priorites
Posted: Fri Aug 15, 2008 7:40 pm
PRIORITIES
I was born in 1964, in Edinburgh, the second youngest
in a family of six, Ma, Maria, Dad, William. We used
to live in St James Square, flattened now and re-born as
St James Centre. We left when I was one and we moved into
a housing scheme called Broomhouse, Broomie as we bairns called
it.
I can remember going upstairs to a neighbours house to watch
Scotland play in the Home Internationals in glorious colour, we
only had Black and White, and it was a treat to see green grass
and the Blue jerseys, but then, as it is now, even glorious
colour could not brighten Scotlands performances on the
glorious green, green grass. It was funny listening to my
auld man doing his fitba' pundit bit, as more cans of Export
were drunk, a bad pass, a missed tackle and you’d think that
it was the end of the world. So I guess this is when I
became aware of the curse of being a Scottish
football fan. Now whenever Scotland take to the park I can hear
the voice of that auld Scottish actor , the one in Dads Army
whisper, ‘WE’RE DOOMED, WE’RE AW DOOMED!’ Sadly the team
usually oblige this sentiment.
In those days the Chopper was king, the coolest bike on the
street, exciting people had one, I didn’t.
We played fitba' all the time, soon as you got home from school
it was into the jeans and out into the car-park in front of
St Joe's Chapel, take-ons, three and you’re in, seven by's,
it depended on how many bodies you could get, we'd sometimes
play Hidy Go-Go, or Co-CoO 21, games were you ran away and hid
and some poor sod would spend ages hunting the back greens
looking for someone who had probably gone in for their tea hours
ago, 'course this was long before Lara Croft bounced onto computer
screens in bairns bedrooms all over the world, all good fun,
the days of the half penny, when you could buy Texan bars, Spanish
Gold, fancy coconut that looked like tobacco and came in a little
pouch, seeds sown in young minds that would germinate later
at parties, when at the age of fifteen you’d begin your own
drinking career and reach for the real tobacco to impress
the girls.
A bairn could go berserk with 10p in those days. Schemes have a
tradition of vans, ice-cream vans, bread vans, mobile shops
bringing everything to the front door, spuds and fags and bags
of broken shortbread! And 10p could buy a great big bag of
broken biscuits, guaranteed to make a greedy wee runny nosed
bairn boak for Scotland, in glorious multi- colour.
We had a van that would come 'round our streets, if you were
lucky enough to have any money you'd listen for his horn and
then you'd attack.
Sometimes we'd hang around the van and then when it drove
away we'd jump onto the back and sit on the little step
that took you up into the Alladins cave inside, this was quite
dangerous and the driver was forever telling us off.
One day the van pulled up, as usual we were skint and so we
waited to see who would be the first to jump onto the step and
get a hurl along the road, the last customer came down the
steps and we looked at each other, the back doors were pulled
shut and it was action stations. Being slightly bigger than
John I managed to push him off the step as there was only
room for one to sit, I smiled at John and gave him a V-sign,
feeling very smug, then something caught my eye, under a hedge
by the pavement it glinted in the sun, 10p! shining, brand
new. I leapt off the step and scrambled for the prize. Scored,
Ya Wee Beauty! I could already taste the broken shortbread.
Wee John couldn’t see why I had left the seat, but he
quickly jumped on and filled my place, laughing he reached
under the step and wrapped a small chain around his wrist
to get a better grip, we never knew why that chain hung there,
but when the van drove off it was something to hold onto.
I turned and looked at John, his dirty wee face was beaming,
Now it was his turn to give me a V-sign, I shrugged and looked down at
my shiny new 10p, I felt like the richest boy in the world, even richer
than Andrew Carnegie, a name I heard whenever I asked my auld
man for something.
The van pulled away, it was only a short drive to its next
stop. John waved with his right hand, his left held firmly
by the chain, suddenly the van sped up, I could see Johns face
turn from joy to fear, I watched as his feet bounced off the
road, I could see him struggle with the chain, he was slipping
from the step and then he was off. He tried to untie the chain
but somehow it had wrapped itself around his wrist,
I heard him scream, he was dragged along the street like one
of those indians shot and pulled by their horse through the
dirt, in an old John Wayne film.
People in the street were shouting for the driver to stop, I
ran up to where John lay, he was quiet, his eyes were open wide,
I could see where his jumper had torn, his right arm was
bleeding and the skin on his belly had been scraped off. The driver must have
heard the shouts and the van stopped.
The driver came ‘round to the back of the van, when he saw Wee John lying
there he collapsed and fell to the pavement, someone said to
call an ambulance, someone said it was bound to happen sooner
or later, a crowd had formed and I watched as a man gently
freed Johns hand from the chain, a woman was crying as she
covered him with a yellow blanket, the driver lit a cigarette,
his face had turned pure white, I took the shining 10p from my pocket and
looked at it, and then I looked down at Wee John lying quietly
under the blanket and I thought,
" I wonder if he has any broken biscuits today ? "
THE END.
