‘Pardon?’
‘Time for the boys to go home for their tea.’
Mister McDonald sniffed; he looked at the boys. ‘Have yous to go home for your tea?’
No reply.
‘Eh lads? Is it teatime?’ He grinned.
Matt shouted, ‘Da, they’ve got to go home!’
‘Nobody’s asking you.’
Matt glared at his mother who shrugged, turned to the other women and shrugged again. The boy strode out the room. ‘Dont bang that door!’ cried Mister McDonald. But Matt did bang it, and his bedroom door could be heard banging as well. ‘Some temper that boy,’ muttered the man.
‘See you!’ called his wife, ‘you’re just bloody stupid, so you are!’
‘Aw thanks. .’ He winked at the other man. His face became serious and he said to Arthur: ‘You can deal son.’
‘Eh. .’ Arthur gazed at Jimmy, Dougie and Eddie.
It was Jimmy who spoke. He coughed beforehand, then said, ‘Eh Mister McDonald, see at ponnies, what you usually do is dish round the cards first.’
‘Mmhh.’
‘Because it’s the bank. You’ve got to see who gets it first.’
‘Aw.’
Jimmy hesitated and looked at Arthur who was staring at the table, as if he was reading something in the spread newspaper. Mister McDonald shifted on his chair and said to Pat, ‘See what I thought, I thought give the boy the bank cause he’s won most of the cash.’ He pointed at the columns of coins in front of Arthur. ‘Know what I mean? I thought it’d give the lads a chance to win something back.’
‘I take your point.’
‘And it saves time.’ He paused, glanced at Arthur: ‘No think so son? A wee bit of excitement as well eh!’ He rubbed his hands together and smiled. ‘Do you no want the bank?’
Arthur shrugged slightly, still staring at the table.
‘I mean you dont have to; nobody’s forcing you. See I thought cause you were winning the most money you wouldnt mind taking it on — eh Pat?’
‘Well. . I suppose. .’ Pat brought out his cigarettes and gave one to Mister McDonald.
‘Is it alright if we smoke as well?’ Jimmy sniffed.
‘Christ son there’s nobody stopping you!’ Mister McDonald frowned at him. ‘What do you mean? For God sake dont tell me yous’ve been sitting there gasping! I never thought.’ He looked at Pat. ‘Did you?’
‘Naw.’
Mister McDonald frowned at the boys. ‘Honest,’ he said, ‘if yous want to smoke smoke — far be it from me. .’
Moments after this Arthur was dealing. A couple of rounds later Matt’s da put down a £1 note for the bet, and he gave a wink to Pat, then a swift glance across to the settee. He said to Arthur, ‘Okay son?’
Arthur looked at Jimmy but said nothing. He dealt the cards and eventually had to twist and was bust. Mister McDonald lifted the winnings and added, ‘Hard lines son.’
Arthur nodded. Mister McDonald bet £1 in the next round and he won it; and he won the next one as well. Then the door opened and in came Matt. He walked to the table, positioning himself behind Arthur’s chair, not saying anything to anybody. His da had bet another £1 and Arthur was counting out coins to cover it. Mister McDonald needed a twist this time and he got a ten and was bust. Ha ha, said Matt.
‘He was due a win,’ replied Mister McDonald. ‘Eh Pat?’
‘He was, aye.’
The cards were dealt for the next round and Mister McDonald grinned and turned his face up. It was an ace. He slapped his hands together, winked at Pat. ‘A big bullet,’ he said, ‘a big bullet.’ He brought a £5 note from his hip pocket and laid it down. After several moments silence he said to Pat: ‘You having a side bet with me?’
‘Eh. .’
‘You canni bet all that anyway,’ cried Matt. ‘It’s no allowed!’
‘What?’
‘You’re no allowed to bet all that on an ace! There’s a limit!’
‘A limit?’ Mister McDonald screwed his face up. ‘First I’ve heard of it. You never said anything about limits Arthur?’
‘That’s no bloody fair,’ cried Matt.
Arthur was gazing down at his money. He had three £1 notes there plus the coins; he started counting the coins.
‘Dont,’ said Matt. He turned to the settee: ‘Hey maw!’
‘Tch tch tch.’ Mister McDonald shook his head.
‘Da’s betting a fiver!’
‘What!’ Missis McDonald stared across. ‘Am I hearing right? Ya bloody dumpling!’
Her husband stared at her.
‘I’m telling you,’ she said, ‘a joke’s a joke but this’s gone far enough.’
‘A bet’s a bet.’
‘A fiver? Dont be so bloody stupid; all you’re doing is making a fool of yourself!’ She shook her head at the other two women: ‘Have you ever heard of anything like this in your life!’
Her husband smiled. He winked at Pat, then called: ‘When you make a bet you make a bet. That’s what you dont know.’
Missis McDonald stared at him. ‘Aw rap up,’ she said. ‘Come on Arthur put your money away. Yous as well.’ She gestured with her right hand at the boys. And after a moment Arthur started putting his money into his pocket.
‘So that’s it then?’ said Mister McDonald. ‘You finished?’
Arthur shrugged slightly.
‘Tch tch tch.’ Mister McDonald said to Jimmy: ‘What about you son, you finished as well?’
‘It’s all finished,’ said his wife. ‘You spoiled it.’
‘I spoiled it!’ Mister McDonald chuckled. ‘Me?’ He said to Pat: ‘It was me that spoiled it.’
Missis McDonald said to the boys: ‘It’s time you were all away.’
Mister McDonald grinned at Matt. ‘I think something’s bothering your maw son.’
His wife sighed. She turned to the two women. ‘See?’ She shook her head and folded her arms, sat back on the settee.
And a moment later Matt nodded at the four boys and they got up from the table and followed him to the door. He led them down the lobby, standing aside to let them out onto the landing. ‘See yous the morrow,’ he muttered, shutting the door.
Good intentions
We had been sceptical from the very outset but the way he set about the tasks suited us perfectly. In fact, it was an eye-opener. He would stand there with the poised rifle, the weather-beaten countenance, the shiny little uniform; yet giving absolutely nothing away. His legs were bandy and it produced a swaggering stance, as though he had no time for us and deep down regarded us as amateurs. But we, of course, made no comment. The old age pensioner is a strange beast on occasion and we were well acquainted with this, perhaps too well acquainted. In the final analysis it was probably that at the root of the project’s failure.
Cute Chick!
There used to be this talkative old lady with a polite English accent who roamed the betting shops of Glasgow being avoided by everybody. Whenever she appeared the heavily backed favourite was just about to get beat by a big outsider. And she would always cry out in a surprised way about how she managed to choose it, before going to collect her dough at the pay-out window. And when asked for her nom-de-plume she spoke loudly and clearly: Cute Chick!
It made the punters’ blood run cold.
The Small Family
I suppose it is best not to say what the name of the station was but if I mention it was the one that got ‘swallowed’ up then the majority of folk familiar with the old subway system will have a fair idea of the one in question. Although lying underground it was one of those which seemed very close to the surface in a strange sense. Actual daylight always appeared to be entering though from where I don’t know and people somehow assumed the outer layer of corrugated roofing explained everything. I also remember when I was a boy I was absolutely fascinated by the inordinate amount of dripping. Water seemed to come from anywhere and everywhere. As a result, I was ready and willing to believe anything. Especially was I willing to believe that the tunnel beneath the Clyde was full of rotting timbers and set to collapse at any moment. This was the yarn told me by my older brother. I doubt whether the fact that it actually was a yarn fully dawned on me for a further decade.