Wha's feart o' the library?
by Cally Phillips
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None
Description: A monster lurks behind the children's bookshelves.
Swearwords: None
Description: A monster lurks behind the children's bookshelves.
Ye’ll mind as ah telt ye ah wis grounded bigtime. On account o’ an entrepreneurial spirit – or a hatred o’ organised ‘clubs’. Or becus I really wanted tae be Christopher Plummer, or at least a professional fitba’er. E’en though in theym days fitba’ers wisnae paid haulf whit they are noo. Ah wanted tae be wan for the love o’ the beautiful game. But it wisnae gonnae happen. No since ah wis a lassie. Nae women’s fitba in they days. We’re talkin’ the seventies here. Ye micht hae feminists an’ a’ that bit ony kindae equality wis a fair way aff.
Bit the yin place ah wis allowed tae gang wis tae the library. Noo, normally that wid be fine by me. It wis a guid walk across the Meadows an doon George IV Bridge tae the Central Library. A fair daunder oan a nice day an’ gie’d me a chance tae see the sichts. Ah cud tak’ ma time cus even though I cud hae ta’en a bus an’ no been awa sae lang, ah’m hinking that ma groundin’ wis as mich a pain fer ma ma as it wis fer me an’ when it cam doon tae it she wis pretty glad tae see the back o’ me fer a couple of hoors. Sae she niver gie’d me the bus fare. Unless it wis rainin’.
Ah wid wander alongside the Meadows. Ah didnae dawdle there cus in theym days ye’d be as like as not tae cam across the Hare Krishnas an’ they feart me. Ah wis quite a sma’ child e’en at twelve – ah pit a growth spurt oan aroon’ thirteen, an’ ah didnae trust they Hare Krishnas wan bit. Ah mean, Embra’s no exactly the South o France bit they wandered aroon dressed in flimsy wee orange togas an wi bare feet on them. Bare feet. No even flip flops. Bare feet on the pavements wis jist bizarre behaviour in onywan’s book. Bit the scariest hing aboot theym wis that ah’d been telt they wis like a cult an’ they brainwashed fowk. An’ ah hud ma ain ideas aboot hoo they git their recruits. Cus if ye wis walkin alang the pavement an they cam by, wi’ their jingling wee primary scuil cymbals an their weird sing song chantin ‘Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Hare Hare’ they cid just git richt roon ye and ye’d be lost in the crowd an’ absorbed intae the throng an’ ah bet that is whit they did, jist caught ye aff guard an’ taki’ ye up under the elbows, ah imagined they’d sweep ye alang back tae the Hare Krishna Temple – which wis oan the way tae the Library.
Sae I aften kept ma ee’s open fer the sichts an sounds o the Hare Krishna, ah cun tell ye. At twelve years auld ah’d hud my brush wi’ organised religion in the form o’ the Catholic church an’ ah wisnae aboot tae git sucked intae nae Eastern religion foreby. Which mak’s it kinda strange whit ah’m aboot tae tell ye the noo. Apart fae tae tell ye that ah wis aye wan tae tak a bet. Pure stupit ah reckon, bit if ah wis bored an’ somewan cam up wi’ a guid idea ah wis there, up tae ma ee’en. An’ remember ah wis still grounded, sae hings were pretty borin’. An’ ah wis tryin’ tae avoid the library (fer reasons ah’ll tell ye in the fullness o’ time). Well, it wis by chaunce ah met up with Katy, as ah wis oan my way tae the Library this day an’ we wis jist aboot outside the Hare Krishna Temple when we met. An’ efter we’d exchanged wur ‘whit r’ ye daein?’ an’ ‘holidays are pure borin eh?’ conversation she cam up wi’ an idea fer a bit o’ excitement. That widnae tak us oot oor way and widnae tak’ mair time as bein’ at the library. She pointed oot that we cud dae this dare and still ah cud get doon the library as lang’s ah didnae daunder aboot choosin’ books bit jist went an’ got any auld hing. Which ah wis prepared tae dae cus ah didn’t want tae hang aroon in that library. Ah didnae want tae be in there at a’. Aye, roon then, ah wis mair feart o’ the Library than the Hare Krishna, sae that tells ye somehing. It wis a question o sex or religion if ah’m no bein’ tae cryptic fer ye.
