by Agnes Owens
‘Here, I tell ye whit,’ she said suddenly excited, ‘gie Duds that auld telly lyin’ in the bedroom an’ ye can take a pound aff the money ye get.’
‘Don’t make me laugh!’ I allowed the flicker of a smile to crease my face which was just beginning to heal from the broken tumbler episode. ‘Ye’d have tae pay him tae take that telly away. It must be the original one Baird invented.’
‘It could be fixed easy. Ye can still get a picture.’
‘I’ll tell ye whit,’ I said, not wishing to waste time on the merits of the television, ‘I’ll take the telly doon tae him if you gie me a pound for tryin’, whether he takes it or no’.’
‘OK,’ she said.
Duds was not thrilled when I laid it down on the pavement. My arms were almost wrenched from their sockets with the weight.
‘Look Mac, I’ve more televisions in ma back yard than auld lawnmowers.’
‘Maybe,’ I gasped for breath. ‘But this one still works.’
He stared at it in disbelief.
I explained, ‘Ye see, we’ve got a new telly, so ma mother wants rid o’ this one, but if ye don’t want it I’ll take it doon tae auld Mrs McMurtry. She said she would gie us a fiver for it, that is if ye could oblige me wi’ a lift roon tae her hoose.’
Duds was convinced. ‘I’ll gie ye two pounds for it.’
‘It’s a deal,’ I said.
I told my mother, ‘Duds only gave me a pound.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Ye were lucky even tae get that.’
‘Have I tae get the pound then?’ she asked hopefully.
I became indignant at the way she was trying to get out of her deal. ‘C’mon, ye said ye’d gie me a pound if I got rid o’ it or no’, so I keep the pound an’ you’ve saved a pound.’
‘I gie up,’ was her final comment.
* * *
Later on I was enjoying my pint of beer in the Paxton Arms and having a friendly chat with Flossie the barman, when in came Willie Morrison, down in the mouth as usual, and not enhanced by a piece of sticking plaster decorating his chin.
‘Did ye manage oot withoot yer dug then?’ I asked.
Willie looked over his shoulder nervously, ‘I don’t know where that animal has got tae. Took it oot for a walk the other night an’ the bloody thing jist disappeared.’
‘Better watch the farmer disny catch it worryin’ the sheep, an’ shoot it.’
‘I hope no’,’ he said brightening slightly.
‘Still, Paddy McDonald wid be terrible disappointed if it wis shot,’ I pointed out.
‘I’m past caring whit Paddy McDonald thinks, or any o’ his damned relatives.’
I wondered what the relatives had to do with anything.
I changed the subject. ‘Did ye cut yer face shavin’?’
‘Naw, did you?’ he replied, giving my face a keen look.
‘Maybe.’ My face was healing but I had to keep it poker straight or the cuts near my mouth would open up.
‘Whit are ye wantin’ tae drink then?’
I was surprised. Willie is not famed for these kind of impulses.
‘A hauf an’ a hauf-pint,’ I answered quickly.
He gave the order without a blink and said, ‘It’s a terrible thing when a fella canny take a drink withoot somebody wantin’ tae pick on him.’
‘Did somebody pick a fight wi’ ye?’ I asked dutifully and fingered one of the fifty pences in my pocket wondering how I could avoid wasting some of it on Willie.
He replied, ‘Ye know Murdo McDonald?’
‘Ye mean Paddy’s nephew?’
‘Aye. One’s as bad as the other.’
I nodded. I had gone off Paddy myself.
‘Well, he gave me a punch for nothin’.’
‘Did ye no’ punch him back?’
‘I don’t believe in punch-ups. I charged him but he got aff wi’ it.’
‘I’m no’ surprised. I’ve seen more damage wi’ a midge bite.’
‘There’s jist nae justice in the world,’ Willie moaned.
He was beginning to weary me. I decided to inform him about my financial position. ‘I’m sorry I canny return the drink. I’ve only enough here for one pint.’
Willie shrugged like a man who is used to disappointments.
Just then the subject of discussion, Murdo McDonald, and another rat-faced fellow joined us. I nodded over to Murdo. I had nothing against him. He was a volatile, quick-tempered type with a strong sense of fair play. He stood close to Willie with his pitted face almost touching Willie’s. Willie shrank visibly.
