by Todd, Ian
“So, ye’re fine then, Father?” Johnboy hid asked the wee hunchbacked priest efter he’d sat doon.
“I am now,” the priest hid said, spearing a tottie up aff ae his metal tray wae that fork ae his and papping it intae his mooth.
Other than Robert the Beast and his band ae Merry Molesters, Father Leonard wis probably the maist talked-aboot person amongst The Mankys and the rest ae the YOs in Dumfries. It wisnae because he wis a priest. Everywan hid come across wan ae them in their travels, bit the fact that he wis the first hunchbacked priest they’d ever come across, made it difficult no tae take notice ae his presence. Everywhere ye turned, he’d be staunin, talking tae a YO or lounging oan a chair in amongst people in the TV room, laughing his heid aff at Benny Hill, as if he didnae hiv a hame tae go tae. The priest also took aw the photos ae the YOs during the summer sports competitions, which wur held every year doon oan the fitba field oan the other side ae the main perimeter wall. Wance developed, he’d display aw the action shots up oan big display boards in the rec room, ae the YOs taking part in the different activities or collecting their winning medals. Underneath the three hunner odd photos, he’d place a wee number and if any ae the YOs wanted tae order photos tae send hame tae their families, they filled in a wee slip wae the relevant code and a week later a batch ae photos wid be sitting oan the end ae their beds. The screws…aw bluenoses…couldnae staun the sight ae him and went oot ae their way tae make life as difficult as possible fur him and his social work pal, Fanny Flaw. He must’ve been aboot four and a hauf feet tall, in his stocking soles. He sported quite a big heid and a square jaw, wae thinning, slightly tufty hair oan the back and sides and whit looked like a big wart sticking oot ae the side ae his temple. The hunch that he carried oan his back buckled his body so that he walked bent o’er, slightly tae the left. He also wore the biggest Jesus sandals that Johnboy hid ever clapped eyes oan in his entire life oan they big feet ae his. Dressed in Johnny Cash black, wae that white collar ae his, meant he wid always staun oot in a polis line-up like a sore thumb.
“This is Pat, Silent, Snappy and Tony,” Johnboy hid mumbled, nodding towards each ae them in turn.
“Aye, and that’s Mr Friendly. He should’ve become a social worker that wan, so he should’ve,” Snappy hid replied sarcastically, nodding towards Johnboy.
“And you’re all the Springburn boys? Is that right?”
“Well, some ae us ur, bit masel and Johnboy ur originally fae the Toonheid…and Silent? Well, he could be fae anywhere,” Tony hid replied, getting a polite smile fae everywan.
“Aye, Ah used tae go tae Sunday School every week until that pair ae tadger, er, wankers, moved up tae Springburn and infected me wae their false hopes and promises, Father. If it wisnae fur them, Ah’d probably be working in an honest profession, like selling the good book roond the doors tae misguided sinners, insteid ae being in here amongst them aw,” Pat hid come oot wae, getting mair polite smiles fae the table.
“Yes, it must be a heavy burden to carry,” Father Leonard hid said, straight-faced, until everywan’s faces hid burst intae big grins.
“See?” Pat hid said accusingly, applying his best angelic expression fur the priest’s benefit, before scowling at everywan else roond the table.
And that as they say, hid been that. Fae no wanting anything tae dae wae him, The Mankys always looked forward tae the wee man joining them fur a bite tae eat and a cud-chewing session.
“So, Father, whit’s wae aw this immaculate conception Ah’ve been hearing aboot then?” Pat hid asked him the second time he’d joined them.
Before Father Leonard could respond, Snappy hid let him aff the hook.
“Aye, Ah mean, withoot contraception, the world wid be full ae Catholics, so it wid,” Snappy hid said knowledgably and everywan roond the table, including the priest, hid aboot pished themsels laughing.
Jist as the priest hid goat up tae leave efter that second meal thegither, Pat hidnae been able tae contain himsel.
“Remember, Father, the next time ye come and join us, why don’t ye bring a wee bit ae Fanny across wae ye, eh?”
