Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1

Chapter One

  Johnboy lay in his bed, trying tae work oot who sang the songs that his favourite drunk wis belting oot as he staggered alang the white lines doon oan Cathedral Street.  He wis later than usual and Johnboy hid fallen asleep waiting fur him.  The wan that hid woken him up hid definitely been ‘Ah Want Tae Haud Yer Haun’
by the Beatles.  The second wan hid been ‘Blue Moon’ by Christ knows who and the third wan could’ve been anything as the voice hid been fading intae the distance and hid finally disappeared oot ae earshot when the drunk reached the newsagent’s beside Canning Lane, which took ye o’er tae St James Road.  It sounded like something aboot a band ae men wae ten guitars who liked tae dance.

  He looked across tae the bedroom windae in the dark, straining his lugs, bit the sound ae the bells ae an ambulance or a polis car, heiding his way, soon scuppered his wee name-that-tune competition. He shot oot ae his bed like a hungry whippet chasing a fat cat and peered oot through the dirty glass. The white ambulance hid jist appeared where he’d thought the crooner should’ve been, wae its blue light flashing, shooting doon Cathedral Street, heiding fur the toon centre.  Somewan’s probably goat chibbed or something, he thought tae himsel. He scurried, bare-foot and bare-arsed, back tae his bed, letting oot a yelp when he kicked wan ae his Corgi metal cars wae his right fit oan route.  Ambulances…that ma ae his and The Green Lady hid telt him tae stay well clear ae them when they wur parked-up in the street wae their doors open. The Green Lady hid warned him that manky wee boys like him caught measles if they went anywhere near them. Since then, him and his pals hid always gied them a body-swerve if they clocked the driver and his mate carting somewan in or oot ae wan.

  He wondered if ambulance men hid anything tae dae wae The Green Lady. His ma hid telt him that she wis the wan, alang wae another wummin, who’d come tae the hoose oan the day he wis born. She’d said that The Green Lady hid spent a day and a hauf running between her and Carol Stewart, who lived roond the corner, and that she wis the same wan that hid skelped aw his mates’ arses when they wur born. Her name wis Pat Broon, bit everywan called her The Green Lady. She’d hauns like shovels and a look that wid freeze the baws aff ae a snowman. She smelt the same as the inside ae the scabies clinic and that toolkit ae hers, which she wis furever taking things oot ae, wis far better than anything that his da hid…apart fae his claw hammer and rusty saw. She wis always oan the go roond aboot the hooses and popped in tae see them every noo and again. If he wis really lucky and oan they toes ae his, he’d manage tae sneak oot ae the hoose and doon they stairs, two at a time, before she or Ma twigged that he’d shot the craw. He couldnae staun it when she started tae poke him wae they fingers ae hers. Wan time, the clatty bugger hid telt him tae get they troosers ae his doon roond aboot his ankles and then, while he wis trying tae hide that shame ae his, she’d grabbed him by the auld hee-haws and telt him tae cough.  Cough?  He’d jist aboot shat oan that big rough haun ae hers, he’d goat such a fright. Ma hid jist telt him tae stoap arseing aboot and dae as he wis telt insteid ae telling her tae get her paws aff ae her favourite boy’s ging-gang-goolies.

  Another time when The Green Lady appeared, the pair ae them hid spent aboot two hours hunting fur nits using a bone comb oan that napper ae his. The teeth ae the comb hid kept breaking, so three combs later, she’d gied his ma a wee demonstration oan how tae crush them oan that skull ae his using the back ae her thumb nail.  He hid tae admit though, he loved the crackling sound that Ma’s nail made when she’d find a big wan.

  “Goat ye, ya big basturt, ye!” she’d scream wae glee as the wee scurrying basturt goat flattened.

    Wan time…he wisnae too sure when…The Green Lady hid left a big tin ae saft toffee called Virrel when she turned up oot ae the blue, oan wan ae her wee-manky-boy-hunting missions. She’d telt Ma that he hid tae get a big spoonful every day. He remembered being chuffed as anything and no being able tae contain himsel, waiting tae get his laughing gear intae it. She said it wid build him up intae a big strapping laddie, whitever that meant. It wis a pity it hid tasted as shite as it looked. The next time Ma hid spoken tae her, she’d been too embarrassed tae tell her the truth, so she’d jist telt The Green Lady that she’d tae fight him aff every time she took the tin doon fae the shelf, even though he’d only tasted it the wance. The last time he’d seen that tin hid been doon beside the midgie bins. Elvis, wan ae the local dugs, hid ended up getting his heid stuck in it.  Johnboy and Tony hid sat oan a dyke watching Elvis running aboot, crashing intae everything in the back court, trying tae get his heid back oot ae it, while that tongue ae his wis licking like the clappers, in case anywan came and took it aff ae him. By the time the dug hid managed tae free himsel, it looked as if his face wis caked in shite.