‘Er – would ye like a drink?’ he asked Murdo.
‘Sure thing. Make it a double whisky an’ one for ma mate.’
Hastily Willie ordered two doubles. ‘That’s me skint,’ he mumbled after he paid. Nobody answered. He swallowed a remaining mouthful of beer and made a sheepish exit from our company. The coast was clear. With my fifty pence I ordered a whisky and beer for myself.
‘That wee scunner wid make ye sick,’ said Murdo inclining his head towards Willie’s back disappearing through the door.
‘How’s that then?’
‘He wis cheatin’ at cards the other week, so I punched him. No’ much. Jist opened up his face a wee bit. The next thing he had me charged wi’ grievous bodily harm. I warned him wi’ ma haunds roon’ his neck I wid gie him real grievous bodily harm if he didny withdraw his statement. Well, anyway, the case came up yesterday. When the magistrate asked him tae point oot the accused, meanin’ me, Willie said he didny know who punched him. I thought you said it was the accused here, said the magistrate, meanin’ me. Willie said he didny know who it wis, but it definitely wasn’t the accused, meanin’ me. The magistrate wis that fed up wi’ him he fined him a fiver for contempt o’ court.’
I refrained from laughing for obvious reasons. Murdo did not laugh either because being the great avenger that he is, he has no sense of humour and the rat-faced mate likely had heard it all before. With the remainder of my two pounds I ordered a drink all round.
For the rest of the evening I was kept going in beer by Murdo and his mate who were glad of an audience. My head was swimming in a mild haze of alcohol, nothing extreme, but quite enjoyable for through the week when you don’t expect much. As a further bonus, at closing time Murdo ordered a carry-out of a half-bottle of whisky and cans of beer. He then asked me if I’d like to pay Paddy a visit along with him and his mate. ‘Sure,’ I said without hesitation. ‘I think Paddy’s a great case.’
In fine spirits the three of us tramped up to Paddy’s place. Over the boggy fields, skirting the farm, down the lane plastered with cows’ dung, past the stinking byre, cheerfully assuring each other that the smell was good for us, until we reached the moss-covered dwelling of Paddy’s. A pig might have turned up its nose at this hovel, but when our senses were blunted we enjoyed its homeliness. Without knocking we marched straight in and found Paddy lost in the magic world of television. I could hardly take my eyes off it. Paddy barely glanced in our direction.
‘C’mon Paddy. Get the glasses oot. We’re havin’ a party,’ said Murdo.
What was uppermost in my mind was that this television was the one I’d sold Duds. My mother was right. It went fine, and to think I’d only got two pounds for it. The drink was dumped on the table, which was really a wooden crate covered in flowery plastic material. The cat was knocked off the sofa by Murdo to allow us to rest on the exposed springs, but we were all feeling deflated by Paddy’s lack of enthusiasm. Finally he had the decency to say, ‘Jist haud on a sec till this programme’s finished. It’s great.’
We all stared at Kojak’s hairless face. I can take Kojak or leave him, but right now I preferred to leave him. However, it finished off with the usual farewell speech to a dishy bit stuff, then thankfully we turned to the plastic bag with the drink.
‘Right Paddy, get the jeely jars oot. We came tae see you, no’ watch the telly.’
Reluctantly Paddy turned it off. He r
emoved the plastic cover to reveal an impressive display of stained glasses inside the wooden crate, no doubt owned originally by the Paxton Arms.
‘Help yersels lads, but jist drink the beer oot the can. It’ll save me washin’ up later.’
Murdo poured a big measure of whisky for Paddy. It must have shot straight into his bloodstream for he brightened up right away like a flash bulb.
‘How did the case go, son?’ he asked Murdo.
‘Fine. I got aff.’
‘I should think so. Fancy anyone accusin’ Murdo o’ grievous bodily harm. A nicer fella ye couldny meet,’ appealed Paddy.
Rat-face and me stared sympathetically at Murdo’s pitted face.
‘Ye’re right there Paddy,’ I said. ‘By the way, how did ye manage tae get a telly?’
‘It wis Murdo here that got me it.’
I looked enquiringly at Murdo.
‘Ach, it wis nae bother.’
‘It’s a fine telly. Who selt ye it?’ I asked.
