Its Colours They Are Fine

by Alan Spence

  ‘Wherr ur we gawn the night?’ said Shuggie.

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Eddie. ‘Mibbe wait ’n see if any a the boays come doon. Ah fancy a wee bit bevvy ’n then up tae the dancin.’

  ‘Nothin oan the pictures?’

  ‘Naa, fuck aw,’ said Eddie. ‘Wan a they musicals or some pish lik that.’

  ‘Whit aboot that horror picture?’ said Shuggie.

  ‘That’s no oan till Sunday.’

  The corner was where they always met, outside an old dairy that had closed down a few years before. Here too they had carved their names, sprayed their slogans, on the barred doors and boarded windows.

  ‘See that wan wee Rab done,’ said Shuggie, nodding towards the wall. ‘Fuckin great but, intit.’ Rab had sprayed an enormous symbol, made up of the letters RGT – Real Govan Team, the letters overlaid, the R and T contained, within the great curve of the G. It was five feet across, bright red glowing paint, big sweeping strokes, and here and there, long trickled lines where the paint had dripped and run.

  ‘Looks lik blood!’ said Eddie.

  ‘Ah wis thinkin it wis lik the Rangers badge,’ said Shuggie. ‘Ye know that RFC.’

  ‘Rangers Football Club,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Rangers Fuck Celtic,’ said Shuggie.

  ‘If ye staun right back,’ said Eddie, ‘it looks lik Chinese writin.’

  ‘Mao Tse-tung!’ said Shuggie.

  ‘Hoo Flung Dung!’ said Eddie.

  ‘Hey look at whit’s comin!’ said Shuggie. On the other side of the road Betty and Helen were passing by, arms linked, heels clicking in step. They had identical hairstyles, earrings, coats. Betty was slightly taller, thin, her features were sharp. Helen was smaller, more rounded, dark.

  ‘How’s it gawn!’ shouted Eddie.

  ‘No bad,’ shouted Betty. She whispered something to Helen and they laughed.

  ‘Gawn tae the dancin the night?’ shouted Eddie.

  ‘Ye askin?’

  ‘Meet ye inside?’

  ‘Gan ya big chancer!’

  They walked on.

  ‘See ye efter?’ shouted Eddie.

  ‘No if ah see you furst!’ shouted Betty. Helen laughed again and looked back at them over her shoulder.

  ‘Whit wid ye dae tae that yin?’ asked Eddie.

  ‘Ur wee pal’s awright tae,’ said Shuggie.

  ‘Get right in therr Shug!’ said Eddie.

  If they stood at the corner long enough, just about everybody they knew would pass by, sooner or later. The girls had just gone out of sight when Aleck came round the corner. Aleck had been a friend of Shuggie’s when they were at primary school but he’d gone on to a high school in town and Shuggie had gone to the local junior secondary and left at fifteen.

  Aleck was wearing his school uniform. Over his shoulder he had a haversack full of books and under his arm he carried a flute in a long black case. He nodded towards Shuggie as he passed. ‘How’s Shug!’ he said. Shuggie nodded. ‘This you jist gettin hame fae school?’ he asked.

  ‘Ah steyed late fur band practice,’ said Aleck. ‘Then ah hid somethin tae dae in toon.’

  He couldn’t bring himself to use the word Orchestra to Shuggie. Band came more easily to the tongue.

  ‘Izzat yer flute?’ said Shuggie.

  ‘Aye,’ said Aleck.

  ‘Kin ye give us “The Sash” yet?’ said Shuggie.

  ‘Oh aye,’ said Aleck. ‘“Follow Follow” as well.’ He laughed, self-conscious.

  ‘Ah seen ye up the dancin the other week,’ said Shuggie. ‘D’ye go up therr a loat?’

  ‘Ach naw,’ said Aleck. ‘That wis ma furst time.’

  ‘Wis that boays fae yur school that wur wae ye?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Aleck.

  ‘Ye gawn up the night?’ said Shuggie.

  ‘Naw,’ said Aleck.

  ‘Huv tae stey in an dae yer homework?’ said Shuggie. Eddie sniggered. For answer Aleck laughed again, the same embarrassed laugh, as he moved on.

  ‘See ye,’ he said.

  ‘Aye,’ said Shuggie.

  ‘Whit ye talkin tae that poofin wee cunt fur?’ said Eddie.

  ‘Wee brainboax,’ said Shuggie. ‘Ach, e’s awright.’

  ‘Fucksake but!’ said Eddie. ‘E’ll still be at school when e’s whit . . . eighteen. Ah mean imagine that! Some wee shite ae a teacher giein ye the belt fur talkin! “Come out here Clarence and I’ll warm your fingers. You naughty boy!”’

