Miss Mason

 

A fyowe days ago I wint alang a lane that I hinna been in for a lot o years an memories came floodin back tae ower a haaf century ago. 

Fan I startet ma time as a pinter in 1970 the firm I vrocht for hid a fair puckle men at that time. A lot o them hid themsels served their apprenticeships there so they wint back a generation at least. Onywye I started hearin some o the lads spikkin aboot a wifie caad Nelly Mason but they wid stop if I came inaboot. Thes wint on for a couple o wikks till ae day my boss came inaboot and tellt ma that I wiz tae gang tae a Miss Mason and pint her street side spoots and a skylecht the follyin wikk. Ma luggies perkit up fan I heard the name Mason and a thocht tae masel could thes be the Nelly Mason that I’d been hearin aboot in secretive tones ower the past fylie? And then again fitwye wid ma boss gee a wikk’s notice for a simple jobbie like pintin some spoots an a skylecht. I wid seen fin oot. The tradesmen started tellin ma stories aboot thes Nelly Mason an foo ivvery apprentice that hid ivver geen there got their tatties fae her. Some o them even got chased doon the street by her an her vowin vengeance on them. Then wid come a huge row in the workshop wi ma boss and she’d caa them till even the cats widna lick their bleed. My boss then hid tae gang and feenish the job. As I said some o the aaler journeymen hid served their time at the firm and apparently they’d gotten their tatties fae her fan they were loons like masel. Ower the years gan tae Nelly’s hid become a bit o a right o passage tae ony new apprentices so noo it wiz my turn. Oh mechty me for the rest o that wikk I’d tae listen tae the journeymin gan on aboot fit happened tae them as loons an my getting ribbit aboot fit wiz gan tae happen tae me next wikk. 

So at haaf syven on the Monday mornin aa the lads were githered as usual getting ready for fitivver jobbies they were gan till that day but some how they werena leavin as usual but steed there smilin as I got ma laidder lookit oot. As seen as I shoodered ma laidder an made ma wye oot they aa started sayin in strange voices “You’ll be sorrrry” or “Tatties ower the side for you boy!”

By the time I reached Nelly Mason’s hoosie my knees were knockin. I managed tae pit the laidder up wi a bit o a chave but it wisna a big yin aboot fifteen feet but it wiz mair nerves I suppose rather than onything else that made it awkward . I chappit at the door tae tell Nelly I wiz there ready tae start ma vrocht.
A fyowe mintys later the door opened and thes neat wee wifie steed there glowerin at ma.
I managed tae spikk athoot ma vice gyan ower heich an blurtted oot
“Good mornin Miss Mason Ah’ve come tae pint yer spoots!”
At thes she teen a step back and I saw a look o shock pass ower her face then the scowl came back an she said
“Weel lonnie ye’d better get tillt then!” an closed the door wi a bang. Ah well that’s a gweed start I thocht tae masel.
It only teen a couple o oors tae scrape an chip the roosty bitties on the spoots and tak aff the lowse putty fae the skylecht and pit on some fresh stuff. Then a quick coat tae cover the roosty bits on the spoots. By thes time we werena allooed tae use reedlead pint so we hid thes new stuff caad Rustoleum I mind on it because the advert on the tin said ‘Developed for the space programme by NASA!’ That een stuck in ma mind and also it really did work nae like the reedlead that didna.
I sweepit up the roosty pint flakins and bitties o hard putty fae the skylecht and stored ma laidder up the side o the hoose. I chappit at the door eence again but thes time I didna get a reply so I wrote on the back o bit o saanpaper that I’d be back the morn at acht.

  Neist day I wun back wi the battleship grey undercoat for the job.
In the workshop the lads hid been teasin ma and seemed surprised I’d actually gotten throwe the first day athoot getting chased for ma life but quickly added I’d be getting ma tatties the day.
Onywye I jist got on wi the job and made damned sure I nivver hut the harl wi pint.
Aboot haaf wyes throwe the mornin the door opens and the wee wifie shouted up at ma if I’d like a cup o tay.
Oh mechty aye I’d fairly like that so in I wint makin sure there wisna ony pint on ma haans. It wiz a bonny wee kitchin wi dark oak timmer linins haaf wye up the waa and distempered cream up tae the fite ceilin. A big table steed on the centre o the fleer wi a snaa fite tablecloth and a place set for me.
Oh mechty an here’s me pintin wi battleship grey pint an sure as onything some will end up on the tablecloth. I rowed up ma sleeves an checkit ma haans again afore Ah sat doon. The wee wifie wiz busy at a big aal farrent range wi the kettle. I could see some aal black & fite photaes on the waa at ma lefthaan and in front there wiz a wee sash an case windae lookin oot ontae the back green. The fleer hid flagsteens and were like the rest o the room absolutely pristine. Fisher fowk were aa like that. Spotless clean.
She came inaboot wi a big taypot an poored some intae ma cup then speired at ma if I’d like a buttery. Oh mechty me sickin fine.
Nelly sat hersel doon opposite ma wi a cuppy o tay an speired o ma faar I came fae an things like that. I could see that she lookit affa hinginluggit an the scowlin face fae yistreen wiz awa. The conversation kindo peetered oot so lookin up at the photaes hingin on the waa aside ma I speired faa wiz the affa bonny lassie in een o them. Now I mean it wiz a gye aal photae but the lassie in it wiz a beauty queen that could staan aside ony beauty an come oot tops.
I’ll nivver forget the tears that came tae her eenies as she tellt me it wiz her sister that hid deet o TB in 1910 at the age o twinty. Nelly said that she hersel wiz the youngest o the faimily and wiz nine or ten fin her bonny sister deet. I canna mind a lot o the details but I got tae see aa the photaes on the waa o her faimily then some albums wi loads mair. That ended up a cracker o a job and een that I’ll nivver forget.
The day aifter I feenished my boss came inaboot tae ma and gave me a ten shillin note fae Nelly and speired at ma fit Ah’d been sayin tae her. He genuinely seemed shocked and naebody ivver teased me aboot getting ma tatties again. I did see Nelly aifter that fyles and we’d hae a wee news in the street and she’d ask ma roon for a cuppy and a news onytime but that wiz nivver tae be because she deet nae lang aifter.
I still winder noo fit happened tae the photaes? I hope they were keepit by the faimily especially the een wi the beauty queen. 