  He could remember the first time he’d spoken tae Tony Gucci. Johnboy and his pals, alang wae everywan else in the Toonheid, aw loved gaun tae The Carlton or The Casino picture hooses, up in Castle Street. They never went tae The Grafton oan Parly Road if they could help it.  The films wur aw fae nineteen-canteen and wur aw in black and white and it stank ae deid people. The fact that his granny and granda wur never oot ae the place probably added tae the aroma. Sometimes Johnboy and his pals wid bite the bullet and skip in tae The Grafton tae see the horror films though…especially the wans that hid zombies running aboot in them. The only problem wae venturing up tae Castle Street wis that it wis right in the middle ae Indian Territory. There wisnae any real Indians up in that part ae the Toonheid, bit wance ye goat beyond Glebe Street, the place wis hoaching wae the uglies fae the Garngad and Roystonhill, looking fur innocents like him.

  It wis the same story every week.  Johnboy wid be staunin in the queue wae his pals, waiting tae get in, while a gang ae uglies wid be marching up and doon the queue, punching the lights oot ae everywan and demanding their money and sweeties aff ae them. They’d take people’s coats, jaickets, troosers and sometimes even their shoes, if theirs wur knackered. Johnboy and his pals wid always make sure they wur tucked in against the wall in the queue and avoided any eye contact wae them, even if somewan roond aboot
them wis getting skelped.  Every week wis the same. Efter the pictures came oot and they wur safely oan their way hame, hivving managed tae escape, Johnboy and his pals wid brag tae each other aboot whit they wur gonnae dae tae the basturts the following week if they came near them.  Then, the next Saturday, they’d be staunin there, shiting themsels and praying they widnae get picked oan.  The wan time they did go fur Johnboy, a couple ae his big sisters, Anne and Isabelle, hid been in the queue, jist in front ae him.  They’d telt the uglies tae piss aff and leave him alane, which hid worked.

  Wance they managed tae get inside in wan piece, it wis great though.  Before the films started, everywan jist ran up and doon the aisles, being chased by the ushers, or they’d sit and watch the ugly mob fae Royston fight wae other uglies fae Springburn or Dennistoun. Wance the film started, everywan booed the goody-goody guy and cheered the fuck oot ae the baddie. The Lone Ranger and Tonto always goat a hard time in The Carlton.

  Tony wis wan ae the uglies, bit he wisnae as pug as the rest ae them. Johnboy reckoned that this wis because he lived in St Mungo Street which wis jist ootside Indian Territory. Apart fae fighting, Tony wis always trying tae get that tongue ae his doon the back ae the throats ae the lassies…the filthy basturt. They seemed tae like it, even though they wur always giggling and kidding oan tae him that they didnae.  Johnboy always thought that Tony wis a lucky basturt, apart fae the tonguing part.

  Oan the day that Johnboy first spoke tae him, none ae Johnboy’s pals wid go tae the pictures wae him because they’d said that the uglies wid be oot in force. It wis a James Bond film that wis oan and they’d been right. The queue tae get in hid stretched aw the way up tae the bridge at the canal and the uglies wur aw charging up and doon the line, punching and kicking and taking people’s money and sweeties aff ae them. Maist ae them wur smoking fag ends they’d picked up aff ae the pavement and wur making sure they wur targeting aw the innocent looking wans…people like Johnboy…thoroughly enjoying themsels by blowing smoke intae people’s faces.

  Wance the picture hid finished, he’d made his move and nipped oot ae The Carlton’s side door oan tae Castle Street.  He’d set aff like the clappers as soon as the words came up oan tae the screen at the end. He knew that if ye wurnae punched, kicked or hid yer shoes ripped aff yer feet before ye went in, then there wis a fair chance ye’d be walking hame wae slapped rosy cheeks, bare-arsed and in yer bare feet, when ye came oot.

  He’d jist passed St Mungo’s chapel in Parson Street when he heard his name being shouted. When he’d turned roond, he’d jist aboot shat himsel right there and then. He’d hid aboot two seconds tae make up his mind whether tae hoof it or tae try and talk his way oot ae the situation. He remembered that his first choice hid been tae shoot the craw, bit his legs widnae move.