An’ Katy’s big plan wis that we wid gang intae the Hare Krishna Temple an’ see whit they git up tae in their ain lair. Ah still cannae believe ah went alang wi’ it. Ah mean, ah’d spent months o’ ma life avoidin’ theym oan the streets an’ noo ah wis gonnae walk richt in there o’ ma ain free will. Ah dinnae ken if they Krishna lot huv a hing aboot free will or no, bit ye ken whit ah mean. Bit even though they wis scary an’ ah didn’t want tae be captured or brainwashed by theym, they wis still that wee bitty exciting cus they wis exotic an’ apart fae the orange claes which wis pure rank, ma brither hud a George Harrison record he used tae play a’ the time, My Sweet Lord, an’ ah really liked that an’ if wan o’ the Beatles wisnae bothered by the Hare Krishna, cam oan, whit hud ah tae be feart o’?
So, ah’m kinda hummin’ Ma Sweet Lord tae ma’sel in ma heid as we push the heavy door and gang up the stair, cus theTemple wis up the stair, away aff the street, when ‘We’ll huv tae tak wur shoes aff,’ Katy says.
‘Why?’ Ah asks.
‘Ye huv tae. It’s whit they dae. Ye cannae wear yer shoes in the Temple.’
An’ that near hud me back doon the stairs. E’en though if ah’d thocht it through it widnae seem that odd, ah mean, they didnae wear shoes oot on the street so why wid they wear theym inside, bit ah hud another thocht high in ma mind. If we took aff wur shoes we’d nae be able tae run awa’, nae fast aeyways. An’ if ah turned up hame wi’oot ma shoes ah’d be for it.
Katy sees that ah’m losin the will an’ she’s hae’in nane o’ it.
‘Cam on, dinnae be feart,’ she says. ‘It’s jist respectfu’ tae their religion. An’ they’ll a’ be prayin’ anyways, singin’ an’ that sae it’ll be fine. They’ll niver even notice us.’
Yeah, richt. Bit somehoo she convinced me tae carry on up theym stairs.
An’ we git tae the outside door o’ the Temple. An’ there wis this load o’ shoes in rows a’ lined up outside. Which gie’d me pause. Hoo cam there’s sae mony shoes here when they Hare Krishnas dinnae even wear shoes? Ah didnae huv time tae hink cus Katy wis takin’ her shoes aff and getting ready tae gang in.
An’ ah made a decision. Cud huv been smart, cud huv been ma undaein’ bit ah decided ah wisnae takin’ ma shoes aff fer naebudy. They wis lace up’s an’ ah’d niver get they’m back oan quick enough if ah hud tae leg it, an whit if we wis inside the Temple an’ sumbudy cam roon an took the shoes awa’ an we culdnae git theym back. Na. Nae way. Ma shoes wis stayin’ oan ma feet an that wis that. If they wis sae busy wi’ their prayers they’d niver notice.
So in we goes tae the Temple. Katy in front an’ me takin’ up the rear. Wi’ ma shoes oan.
We opened that door an’ it wis like gaein intae a foreign world. Noo, ah’d been used tae a Catholic church (that’s anither story) an’ sae ah hud seen gold candlesticks and the like, bit this place, it wis somehing completely different. There wis nae chairs, the fowk wis a’ oan red cushions oan the flair. Bit up the end where the altar wid huv been, there wis this huge big golden statue, like a Buddha or somehing, an’ iverywhere there wis gold hings… ah canne gie ye a better description cus suddenly, afore ah properly git masel’ used tae the noise o’ the chantin an the smell o’ the joss sticks which pit the flingin incense o’ the Catholic church tae shame, we wis oot on wur arses bein’ chased awa’ by some geezer wi a baldy heid an’ an orange toga an’ nae shoes.
