Tuesday, 31 January 2012

Me and Buzz and Fishin' By Bobby Stevenson

Buzz’s pappy left home only a day or two before Buzz’s fifth birthday and if I can re-call all that way back, his pappy told folks he was real ashamed that he couldn’t support his family and then disappeared to Tijuana with a flamenco dancer.

Somehow I don’t think it was his family he wanted to give his support to.

The day he left, me and Buzz were fishin’ down by Pastor’s Creek which sits next to the Big River which flows all the way to the coast. We always talked of taking a raft to the sea but like most things we talk about, it never did happen; least ways not yet.

Anyhoo I’m shootin’ off here - so on the day that his pappy left, Buzz asked me where the tide went, as it was way out on this side of the Big River.

Me being me, told Buzz that it went to the other side.

I explained to Buzz that when it was low tide on this side it was high tide on the other. He took my word without question. He just gave one of those – that seems right to me – nods and went on with his fishin’; not another care or another word -  that’s why I love Buzz like a brother.

Now I ain’t stupid, not like Buzz and I knows the real god’s honest may I spit on your hand and hope to die truth - just like my grandmama told me. She said there’s a big hole under the river where the water runs through to the other side of the world – kind-a like that sand in an egg-timer – like the one our teacher with the bad teeth from England showed us once.

When all the river water goes through their holes, the world turns upside down and it becomes night for some and day for others. Then the water comes back down the holes and we turn over again. If that ain’t the simplest explanation, then I don’t know what is.

My grandmama always had a big smile on her face when she told me that one. I guess I’ll tell Buzz the truth one of these days.

Buzz’s pappy never did head back up this way, but I did hear that the flamenco dancer once drove through town in a big red Cadillac – although this town is always full of stories like that.

You just ain’t sure what to believe.

Monday, 30 January 2012

Days of Raging By Bobby Stevenson


The days of raging,
Of burning anger,
Are almost spent,
No reflection,
Can illuminate,
On where they went.
St.Pols near Arras France, November 7th 1920.
There was a darkness of sorts by the time the two men entered the chapel. The Brigadier looked towards the older man who closed his eyes.
“This one” 
The officer nodded that he understood, as the General lifted his hand from the Union flag. There was a gentle sadness in both their actions as they lowered the body into the wooden box, it could so easily have been one of them; yet neither noticed the silver chain with the blue medallion drop from the coffin. Unseen, it found its way into a crack.
They wouldn’t leave him on his own, not tonight; this poor soul had slept too long alone.
Four summers earlier that same chain and medallion clung to the neck of a boy stuffed to the brim with life. His name was Sammy Galbraith and he was living up to all of his sixteen summers.
“When I catch you and don’t think I won’t Galbraith, I will crack that stupid head of yours open, I swear to God I will”
The Reverend Winters was fifty three, apparently God’s ambassador on earth and a bit of a horseman. He took exception to his daughter’s affections being dallied with by the local boys, especially that Godless brute Sammy Galbraith. 

Being on foot allowed Sammy more manoeuvrability. He managed to slip behind Old Shaker’s Rock and wait for the reverend to go riding past. A piercing sliver of sunlight found Sammy’s face; he lifted his head skywards and smiled as an eagle patrolled the warm thermals above.

By the time his pursuer realised he had lost the boy he was already riding towards what he considered the source of the problem, Sammy’s father.
Johnny Galbraith, who had only been thirty two years old when he left his legs in a field in France, had a son of sixteen whom he loved and a wife who no longer cared if he lived nor died.
Before the war Johnny had been in complete charge of Lord Inverstark’s stables, now he wasn’t even in control of his own body. He sat in a wheelchair on the porch of the tied cottage, angry at life and always looking toward the mountains that were once his to conquer. 

Their island was named Annshal and it sat about a mile off the mainland of western Scotland. As the sun sank below the Annshal Mountains, the silhouette of their peaks would assume the outline of an ancient soldier at rest with his spear by his side; he was known to the locals as The Sleeping Warrior. 

