holidays fur hoosewives, that’s whit we want.”
The current leader ae this bunch ae street desperados wis wan ae the city cooncillors, Barbara Allen, aka The Purple Dove, oan account ae everything she wore hid tae hiv purple as the dominant colour in it. Every time Senga picked up a Glesga Echo or wan ae the other two evening newspapers often abandoned doon in the casualty waiting room, she hauf expected tae see mugshots ae The Purple Dove and Geraldine looking up at her wae a name, date ae birth and date arrested board held up in front ae them. Geraldine hid been in Senga and her flatmate Lizzie’s nursing year when they wur gaun through their training. She wis an absolute riot when she hid a drink in her. Everywan oan the course aw agreed that Geraldine Baker, a fifth generation nurse and a noisy rebel even then, hid been born tae nurse. Her granny hid been a volunteer wae The International Brigades in Spain during The Spanish Civil War back in the thirties wae Johnboy Taylor’s auld auntie, Jeannie Smullen.
“How’s Lizzie?” Geraldine asked, looking aboot tae see that the ward sister wisnae oan the go, before sitting oan the edge ae the bed, her erm wrapped roond the teenager’s shoulder.
“She’s Lizzie,” Senga replied, shrugging, as the baith ae them chortled.
“And how’s the Free Johnboy Taylor campaign gaun then?”
“Ach, ye know whit like, Geraldine. Wan day ye think ye’ve moved a mountain and the next, ye suddenly realise that ye’ve been slung aff the tap ae it,” Senga shrugged. “Anyhow, Collette James?”
“She’s doon the far end…the wan wae the curtain roond it,” Geraldine replied, nodding tae the far end ae the ward.
“Is there somewan wae her?”
“Naw, Ah think that wis her boss that jist left. She wis in a helluva state when him and that sergeant sidekick ae his first arrived. Ah jist drew the curtain roond the bed tae gie them a wee bit ae privacy,” she said, pinching the young patient’s nose, as she goat up and came across and took Senga’s erm, steering her away fae young Marie’s bed.
“How’s the wee WPC coping…mentally, Ah mean?” Senga asked, as Geraldine screwed up her face, before turning and gaun across tae pick up The People’s Friend that hid slipped oot ae the haun ae some auld dear who’d started stressing because she couldnae reach it.
Senga hesitated, before stepping through the curtain. The patient wis lying sobbing quietly oan her side, her back tae her.
“Collette?”
“Aye?” the poliswummin replied, quickly swishing a tear away fae her cheek.
“Ah don’t know if ye remember me, bit Ah wis wan ae the nurses oan duty when they brought ye in tae casualty two days ago. Ma name’s Senga…Senga Jackson.”
“Oh.”
“Aye. Ah thought Ah’d jist come up tae see how they’re treating ye and how ye’re daeing,” Senga said, walking roond tae the side ae the bed.
“Oh…Ah’m…er…fine,” she lied, wiping another fresh tear away fae her face, as Senga sat doon oan the chair in front ae the tear streaked face.
“Look, hen, Ah don’t know why ye tried tae take yer life by hanging yersel, bit if it’s goat tae dae wae a man, then Ah kin assure ye, he isnae worth it whoever he is…no that,” Senga cooed, nodding tae the bloody, raw, swollen rope-burn, highlighted roond the patient’s alabaster white neck.
Silence.
“Wis that yer boss and his pal that jist aboot run me o’er oan ma way oan tae the ward a wee minute ago?”
“Aye…Inspector Dougan…Duggie Dougan,” she spat bitterly.
“Wis he no based up in Possil? Aye, Ah thought Ah recognised that scowl. It’s maistly the pavement pounders and sergeants we hiv tae deal wae. If an inspector shows up, that usually spells trouble fur somewan or they’re trying tae cover somewan’s tracks, so it dis,” Senga replied, getting a wee limp smile oot ae the patient.
>
“It wis difficult tae talk tae him…y’know…wae Skanky Smith, the sarge being present,” the patient mumbled, looking away, her bottom lip trembling.
Silence.
“Collette, it’s really nothing tae dae wae me, bit if ye want somewan tae speak tae, Ah don’t hiv tae be back doonstairs fur another twenty minutes,” Senga said, looking at the watch face pinned tae her uniform.
Silence.
“The basturt tried tae get shot ae me…pass me oan, so he did.”
“Who?”
“Like some piece ae used garbage. Noo he says that it wis aw jist a wee misunderstanding.”
Silence.
“Ah knew it wis a mistake at the time…aye, when Ah worked doon in Central…bit it aw happened so quickly,” she rambled. “Wan minute Ah wis trying tae cope wae aw the unwanted attention, and then the next, The Sarge introduced me tae the heid ae wan ae the murder squad inspectors. He telt me Ah wis gonnae be the next Tom Goodall,” she sniffed bitterly, gratefully accepting a tissue fae Senga.
“Tom Goodall?”
“He wis wan ae the detectives involved in arresting Peter Manual, the psycho that goat hung fur murdering aw they poor lassies in the late fifties. He also arrested the guy Duddy, who shot the three polismen doon in London in 1966…if ye’re a polisman…or wummin, then he’d be yer hero.”
“Ma hero wis Lucille Ball when Ah wis growing up. That probably explains why Ah ended up working in a madhoose like The Royal,” Senga mused and the baith ae them chuckled. “Ah, so ye kin smile. See? That’s better. Look, Collette, hen, why don’t we sit ye up so Ah kin see ye properly, insteid ae me talking tae The Patient Wae Hauf a Face, eh?”
“Ah don’t know whit Ah’m gonnae dae noo,” Collette sobbed, wringing her hauns oan the bed sheet, as Senga leaned forward and put a pillow behind the patients back. “Ah probably gied him a bit ae a fright…wae this, Ah mean,” she said, gingerly toughing the burn oan her neck.
