by Ian Todd
“They put you in a home for not attending school?”
“Naw, we goat put in the home fur robbing everywan blind and breaking intae shoaps.”
“What did your mother and father have to say about that?”
“Ma da used tae tan that arse ae mine wae a leather belt, bit it never stoapped me. Wance we goat a bit aulder, another Baby Rock minker joined us. His name wis Skull Kelly. He wis a nippy wee sweetie, so he wis...ye wid’ve liked him…naw, oan seconds thoughts, ye probably widnae hiv,” he said, as they baith smiled. “He never fucked aboot. He wis aboot two inches high, bit he could fight like a mad monkey, so he could. Any lip fae anywan, big or wee, and he wis in there, hitting first and worrying aboot any comeback later. Tony and Skull goat slung oot ae The Baby Rock. Well, they goat slung oot aw the time, bit wan day, it wis fur good. There wis nae way they were getting back in. Anyway, none ae the other Catholic schools in the area wid take them oan, so they shipped them tae a Proddy school, doon in the Toonheid.”
“What’s a Proddy?”
“A blue nose…a Protestant. Ah cannae remember if Tony awready knew him, bit aw ae a sudden, this wee Proddy, wae red hair, called Johnboy Taylor, arrived oan the scene. Ah wisnae too sure ae him at first because he wisnae a fighter or anything like that. He wis there the night Ah goat lifted fur scudding the bizzy o’er the napper. It wis the first shoap he’d ever tanned. Masel, Tony and Joe wur aw gaun fur the good swag like Ronson lighters and Johnboy said he wanted a box ae pencils fur school. We aw laughed like geese at him. Later oan, efter Skull hid disappeared aff the scene, another wee scallywag called Silent, oan account that he never said much…still disnae, joined oor wee band ae merry men.”
“I thought you were put away for hitting the policeman? How did you manage to still be involved with the other boys? ”
“Technically, Ah wis, bit Ah wis oan the run a lot ae the time. It wis while Ah wis inside that Skull goat killed. He wis only ten at the time. He wis the same age as Johnboy, while masel, Tony and Joe wur a couple ae year’s aulder than them.”
“What happened to...Skull?”
“While Ah wis in Larchgrove Remand Centre, waiting tae be shifted tae St Ninians Approved School, the boys…before Silent joined them…bought a dookit aff ae these brothers called the Murphys. They wur aw right-haun men ae a guy they call The Big Man, who wis the local gangster in the area. They wur a bunch ae mean nasty basturts, so they wur.”
“What’s a dookit?”
“It’s a loft or a cabin where ye keep pigeons…or doos, as we call them. In Glesga, ye hiv aw these doo men...guys who fly pigeons. Anyway, the Murphys sold Tony, Joe, Skull and Johnboy a big free-staunin cabin that stood behind three big billboard signs at the tap ae Parly Road in the Toonheid. It wis a bloody stoater, so it wis. They hid tae rob everywan blind fur weeks tae raise the doon payment fur it. Anyway, efter they bought it, they found oot that they’d been ripped aff. The whole area wis aboot tae be demolished tae make way fur a motorway, alang wae the cabin, which wis bang in the middle ae the demolition site. The Big Man bred special doos called Horsemen Thief Pouters wae the Murphys, up in the loft ae the hoose that the brothers lived in. Tony and that crowd broke intae the loft, through the roof, and stole aw The Big Man’s good breeding doos and sold them tae raise the money tae pay back the Murphys fur the cabin.”
“So, in effect, the Murphys were paid the money that was owed to them by the boys, out of the proceeds of their own pigeons, which the boys had stolen and sold on to someone else?”
“Aye, something like that,” Paul replied, smiling. “Anyway, they goat away wae it, bit there hid been a bit ae trouble between Skull’s da and the Murphys aboot ten years earlier. They turned Skull’s da intae a cabbage, efter knocking fuck oot ae him. Although Skull didnae know the full story aboot whit hid happened tae his da at the time, he wis always cheeky as fuck tae the Murphys.”
“How old were the Murphys?”
“Adults. Even though he wis a young snapper, Skull wis an expert oan doos. He knew aw the breeds and how tae make them better when they goat sick. Anyway, wan ae the Murphys…a mad psycho called Mick…didnae believe they hidnae hid anything tae dae wae tanning their loft, so he goat a couple ae their sidekicks, two mean pricks called Tiny, who wis a midget, and Horsey John, the manager ae the local stables that The Big Man owned, tae burn the cabin doon. Unfortunately fur Skull, he wis sleeping in it that night and goat burned tae death. At the time, everywan thought it wis the bizzies that hid burnt it doon though. Even The Big Man himsel believed that.”
