Jack MacRoary's Guide to the Independence Referendum:
Episode Eight
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: The darkness continues in the MacRoary household.
_____________________________________________________________________
They said it was an accident. It wasn’t. I know that. But I can’t write all about it now. Dad says grief is private and not for Mr Marker or ebooks or serials or anyone but ourselves to deal with. But I have to tell you something or you won’t know what happened, so I’m going to tell you the bare facts. I’m doing my best. That’s all I can do.
It was just before tea, the first day my mum had made chips since the Referendum. Wednesday. It took her the whole weekend before she would speak to anyone and then on Monday she went back to DrumTumshie. She chummed me to school and said that we all had to ‘face the world together’, because that’s the way MacRoarys do things.
But when I came home from school she said she was going to have to rethink things because she had hated being out and she felt that all the NO’s were looking at her and smirking and everyone was just silent and not talking to each other like everyone didn’t trust each other any more.
But by Wednesday she decided that chips were on the menu. Which I thought maybe meant things would start getting back to what my dad called the ‘new normal’. And then they knocked on the door. The police.
I answered the door because my mum was at the chip pan, remember. They asked me if my mum was in and I said she was making chips, could they come back later cause you can’t disturb someone when they are cooking chips. And they said they needed to speak to her and couldn’t I just watch the chips for a bit.
So I went to get mum. I told her the police wanted her and that I’d mind the chips. But she just switched them off and took the pan off the hob and then she went through to the police who were standing in the sitting room. They looked very large when you’re used to only seeing them on television in police dramas and now they are in your house. In reality. There was a man and a woman. ‘That’s always a bad sign,’ John told me later. I wish I’d known before he told me.
And then… well, what happened next was even more horrible than that long dark Thursday night. My mum screamed. It wasn’t even really a scream. I’ve never heard a noise like it. It was worse than the hoot-owl screeching, or even the young dog foxes in the spring. It was worse than the noise that cows make when they are really, really sick, with staggers or bloat or something awful. It was not a human sounding noise. And my mum was making it.
And the policewoman sat down with her and the policeman said to me, ‘Can you get your dad?’
And I said ‘What’s wrong with her?’ And they said, ‘Run and get your dad.’
And I ran as fast as I could to find my dad who was in the byre and I told him, ‘Come quickly, dad, the police have made mum scream.’
And he came right with me and ran into the house.
My Uncle Tam was dead.
They said it was an accident. I know it wasn’t. And my mum knew that too.
We all knew that the Independence Referendum result broke his heart and his spirit and he couldn’t face going on. And usually when someone commits suicide the people left behind feel angry at them. But we didn’t. Because we all could understand a bit what he felt. We just wished he hadn’t done it. But it wasn’t an accident.
My dad and mum went to ‘identify the body’ and John and I stayed at home. And the chips sat, getting soggy in the cooling oil and we didn’t even care because we thought we would never eat again. We couldn’t believe what was happening.
And when my mum came back, then she cried. She cried and cried and cried for days. And I stayed off school for a week. And I don’t really want to write about how I felt then. Or even how I feel about it now. One day maybe I will. Maybe I will be able to tell the story in a way that will make my mum proud. But not today. It’s too hard.
Because my Uncle Tam was a great man. He taught me a lot and he helped me a lot and it’s very hard to know that he’s never going to be there any more. What more is there to say?
Well, as adults are always telling me, actions have consequences and usually, even while they are more closely related than we think, they seem unexpected. Adults don’t tell you that second part, I figured that out for myself. So here are some of the consequences of my Uncle Tam’s ‘untimely’ death. As my English teacher would say. Which makes him sound like a character not a real person but believe me there was never a more real person than my Uncle Tam. Anyway, as Mr Marker said, I have hindsight on it now. A perspective. And that’s why it’s important for me to write about it. Mostly though, I just miss him and I’m only writing things down because Uncle Tam wanted me to be interested in politics because it was so important to him in his life. So I’m doing this for my Uncle Tam really. Even Mr McStoryteller never knew that when he signed me up. But I hope he’ll understand. I’m sure he will. I know that Mr McStoryteller voted Yes and I like to think he’s a bit like my Uncle Tam and I hope one day I’ll get to meet him for real.
