The Builders
by Roger McKillop
Genre: Memoir
Swearwords: A couple of mild ones.
Description: Some o' the apprentices were no' as bright as ithers.
Swearwords: A couple of mild ones.
Description: Some o' the apprentices were no' as bright as ithers.
A ended ma career as a Lecturer in Sports Studies, sounds posher, bit A started back in the days o’ “Day an’ Week release” apprentices. We had aw’ sorts, Nursery Nurses, Engineers, Secretarial Linguists, etc. and Builders! The Jiners were quite bright, the Plumbers were fine, but some o’ the Painters were………..eh…..mmmm…different!
Barney the Brain
Which brings me neatly tae the saga o’ Barney the Brain! Barney Duncan wisni aw’fy bright bit he loved his Fitba’! The Painters used tae come tae College in 2, 5-Week blocks a year, so you got used tae certain groups. We had an auld Blaise hockey pitch at College, bit students wereni’ allowed tae play oan it at lunchtime,’cause gin they fired the ba’ ower the fence an’ broke a neighbour’s windae, there wid be hell tae pay! Barney wid appear at ma door at 12:15 every lunchtime. “Can we have the len’ o’ a ba’, Sur?” A’d give them one wi’ the express warnin’ that they had tae tak’ it ower the road tae the public pitches. A’d get changed fir me lunchtime run (whit a swat!) an’ as A passed the hockey pitch, chase the the buggers aff! This happened almost every day!
Yin Friday it wis pourin’ doon, A thocht, “Nae Barney the day then!” There wis a chap at the door an’ there wis oor Barney. “Can we have a ba’, Sur?” “Surely your no’ goin’ oot in that Barney?” “The boays hae got tae hae their Fitba, Sur!” “Ok, here ye are bit mind no’ oan the pitch!” A decided tae gie ma run a miss sae A trooped oot tae chase the Painters aff the pitch. Naebudy there! Fur the first time, wis this the dawn o’ understandin’? The ba’ wis duly returned at 1:15. A wis the only one in the department on a Friday efternoon (ye didni’ spot ony soor grapes there, did ye?). At aboot 1:30 the phone wrang. It was oor aged Principle, “Mr McKillop, did you give some boys a ball at lunchtime?” “I did, Mr Anderson, is there anything wrong?” “Well, no, but I’d be obliged if you didn’t give them a ball again!” Click!
I waited till afternoon break an’ went up tae the Staffroom tae try tae shed some licht oan this gie enigmatic call. A asked a couple o’ the local wags whit had happened? “It wis great! The lads were staunin’ at the door lookin’ at the rain stoattin’ up a fit aff the ground. ‘Naw Barney we’re no’ gawin’ oot in that!’ ‘Bit we’ve got tae hae oor Fitba!’ ‘Naw Barney, we’re gawin’ fir a coke! You comin?’” Barney looked forlornly at the rain, ba’ tucked ablow his oxter, then reluctantly went tae jine them. As he walked intae the Refectory, he saw a wide expanse o’ dry flair. It wis ower much fir his thwarted Fitba genes. He pit the ba’ oan the flair an’ started tae dribble it. He also broke intae his ain commentary, “An’ it's Duncan oan the ba’, he’s comin’ up tae this auld baldy geezer, an’ it's wan, two an’ through his legs!” Aye that wis the day when Barney the Brain nutmegged the Principle!
Adie
One memorable Painter wis Adie Weston. Adie wis unfortunate tae hae been ta’en oan by a less than reputable employer. He’d joined the firm as a 16 year auld, straight oot o’ school, never sent tae College an’ then sacked jist as his “served” time wis up an’ he’d hae tae be paid Journeysman’s rates. He’d been kept on prep work an’ basic Jobs-bodyin’. He approached the College askin’ gin he could dae aw’ his College work in one continuous year’s attendance. This was not allowed because he had tae be available fir work tae get his unemployment benefit. By goin’ tae College he wid hae been increasin’ his employability bit naw, blind bureaucracy won!