  Shuggie laughed. ‘Ach well,’ he said. ‘E’ll come oot wi a good joab an that. Nae fuckin overtime fur him.’

  He remembered the advert in the paper.

  ‘Ah wis thinkin aboot joinin the army,’ he said.

  ‘Wur ye!’ said Eddie.

  ‘Aye,’ he said.

  ‘Might be awright,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Get me away fae here fur a while anywey,’ said Shuggie. ‘An ye kin learn a trade anaw. See a bit ae the world.’

  ‘Mibbe ye’d get sent ower tae Ireland,’ said Eddie, laughing. ‘Get intae some a they cathlick bastards!’

  ‘Ah mind a thinkin that when ah wis wee,’ said Shuggie. ‘Imagine the proddies and the cathlicks really fightin. Jist lik the aulden days. King Billy an aw that. Ah mind wan time ah wis it the ne’erday match wi wee Aleck an we seen these papes kickin fuck oot a Rangers supporter an ah says tae Aleck wintit be great if thur wis a real war wi thum ower in Ireland an the Orange Ludge went ower tae fight an we hid another battle at the Boyne.’

  ‘Whit did he say?’ said Eddie.

  ‘He didnae fancy it,’ said Shuggie.

  ‘Ach!’ said Eddie.

  ‘Always wis a crapper when it came doon tae fightin,’ said Shuggie.

  Eddie began singing, prancing back and forward, stabbing his arms into the air as if he was brandishing a scarf.

  ‘If the pope says no

  We will have another go

  On the banks of the Boyne

  In the morning.’

  ‘Here’s Pudge and Bugsy,’ said Shuggie.

  ‘Pudge is a cathlick,’ said Eddie. ‘Ye wanty get in some bayonet practice oan um!’

  Bugsy and Pudge were the names they’d always been called. Most of their friends had forgotten their real names, or never knew them. Pudge was stocky and squat. As a child he’d been fat. Pudgy. Bugsy had always had nits when he was small. Bugs. (From time to time the school clinic would shave his head, leaving just a tuft of hair at the front, his head stubbly, dabbed with gentian violet, bright purple antiseptic.) He’d always been in fights, and usually he’d won. (Once, when he was about nine, he’d shoved another boy off the top of a midden and the boy had broken his leg. The headmaster had given him eight of the belt and called in the police, and Bugs had been sent to a probation officer.) At first Bugsy had hated the name. But later he’d thought it sounded like the name of an American gangster. Bugsy. Bugs. So he’d kept the name, made it his own. Nicknames were good to paint on the walls. Mental Bugsy. Bugsy Rules.

  Eddie grabbed Pudge. ‘Right Bugsy,’ he said. ‘You get is other erm. Shuggie’s gonnae start killin cathlicks, startin wi this papish cunt.’

  They pinioned him to the wall, laughing.

  ‘Aw c’mon,’ said Pudge. ‘Leave us alane!’

  ‘Fenian dog!’ said Shuggie, and half-serious he began poking Pudge, slapping him and pummelling his belly, as he struggled and yelled and tried to break clear. Then Shuggie brought out his steel comb with the long pointed handle and pretended to stab him and finish him off.

  They let Pudge go and he shrugged them off. ‘Shower a mental bastards,’ he said, annoyed at them all.

  ‘Ach c’mon Pudge,’ said Eddie, punching his shoulder, consoling. Pudge elbowed him aside and stuck out a boot at Shuggie, and he felt better for that, even although they were still laughing.

  After a while, Pudge’s young brother Frankie came sauntering past, a ball under one arm, comics under the other.

  ‘C’mon son,’ said Pudge. ‘Gie’s a kick ae yer b
aw.’

  ‘You get!’ said Frankie, still mad at him because they’d fought at teatime.

  ‘Aw!’ said Pudge. ‘The wee boay’s in the huff!’ He let Frankie go past, then pounced on him from behind, grabbing him round the neck. Bugsy punched the ball out from under his arm and ran clear with it. Frankie squirmed free, dropping his comics on to the pavement, and tried to tackle Bugsy who tapped the ball across to Pudge. Together they managed to keep the ball moving, always just out of Frankie’s reach. Shuggie had picked up the comics and was flicking through them. Creepy Worlds. FBI. Superman. Sergeant Rock. He leafed over the pages of Creepy Worlds, but it was one he’d read before. He stopped at the page of adverts. Guitar Tuition. Hypnotism Made Easy. He’d often thought of learning the guitar, but the few times he’d tried he’d given up, annoyed and frustrated, unable to get it right. He wondered if hypnotism really was easy. He could think of uses for that. He showed it to Eddie.

  ‘Fancy bein a hypnotist?’ he said.