You can imagine it was terrible for all of us but the most terrible thing of all was to see how it affected my mum. Her only brother dead because of the Referendum. Even though John and me don’t see eye to eye, I wouldn’t wish him dead. Not really. Not now I know what it’s like for someone when their big brother dies. The event had an impact on all of us. Especially on John. Because, as dad would say, ‘John turned himself around.’
Remember how John threw an egg at Jim Murphy on the Irn Bru crate to make mum happy? I wish he’d thrown something bigger than an egg… a brick perhaps… but my nana says I shouldn’t be bitter. But I am. Anyway, I was thinking about what I could do to make mum happy again. Well, I mean, not happy because she’s not going to be happy ever again, or at least for a long time because of what happened. But something to make her proud. I just couldn’t think of anything I could do. That’s the worst of being nearly fourteen. There’s not really anything you can do, about anything. Whatever they tell you. In the real world you’re pretty useless. And this was the real world we were living in now.
So John got in there first. Saved the day you might say. Although of course that day and many other days, maybe every day, could not be saved and that’s why Uncle Tam did what he did. He couldn’t face a future of oppression. Nothing left to live for. No hope left. He didn’t put any hope in the Smith Commission and he was right not to.
Dad said, ‘If it hadn’t been now it would have been later,’ and thought that might cheer my mum up. It didn’t really. Nothing really cheered her up. She didn’t cry quite as much after the first week, but she didn’t say a lot either. So the MacRoary household was pretty quiet, especially at the dinner table.
Until one day, a couple of days after the funeral, John announced, ‘I’m going to college, mum.’
That got her interest.
‘What?’ she said, looking up from her mashed potato. She couldn’t even be bothered to make chips since the day it happened. She said she couldn’t trust herself to keep an eye on them. And we were very understanding about that because we all know that chip pan fires are a dangerous thing. And even though I was worried that my mum might never make chips again because they will always remind her of Uncle Tam, I understood her feelings, because do you know what, I think they will always remind me of him too. So I can live without chips for the rest of my life if I have to.
‘I’m going to agricultural college,’ John said. ‘I start next week.’
And he did.
He talked his way in as a late start, because the course had been going for a few weeks. But he had experience and they knew about Uncle Tam as well, and so they found a place for him.
Now the cynical amongst you might think that John was just trying another ploy to find girls (and I have to tell you he was pretty successful, even though you would think there were even less girls at agricultural college than in the DrumTumshie Young Farmers) and maybe he was. But he does love my mum as well and he did want to make her proud and that’s exactly what he did. I know, because my mum looked up at him, all teary like she was about to start crying again and said, ‘I’m really proud of you, son.’
And my dad stood up and shook him by the hand and said, ‘Good on you, boy.’ And even got out a couple of beers for them to drink.
And the rest of the meal was taken up with talking about what exactly John was going to do and how he was going to do it.
I was really happy that John had made mum and dad proud, but I do have to confess I was a bit jealous too. Of him for being able to go to college, I mean, not of getting praise from the parents. I’m not that selfish. But it seemed like there might be a turn of things. John was now the one who was doing the right thing, and me, well, if you’ve ever been a teenage boy you’ll know that there’s a lot to contend with which makes that very difficult.
First of all, half the time I don’t know what I’m thinking and even if I do I find it very hard to say what I think to anyone else. It’s part of being fourteen I know.
And another consequence was that John said now he was going to college he wouldn’t have time for Young Farmers because when he wasn’t at college he wanted to help my dad out round the farm. And he meant really help him. Not just mess around. It was his commitment to change.
But in case you’re wondering, I didn’t join Young Farmers. Even though I’m old enough now. My heart’s not in it at the moment. I’m not interested in girls anyway, just farming, so it doesn’t really matter. I live on a farm, I can learn all I need from my dad. And my brother. I want to stay close to my family. And if I can tell you my most secret thought without you laughing at me, I don’t like leaving my mum on her own at the moment. Even though she says she’s fine, she’s lost a brother and I feel the least I can do is be there for her as a son. It’s not much of a replacement, but it’s the best I can do.