Ah took tae ma toes wi’oot a minute tae hink o’ it, bit Katy wisnae sae fly. She stood there an argued the toss wi’ the man. Telt him she wis hinking o’ convertin’ an he couldnae fling us oot afore we’d even hud a chance tae experience their ‘culture’. Ah cudnae believe the girl. Ah hung aroon in the relative safety o’ the doonstairs doorway an’ listened tae her gie’in hum the run aroon. An’ then he invited her back in. An’ me.
‘If she tak’s her shoes aff,’ he says, in the broadest Glaswegian accent ah’ve iver heard. Ah cudnae believe it. Ah mean, ah must’ve kent they wis Scottish Hare Krishnas bit wi’ the baldy’s n’ the togas ye dinnae hink o’ that dae ye? Ah wis huvin nane o’ it. If Katy wanted tae git hersel’ in wi’ the Hares that wis wan hing, bit noo, suddenly ah realised ah hud tae get tae the library, niver mind whit micht be waitin’ me there. So ah turned and ran. Katy hud got hersel’ intae this an’ she cud git hersel’ oot. Some pal me, eh?
Bit ah hud ma ain worries wance ah wis oot oan the street again. Ah scuffed ma shoes a’ along Forest Road an’ hung aroon the bridge lookin’ doon tae the Grassmarket until ah cudnae pit it aff ony langer. Ah went intae the library.
The main library is a grand buildin’ an’ in theym days the children’s section (which wis the only ticket ah hud in nineteen seventy four) wis doon the stair. Hidden away so tae speak. Bit then, it wis a library. Ye’ll be wonderin’ whit cud be sae tae fear in a library o’ a’ places. Well ah’m gonnae tell ye. An’ as ah tell ye, ah realise that ah shud huv jist telt somewan back then an’ ah feel guilty fer no daein’ it, bit ah didnae ken whit tae sae then. Ah didnae ken whit words tae use. Bein’ lost fer words in a library, is that no an irony?
The stacks as they ca’ them were high and long an’ it wis easy tae be hidden fae view o’ onybody an’ onyhing doon there. An’ the first time ah saw him ah wis getttin the follow up tae 101 Dalmations. Dodie Smith wis the author. Ah mind it fine. Ah’d jist done ma way through Laura Ingalls Wilder an’ the Little Hoose on the Prairie books – e’en better as the TV series an’ noo ah found that Dodie Smith wrote mair as the 101 Dalmations (a fillum ah niver got tae see cus ma ma widnae let us gang tae see cartoons. Nae proper fillums, she says, and nae money wis tae be wastit oan cartoons. Ah hink we fair annoyed her wi’ Scooby Doo an’ the Wacky Races an’ she thocht that TV cartoons wis bad enough so she’s no gonnae waste money on fillum length wans.) So when ah found the book o’ 101 Dalmations ah wis fair chuffed. An’ then ah went tae git the sequel. An’ that wis when it happened.
Ah looked up from the shelves. Ken when ye git that idea that someone’s watchin’ ye an it mak’s ye uncomfortable an’ ye huv tae look up. It wis like that. It gits ma heart racin’ e’en noo, forty odd year on, tellin’ it fer the first time. Ah lookit up. An’ he wis there. He wis some auld guy, ah niver really got a guid look at his face. He hud a long brown coat oan an first ah wis jist surprised tae see a man o’ that age doon in the children’s section. Then ah seen hum lookin’ at me sortie strange. An’ then ah saw… hoo cun ah tell ye, even noo. He wis ‘exposin’ humsel’. ‘Playin’ wi humsel.’ These are the expressions adults use bit ah wis twelve n’ ah hud nae idea whit… ah wis jist feart o’ the look oan hus face an’ the way he wis movin’ hus hand an’ the wrinkled hing stickin oot his troosers… an ah wis froze tae the spot. Ah cudnae look at his face. Ah cudnae look awa’. Ah cudnae scream, or confront hum or whit. After whit seemed an age ah pit ma book back oan the shelf an’ ah went roon the stacks the ither way, cus ah sure as hell wisnae gonnae try an’ git past hum, an’ then ah jist legged it up the stair straight oot the library an’ ran a’ the way hame.