He laughed, which was unusual for him. ‘Folk don’t sell me things. They gie me them. Anyway, I’ll tell ye whit happened. Ye know that twister Duds Smith, the ragman? Well, I happened tae be hingin’ aboot when a wee laddie gave him a great bundle o’ rags. Duds gave him a balloon that widny even blaw up. The laddie wis greetin’ so I telt him tae get me a breid knife, if he had one in the hoose. He brought me a great carving knife. I showed it tae Duds. I telt him if he didny gie the boy somethin’ better than a balloon I wid gie him the knife – right in the ribs. So Duds gave me this telly. I kept the telly and gave the laddie ten pence.’
‘You’re a decent fella Murdo,’ said Paddy.
Murdo bowed his head to hide his embarrassment.
Rat-face said, ‘So ye urr.’
I drained my beer from the can and said nothing.
Tolworth McGee
The other Saturday I met up with one of my old schoolmates, Toly McGee. I think his correct name was Bobby, or it might have been Rabbie, but I always knew him as Toly on account of one or two accidents he had in the classroom. In those days he had a very nervous disposition. I gave him a genuine ‘how’s it gaun’ welcome and noticed he hadn’t altered that much. The big brainy forehead wrinkled in perplexity as he peered at me with the same flickering eyes of old. They slowed down to a standstill when recognition dawned on him.
‘It’s yourself,’ he said with such a great grin of pleasure I wondered if he really knew me. He shook my hand with hot enthusiasm and I had difficulty in ungluing it from his clammy grasp. I was beginning to regret my impulsive greeting because I could see I’d have difficulty in getting away from him and I was in a hurry to put a bet on.
‘Huvny seen ye for a while,’ I remarked.
‘I’ve been in England since I left school,’ he told me.
I thought that explained the posh accent. ‘Did ye run away?’ I asked.
‘Of course not! Mum and Dad left for London with the family. You remember Dad?’
I remembered Dad. He used to be ‘the auld man’ to Toly. He was a shuffly, ferrety-faced wee guy who worked on the railway and, when drunk, battered Toly stupid.
‘Right enough,’ I said, ‘I remember ye a’ lit oot for the big smoke.’
Vaguely it came to me that the talk with my mother at the time was the McGees had done a moonlight after getting free passes on the train. It also struck me that Toly was dressed neatly in a brown suit with tie to match, and a crew-cut which did not enhance his naked face. It wasn’t my idea of style. Still, there was an air of success about him compared to the old days when he wore his father’s shirts with cuffs turned up a mile, ragged trousers which barely reached his ankles, and either wellies or sandshoes regardless of weather conditions. I could sense he was about to embark on a long conversation so I cut him short.
‘I’ll huv tae get this bet on before the one-thirty race,’ I explained and smartly headed across the road to the bookie.
‘That’s alright. I’ll wait for you,’ he called.
‘Jesus,’ I muttered. I hung on till after the race, but my luck was out. The horse had been lame, and Toly was waiting.
‘It’s really great to see you again,’ he said for the umpteenth time as we walked along the road. I knew I was lumbered with him, and for his part he didn’t notice my lack of interest in his life story.
‘So, anyway,’ he said, ‘after I got the money I thought I would return and look up my old friends.’
‘Whit money?’ I asked, jerked out of my apathy.
Impatiently he said, ‘I’ve already explained about the money Dad won on the pools. He gave me two hundred pounds to start me off in business, but I thought I would come back and have a holiday in my home town first. I’ve told you all this already.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘wi’ that fancy accent o’ yours I couldny follow whit ye were telling me. Anyway, I’m glad tae hear aboot yer good luck. I like tae see folk gettin’ on.’
Although I’m not a grasping type I was relieved that Toly at least possessed money to splash about.
‘Do ye take a bevvy?’ I asked cautiously.
‘Bevvy? Oh, I see. Yes, I don’t mind an occasional pint. In fact,’ he added with genuine pleasure, ‘I would be glad to treat you.’
I breathed a sigh of relief because if Toly didn’t indulge I would have dumped him there and then. Hurriedly I invited him into the Paxton Arms, since there was only an hour’s drinking time left. Toly ordered the beer and with our pint tumblers before us, we stood like two clothes poles waiting for a line.