Anyway, Adie was with us an’ completed his City an’ Guilds in Paintin’ an’ Decoratin’ despite his dyslexia. As the Paintin’ staff pit it he had “Guid han’s” as opposed tae bein’ “Ambidextrous” which in Paintin’ speak, meant bein’ “Bugger aw’ use wi’ either han’!” He wis the first Dyslexic we had come across, he must hae gien the College the smitt, cause it became a bloody epidemic latterly! A digress! Adie wis worried aboot failin’ his tests because o’ his literacy problems. Tae their eternal credit, the staff telt him, “Jist you write it doon as it soonds, Adie, an’ we’ll ken whit ye mean.” In a test the students were asked tae explain “how to site-search a pot of paint?” Tae explain, gin they were usin’ pre-opened paint in the workshop, they would strain it through a sieve to make sure it had no lumps an’ wis of even texture. This was no’ practical on site, sae they wid use a pair of tights. When markin’ Adie’s paper, it was found that he had successfully explained the procedure, by explainin’, “Pour it thru a pair o’ old woman's tights.” This caused the member o’ staff tae hae tae tak’ a wee lie doon, tae get rid o’ the mental images it engendered, cause Adie had spelt “tights” phonetically!
Adie, like maist students, wisni above invention, when knowledge failed! A mind when a former student, now a Sports Studies Lecturer, too, moaned tae me, indignantly, efter markin’ her furst test in her new position. She was outraged that some o’ her class had gotten a certain question wrang! “A telt them specifically that it wis……….” A Jist looked at her wi’ amused resignation an’ telt her, “Welcome tae the ithir side o’ the counter!”
Back tae Adie, durin’ their classes the Paintin’ students had tae learn aboot electricity safety. The Lecturer had explained that there were 2 types o’ current, Alternatin’ an’ Direct current. He conceptualised it for them, “Alternatin’ current is like the waves oan the beach, they come in an’ oot, that gies ye enough time tae get yer han’s free, or be blown off. Direct current oan the ithir han’ is like a river, it's flowin’ aw’ the time. This can cause yer muscles tae seize an’ you can hae a lock-on shock where ye canny get yer han’s away. If someone has a shock an’ is thrown back, treat them fir burns an’ send fir an’ ambulance, if necessary. Gin someone gets a lock-on shock, dinni’ touch them, cause the electricity is still flowin’ an’ you could be locked on tae them! Switch aff the current, at the mains if possible or at the wall or pull oot the plug. Gin ye canny dae that stan’ oan somethin’ insulated an’ knock aff their han’s wi’ a stick!” Aw’ sound advice, gin the Muppets forgot tae switch aff the bluidy mains furst (oops the ex-lecturer came oot again there!).
Sae oan tae the test, “How would you react to a workmate having a locked-on-shock?” The lecturer set the guys a practical task, while he spread oot the papers so he could mark aw’ the same questions thegithir. They read thus, “Switch off at the mains.” Tick. “Pull out the plug.” Tick. “Switch off at the mains.” Tick. “Knock his hands off with a stick.” Tick. “Switch off at the wall.” Tick. “Switch off at the mains.” Tick. “Hit him ower the heid wi’ a hammer.” Tick. “Switch off at the mains.” Tick. “Knock his ha……….” Hod oan a meenit! Troll back a couple o’ answers! “Haw, Adie, c’mere! Whit diyi’ mean “Hit him ower the hied wi’ a hammer? The pair bugger’s shockin’ awa’ gettin’ a serious Afro an’ you’re knockin’ seven colours o’ shit oot o’ him wi’ a bluidy hammer!” No’ tae be outdone, Adie said, “A couldni’ mind whit ye sid, Sur. Sae A thocht if ye hit him wi’ a hammer he’d like……..” Here he mimed the blow followed by the victim releasing the wire, clappin’ his han’s tae his hied an’ shoutin’, “Ya bastard!!!”
This story has found itsel’ bein’ re-told many times durin’ ma Furst Aid classes, o’ sic events are legends made! It also minds me o’ somethin’ A used tae hear English Sailin’ Instructors tellin’ kids when they were namin’ the parts o’ a boat, “This is called the Boom, cause w’en it ‘it's your ‘ead it goes BOOM!” A’ve aften fancied that gin that wis the reason, the Scots wurd fir it wid hae fower ithir letters!