________________________________________
I was born in 1964, in Edinburgh, the second youngest
in a family of six, Ma, Maria, Dad, William. We used
to live in St James Square, flattened now and re-born as
St James Centre. We left when I was one and we moved into
a housing scheme called Broomhouse, Broomie as we bairns called
it.
I can remember going upstairs to a neighbours house to watch
Scotland play in the Home Internationals in glorious colour, we
only had Black and White, and it was a treat to see green grass
and the Blue jerseys, but then, as it is now, even glorious
colour could not brighten Scotlands performances on the
glorious green, green grass. It was funny listening to my
auld man doing his fitba' pundit bit, as more cans of Export
were drunk, a bad pass, a missed tackle and you’d think that
it was the end of the world. So I guess this is when I
became aware of the curse of being a Scottish
football fan. Now whenever Scotland take to the park I can hear
the voice of that auld Scottish actor , the one in Dads Army
whisper, ‘WE’RE DOOMED, WE’RE AW DOOMED!’ Sadly the team
usually oblige this sentiment.
In those days the Chopper was king, the coolest bike on the
street, exciting people had one, I didn’t.
We played fitba' all the time, soon as you got home from school
it was into the jeans and out into the car-park in front of
St Joe's Chapel, take-ons, three and you’re in, seven by's,
it depended on how many bodies you could get, we'd sometimes
play Hidy Go-Go, or Co-CoO 21, games were you ran away and hid
and some poor sod would spend ages hunting the back greens
looking for someone who had probably gone in for their tea hours
ago, 'course this was long before Lara Croft bounced onto computer
screens in bairns bedrooms all over the world, all good fun,
the days of the half penny, when you could buy Texan bars, Spanish
Gold, fancy coconut that looked like tobacco and came in a little
pouch, seeds sown in young minds that would germinate later
at parties, when at the age of fifteen you’d begin your own
drinking career and reach for the real tobacco to impress
the girls.
A bairn could go berserk with 10p in those days. Schemes have a
tradition of vans, ice-cream vans, bread vans, mobile shops
bringing everything to the front door, spuds and fags and bags
of broken shortbread! And 10p could buy a great big bag of
broken biscuits, guaranteed to make a greedy wee runny nosed
bairn boak for Scotland, in glorious multi- colour.
We had a van that would come 'round our streets, if you were
lucky enough to have any money you'd listen for his horn and
then you'd attack.
Sometimes we'd hang around the van and then when it drove
away we'd jump onto the back and sit on the little step
that took you up into the Alladins cave inside, this was quite
dangerous and the driver was forever telling us off.
One day the van pulled up, as usual we were skint and so we
waited to see who would be the first to jump onto the step and
get a hurl along the road, the last customer came down the
steps and we looked at each other, the back doors were pulled
shut and it was action stations. Being slightly bigger than
John I managed to push him off the step as there was only
room for one to sit, I smiled at John and gave him a V-sign,
feeling very smug, then something caught my eye, under a hedge
by the pavement it glinted in the sun, 10p! shining, brand
new. I leapt off the step and scrambled for the prize. Scored,
Ya Wee Beauty! I could already taste the broken shortbread.
Wee John couldn’t see why I had left the seat, but he
quickly jumped on and filled my place, laughing he reached
under the step and wrapped a small chain around his wrist
to get a better grip, we never knew why that chain hung there,
but when the van drove off it was something to hold onto.
I turned and looked at John, his dirty wee face was beaming,
Now it was his turn to give me a V-sign, I shrugged and looked down at
my shiny new 10p, I felt like the richest boy in the world, even richer
than Andrew Carnegie, a name I heard whenever I asked my auld
man for something.
The van pulled away, it was only a short drive to its next
stop. John waved with his right hand, his left held firmly
by the chain, suddenly the van sped up, I could see Johns face
turn from joy to fear, I watched as his feet bounced off the
road, I could see him struggle with the chain, he was slipping
from the step and then he was off. He tried to untie the chain
but somehow it had wrapped itself around his wrist,
I heard him scream, he was dragged along the street like one
of those indians shot and pulled by their horse through the
dirt, in an old John Wayne film.
People in the street were shouting for the driver to stop, I
ran up to where John lay, he was quiet, his eyes were open wide,
I could see where his jumper had torn, his right arm was
bleeding and the skin on his belly had been scraped off. The driver must have
heard the shouts and the van stopped.
The driver came ‘round to the back of the van, when he saw Wee John lying
there he collapsed and fell to the pavement, someone said to
call an ambulance, someone said it was bound to happen sooner
or later, a crowd had formed and I watched as a man gently
freed Johns hand from the chain, a woman was crying as she
covered him with a yellow blanket, the driver lit a cigarette,
his face had turned pure white, I took the shining 10p from my pocket and
looked at it, and then I looked down at Wee John lying quietly
under the blanket and I thought,
" I wonder if he has any broken biscuits today ? "
THE END.
________________________________________