No Ball Games
by Marc Innis
Genre: Memoir
Swearwords: Some strong ones.
Description: Boyhood memories of Elgin in the Eighties.
Swearwords: Some strong ones.
Description: Boyhood memories of Elgin in the Eighties.
My granda got me a size 4 fitba out the sports shop. I was quite miffed at the time. I wanted a size 5 like abdy else. Size 5 was regulation size. The kind you saw Pelé bicycle kick straight over his head into the back of the net. I argued with my granda ‘til we were blue in the face. He pointed out that Pelé learned his trade as a wee boy using oranges from the fruit markets in Brazil. Keeping them up in the air using both feet, developing close control, perfecting his art whatever the poverty.
I ended up with the size 4. Too wee to take down to the playing fields. Mind you, I doubt I would’ve taen it down there anyway. The last time we went down Colm’s ball got nicked and ended up in the canal.
*
We were still in the Murd. My dad picked us up every second Saturday at 9 in the morning. He used to spoil us so me and my sisters would always be up and waiting. Usually he’d be on time but that morning he was late and had to speak to Mam afore he came back to the car. By the look on his face I knew something had happened.
Just go and do what you’d normally do, he said.
There was a good bit of grass behind the garages. I went roun there to practise my keepy ups.
The grass was wet and slippy. It was Saturday morning, gulls calling. I kept the ball in the air. I could use both feet now. My left was maybe even stronger than the right, though I’d started out so right-sided the PE teacher used to shake his heid and walk off.
I mind being amazed when I saw my mam writing a letter at the kitchen table. She was left handed and the way she wrote was like she could write backwards. When she got up to put the kettle on, I looked at the piece of paper. I couldn’t read one word.
What you up to? said Colm.
Fuck, I dropped the ball. You put me off. 67. I was going for a record.
Personal best ye mean?
Aye but, practice makes perfect.
Tt.
Colm had a way of sneaking up on ye out of nowhere. His auld boy used to leather him. He kicked the ball so it rattled the chain link fence. Auld Murdoch stuck his head out a second-floor window, HEY! HOW MANY TIMES –
Well done, I said.
You started it! Colm pointed at the No Ball Games sign.
I sat down on the wet grass, felt it soak through my jeans.
Get up ye numptie!
Lissin, I’ve something tae tell ye.
*
It was the tattie holidays but, anytime me and Gary got up at 6 in the morning to meet the van the driver telt us to sling wir hook coz he had enough adults, didn’t need any kids.
After a few tries we gave up, went back to our long lies followed by a few hours in front of the telly. Or we’d stand outside the chippy, watching the cars fly past on the main road, make daft bets as to where they were going.
I bet ye a million quid that Cortina is off tae Eberdeen.
It’s gan tae Inverness.
It’s nay. It’s gan tae Glasgow.
Ye jist said Eberdeen.
I’ve changed ma mind.
Ye cannae change yer mind.
How nay.
Ye jist cannae. Nay in the middle ae a bet. Plus, ye already owe me a million.
I hud ma fingers crossed.
Ye did not.
Did sot.
I saw yer hauns.
Ye didna.
I asked to see yer hauns coz I dinna trust ye.
I dinna trust ye either.
Yer jist a sore loser.
I’m nay.
Ye are.
We could’ve ended up fighting if Colm hudna arrived fae Losaidh on a pushbike he found leaning against a lamp post.
Fuck me, said Gary, some machine.
Yours for a tenner.
It was a ladies’ foldaway shopper, complete wi bell and handlebar basket.
Fuckin nippy, said Colm, Losaidh tae Ailgin in 15 minutes.
Away and shite.
3-speed, said Colm, he flicked through the gears, mounted the saddle, tore up the road and back again.
*
We went to Gary’s grannie’s, got soup and sandwiches off her. I managed to shoplift 3 cream eggs fae Prestos. It was a cold bugger of a day and towards evening the rain came down in freezing dollops. My mam took pity on Colm, told him to put his bike in the shed. Did you borrow it off yer mam?
Aye.
Colm phoned his mam from our house, told her he was staying the night. We went up to my room, lay on the bunk beds. I had some Run DMC and Public Enemy I’d taped off the radio. Colm wasn’t into it as much as me, so I fiddled about with the aerial and tuning ‘til the sound of Ailgin police came through the speaker. I went down the stair for some juice. Mam was in the kitchen. Andrew, she said.
What?
She looked at me. I shrugged and looked away.
If that’s some aul wifey’s bike Colm’s got she might be upset.
But Mam –
That’s all I’m saying.
. . .
Where’s the juice? said Colm.
Nane left, I said. The caul water oot the bathroom tap’s aright.
