The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter

by Todd, Ian

  “Oh, righty-ho, here we are, lads. The real fun is about to start,” Donald announced, as the boy Campbell, who George Sellar hid cheated oot ae the hammer throw, knocked some boy o’er the ropes oan tae the grass, aboot three seconds before the bell fur the end ae the first roond sounded.

  Paul looked across and saw John Sellar say something tae his son, George, who nodded.

  “And the winner is…Big Joe Campbell from Dornoch,” Bowler Hat thundered, haudin up the hammer thrower’s erm.

  “Who’s your money on, Donald?” Packer asked excitedly.

  “It’s got to be Sellar,” Donald said, as they made their way tae staun in the queue at the bookies, even though George hidnae announced his challenge.

  “Right, gentlemen…who’s next? Put your hand up where I can see it.”

  “Over here,” George Sellar shouted, throwing his shirt tae his younger brother and haunin o’er his pound note, as a cheer went up fae aw the Ardgay crowd, including aw the VIPs.

  “Whit dae ye think, Innes?” Paul asked him.

  “Most of the boys who’ve been in with a real chance in previous years have already been beaten. I can’t see anyone left in the crowd now that will walk away with the money, except for perhaps Cameron Sellar, and he isn’t going to challenge his older brother,” Innes replied, as Packer and Donald arrived back.

  “I think it’s George’s turn to take a fall this year,” Packer said smiling, excitement in his eyes.

  “Me too. We got four to one on the Dornoch boy,” Donald said, clutching his ticket.

  “Innes, ye couldnae loan me fifteen bob, could ye?” Paul asked him.

  “What? Oh, I think you’ve left it a bit late to get to the bookie now, Paul,” Innes replied, looking across at the length ae the queue ae folk waiting, still trying tae place bets.

  “I’ll gie it back tae ye in a couple ae minutes,” Paul persisted.

  “Here ye go, laddie, but you better get your skates on,” Innes said, haunin him o’er a ten-bob note and two hauf croons, jist as the bell clanged tae start the fight.

  George hauf walked and hauf ran at Dornoch Boy. It wis aw o’er before it started. George covered his face wae his forearms, his weight pushing Dornoch Boy aff balance and then followed through wae punches tae his heid and sides. When his opponent tried tae staun, George picked his spot and swung a right uppercut that lifted his opponent up aff the canvas and oan tae his back.

  “We have a winner!” Bowler Hat shouted gleefully.

  “Never mind, Paul, you’ll know the next time. You have to get across and place your bet in plenty of time. These fights won’t wait for slow coaches like you,” Packer advised him, tearing up his ticket disappointedly.

  “Right, gentlemen? Who’s next?”

  Nowan moved.

  “Come on, don’t be shy,” Bowler Hat shouted, as Miss Jezebel sashayed roond the ring, trying tae entice the punters wae that crisp ten-pound note ae hers.

  Silence.

  “Anyone?”

  “I’ll hiv a go,” Paul shouted, haudin up his haun.

  “What the fu...” Innes said, in disbelief, as Packer, Donald and Jock looked at Paul as if he’d jist grown a set ae horns.

  “We have a challenger!” Bowler Hat shouted, as everywan looked across tae where they wur staunin.

  “Listen, Innes, don’t be upset noo, bit put everything ye’ve goat oan me.”

  “Paul? What are ye doing, laddie?” Innes gasped, clearly in a state ae shock.

  “Ah cannae explain jist noo, bit put everything ye kin oan me. That goes fur youse two as well,” he said tae Packer and Donald. “I’ll take ma time, tae allow ye the time tae place yer bets.”

  “Paul, Whitey will have my guts for garters. What do you want to go and do this for?” Innes pleaded wae him, fear in his voice.

  “Ah’m gonnae get the money fur the dug.”

  “Dog? What dog?” the three ae them asked in unison.

  “Wan-eye…the pup. Ah’m gonnae go and get the money tae pay aff the vet,” Paul said, shrugging his shoulders.

  Paul pulled his shirt o’er his heid, as he walked through the crowd tae the red corner.

  “Paul, wait for me. You’ll need a second,” Jock shouted, scurrying efter him.

  Saba and Morven sat doon in the two seats that the bachelor, the Reverend Macbean and the widowed Lady Gilmour, who wur rumoured tae be hivving an affair, hid vacated in the VIP stand behind The Duke, jist as Paul put up his haun and volunteered tae challenge George Sellar. When she realised who the challenger wis, Morven wanted tae staun up and scream at him no tae dae it. Remembering the run-in between George and Paul the day before, she knew that this wid be mair than jist a silly boxing match and that George wid be oot tae seriously hurt Paul.

  “Oh my God, Saba, look who’s volunteered to fight George Sellar,” she exclaimed fearfully.