By the time ah git hame ah realised ah’d no got ony books at a’ an’ ma ma wid be wunnerin’ whit wis wrang. A perfect chance tae tell her. Bit whit cud ah say? Like maist kids, when sumhing gangs wrang ye tend tae hink it must somehoo be yer ain fault. An’ if ah telt her whit ah’d seen ah wis sure somehoo that wid be me in trouble. Na, ah wis sure ma ma wid jist dae her dinger oan this wan. So ah made up some lie aboot hoo ah’d niver found a book ah wanted. That wid be a first. Bit she wisnae bothered an jist says tae me ‘well dinnae think that’s you gonnae watch mair TV this week.’
An when it wis time fer me tae gang back tae the library, ah kinda kicked ma heels and didnae want tae gang. It wis ma way o’ dealin’ wi hings, remember, like the Brownies. Dinna clype an dinna face up tae it. Jist hide away an’ pretend it husnae happened an hope somehoo hings’ll git better by theirsel’s, which they niver dae. I sweated this oot fer a fortnight afore ah jist hud tae gang back tae the library.
Ah wis as brave as cud be an’ ah even went back tae pick up the Dodie Smith book. But ah jist couldnae tak it aff the shelf. As soon as ah stood back in that spot ah wis that feart ah lost a’ interest in Dodie Smith. Ah wis jist waitin’ fer the man tae show up again. Which wis daft, ah ken. An’ efter a couple o’ trips ah managed tae convince masel’ it wis a wan aff an’ ah wis safe doon there again. An’ ah worked ma way through the sequels tae Mary Poppins quite the hing.
An then he struck again. Ah cudnae believe it. It wis in a different part o’ the library, bit ah turned roon an’ there he wis again, his hing hingin’ oot an’ hum playin’ wi’ it. Hus expression wis sae odd ah cannae fix it in words even noo.
Ah guess it wis like a kinda leer. An this time ah jist lookit awa’ richt quick an’ pretended ah’d niver even noticed hum an’ when ah looked up again, he wis gone. An’ that time ah really thocht ah shud tell the librarian up the stair, but when ah got there, ah cudnae hink whit tae say. A’ that went through ma mind wis whit ma ma used tae say when she wis angry. ‘That’s a richt cock up,’ she’d say. An’ it aeway’s stunned me that she cud say that in normal speech an’ get awa’ wi’ it. It sounded sae rude. Ah cudnae use the word ‘cock’. Ah didnae ken the expression ‘a bad man just exposed humsel’ tae me doon the stair’. An’ anyway’s ah’d been taught no tae speak tae strangers, an’ ma ma wis sure tae hink somehoo ah’d caused this stranger tae dae whit he wis daein.
Dinnae speak tae strangers, ah but that wan backfired tae. Ah wis fowr an ah proudly stood in the post office queue when a mannie offered me a sweetie an’ said ‘ah’m no allowed tae take sweeties frae strangers’ an ma ma gie’d me a clip roon the ear fer bein’ cheeky. Which made me kinda confused aboot whit the rule oan strangers wis. An’ feart tae ask in the future. Sae all’s ah kent wis that when a grown up did sumhing weird that ye didnae like or understand it wis probably yer ain fault an’ ye’d best no clype or ye’d be in even bigger bother. So ah niver telt the librarian. Ah niver telt ma ma. Ah niver went back tae the library. Until the next year when ah wis auld enough tae get an adult ticket. Which wis upstairs. Wi’ a librarian watchin’ ower iverybudy a’ the time ‘shusshin’ theym.
Ken whit. Ah seen that man anither time tae. No in the library. Ah cannae mind which street it wis in noo. He niver recognised me. Bit ah recognised hum an his dirty brown mac. An’ ah moved tae the ither side o’ ma ma an took her hond, a hing ah’d nae done since ah wis aboot eight. An’ she lookit at me kinda strange, but we niver said a word. An’ ah’ve niver said a word aboot that guy neither. Ah’ve felt guilty aboot it loads, though. First fer no huvin’ the words tae speak oot aboot it an then wonderin’ hoo mony ither young boys an girls huv been feart by hum an the likes o’ hum. Cus nae wan expects that kinda hing in the library, noo dae they?