The reverend’s horse came to a halt in front of Johnny, just as the soldier was contemplating whether returning from France had been a good thing, or  whether he should have been  left there and buried along with his legs. 
“Your son has been pestering my daughter once again Galbraith, I will ask you, as I have done several times before - will you not control your lad?” 

“Perhaps your daughter likes to be pestered Winters have you ever considered that?”
“I realise that the war has served you with a great injustice Mister Galbraith but you should tread with the utmost care in what you say and not judge all women by the standards of your own wife. I look forward to you having a word with your son.” 

Johnny reached for the pistol he kept by his chair and pointed it above the reverend’s head.
“You wouldn’t shoot a man of God? Behave yourself man.”
Johnny fired the pistol into a tree.

“You’ll regret this”. The reverend already having turned his horse was riding away. “Mark my words Mister Galbraith, you will rue the day. Rue the day.”
At the age of thirty Fiona was still pretty, and anyone with eyes could see why Lord Inverstarck found her attractive.

It had started off innocently with Fiona covering Johnny’s work while he was away at war but it soon became something more between Fiona and the Laird (as the locals would refer to them in hushed tones). To be really  truthful, Fiona had attempted to make things work between her and Johnny after he came home. She knew he had been injured but he had failed in his letters to mention the missing legs. Even they were not the problem; the real concern was the darkness that now ate at Johnny’s heart. The night she’d left for good, he had threatened to kill them both. She had only walked in the door and his ever present gun was pointing straight at her.
“Why are you so angry?” She’d never dared ask him that before but with a gun pointing at her head, she didn’t feel she had that much to lose. He said nothing and put the gun back by the side of his chair. She went into the room, packed a small case and as she walked past him, he grabbed her wrist. “I love you” he said.
“I know”. He freed her and she walked out. 

Fiona was exercising the horses when she felt a shadow cross her eye line. She didn’t have to look up for she knew who it would be, who it always was, her son Sammy. They no longer talked he would just sit on the hill  and stare at her, something he did every day. She loved him but it had been such a long time since she had told him.
They had kept their word; he had been watched over every step of the way. The coffin had been placed in an oak casket and banded with iron and a medieval crusader’s sword.
The inscription read ‘A British Warrior who fell in the Great War 1914-1918 for King and Country’.
He would rest tonight in Victoria Station and tomorrow, the 11th of November 1920, he would travel to Westminster Abbey to lie at peace for ever.
Lord Inverstarck had expected to go directly to France. The troops had been stationary at the Somme for a very long time but there was also word that the Irish were planning an uprising and they wanted him at Dublin Castle before Easter, 1916. It was Fiona’s suggestion of a Ball in honour of his departing. 

“You are the Laird and the islanders will want to have their goodbyes”.

She was right of course and he thanked God for Fiona but Inverstarck didn’t particularly care for the islanders or the island. He had been having a jolly time of it in London, living at the family apartments in Kensington, his plan had been to continue with the army for a few more years then move into banking. It had all been decided by Father while the boys were still at Harrow. Harry would take over the Lairdship of Annshal on his father’s death and Robert would remain at liberty. 

No one had expected Harry to die so young. 

So by default Robert was Lord Inverstarck and all that that encompassed, most of which he had no taste or time for. Hereditary was hereditary and not even God could set that apart; to make the best of a problem was  Robert’s philosophy. Still, there were compensations, the estate (if you included the properties in London) was relatively well off and Fiona was proving herself to be a beautiful distraction. If they could only rid themselves of that annoying husband of hers and the troublesome brat she had given birth to, things might take a turn for the better. 

