The Heartfelt Spotlight

Sandy waited behind the safety of the black curtains which hung in the wings of the stage. The mildew scent of time emanating from them was starting to make him heave. Palms, face and back were damp with perspiration and his heart pounded ten-to-the-dozen. Gripping the microphone evermore tightly in his wrinkled hand, he began mouthing the refrain, What the fuck am I doing? The compere announced the next performer, “Now, for our next act we have for you the vocal talents of someone you’ll all know very well. Please put your hands together for our school lollipop man … Mr Sandy Urquhart.” Taking a deep breath, he began to stride out towards the microphone stand …

Sandy had worked at the crossing which connected the park with the local primary school for ten years. In this time he had acquired quite a reputation as the dour, unsmiling face of road safety.
“Oi! Ye’re tae walk, no run ower the crossing son! Get a shift oan lass, the bell’ll be ringin’ any minute noo! Put that skipping rope away before ye cross or ye might fa’ ower it! Use yer loaf! Dinnae walk until I’ve stopped the traffic ya eejit!”
Parents, teachers and children alike had experienced their fair share of run-ins with Sandy over the years. The attendants from the bowling green would often mock him “Hey Sandy, cheer up son – it might never happen eh?”
“Ach bugger aff wi ye!” he would mutter to himself irritably.

The boy with the badly knotted tie and tightly knitted freckles had never been a particular favourite of Sandy’s. Always took too long to cross. Scuffing his shoes and kicking stray stones as he went. His slight frame and large, cubical head under an unmoving helmet of black hair made him look like a diminutive Lego man. There he would go, staring off into the distance in his own world. Christ, anyone would think that the laddie had landed from another planet entirely. One day, the daft dreamer had almost got himself run over as he wandered onto the road and right into the path of an oncoming Ford Focus. If Sandy hadn’t been there to holler over to him whilst running into the road himself, waving his sign around frantically, things might have ended there and then.
“Look where you’re going ya daft numptie! Don’t make me do that again. It’ll no just be you that’s a gonner next time. It’ll be me an all!” he had yelled.
The boy just looked up at him. Face like a fart in a trance. Then he walked away without apology or a word of thanks.

He hadn’t seen the boy for weeks, months perhaps … until he had overheard two of the mothers talking as they crossed.
“Have you heard about Bobby Sullivan?”
“Oh aye, that’s awful isn’t it? Leukaemia eh? Poor, wee thing. He’s in the same class as Kelly, our next door neighbour’s daughter.”
“His poor mother lost her man to lung cancer a few years ago too.”
“Oh no, what a shame … rotten luck eh?”

Sandy felt a wave of recognition flood over him.
Hey Sandy, cheer up son – it might never happen eh?...
Little did they know that it had already happened. The day that it had taken his Mary away some fifteen years before. The memory of losing her in that way had stayed with Sandy all these years. The empty feeling had never left him since. It had also taken his father, a lifelong smoker when he had only been a child. A child …

He had noticed the sign for the event whilst out getting his groceries in at the local Scotmid.

Leith Primary School Fundraising For Leukaemia Evening
In aid of our pupil Bobby Sullivan’s treatment in Germany.
Friday 20th November – 7.30pm onwards
£5 per ticket

Can you act, dance, do magic tricks or sing? All acts would be greatly appreciated so come along and show your support!

He had not sung in years, though he knew he could. He used to do it every Saturday night at the dance hall, leading his band. It had been where he had met Mary. Those had been some of the best days of his life back then … maybe one more time perhaps? Dinnae be daft, he thought to himself as he wandered away, before stopping to look back at the picture. The glaikit expression was there alright, as were the freckles and helmet of hair. Sandy sighed. Tutted. Then muttered to himself as he headed out of the doors of the shop.

Gripping the microphone tightly, despite it slipping in his moist hand, he resigned the safety of the wings and began to walk briskly towards centre stage. Audible gasps arose from the front rows of the audience. The intro music started up. Sandy held onto the microphone and closing his eyes, took a deep, shaky breath.
“Are you lonesome tonight? Do you miss me tonight …”
When he opened his eyes again, he was met with a sea of unsmiling faces all staring at him. His heart pounded ever harder in his chest but on he continued.
“Now the stage is bare and I’m standing there
With emptiness all around …”
He knew the lyrics off by heart and the consolation that they had brought him, then and now. Despite the nervous tremors in his hands, the hammering inside his chest and the nagging thought that he might just be making an arse of himself, his clear, deep tones rang out across the auditorium. As he neared the end, Sandy emoted the last few lines slowly …
“Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?”