Bit the yin place ah wis allowed tae gang wis tae the library. Noo, normally that wid be fine by me. It wis a guid walk across the Meadows an doon George IV Bridge tae the Central Library. A fair daunder oan a nice day an’ gie’d me a chance tae see the sichts. Ah cud tak’ ma time cus even though I cud hae ta’en a bus an’ no been awa sae lang, ah’m hinking that ma groundin’ wis as mich a pain fer ma ma as it wis fer me an’ when it cam doon tae it she wis pretty glad tae see the back o’ me fer a couple of hoors. Sae she niver gie’d me the bus fare. Unless it wis rainin’.
Ah wid wander alongside the Meadows. Ah didnae dawdle there cus in theym days ye’d be as like as not tae cam across the Hare Krishnas an’ they feart me. Ah wis quite a sma’ child e’en at twelve – ah pit a growth spurt oan aroon’ thirteen, an’ ah didnae trust they Hare Krishnas wan bit. Ah mean, Embra’s no exactly the South o France bit they wandered aroon dressed in flimsy wee orange togas an wi bare feet on them. Bare feet. No even flip flops. Bare feet on the pavements wis jist bizarre behaviour in onywan’s book. Bit the scariest hing aboot theym wis that ah’d been telt they wis like a cult an’ they brainwashed fowk. An’ ah hud ma ain ideas aboot hoo they git their recruits. Cus if ye wis walkin alang the pavement an they cam by, wi’ their jingling wee primary scuil cymbals an their weird sing song chantin ‘Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Hare Hare’ they cid just git richt roon ye and ye’d be lost in the crowd an’ absorbed intae the throng an’ ah bet that is whit they did, jist caught ye aff guard an’ taki’ ye up under the elbows, ah imagined they’d sweep ye alang back tae the Hare Krishna Temple – which wis oan the way tae the Library.
Sae I aften kept ma ee’s open fer the sichts an sounds o the Hare Krishna, ah cun tell ye. At twelve years auld ah’d hud my brush wi’ organised religion in the form o’ the Catholic church an’ ah wisnae aboot tae git sucked intae nae Eastern religion foreby. Which mak’s it kinda strange whit ah’m aboot tae tell ye the noo. Apart fae tae tell ye that ah wis aye wan tae tak a bet. Pure stupit ah reckon, bit if ah wis bored an’ somewan cam up wi’ a guid idea ah wis there, up tae ma ee’en. An’ remember ah wis still grounded, sae hings were pretty borin’. An’ ah wis tryin’ tae avoid the library (fer reasons ah’ll tell ye in the fullness o’ time). Well, it wis by chaunce ah met up with Katy, as ah wis oan my way tae the Library this day an’ we wis jist aboot outside the Hare Krishna Temple when we met. An’ efter we’d exchanged wur ‘whit r’ ye daein?’ an’ ‘holidays are pure borin eh?’ conversation she cam up wi’ an idea fer a bit o’ excitement. That widnae tak us oot oor way and widnae tak’ mair time as bein’ at the library. She pointed oot that we cud dae this dare and still ah cud get doon the library as lang’s ah didnae daunder aboot choosin’ books bit jist went an’ got any auld hing. Which ah wis prepared tae dae cus ah didn’t want tae hang aroon in that library. Ah didnae want tae be in there at a’. Aye, roon then, ah wis mair feart o’ the Library than the Hare Krishna, sae that tells ye somehing. It wis a question o sex or religion if ah’m no bein’ tae cryptic fer ye.