Sanners Gow.

Mrs Wright and the Milific.

                                                     The Milific

Mrs Wright & The Milific.

Mrs Wright wiz on her wye tae the care hame at Strocherie. She wiz a fyowe days aff o aichtytwa an here she wiz in an ambulance heedin for a new adventure. She didna wint tae gyang intae a hame but it wiz wi the insistence o her son and his wife that she agreed in the hinner eyn. She felt that wi a bittie o help she could’ve workit awa but her gweed dochter wiz een o yon control freaks aat fowk spik aboot. She ruled her son wi a rod o iron an he wid’ve steed on yer tap lip if ye said onything like aat aboot her. As it wiz, her loon wiz only alloot tae visit her but eence the fortnicht an aat for jist haaf an oor. Aifter aat time wiz by, the wee mobile phone thing he ayee cairriet wid start bleepin like a klaxon. Oh and he’d get fair vrocht up wi his een dancin in his heed like bools. E’d flee awa wi a quick peck at her chik and wi- “I’ll see ye next time!” he’d be awa like the haimmers o hell.

That wiz kyna the reason she’d agreed tae gyang tae the hame. At least in the hame he widnae be under ony obleegement tae gang an see his mither so he could spenn aa his time on his control freak o a wife. The ither reason she’d agreed wiz that the cooncil nott her hoose because it hid three bedrooms. There wisna ony “pensioners hoosies” noo-a-days. Young single eens were gettin them aa so a hame it hid tae be. Ess growein aal cairryon wiz a bit o a bugger.

Mrs Wright arrived at the hame and wiz left sittin at reception file a lassie gid awa tae find the staff nursie. She’d a gweed look aroon her new abode. It wiz a bonny clean place an tae the front o her she could see some lassies standin ahin a widden coonter lookin at computer things and laachin an jokin wi eenanither.

‘Ae me but tae be that age again.’ thocht Mrs Wright.

“Mrs Wright?” She looked up and saa an affa bonny lassie lookin doon at her.

“Hi I’m staff nurse Mair! I’ll tak you up to your room.”

The nursie teen her wee bag an wi the eese o her zimmer frame, Mrs Wright follaet the nurse tae her room. It wisna a big space ava but it hid a bed alang ae waa, a wee table an a chest o draaers an a wardrobe alang the ither. Ere wiz a windae in the back waa that looked ower the roof o anither bit o the building. She wid even hae her ain lavvie throwe a doorie on the richt.

‘A bonny wee room richt eneuch’ thocht Mrs Wright.

The nursie teen oot her clyes fae her wee bag and hid aathing squarred awa in nae time.

“Would you like to come through to the common room for a cuppie o tea Mrs Wright?”

There wiz a puckle ithers in the common room but maist o them were noddin in their seats. She got a cuppie o tay but didna like it ower muckle because it wiz jist a tay bag squeezed instead o masked in a taypot the wey she did it at hame. But ach well she’d hae tae get eesed tae change. She wiz richt fine trickit wi the funcy seat she’d gotten. It wiz richt fine an saft wi big cushions an pressin a haanle garred it lean ye back or it wid caa ye forrit so that ye could staan up easier. Wi her getting the local cooncil tae pey maist o the bills she could nivver hae affoorded sic a seat.

A fyowe o the workers cam inaboot tae introduce themsels and she thocht that they aa appeared tae be affa fine fowk.

The mait wiz gran, made in their ain kitchen so it wiz aye fresh an pipin hett.. She teen macaroni and cheese for supper an it wiz jist the wye she liked it wi a drappie o mustard in the cheese sauce. Alang w’t she got hame made chips and by the taste o them they werena fried in yon horrible ile but in rale beef drippin. Oh michty, it wiz affa fine.

That nicht at bedtime instead o her haein tae struggle wi the zimmer they jist hurrled her throwe tae her room in the funcy seat. Somebody hid rigged up a wee t.v. for her so she sat a fylie and watched Eastenders. Een o the nursies cam in and showed her how tae gyang throwe the stations and she wiz fair amazed at the amoont o stations ye could get. At hame her ain t.v. only hid only haen five stations but it wiz rented and hid been pitten back. “Ae me sic adventures!”