I don’t want to go to Young Farmers at the moment for another reason. It’s the reason I don’t want to go anywhere. And wouldn’t even do stand up for money if you paid me. And this time it’s got nothing to do with Independence. It’s my voice. It’s just so random all the time. John says it’s ‘the change’ but I thought that’s what women get – my mum certainly got annoyed last year when my dad suggested she’d got ‘the change’ because of some random behaviour. I pointed out to him that she’s always been random and she ruffled my hair and said it was good to know someone was on her side. And I said, I’m not on your side, mum, I’m on the side of truth. And that got her laughing. ‘You’re a tonic, Jack,’ she said. But I was just copying what my friend Brian the Brain said once a long time ago in history. Do you remember Brian? He’s the one who is so clever and important that he has his own bodyguard assistant with him at all times – but not at history last week because she was sick with the flu and that’s why he got ‘free rein’ as the history teacher said just before he excluded Brian from the class.
It’s all black and white to Brian, says my mum. But I know Brian sees the world in colour just like me. Not like the cows and the dogs and the cats who see something entirely different.
And that, what I just told you, was something that happened before Uncle Tam died and before the thing that happened next, which was my dad and me trying to do our bit to make my mum happy again. Which I will tell you about next week.
Swearwords: None.
Description: The darkness continues in the MacRoary household.
_____________________________________________________________________
They said it was an accident. It wasn’t. I know that. But I can’t write all about it now. Dad says grief is private and not for Mr Marker or ebooks or serials or anyone but ourselves to deal with. But I have to tell you something or you won’t know what happened, so I’m going to tell you the bare facts. I’m doing my best. That’s all I can do.
It was just before tea, the first day my mum had made chips since the Referendum. Wednesday. It took her the whole weekend before she would speak to anyone and then on Monday she went back to DrumTumshie. She chummed me to school and said that we all had to ‘face the world together’, because that’s the way MacRoarys do things.
But when I came home from school she said she was going to have to rethink things because she had hated being out and she felt that all the NO’s were looking at her and smirking and everyone was just silent and not talking to each other like everyone didn’t trust each other any more.
But by Wednesday she decided that chips were on the menu. Which I thought maybe meant things would start getting back to what my dad called the ‘new normal’. And then they knocked on the door. The police.
I answered the door because my mum was at the chip pan, remember. They asked me if my mum was in and I said she was making chips, could they come back later cause you can’t disturb someone when they are cooking chips. And they said they needed to speak to her and couldn’t I just watch the chips for a bit.
So I went to get mum. I told her the police wanted her and that I’d mind the chips. But she just switched them off and took the pan off the hob and then she went through to the police who were standing in the sitting room. They looked very large when you’re used to only seeing them on television in police dramas and now they are in your house. In reality. There was a man and a woman. ‘That’s always a bad sign,’ John told me later. I wish I’d known before he told me.
And then… well, what happened next was even more horrible than that long dark Thursday night. My mum screamed. It wasn’t even really a scream. I’ve never heard a noise like it. It was worse than the hoot-owl screeching, or even the young dog foxes in the spring. It was worse than the noise that cows make when they are really, really sick, with staggers or bloat or something awful. It was not a human sounding noise. And my mum was making it.
And the policewoman sat down with her and the policeman said to me, ‘Can you get your dad?’
And I said ‘What’s wrong with her?’ And they said, ‘Run and get your dad.’
And I ran as fast as I could to find my dad who was in the byre and I told him, ‘Come quickly, dad, the police have made mum scream.’
And he came right with me and ran into the house.
My Uncle Tam was dead.
They said it was an accident. I know it wasn’t. And my mum knew that too.