“So, how did you know it was one of the brothers?”
“Right, don’t laugh, bit aboot three years later…early last year…Johnboy Taylor goat sentenced tae an approved school called Thistle Park, oot in Paisley. When he arrived there, Tony Gucci, Joe McManus and Silent wur awready there, alangside other boys fae the Toonheid. Johnboy telt them that when he wis doon in the cells, jist efter being sentenced, Skull arrived oan the scene in his cell and telt him who roasted him in the cabin.”
“Skull? But I thought you said he died in the fire?”
“Ah did. Noo, Johnboy could be a pain in the arse. In fact, Johnboy is a pain in the arse, bit when he telt them whit Skull…the ghost…hid telt him, they believed every single word ae it. Kin ye believe that?” Paul said, turning away fae the road tae look at her.
“They believed that the ghost of their ten-year-old friend, Skull, who had died three years previously, had told Johnboy who had murdered him?”
“Ye couldnae make it up if ye tried, could ye?” Paul said, smiling.
“So, what happened next?”
“Basically, they decided tae shoot the craw fae Thistle Park. Ah wis awready oan the run and when Ah heard whit the score wis, Ah blagged a car and went oot tae collect them oan the night ae the school Christmas concert. Hauf the big-wigs fae Paisley wur aw sitting there enjoying the show. Ah couldnae believe that anywan in their right mind wid let that bunch oot ae their sight fur mair than a minute, bit that’s whit happened. Anyway, tae cut a long story short, Johnboy wis bang oan the beak, so he wis.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, everything Skull telt him wis the truth.”
“But, how did you know?”
“Because efter Ah helped them escape, we tracked doon Tiny, the midget. Horsey John wis awready deid by that time.”
“What? And he confessed?”
“Tiny did. We never even spoke tae Mick Murphy as he wis too much ae a basturt tae own up tae anything, bit everything Skull hid telt Johnboy, hid happened. Tiny confirmed it.”
“So, where are they now?”
“Who?”
“Mick Murphy and Tiny?” Saba asked him, haudin her breath.
“Deid as doughnuts.”
“Dead? You killed them?” she asked, shocked.
“Ah never said that. Aw Ah said wis that they pair ae shite-hooses wur pan-breid. Ah never said we did it.”
“So, what happened to them then?”
“Well, Ah ended up in the funny farm because ae aw the nightmares Ah hid efter seeing Mick Murphy go up in flames wan night efter the daft prick set himsel oan fire. Ah goat lifted no long efter that and wis sent back tae St Ninians, the approved school that Ah’d originally escaped fae. They called it a nervous breakdoon.”
“Oh, Paul, it must have been awful. It must have been horrible for you to see that. I’m so sorry,” Saba said, touching his left arm.
“Watching Mick Murphy go up in flames? That never bothered me wan bit. That prick deserved aw he goat and mair. Naw, whit shocked me wis seeing and hearing him howl and scream. It took me right back tae whit it must’ve been like fur Skull. Nobody, apart fae Mick Murphy, deserved tae die like that, especially when he wis only ten years auld. When Ah wis in the happy holiday camp, an American doctor who’d been oot in Vietnam, came and spent a bit ae time wae me. He said ma nightmares aw stemmed fae ma experience ae Skull gaun up in smoke, although the breakdoon Ah wis hivving hid prob
ably taken a bit longer tae hit me than whit he wis used tae dealing wae. He said it wisnae an exact science though.”
“So, he thought your breakdown and nightmares were to do with Skull?”
“Well, they wur in a roond aboot way. The only difference is, he didnae know aboot Mad Mick, which Ah wisnae gonnae mention, bit Ah knew he wis oan the right track, because ma nightmares aw started when Ah thought ae poor Skull gaun up in flames and screaming the way Mick Murphy hid.”
“I’m finding it hard to take all of this in. I don’t think I fully understand.”
“Why wid ye? Ah don’t understaun the life you lead and Ah widnae expect ye tae understaun whit Ah dae.”
“But surely, you wouldn’t want to go back to that kind of life, would you?”
