Billy or a Dan, or an Old Tin Can

Paul Kelly

Description

This fantastic new eBook from well-known author Paul Kelly will make an excellent addition to any fiction-lover's digital shelf. Featuring strong characters and plots which draws you into Kelly's worlds, reviewers have been recommending his titles for years. This latest addition to his catalogue of successes is sure to be another winner.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 27 mars 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781781661710
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Title Page
A BILLY OR A DAN, OR AN OLD TIN CAN
By
Paul Kelly




Publisher Information
A Billy Or A Dan, Or An Old Tin Can
published in 2012
By Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Paul Kelly 2012
The right of Paul Kelly to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.




Foreword
‘Are You A Billy Or A Dan Or An Old Tin Can?’
That was the battle cry of the school children in the pre-war Gorbals district of Glasgow in the years between the two Great Wars and this is the story of one such family from that district and in that era. It depicts the close blood-bonds between its members, despite the poverty, the adversity and the apathetic conditions under which many of these people lived. It also displays warmth of love ...fidelity and loyalty with a sensual innocence that is almost perversely crude in its telling. There were no airs and graces, with these people. A spade was a spade, although there were many who would prefer to call it a bloody shovel.
MARY BLAIR , the mother, was a sensible, down-to-earth, matter of fact woman, who loved her five children with the protection and jealous care of a mother hen. She was a widow, having lost her husband Willie in a coal-mining accident, when her family were small.
AGGIE , the eldest daughter, yearned for nothing more than to give her young life to God and serve Him in the confines of an enclosed order of nuns.
SADIE was a tempestuous creature that loved life and wanted only the best it could offer.
CHARLIE handsome, blonde, blue eyed Charlie was basically a very normal young man who wanted to live and let live and marry the sweetheart of his dreams; a young Jewish girl called RACHAEL An evacuee from the London blitz, who came, with her younger brother NATHAN , to stay with their grandmother, MRS. HARRIS in Glasgow for the duration of the 1939-45 War.
MEGGIE was Charlie’s twin, with much the same character that Charlie had, but her destiny led her away from the family and from her native land of Scotland.
WILLIE , the youngest and the namesake of his father, because of the striking resemblance that Mary Blair saw in her son at birth to her dear departed husband and who indeed grew up to be his very double. His passion for life, embraced his whole family with an ardour and devotion that was quite rare for a young man of his generation, since he was born in the 1920s. Willie’s particular love was for his older brother Charlie and for Charlie’s girlfriend ... a love that brought about a conflict of loyalties that dragged him through sorrow and heartache from his schooldays, until after Charlie’s death, when he left his beloved Scotland to begin a new life; a fresh start, devoid of his painful memories, in England’s capital.
For if you were a Protestant, you were a Billy ... If you were a Catholic, you were a Dan and if you were neither a Protestant nor a Catholic you were an Old Tin Can. It was as simple as that ...
***
‘This is not particularly a love story, but it is a story of a particular love.’