That hid been three months earlier and their paths wur soon tae intertwine even mair. Jimmy Baxter wis in wan ae the cells opposite Johnboy in C-Hall. He’d obviously been playing the guitar longer than Johnboy, due tae the fact that ye could recognise the tunes he wis getting oot ae the instrument. It wis maistly blues stuff wae some Canned heat, Creedence and the odd Barclay James Harvest or Rolling Stones number slung in here and there. His voice wisnae that bad either. At first, the sound ae somewan playing better than him, wae a far better guitar, six feet across the landing, hid put Johnboy aff reaching oot fur his guitar. Then, Johnboy found oot that Baxter hid managed tae hook-up his Ecko Rio Bravo acoustic tae the speaker ae his radio wae a lead and wis producing aw sorts ae fuzz and Jimmy Hendrix riffs. Although it wis loud, this hid suited Johnboy as it meant he could strum away oan his three chord acoustic numbers withoot feeling that Baxter wis sitting there laughing at him. When Johnboy made the mistake ae mentioning his feelings ae inferiority, Snappy hid dived in wae the subtly that he wis fast becoming notorious fur in the joint.
“So, whit the fuck ur ye gonnae dae aboot it then?”
“Whit dae ye mean, whit am Ah gonnae dae aboot it? The guy’s good…that’s it.”
“Well, he won’t be fucking good efter Ah put ma size tens through that banjo ae his, will he?”
“Ach, Snappy, shut yer arse,” Johnboy hid chided him.
Johnboy’s playing hidnae improved much, when three weeks later, a Guild acoustic guitar, freshly blagged oot ae Drummonds Acoustics in Bath Street, hid arrived at the nick. Efter swopping o’er the guitar and being telt he’d need tae pay the postage oot ae his five bob a week wages, tae send his fish-box-wood Ecko Ranger back tae Simon at Carpet Capers Warehoose, Johnboy hid sat fur ages admiring his new shiny two-hundred-quid guitar, wondering how the hell he wis gonnae make his shite playing sound better. Baxter continued tae noise-up Johnboy when he started playing lead alang tae the songs Johnboy wis strumming. Wance again, Snappy wis in there offering his famous wisdom.
“Ah’m telling ye Johnboy, that prick’s cruising fur a bruising, so he is. If it wis me, Ah wid’ve been in there long before noo. That basturt’s deliberately noising ye up, so he is, and ye’re letting him aff wae it. Noo, if that wis me…”
“Ah actually quite like it. Wae him playing lead riffs in the backgroond, it makes me sound hauf decent, so it dis,” Johnboy hid retorted.
“Johnboy, believe you me, it disnae matter whit ye play, ye’ll always sound shite oan that thing. Mind you, Ah’m mair ae a Chi-Lites soul-man masel,” Tony hid chipped-in, straight-faced, heid doon, running up another bandolier, as The Chi-Lites started up oan the radio.
“Who?” Snappy hid wanted tae know, a quizzical look spread across that coupon ae his, looking fae Tony tae Johnboy, tae see if Tony wis taking the piss.
“Y’know? ‘Homely Girl’…get yer knickers aff and aw that kind ae romantic stuff?” Tony replied, nodding tae the speaker up oan the wall above the office.
“Ur you bloody jesting me or whit? Where the fuck his he been aw these years, eh? That’s whit Ah want tae know. Ah blame you, Taylor,” Snappy hid shouted at Johnboy.
“Me?”
“Aye you, ya bloody fud, ye. If he ends up wearing a denim skirt some day, then you’ll hiv tae be the wan that sits doon and hiv a wee talk tae him, so ye will,” Snappy hid hit them wae, as they aw burst oot laughing.