An’ Katy’s big plan wis that we wid gang intae the Hare Krishna Temple an’ see whit they git up tae in their ain lair. Ah still cannae believe ah went alang wi’ it. Ah mean, ah’d spent months o’ ma life avoidin’ theym oan the streets an’ noo ah wis gonnae walk richt in there o’ ma ain free will. Ah dinnae ken if they Krishna lot huv a hing aboot free will or no, bit ye ken whit ah mean. Bit even though they wis scary an’ ah didn’t want tae be captured or brainwashed by theym, they wis still that wee bitty exciting cus they wis exotic an’ apart fae the orange claes which wis pure rank, ma brither hud a George Harrison record he used tae play a’ the time, My Sweet Lord, an’ ah really liked that an’ if wan o’ the Beatles wisnae bothered by the Hare Krishna, cam oan, whit hud ah tae be feart o’?
So, ah’m kinda hummin’ Ma Sweet Lord tae ma’sel in ma heid as we push the heavy door and gang up the stair, cus theTemple wis up the stair, away aff the street, when ‘We’ll huv tae tak wur shoes aff,’ Katy says.
‘Why?’ Ah asks.
‘Ye huv tae. It’s whit they dae. Ye cannae wear yer shoes in the Temple.’
An’ that near hud me back doon the stairs. E’en though if ah’d thocht it through it widnae seem that odd, ah mean, they didnae wear shoes oot on the street so why wid they wear theym inside, bit ah hud another thocht high in ma mind. If we took aff wur shoes we’d nae be able tae run awa’, nae fast aeyways. An’ if ah turned up hame wi’oot ma shoes ah’d be for it.
Katy sees that ah’m losin the will an’ she’s hae’in nane o’ it.
‘Cam on, dinnae be feart,’ she says. ‘It’s jist respectfu’ tae their religion. An’ they’ll a’ be prayin’ anyways, singin’ an’ that sae it’ll be fine. They’ll niver even notice us.’
Yeah, richt. Bit somehoo she convinced me tae carry on up theym stairs.
An’ we git tae the outside door o’ the Temple. An’ there wis this load o’ shoes in rows a’ lined up outside. Which gie’d me pause. Hoo cam there’s sae mony shoes here when they Hare Krishnas dinnae even wear shoes? Ah didnae huv time tae hink cus Katy wis takin’ her shoes aff and getting ready tae gang in.
An’ ah made a decision. Cud huv been smart, cud huv been ma undaein’ bit ah decided ah wisnae takin’ ma shoes aff fer naebudy. They wis lace up’s an’ ah’d niver get they’m back oan quick enough if ah hud tae leg it, an whit if we wis inside the Temple an’ sumbudy cam roon an took the shoes awa’ an we culdnae git theym back. Na. Nae way. Ma shoes wis stayin’ oan ma feet an that wis that. If they wis sae busy wi’ their prayers they’d niver notice.
So in we goes tae the Temple. Katy in front an’ me takin’ up the rear. Wi’ ma shoes oan.
We opened that door an’ it wis like gaein intae a foreign world. Noo, ah’d been used tae a Catholic church (that’s anither story) an’ sae ah hud seen gold candlesticks and the like, bit this place, it wis somehing completely different. There wis nae chairs, the fowk wis a’ oan red cushions oan the flair. Bit up the end where the altar wid huv been, there wis this huge big golden statue, like a Buddha or somehing, an’ iverywhere there wis gold hings… ah canne gie ye a better description cus suddenly, afore ah properly git masel’ used tae the noise o’ the chantin an the smell o’ the joss sticks which pit the flingin incense o’ the Catholic church tae shame, we wis oot on wur arses bein’ chased awa’ by some geezer wi a baldy heid an’ an orange toga an’ nae shoes.
Ah took tae ma toes wi’oot a minute tae hink o’ it, bit Katy wisnae sae fly. She stood there an argued the toss wi’ the man. Telt him she wis hinking o’ convertin’ an he couldnae fling us oot afore we’d even hud a chance tae experience their ‘culture’. Ah cudnae believe the girl. Ah hung aroon in the relative safety o’ the doonstairs doorway an’ listened tae her gie’in hum the run aroon. An’ then he invited her back in. An’ me.
