The Ides of March 1968 - Coatbridge, Scotland

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  • Dedicated to My Father James - RIP, together with your 'ladies'
                                    

THE IDES OF MARCH 1968 – Coatbridge, Scotland

It was a cold day in Hell...

“God, my mother is a bitch” was his rising thought at 5am on that Saturday morning. Still fresh in his head was the argument of the Friday night in front of his girlfriend Cat.

An argument so fucking banal that it caused him to cringe as he got dressed. “I wish you would just fucking die and leave me the Hell alone” he thought and pulled on his boots.

Cat was a great looking 15 year old but not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, and his mother loathed her for her wonderful breasts great backside and (in her opinion), overt stupidity.

Cat looked like Marianne Faithful but way prettier, and he'd been after her ever since he realised that Billy Thomson – two years his senior – was sniffing. Billy drove a trendy TR6 sportscar and thought he was the dog's balls. Ugly bastard that he was, the girls still liked the car and a guy that could take them further afield than the local park or cinema.

He too had been driving for more than a year now too, but sneaking one of the vans out at night without the knowledge of his father. A van was no competition to a TR6 so he made his move and pulled her 5 weeks ago.

Rock and roll and his mother's anger ever since!

In addition, his old man had pulled up at the Jackson Street traffic lights one Tuesday night, minding his own business. Rolling down the window to light another cigarette, he happened to glance over into the old van in the inside lane, straight into the face of a smiling and sexy girl who blew him a kiss. None other than Cat. His father had ripped him apart that night.

Now three weeks later things had settled down and even his dad saw the value in a 16 year old who looked older driving the van for him on Saturdays. Kept him out of mischief and made him earn his pocket money.

The early March pre-dawn Saturday was cold and damp without rain. Just another dull and dismal Scottish morning whose weather typified this time of year. It was Mother's Day too, a fact pointed out later that morning to him by his Cousin Alexis who had sent his mother a Mother's Day card and stuck his name and a kiss on it. He laughed when she told him, thanked her and smacked her on the butt in gratitude.

Morning roared by like a train on track but with nowhere to go and so did his work. (He laughed to himself when he thought of it like this and reflected “you’ll be an author one day if your notcareful”).

Mindless delivery of boxes to customers and 10 shilling tip every time. This was unbelievable!

Driving (which he loved), and getting money for doing it – what a life! Every Saturday he ended up with 25 pounds in his pocket. 25 pounds at a time when 4 pints of beer would stretch you to 10 shillings (half a pound) with four packets of chicken crisps as well.

On Saturday nights when he took her into Glasgow – the big City, Cat thought he could do no wrong. No one else had this kind of cash available. He felt like a king.

By noon, he'd been working 6 hours, so on a whim - it was mother's day after all, he stopped at the flower shop next door to the van depot and decided to head for home and at least attempt a peace gesture to the bain of his life or the pain in his arse depending on his turn of words.

He reached the turn in the road where the house comes into sight, and knew immediately some kind of shit was hitting the fan. There were ambulances and cop cars all over the road and driveway – lights flashing. It looked to him like an accident zone.

He braked to a halt without turning off the engine and ran over the road – traffic – what traffic - and into the packed driveway of the house.

Coming down towards him was the guy from next door – the geek who wouldn't ever return the footballs kicked into his garden. He was some kind of churchman – Anglican or some such. A man of God but not a good man!

The man of God spoke and said “you’re too late boy, she's gone already. Your mother has gone to God!”

The punch that felled him and silenced his words came from deep down in the boy's gut. He went on into the house.

It wasn't the death of his mother that bothered him, it was the audacity of the minister in suggesting that he had been too late to do anything.

He learned a big lesson that day.

He could wish people to die!

He vowed to take more care with that ability from now on, but never to forget that he could do it!

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