“Ah’m no sure whit kind ae life ye’re oan aboot, bit where Ah come fae, Ah hiv ma pals who’re aw loyal tae each other, plus we hiv a good laugh. Ah never hiv tae watch ma back. Tae tell ye the truth, Ah miss it. Ah cannae wait tae get back tae the streets efter Ah sell this boat and get Innes’s money up tae him. Ah’ve goat a lot ae catching up tae dae.”
“But, is the way you live in Glasgow not dangerous?”
“No really. Me and ma pals dae whit we want, when we want. Anywan who crosses us gets mair back than whit we get fae them. Ah think we’ve built up a wee bit ae a reputation fur oorsels. We might no be the hardest, bit maist people probably know that it isnae worth the hassle tae tangle wae us, so they jist leave us tae get oan wae things. Sometimes ye win, sometimes ye lose. When we wur young, we used tae talk aboot how we’d aw become big gangsters when we grew up.”
“And is that what you want to become, Paul? Some sort of gangster?”
“Me? Naw. Whit Ah want tae become is somewan who’s happy and who disnae gie a monkey aboot any basturt that wants tae take me or ma pals oan.”
“You mean a gangster?”
“Naw, no a gangster. Maist ae the gangsters Ah’ve met or seen ur aw miserable-looking basturts. Ah’m no miserable and never will be.”
“It’s obvious to me that you, and your friends, have grown up with no rules and no-one to teach you all right from wrong. It’s as if you‘ve grown up feral.”
“Whit dis feral mean?”
“Wild.”
“Aye, well, The Mankys could be a wee bit wild every noo and again,” Paul replied, chortling.
“No, you’re missing my point. It sounds to me as if rules or boundaries didn’t mean anything to you or if they did, you and your friends just made them up as you went along.”
“Ah hear whit ye’re saying, bit when Ah wis growing up, even as a manky-arsed wee snapper, rules seemed tae be aboot keeping people doon, in their place…face-doon in a pile ae shite. Ah might’ve been young and thick, bit there didnae seem tae be any way in fur wee weans like me tae be able tae change things that seemed wrang or oot ae order, especially when the local priest who should’ve been trying tae help ye, wis trying tae get that hairy fat finger ae his up yer arsehole every time ye turned yer back oan him.”
“Paul, of course that was terrible, if these horrible things ever happened, but society needs rules as the bedrock from which all things are grown and built. Without them, people would just do as they please and to hell with the rest of us.”
“Said like a true Duke’s daughter.”
“It’s got nothing to do with wealth.”
“Said like the daughter ae a Duke who wrote the rule book, sitting up there in his castle, eating aff ae the best ae plates that he earned aff the backs ae his tenants.”
“Ah’m talking about laws that everyone, rich or poor, old and young, can be protected by.”
“Right, Ah’m no wanting tae be cheeky here, bit you come across as a bit ae a hippy. Whit’s yer take oan aw this Coonter Culture stuff?”
“You mean the Counter Culture?”
“Aye, that’s whit Ah’ve jist said.”
“What about it?”
“Dae ye believe in it?”
“Of course, but what’s this to do with what we’re talking about?”
“When Ah wis in the nut-hoose, Ah read an article in a magazine aboot aw these people…hippies and aw that…drapping oot and daeing their ain thing. There wur rich people’s kids, poor people’s kids, painters and decorators, sparkys…you name it. They wur aw right intae it…aw that free love stuff. Every wan ae them in the article spoke aboot daeing away wae the rules. Whit’s so funny?” Paul asked her, as Saba burst oot laughing.
“Paul, you’ve got it all wrong. Honest to God, what are you like?”
“Right, tell me whit the Coonter Culture’s aboot then.”
“You’re right about the rules. The Counter Culture is about moving away from the conventional way of doing things. It’s about throwing off the shackles that constrain us, where people respect each other and express themselves differently from the usual nine-to-five way of life our parents lived. It’s about turning our backs on the old way of doing things.”
“So, how is that different fae whit Ah’ve jist said?”
“Are you serious?”
“Fae whit Ah’m hearing fae you, its aboot daeing things differently. It’s aboot living oor lives the way we want tae and no being telt how tae dae things, like we wur in the past.”
“Honestly, I don’t believe how you’ve lived your life sits with Timothy Leary’s idea of how society should be.”