With any luck, Ireland would keep Robert occupied and there would be no reason to travel to France. He could be back in Annshal and in Fiona’s arms by autumn. 

bobby stevenson 2013   

Sunday, 29 January 2012

Me and Buzz and Growin' By Bobby Stevenson

One night, me and Buzz were lying out back in his mama’s yard just hanging. We wanted to go hiking across the top of Yellow Ridge but his mama was having none of it. Since Buzz’s pappy had gone, she was feared people coming to her house and stealing things; to be honest with you, his mama had nothing worth stealing.

So there we were looking at the stars, we must have been about five years old and right there and then I convinced my friend that the fireflies were little people and the lights were their little city. I kind-a guessed back then that Buzz wasn’t gonna be no Einstein. 

Now Buzz would tell you that he’s a gnat’s wing taller than me but he ain’t telling the truth. All thru’ schooling he was always the small one - I guess he thought back to the fireflies and was hoping that he wasn’t the smallest thing on this here planet.

Nope, between you and me and the kitchen stove, I was always the first between me and Buzz to feel the rain, I swear on a stack of bibles that’s true.

Then one day he grew more than me and I was kind-a suspicious until I check and see he’s been messin’ with his boots, stuffin’ them with old socks so he looks taller.

In his naked feet he still ain’t bigger than a grasshopper – I tell ya he could look one right in the eye.

I swear that boy has an inferiority complex, at least ways that’s what Stevie (the cleverest kid in school) told me. Not too sure what it means.

One day Buzz says to me ‘Jay, ain’t it time we headed over to Duchess County a spell’ and of course I asked him if that was where all the short kids went these days.

He said nothing until his fist hit my face. He was that quick that I didn’t see nothin’ till it was right there on the end of my nose - which was now as flat as Corry Mitchin’s chest.

Of course I ain’t for hittin’ my best friend, on account that he’s so stupid – no sir, so I did what anyone would do, I threw his boots into the river. Even the Sunday preacher would have said I had a right.

No man should put a fist to his best friend’s nose.

Buzz keeps saying that on account of his good looks – only his mama told him that – that maybe we should think of headin’ out west to California.

I drag him to the old barber shop to show him on the Civil War map that hangs on the wall there, how far it is.

Buzz says, ‘it can’t be more than 11 or 12 inches at most’ and that wasn’t too far - from where he was standing. Can you believe my best friend, just how stupid he is?

So the upshot is, me and Buzz are heading out west just as soon as he finds another pair of boots.

Guess he’s scared he might get beaten up by the grasshoppers on the way there.

Saturday, 28 January 2012

Me and Buzz By Bobby Stevenson

It’s Sunday evening with a urine yellow sky and me and Buzz are standing underneath this concrete roof. It’s got no walls. So you’re asking how does it stay up? That’s just what I said to Buzz: it’s so freekin’ crazy.
We seriously need some protection as the rain is hurting. It hits the floor then bounces on to our legs. Man that hurts.
I’ve just had one of those days that comes without warning, the type where for the shortest of short times, you don’t feel down or depressed or nothing like that. I’m like that roof being held up by something I can’t see; again, freekin' crazy.
I love those days but they never make an appointment, so usually I ain’t ready for them; which is a pity, ‘cause if I knew it was coming I’d be standing waiting in some real nice room.
Buzz is talking but I ain’t listening, I nod and smile but for all I know he could be telling me that my bits are on fire. I just don’t listen to anyone but I tell you this, if they don’t listen to me then I get real pissed. You’re saying ‘hey Jay boy, that ain’t fair, one rule for you and another for Buzz’. To be honest with you I can’t really argue that point, it’s like, I was made this way – real selfish like.
I can smell some kind-a meat grilling just floating in on the air and I feel the saliva in my mouth dancing the cha-cha. It’s been three days since we last ate, but we ain’t complaining, no sireee ‘cause up until then, me and Buzz have been the luckiest sonofabitches this side of heaven.
You get sweet patches, it’s in the contract when you’re sliding thru’ that hole of your mama’s. It says sometimes your life is gonna stink and sometimes your life is going smell sweet as…well you decide. I ain’t deciding what is sweet to one man’s nose as he might just say ‘Jay boy, that ain’t what gets me shaking’ and I’d have to agree with him. Ain’t no man gonna tell me what makes me shake.
But if I ran up that hill over there and looked down on my life, well I guess I’d have to say that, all in all, I have had more good times than bad – and that’s the god’s honest truth. May you strike Buzz down if I’m lying.
The other thing I’m thinking is that all you need in this life is one good friend and you don’t need no others – hell, they all end up being a poorer shade of your one friend anyhow. Buzz would die for me -  now don’t get me wrong, I ain’t exactly put that to the test but I would say on balance that if it was me or him, he’d volunteer.
Which makes him kind-a stupid, and you’d be right, because when all is said and done, the best kind-a friend is a stupid one.
I’m gonna stop here but I promise to write soon. It’s just that Buzz is trying to set himself alight.
I didn’t think he’d do it, I kid you not, and hell if that ain’t ten bucks worth I owe him.