  “I’ve never liked the thought of two men punching each other’s brains out Morven…until now,” Saba replied, smiling.

  “Saba, you’ve got to stop this right now. George and Paul had some sort of male pig-headed run-in yesterday. George will kill him…or worse.”

  “Morven, I’m sure lover boy knows what he’s doing,” Saba said, smiling cruelly, looking across at Paul, who wis noo making his way through the throng, approaching the ring, followed by Jock McGregor.

  “Please, Saba, this isn’t fair. You know that George Sellar will really hurt him.”

  “What would you like me to do? What can I do?”

  “Speak to your father. Please!”

  “Morven, I’m the last person my father will listen to. We’re barely on speaking terms as it is.”

  “Who’s the challenger, Sellar?” The Duke shouted across tae John Sellar, who wis staunin behind Cameron, who wis acting as George’s second.

  Baith John and Cameron Sellar hid grins splashed across their faces.

  “I believe it’s one of Innes MacKay’s lost boys, m’lord. He’s the new lodger…the one I was telling you about. My George swears that it was him that he chased recently, running off with two of your rabbits.”

  “A bloody thieving poacher…here? By God!”

  “George said that he had a run-in with him yesterday. He says he’s got a mouth as wide and as deep as the Kyle, m’lord. Cocky bastard, if you’ll excuse the language.”

  “Has he now?” The Duke murmured, looking across at the young skinny poacher climbing through the ropes.

  Sir Frank Owen wis fair enjoying himsel. O’er the past week he’d fished and shot tae his heart’s content. The whisky and the company hid been good and he’d only jist started tae relax. The Duke and him hid spent a pleasant efternoon haunin oot medals and trophies tae the winners, as wis expected, and noo it wis relaxation time…a chance tae unwind. He attended and hosted amateur boxing nights regularly back in Glesga as well as always being ringside in the Kelvin Hall if any ae the WBA fights came north. He’d invested in a few boxers in his time, such as Ken Buchanan and hid always done well oot of it. The Ardgay Highland Games wur slightly different in that this wis as close tae bare-knuckle fights as wan could get. Few, if any, ae the fighters knew a thing aboot the rules or craft ae boxing and went intae the ring using brute force, backed up wae years ae lifting heavy machinery or running up and doon the glens in and aroond the big estates in the area. Baith The Duke and himsel were neck and neck in the betting stakes. As well as using the Irish bookmaker, they wur baith exchanging bets wae each other during the fights. He looked across at the ring. The Duke’s man, a heavy set brute ae about eighteen or nineteen and weighing in aroond the sixteen tae seventeen stane mark, wis prancing about in his six feet two inch frame, wowing everywan wae a shadow boxing display. The challenger, who’d jist climbed in through the ropes, looked tae be aboot five feet ten, carrying a weight ae aroond ten or eleven stane fae where he wis sitting. He looked as if he couldnae hiv been mair than fourteen or fifteen years auld. Although he wis thin and carried nae excess fat, where there wis a bulge,
it wis clearly muscle. He pursed his lips. Surely there wis a mistake or somewan wis pulling somewan’s leg, he thought tae himself.

  “Has someone put that runt up to this, John?”

  “No, no, Frank. My man has just informed me that he’s a genuine challenger. Seemingly, he’s been pestering one of the local girls and young George standing there in the ring had to go to her rescue. George had words with him and the only response he got back was barefaced cheek. He’s also been poaching on my land to boot, the scoundrel. I think it’ll do him the world of good to get his ears boxed about a bit. Maybe he’ll think twice before he comes back for more, eh?” The Duke replied wae a smile.

  “What’s your name, son?” Bowler Hat asked him, as Jezebel lifted up a plastic bucket that hid aboot two dozen different sizes ae gum shields floating in the water and shoved it under his nose.

  Before he could answer, George Sellar shadow-boxed across tae them.

  “Lost Boy, that’s what he’s known as about here,” he snarled, jabbing the air in front ae Paul.

  “Paul, Paul McBride,” Paul said, dipping his haun intae the bucket ae water, trying oan the different gum shields until he found wan that fitted, while Jock started lacing up his right haun glove.

  “Innes McKay, what have you done? I’ve left you alone for a couple of hours and when I turn my back you’ve got the boy in the boxing ring!” Whitey snarled furiously.

  “But, I, er, it…”

  “Here you go, Innes, ten shillings at ten to one. Oh, hello, Whitey, I never…” Packer said, realising that he’d put his fit in it, big style.

  “And that boy hasn’t had a nightmare in weeks. Now look what you’ve gone and done, you stupid, stupid, man! You’re supposed to be helping him recuperate, not bloody well getting him maimed or killed. And as for you, Packer Mackenzie!” she said, glaring at Packer, before turning and storming aff.

