Wild Soup – The life and times of Scud Broon

The Maternity Ward in Bangour General Hospital is where ma story began after poppin’ oot in tae the world. In the next bed to ma mum, Bunty, was Mrs Wilson[ Trudy] with her new edition to the Family, Jim, who remains to this day, one of ma best pals, even though he slags Hibs off on the Pusbook at every opportunity. In the intervenin’ Fifty Seven years, Jim has gone on to make something of his life, marryin’ his lovely Marion,havin’ kids and Grand kids and,ultimately settin’ this Website up for me because he’s awfy guid at this sort of thing. As for me, ah discovered Marijuana at Fifteen and ah’ve , unfortunately, never really had the time or inclination to discover anything else since then. Anyway, in the beginnin’. Ah think it was tough goin’ when ah was aboot Three or Four- Chris and Linda were Six and Eight and a half years aulder than me, so they knew better. Davy, Two years aulder than me, and I, were too young to comprehend what was goin’ on, but we had a Grand stand seat at the front when the Battle of the Somme began not long after. Ah remember as a wee boy the odd wee thing that belonged to Andrew scattered around the hoose, a shoe or a Schoolbook or a childrens book. Davy and I never saw Andrew, he was killed in a tragic childhood accident in the May of 1959, but he was never far away, be it in conversation or the few mementoes that survived him. Ah played at the same spot where he was killed and probably walked past one of the wagons the accident happened on. Ah wid go walkin’ wi’ ma uncle Allan and sometimes we’d pass the place where it happened and he wid always say ‘That’s where yer brother was killed’ and we’d be silent as we walked past and he wid sometimes get the hanky oot and blaw his nose, knowin full well that ah knew he was just havin’ a wee ‘Andrew moment’. Bunty hated Davy and I playin’ by the Bings and wid always say that she couldn’t have coped wi’ another tragedy. Two in a week for any parent is more than enough for a lifetime and that’s what Bunty and Scud had to cope wi’ in what must’ve been a shatterin and devastatin’ week in late April, early May of that year. Andrew was killed on the Saturday, Five days after Bunty had given birth to a stillborn child. so, as ye can imagine it widny’ve been a bundle of laughs in the hoose that week. So, aw that was just a part of the ingredients that were to end up in the wild soup that was no.6 Harrysmuir North.

The land of lost content.

Into my heart an air that kills, from yon far country blows/what are those blue remembered hills, what spires what farms are those/that is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain/the happy highways where I went and cannot come again. That was from ‘A Shropshire lad’ by A E Houseman and it’s probably ma favourite poem.  It makes me think of days gone by and Childhood memories and sunny days and the branches of the Trees and the Barley swayin’ in the breeze. Ah canny speak for any other wee Shale mining Village but Pumphy had it’s fair share of what wid be called learnin’ disability folk, these days. Ah can remember the ‘Big Yelly van’ comin’ intae Pumphy= it wid be hard no’ tae remember it because it took aboot Two Oors for it tae pick up the folk in Harrysmuir alone. When the Bus came intae the scheme there was the driver and maybe Popeye the Sailor man behind him wavin’ tae everybody- by the time the bus got oot the scheme it looked like one of those Indian trains wi’ folk sittin’ on the roof and hingin’oan for dear life. That’s why they never got oot the bit– by the time the bus left Pumphy the special school was shut and they learned F–k all. In the wee scheme ah lived in there were a lot of families who never married but aw lived in the same Hoose, no’ the same Hoose, obviously. In the block of Four tae oor left there was a brother and Two sisters [ one of the sisters got on the Yelly bus] and next door upstair there was a mother and Four grown up sons [ the mother should’ve been on the Yelly van]. Next door tae us downstair there were Two brothers, the Whaler and Jimmy the Ghost [ who fertilised their Rhubarb wi’ their ain Shite. Ma mother used tae get Rhubarb from him until he told her what was makin’ it grow. Across the road fae us there were an old brother and Three sisters who all lived together, The man had a beautiful garden and one of the sisters wid be on her knees scrubbin’ the front door steps once a week. She reminded me of the auld wumman in Trumpton wi’ aw the Dugs and none of them got on the Yelly van. Next along fae them, Three brothers shared a Hoose, one of them had a Shotgun, one could possibly have been the only Gay in the Village when ah was  growin’ up and the other liked a bevvy tae the extent that he ran the Fitba’ team and the Fitba’ club almost single handedly intae the ground. Opposite them a sister and Two brothers lived in the same Hoose. That wasn’t even a quarter of the way round the scheme.