The first nicht she didna sleep affa weel for thinkin and she supposed it wiz wi it bein a different bed. In the hinner eyn she fell awa tae sleep but jist as she did she could’ve sworn she saa the shape o somebody sittin in the cheer. The neist mornin she wiz teen throwe for her brakfast. She’d plum tomatoes, sausages and a poached egg on toast. Michty it wiz jist gran.. She teen a wee bit o the scunners though fin she watched some o the ithers being fed and them spittin oot haaf chaad mait the wye they did. Aifter brakfast een o the carer quines cam tae tak the dishes awa and speired at her if she’d like tae gyang throwe tae the day room.

Whit a bonny view she got o the gairden fae the windae. The fine warm sun wiz bleezin in the windae makkin her feel a bittie sleepy. She’d been noddin awa haaf atween sleep and awaak fin she’d the funny feelin that somebody wiz staanin aside her.

Thinkin it wiz een o the staff she looked up and saa the coorsest face she’d ivver seen. It wiz an aal wifie and she wiz girnin at her. Mrs Wright skirled oot o her and the evil face disappeared as the staff ran throwe tae see fit wiz wrang. Mrs Wright apologised saying she’d only been dreamin but hid gotten a bit o a fleg. She nivver let on aboot fit she’d seen because they’d think she wiz gyte in the heed.

Een o the lassies gave her a cuppie o tay and a biscuit and sat wi her a wee fylie newsin aboot onything ‘n aathing.. She wiz an affa fine lassie and she cam fae Macduff jist like Mrs Wright. It eynt up her kennin the lassie’s faimily so they’d plenty tae news aboot.

Ower the next fyowe wiks Mrs Wright sattled in fine. She’d gotten tae ken a lot o the aal fowk an hid even been asked tae jine different wee groups. Aa the file though, jist ivvery noo an then she’d get a visit fae the malevolent spirit. It wid staan aside her hissin throwe its twisted mooth an ayee seemed tae be tryin tae say something. Mrs Wright couldna mak oot fit it wiz sayin wi her bein a bittie deaf but she fairly heard the hissin. She wiz terrifeet but nivver let on for she thocht she wiz gyan mad or mebee a bittie dottled.

Ae aifterneen her and a puckle ither residents were being entertained by Marjory Nicholson fae the North East Scotland Library Service. She’d come oot ivvery noo an again tae hud a group on ‘Memories’. She’d hae wee boxies wi stuff like needles fae aal gramophones, pirns o threed, cakes o soap, sweetie papers and mair besides.

Some o the fowk tellt wee stories aboot the stuff if they mined things and some rare newses they hid.. Ithers though were aat far awa wi the dementia they didna ken a ‘bee fae a bull’s fit’. Mrs Wright fair enjoyed getting tae spik aboot lang ago.

At een o the meetings Marjory Nicholson said tae the group, “I’ve a surprise for ye the day!” and she teen oot a puckle photies. She lookit at Mrs Wright and said, “I’m affa sorry but ess mith be nae interest tae you Mrs Wright. Ye see it’s photies fae the Christmas pairties here ower the last fyowe years.”

She lookit roon the group sayin that the ithers wid see themsels an their aal freens. So sayin she handit the photies roon and some o the fowk were gettin richt laachs at the memories. Mrs Wright teen a couple and hid a look at them- jist tae be sociable kine Ae photie hid been teen in the room faar they were sittin but aa the tables hid been butted thegither and a big tablecloot wi holly patterns wiz spread oot. Michty but the plates o turkey and beef were weel laden wi aa the trimmins and a heest o trickit faces looked up at the camera. She got a richt begeck though fin she saa een o the faces. It wiz the same phizog that hid been tirraneezin her ower the past fyowe months.

She sat lookin at the face. Though it wisna twisted the wye she ayewis saa it,there wisna ony shadda o a doot ava because the black fish een didna smile at aa. They were richt cruel an caal. Her mooth smiled for the camera but the smile nivver lichtit her een. Mrs Wright sat for ages while the laachter an gabbin gid oan roon aboot her. She wiz terrifeet finivver she lookit at that malevolent phizog.

She saa anither thing that aboot garred her skirl.The verra seat she wiz on wiz the marra o the een in the photie. She speired at the woman next tae her faa the wifie in the photie wiz?

The woman teen the photie an tellt her, “Oh that’s Miss Avant . She deet a fyowe wiks afore you cam here. Ae me naebody likit her.She ordered abody aboot like they waur servants!”

She fuspert tae Mrs Wright, “Ivvery day there wiz a row wi her an she pickit on aabody- an God help ONYBODY that sat on her cheer. She’d roar at them in that funny hissing voice “That’s my chair!! And mair than eence she wid lash oot wi her stick!!”

The woman shuddered.

“She wiz evil that een!”

She gid the photie back tae Mrs Wright sayin, “I widna’ve sat on her cheer for aa the tay in China!”

 

end.

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Panloaf - - -You know!

Panloaf- - - You Know!

 

Hector Puddins landed a cracker o a job up at Sullom Voe in the Shetlands at the start o the North Sea ile boom. He wiz a shutterin jyner and wiz vrochtin at the makkin o new piers for supply boats tae land. 

This wiz the early 70s and he wiz earnin £300 a week a fortune back then I'm tellin ye.( At the time Hector wiz gettin £300 quid a week I wiz earnin £4-8/6d a week as an apprentice pinter.) 

  He wiz fower weeks on an one week aff and wi the week aff he usually spent it scutterin aboot wi different D.I.Y. projects. 

He'd made a wall unit oot o marine ply tae show aff his wife's capidemonty figurine ornaments and hid papered the livinroom waas wi the latest woodchip paper. Oh michty they were affa grand! 