Chapter One
The summer holidays were over and Willie kicked his hand-made football, a concoction of damp newspapers held together with a strong elastic band, along the dusty streets as he made his weary and reluctant way to the new school. The ball was disintegrating by the moment, but he didn’t care as he eyed it suspiciously, wondering how long he could make it last.
“Oh! Damn it,” he exclaimed as he suddenly turned to retrace his steps to the tenement building where he lived, “I’d forget ma bloody heed, if it wasn’t screwed on, I would.”
Sadie opened the front door, leading to the stale smelling landing, where drunks and layabouts urinated at random and the smell of the mixture of carbolic and urine, hit you as you went up the stairs. She had seen him coming from the first floor landing kitchen window.
“Well what have you forgotten this time?” she asked, shaking her head in an aloof fashion as if she never could forget anything herself. Sadie always regarded herself as something of a lady; a person who would go far in the world, now that she had left school with her Higher Leaving Certificate and her silk stockings her first pair and a fresh new box of Max Factor in her vanity case; a present from Aggie ... one that the nuns had given her but that she didn’t want.
“Ma piece I’ve forgotten ma piece,” announced Willie in resignation of the look that Sadie gave him as he pushed past her into the kitchen, with an air of self-righteousness. “It’s no a crime to forget anything, is it?” he added and grabbed the brown paper bag, lying where he had left it earlier that morning, on the kitchen worktop.
Willie was quite happy to be attending the new Secondary School as he had never really settled at St. Luke’s Junior, but his happiness sprang from the maturity that he felt in being a senior boy a young man in the making. A youth with the world as his oyster well, that’s what Mr. Hammond had told him on his last day at St. Luke’s and Mr. Hammond was usually very clever about things like that, especially when he stared at you with that all-knowing, omnipotent look, that Willie had come to know so well, but his dream his BIG DREAM, was of the day when he would leave school altogether and get a job and be independent... Well, so he thought.
Some of Willie’s pals from his old school had already gathered in the playground, awaiting assembly, when he arrived late, because he had to go back home for his piece, of course.
“You got a new blazer, Willie?” asked Wattie, his friend since they started school together when they were both five, as he wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“Naw, it’s Charlie’s. He’s leaving next month,”
Wattie looked around to see if any new blazers were being sported but most of the year’s intake had elder brothers and the hand-me-downs were in obvious appearance. He sighed wearily and sniffed.
“Well, I’ve got ma big brother’s breeks as well,” he added and Willie laughed.
“I can see you’ll have to stuff a cushion there, up yer airse, Wattie for the next year or two anyway and then they might fit you.” Willie joked and grinned at his other friends.
“Och! Its nae joke,” said Wattie, trying to pull the seat of his trousers closer to his anatomy, knowing only too well, that his older brother was much larger than he was.
“I’ve got Corporation boots,” chimed Ackie, shuffling across towards Willie, with a peculiar dance-like movement,
“Socks as well, ah can see,” observed Willie and Wattie looked closer at Ackie with a gleam of envy in his eyes..
“Wish ah could have Corporation boots, ah do,” he proclaimed as he stared in admiration at his friend and sighed wearily as he wiped his nose on his sleeve again.
James Watts stood approximately four foot three inches tall, or short, however you wanted to look at him and he wore long shorts or short longs again, however you wanted to observe him but no one ever debated that point. It was just an accepted fact. Wattie was just wee ... He always had sore eyes, which were constantly red which resulted in him having to constantly wear glasses, which in turn earned him the name of ‘four eyes’ and to make matters worse .the spectacles were pebble glass ones, that made Wattie look like a Japanese Corporal according to his friend Ackie. His hair was cropped with only a tuft hanging over his forehead and he had a permanent jewel hanging from the end of his nose.
Craigie stood quietly observing the other boys as they chatted away together, aware that his stutter embarrassed him and that he had difficulty in keeping up in the conversation. He envied Wattie in a quiet and simple way ... even the hard gloss of his left hand sleeve.
The four friends stood together, waiting for the sound of the bell that would initiate them into the senior school, where everyone had to wear a uniform and where you would be given all the necessary preparations for adult life if only you listened to the University gowned Masters, who knew it all.
Willie was the youngest member of a handsome family of five. His dark brown, almost black hair and fair skin, accentuated by his super thick dark eyelashes, set off his cobalt blue eyes and he was beginning to show a stubble to prove that he had arrived at that age when he was conscious of the fairer sex and the fairer sex were certainly not without noticing him.
“That’s a nice wee bit o’ stuff over there,” he observed with a knowing look in his eye and his friend Wattie turned to peer at the noticeable lady, straining with his near sighted vision, through his thick glasses. Moira McKenzie had red hair and was well endowed with a more than ample figure, for all of her thirteen years. Her gymslip hugged her body tightly as she walked and her shoes creaked. She had seen Willie looking at her and had started to tap dance nervously where she stood.
“I think she wants tae go a place wi’ awe that fidgetin’ Willie doesn’t she?” Wattie asked, but Willie did not hear what he said as he kept his eyes on Moira McKenzie. He kept looking and she kept dancing.
The bell sounded at the entrance to the large gymnasium and the pupils gathered noisily for the allocation of classes, as the first