Agnes Owens by Agnes Owens

to get back up the road to Smeddon’s. ‘Ye’ll no’ get another chance,’ she said.
    â€˜I don’t want tae be a brickie,’ I had shouted as I banged my fist on the wall, but the next day I returned to Smeddon’s and become an apprentice brickie. I carried the hod, laid common brick, facing brick and coping stones. I laid brick down manholesand laid brick up ten storeys, but I never had a pound in my pocket beyond a Monday unless I won it at cards. I was twenty-two. My arms were knotted like a man of forty-two, and sometimes my back ached as if I was fifty-two. And it all added up to being paid off once again. Oh well, there was no point in feeling sorry for myself. I might as well get a bit of shut-eye before I returned home to break the glad tidings. I eased myself up onto the bench and tried to forget it all.
    I woke up freezing, and had to stamp up and down in the hut to get the circulation going. I opened the door. It was grey fog, so I shut it quick. There was nothing to hang around for, but it was funny to think I would never see these four wooden walls again, or that naked pin-up above the kettle, or that Carlsberg Special ashtray stolen from the boozer. I was getting that feeling of foreboding which strikes me now and again like a clammy hand on the shoulder. For Christ’s sake, I thought, I’m only twenty-two with no real problems, but sometimes I could see myself winding up on the river bank like the wineys, with all my possessions in a plastic bag. Let me kick the bucket before I reach that stage was the nearest I ever got to a prayer.
    â€˜Are you there McCafferty?’ a voice roared in relief to my thoughts.
    The door burst open and there was Rab Tunnock stoned out of his mind brandishing a brick hammer. He aimed it at the side of the hut.
    â€˜Calm doon,’ I said.
    â€˜Calm doon! That bastard McCafferty has paid me aff!’
    â€˜We’re a’ paid aff, so forget it.’
    â€˜Bastards!’ he said.
    He lurched over to the wall and pulled the brick hammer out and swung it round his head. He was a terrible spectacle. Oaths spewed from him like the bile as his eyeballs swung in harmony with the hammer. If my sympathies were not for McCafferty, at that moment they were not for Rab.
    â€˜I’m gaun tae smash in this hut,’ was his ultimate recognisable statement. I thought it was time to get going. ‘Please yersel,’ I said and hastily left.
    I met McCafferty further along the site. ‘Rab Tunnock is smashing up the hut,’ I informed him. ‘Better look out. He’s pure mental.’
    â€˜Don’t worry I’ll take care o’ that nut.’ He added, ‘Ye’d better get hame. There’s nae point in hingin’ aboot on a day like this. I’ll put yer time in tae five, but be sure tae be in sharp tomorrow and tell the rest o’ the layabouts tae be in sharp as well.’
    â€˜Sure Harry, we’ll a’ be in sharp.’
    â€˜That’ll be the day,’ he jeered.
    I walked on shivering. I put my hands in my pockets and passed the apprentice laying brick in slow motion like a phantom in the fog.
    â€˜Mind!’ McCafferty shouted, ‘Be in sharp!’
    â€˜Get stuffed!’ I said, but not too loud, and thanked God I wasn’t paid off yet.

McCluskie’s Oot
    â€˜D id ye hear that McCluskie’s oot!’ declared my mother when I was just in from work and not in a great mood.
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Ye know fine. Him from along the road. Him that did auld Muncie in.’
    â€˜Oh him. Whit’s for dinner?’
    â€˜Ye’ll see when it’s ready!’ she snapped and charged through to the kitchenette, adding, ‘The trouble wi’ you is that you’re interested in nothin’ but yersel.’
    â€˜How should I be interested in McCluskie? He’s nothin’ but a heid-banger.’
    â€˜He’s no’ the only