Barney the Brain
Which brings me neatly tae the saga o’ Barney the Brain! Barney Duncan wisni aw’fy bright bit he loved his Fitba’! The Painters used tae come tae College in 2, 5-Week blocks a year, so you got used tae certain groups. We had an auld Blaise hockey pitch at College, bit students wereni’ allowed tae play oan it at lunchtime,’cause gin they fired the ba’ ower the fence an’ broke a neighbour’s windae, there wid be hell tae pay! Barney wid appear at ma door at 12:15 every lunchtime. “Can we have the len’ o’ a ba’, Sur?” A’d give them one wi’ the express warnin’ that they had tae tak’ it ower the road tae the public pitches. A’d get changed fir me lunchtime run (whit a swat!) an’ as A passed the hockey pitch, chase the the buggers aff! This happened almost every day!
Yin Friday it wis pourin’ doon, A thocht, “Nae Barney the day then!” There wis a chap at the door an’ there wis oor Barney. “Can we have a ba’, Sur?” “Surely your no’ goin’ oot in that Barney?” “The boays hae got tae hae their Fitba, Sur!” “Ok, here ye are bit mind no’ oan the pitch!” A decided tae gie ma run a miss sae A trooped oot tae chase the Painters aff the pitch. Naebudy there! Fur the first time, wis this the dawn o’ understandin’? The ba’ wis duly returned at 1:15. A wis the only one in the department on a Friday efternoon (ye didni’ spot ony soor grapes there, did ye?). At aboot 1:30 the phone wrang. It was oor aged Principle, “Mr McKillop, did you give some boys a ball at lunchtime?” “I did, Mr Anderson, is there anything wrong?” “Well, no, but I’d be obliged if you didn’t give them a ball again!” Click!
I waited till afternoon break an’ went up tae the Staffroom tae try tae shed some licht oan this gie enigmatic call. A asked a couple o’ the local wags whit had happened? “It wis great! The lads were staunin’ at the door lookin’ at the rain stoattin’ up a fit aff the ground. ‘Naw Barney we’re no’ gawin’ oot in that!’ ‘Bit we’ve got tae hae oor Fitba!’ ‘Naw Barney, we’re gawin’ fir a coke! You comin?’” Barney looked forlornly at the rain, ba’ tucked ablow his oxter, then reluctantly went tae jine them. As he walked intae the Refectory, he saw a wide expanse o’ dry flair. It wis ower much fir his thwarted Fitba genes. He pit the ba’ oan the flair an’ started tae dribble it. He also broke intae his ain commentary, “An’ it's Duncan oan the ba’, he’s comin’ up tae this auld baldy geezer, an’ it's wan, two an’ through his legs!” Aye that wis the day when Barney the Brain nutmegged the Principle!
Adie
One memorable Painter wis Adie Weston. Adie wis unfortunate tae hae been ta’en oan by a less than reputable employer. He’d joined the firm as a 16 year auld, straight oot o’ school, never sent tae College an’ then sacked jist as his “served” time wis up an’ he’d hae tae be paid Journeysman’s rates. He’d been kept on prep work an’ basic Jobs-bodyin’. He approached the College askin’ gin he could dae aw’ his College work in one continuous year’s attendance. This was not allowed because he had tae be available fir work tae get his unemployment benefit. By goin’ tae College he wid hae been increasin’ his employability bit naw, blind bureaucracy won!
