Ah thought, on the Ninety Eighth anniversary of his birth, ah wid write a wee bit aboot ma Faither, Scud. Ma earliest memory of him is of gettin’ a good night kiss from him when ah was a wee boy and his stubbly face against ma face. Auld Bunt was in Hospital, ah, think, or she might’ve been away fae the hoose at the time. When ma dad died ah found a letter that Bunty had sent him when ah was aboot Three or Four askin’ tae come back, so it might’ve been around then. Another memory of Scud is when ah had a pee next tae him and noticed that he had hairs on his willie and ah didny. Widny have minded sae much but ah was Twenty One at the time. Another memory is of bein’ separated fae him for the first time- at a Pumphy Juniors match. Ah freaked oot because ah couldny find ma faither and for what was probably only Seconds ah was a distressed wee boy. Then oot the Blue ah saw the happy, cheery face of Chappie, ma Dads cousin and best pal callin’ oot ‘got him Scud’. There were plenty of occassions efter that in the future where ma faither never forgave Chappie for findin’ me, but that’s for another time. In the late Sixties or early Seventies he had a Ford Consul and he was always takin’ Davy and and I and aboot Five or six pals doon tae the River Almond or the Murieston Water tae guddle for Fish or build rafts – honestly, Three decent sized logs and some rope and he turned intae Scud Hyerdahl. He used tae take Davy and I and Ben the Dug up tae the wids that are noo Knighsridge and Ladywell and climb the Chestnut Trees and shake F–k oot the branches so that the ‘Chessies’ wid aw fa’ doon. He wid get Davy and I Train sets and Skalextric and Air rifles and rubber Dinghys- because he wanted a shot of them tae. He was good on the Dinghy, though, like a Duck tae water, unlike Davy an I who were really good at goin’ roond in circles. That wid’ve been his Navy Genes. He was on a Minesweeper durin’ the Second World War[ a Telegraphist- dot dash, doo, aw that] and ended up at ‘Flowerdown- the cousin of Bletchley park, where they decoded aw that German stuff. He was demobbed Six Months after the war ended on account of havin tae copy Russian morse code at the beginnin’ of the cold war. He did tell me that he sat beside a woman who, whenever she had her period everybody at Flowerdown[and Moscow] knew aboot it. He also told me a great story about a Woman who he met up wi’ on shore leave at Portsmouth. He told me they’d have a cuppy Tea, then go away for a shag and no’ really say much to each other. Ah remember thinkin’ at the time ‘How good is that?. Anyway he never told me any of the really dirty stuff but he did tell Matt Laird and Davy Kane. So, ye’ll have tae ask them. Ah also remember the first time he caught me in ma bed wi’ a Lassie. Ah was a bit drunk, she was a bit drunk, and her pal was conked oot on the flair, drunk. Anyway, auld Scud came back fae the Bowly mare pished than us aw pit thegither and as ah was under the covers wi’ the lassie he stuck hs heid in the room, put the light on and said ‘Jesus Christ, it’s awrite for some. Ah think he was just relieved that ah wisny gay because back then ah was Shite when it came tae women. Another time ah remember quite vividly was when he came back and told me that he’d just got his’ Nat King Cole’ wi a younger woman. Bunty was away at time for the Tenth time. ,,,,,, Ah remember gettin’ older and oor relatioship sort of deteriorated. The sad thing was that we were gettin’ on great not long before he died [ he might’ve known that he was dyin’ but ah certainly didny]. Then there was that horrible day in January when he was buried. More Tomorrow.
A voyage roond ma Faither
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Sir, we write to congratulate you on your recent post regarding your father who seems to have been an all round good, if somewhat randy, chap. We see this positivity as a welcome contrast to your infernal navel gazing. However, as representatives of the S.T.O.S.(save the apostrophe society,) we are compelled to draw your attention to a previous post where the flagrant lack of our revered apostrophe almost tilted the earth on its (note correct lack of apostrophe) axis, We refer of course to Enoughs Enough. ENOUGHS E-FUCKIN’-NOUGH. What kind of punctuation facist are you? It’s (note correct use of apostrophe) ENOUGH-FUCKIN’ APOSTROPHE-S ENOUGH. I, Peter Bastard (chairman of S.T.O.S.) and my brother, Richard Bastard (treasurer) hope this matter is now closed.
Ped and Dick Bastard.
Dear Peter, your recent communication, was gratefully received and your disparaging remarks regarding my Apostrophe catastrophies were extremely hurtful but, alas, too true, so, you’ve got me there ya C–t. I must confess that punctuation was never one of my strong points- I can remember my Four years of being taught how to speak and write the foreign [ in my view, at least] language, which is English, at WCHS by the oft mentioned [ by Dunc and I during our high School reminiscing] and lovely Miss McAthie. To go from the age of Twelve to the age of Sixteen years old being taught English by the aforementioned lovely Miss McAthie was a joy. Indeed, like Adso, as I write these lines, an old man with thinning hair wearing spectacles, of all the faces that that I see from my past, her face and my Primary Three teacher at Pumphy, Mrs Gillespie’ are the faces that shine brighter than all the others in my Eleven years of schooling. Forgive my ramblings, please. Before signing off could I ask for some clarification regarding the Organisation you claim to represent[ my father would have likened you to ‘ a shower of Hoors and comic singers’] but I will remain civil and ask this – you claim to be the S.T.O.S [ save the apostrophe society] which would be S.A.S, to my mind. Could you explain this errant O please. I shall await your reply in anticipation. PS , I get the impression that your overall feeling is ‘ The C–t half gets what he is trying to say but is not so good at conveying it.
Sir, in reply to your reply, we will endeavour to explain the obvious, but correctly punctuated, mistake in our previous missive. Our original name for our organisation was Save our Apostrophe Society ( S.O.A.S.) This was then changed to Save the Apostrophe Society (S.T.A.S.) As you so eloquently pointed out, we somehow managed to not know the name of our own society and for this, we most humbly apologise. Although coming from someone who frequently doesn’t know what day it is, we do feel rather aggrieved. In an attempt to explain, we would draw your attention to the time the original missive was sent ; 2.25 a.m. There is a possibility, however slim, that both of us may have partaken of a small dry sherry. Although we both strive to remain abstainers, we are, but human. As further clarification, regarding “Hoors and Comic singers.” N.B. Quotation marks not your repeated misuse of our beloved apostrophe. Richard is a whore and I am a comic singer. We view these as honest ( and economically rewarding ) professions. Finally, if you truly believe you “half get” what you’re trying to say, we fear you are either overly optimistic or deluded.
Ped and Dick Bastard.
ps If you wish to join S.T.A.S., the cost of enrolment is one bottle of Ardbeg’s finest. Which, as abstainers, we will donate to local, and very deserving, charity.