{"id":9379,"date":"2016-07-14T14:00:30","date_gmt":"2016-07-14T13:00:30","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/etims.net\/?p=9379"},"modified":"2016-07-14T10:20:23","modified_gmt":"2016-07-14T09:20:23","slug":"a-wee-story-to-cheer-you-up-by-tom-campbell","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/etims.net\/?p=9379","title":{"rendered":"&#8220;A Wee Story To Cheer You Up &#8221; by Tom Campbell"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10181\" class=\"body undoreset\" tabindex=\"0\">\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10186\" class=\"email-wrapped\">\n<div id=\"yiv2090085892\">\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10185\">\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10184\" dir=\"ltr\">\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10183\" dir=\"ltr\">\n<div dir=\"ltr\"><em>I like to look at this website in the same way as I look at our own CSC here in Stoke. a bunch of people from varying backgrounds, of varying ages with one thing in common.\u00a0<\/em><\/div>\n<div dir=\"ltr\"><\/div>\n<div dir=\"ltr\"><em>Celtic.\u00a0<\/em><\/div>\n<div dir=\"ltr\"><\/div>\n<div dir=\"ltr\"><em>Like every good CSC, this site has its senior memeber, who tells a great story&#8230;&#8230;<\/em><\/div>\n<div dir=\"ltr\"><\/div>\n<div dir=\"ltr\"><strong><em>Tom Campbell<\/em><\/strong><\/div>\n<div dir=\"ltr\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10182\" dir=\"ltr\"><span style=\"color: #000000;\">Old farts wander a bit in their dotage, and old writers recall past anecdotes; so, bear with me as I indulge myself with anecdotage.<\/span><\/p>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10193\" style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10195\" style=\"color: #000000;\">My dad, a very quiet man, used to take me to Celtic Park every other Saturday and, almost invariably, we were accompanied by my cousin, another Tommy, who lived at the far end of our street in Cardonald. \u00a0The ritual was unvarying: \u00a0we would walk down Ladykirk Drive, and reach Tommy&#8217;s house; a brief nod from my dad and Tommy was out the door like a shot \u2026 Nothing needed to be said; Tommy was included, his tram-fare (about two-pence) and his Boys&#8217; Gate (about seven pence) and the return tram-fare would be taken care of. \u00a0As always, we went in at the Rangers&#8217; End and at half-time &#8211; probably to the chagrin of my dad &#8211; we would make our way through the Jungle to the Celtic End. \u00a0I seem to remember there were three well-defined &#8216;trails&#8217; through it that opened up at half-time. \u00a0Remember that scene in &#8216;Jurassic Park&#8217; (when the raptors raced, unseen by their victims, through the long grass towards them? \u00a0Well, that was what hundreds of wee boys did in the 1950s, as they burrowed their way through to the Celtic End.<\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10201\" style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10203\" style=\"color: #000000;\">But this other story, and I&#8217;ve been assured of its truth, took place some years later.<\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10205\" style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10207\" style=\"color: #000000;\">Tommy got married to Nan, and managed to find a flat in Govan, a second-floor flat on Harmony Row. \u00a0Tommy was still a fanatical Celt but Nan was a bit more cautious about things, especially living in Govan and not too far from Ibrox Park. \u00a0Their neighbours were friendly and a week or so after moving in, Nan got a chap on the door from Mrs Watters downstairs, and invited her in. \u00a0It was a pleasant enough visit, Mrs Watters a decent-enough Glasgow wifie, but eventually she got round to the point of the visit:<\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10209\" style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10211\" style=\"color: #000000;\">&#8220;I hope you don&#8217;t think I&#8217;m nosey, but I notice you go to the chapel on Sundays. \u00a0That&#8217;s fine with me, hen, but I have to tell you about my man, William\u2026&#8221;<\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10213\" style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10215\" style=\"color: #000000;\">Nan nodded wearily, but wee Mrs Watters surprised her.<\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10217\" style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10219\" style=\"color: #000000;\">&#8220;He&#8217;s a real fanatic about Rangers, and he he works at Fairfields yard. \u00a0He&#8217;s no a bad wee man but I need to tell you about Friday nights. \u00a0That&#8217;s when he gets paid, and he likes to have a couple of pints on the way home\u2026&#8221;<\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\">\u00a0Mrs Watters shook her head, and continued, &#8220;He&#8217;s never had a head fror the drink, and he gets tipsy awful easy. \u00a0When he gets in the close, and you know how there&#8217;s an echo there, he likes to sing. \u00a0I think he fancies himself as another Mario Lanza sometimes \u2026&#8221;<\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\">Another sigh from Mrs Watters, an apologetic shrug of the shoulders, and she went on, &#8220;He likes to sing his Rangers&#8217; songs &#8212; &#8216;Follow, follow \u2026&#8217; and even &#8216;The Sash&#8217;. \u00a0You can hear him for miles with the echo in the close.