We all knew that the Independence Referendum result broke his heart and his spirit and he couldn’t face going on. And usually when someone commits suicide the people left behind feel angry at them. But we didn’t. Because we all could understand a bit what he felt. We just wished he hadn’t done it. But it wasn’t an accident.
My dad and mum went to ‘identify the body’ and John and I stayed at home. And the chips sat, getting soggy in the cooling oil and we didn’t even care because we thought we would never eat again. We couldn’t believe what was happening.
And when my mum came back, then she cried. She cried and cried and cried for days. And I stayed off school for a week. And I don’t really want to write about how I felt then. Or even how I feel about it now. One day maybe I will. Maybe I will be able to tell the story in a way that will make my mum proud. But not today. It’s too hard.
Because my Uncle Tam was a great man. He taught me a lot and he helped me a lot and it’s very hard to know that he’s never going to be there any more. What more is there to say?
Well, as adults are always telling me, actions have consequences and usually, even while they are more closely related than we think, they seem unexpected. Adults don’t tell you that second part, I figured that out for myself. So here are some of the consequences of my Uncle Tam’s ‘untimely’ death. As my English teacher would say. Which makes him sound like a character not a real person but believe me there was never a more real person than my Uncle Tam. Anyway, as Mr Marker said, I have hindsight on it now. A perspective. And that’s why it’s important for me to write about it. Mostly though, I just miss him and I’m only writing things down because Uncle Tam wanted me to be interested in politics because it was so important to him in his life. So I’m doing this for my Uncle Tam really. Even Mr McStoryteller never knew that when he signed me up. But I hope he’ll understand. I’m sure he will. I know that Mr McStoryteller voted Yes and I like to think he’s a bit like my Uncle Tam and I hope one day I’ll get to meet him for real.
You can imagine it was terrible for all of us but the most terrible thing of all was to see how it affected my mum. Her only brother dead because of the Referendum. Even though John and me don’t see eye to eye, I wouldn’t wish him dead. Not really. Not now I know what it’s like for someone when their big brother dies. The event had an impact on all of us. Especially on John. Because, as dad would say, ‘John turned himself around.’
Remember how John threw an egg at Jim Murphy on the Irn Bru crate to make mum happy? I wish he’d thrown something bigger than an egg… a brick perhaps… but my nana says I shouldn’t be bitter. But I am. Anyway, I was thinking about what I could do to make mum happy again. Well, I mean, not happy because she’s not going to be happy ever again, or at least for a long time because of what happened. But something to make her proud. I just couldn’t think of anything I could do. That’s the worst of being nearly fourteen. There’s not really anything you can do, about anything. Whatever they tell you. In the real world you’re pretty useless. And this was the real world we were living in now.
So John got in there first. Saved the day you might say. Although of course that day and many other days, maybe every day, could not be saved and that’s why Uncle Tam did what he did. He couldn’t face a future of oppression. Nothing left to live for. No hope left. He didn’t put any hope in the Smith Commission and he was right not to.
Dad said, ‘If it hadn’t been now it would have been later,’ and thought that might cheer my mum up. It didn’t really. Nothing really cheered her up. She didn’t cry quite as much after the first week, but she didn’t say a lot either. So the MacRoary household was pretty quiet, especially at the dinner table.
Until one day, a couple of days after the funeral, John announced, ‘I’m going to college, mum.’
That got her interest.
‘What?’ she said, looking up from her mashed potato. She couldn’t even be bothered to make chips since the day it happened. She said she couldn’t trust herself to keep an eye on them. And we were very understanding about that because we all know that chip pan fires are a dangerous thing. And even though I was worried that my mum might never make chips again because they will always remind her of Uncle Tam, I understood her feelings, because do you know what, I think they will always remind me of him too. So I can live without chips for the rest of my life if I have to.
‘I’m going to agricultural college,’ John said. ‘I start next week.’
And he did.
He talked his way in as a late start, because the course had been going for a few weeks. But he had experience and they knew about Uncle Tam as well, and so they found a place for him.
