Smoke Under The Bridge
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: Being laid off work needn't be the end of the world. See through the smokescreen and there could well be a happy ending.
_____________________________________________________________________
Black Mac had known there was something in the wind for some time now. For a start, his friends were disappearing one by one, disappearing to who knew where. At the end of every month there would be fewer horses in the stable and not one of those remaining could shed any light on the mystery.
Rumours abounded, some of them quite ridiculous, others frightening in the extreme, but Black Mac felt secure enough to ignore them. He was an 'owned' horse whereas others were hired.
He belonged to and worked for the one family, hauling short boats full of coal for mile after mile on the canals.
The 'short' referred to the draught of the barge and not it's sixty foot length. Although it sounded like hard work, it was more monotonous than tiring. The hardest part was starting off, leaning into the collar and straining every sinew to set a barge carrying tons of coal on its way.
The rest of the day was a doddle for the most part. Once moving, the barge took little effort to maintain speed, much easier, say, than pulling a cart.
Black Mac's first job of work was for a milkman, stop start every couple of yards, he was so pleased when he graduated to his position on the canals.
Now and again the boat would have to be brought to a stand in accordance with the 'right of way' code. This took as much effort and skill as starting up and could be fraught with danger for the handlers. One towrope would be allowed to sink to the bottom of the canal so the oncoming boat could pass over it and so get beyond the stationary boat. As sometimes happened, the trailing rope could find itself snagged and all hell would break loose.
Black Mac lost count of the number of times he had been cut loose over the years, it wouldn't do for him to be dragged into the canal, he was a valuable part of the team and as such was pretty well looked after.
With twelve years worth of canal experience under his collar he thought he had seen it all. That was until one fine spring morning he saw a barge coming towards him, moving without the assistance of a horse.
Although the oncoming traffic had right of way, the pilot waved him on and pulled up to the far edge of the canal to let them pass.
His 'family' looked on goggle eyed at this strange phenomenon, they had heard tell of these new steam powered boats, no one thought to let Black Mac know though, typical.
So that was the beginning of the end, the writing was on the wall even if he didn't quite see it coming.
The change was gradual, Summer came and went, more steam powered barges took to working the canals until they outnumbered the more traditional horse drawn boats quite heavily.
Similarly, Black Mac's friends slowly left the canal bank without so much as a by your leave.
He noticed other changes too. For instance, one day he threw a shoe and his 'family' couldn't find a farrier for love nor money. At one point a farrier could be found at stations not more than three miles apart, now, like horse drawn barges, they too were a dying breed, either that or they had found gainful employment at the race track.
With the cobbled pathway as his place of work, Black Mac needed re-shoeing every four or five weeks. Now, it cost his 'family' almost half a day's work to send out for a farrier.
At fifteen years of age he was, in his own opinion, in his prime and with plenty more years ahead of him.
His last day at the office came completely out of the blue. About half a mile beyond the top lock he was unharnessed and tethered. His full barge of coal was connected by a rope to the stern of a steam barge and towed towards the bridge. There was dampness in the air which made the steam look like smoke. The last he saw of his family they were engulfed in a cloud of said smoke, smoke under the bridge.
As darkness fell the by now bewildered Black Mac was untied by a complete stranger, walked along to the main road and loaded into a dark horsebox.
Three quarters of an hour later the door opened and he was led into a dark field where the man relieved him of his collar and harness, then smacked his hind quarters to send him into the night.
Rather cagily, he walked towards some shadows he could make out up ahead and was surprised to find one or two old friends. They made a fuss of him, introduced him to some others he didn't know and informed him he was on an animal sanctuary. It would take some getting used to he was told, but at least he was among friends.
At daybreak he took in his new surroundings. Acres of lush grass to go at and not a barge in sight, yes, it would take some getting used to.
A little later some children in the next field fed him with fallen apples, a tractor dropped off a load of fresh hay and the man from last night provided him with a blanket coat. He was officially retired, if this was what retirement meant, so be it, he could handle it.
Some weeks later as he watched smoke billowing from a farmhouse chimney, his mind wandered back to the last time he saw his ' family', disappearing into the smoke under the bridge.
Swearwords: None.
Description: Being laid off work needn't be the end of the world. See through the smokescreen and there could well be a happy ending.
_____________________________________________________________________
Black Mac had known there was something in the wind for some time now. For a start, his friends were disappearing one by one, disappearing to who knew where. At the end of every month there would be fewer horses in the stable and not one of those remaining could shed any light on the mystery.