Silence.
A long silence … and then … claps began to slowly rise. Sandy bowed, head nodding in stoic acknowledgement. Then someone whistled. Someone else whooped.
“Go on Sandy! Brilliant!”
With the claps continuing, he turned and walked back off the way he had came … and as he did, Sandy couldn’t help but smile.

Ruminations

Again have been a little tardy with the ol' blogging of late. This has been mainly due to a hectic term at school which included our pupils being entered into the Cooperative Young Film Makers Festival in Bradford, many a school theatre trip and ... Panto-Panto-Panto land! Then I've just been down to London for a blissful week of debauchery with all my friends down there. (Particular fist pumps to Zoe and Vicky who let me crash at their respective homes whilst I was down there) Yes indeed, we got it all goin' on!

Meanwhile, the writing has had to take a bit of a back-seat, although I have three short stories nearing completion and publication on this blog site very soon. I also cannot get rid of some fluttering butterflies in my head at present. These cheeky wee beasties are ideas for a short film, and/ or tv and film scripts. I have also become fascinated by the story of Adam Smith and his relationship with teacher and inspiration, Frances Hutchison. Methinks a foray into historical novel writing might be next on the cards. Signing off for now.

Bright In The Memory

Prologue

Serendipity: that strangest, most exciting of human experiences. The notion that one may accidentally chance upon good fortune whilst pursuing something else entirely, is surely one of life’s greatest thrills. Indeed, if it were not for the great accidents of chemistry, biology, physics and pharmacology we would not have discovered: penicillin, cellophane, anti-cancer drugs, vaccinations, the microwave oven ... and corn flakes. Had Fleming not been a chaotic biologist and pharmacologist, he might never have returned from his holiday to discover the world’s first antibiotic, penicillin, growing in his dirty culture dishes. Had John Harvey and Will Keith Kellogg not attempted to bake the flakes of stale wheat which they had accidentally left out, they might not have punched their triumphant fists in the air and nations of people would not have started the day on a hearty bowl of their greatest blunder!

The French have an expression which describes this process of discovery so well: heureux hasard, or "fortunate chance". The fortunate chances of life however, may not always initially arrive in the guise of fortunate events. Rather, they may rush to meet us under the auspices of a darker shadow; such is the rhythm of life …
____________________________

1

Sian awoke abruptly from her slumber only to breathe a sigh of relief upon realizing that the train was only at South Gyle station. “Thank goodness for that” she thought, rubbing her eyes and gazing out of rain-tainted windows at the city flashing by. Watching the scenery gradually transform from countryside into cityscape, she reflected on the days events. The topic which occupied today’s thoughts was the somewhat arduous, professional development day she had just endured, of which, teachers at her early career juncture have to undergo. It had been about Behaviour Management strategies which could be adopted in the classroom. Learning is a very emotional experience the lecturer had bored on. It sure is … watch these tears of boredom fall down my face sighed Charlotte under her breath, causing Sian to shake with stifled laughter. Thank God for Charlotte, her English teacher friend and partner-in-crime at these events. The imprint of what you leave on a child’s mind might last their lifetime continued the imperious lecturer. Rubbish, I don’t wear heels to work! whispered Charlotte, setting off Sian again who by this time was in danger of letting rip one of her lusty cackles. Sian was not as fond of her laugh as others were. People often remarked on it and how loud and joyous it sounded. Sian had often thought that it might be annoying to others, but she could not have been further from the truth for it was a very genuine and warm one. Indeed, it endeared her to others more than it could ever repel.

It was then that the train guard’s voice crackled into life, de-railing her thoughts. “The train is now approaching Haymarket station. All passengers for Haymarket station please alight here. Next stop Haymarket station.” Sian closed the copy of the newspaper she had been browsing. The date on it read Thursday 21st March. Unbeknownst to Sian, the date carried a great deal of weight for what was about to occur. It was the day of the vernal equinox; the first day of spring. A date around which, all manner of curious events often occur. Tradition would have it that the equinox is a time of the year when great energies conspire and manifest events. Great disasters may happen, great feats of bravery are performed, people fall in love, and sometimes out of it also.

Making her way towards the doors, along the narrow corridor of the carriage, Sian began to dwell. Almost through with March. Where are the days going? In that same instant, she shook herself out of dwelling and into being again. Drop it she thought.
“Sorry?” asked a voice suddenly.
Sian turned her head to the side to observe the man standing next to her with a look of concern on his face, as he peered over the edge of his newspaper.
“Oh my goodness – did I just say that out loud?” asked Sian.
“Yeah” he replied. Sian grinned back as the doors pulled open. Stepping onto the platform, she threw a cheery “Sorry!” back at the stranger as she was carried off in the sea of evening commuters.