  Ilka time he came hame his wife enterin intae the spirit o their new life as middle class citizens wanted an animal skin coat tae up her status . 

Ae me her heedy got an affa size. Tae emphasise their new status she wanted an animal skin cwite or 'coat' as she now caad it so that fin she waakit doon the street her lower class freens wid be green wi pure envy. 

Ower the next fyowe months Mrs Puddins keepit harpin on at Hector aboot an animal skin coat. 

Eventually Hector relented and said the next time he wiz hame they'd gyang intae Aiherdeen and he'd buy her an animal skin cwite o the very best. 

Oh me Mrs Puddins wiz fair ower the meen wi this and wiz ettlin for the month tae pass. 

  Michty she wiz tellin aa her chums that 'My husband--( a week afore she wid've said 'Ma man' noo it wiz 'My husband') wiz gan tae purchase an animal skin coat once he returned from his business trip. 

She'd really entered intae the spirit o things and affected the panloaf wye o spikkin endin sentences wi 'You know! Nae as a question but as a statement o fact that left ye in nae doot ava that she wiz o a better class noo. Oh me ye've nae idea! 

  She stoppit gyan tae Tam Dow's shop for eerins but noo wint there for to 'purchase groceries'- - Och sicin ongyans I'm tellin ye! 

Onywye time passed and Hector Puddins came hame fae his 'business trip' up tae his wast in gutters and chappin marine ply hoardins roon new jetties mair like. Business trip indeed!!
   Oh michty but he wiz treated like a king fin he got hame. 

Steak, chips an haaf a dizzen fried eggies were produced afore he got his beets aff. 

Mrs Puddins hid really pulled oot aa the stops on this yin I'm tellin ye. Even a bottle o Blue Nun's vinegar- - I mean wine wiz produced wi a flourish and poored intae glaisses wi thistles on the side. ( Noo the time I'm spikkin aboot fowk in Macduff thocht that 'Blue Nun wiz the ultimate name for vinegar - - I mean wine. I'm tellin ye!). 

Onyhow I digress, so on wi the story. 

Mrs Puddins hid even wint as far as purchased (bocht) eye mascara fae Max Factor so that fin she made sheepie's eenies at her husband he'd notice the flickerin. 

For desert she lead him tae her boudoir for a bittie o horizontal P.T. but I winna gyang intae ony details here but leave that tae yer ain orra minds.
   Next mornin bricht and early Mr & Mrs Puddins caught the Alexander's Bluebird bussie tae Aiberdeen noo 'Aberdeen' accordin tae Mrs Puddins wi her newfound panloaf spikkin. 'You know!' 

For the whole journey aa she spoke aboot wiz the animal skin coat and how she'd be needin to 'discard her old friends as not being fit company for the likes of her. You know!' 

On an on this wint aa the wye tae Aiber- - - I mean Aberdeen. 

  Michty fin they got there boorachs o fowk were heavin their wye past eenanither at an aff rate. Oh me sic ongyans I'm tellin ye! 

They wint intae a cafe for a pie and a cuppy o tay much tae Mrs Puddins's consternation sayin-

'If any of my friends could see me now I should be most affronted!" 

Lookin aroon aa the fowk she said 

"Just as well we aren't in Macduff for them to see us!" 

Hector by this time wiz mashin the fine greasy pie doon his neck and slurpin at his tay like a pig at the trochie. 

She pushed her pie awa fae her wi a ladylike shudder and teen oot a packet o fags. 

They were funcy Russian fags o different colours that een o her heroines smoked in her favourite romantic novels. But oh the stink I'm tellin ye!  

Hector wavin awa the reek speired at his spouse if she wiz sicin the pie. She shook her heed puffin awa at the guff o waur fag. 

Her pie seen follyt the first een straacht doon Hector's thrapple and a load of the maist affa slurpin sounds fae his tay. 

  Aifter braakfast noo break-fast they made their wye doon Market street towards the funcy shops that sellt animal skin coats. She near fell a couple o times wi her stiletto heel shoes on the cassiesteens nae the best surface tae walk wi that kind o sheen. I'm tellin ye! 

But accordin tae her she dare not go for an animal skin coat wearing anything else. You know! 

  They passed a few o the big funcy shops that sellt animal skin coats and Mrs Puddins wiz gettin a bit worried at this. Hector says 

"In here!" 

as they struck left doon the steps intae the New Market. There wiz raws o shops sellin aa kinds o stuff but for some reason it didna hae the ambiance o a place that sellt posh animal skin coats. But jist as Mrs Puddins wiz beginnin tae panic they came upon a funcier lookin place wi a big sign proclaimin it tae be 

'The Tatt Boutique'. 

In they wint and Hector walked inaboot tae a quine ficherin wi a nail-file at her nails. A quiet conversation later and she left tae gyang throwe the back. Mrs Puddins started makkin sheepie's eenies at her loving husband once again. In fact her eenies were flutterin so fast there wiz even crummles o mascara on her eebroos 

  The lassie returned wi a coat ontae a hanger covered in tissue type paper. Oh michty but Mrs Puddins near wint intae a swoon like her heroine wid've done in the novels. Hector teen it fae the lassie and said 

"Here my darling your animal skin coat!" 