  Tony wis shorter than Johnboy, bit better built. He’d thick jet-black hair while Johnboy’s wis carrot-red and Tony could fight like fuck, while Johnboy couldnae fight sleep.

  “Whit ur ye daeing up here?” he’d asked Johnboy.

  “Heiding hame fae the pictures.”

  “Aye, Ah saw ye there. Whit bit ae the picture wis yer favourite?”

  “Odd Job flinging his hat at James Bond. Whit wis yours?” Johnboy hid asked him, wondering whit the fuck Tony wis up tae.

  “The bit wae the lassie showing aff that golden arse ae hers.”

  “Eh?  Ah cannae remember seeing that bit,” Johnboy hid said, sick as a parrot that he must’ve been looking fur the bit ae his ice lolly that hid fell oan tae the sticky carpet in the dark when they’d showed that part ae the film.

  “Dae ye want tae come oot tae play the night?”

  “Er, aye, awright.”

  “Where dae ye live?”

  “Montrose Street.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Doon the bottom ae McAslin Street and up o’er the hill.”

  “Ah’ll meet ye ootside Rodger The Dodger’s scrappy efter tea oan St James Road.  Awright?”

  “Aye, Ah’ll see ye there,” Johnboy hid replied, lying through his teeth.

  There hid been a lot ae people aboot oan Parson Street that day, so Johnboy’d figured oot that Tony wis jist delaying knocking fuck oot ae him till later oan when he goat him oan his lonesome. Johnboy didnae think Tony wid be efter his sandshoes, which wur falling apart, nor they troosers ae his that hid the arse ripped oot ae them.

  Johnboy never turned up and didnae go oot tae play that night either, jist in case Tony came looking fur him.  He remembered thinking that he could’ve kicked his ain arse fur telling Tony whit street he lived in.

  The next time Johnboy clapped eyes oan Tony Gucci hid been totally different. Johnboy and a fat basturt called Alex Milne…aw decked oot in his school uniform, shiny shoes and a face that looked like a Halloween cake…hid been sent tae the heidmaster’s office fur fighting in the corridor. They’d jist been oan their way back tae the class efter a fire drill. There wisnae really a fight. Tub Boy hid flicked Johnboy’s lug wae his fat pudgy fingers oan the way past, while Johnboy wis lined up ootside Olive Oyl’s class. It hid been a bloody sore wan. Johnboy hid swiftly answered that fat-faced baw-heid wae a twisting greaser straight fae the back ae his throat. It hid shot doon through his tongue, which he’d curved intae a tube shape, a second before it took flight. Johnboy and his pals called it ‘The Sticky Screamer’, because it wis always followed by a blood curdling scream wance it landed. Aw the practice Johnboy and his pals hid been putting in tae see who could master it, hid paid aff. He couldnae hiv done it better if he’d tried and hid hauf expected applause fae everywan in the corridor who’d witnessed it. It hid flown through the air at the speed ae lightning and splattered oan tae the middle ae Fatty’s fat foreheid, like an egg
hitting a cracked windae pane oan a stairheid landing.  It hid been followed wan and a hauf seconds later by the expected howl ae shock and disbelief.

  “Take that,
ya fat basturt, ye,” Johnboy hid taunted him, feeling fair chuffed wae himsel.

  When Fat Arse hid charged, Johnboy and hauf ae his class hid scattered oot ae his way and that’s how Fatty hid managed tae knock Olive Oyl flying, alang wae the pile ae jotters she wis carrying.

  “You two! Down to the headmasters…now!” Her Thinness hid screeched, tottering oan they giraffe’s stick legs ae hers.

  “Whit hiv Ah done?  Did ye no see whit he did tae me?” Halloween Cake Face hid howled, wiping his face wae the clean hankie his ma hid gied him that morning.

  “Ah never done anything tae him,” Johnboy hid protested, face a picture ae pure innocence.

  “Be quiet! You two, come with me now, and the rest of you, get your homework sheets out for when I come back.”

  “Bit, Ah’ve no done anything, miss,” Billy Fat Liar hid squealed through that fat lying mooth ae his.

  “Mr Smith, these two boys were fighting in the corridor and without my quick and decisive action, other pupils and property could have been damaged,” Joan ae Arc hid squealed indignantly.

  Batty Smith, so-called because he wis always oan aboot cricket, trying tae get the goody-goody wans interested, bit never hivving any luck, hid glared at Johnboy sternly and at Halloween Cake Face sympathetically.  Johnboy reckoned it hid been the clean uniform that hid swung it.