I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my dad and mum and immortality. Today is the 31st anniversary of his death and I can still remember it all quite vividly- why do people have to die in the bleak mid winter ?. I’ll never forget my uncle Allan’s funeral – it was on a beautiful May morning- that’s when people should die and get buried- in summer. The people who were there will remember it as a great day – a celebration of a life lived rather than a mourning of a life passed. My dad’s was horrible – a bleak, horrible winters day- Bunty wearing a dress that would have been more at home at a party in Ibiza in July than a funeral in Mid Calder in January. I remember thinking, leaving the house, ‘this is just the beginning- it can only get worse’ and , by Fuck, I was right. Seeing someone else’s coffin going into the plot where your father should be going isn’t very nice. I have never, in the past or, do now, in the present, or ever will, in the future, believe in God or Heaven or the resurrection- one of the reasons being that if Scud senior had known that someone with a very Irish Catholic surname was dropped into his plot instead of him he would’ve kicked up the awfyest fuck with God. In my book collection I have a history of Celtic, a Jock Stein biography, a Jimmy Johnstone [ who is the closest Celtic or any club or Country have had to God ] biography, a Michael Collins biography, a history of Catholicism and a history of Ireland. I also have a Crucifix and Rosary Beads which were blessed at Lourdes and given to me by a wonderful human being who is a practising Catholic. If Scud senior, or Auld, Auld Scud knew I had any of that in my house they would be floating down from heaven every night haunting the shit out of me – but they don’t – that’s why I know all that afterlife stuff is just shite and nonsense. I think that the bottom line was my dad never hated Catholics – he just hated the Catholic who was shaggin’ Bunty behind his back, until he found out and battered him. He was a crabbit, selfish auld C–t and I thought I hated him – but I didny – he just pissed me off a lot of the time. Linda was his ally, Chris and Davy intimidated him because they could tell him how it was – they could see the big picture – I couldn’t -maybe he was the same because all we ever did was shout and swear at each other- Chris and Davy could hurt him with words and truth that Mike Tyson or Rocky Marciano couldn’t have hurt him with a punch. I remember Bunty telling me that they were discussing his not being here One day – he told her that he wouldn’t worry about Linda because she was sorted with Nick and everything would be fine -he got that right – rave on Andrew Maltman. You would’ve got all the love and affection that Chris, Davy and I should’ve got but I genuinely believe that if Scud senior had lived to see wee Malty the family would’ve changed in a positive way. Anyway, getting back to what he told Bunty – he said that he never worried about Chris or Dave because he knew that they would be fine but he said ‘ what’s ‘that laddie’ gaunny dae when I’m no’ here’. I love him for saying that and I know where he was coming from and Auld Bunt told him not to worry because everyone has their own survival kit. Whether that put his mind at ease or not I’ll never know but what I know is that there’s been an awfy void in my life for the past 31 years’. I could go on forever about when he was a knob – but I think Scud and Bunty- thanks for producing Linda, Chris and Davy B – who at various stages of my life have made me aware of Jimmy Page, James Taylor, Steely Dan, Genesis, Bob Dylan, Bob Seeger, Love, Horse, Heart, Nanci Griffiths, Lily, laughing Lady, and Santana. What a dull, dull world it would’ve been without Carlos and Man Utd . The photos are of my Granny and Granda Broon in their late 70’s, my Granny and Granda Jenkinson in the 20’s on their wedding day, My uncle Allans farewell treat and Bunty, when she was wee – whatever looks we got, that’s where they came from.
Reflections on Scud seniors anniversary -21,1 16
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