He was lying with his eyes shut in the bottom bunk. I realised how easy it would be just to smack him in the mouth. I climbed into the top bunk, ignored him.
*
The next day was Friday. Me and Gary got our bikes dusted off, pumped up the tyres. The 3 of us took off down the back road to Losaidh.
It had stopped raining but, the wind was against us, made it hard going. We opted for the auld railway line which was just a dirt track wide enough to get a tractor down. It was all mud and puddles. By the time we cycled the 5 miles to Losaidh we were covered in mud and so were the bikes. I knew if we turned up anywhere except my grannie and granda’s we were gona be in trouble.
*
My grandparents always sat either side of the coal fire in the kitchen. The big colour telly Dad got them was at the other end of the room. I remember Scotland beating England 2-1 at Wembley, the huis packed wi relations going mental. I was maybe 5 or 6 at the time, worried about my grannie and granda in a huis full ae drunk folk. My granda just smiled when I told him I was worried.
Ye kain yer grannie’s brother?
Great Uncle Jake?
Naybdy’ll lift a finger in Jake’s sister’s huis.
Is he the toughest?
Course he’s the toughest.
*
My grannie put newspaper on the kitchen floor, aul towels over the chairs to stop us making everything muddy. We had a bowl of broth each in front of us. The kettle was boiling. When the mud had dried, we went out the back, used a wire brush to get the worst of it off our jeans. Fit were yis thinking? she laughed and shook her head.
My granda’s bedroom was next to the kitchen. When we were mair or less respectable we trooped in to see him.
Ye aright granda?
Nay bad. Jist a touch ae the flu I think.
Colm was eyeing the snooker trophies up on the bureau. I gave him a look.
Fit brings yis oot on a day like this?
Colm’s got a new bike, said Gary.
Oh right, he said, a racer?
Nay quite.
Auld Mrs Dawson had her bike pinched the other day, she wis in here telling yer grannie aa aboot it.
Colm looked at the floor. Gary was grinning.
She’ll be missing that bike ae hers. Hale toun musta heard aboot it.
My grannie stuck her head roun the door. Fit’s this yer blethering aboot? Ye should be resting.
I dunno fit I’d dee if I had a new bike. Take off for Spain mibbe.
Spain! Fit aboot yer rheumatics?
Ach, he looked at us. See and behave, I’ll need a wee restie.
*
The next day was Saturday and my dad was due to pick me and my sisters up at 9. That morning he was late, had to speak to Mam afore he came back tae the car. Baith my sisters were greeting. I couldn’t look at him. We’ll take the back road, he said. The main road’s busy.
I ended up with the size 4. Too wee to take down to the playing fields. Mind you, I doubt I would’ve taen it down there anyway. The last time we went down Colm’s ball got nicked and ended up in the canal.
*
We were still in the Murd. My dad picked us up every second Saturday at 9 in the morning. He used to spoil us so me and my sisters would always be up and waiting. Usually he’d be on time but that morning he was late and had to speak to Mam afore he came back to the car. By the look on his face I knew something had happened.
Just go and do what you’d normally do, he said.
There was a good bit of grass behind the garages. I went roun there to practise my keepy ups.
The grass was wet and slippy. It was Saturday morning, gulls calling. I kept the ball in the air. I could use both feet now. My left was maybe even stronger than the right, though I’d started out so right-sided the PE teacher used to shake his heid and walk off.
I mind being amazed when I saw my mam writing a letter at the kitchen table. She was left handed and the way she wrote was like she could write backwards. When she got up to put the kettle on, I looked at the piece of paper. I couldn’t read one word.
What you up to? said Colm.
Fuck, I dropped the ball. You put me off. 67. I was going for a record.
Personal best ye mean?
Aye but, practice makes perfect.
Tt.
Colm had a way of sneaking up on ye out of nowhere. His auld boy used to leather him. He kicked the ball so it rattled the chain link fence. Auld Murdoch stuck his head out a second-floor window, HEY! HOW MANY TIMES –
Well done, I said.
You started it! Colm pointed at the No Ball Games sign.
I sat down on the wet grass, felt it soak through my jeans.
Get up ye numptie!
Lissin, I’ve something tae tell ye.
*
It was the tattie holidays but, anytime me and Gary got up at 6 in the morning to meet the van the driver telt us to sling wir hook coz he had enough adults, didn’t need any kids.
After a few tries we gave up, went back to our long lies followed by a few hours in front of the telly. Or we’d stand outside the chippy, watching the cars fly past on the main road, make daft bets as to where they were going.
I bet ye a million quid that Cortina is off tae Eberdeen.
It’s gan tae Inverness.
It’s nay. It’s gan tae Glasgow.
Ye jist said Eberdeen.