Bouncing up the platform stairs towards street level and heading through the turnstiles, her thoughts turned to that evening’s photography class. Sian loved to take photographs of people, often whilst they were not looking. One of the things that she loved about people was their candour and the natural way in which they communicated when most at ease. She thought that there was nothing more candid than to capture someone smiling, laughing, frowning, looking thoughtful, longing or proud. Like the look on the face of the man she had just met on the train and the way his eyes and mouth had creased into a brilliant grin in response to her. Onwards she skipped through the station door and out into the street, bustling with commuters heading in the opposite direction. Reaching into her bag for her iPod, Sian scrolled down to shuffle and waited to hear which track it would surprise her with. Echo and the Bunnymen. Killing Moon. Perfect. she thought as she crossed onto the traffic island.

Listening to Ian McCulloch emote into her ear, Sian stood waiting for the lights to change. “Up in your arms too late to beg you …” she hummed. Sian glanced to her right and saw that there was yet another bus approaching. Sian sighed to herself wearily. Just then, she observed a figure begin to move into the road, in front of the on-coming bus. “Fate, up against your will” was the last line Sian was aware of before her instincts kicked in. Throwing her left arm out in an effort to grab at the fleeting form, she succeeded by catching the hood of the jacket, revealing a long, dark ponytail. She tried to jolt the figure back but was met with resistance. It was then that Sian sensed someone else grab her from the left-hand side just as the approaching vehicle was about to make impact. With an almighty heave, the woman was pulled back. The bus sounded its horn loudly.

Once safely back on the concrete island, the woman then let out an almighty scream and collapsed in a fit of hysterical tears. Sian stood staring down at the hunched ball of tears at her feet and allowed her eyes to momentarily close with relief. Upon opening them, she observed a tall, handsome man with light brown hair standing opposite her on the other side of the woman. They looked at one another wide-eyed at what had just occurred and simultaneously removed their earplugs.

“Erm … are you alright?” spoke the man to the un-stirring figure at his feet.
She seemed to be attached by some invisible fixative to the ground and unable to move. Sian took this cue to try to engage with the woman herself.
“Yeah, are you ok?”
The woman did not respond, but instead wailed even harder. Sian looked back at the man who, in turn looked back at her, teeth sunken into his lower lip in concern.
“Erm …do you want to come over here off of the island and we can talk about it?” said the man gesturing towards the pavement on the other side of the road. The woman however, did not move. A look then passed between Sian and the stranger as they both realized what a seemingly helpless situation they were in. Both eager to be on their way but neither could humanely leave this poor creature cowering on the pavement in the middle of a busy traffic island.

“Look, let’s go over the road and get a cup of tea, yeah?” said Sian, crouching down to . With that, she crouched down and placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder. To this, the woman glanced up, teary face partly-obscured by a thick curtain of jet black hair which had fallen out of its bobble. Still sobbing hard, the woman began to slowly rise to her feet, aided by Sian and her new acquaintance who, both glanced at one another and smiled with relief … and then, all of a sudden … something more.

Either we feel attraction towards someone or something or we do not. Attraction is a constellation of details and enchantments that, given the right timing and circumstances we are drawn inexplicably towards. Put simply, we are charmed and moved by that which we recognise we want. Everything about it draws us in. It lights in our memory and does not leave with haste. At that moment, there on the traffic island, the fragments of attraction began to assemble.

“ I’m Jamie by the way” spoke the stranger.
“Sian” she replied before realizing that he was addressing their other companion. Sian blushed. The woman did not reply but instead, continued to snivel. In the evening light, she was a tall, attractive presence, whose long, dark lashes settled on striking cheekbones. Her good looks belied her otherwise unkempt demeanour. Again, the woman did not respond which prompted Sian to try.
“I’m Sian. Do you want to tell me your name?”
After a moment or two, the woman looked up from under her dark fringe at Sian. “D … Diane” the woman mumbled under her breath. Sian smiled at her and then it was as if great floodgates had opened.
“I … I need help” spoke the woman who then exploded into floods of tears once more. “I’ve not had a job in 5 years … I haven’t got anywhere to go … he left me.”
It was at this point that Jamie interjected. “Is there anywhere we can take you to? I think you need to speak with someone.”
The woman paused before drawing a gulping breath. “The Samaritans. I need to go to The Samaritans.”
“Ok, sure” replied Jamie. “Erm, do you know where it is?”
“I … I think it’s round here somewhere” sniffled the woman. “I think I know where it is” said Sian helpfully. Jamie looked at her and smiled. “Ok, do you want to do that?” he said, addressing Diane. She nodded.

To be continued ...