  Eddie laughed and waved his hands in front of his face. In a faraway quavering voice he wailed, ‘You will come wi me intae the back close an drop your knickers.’ Then in his own voice he said, ‘Aye, that wid be fuckin gemmie.’ He looked at the page again and pointed at a half-page spread on body-building. ‘Imagine bein built lik that!’ he said.

  ‘Fuckin Tarzan,’ said Shuggie.

  The other adverts were ones they’d seen since they were small, each advert in a box with a drawing and the price in American money. Itching Powder. Black-face soap. Stink bombs. And something called a Seebackoscope, for looking behind you.

  Bugsy and Pudge had tired of taunting Frankie so they’d given him back his ball. He came over and snatched his comics from Shuggie, and as he ran off he shouted back at Pudge. ‘Ah’m tellin ma mammy ’n you. An you’ll fuckin get it!’

  Pudge just laughed and turned to the others. ‘Wherr is it the night then?’ he said.

  ‘Dancin,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Gawn fur a kerry-oot furst?’ said Bugsy, lighting up a cigarette-end he’d found in his pocket.

  ‘Aw aye,’ said Shuggie.

  ‘Gie’s a fag Bugs,’ said Eddie.

  ‘This is aw ah’ve goat,’ said Bugsy.

  ‘Gie’s a drag, well,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Aw c’mon fur fucksake!’ said Bugsy. ‘It’s jist a wee dout. Lookit the size ae it!’

  ‘That’s awright,’ said Eddie. ‘Ah’ll remember that.’ Then he saw Dan on the other side of the road and waved across to him. Dan was a bit older than them, nineteen or twenty. He too had been one of their gang, their team, but now he was married and he’d quietened down.

  ‘Been daein overtime?’ said Eddie.

  ‘At’s right,’ said Dan.

  ‘Seen wee Rab?’ said Eddie.

  ‘Saw um doon the pub aboot hauf an hoor ago,’ said Dan. ‘Mibbe still therr.’

  ‘Right,’ said Eddie. ‘See ye.’

  ‘See yis,’ said Dan.

  ‘Bet e’s daein overtime oan that wee wife a his!’ said Pudge.

  ‘Must be tremendous,’ said Shuggie. ‘Comin hame tae that every night. Nice wee single-end. Jist the two ae ye. Dead cosy.’

  ‘Fuckin nice,’ said Bugsy.

  They were silent for a moment, imagining it. Shuggie felt a sudden emptiness, a lack. Then Eddie leered and said, ‘Plenty a nooky!’ He turned to Shuggie and said, ‘Never you mind Shug. Wance you’re in the army you’ll be gettin bags ae it!’

  ‘You joinin the army?’ said Pudge.

  ‘Mibbe,’ said Shuggie.

  Bugsy coughed, almost choking as he sucked the last gasping drag from his cigarette-butt.

  ‘Serves ye right ya mingey bastard!’ said Eddie. ‘Hope it chokes ye!’

  ‘Ah jist minded a Dan the other week,’ said Pudge, ‘readin oot that book.’

  ‘Aw aye,’ said Eddie. ‘That wis great. You wurnae therr Shuggie. Dan brought oot this book, the Kama Sutra, aw aboot different weys a gettin yer nooky. Some laugh!’

  ‘Ah’ve heard aboot that,’ said Shuggie. ‘Ther’s another wan tae. The Perfumed Garden ur somethin.’

  ‘Thur supposed tae uv made a picture ae the Kama Sutra wan,’ said Pudge.

  ‘Need tae see that when it comes,’ said Bugsy.

  ‘Anywey,’ said Eddie, ‘ur we gawn doon the road the noo?’

  ‘Aye, comin?’ said Shuggie.

  ‘Naw,’ said Eddie, ‘ah’m jist breathin heavy!’

  On the way they passed the pub, so Eddie and Shuggie looked in to see if Rab was still there. He roared at them across the bar and made his way towards them.

  ‘Wur jist gawn up the dancin,’ said Eddie. ‘Bugsy and Pudge ur ootside.’

  ‘Great!’ said Rab. ‘Ah’ll be we yi in a minnit.’

  He finished his pint and followed them out.

  Further on they bought a carry-out from a licensed grocer’s – a few cans of beer, some wine, a bottle of cider. They went into a back close to drink it, swigging back the beer, passing round the cider and the wine.

  ‘Ah seen ye yesterday Shug,’ said Rab. ‘Oan the back ae a lorry ye wur.’

  ‘Aw aye,’ said Shuggie. ‘Wan ae the drivers gave us aw a run doon the road.’