Eventually I said, ‘I don’t care a’ that much for the taste o’ beer withoot a whisky tae go wi’ it.’
Toly took the hint. He ordered two whiskies. His face went a fine shade of lilac after he swallowed his, but it must have put some sense into him because after shuddering he said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll buy you all the whisky you want.’
‘That’s very decent o’ ye Toly.’
He regarded me uneasily and said, ‘I’d prefer if you didn’t call me that name. Do you mind addressing me as Robert?’
I gave a bark of laughter, ‘That’s a helluva name. Toly suits ye better.’
His eyes fluttered with embarrassment. ‘In Tolworth they call me Robert. No one has said it doesn’t suit me.’
I felt sorry for him, so I said, ‘So ye stay in Tolworth? That’s the game. I’ll call ye Tolworth. I’d forget tae call ye Robert, but Tolworth sounds like Toly. How’s that?’
He brooded a bit then conceded, ‘I suppose so.’
I slapped him on the back. ‘Right Tolworth, I’ll have a hauf an’ a pint.’
After another couple of rounds he began to sag inside his neat suit. I thought he looked all the better for it. His tie flapping at the side of his neck gave him a touch of class and more in keeping with the Paxton Arms style.
Not having much to talk about we began to reminisce on the subject of our schooldays. Tolworth confessed that he had detested school.
‘You wereny the only one,’ I said.
‘It wis different for you.’ I noticed he was relapsing into the vernacular of his race. ‘You didny seem to bother aboot beatin’ ups.’ Then he gave my face a long look. ‘I see you still don’t bother.’
‘I bothered the same as everybody else,’ I said. ‘Ye jist had tae put on a front.’
‘Aye, but ye didny have to put on your faither’s auld shirts that made you a handy target.’ His voice was bitter.
‘That’s true,’ I admitted. I never had a father so I had better fitted shirts from the welfare.
‘By the way,’ I said, ‘there wis one thing that puzzled me aboot you.’
‘What?’
‘Well, mind how we used tae come whoopin’ an’ shoutin’ oot o’ the class at playtime?’
‘Aye.’
‘It wisny as if I wis spyin’ on ye, but it began tae dawn on me that efter ye came whoopin’ an’ shoutin’ the same as everybody else, ye disappeared intae thin air. One day I wanted tae ask ye
for the len’ o’ yer sandshoes for drill but I couldny find ye anywhere.’
Tolworth looked at the glass of whisky in his hand sadly. I could sense there was a big confession coming.
‘I widny tell anyone else but you,’ he hesitated, then continued. ‘As you know I’ve always been very allergic to pain, on account of gettin’ battered from ma auld man when he was drunk. Ma bones were always that sore that I couldny stand any shovin’ or punchin’, and nobody wid play wi’ me anyway. So I used to run straight oot and wait inside the toilet till the bell rang.’
I looked at him with genuine compassion. Imagine standing for fifteen good playtime minutes in the toilet, waiting for the bell to ring to get back to the torture. I put my hand on his shoulder as a measure of my sympathy. ‘Ye’ve had a terrible life,’ I said when he ordered another two glasses. He began to unburden himself even further.
‘Do you know, many’s a time I was standing at the school gate at seven in the morning.’
I was aghast. ‘I always thought ye were brainy but I didny think ye were that keen on school.’
‘It wisny that,’ he said with such an air of tragedy that I was dreading what he was going to say. ‘You see, ma auld man sometimes sat up a’ night drinkin’. He hudny a clue whit the time was. He would stagger through to ma room to get me up for school and if I didny get up he would pull the blankets aff and pour cauld water over me. It wis better to wait at the gates, even in the winter, than argue wi’ him.’
I felt a lump in my throat. Tolworth blew his nose on a spotless white handkerchief, saying in a matter-of-fact way, ‘Oh well, that’s the way the cookie crumbles.’
At this point I ordered two whiskies, being the decent thing to do in the circumstances. After that everything became fuzzy. Whatever we discussed or how I got home I don’t know, but the next apparent event was my mother shaking me hard and bawling in my ear, ‘There’s a fella wantin’ tae speak tae ye.’
I sat up, surprised to see I was in bed. I tried to pull myself together.
‘Whit’s the time. Is it Sunday?’
‘It’s half-past four, and it’s still Saturday.’