Strange Loyalties
“Before eating, I stood at the bar with a tomato juice. I was becoming a connoisseur of soft drinks. The place was fairly dilapidated. There were maybe half-a-dozen people in. The talk seemed to be of imminent closure. The barman, whose name was Alan, had a face like a Christmas tree, every vein a fairy-light. He had decided he would have to sell out to the brewers. He couldn’t understand where all the takings he used to have had gone. I thought he might look in the mirror for a clue. He was dri...nking doubles. But then again maybe I was just jealous.
He was talking to a man called Wullie Mairshall. I knew because at one point the man said, ‘This isny Simple Simon talkin’. This is Wullie Mairshall.’ The barman said, ‘Thanks for pointin’ that out. Ah wis gettin’ confused there.’ The talk of closure became talk of the mess Thornbank was in, became talk of Dan Scoular. His name was mentioned with a reverence I couldn’t imagine any living person managing to justify. But sainthood is always posthumous.MoreLess
He was talking to a man called Wullie Mairshall. I knew because at one point the man said, ‘This isny Simple Simon talkin’. This is Wullie Mairshall.’ The barman said, ‘Thanks for pointin’ that out. Ah wis gettin’ confused there.’ The talk of closure became talk of the mess Thornbank was in, became talk of Dan Scoular. His name was mentioned with a reverence I couldn’t imagine any living person managing to justify. But sainthood is always posthumous.MoreLess
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