  “Nice one, Packer,” Donald said, as Packer haunded Innes his betting slip.

  “Did you not tell her he volunteered without any help from us, Innes?” Packer bleated, taking a sip fae his hip flask.

  “Father, you’ve got to do something.”

  “Darling, Saba, where have you been? I was looking for you,” The Duke exclaimed, turning aroond.

  “Never mind that, we haven’t the time. You’ll have to stop the fight.”

  “Stop the fight? Now, why would I do something as stupid as that?” he asked, wae a quizzical look on that face ae his.

  “Because this is going to be a massacre and someone’s going to get hurt. It’s not fair.”

  “I can understand your concern, darling, but I’m sure George can look after himself. He’s a big boy,” he replied, smiling sarcastically.

  “You know exactly what I mean. Look at the state Morven is in,” she pouted, putting her erm aroond Morven’s shoulder.

  “Look, if these two stags want to fight over your little friend here, that’s their business. It’s not for us to interfere. Oh yes, I heard about the insolence he handed out to George yesterday. And from a poacher as well! There is a perfectly good referee in there whose job is to ensure no one gets hurt. And anyway, darling, it’ll all be over in the first round. Now if you’ll excuse me?” he said, turning roond tae see whit wis happening in the ring.

  “Morven, wait,” Saba shouted, staunin up and following her aff the stand.

  “Leave me alone, Saba.”

  “Look, I tried. You heard him. What was I supposed to do?”

  “It’s so unfair, Paul hasn’t done anything.”

  “Morven, I didn’t exactly see him being pushed up into the ring. Did you? Maybe he likes to fight. Have you thought of that?”

  “Come on, Saba, you heard your father. For him, it’s just another blood sport.”

  “What I’m saying is there is nothing you or I can do. What’s done is done,” Saba said, as the crowd roared behind them.

  “I’m not going back up on that stand, Saba. I couldn’t bear it,” Morven said, looking o’er Saba’s shoulder.

  “We don’t have to. We can stand here, if you want, or we’ll head away across the field and see if the groups have arrived in the marquee.”

  “No, I can’t. I have to stay. If it gets too bad, we can always get away from here quickly,” Morven replied, as she stepped aside tae let Struana Mackenzie and Whitey Mackay, who looked as if she’d jist seen a ghost, brush past them.

  She gied Whitey a sympathetic look.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, will that ten-pound note be on its way to last year’s champion, George Sellar, or will it pass to the young pretender and challenger, Paul ‘Lost Boy’ McBride?” Bowler Hat shouted, as hauf the crowd cheered and the other hauf laughed.

  “I’m going to fucking crush you, Lost Boy,” George snarled o’er the noise ae the crowd.

  Paul noted that George hid decided no tae wear a gum shield.

  “Now, listen up, lads. I want a clean fight. No kicking, kneeing in the auld ‘Jack Rubies’ or head butting. Other than that, I want you both to come out of your corner and shake hands when the bell goes. Have you got that?” he asked, being ignored.

  Paul stood in his corner, waiting for the bell. He thought he’d clocked Morven and her pal, The Gardener’s Daughter, sitting in the stand, bit when he looked o’er again, they’d disappeared. He wis aware ae the crowd bit couldnae hear them. He wis collecting his thoughts oan how tae deal wae the Grizzly, staunin in the corner across fae him. When he wis aboot nine or ten, him and wan ae his pals, Tony Gucci, hid broken intae Mason’s Boxing Gym across in the Coocaddens. As they wur rifling through the place, they’d heard the ootside front door open, followed a few seconds later by the appearance ae Patsy Milligan, wan ae the trainers fae the gym. He’d two boys aboot the same age as himsel and Tony in tow. They’d been trapped. They’d broken in tae the place by coming doon through the skylight that wis oan the ceiling above the main door. The only way oot fur them wis through the front door and that wisnae gonnae happen wae Patsy staunin there. Patsy wis a man ae few words, Paul remembered.

  “Right, you and you, intae the ring,” he’d snarled at Paul and Tony oan discovering them, pointing tae the ring in the middle ae the room, as he walked across tae a big square box sitting against the wall and started rummaging through it.

  Paul remembered that him and Tony hid hesitated only slightly, before jumping up intae the ring.

  “Right, boys,” Patsy hid said tae the two boys that hid arrived wae him. “These wee basturts hiv jist broken intae yer good boxing club and wur aboot tae blag aw the good gear that yersel and aw yer pals hiv been raising funds fur ages tae buy. Ah don’t think that’s right. So, whit ur youse gonnae dae aboot it, eh?”