 Oh me she near fintid wi this and she managed a 

"Thank you my darling husband!" blowing him kisses tae boot. She took the coat and tore aff the paper tae reveal a 'donkey jaicket' the ultimate animal skin cwite! "You Know!"

 

copyright © Sanners Gow

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The Cell. A horror tale of the future.

The Cell.

The man started awake and looked around his condemned cell. In some ways he was glad to be here at this moment in his life. It had been a long weary road he’d traveled, a road seemingly without end, that was until this moment. Right now! It was here! The end was in sight! No more guesswork! It was over!

The man shook his head partially in anger partially in sorrow. He had been taken to this point and now he was here and this was real but he didn’t know how to deal with it. The thought of awaiting death frightened him, he felt sick inside, actually it was a whole new take on the ‘butterflies in the belly’ phrase. He grimaced. In life no matter how dangerous something is there’s a safety valve within that gives a burst of the hope of survival, whether it’s all in the mind or because of the adrenaline coursing through your system in a heartbeat you accept the fifty fifty chance, the brain calculates, the body reacts and you survive or you don’t. No beating about the bush. That’s the way it is and that’s that.

The man shook his head again, no anger or sorrow this time because such emotions are useless, the shaking of his head was just a reflex action or that’s what he told himself. No one was going to open the door and tell him he was free to go, the only way that door would open was when it was time for the abyss.

There it was again, the wave of sickness, the fear and those damned churning butterflies! He stood up with a groan and walked with slow shuffling uncertain steps, the three paces one way and the four paces the other. The death cell was shrinking daily or so it seemed to him? Before it would have taken him a life time to walk one way now just a second or two- - . The probability of time and distance once taken for granted now had become a perverse reality to the man. He smiled as he surveyed the few square feet left to him, each one so precious yet so hated because they kept him from the waiting abyss.

His eyes and brain took in the remaining time and space of his death cell. The man wondered how it would be at the end time? Would he go with his face to the front like a soldier? Or go like a slobbering coward screaming for a mercy that would never come? The man reckoned it would be the latter for he had always been a cowardly knave. He smiled again. Not a nice smile but one tinged with certainty making his face look drawn like a corpse. There was nothing in life like being certain of something. He swallowed the sour taste of his own fear and felt the gripping sensation in his guts. The panic almost had him then but logic stated to his reeling mind that panic was a no go area. There wasn’t any point in panic for the door wasn’t going to open as his egress to freedom for only the abyss awaited.

The man sat down and took some deep breaths. Eventually he began to calm a little as the spasms in his guts subsided followed by the easing of the sour bile that had threatened to spew out of his mouth. He felt the residue of the acid at the back of his throat and tried to swallow it away but his mouth was too dry for saliva. The butterflies though kept up their low fluttering but they never went away now as time and space became one in his thoughts. After the terrors had passed somewhat the man went into a dream like state where he could walk in freedom. He just sat and stared at the ground but no focus was involved just the thousand yard stare aimed at the concrete floor about three feet from his eyes.

He looked into yesterday not tomorrow for thoughts of tomorrow would only bring panic destroying the dream like state. Yesterday with all its baggage was where the man went in his dream state. As the days had burned up and the abyss came nearer he’d found himself returning there more and more frequently. There in that place he could question the mystery that was life and try halfheartedly to come up with some kind of answer to questions that have no answers.

If he’d believed in a God then perhaps the man could've prayed but because he didn’t believe there was no point. At this time he wished he could believe but once again logic wouldn’t allow him to go there because there couldn’t be a God to pray to. The man had nothing against those who were God-fearing and respected their beliefs but no way could his mind grasp at the idea of a God, especially a God that you prayed to for help. The man thought such actions as selfish in the extreme. Anyhow no deity was going to step in and help the likes of him and thoughts along those lines would be hypocrisy indeed from his viewpoint. Part of him would like to believe, probably the part of the human brain that gave man the ability to invent something higher than themselves because they don’t understand the what’s and whys of their existence. It would certainly be easier to believe in a God- - -

He heard a door slam somewhere near his cell then the murmur of voices followed by slow measured steps of several people. The man knew this was it. Panic threatened but by the force of will he held it in check, there was no way he was going to die a slobbering coward. This was the one last chance he had to redeem himself. If not in the eyes of the world at least in his own for the last few minutes he had left on this earth. He was wrought up to point and ready to die. Everyone faces death at some point so what’s the big deal? It just so happens it’s his turn!

When the court had sentenced him to death with all the pomp and ceremony they could muster and the tv cameras zooming in on his face from every conceivable angles. He had just stood there unbelieving. One tv camera man had almost put the lens down the man’s throat he’d got that close hoping to see the terror on his face but the guards had pushed him away none too gently. The people in the public gallery sat as if holding their collective breaths and sitting forward on their seats when they’d heard the sentenced pronounced. The bewigged judge sat like the lord of the manner at the bench as his assistant removed a black cloth from a plain wooden box and placed it triangular on the judge’s head with one of the corners hanging down his forehead. The man had felt his heart start to beat loudly in his chest and ears and put his shackled hands out to grasp the rail in front of him to stop from falling- - - .

As the footsteps came nearer to his cell he remembered the words of the judge “You will be taken to a place of execution and there three days hence shall suffer the full weight of the law of this land!” The judge had glowered at the man and said in an affected stern Victoriana tone “May the Lord have mercy on your soul!” The public gallery had burst out cheering and the man had watched the judge’s face as he played up to his now adoring public with an amused expression and a little bow towards the ecstatic public gallery before exiting the court.