Tender Buttons (A Monologue)

Hey precious. Look what I’ve got for you. Mmmm … yummy, warm milk in your bottle. How kind of the serving lady to do that for us eh? Now, out of the pram we come … there we are … and sit on mummy’s knee. Shhh … shhh …that’s better eh? Now, watch the aeroplane … woooooosh! Down it goes … mmmm … yum, yum!
Ha! Ha! Look sweetie. Look at the wee girl peering at us through the pattern on her brolly. Look at her splashing in the puddles outside. Ha! Ha! She’s laughing at us. She’s laughing at the banana you’ve dribbled down your chin. Come here. Let me wipe that up.

How old is she? Oh, only a week or so. We haven’t been out much yet have we? No we haven’t felt all that well. What was that? Yes, yes she’s my first … her name? She’s called Amy. Named after her granny aren’t you? Thank you. Yes, well I guess she has her father’s eyes. Doesn’t look like mummy yet … oh, yes I made the cardigan myself. It took forever. The knitting wasn’t the hard part really though ... it was the sewing and getting it just right. The perfect fit.

Can you hear that Amy? Listen. The cars rumbling along the street outside, the shutters rolling down, the dog barking, the bus braking ... the city is singing for us. Do you hear it? We can make up our own words to the music. Shall we? Lorries and buses and cars, vroom-vroom! Dee-dee-lee-dee. Do you like that? Hee-hee! We can make up our own little world you and I.

Come here … some of the buttons on your cardigan have come undone. It took me a month to make it. I knitted all night and all day for weeks and when it came to sewing the buttons on, I realised that I was missing one … Vrooooooommm! Down the hatch. Good girl. And again. You’re going to grow up big and strong. But mummy might not be there to see you do that eh? No. Let’s stay up-beat though yeah? ... Promise me you’ll keep looking at everything Amy. Don’t stop looking at everything. Look at the light and the dark out there. It’s all magical.

Sssshh … ooh look Amy. See the white car outside? The one with the yellow and blue lines on it? There’s a man and lady getting out of it. I think … I think they’re coming into the café. Come here sweetheart. Mummy wants to give you a big hug. Come here. It’ll protect you. Shhhh … don’t cry my baby … don’t cry …

“Miss Munro? Miss Wendy Munro?”
“Yes?”
“You are under arrest for suspicion of abduction. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Now, if you could accompany us to the car please.”

Thoughts have wings ...

Thought that I should write something seeing as how I haven't done so in a number of weeks. Am working on a piece at the moment entitled 'The Magic Hour' although I haven't decided whether I should turn it into a poem or not. It was inspired by a walk I took the other week, which was on the whole, somewhat wet and rainy (aah late summer en Ecosse!) but rather magnificently, it did all-of-a-sudden brighten just at that moment when evening was starting to descend. Anyway, so taken was I by the splendour of the moment - entertain conjecture if you will ... the sun bursting through the clouds, bathing the pavements, trees, buildings, windows of houses in luminescent gold. It was stunning ... I just had to write about it all. Or rather, I had to write about the characters I imagined gazing out of the windows in that 'Magic Hour' of once brilliant but fading sunlight, when everything and everyone looks amazing ...

I often ponder, as I gaze out of my window across the rooftops of Leith, who might too be doing the same thing, at the same time, in this same city and how our lives may have connected at some point, in some way. I mean, we share loo seats, coffee mugs, bus seats and glances with strangers every day, but just how often might we have had the chance to have known these people? That is what I am aiming to explore with this next piece of writing. Will post it soon ...

I am all the chaos you'll ever need ...

Aaargggh! What happened there? One second I was happily blogging away, allowing my creative cup to runeth over and then reality bit me on the bum reet hard! School is what happened. End of story. Totally forgot how much hard work lesson planning, theatre trip planning, Christmas show planning, Club XL residential planning IS! Bonkers. Looks like the posts will be fewer and further between than I first had anticipated.

What to report creatively of late? Well, a guy I met through Edinburgh Writers Club has got his own slot on a local radio station (Radio Loch Broom - check out the piccie of the HQ above - I kid ye not!) up in the Highlands and has very kindly offered to fill the time reading out some of the groups pieces. It may well be the green and pleasant land of heilan' coos, lucky white heather and bothy balladeering ... but methinks 'tis an ideal opportunity to get my literary endeavours out there. Who knows? Perhaps soon the good people of Ullapool, Plockton and the surrounds could be treating their ears to 'My Billie Jean Shoes'. Yes, siree - they might go for that story in a big way ...

I Started Something ...

I heart blogging ... think if I'm feeling suitably bold, I might post the beginnings of my novel idea sometime over the next few days. Meanwhile, enjoy the following wee beasties ...