“Ah think ye’re wrang. The problem wae you, and people like ye, is that ye think it’s okay, as long as it’s how you and aw yer swanky pals think we should live. It sounds tae me that aw this hippy shite is jist a con and that the ‘nae rules’ they preach, is aboot making up new wans tae keep people doon, only using different tactics fae the wans who controlled things in the past. Me and ma pals don’t live by you or other people’s rules because we don’t like whit we see and because everything seems tae be stacked up against people like us. Rightly or wrangly, we live where ye don’t shite in yer ain nest and ye protect the wans that ur closest tae ye. If anywan happens tae come calling, looking tae upset any ae us, they’re sent packing pretty pronto. We don’t ask fur anything and we’re never surprised when the people we don’t like, like the bizzies or the judges, hit us wae a ton ae bricks, every chance they kin. It means we hiv tae be oan oor toes, which isnae a bad thing, living in a place like Glesga.”
“I’m sorry,” Saba apologised, waving at him and no being able tae stoap hersel fae laughing.
“Aye, ye kin laugh, so ye kin. It’s true that every noo and again, we like tae hiv a right good bleat aboot aw the shite we hiv tae deal wae, jist tae show that we really ur human and that we bleed and hiv feelings jist like everywan else, bit at the end ae the day, there’s only us and the rest ae ye. We’re pretty loyal and don’t tend tae take too many liberties, if we kin help it. That, tae me, is real freedom and that’s whit Ah picked up fae that magazine…although Ah widnae call masel a hippy,” he chortled, smiling and gieing Wan-eye a wee pat oan the heid. “Even Wan-eye knows whit Ah’m saying makes sense, so he dis.”
“What you’re talking about is anarchy. Have you read a book called the Lord of The Flies? It was written by an author called William Golding?”
“Dae Ah look like somewan who reads books? You’re the wan wae the brains aboot here. Mind you, Ah read Stranger in a Strange Land when Ah wis in the nut-hoose. Ah goat a shot ae it fae wan ae the other patients, who’d managed tae smuggle it in. Ah also hid a wee gander ae the Gideon’s bible when Ah wis locked up and there wis nothing else oan the go.”
“You’ve read Stranger in a Strange Land?” she asked excitedly. “Me and all my friends…the cool ones that is…have read and reread it a million times. Curtis really identified with the alien, Valentine Michael Smith. When we were all together, Curtis would quote from various chapters, explaining that that was exactly how he felt about what he perceived all around him. He said that he would stand at the corner of Grand Central and just watch people shoot by him and wonder what the pur
pose of people’s lives were. It was always very emotional to see the pain he was experiencing.”
“Curtis...as in Thor…that Curtis? Curtis, the bad-arsed rich rock star who cannae staun oil paintings?” Paul hooted, laughing.
“What? Paul, you haven’t met him, so how can you say that? Why are you so judgemental, just because he happens to come from a wealthy background?”
“Aye, ye’re right…Ah’m sorry…Ah should’ve realised straight away that somewan like him wid be able tae identify wae a Martian who comes tae earth, only tae find himsel locked up in a lunatic asylum, when ye wur describing poor Thor the first time roond,” he laughed. “Christ, Saba, ye crack me up sometimes, so ye dae.”
“What?”
“Saba, here’s me thinking that ye hid hauf a brain in that empty heid ae yers. Honestly, ye want tae get that face ae yers oot ae that posh arse and start looking aboot ye tae see whit’s really gaun oan.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture me. You’re not exactly a role model…at least, not from where I come from,” she spat.
“That figures,” he said, drapping a gear as he tackled the steep hill in front ae them.
They hidnae spoken tae each other fur aboot five minutes, which hid suited Paul fine. He’d assumed that Saba hid gone intae wan ae her cream puffs again. He’d furgotten aw aboot her presence wance her sharp breathing hid slowed doon tae normal. He’d never been oan a ferry, never mind towing a boat oan tae wan, so he wis trying tae anticipate how he’d react if there wis a problem. Baith him and Wan-eye hid turned at the same time tae look at her when she spoke again. He should’ve known that she’d want tae get in there wae the last word.
“Lord of The Flies is a story about a group of young boys, probably about the same age that you and your friends were when…er, Skull had his...er, accident. The boys end up stranded on this uninhabited island, away from civilisation. Everything seems to go fine to start with and then they start to introduce rules and before too long, leaders. Anyway, they basically end up becoming a murderous little band of megalomaniacs.”