\n
Tom has been reminiscing again, and shares those memories with us.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n \n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It was pointed out to me recently that none of my friends are Rangers\u2019 supporters, and I sat up all night pondering \u2026 until it dawned on me that I had had only one close friend who could be described as \u2018a Hun\u2019.\u00a0 All my other friends are Celtic supporters, or have very little, if any, interest in football.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Perhaps we should start with the Ugly.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I was having a quiet beer in a bar in Ottawa and reasonably pleased with life.\u00a0\u00a0I had graduated fro Carleton University a year ago and had started teaching and was enjoying it.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Canadian beer may be different from Scottish but one consequence remains constant \u2013 the visit to the toilet.\u00a0\u00a0I was engaged at the urinal, concentrating on the business in hand when I became aware that the man next one along appeared to be studying me.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I had already noticed him, sitting alone at the bar: a big bruiser, a solitary drinker and exuding hostility \u2026 a hockey player perhaps and definitely not a man to be crossed.\u00a0\u00a0Even in the dimly lit bar, I could see he was ugly, literally ugly: stuck-out ears that should have been corrected by surgery years ago in childhood, unruly spiky hair wetted down in an unsuccessful attempt to tame it, a face still pitted with the scars of teenage acne, and a scowl that did little to improve the overall image.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Our eyes met, unfortunately, and locked for a second.\u00a0\u00a0He spoke, a low growl and unmistakeably Scottish: \u201cAh know you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I shrugged, and tried my best Canadian accent: \u201cI don\u2019t think so.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNaw, you come fae Cardonald.\u00a0\u00a0Ah know that.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I thought about denying it, but had to acknowledge the fact.\u00a0\u00a0And he continued, \u201cMe, tae.\u00a0\u00a0That wus where Ah saw ye.\u00a0\u00a0Aye, Cardonald.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I ransacked my brains, but could not place him; at least, hostile as he appeared, I could not remember owing him money, or seducing his sister\u2026 Safe so far.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He made no move to leave\u00a0<\/span>to leave the toilet and watched, almost sneering, as I started to wash my hands and commented: \u201cAh doant dae that.\u00a0\u00a0Dae ye know whit fur? Cos Ah doant pish oan mah hauns.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n He followed me back to my table and sat down, uninvited beside me.\u00a0\u00a0Conversation broke out:\u00a0\u00a0indeed, we had both lived in Glasgow and in Cardonald; we were about the same age; we had also come to Canada at roughly the same time\u2026 He was pleased to establish that: \u201cThat\u2019s whit fur we talk the same\u2026\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n He shrugged, largely indifferent,\u00a0\u00a0upon learning I was teaching; he was in the Army (inwardly I groaned \u2013 a Hun, and now a trained killer)\u2026 and he was the one who recognized and remembered where we had met in a previous existence.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou went tae the Catholic school, right?\u00a0\u00a0Ah didnae, no me.\u00a0\u00a0Ah support Rangers, an\u2019 you support Celtic.\u00a0\u00a0That\u2019s where Ah met ye!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n He continued:\u00a0\u00a0\u201cBelses Drive, right?\u00a0\u00a0You an\u2019 yur pals went doon that road tae yur school an\u2019 every moarnin\u2019 Ah passed the other way.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The penny dropped (and could not be retrieved from the stank).\u00a0\u00a0I remembered going along Belses Drive with my school-mates, and always passing other children going in the opposite direction, one in particular \u2026 a shambling, ungainly boy with stuck-out ears and spiky hair.\u00a0\u00a0I remember we used to shout insults at him after he passed by and sometimes (if there were enough of us) threw a stone or two in his general direction.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \n And here he was, alone with me in an Ottawa bar, and probably after drinking by himself for hours \u2026 and he remembered \u2026 \u201cAh know you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cDae ye remember whit ye used tae call me?\u201d\u00a0\u00a0I did, but shook my head apologetically.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cAye, ye used tae shout \u2018Belsen horror!\u2019 it me.\u00a0\u00a0Whit fur?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBelses, and Belsen.\u00a0\u00a0Close enough for kids, I suppose.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n And he accepted that Jesuitical answer; at least, he changed the subject. \u201cUr ye still supportin\u2019 the Celtic?\u00a0\u00a0Daft.