On a serious note

Ah was thinkin’ aboot Alf Garnett and how attitudes have changed over the course of my lifetime and how these days it’s like a case of ‘Ye said ‘Turqouise’ on  a Saaturday’ ? have ye no’ shame?, d’ye realise yer gaunny upset the ‘Keep Saturday free of Turqouise brigade[ even though there are only Three of them], so, ah was thinkin’, and ah’ll try and put this as’Sucksickly’ as ah can, that ‘commentators’ say that the joke was on Alf Garnett as he was the racist and bigot and the character was highlightin’ a man who was a C–t, basically. Noo, that was a very popular show and ah’m quite sure a large percentage of it’s viewers thought he was great. Ah feel like Baldrick tryin’ tae get a point across, here,. So, if ye were actin’ like Alf Garnett these days, ye’d be in trouble and probably get arrested and fined, if no’ the Jile so, if yer gaunny be a C–t like Alf, or worse, even, the Holy Wullie of C–ts, a shining light of C–tery for a’ thy flock in C–tendom, ye’ll be quite rightly condemned. So, imagine a despicable extreme right wing Nazi bigot in a book. The author could, ah’m sure, go tae toon wi’ a character like that- imagine a mix of Joe Pesci’s character fae ‘Goodfellas, the evil wee Nazi fae ‘Inglorious Basterds’ and an awfy C–t- would the portrayal of the character in itself no’ be offensive ?. Ah know what ah’m tryin’ tae say here but ah’m struggling-‘ ie, it’s ok to write whatever ye want through a character in a book or film tae highlight the despicableness [ah think ah just invented that word ] but anyone actin’ like that in public wid get their erse kicked. Anyway ah had a Fucker of a Heid ache aboot Half an oor ago, so ah took an Amatrampoline and it’s gone noo.Amazin’. Ah got a pair of Glesses off the Admiral and after Two or Three Sudokus ma heid was sare and ah think the Glesses might have been a contributin’ factor tae the sare heid..


The noisy anti social C–ts fae next door are away noo, which is good news for me but bad news for the poor Bastard who gets lumbered wi them next. Ah hope they develop a Heroin habit and die horribly and miserably in a stairwell. As long as it’s no’ in ma stairwell ah couldny give a Fuck. There were obvious underlyin’ issues wi’ them,- a Polis woman told me as much on one of their myriad visits next door. If they got shagged by their Faither or uncle or Babysitter when they were wee that’s tragic and the people responsible should be shot – but it doesny gie them a license tae be a C–t when they’re aulder. ah was lucky, ma Faither never shagged me [ no’ when he was sober, at least], and ah had one uncle who ah became awfy close tae in the latter part of his life, and ah miss him, and he never tried tae shag me – he was too busy tryin’ tae shag anything in Pumphy who was over Seventy and up for a shag, horny auld Bugger. Ah stayed wi’ ma Uncle Allan for a few months until ah got sorted at the ‘Big Brother’ Hoose in Pumphy. No’ ma ‘Big Brother, Davy, but the Hoose that Boabby didny build but he did convert inta a Letty oot accommodation place. One mornin’ at Allans ah’d  just finished a night shift at B and Q and nipped in for ma breakfast. Ah was at Hamo’s before ah moved intae Allans- ah’d forgot aboot that. Anyway, ah got intae Allans and a noticed he had what could only be described as the softest of soft porn on the Telly. Scantily clad beauties walkin’ aboot in Rachel Welch, cave women claes.  Ah said to him that fae where ah was sittin’ that didny look like TV AM on the Telly. He replied that he ‘liked the hoarny Picters’ and ah told him that ah had a couple of better yins than that at Hamo’s. Then he said ‘Wi real Shaggin’ ?, and ah said ‘Aye’, then he said ‘D’ye see the wummans fanny’s ?, and ah said ‘Aye’. Ya cunt ye, he couldny get me oot the Hoose quick enough. He lived at no 7 and he said ‘away up tae Hammy’s and get them and ahh’ll pit an extry biled egg on for ye, and pit them in a bag and dinny let any C–t see what ye’ve got’. Hamo lived at no 31, so ah was back in nae time and handed him the DVD’s. A couple of days later ah was wisny workin’ and was away oot. When ah got back tae Allans he quickly ushered me in and told me tae lock the door behind me.When ah turned tae go into the livin’ room ah noticed that there was a ‘ hoarny picter’ on the Telly and ah thought fine, then when ah walked intae the livin’ room Three of his pals were sittin’ wi’ a Whisky watchin’ it. So that was the beginnin’ of the over 75’s Hoarny Picter night in Pumphy.  Anyway, as ah was sayin, ah never got shagged by ma uncle and ah feel desperately sorry for people who suffered abuse when they were wee, but it shouldny make ye think ye can take the piss oot everybody.