The Tin Man's Hat
by Gordon Gibson
Genre: Children
Swearwords: None.
Description: A young boy is drawn into an adult game.
_____________________________________________________________________
His father and Peter were laughing at something, and he went through to the kitchen to see what it was.
They laughed together a lot. Sometimes he didn’t see what was funny, and Peter would say ‘You’ll know when you’re bigger.’ He wished he was bigger. Like Peter. It was odd having a big brother who was twelve years older than him. Peter was really big, almost like a man. He had a job in the steelworks. He knew all sorts of stuff, and was right clever. When Alan got something new at school, Peter always said how easy it was, and sometimes showed him quick ways to do things that he was finding hard, like fractions. Of course, Peter bossed him about too, just like his father did, and made fun of him; but Alan expected that from grown-ups. It was still special having a brother who was big.
Peter was sitting at the table, holding in his hands a thing like the Tin Man’s hat in The Wizard of Oz.
Alan said, ‘What‘s that?’ but Peter was talking to his father.
‘It’s easy. I bet I could do it five times in a row,’ he said.
‘Oh, it’s a bet you want?’ His father was smiling. ‘Plenty money, have you?’
‘A pound says I can do it five times in a row, and you can’t.’ Peter was using a bragging voice. Alan tried to ask what it was they were talking about, but they ignored him and went on.
‘Right, smart Alec, let’s see you. Five in a row or you’re a pound down.’ His father was great at games and tricks, and whatever it was, Alan felt sure his father would win.
Peter stood up, took the Tin Man’s hat and went over to the window by the sink. He rummaged in his pocket, took out a two-shilling piece, and tipping his head backwards, placed it on his forehead. Then, balancing it there, he pushed the thin tube of the Tin Man’s hat into the waist band of his trousers, so that the wide end of it nestled against his stomach like a cup.
‘You have to close your eyes as well,’ his father said.
‘Nae bother,’ Peter said, and, spreading his arms like a tightrope walker, and with his eyes screwed shut as if he had something sore, he slowly brought his head forward until, amazingly, the silver coin slid from his forehead and dropped with a rattle into the hat at his waist. Peter cheered at his own skill. His father insisted it was a fluke and the performance began again.
Alan was excited by the strangeness of it all, but could not see what was so difficult about it.
‘I could do that,’ he shouted.
‘Wheesht,’ Peter said, and his father said, ‘Keep back. He’ll never do it again.’
Peter caught the coin five times in a row, while Alan jumped up and down in excitement, and his father groaned and called out that it was all just luck. Then it was his father’s turn, and at the first try he sent the coin rattling to the floor. Peter whooped with delight. Alan could not believe it.
‘How could you no do it, Dad?
His father turned to him. ‘Another smartie,’ he roared, although there was a hint of laughter in his voice. Alan could tell that he wasn’t really angry. ‘Let’s see you try if you’re so bloomin’ clever.’
Alan was shaking; to be allowed to take part in this man’s game. ‘Will I get a pound if I do it?’ he said. And Peter said ‘Aye, Dad, that’s only fair.’ His father raised his eyebrows, and nodded.
Peter took Alan by the shoulders, and pushed him into place with his back to the sink. The men stood, one on either side of him. Peter put the Tin Man’s hat in under his snake belt, into his trousers. The metal tube felt cold against his skin. His father pressed his forehead back and carefully placed the coin.
‘Wait, now,’ his father said. ‘I’ll say go.’
‘He’s looking,’ Peter shouted.
‘Shut your eyes,’ his father ordered.
He knew he could do it. On the word ‘go’ he moved his head as slowly as he possibly could, and when the coin moved, it clattered into the waiting hat. It was just as easy as he had thought it would be.
‘Sheer luck,’ Peter moaned. ‘Four more to go.’
His father had suddenly become on Alan’s side. He crouched and whispered in his ear, ‘Now, don’t rush son. You’ve got to beat that big galoot of a brother of yours. When the two bob bit is on your brow, count to ten before you move, and imagine it falling straight into the funnel.’
His chest felt as if it would burst, as he drew in breath – with joy and pride and pleasure at what he could do. Eyes closed, head back, he counted silently, sure of winning, sure of the pound.
And suddenly there was cold and wet spreading through the flannel of his trousers and the cotton of his pants, and down his bare legs to his woollen school stockings. With opened eyes he saw his brother pour the last of the tumbler of water into the funnel, and he heard their loud big men’s laughter.
Swearwords: None.
Description: A young boy is drawn into an adult game.
_____________________________________________________________________
His father and Peter were laughing at something, and he went through to the kitchen to see what it was.