He heard the key being fitted into the lock then more voices. For a fraction of a second the man thought he’d been granted a stay of execution and his heart soared only to be replaced almost instantly with the knowledge that no reprieve would ever be given.

No one had told the man how he was going to be executed. The last execution in Britain had been by rope back in the sixties of last century. Now the man was to be the first since the sixties to face the death penalty. What method would be used? It was all academic now as the door crashed back on its hinges and three men stood there in military style uniforms. No words were spoken but two of the men stepped forward and in moments had the man secured on his seat with chains. Their faces were completely passive as they stepped back and stood to attention. The other man still standing outside the cell door took two paces forward and said simply

“Are you ready?”

The seated man looked up at his face as if looking for some sign of compassion but there was none, more a look of glee and an excitement barely hidden beneath the mask of passivity. The man looked down at his shackles then back up at the ‘face’ and nodded his head. With a curt nod at the other two men the third man turned and stepped back out of the cell and awaited the others. They each took one of the handles of the chair and began to shove it and the shackled man down a long magnolia painted brick passageway as the other one did what looked like a slow march to their front. The passage smelt of fresh paint. The prisoner just sat with his head down watching the grey concrete floor pass slowly by. The wheels of the chair squeaked as they trundled along and the man pretty numb now took note of the bloody wheels and wanted to ask why the hell the chair should have iron wheels like a supermarket trolley. But he didn’t ask he only gave a smile and a shake of his head. One of the men seeing the movement of his head put out his hand and touched his shoulder. Not as a sign of compassion but in readiness in case the man was about to kick off. But he needn’t have worried the man was wrought up to point and ready to go to his death like a soldier.

They reached the end of the passage and the leading man stepped smartly to the left and that exposed the door of the execution chamber to the prisoner. He tensed as he saw the huge iron door. Beyond was the abyss. The end of his time. Or the highway to nowhere! He felt the fear mounting and could hear his own heartbeat as if his heart wanted to crash out of his chest and splatter against the big iron door. He gripped the arm rests of the chair dimly aware of the cold iron tubes the chair was made of. He almost lost the plot as his head span but the mantra came to mind and calmed him ‘Look to your front and go to your death like a soldier!’ He must’ve spoke out loud because the man to the left frowned and was about to say something but instead put his hand into his uniform breast pocket and took out a cigarette saying to the man “Your last request!” The man with a half smile tried to raise his hand to take it but couldn’t so the man slackened one of the shackles to allow him movement. The prisoner got his cigarette and asked for a light. The man pulled the slip bar on the door saying he’d get a light on the other side of the door. He pulled it open as the chair was pushed down a little concrete incline then the big door crashed closed behind him and the slip bar pushed back in place with a clang as if marking the full stop of all the man had been and was about to be.

The man found himself in a similar passageway he’d just came down. The only difference was that the walls were unpainted and it was open to a grey overcast sky. Still holding his cigarette he looked around for someone to give him a light. At the same moment he saw nozzles sticking from the walls and the cameras behind reinforced glass. Then the flamethrowers opened up

The men from Exitcare congratulated one another and raised their wine glasses in a toast to the 'First of Many'.

The prisoner’s crime?

He was disabled and therefore a drain on the modern healthcare system of twenty-first century British society.

copyright © Patrick Hutchison

Sanners Gow's Monastery o' Fable. Stories in the Doric of North East Scotland.

 

 

"Here I share the stories as I sit and look oot fae the Sacristy and North Trancept of the Monastery o’Fable, tales that are part o' my dreams."
Sanners Gow

  https://uncoscots.weebly.com

The Diary o' a Feel at the Skweel (Final Days)

 

 

 

The Diary o’ a Feel at the Skweel. (Final Days)

My ferst day at the skweel wiz a mystery. The reason wiz that as my mither teen me intae the class the teacher wiz busy shakin a loon faa wiz howlin oot o him. She stoppit lang enough tae tell my mither tae leave. Reluctantly she left and the moment she did thes teacher grabbit ma airm and the airm o the howlin loon and started tae shak the twa o’s. That wiz my first initiation intae my ferst meenits o skweel. That wifie's reaction wiz a complete mystery tae me but sadly ower the next twa years she added a lot o ither mysteries like teachin ye foo tae fear her and nivver understand why. Needless tae say the next twa years werena a gweed experience because I wiz a bittie thick atween the lugs and eyee did the wrang theng wi the wrang answers syne she’d explode. I wisna the only een tae get it though. I did get some respite fyles fin her wrath fell ontae ithers. Eventually it came tae the pynt I got a row and maybe a scud in the lug for nae deein things but I also got a row and maybe a scud in the lug for deein things. The row and the scud in the lug wiz the same for each so I decided nae tae dee things an jist teen the row or the scud in the lug. As I say that wifie wiz a complete mystery tae me and therefore so wiz the skweel.