\u00a0\u00a0Ah hivnae been telt a\u2019 the results bit Ah suppose we\u2019re still hammerin\u2019 you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It was 1960, only three years after a certain League Cup final, but I felt it prudent not to mention that, and he seemed happy enough to bask in the memory of the way the universe had unfolded in the past: disputed penalties, offside goals, ordering-offs\u2026\u00a0\u00a0I felt no great temptation to argue, and even came close to suggesting I was a lapsed Celtic supporter.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Well, what would you have done?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n When he was paying another visit to the toilet, I slipped quietly away, hoping that the Army would soon transfer him to another base, another city, another province, another country \u2026\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Perhaps even worse, I left my beer half-drunk on the table.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The Bad<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Well, to be honest Alistair W— was not \u2018bad\u2019; he was more like a royal pain in the arse.\u00a0\u00a0I first met him at Carleton University in Ottawa, but we moved in different social circles:\u00a0\u00a0Alistair\u2019s father, an elder in the Church of Scotland, was an accountant back in Newton Mearns, paid his way through university: fees, living expenses and Alistair even had a car!\u00a0\u00a0On the other hand, I was so skint that I didn\u2019t plan meals; I plotted them.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It wasn\u2019t just envy that made me dislike him.\u00a0\u00a0He was so resolutely middle-class; he belonged to the St Andrew\u2019s Society, and even the Monarchist League, he affected<\/span><\/p>\n \n an English accent, and went on skiing holidays to Switzerland \u2026\u00a0\u00a0The student prince, indeed!<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n We graduated in the same year, and surprisingly both of us ended up teaching in the same town \u2013 Alliston, about sixty miles north of Toronto, he in Banting Memorial H.S. and me in St Paul\u2019s.\u00a0\u00a0I still could not afford a car, and he was driving a snazzy little TR 4 but \u2026<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n To pay him credit, on occasion he woud offer to give me a lift down to Toronto at the weekends.\u00a0\u00a0We used to drive along the minor road for about ten miles before joining the highway south to Toronto while he regaled me with his ambitions to join the Rotary Club, having already paid his dues to the Young Conservatives.\u00a0\u00a0Occasionally, he spoke approvingly of his father, the Presbyteran accountant (and Rangers\u2019 shareholder) who belonged to a golf club in Newton Mearns which did not admit Jews as members.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \n One Friday night, a few miles outside of Alliston, we were stopped by the police and, as we waited for the officer to leave his cruiser, Alistair cautioned me to say nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cJust keep quiet, and watch how I handle these hicks.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The OPP officer approached, and Alistair rolled down his window half-way: \u201cYes, officer, how can I help you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201c Give me your licence, please. You were going a bit fast back there, weren\u2019t you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo, I don\u2019t think so; I was under the limit.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSir, I clocked you at 74 miles per hour, and for two or three minutes, I might add.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAnd, officer, what is the problem with that?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \n The policeman looked puzzled, scratched his head: \u201c<\/span>Well, the speed limit on this road is 50 \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Alistair put on an Oscar-winning performance: \u201cYou know, you\u2019re perfectly right, officer\u2026\u201d He pointed to a nearby sign that indicated the highway number (89). \u2018I\u2019m really sorry but I had been thinking that number there was the speed limit\u2026\u201d\u00a0\u00a0His voice dripped with sincerity and regret, an apologetic half-smile on his face.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The policeman continued writing out the ticket, and handed it to him along with the licence.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cConsider yourself lucky, young man.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve just given me a ticket.\u00a0\u00a0How am I lucky?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n You\u2019re lucky I stopped you before you reached Highway 400.\u00a0\u00a0Have a good day, and drive carefully.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n We drove the next few miles in silence.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The Good<\/span><\/p>\n \n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0<\/span>John McMulken lived on the same street (Ladykirk Drive in Cardonald), and was three or four years older.\u00a0\u00a0He was a bright boy and won a bursary to Allan Glen\u2019s, which he attended rather than the local Govan High.