They laughed together a lot. Sometimes he didn’t see what was funny, and Peter would say ‘You’ll know when you’re bigger.’ He wished he was bigger. Like Peter. It was odd having a big brother who was twelve years older than him. Peter was really big, almost like a man. He had a job in the steelworks. He knew all sorts of stuff, and was right clever. When Alan got something new at school, Peter always said how easy it was, and sometimes showed him quick ways to do things that he was finding hard, like fractions. Of course, Peter bossed him about too, just like his father did, and made fun of him; but Alan expected that from grown-ups. It was still special having a brother who was big.
Peter was sitting at the table, holding in his hands a thing like the Tin Man’s hat in The Wizard of Oz.
Alan said, ‘What‘s that?’ but Peter was talking to his father.
‘It’s easy. I bet I could do it five times in a row,’ he said.
‘Oh, it’s a bet you want?’ His father was smiling. ‘Plenty money, have you?’
‘A pound says I can do it five times in a row, and you can’t.’ Peter was using a bragging voice. Alan tried to ask what it was they were talking about, but they ignored him and went on.
‘Right, smart Alec, let’s see you. Five in a row or you’re a pound down.’ His father was great at games and tricks, and whatever it was, Alan felt sure his father would win.
Peter stood up, took the Tin Man’s hat and went over to the window by the sink. He rummaged in his pocket, took out a two-shilling piece, and tipping his head backwards, placed it on his forehead. Then, balancing it there, he pushed the thin tube of the Tin Man’s hat into the waist band of his trousers, so that the wide end of it nestled against his stomach like a cup.
‘You have to close your eyes as well,’ his father said.
‘Nae bother,’ Peter said, and, spreading his arms like a tightrope walker, and with his eyes screwed shut as if he had something sore, he slowly brought his head forward until, amazingly, the silver coin slid from his forehead and dropped with a rattle into the hat at his waist. Peter cheered at his own skill. His father insisted it was a fluke and the performance began again.
Alan was excited by the strangeness of it all, but could not see what was so difficult about it.
‘I could do that,’ he shouted.
‘Wheesht,’ Peter said, and his father said, ‘Keep back. He’ll never do it again.’
Peter caught the coin five times in a row, while Alan jumped up and down in excitement, and his father groaned and called out that it was all just luck. Then it was his father’s turn, and at the first try he sent the coin rattling to the floor. Peter whooped with delight. Alan could not believe it.
‘How could you no do it, Dad?
His father turned to him. ‘Another smartie,’ he roared, although there was a hint of laughter in his voice. Alan could tell that he wasn’t really angry. ‘Let’s see you try if you’re so bloomin’ clever.’
Alan was shaking; to be allowed to take part in this man’s game. ‘Will I get a pound if I do it?’ he said. And Peter said ‘Aye, Dad, that’s only fair.’ His father raised his eyebrows, and nodded.
Peter took Alan by the shoulders, and pushed him into place with his back to the sink. The men stood, one on either side of him. Peter put the Tin Man’s hat in under his snake belt, into his trousers. The metal tube felt cold against his skin. His father pressed his forehead back and carefully placed the coin.
‘Wait, now,’ his father said. ‘I’ll say go.’
‘He’s looking,’ Peter shouted.
‘Shut your eyes,’ his father ordered.
He knew he could do it. On the word ‘go’ he moved his head as slowly as he possibly could, and when the coin moved, it clattered into the waiting hat. It was just as easy as he had thought it would be.
‘Sheer luck,’ Peter moaned. ‘Four more to go.’
His father had suddenly become on Alan’s side. He crouched and whispered in his ear, ‘Now, don’t rush son. You’ve got to beat that big galoot of a brother of yours. When the two bob bit is on your brow, count to ten before you move, and imagine it falling straight into the funnel.’
His chest felt as if it would burst, as he drew in breath – with joy and pride and pleasure at what he could do. Eyes closed, head back, he counted silently, sure of winning, sure of the pound.
And suddenly there was cold and wet spreading through the flannel of his trousers and the cotton of his pants, and down his bare legs to his woollen school stockings. With opened eyes he saw his brother pour the last of the tumbler of water into the funnel, and he heard their loud big men’s laughter.
About the Author
Gordon Gibson was born in Motherwell. After working in the steel industry, he trained as a primary school teacher and spent his working life in a variety of posts in education, from playgroup adviser to university lecturer.
Gordon always wanted to write, but never had the time to commit to it. When he retired, he decided to see how he would get on if he focused his efforts. In 2011, he had a poem accepted by New Writing Scotland 29. The Tin Man’s Hat is the first of his fiction to be published anywhere.
Gordon always wanted to write, but never had the time to commit to it. When he retired, he decided to see how he would get on if he focused his efforts. In 2011, he had a poem accepted by New Writing Scotland 29. The Tin Man’s Hat is the first of his fiction to be published anywhere.