  ‘It’s great that,’ said Eddie, ‘when ye get a hurl oan a lorry. We sometimes go doon in wan tae dae a joab in toon. Fuckin tremendous!’ (To be up there, gliding through traffic, looking around you, laughing, cursing, shouting at girls, straddling the edge of the lorry, balanced, holding yourself on with one hand; to feel like part of an invading army; like the feeling when you were on the supporters’ bus and everyone stopped to look as you passed, scarves and banners streaming from the windows as the whole bus shook to your singing and stamping, together.)

  ‘Dead gallus, intit,’ said Rab.

  ‘Pure fuckin brilliant,’ said Shuggie.

  And that was it. That was the way of it. Gallus. Pure Brilliant. That was the way for it to feel. In spite of everything, to be rollicking, alive. To be shouting, We are the PEOPLE, We are the REAL Team. To show them all. To let them know.

  They threw their empty bottles and cans into the back court and went on their way.

  They jumped off the bus at the traffic lights because that was nearer to the dance-hall than the next bus-stop.

  Before going in they had to file into a small anteroom where they were searched for weapons by one of the bouncers. Shuggie and Bugsy had to hand over their steel combs, Eddie his belt with the heavy metal buckle. ‘Aw wait a minnit,’ said Eddie, handing it over. ‘Ma troosers’ll faw doon!’

  ‘Wu’ll jist huv tae pit ye oot then,’ said the bouncer.

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Rab. ‘Good joab they never seen aw the chibs in yer poacket. Ye think theyda seen a cuppla knifes an a bayonet and a hatchet an a tommygun!’

  ‘Fly man,’ said the bouncer, not so much as a flicker on the hard, set face.

  Rab went on, ‘But ah don’t know how e could’ve missed that fuckin hydrogen bomb up yer jook!’

  ‘On yer way!’ said the bouncer.

  Once they were in the hall, Shuggie felt good. The drink had hit him now, and the music was loud and familiar. Something rose in him, a joyful recognition; it rose and moved to the steady thumping rhythm. The song they were playing was an old one, but one that everybody still loved. Shuggie was singing along.

  This old heart a mine

  Been broke a thousand times . . .

  The dance-floor itself was circular, and round the perimeter were tables and seats. Above was a balcony, overlooking the floor. Eddie had to shout to make himself heard above the noise. He was saying he wanted to go up on to the balcony. Shuggie nodded and they all shoved their way up the stairs.

  They leaned over the balcony, looking down at the packed floor below. The small stage where the group played was brightly lit in contrast to the rest of the hall. Revolving coloured lights threw shifting patterns of red and green on to a circle at the centre of the floor and on to the dancers wh
o passed across. Just at the edge of this area Shuggie saw a group of girls dancing together, and as they danced, they moved round towards the centre of the floor and the circle of their dancing intersected the circle of coloured light. Then Shuggie spotted among them the two girls, Betty and Helen. He nudged Eddie and pointed them out. Rab had already decided he felt like dancing so they all moved back downstairs together. They made their way round to a table where they’d seen a few other boys from their team.

  ‘Wu’ll no ask thum jist yet,’ said Eddie, looking over to where the girls were still dancing. ‘Wu’ll wait a wee while.’

  Something about the songs always got to Shuggie. He had a head full of them. He only had to hear the opening bar and he’d be filling in the backing, playing every instrument, adding every voice. Sweet soul music. It lit something in him. It was something he wanted to spill out. He wanted to flail his arms and sing and laugh, sharing it. But he just stood, watching, bobbing his head, tapping his foot, looking now at the girls, dancing, now at the group, pounding out the music.

  Now it’s the same . . . old song

  But with a different meaning

  Since you been gone . . .

  Maybe he could learn the drums, he thought, instead of the guitar.

  As he looked back to the floor he saw that two boys had broken the circle and were dancing with Betty and Helen.

  ‘Fuck it,’ he said, to Eddie.

  ‘Disnae matter,’ said Eddie. ‘Wu’ll get thum efter.’

  But the girls stayed up with the two boys for the next dance, and the next, then they went and sat with them at one of the side tables.

  ‘They look lik fuckin schoolboays,’ said Shuggie. He was feeling restless and annoyed. Eddie seemed happy enough just to sit there, and that just irritated Shuggie all the more. Rab was dancing with a big redhaired girl called Rita. Bugsy and Pudge were leaning against a pillar. Shuggie noticed a small blonde girl standing by herself. He pushed over towards her and asked her to dance.

  ‘Ah’m arready wae some’dy,’ she said.

  He turned away. He saw two girls dancing together. He stepped in between them.

  ‘D’ye wanty dance wae me?’ he asked one of them, his back to the other.

  ‘Naw,’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘We don’t wanty get split up,’ said her friend.