‘If she tak’s her shoes aff,’ he says, in the broadest Glaswegian accent ah’ve iver heard. Ah cudnae believe it. Ah mean, ah must’ve kent they wis Scottish Hare Krishnas bit wi’ the baldy’s n’ the togas ye dinnae hink o’ that dae ye? Ah wis huvin nane o’ it. If Katy wanted tae git hersel’ in wi’ the Hares that wis wan hing, bit noo, suddenly ah realised ah hud tae get tae the library, niver mind whit micht be waitin’ me there. So ah turned and ran. Katy hud got hersel’ intae this an’ she cud git hersel’ oot. Some pal me, eh?
Bit ah hud ma ain worries wance ah wis oot oan the street again. Ah scuffed ma shoes a’ along Forest Road an’ hung aroon the bridge lookin’ doon tae the Grassmarket until ah cudnae pit it aff ony langer. Ah went intae the library.
The main library is a grand buildin’ an’ in theym days the children’s section (which wis the only ticket ah hud in nineteen seventy four) wis doon the stair. Hidden away so tae speak. Bit then, it wis a library. Ye’ll be wonderin’ whit cud be sae tae fear in a library o’ a’ places. Well ah’m gonnae tell ye. An’ as ah tell ye, ah realise that ah shud huv jist telt somewan back then an’ ah feel guilty fer no daein’ it, bit ah didnae ken whit tae sae then. Ah didnae ken whit words tae use. Bein’ lost fer words in a library, is that no an irony?
The stacks as they ca’ them were high and long an’ it wis easy tae be hidden fae view o’ onybody an’ onyhing doon there. An’ the first time ah saw him ah wis getttin the follow up tae 101 Dalmations. Dodie Smith wis the author. Ah mind it fine. Ah’d jist done ma way through Laura Ingalls Wilder an’ the Little Hoose on the Prairie books – e’en better as the TV series an’ noo ah found that Dodie Smith wrote mair as the 101 Dalmations (a fillum ah niver got tae see cus ma ma widnae let us gang tae see cartoons. Nae proper fillums, she says, and nae money wis tae be wastit oan cartoons. Ah hink we fair annoyed her wi’ Scooby Doo an’ the Wacky Races an’ she thocht that TV cartoons wis bad enough so she’s no gonnae waste money on fillum length wans.) So when ah found the book o’ 101 Dalmations ah wis fair chuffed. An’ then ah went tae git the sequel. An’ that wis when it happened.
Ah looked up from the shelves. Ken when ye git that idea that someone’s watchin’ ye an it mak’s ye uncomfortable an’ ye huv tae look up. It wis like that. It gits ma heart racin’ e’en noo, forty odd year on, tellin’ it fer the first time. Ah lookit up. An’ he wis there. He wis some auld guy, ah niver really got a guid look at his face. He hud a long brown coat oan an first ah wis jist surprised tae see a man o’ that age doon in the children’s section. Then ah seen hum lookin’ at me sortie strange. An’ then ah saw… hoo cun ah tell ye, even noo. He wis ‘exposin’ humsel’. ‘Playin’ wi humsel.’ These are the expressions adults use bit ah wis twelve n’ ah hud nae idea whit… ah wis jist feart o’ the look oan hus face an’ the way he wis movin’ hus hand an’ the wrinkled hing stickin oot his troosers… an ah wis froze tae the spot. Ah cudnae look at his face. Ah cudnae look awa’. Ah cudnae scream, or confront hum or whit. After whit seemed an age ah pit ma book back oan the shelf an’ ah went roon the stacks the ither way, cus ah sure as hell wisnae gonnae try an’ git past hum, an’ then ah jist legged it up the stair straight oot the library an’ ran a’ the way hame.
By the time ah git hame ah realised ah’d no got ony books at a’ an’ ma ma wid be wunnerin’ whit wis wrang. A perfect chance tae tell her. Bit whit cud ah say? Like maist kids, when sumhing gangs wrang ye tend tae hink it must somehoo be yer ain fault. An’ if ah telt her whit ah’d seen ah wis sure somehoo that wid be me in trouble. Na, ah wis sure ma ma wid jist dae her dinger oan this wan. So ah made up some lie aboot hoo ah’d niver found a book ah wanted. That wid be a first. Bit she wisnae bothered an jist says tae me ‘well dinnae think that’s you gonnae watch mair TV this week.’