I managed tae survive so by the age o fifteen educationally battle weary I got the icing on the cake wi ma last English teacher. She wiz a fine woman though and affa kind but sadly she hid a fixation on ‘Spoonerisms’. There wiz an Oxford Don by the name o William Archibald Spooner faa hid a strange habit o mispronouncin words. The example she gave wiz thes- Ae day at the canteen William Spooner wint in for his denner. By the time he cam tae his puddin the servant lassie came inaboot an speired at hem fit he’d like. Noo lookin ower at anither lad’s plate he pynted and said “I’ll have pigs please and stink puff.” Fit he’d meant tae say wiz “Figs please and pink stuff.” That’s the definition o a Spoonerism as far as I mine. Nae big deal ye mecht be sayin and I’d be inclined tae agree only if it wisna for thes fact that yer nae aware o. We got that lesson word for word ivvery day o oor last term at skweel apart fae a wee change noo an then fin she’d get us tae invent oor ain ‘Spoonerisms’ but wi ‘Pigs please and stink puff’ as oor guidance scripture so even the days the lesson changed we couldna get awa fae ‘Pigs please and stink puff.’ So the day I waakit oot o skweel it wiz as much o a mystery tae me as the wifie grabbin ma airm an shakin ma wiz on my first day.

I wiz a couple o months shy o fifteen fan I started my apprenticeship as a pinter so until I wiz fifteen I couldna get ontae jobs wi the ither pinters because o insurance. I wiz jist keepit in the workshop until ma birthday in August. Cleanin the workshop an ficherin wi the tins wiz fine but I wiz dyin tae get oot ontae the jobs.
Ae day my boss wiz newsin awa tae ma fan he speired at ma fit I kent. Noo fan somebody speirs at ye fit ye ken they are thinkin yer eether a gype or an eedjit, So like the gype I am I tellt him I could coont tae twinty athoot takin ma beets aff, that I kent puns unzes, steens an hunnerwechts, I kent aboot inches, feet, yards an miles and I kent aboot pints, quarts and gallons o liquids. I omitted tae tell him that I kent foo tae tell the time because the look on his face by thes time wiz gye strange. Totally misreadin his expression o horror for his bein impressed I also added as my crownin glory aboot my deep knowledge o 'Spoonerisms' and like an eedjit even tellt him aboot ‘Pigs please and stink puff. Aa thes done wi ma heedy rockin wi pride. He jist waakit awa mutterin an shakin his heed and ower the next five years the only words he ivver uttered wiz tae tell me fit tae dee or tae gie ma a row for nae deein fit he'd tell tma tae dee or for deein fit he tellt ma the wrang wye. Eether wye it wiz tatties ower the side for me.
The coorse bit o thes story is as I started my time the Government changed the goal posts an wint decimal. So then the one theng I wiz nae ower bad at wiz noo defunct. And ken thes I feenished my apprenticeship aifter five years and the hale theng wiz as muckle o a mystery as that ferst day at the skweel.

 

 

 

copyright © Patrick Hutchison

The Diary o' a feel at the Skweel (Icecold in Alex)

 

 

The skweel in the photae wiz Shand Street in Macduff and it looks affa dark an foreboding. For playin though it wiz a cracker o a place. It hid big dykes like a fort an ye could see the Hill o' Doune and the hail o Banff bey an mony's the time me an my mates steed there repellin boarders or firin oor 25 pounders at the Jerry ships as they attempted a landin in the bey. There wiz even a wee covered entrance intae the bilerhoose that acted as oor submarine an mony a time I've spent playtime bein shut doon for depth-charges. Jist a brilliant place for an active imagination. That wiz the gweed bit!

The bad bit wiz gan ower the threshold intae the skweel proper that's fan the problems started.

  Een o the very ferst things that I learned aboot skweel wiz that if ye didna ask questions ye didna get a row so very quickly at the threshold I'd close aa waterticht doors an close doon for depth-charges and only surface at playtime. Maistly that workit fine but noo an en I'd forget masel an speir something I shouldna. I'm nae gan intae ony details aboot the type o questions I'd speir but let's say they rockit the teacher's boat fyles an ended wi a row or a scud in the lug or fyles baith wi lines thrown in for a special treat. Nae big deal really because I'd jist shut doon an rin silent again for a while. That wiz until ae day the janny and thes young teacher came intae the class and it ended up wi me gan awa wi them.
 

  They teen me intae a bit o the skweel I'd nivver been inside afore that lay aneth the music room and aneth that wiz the bilerhoose. It wiz a fair size o a room wi mair or less the same fleerspace as the music room abeen but much lower. At ae corner wiz a pile o fit lookit tae me like timmer fish boxes an apart fae a puckle benches like kirk pews an a couple utility cheers there wisna onything else in the room. The janny wint tae a wee door an opened it leanin in tae switch on the lecht an steed aside tellin ma tae gang in an pull oot some bunting. I could see why I'd been chosen because wee though I wiz even I couldna staan up straacht in it. But michty it wiz an Aladdin's cave tae me stappit wi boxes o dusty cloots an ither stuff that by the looks o some o them must've eence been used for plays an sic like? The janny tellt ma faar tae look so I crawled up tae faar the coils o bunting lay an started draggin it oot amid clouds o styowe. Then! Then! Then in deein at I uncovered a pile o British army soup plate tin hats and at the side o them wiz a puckle dummy Lee Enfield 303 rifles made for bairns tae use. Grabbin een I could see that they even hid a bolt that ye could slide back an forritt an some even hid slings on them so ye could hing them fae yer shooder. Michty me fitna find! The janny lookit in an shouted if I wiz arecht that's fin he saw fit I'd found but he jist smiled an tellt ma tae leave them an get the bunting. (Later on I fun oot that he'd been a prisoner wi the Japs so maybe that's why he smiled fin he'd seen the look on my face?) Onywye I dragged aa the bunting oot an atween me, the janny an the teacher we managed tae uncoil athing. Then athing wiz shut doon an me an the janny teen the coils ootside an shook the styowe aff. I wiz covered fae heed tae fit and the teacher dusted me aff wi some paper tools an sent me back tae ma class. My ain teacher jist glowered at ma throwe lowered broos as usual nae doot takin in the styowie sotter I wiz in but I wisna carin ava the only theng in my mind wiz the soup plate tin hats an the Lee Enfield rifles. 