Anyway, Adie was with us an’ completed his City an’ Guilds in Paintin’ an’ Decoratin’ despite his dyslexia. As the Paintin’ staff pit it he had “Guid han’s” as opposed tae bein’ “Ambidextrous” which in Paintin’ speak, meant bein’ “Bugger aw’ use wi’ either han’!” He wis the first Dyslexic we had come across, he must hae gien the College the smitt, cause it became a bloody epidemic latterly! A digress! Adie wis worried aboot failin’ his tests because o’ his literacy problems. Tae their eternal credit, the staff telt him, “Jist you write it doon as it soonds, Adie, an’ we’ll ken whit ye mean.” In a test the students were asked tae explain “how to site-search a pot of paint?” Tae explain, gin they were usin’ pre-opened paint in the workshop, they would strain it through a sieve to make sure it had no lumps an’ wis of even texture. This was no’ practical on site, sae they wid use a pair of tights. When markin’ Adie’s paper, it was found that he had successfully explained the procedure, by explainin’, “Pour it thru a pair o’ old woman's tights.” This caused the member o’ staff tae hae tae tak’ a wee lie doon, tae get rid o’ the mental images it engendered, cause Adie had spelt “tights” phonetically!
Adie, like maist students, wisni above invention, when knowledge failed! A mind when a former student, now a Sports Studies Lecturer, too, moaned tae me, indignantly, efter markin’ her furst test in her new position. She was outraged that some o’ her class had gotten a certain question wrang! “A telt them specifically that it wis……….” A Jist looked at her wi’ amused resignation an’ telt her, “Welcome tae the ithir side o’ the counter!”
Back tae Adie, durin’ their classes the Paintin’ students had tae learn aboot electricity safety. The Lecturer had explained that there were 2 types o’ current, Alternatin’ an’ Direct current. He conceptualised it for them, “Alternatin’ current is like the waves oan the beach, they come in an’ oot, that gies ye enough time tae get yer han’s free, or be blown off. Direct current oan the ithir han’ is like a river, it's flowin’ aw’ the time. This can cause yer muscles tae seize an’ you can hae a lock-on shock where ye canny get yer han’s away. If someone has a shock an’ is thrown back, treat them fir burns an’ send fir an’ ambulance, if necessary. Gin someone gets a lock-on shock, dinni’ touch them, cause the electricity is still flowin’ an’ you could be locked on tae them! Switch aff the current, at the mains if possible or at the wall or pull oot the plug. Gin ye canny dae that stan’ oan somethin’ insulated an’ knock aff their han’s wi’ a stick!” Aw’ sound advice, gin the Muppets forgot tae switch aff the bluidy mains furst (oops the ex-lecturer came oot again there!).
Sae oan tae the test, “How would you react to a workmate having a locked-on-shock?” The lecturer set the guys a practical task, while he spread oot the papers so he could mark aw’ the same questions thegithir. They read thus, “Switch off at the mains.” Tick. “Pull out the plug.” Tick. “Switch off at the mains.” Tick. “Knock his hands off with a stick.” Tick. “Switch off at the wall.” Tick. “Switch off at the mains.” Tick. “Hit him ower the heid wi’ a hammer.” Tick. “Switch off at the mains.” Tick. “Knock his ha……….” Hod oan a meenit! Troll back a couple o’ answers! “Haw, Adie, c’mere! Whit diyi’ mean “Hit him ower the hied wi’ a hammer? The pair bugger’s shockin’ awa’ gettin’ a serious Afro an’ you’re knockin’ seven colours o’ shit oot o’ him wi’ a bluidy hammer!” No’ tae be outdone, Adie said, “A couldni’ mind whit ye sid, Sur. Sae A thocht if ye hit him wi’ a hammer he’d like……..” Here he mimed the blow followed by the victim releasing the wire, clappin’ his han’s tae his hied an’ shoutin’, “Ya bastard!!!”
This story has found itsel’ bein’ re-told many times durin’ ma Furst Aid classes, o’ sic events are legends made! It also minds me o’ somethin’ A used tae hear English Sailin’ Instructors tellin’ kids when they were namin’ the parts o’ a boat, “This is called the Boom, cause w’en it ‘it's your ‘ead it goes BOOM!” A’ve aften fancied that gin that wis the reason, the Scots wurd fir it wid hae fower ithir letters!
About the Author
Edinburgh-born Roger McKillop is a retired Sports Studies lecturer. He has been writing poetry in Scots for many years and has had his work published in The Scots Magazine. His pen name is Roger Ceann Maol Beag, which means Wee Roger with the Bald Head!