  Patsy’s two boys hid stood fur a few seconds looking between Patsy and them. They hidnae spoken a word up tae this time.

  “Ah think it’s bang oot ae order, Patsy, so Ah dae,” the taller ae the two hid said.

  “Aye, so it is, bang oot ae order,” his snottery wee pal hid echoed.

  “Well, whit ur youse gonnae dae aboot it then?” Patsy hid challenged them.

  “Gie us the gloves,” Snottery Chops hid demanded, as Patsy turned tae look at Paul and Tony, satisfied wae the reply.

  Efter rummaging aboot in a box, Patsy hid started throwing pairs ae gloves, no only tae his wee boxers, bit tae Paul and Tony as well, before bounding up intae the ring tae supervise the slaughter.

  Tony hid been first up.

  “Right, if Ah catch ye kicking, biting, heid-butting or hitting below the belt, or any other under-haunded wee fly moves, ye’ll be fighting me next. Hiv youse goat that?” Patsy hid warned, as Tony sniggered, punching wan glove aff the other, tae let Patsy know that he wis ready and raring tae go.

  “Right, oan ye go, Jimmy,” Patsy hid said, nodding tae Snottery Face.

  Paul remembered initially bursting oot laughing as the snottery wee basturt went tae toon oan Tony. He’d been staunin up oan the bottom rope in the corner, shouting encouragement tae
Tony while Patsy hid dived in tae break them apart every time Tony managed tae grab a haud ae Snottery Face’s body, tae gie himsel a break fae the blows that hid been raining doon oan him. Paul couldnae remember if the fight hid jist went oan till it finished or if there hid been roond breaks. Whitever…Tony’d soon hid blood pishing oot ae that nose and mooth ae his before he’d goat laid oot flat by The Flying Snotter. When Paul’s turn hid come, it hid soon turned oot tae be a repeat ae whit hid happened tae Tony, apart fae wan difference. He’d managed tae put Snottery Face’s pal, Carrot Heid, who’d been systematically pummelling fuck oot ae his heid and body, doon oan tae the canvas. He could still remember the look ae astonishment oan Patsy Milligan’s coupon, as Snottery Face jumped intae the ring tae help his pal up while Tony bounced up and doon oan the rope, spitting oot blood while whooping like a madman.

  “Take that ya wanker, ye,” he remembered Tony shouting.

  “Ur ye okay, Brian?” Patsy hid asked Carrot Heid, as Snottery Coupon helped his pal wae the wobbly legs o’er tae the stool sitting in the corner, while Paul jogged roond the ring wae his hauns up in the air like Cassius Clay.

  “Ah think so, Patsy,” he heard Carrot Heid replying unconvincingly.

  “That wis a stoating wee left hook, son. Hiv ye done any boxing before?” Patsy hid asked Paul, still looking impressed.

  “Aye, aw o’er the place, Granda,” Tony hid shouted loudly, in-between using his teeth tae untie his gloves.

  “No in a boxing ring, Ah hivnae,” Paul hid replied.

  “Right, if ye’re interested, come roond here oan Thursday night aboot six o’clock and Ah’ll explain tae ye how ye managed tae dae that tae oor Brian o’er there.”

  Before Paddy ‘Knockoot’ Broon, hivving recovered fae being knocked oot earlier, clanged the bell, George wis hauf way across the ring. Paul could feel the boards under the canvas tremble and shake as George came thundering across towards him. He jist hid time tae get his hauns up intae a high guarding position, right haun covering the right side ae his face and the left haun his left side, as George arrived in front ae him, leading wae a right hook. Paul quickly feigned tae the left and then shot oot ae his way tae the right. George’s left shoulder caught him oan his left haun side which sent Paul spinning against the ropes. The force ae the frontal attack meant George kept moving forward and hid tae twist back roond, bouncing aff the ropes tae face Paul. This gied Paul a chance tae recover his stance, as well as put a wee bit ae distance between himsel and the steamroller. George came thundering across again. Paul wis waiting fur him this time. He feigned tae his right and then bounced tae his left, placing his body and right fit tae the ootside ae George’s right fit. He felt the slipstream ae George’s right hook as George’s glove whizzed by his right eye. It wis, as Moses shouted oot tae his pals at the parting ae the Dead Sea, ‘A Gift Fae God.’ Paul let loose wae a left cross that landed smack oan the right haun side ae George’s face, followed by a right hook intae his kidney, followed by another left cross tae the back ae his heid, which sent George, and his face, crashing intae the corner post that he’d thundered oot fae fifty seconds earlier. Bowler Hat grabbed Paul fae the back and pulled him away. Although he couldnae hear the noise ae the crowd wance the bell hid clanged fur the start ae the roond, he could definitely hear the deafening silence efter George hid kissed the corner post.