Johnboy hid tae admit that it hid been weird sitting there oan his bed, rattling aff aw these songs every night while Jim Baxter sat in the cell opposite, playing lead alang tae them. The playing itsel hid been quite enjoyable and it hid egged Johnboy oan tae learn mair fancy chords, like minors and flats and even tae hiv a wee stab at daeing barre chords. It wis the coming and gaun withoot talking aboot it or even acknowledging whit wis happening wance the cell doors wur sprung open that The Mankys thought wis weird. Tony hid t
elt him that he quite enjoyed lugging intae their sessions. When the proposition fae the wee priest hid come, if that’s whit it wis, it hid put Johnboy oan the back hoof. Every Sunday morning, the Proddy service finished at ten o’clock, and wis followed fifteen minutes later by the Catholic mass. Although there wis a fancy new piano in the church, there wisnae anywan aroond tae play it. Given that it looked like an expensive piece ae kit, there wis nae chance ae any YO getting his manky fingers anywhere near it. Two ae the YOs, Dennis Martin fae Castlemilk and Charlie Fisher fae Drumchapel, hid baith played the guitar throughoot Father Leonard’s service fur the past two years. Unfortunately fur the priest, the baith ae them hid managed tae wangle parole and wur heiding hame two days apart o’er the next few weeks. Even though there wur some other Catholic boys who wur quite good oan the guitar, Father Leonard hidnae been able tae persuade any ae them tae play fur him. Johnboy hid been sitting listening tae radio Mi Amigo, in between teatime and rec starting, when a screw hid arrived at his door and telt him he wis wanted doon in the chapel oan the first flair landing between A and B-hall. Walking doon the stairs between five o’clock and six thirty hid been a bit ae a novelty as everywan wis locked up during this time. When he’d arrived at the vestry, Father Leonard hid been sitting, waiting fur him.
“Ah, Johnboy, come in, come in. Have a seat, my son,” he’d drawled in that Bogside accent ae his.
“Ye wanted tae see me, Father?” Johnboy hid asked him, sitting oan a chair, John Wayne style.
“Yes. I believe you’re quite good on the guitar. Would that be right now?”
“Well, if ye wur tae asked Tony and Silent, Ah’m sure they’d beg tae differ.”
“Yes, but you know a chord or two?”
“Ah’ve jist moved oan tae barre chords and ma strumming is shi…er, crap. Snappy claims there wid be mair rhythm if Ah swung a PP9 battery aboot in a sock above ma heid,” Johnboy hid replied, wondering whit The God Man wis up tae.
“Yes, well, it isn’t a radio battery I’m looking for, it’s a guitar player.”
“Fur whit?”
“To assist me with my service on Sunday mornings.”
“Me?”
“You.”
“Bit, Ah’m no a Catholic.”
“So?”
“So, why don’t ye get yersel wan ae them then? Ah wid’ve thought that there wid be mair than enough in here tae go roond.”
“God works in mysterious ways and he’s brought you to me. I must admit, it took me by surprise as well, but there you go. It surely is true, that the dear Lord God also has a sense of humour as well,” he’d said, smiling, looking heavenward.
“So, tell me aboot purgatory then,” Johnboy hid asked, hivving a good swatch aboot the musty-smelling vestry.
“Pardon?”
“Purgatory. Explain tae me whit it is,” Johnboy hid asked, deflecting the conversation away fae him playing the guitar at mass, and feeling a wee pleasurable twinge at the surprised look oan the priest’s face.
“W-e-l-l,” he’d replied slowly, gently rubbing his fingers across that square chin ae his. “For some people, I suppose purgatory is a place where the souls of sinners go after they die before entering heaven.”
“Catholic sinners?”
“Catholic sinners.”
“Tae suffer?”
“That’s one interpretation.”
“So, there ur others then?”
“Some people believe that purgatory is about purification and can’t wait to get there.”
“So, why is purgatory punted as being aboot hell and damnation then?”
“Some people believe that, as sinners, we all need to be punished in order to enter heaven cleansed.”
“Like some right ae passage?”
“In Revelations, it talks about ‘nothing unclean shall enter heaven.’”
“So, whit aboot confession then? Ah thought people’s sins wur furgiven if they spilled the beans tae somewan like yersel, behind closed-doors.”
“Confession is about repenting sins and becoming worthy of consideration to enter the kingdom of heaven.”
“So, the only way ae finding oot if purgatory really exists is by dying?” Johnboy hid asked him, wan cynical eyebrow lifted.
