the poor man and grip the bottom of his long coat and he would swing
his coat around lifting the dog up in die air, all the while cursing
and swearing. My brother and I would run away and split our sides
laughing until the tears ran down our cheeks. Our dog was really
a gentle creature and he was only playing, although Ginger never
knew this. Each time he called after that, he would have a half
brick in his barrow, which he always picked up and threatened to
hit our dog with, so we kept our distance.
Our local police sergeant was Cossar Brown and this was a man to
respect and fear. If we were playing innocently in the street at
tig and saw Cossar and one of his constables with him approaching
us, we would all suddenly become very polite and sit down on the
kerb quietly until he had passed. Even the threat of the police
was enough to send us all packing. We would play Chap Door Run,
which was best played in blocks of houses where there were no front
gardens or gates to hamper your escape, so we played in the Ponderosa
or Inchview, as we would run down the vennels and chap three doors
at a time then hide in another vennel. This was smashing fun for
us* but not for the occupants of the houses. Sometimes one of the
wifies would phone the police arid that was the game finished.
I would often supplement my daily threepenny bit by asking favourite
neighbours if I could go for messages for them after school. This
was a profitable business for me. I also went to a certain house
from which I was strictly banned because the man of the house, according
to the neighbourhood gossips, was a drunk. He did enjoy a drink,
I knew that. Indeed the reason I visited and asked his wife if she
wanted any messages or errands run, was that I knew I would be offered
the empty beer bottles in repayment instead of cash — there was
always at least six empties and at tuppence for each one, I made
a tidy sum. The only risk I took was returning die empties, as they
were to be returned to the Forth Tavern known locally as The Goth.
You had to go in the front doors to the Jug Bar with empties, so
you were on public view to all the regulars and my next door neighbour
was always there. I was frightened he would mention to my dad that
I had been in the Jug returning empties, so I would crouch down
and put the bottles on the counter and hide until the barman had
time to serve me and give me my money. After this transaction took
place, I would cross the road to Johnny's — Antonelli's chip shop
— and purchase chips and ice cream, safe until another day.
Tuesdays were the days I had to go up the hill to the sub post office,
which was known as Mrs Beith's after the lady who served in the
shop and I believed at the time owned it. This shop has changed
many hands
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