James Kelman - Not Not While the Giro

McGraty nodded.

At the dinner-break he left the other men and went along to the canteen, finding a space beside a group from a different factory section. He took out his sandwiches, he had bought a cup of tea at the counter. One of the men began talking to him for a spell. Later he borrowed a Daily Record and when the man noticed he was reading the racing section he indicated a boy across at another table. The young yin, said the man, he carries a line to the betting shop if you’re interested.

Good. . McGraty nodded and resumed the study. When he was leaving he stopped by the table and scribbled the ids of his horses on the back of an empty cigarette packet, and gave the boy 55 pence with it. It’s a comedy bet son, you want me to write it for you?

The boy shrugged.

McGraty returned him the pencil.

I’ll bring you the copy at the break later, whereabouts you working?

That machine with all the rollers.

What. . The boy moved his chair out and looked down at McGraty’s shoes, he grinned and called to the others at the table. Heh, it’s the new guy from the roller!

The others got up to see McGraty’s shoe. He smiled, Some fucking job eh?

They were amused. McGraty scratched his head.

A copper bar had just been delivered. McGraty was standing near the wall, watching Tony prepare to receive it through the rollers. The cranedriver shouted on him. When he walked beyond the machine the man said: Is it you’s got the good start to your line?

What?

I heard you’d a good start to your line?

Me?

So I heard, 10’s and 16’s, your first two.

Is that right?

Aye, as far as I hear. . The cranedriver pressed a button and his machine moved off, back down towards the furnace. McGraty gazed after it for a moment. From behind the roller the other man called, You’ve knocked it off eh?

McGraty shrugged, I’ll believe it when I see it.

Ah they’ll no con you. It’ll be gen.

You sure?

Aye. . The man stopped when the banging noise was heard. McGraty returned to the other side of the roller in time to see Tony thrusting the bar back inside. He took out a cigarette, he chuckled quietly, briefly; he flipped the match away and exhaled smoke, he watched Tony moving to the next position.

Young Cecil is medium sized and retired. For years he has been undisputed champion of our hall. Nowadays that is not saying much. This pitch has fallen from grace lately. John Moir who runs the place has started letting some of the punters rent a table Friday and Saturday nights to play Pontoons, and as an old head pointed out the other day: that is it for any place, never mind Porter’s.

In Young Cecil’s day it had one of the best reputations in Glasgow. Not for its decoration or the rest of it. But for all round ability Porter’s regulars took some beating. Back in these days we won the ‘City’ eight years running with Young Cecil Number 1 and Wee Danny backing up at Number 2. You could have picked any four from ten to make up the rest of the team. Between the two of them they took the lot three years running; snooker singles and doubles, and billiards the same. You never saw that done very often.

To let you know just how good we were, John Moir’s big brother Tam could not even get into the team except if we were short though John Moir would look at you as if you were daft if you said it out loud. He used to make out Tam, Young Cecil and Wee Danny were the big three. Nonsense. One or two of us had to put a stop to that. We would have done it a hell of a lot sooner if Wee Danny was still living because Young Cecil has a habit of not talking. All he does is smile. And that not very often either. I have seen Frankie Sweeney’s boy come all the way down here just to say hello; and what does Young Cecil do but give him a nod and at the most a how’s it going without even a id nor nothing. But that was always his way and Frankie Sweeney’s boy still drops in once or twice yet. The big noises remember Cecil. And some of the young ones. Tam! — never mind John Moir — Young Cecil could have gave Tam forty and potting only yellows still won looking round. How far.

Nowadays he can hardly be annoyed even saying hello. But he was never ignorant. Always the same.

I mind the first time we clapped eyes on him. Years ago it was. In those days he used to play up the Y.M., but we knew about him. A hall’s regulars kind of keep themselves to themselves and yet we had still heard of this young fellow that could handle a stick. And with a first id like Cecil nobody needed to know what his last one was. Wee Danny was the Number 1 at the time. It is not so good as all that being Number 1 cause you have got to hand out big starts otherwise you are lucky to get playing, never mind for a few bob — though there are always the one or two who do not bother about losing a couple of bob just so long as they get a game with you.

Wee Danny was about twenty seven or thirty in those days but no more than that. Well, this afternoon we were hanging around. None of us had a coin — at least not for playing with. During the week it was. One or two of us were knocking them about on Table 3, which has always been the table in Porter’s. Even John Moir would not dream of letting anyone mess about on that one. There were maybe three other tables in use at the time but it was only mugs playing. Most of us were just chatting or studying form and sometimes one would carry a line up to Micky at the top of the street. And then the door opened and in comes this young fellow. He walks up and stands beside us for a wee while. Then: Anybody fancy a game? he says.

We all looks at one another but at Wee Danny in particular and then we bursts out laughing. None of you want a game then? he says.

Old Porter himself was running the place in those days. He was just leaning his elbows on the counter in his wee cubby-hole and sucking on that falling-to-bits pipe of his. But he was all eyes in case of bother.

For a couple of bob? says the young fellow.

Well we all stopped laughing right away. I do not think Wee Danny had been laughing at all; he was just sitting up on the ledge dangling his feet. It went quiet for a minute then Hector Parker steps forward and says that he would give the young fellow a game. Hector was playing 4 stick at that time and hitting not a bad ball. But the young fellow just looks him up and down. Hector was a big fat kind of fellow. No, says the young yin. And he looks round at the rest of us. But before he can open his mouth Wee Danny is off the ledge and smartly across.

You Young Cecil from the Y.M.?

Aye, says the young fellow.

Well I’m Danny Thompson. How much you wanting to play for?

Fiver.

Very good. Wee Danny turns and shouts: William. .

Old Porter ducks beneath the counter right away and comes up with Danny’s jar. He used to keep his money in a jam-jar in those days. And he had a good few quid in there at times. Right enough sometimes he had nothing.

Young Cecil took out two singles, a half quid and made the rest up with a pile of smash. He stuck it on the shade above Table 3 and Wee Danny done the same with his fiver. Old Porter went over to where the mugs were playing and told them to get a move on. One or two of us were a bit put out with Wee Danny because usually when there was a game on we could get into it ourselves for a couple of bob. Sometimes with the other fellow’s cronies but if there was none of them Wee Danny maybe just covered the bet and let us make up the rest. Once or twice I have seen him skint and having to play a money game for us. And when he won we would chip in to give him a wage. Sometimes he liked the yellow stuff too much. When he got a right turn off he might go and you would be lucky to see him before he had bevied it all in; his money right enough. But he had to look to us a few times, a good few times — so you might have thought: Okay I’ll take three quid and let the lads get a bet with the deuce that’s left. .