Rumours abounded, some of them quite ridiculous, others frightening in the extreme, but Black Mac felt secure enough to ignore them. He was an 'owned' horse whereas others were hired.
He belonged to and worked for the one family, hauling short boats full of coal for mile after mile on the canals.
The 'short' referred to the draught of the barge and not it's sixty foot length. Although it sounded like hard work, it was more monotonous than tiring. The hardest part was starting off, leaning into the collar and straining every sinew to set a barge carrying tons of coal on its way.
The rest of the day was a doddle for the most part. Once moving, the barge took little effort to maintain speed, much easier, say, than pulling a cart.
Black Mac's first job of work was for a milkman, stop start every couple of yards, he was so pleased when he graduated to his position on the canals.
Now and again the boat would have to be brought to a stand in accordance with the 'right of way' code. This took as much effort and skill as starting up and could be fraught with danger for the handlers. One towrope would be allowed to sink to the bottom of the canal so the oncoming boat could pass over it and so get beyond the stationary boat. As sometimes happened, the trailing rope could find itself snagged and all hell would break loose.
Black Mac lost count of the number of times he had been cut loose over the years, it wouldn't do for him to be dragged into the canal, he was a valuable part of the team and as such was pretty well looked after.
With twelve years worth of canal experience under his collar he thought he had seen it all. That was until one fine spring morning he saw a barge coming towards him, moving without the assistance of a horse.
Although the oncoming traffic had right of way, the pilot waved him on and pulled up to the far edge of the canal to let them pass.
His 'family' looked on goggle eyed at this strange phenomenon, they had heard tell of these new steam powered boats, no one thought to let Black Mac know though, typical.
So that was the beginning of the end, the writing was on the wall even if he didn't quite see it coming.
The change was gradual, Summer came and went, more steam powered barges took to working the canals until they outnumbered the more traditional horse drawn boats quite heavily.
Similarly, Black Mac's friends slowly left the canal bank without so much as a by your leave.
He noticed other changes too. For instance, one day he threw a shoe and his 'family' couldn't find a farrier for love nor money. At one point a farrier could be found at stations not more than three miles apart, now, like horse drawn barges, they too were a dying breed, either that or they had found gainful employment at the race track.
With the cobbled pathway as his place of work, Black Mac needed re-shoeing every four or five weeks. Now, it cost his 'family' almost half a day's work to send out for a farrier.
At fifteen years of age he was, in his own opinion, in his prime and with plenty more years ahead of him.
His last day at the office came completely out of the blue. About half a mile beyond the top lock he was unharnessed and tethered. His full barge of coal was connected by a rope to the stern of a steam barge and towed towards the bridge. There was dampness in the air which made the steam look like smoke. The last he saw of his family they were engulfed in a cloud of said smoke, smoke under the bridge.
As darkness fell the by now bewildered Black Mac was untied by a complete stranger, walked along to the main road and loaded into a dark horsebox.
Three quarters of an hour later the door opened and he was led into a dark field where the man relieved him of his collar and harness, then smacked his hind quarters to send him into the night.
Rather cagily, he walked towards some shadows he could make out up ahead and was surprised to find one or two old friends. They made a fuss of him, introduced him to some others he didn't know and informed him he was on an animal sanctuary. It would take some getting used to he was told, but at least he was among friends.
At daybreak he took in his new surroundings. Acres of lush grass to go at and not a barge in sight, yes, it would take some getting used to.
A little later some children in the next field fed him with fallen apples, a tractor dropped off a load of fresh hay and the man from last night provided him with a blanket coat. He was officially retired, if this was what retirement meant, so be it, he could handle it.
Some weeks later as he watched smoke billowing from a farmhouse chimney, his mind wandered back to the last time he saw his ' family', disappearing into the smoke under the bridge.
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in his 50s, an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in sunny Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing. He is inspired by the Ayrshire coast and likes what he calls "real music". He also enjoys pool, snooker and is a big fan of rugby league side, Wigan Warriors. He has written several novels and one poetry collection and says that writing gives him "endless pleasure". His two ebooks can be viewed by clicking on the images below.
Angus tells us that all his stories on McStorytellers have been inspired by the titles of songs written by Paul Kelly, who is often described as the poet laureate of Australia.
Angus tells us that all his stories on McStorytellers have been inspired by the titles of songs written by Paul Kelly, who is often described as the poet laureate of Australia.
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