The Tay Is Wet by Ben Ryan Page A

early summer when the flight into Roggart was in full swing the cyclists were scattered off the road by a motor car which was being driven at speed and in an erratic manner.
    ‘It’s the Duke,’ someone shouted, ‘he’s got himself a car.’
    The Duke’s real name was Donald Dunlase. He had come from Scotland when he was twelve years old to be reared by his aunt Matilda, a widow, who lived in a small well kept cottage at the end of Deery’s lane. He was called “the Duke” locally because he always boasted that he was descended from “The Duke of Lammermoor,” whom nobody in Roggart had ever heard of. He was a colourful character who sometimes wore a kilt and was considered by some to be acting above his station in life.
    He could converse on any subject although he had left school at fourteen. He worked in the local hardware shop selling farming items but he had ambitions to achieve higher things. The car had been won by the Duke at a “Pitch and Toss” gambling session and there was much gossip and amusement when the Parish Priest used this as the subject of his anti-gambling Sunday sermon. This did not bother the Duke at all as he rarely attended church, a characteristic which did not exactly endear him to mothers who had daughters of marriageable age.
    Getting a car had been a long held ambition of the Duke. He could not drive but was always prepared to take a chance and, with luck, attain some measure of success. On that first drive into Roggart the last cyclist he passed was Timmy Deery and as he passed he hooted the horn loudly and Timmy got such a fright that he fell off the bike and onto the grassy bank along the roadside. Timmy was not hurt but he had recognized the driver and promised himself he would get even. The Duke had parked the car right outside the cinema entrance and Timmy rubbed his hands with glee when he saw it. He gazed nonchalantly at the car and then, breaking an old used matchstick between his teeth, he walked around to the side which was next the road and quickly inserted this into one of the uncapped tyre valves. He then casually went in to see the film.
    The Duke noticed the flat tyre as soon as he came out of the cinema.
    ‘Blooming Lough Lomond, do ye ken that,’ he said in his loud Scottish accent. Then turning to a small group of tittering local youths he said, ‘Here, laddies, did ye see anyone interferin’ wih ma car tyres?’
    The youths all shook their heads but one of the older and cheekier of them spoke up.
    ‘I saw someone at your wheels, mister.’
    ‘Did ye now laddie and what were they doing?’
    ‘They were washing them.’
    ‘Wha’ ye mean, what did they look like?’
    ‘They were two dogs, mister.’
    The outbreak of laughter caused by this remark did not last very long. The Duke, who had a tall intimidating presence, was not likely to be deterred by a bunch of young smart aleks.
    ‘So, twa dogs was it? Do any of you laddies want to earn some hard cash?’
    The Duke took out a handful of silver which made the young lads gasp.
    ‘Yeah,’ ‘please,’ ‘me,’ ‘I do.’
    They all swarmed forward and under the directions of the resolute, but genial, Scotsman the wheel was soon changed. He then jumped into the driving seat, wound down the window and, throwing a handful of coins out, drove away in a cloud of exhaust smoke. He smiled as he observed the scrimmage over the coins in his back view mirror. The youths rushed into the small general store which was still open to spend their new-found wealth but they were not smiling when they handed over the coins to pay and the shopkeeper shook his head.
    ‘What’s this?’ He glared at the coins.
    ‘These are some kind of Scottish shillings. I can’t take this money. It’s no good to me. The bank would not accept this.’
    The chastened youngsters were disappointed but putting on a brave face they resumed their usual pursuits. Meanwhile the Duke also learned a lesson that night and, also, he never did find