Now the cynical amongst you might think that John was just trying another ploy to find girls (and I have to tell you he was pretty successful, even though you would think there were even less girls at agricultural college than in the DrumTumshie Young Farmers) and maybe he was. But he does love my mum as well and he did want to make her proud and that’s exactly what he did. I know, because my mum looked up at him, all teary like she was about to start crying again and said, ‘I’m really proud of you, son.’
And my dad stood up and shook him by the hand and said, ‘Good on you, boy.’ And even got out a couple of beers for them to drink.
And the rest of the meal was taken up with talking about what exactly John was going to do and how he was going to do it.
I was really happy that John had made mum and dad proud, but I do have to confess I was a bit jealous too. Of him for being able to go to college, I mean, not of getting praise from the parents. I’m not that selfish. But it seemed like there might be a turn of things. John was now the one who was doing the right thing, and me, well, if you’ve ever been a teenage boy you’ll know that there’s a lot to contend with which makes that very difficult.
First of all, half the time I don’t know what I’m thinking and even if I do I find it very hard to say what I think to anyone else. It’s part of being fourteen I know.
And another consequence was that John said now he was going to college he wouldn’t have time for Young Farmers because when he wasn’t at college he wanted to help my dad out round the farm. And he meant really help him. Not just mess around. It was his commitment to change.
But in case you’re wondering, I didn’t join Young Farmers. Even though I’m old enough now. My heart’s not in it at the moment. I’m not interested in girls anyway, just farming, so it doesn’t really matter. I live on a farm, I can learn all I need from my dad. And my brother. I want to stay close to my family. And if I can tell you my most secret thought without you laughing at me, I don’t like leaving my mum on her own at the moment. Even though she says she’s fine, she’s lost a brother and I feel the least I can do is be there for her as a son. It’s not much of a replacement, but it’s the best I can do.
I don’t want to go to Young Farmers at the moment for another reason. It’s the reason I don’t want to go anywhere. And wouldn’t even do stand up for money if you paid me. And this time it’s got nothing to do with Independence. It’s my voice. It’s just so random all the time. John says it’s ‘the change’ but I thought that’s what women get – my mum certainly got annoyed last year when my dad suggested she’d got ‘the change’ because of some random behaviour. I pointed out to him that she’s always been random and she ruffled my hair and said it was good to know someone was on her side. And I said, I’m not on your side, mum, I’m on the side of truth. And that got her laughing. ‘You’re a tonic, Jack,’ she said. But I was just copying what my friend Brian the Brain said once a long time ago in history. Do you remember Brian? He’s the one who is so clever and important that he has his own bodyguard assistant with him at all times – but not at history last week because she was sick with the flu and that’s why he got ‘free rein’ as the history teacher said just before he excluded Brian from the class.
It’s all black and white to Brian, says my mum. But I know Brian sees the world in colour just like me. Not like the cows and the dogs and the cats who see something entirely different.
And that, what I just told you, was something that happened before Uncle Tam died and before the thing that happened next, which was my dad and me trying to do our bit to make my mum happy again. Which I will tell you about next week.
About the Author
Jack MacRoary, also known locally as the Bard of DrumTumshie, comes from the small farming community of Tattybogle, which he has singlehandedly put ‘on the map’ through his fame. After bursting onto the literary cultural scene in August 2012 when he appeared at the inaugural Edinburgh eBook Festival, Jack now attends DrumTumshie Academy. His current ebooks are Tales from Tattybogle (available from Amazon here and Kobo here) and More Tales from Tattybogle (available from Amazon here and Kobo here). He is also the first McStorytellers McSerial writer.
Jack lives on a farm with his dad, mum, older brother John and a range of animals and pets, including Dug (the cat), Bisum (the dog) and Micro (the pig). His ebooks give an insight into rural life, as well as providing an insightful commentary on Scots culture.
Follow Jack on Facebook here.
Jack lives on a farm with his dad, mum, older brother John and a range of animals and pets, including Dug (the cat), Bisum (the dog) and Micro (the pig). His ebooks give an insight into rural life, as well as providing an insightful commentary on Scots culture.
Follow Jack on Facebook here.