&#8221;<\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\">Mrs Watters at last reached the point: &#8220;He&#8217;s no&#8217; a bad wee man, he wouldnae harm a fly and he doesn&#8217;t mean any harm \u2026 and he doesn&#8217;t do this to offend you in any way. \u00a0I let him sing his daft wee songs for a couple of minutes, then I open the door, pull him in, give him his tea, and shove him into bed. \u00a0I assure you he&#8217;s not trying to offend you, or trying to make you feel unwelcome\u2026&#8221;<\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\">***<\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\">A couple of months later, in November when the dark came in early, Nan was busy getting Tommy&#8217;s tea ready but she was a bit uneasy. \u00a0Several times she had had the feeling that she was being watched through the kitchen window by somebody in the back-court. \u00a0At last she got a couple of glimpses of somebody lurking on the top of the air-raid shelters, somebody too big to be a wee boy.<\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\">Tommy eventually came in from work, and Nan told him about her suspicions (but without making a scene or looking out the window). \u00a0Tommy was equal casual, at least on the surface: \u00a0&#8220;A Peepin&#8217; Tom, eh? \u00a0Well, I&#8217;ll fix him.&#8221;<\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\">And, as casually as possible, without a glance at the window, he wandered towards the kitchen door, shutting it behind him. \u00a0In those days, coal was delivered into the house and the coal-cellar was located in the lobby. \u00a0Tommy rummaged in it for the axe, used to break up larger lumps of coal, found it, and started to race down the stairs \u2026<\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\">It was a Friday night \u2026<\/div>\n<div style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10245\" style=\"color: #000000;\">and William Watters had reached the bottom of the stairs, just outside his door. \u00a0He halted, adjusted himself and was preparing to start his weekly concert; \u00a0Tommy and Nan both agree it was &#8216;The Sash&#8217;, but one line into his anthem Willie looked up to \u00a0Tommy McGeachen (a Catholic who went to chapel in Govan, a Celtic supporter, a red-headed Irishman (and probably a Fenian), racing down the stairs towards him, fire in his eyes and an axe in his hand\u2026<\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10243\" style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10241\" style=\"color: #000000;\">Slowly he sank to his knees, took off his bunnet, bowed his head \u2026 and awaited his fate. \u00a0Terror had loosened his tongue too: \u00a0&#8220;Thomas, I&#8217;ve said it before &#8211; and I&#8217;ll say it again: \u00a0I&#8217;ve never said a bad word about the \u00a0Pope, a good man, and by all accounts a fine Italian gentleman\u2026&#8221;<\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10239\" style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10237\" style=\"color: #000000;\">Tommy, however, raced past him, and out the back of the close. \u00a0He was just too late; the Peeping Tom, alerted by the commotion, had scampered away \u2026 and so Tommy returned, a shade disappointed, to see a pathetic sight: \u00a0wee William Watters still knelt there, bare-head bowed, eyes shut and mumbling largely to himself, Mrs Watters stood at the door of her flat, shaking her head, Nan at the top of the stairs, worrying about Tommy&#8217;s pursuit of the intruder, and a bit concerned about Mr Watters&#8217; embarrassment \u2026<\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10235\" style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10233\" style=\"color: #000000;\">The sequel? \u00a0Well, there were no more Peeping Tom incidents, and wee William Watters retired from singing in his close on a Friday night. \u00a0Peace reigned in Harmony Row.<\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10231\" style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10229\" style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<div id=\"yui_3_16_0_1_1468481295997_10227\" style=\"color: #000000;\"><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>I like to look at this website in the same way as I look at our own CSC here in Stoke. a bunch of people&hellip;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":9380,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[],"tags":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/etims.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/050959763c297e946878a24662f9b00174dde8-wm.jpg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p2J7If-2rh","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9379"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9379"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9379\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9381,"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9379\/revisions\/9381"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/9380"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9379"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9379"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9379"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}