I’ve changed ma mind.
Ye cannae change yer mind.
How nay.
Ye jist cannae. Nay in the middle ae a bet. Plus, ye already owe me a million.
I hud ma fingers crossed.
Ye did not.
Did sot.
I saw yer hauns.
Ye didna.
I asked to see yer hauns coz I dinna trust ye.
I dinna trust ye either.
Yer jist a sore loser.
I’m nay.
Ye are.
We could’ve ended up fighting if Colm hudna arrived fae Losaidh on a pushbike he found leaning against a lamp post.
Fuck me, said Gary, some machine.
Yours for a tenner.
It was a ladies’ foldaway shopper, complete wi bell and handlebar basket.
Fuckin nippy, said Colm, Losaidh tae Ailgin in 15 minutes.
Away and shite.
3-speed, said Colm, he flicked through the gears, mounted the saddle, tore up the road and back again.
*
We went to Gary’s grannie’s, got soup and sandwiches off her. I managed to shoplift 3 cream eggs fae Prestos. It was a cold bugger of a day and towards evening the rain came down in freezing dollops. My mam took pity on Colm, told him to put his bike in the shed. Did you borrow it off yer mam?
Aye.
Colm phoned his mam from our house, told her he was staying the night. We went up to my room, lay on the bunk beds. I had some Run DMC and Public Enemy I’d taped off the radio. Colm wasn’t into it as much as me, so I fiddled about with the aerial and tuning ‘til the sound of Ailgin police came through the speaker. I went down the stair for some juice. Mam was in the kitchen. Andrew, she said.
What?
She looked at me. I shrugged and looked away.
If that’s some aul wifey’s bike Colm’s got she might be upset.
But Mam –
That’s all I’m saying.
. . .
Where’s the juice? said Colm.
Nane left, I said. The caul water oot the bathroom tap’s aright.
He was lying with his eyes shut in the bottom bunk. I realised how easy it would be just to smack him in the mouth. I climbed into the top bunk, ignored him.
*
The next day was Friday. Me and Gary got our bikes dusted off, pumped up the tyres. The 3 of us took off down the back road to Losaidh.
It had stopped raining but, the wind was against us, made it hard going. We opted for the auld railway line which was just a dirt track wide enough to get a tractor down. It was all mud and puddles. By the time we cycled the 5 miles to Losaidh we were covered in mud and so were the bikes. I knew if we turned up anywhere except my grannie and granda’s we were gona be in trouble.
*
My grandparents always sat either side of the coal fire in the kitchen. The big colour telly Dad got them was at the other end of the room. I remember Scotland beating England 2-1 at Wembley, the huis packed wi relations going mental. I was maybe 5 or 6 at the time, worried about my grannie and granda in a huis full ae drunk folk. My granda just smiled when I told him I was worried.
Ye kain yer grannie’s brother?
Great Uncle Jake?
Naybdy’ll lift a finger in Jake’s sister’s huis.
Is he the toughest?
Course he’s the toughest.
*
My grannie put newspaper on the kitchen floor, aul towels over the chairs to stop us making everything muddy. We had a bowl of broth each in front of us. The kettle was boiling. When the mud had dried, we went out the back, used a wire brush to get the worst of it off our jeans. Fit were yis thinking? she laughed and shook her head.
My granda’s bedroom was next to the kitchen. When we were mair or less respectable we trooped in to see him.
Ye aright granda?
Nay bad. Jist a touch ae the flu I think.
Colm was eyeing the snooker trophies up on the bureau. I gave him a look.
Fit brings yis oot on a day like this?
Colm’s got a new bike, said Gary.
Oh right, he said, a racer?
Nay quite.
Auld Mrs Dawson had her bike pinched the other day, she wis in here telling yer grannie aa aboot it.
Colm looked at the floor. Gary was grinning.
She’ll be missing that bike ae hers. Hale toun musta heard aboot it.
My grannie stuck her head roun the door. Fit’s this yer blethering aboot? Ye should be resting.
I dunno fit I’d dee if I had a new bike. Take off for Spain mibbe.
Spain! Fit aboot yer rheumatics?
Ach, he looked at us. See and behave, I’ll need a wee restie.
*
The next day was Saturday and my dad was due to pick me and my sisters up at 9. That morning he was late, had to speak to Mam afore he came back tae the car. Baith my sisters were greeting. I couldn’t look at him. We’ll take the back road, he said. The main road’s busy.
About the Author
Aberdeen-born Marc Innis writes from the local perspective, hoping that what he writes will have resonance with anyone anywhere in the world. Since he lives in Losaidh (Lossiemouth, if you prefer the Anglicization), his concerns are largely to do with the people, history and language of that place.