  I nivver tellt onybody aboot my find but keepit that een tae masel an jist fantasised aboot gettin ma haans on them. Then months later I'd a manna fae Heaven moment that came in the shape o the very teacher that I'd gotten the bunting for. She wiz lookin for fowk tae jyne her new drama class so at thes I jist started my usual shuttin doon process at the very thocht o drama. That wiz until she said the drama class wid be held in the room aneth the music room. The very room that held the tin hats an rifles!! I stoppit mid closin my waterticht doors an shot ma haan up and volunteered on the spot. My ain teacher near wint in a dwam an my mates near fell aff their seats at thes een. Onywye at thes a couple mair pupils volunteered ana. The Drama class wiz tae be held ilka Thursday efter skweel so the drama teacher gave us notes tae oor parents. My mither an father seemed pleased enough that their feel son hid jyned something at last.

  The ferst necht we were teen intae the Drama room I checked the wee treasure door but het wiz shut but I could see recht awa that the room hid been cleaned wi the fesh boxes made intae a wee stage wi twa timmer seats on tap in the center o the room. The teacher wiz young compared wi aa the rest o the teachers and hid a spark in her ee as she tellt us aboot actin. Noo afore I gang ony faarer wi the story an in the months since I'd been last in here gettin the bunting I'd seen a film caa'd 'Ice Cold in Alex' I dinna ken if ye've seen it but John Mills and Anthony Quayle end up crossin a Jerry minefield as they waakit in front o an ambulance checkin for mines. Onywye it ends up wi Anthony Quayle pittin his fit on a mine wi an ominous 'CLICK'. Noo I mind on my faither sayin as we watched the film that that wiz him a deed man. Accordin tae ma faither the ferst click wiz the mine bein armed an as seen as he teen his wecht aff the mine wid explode. Noo John Mills wint doon wi his bayonet an prodded roon aboot the mine while Anthony Quayle steed stock stell wi the sywte o terror rinnin doon his face. He wiz a deed man an fine did he ken it. Then John Mills pulled the mine oot an threw it aside sayin it wiz only an teem upside' doon bean tin. The reason I'm tellin ye thes is because aa my adventures that follae on fae here are linked tae that one shot in the film.

  Onywye the young teacher wiz really enthusiastic aboot drama an ilka time we'd gang she'd hae us deein various thengs. Some actually interestin like if yer in a group an yer in the background an ye'd tae mackie-on yer spikkin ye jist say 'A little bit o butter, a little bit o butter aneth yer breath an mak the required motions as if yer actually haein a conversation wi the person or persons in front o ye. Wiz quite impressed wi that een. The only problem though wiz the tin hats nor rifles ivver made an appearance only bein stuff aboot some lad caa'd Yorick that he kent or something like at an puckles aboot once more intae the breach. The Kingie an Queenie sat on the mock stage an we the plebes were taught foo tae grovel in their majestic presence. Didna like at bit in the least. The only 'on my knees' bit I wiz gan tae dee wiz fan I got my tin hat an Lee Enfield an use my bayonet tae get the mine fae ablow my mate's fit.

  We live in hope or so they say an ilka Thursday on enterin the drama room my een snappit tae the recht tae see if the wee door wiz open an the rifles an tin hats ready an wytin for me tae show abody foo thes actin cairry on is deen. (John Mills greet yer een oot!) But na na 'Alas poor Yorick!' an 'Breach' eence again. Noo though the teacher hid an aal fitbaa made tae look like a skull an the Royals an lairdies wore cloaks made oot o blackoot blinds. As time gid on I got mair an mair bored wi thes till ae necht we the plebeians actin as servants hid tae waak aboot cairryin aal tin trays o mackie-on mait servin oor betters. I stell get cringe factor ten at thes memory. For some reason I stell canna explain I waakit inaboot tae the fish box stage an started servin them oot o ma tray wi custard pies fair in the physog. Abody wiz millin aboot grovelin an bowin at thes pynt until the teacher shouted for abody tae "STOP!" Abody did thes an there wiz total silence apart fae some fidgitin. The teacher said in an angry voice "Some of us are not taking this seriously?" I kent in that instant that I'd become 'US' an wiz transported intae the plural an seconds later her een tracked roon the room an landed on muggins now 'US'. Her angry eyes were tae me like lookin up the twa barrels o 15 inch cruiser guns and I kent in that instant I wiz gan tae be blasted worse than ivver staanin on a mine in the Libyan desert could dee. But the only theng that did happen wiz her pyntin tae the door sayin loudly "Go away!" So I did. An wi ma heedy fair hingin I left as ordered. Some sniggers follaet ma oot the door. The heedy wisna hingin because I wiz shamed in front o fowk but because I'd nivver noo get ma haans on the tin hats an Lee Enfields. An ken thes I nivver did! An that stell rankles even efter mair than saxty years.

 

copyright © Sanners Gow