An when it wis time fer me tae gang back tae the library, ah kinda kicked ma heels and didnae want tae gang. It wis ma way o’ dealin’ wi hings, remember, like the Brownies. Dinna clype an dinna face up tae it. Jist hide away an’ pretend it husnae happened an hope somehoo hings’ll git better by theirsel’s, which they niver dae. I sweated this oot fer a fortnight afore ah jist hud tae gang back tae the library.
Ah wis as brave as cud be an’ ah even went back tae pick up the Dodie Smith book. But ah jist couldnae tak it aff the shelf. As soon as ah stood back in that spot ah wis that feart ah lost a’ interest in Dodie Smith. Ah wis jist waitin’ fer the man tae show up again. Which wis daft, ah ken. An’ efter a couple o’ trips ah managed tae convince masel’ it wis a wan aff an’ ah wis safe doon there again. An’ ah worked ma way through the sequels tae Mary Poppins quite the hing.
An then he struck again. Ah cudnae believe it. It wis in a different part o’ the library, bit ah turned roon an’ there he wis again, his hing hingin’ oot an’ hum playin’ wi’ it. Hus expression wis sae odd ah cannae fix it in words even noo.
Ah guess it wis like a kinda leer. An this time ah jist lookit awa’ richt quick an’ pretended ah’d niver even noticed hum an’ when ah looked up again, he wis gone. An’ that time ah really thocht ah shud tell the librarian up the stair, but when ah got there, ah cudnae hink whit tae say. A’ that went through ma mind wis whit ma ma used tae say when she wis angry. ‘That’s a richt cock up,’ she’d say. An’ it aeway’s stunned me that she cud say that in normal speech an’ get awa’ wi’ it. It sounded sae rude. Ah cudnae use the word ‘cock’. Ah didnae ken the expression ‘a bad man just exposed humsel’ tae me doon the stair’. An’ anyway’s ah’d been taught no tae speak tae strangers, an’ ma ma wis sure tae hink somehoo ah’d caused this stranger tae dae whit he wis daein.
Dinnae speak tae strangers, ah but that wan backfired tae. Ah wis fowr an ah proudly stood in the post office queue when a mannie offered me a sweetie an’ said ‘ah’m no allowed tae take sweeties frae strangers’ an ma ma gie’d me a clip roon the ear fer bein’ cheeky. Which made me kinda confused aboot whit the rule oan strangers wis. An’ feart tae ask in the future. Sae all’s ah kent wis that when a grown up did sumhing weird that ye didnae like or understand it wis probably yer ain fault an’ ye’d best no clype or ye’d be in even bigger bother. So ah niver telt the librarian. Ah niver telt ma ma. Ah niver went back tae the library. Until the next year when ah wis auld enough tae get an adult ticket. Which wis upstairs. Wi’ a librarian watchin’ ower iverybudy a’ the time ‘shusshin’ theym.
Ken whit. Ah seen that man anither time tae. No in the library. Ah cannae mind which street it wis in noo. He niver recognised me. Bit ah recognised hum an his dirty brown mac. An’ ah moved tae the ither side o’ ma ma an took her hond, a hing ah’d nae done since ah wis aboot eight. An’ she lookit at me kinda strange, but we niver said a word. An’ ah’ve niver said a word aboot that guy neither. Ah’ve felt guilty aboot it loads, though. First fer no huvin’ the words tae speak oot aboot it an then wonderin’ hoo mony ither young boys an girls huv been feart by hum an the likes o’ hum. Cus nae wan expects that kinda hing in the library, noo dae they?
About the Author
Cally Phillips was born in England of Scottish parentage. Now in Turriff, she has lived most of her life in various parts of Scotland, urban and rural.
She currently works as editor for Ayton Publishing Limited and runs a number of online projects, including The Galloway Raiders, which is the online hub for Scots writer S. R. Crockett.
She currently works as editor for Ayton Publishing Limited and runs a number of online projects, including The Galloway Raiders, which is the online hub for Scots writer S. R. Crockett.