“Well, it’s what happens after we die that most people associate purgatory with,” he’d replied wae a shrug ae his humph and they shoulders ae his.
“Bit, ye’re saying there might be alternatives?”
“Some people believe that for some, purgatory takes place here on earth.”
“Like whit?”
“Look at me? In my teens and early twenties I stood over six feet tall and played Irish football semi-professionally. I tried to lead a life worthy of God’s good blessing.”
“Fae where Ah come fae, somewan wae a background like that either ends up rich or becomes a politician…or a man ae God. Yer ma and da must’ve been proud ae yer achievement or am Ah detecting a wee bit ae doubt in there?” Johnboy hid challenged him, starting tae feel bored, as he looked aboot the room.
“Perhaps I was trying too hard,” the priest hid replied, smiling.
Silence.
“Look, Ah’ll need tae go, Father. That’s the boys being let oot fur rec,” Johnboy hid said suddenly, staunin up at the sound ae chattering and feet passing by oan the other side ae the door.
“Johnboy, why were you asking about purgatory?”
“When Ah wis a wee snapper, aw ma pals, who wur aw Catholics, wur always getting threatened wae it by the local priests. Being a Proddy, Ah always felt a bit left oot. Ma pals loved the thought ae being different fae the goody-two-shoes at school. The fact that they didnae believe in aw that Holy Willie guff, allowed them tae paint themsels as real desperados. Tae them, it wis like they wur being awarded a badge, withoot hivving tae jump through hoops tae earn it, which wis right up their street. Ah wonder if they wid’ve turned oot differently if they’d actually believed that their souls wur gonnae roast in hell furever, unless they pulled their socks up and turned up fur communion the following Sunday.”
“It’s certainly a thought,” The Priest hid replied, a faint smile appearing oan his lips.
“Aye, and jist before that ma ae mine died, wan ae the local priests stood up at the altar and called her fur everything, in front ae everywan, including aw her friends and neighbours, jist because she wis staunin up against some auld crook in an election. The priest claimed she’d die a thousand deaths in hell fur aw the sins she’d committed, which Ah thought wis a bit harsh. Anyway, Ah always wondered if it hid been purgatory that he wis threatening her wae,” Johnboy hid said, knocking oan the vestry door tae let The Tormentor oan the other side know that he wis ready.
“Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.
One of Glasgow’s most famous stores has gone into liquidation. Samson’s, the famous family-run furniture store based at the bottom of the High Street, had been trading for over seventy years. Mr Paul Samson, who took over from his father only last year, said earlier today that the store had never fully recovered from the systematic plundering of substantial amounts of furniture from its Bell Street store over a number of months in 1970. The terms of their insurance didn’t cover the cost of the stolen stock at the time and Samson’s have reported losses over the past four years…
A police sergeant was threatened with imminent arrest in the dock of the High Court in Glasgow today. Lord Campbell of Claremyle warned Sergeant Bernard Hall that he was in danger of committing perjury after changing his earlier written statement in a high profile murder case. Defence Queen’s Counsel, Stuart McKenzie, representing Timothy Moffat, referred to throughout the trial by witnesses as ‘The Goat,’ complained to the judge about the unreliability and contradictory replies, given under oath, by the crown prosecution witness. Lord Campbell reminded the police sergeant twice of the seriousness of lying under oath and adjourned proceedings for the day to give him time to consider the defence QC’s
request that the charges against his client be dismissed.
Lord Frank Owen, proprietor of two of Scotland’s leading newspapers, The Glasgow Echo and its sister paper, The Sunday Echo, has reported a break-in at his plush West End townhouse. Amongst the many items stolen was a substantial collection of first edition rare books…
Two women wur viciously assaulted and had their handbags snatched after they made their way home from Bingo on Balmore Road, Possilpark, last night. It’s believed that one of the women had won the fifty pounds jackpot earlier…
And finally, a man who disfigured his wife for life by stabbing her in the face with a broken bottle whilst under the influence of drink has been referred to the High Court for sentence by a sheriff’s jury trial. Fifty-five-year-old Alice McBride of…”