\u00a0\u00a0He used to travel to and from school by train and, we used to see him regularly about five o\u2019clock on his way home.\u00a0\u00a0My pals and I were still in Primary School then and were always playing football in the street \u2013 with a tennis ball, of course.<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n John used to stop and watch for a minute or so before moving on.\u00a0 He had got into the habit of stealing our ball, going down the road about twenty yards, and then kicking the ball back.\u00a0 He specialized in skying the ball (which secretly impressed us youngsters) and to his credit the ball always landed on the street not too far away, and not in somebody\u2019s garden.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n To be frank, despite our protests, it was a pleasant enough ritual \u2013 and totally harmless.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Years passed.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n John got his Highers at Allan Glenn\u2019s, and later graduated with a BSc from Glasgow University and emigrated to Canada, settling in Toronto where he worked for an oil company as an engineer.\u00a0 I found myself in the same city back in 1960 and one Friday night ran across John.\u00a0 I recognized him immediately: tall and a little bit gangly, thinning brown hair, and an open Scottish face \u2013 a nice guy, obviously.\u00a0 John described the meeting to his wife:\u00a0 \u201cWell, I was stoatin\u2019 down Yonge Street, and there was wee Tommy stoatin\u2019 up Yonge Street.\u00a0 So, we went for a beer\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n We got together frequently (about once a month) after that, usually on a Saturday night at his house.\u00a0 We had dinner, chewed the fat, went down into his basement and played fiercely contested games of table tennis till late on \u2013 and he would drive me home.\u00a0\u00a0 Saturdays?\u00a0 Well we spoke briefly about the football but, aware of my interest in Celtic (and the fact that we were not doing well at the time), he rarely dwelled on it.\u00a0 Certainly, he never gloated.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n He was not cut out for his role as a cut-throat oil executive, and I was not surprised when he entered teaching in his early 40s as a High School teacher of Maths and Science.\u00a0 He was a natural: a big, friendly guy, a pleasant manner, always fair and calm but, typically Scottish, stood no nonsense \u2013 and he liked students and teaching.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n We were fairly well-matched at ping-pong, and similarly at golf.\u00a0 We had both learned at Barshaw Park in Paisley; my best-ever round there was an 82, and John\u2019s an 83.\u00a0 We played a couple of times near Toronto, and realized how close the matches were.\u00a0 John came up with a proposal:\u00a0 as teachers free in July and August, we could play a lot; we would buy a wee trophy, and compete for it on a weekly basis, the winner to hold it till at least the next encounter; the loser would get to pick the next golf course, and he who had won more games over the summer could keep the trophy over the winter.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It was not an entirely restricted competition: anybody who had lived in Ladykirk Drive, was now resident in Toronto, and who could compete at least ten times in the summer at a variety of courses was eligible to enter.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The competition was keen, the overall winner\u2019s name inscribed on the base; the trophy (all six inches of it) being on prominent display at our homes.\u00a0 Actually, I think the golf was the only time our football differences emerged; invariably, I wore a green shirt or sweater and John favoured blue.\u00a0 Our last game was in September 1964 at the Eagle\u2019s Nest in Bolton and it was my choice.\u00a0 The scores were level for the year, and this was the decider.\u00a0 I remembered greeting John with the words:\u00a0 \u201cWelcome to Celtic Park.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n A lovely man, a good companion, a Rangers\u2019 supporter, and somebody who died far too soon at the age of 60.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \n \n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Tom has been reminiscing again, and shares those memories with us.\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 It was pointed out to me recently that none of my friends…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":9485,"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\/08\/2898_1.jpg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p2J7If-2sY","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9484"}],"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=9484"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9484\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9486,"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9484\/revisions\/9486"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/9485"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9484"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9484"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/etims.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9484"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}