Friday, 27 January 2012

Eastman By Bobby Stevenson

It’s one of those games we still played even after all this time; where did we think Eastman was born?

There was a day when every city west of Berlin claimed him as their own but in the end it was probably London or across the water in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

You wouldn’t have picked him out at the start as being the type of creature he became. The story is often told of him being referred to as The Quiet Man, the gentle man.

He wasn’t a devout anything, never really went to church and rarely spoke of religion. To be honest, he wasn’t extreme about anything. Not at first.

He was born with that indefinable gift of people liking him. He magnetized them, flattered them, became their friend and then used them.

He spoke on television, on the web, wrote best selling ebooks and even composed several successful music downloads. He was the champion; he was the peoples’ champion, he was their champion.

His ‘Deacons’, as he called his close followers, financed his rise. He was astute and he waited until the time was right. After the crash of the Eurozone and the 60% unemployment, he offered cheap food in Eastman Stores, all making a loss and all promoting his ideals. Cheap camps were setup in Spain and England and these were known as Eastman Vacs, where families could vacation for almost next to nothing.

This was when he was loved and this was when he made his move.
It was as quick as it was well thought out.

He didn’t attack the churches at first, not at first. On his daily web broadcast he maybe hinted at his objection to the church, its power and its money. Only later did he talk of the actual buildings being insane asylums – only later did he suggest that holding a faith was a mental illness.

Then the first one went, a Baptist Church in South London was razed to the ground. The Eastmen (as the disciples now insisted that you call them) blamed it on a race issue – wasn’t the church full of outsiders? But it didn’t stop there. Within two years, any form of worship in England was outlawed. This didn’t apply to the former UK countries of Ireland North and Scotland, they had gone their own way.

When Eastman finally claimed power, it was amongst the poor that lived in tented cities in the parks of England. They ate Eastman Food, watched Eastman Broadcasts, Eastman Movies and drank Eastman Gin (Orwell would have smirked at that last one).
Every June the 1st was Eastman Day and the Eastmen would hold parades in every corner of the country. It wasn’t an option to attend.

But what you might ask, became of the opposition? Or the devout Catholics/Muslims/Protestants/Jews and others? Those that insisted on worshiping were slung into the other type of Eastman camp and worked to death.

Those who spread any form of socialism or brotherly love were beheaded in the Eastman Squares at the centre of every city.

Eastman Money was offered to anyone who snitched on their friends and family who worshiped in secret. Normally their homes were set on fire with the occupants inside.

Somewhere in all the cynicism of the 21st century we stopped caring and as we stopped caring we fed the beast.

As I sit here, I think back to the greed that started all of this; the bankers, the debt, the crash of the Eurozone, the unemployment, the riots and the rise and rise of Eastman.

You may mention Hitler in the same breath and you’d be right.
And all of this?

Well these are my final thoughts as I know they’ll be coming for me soon.

You may ask what my crime was?

I was a writer.

I’ll be taken to the re-education showers shortly.

No one ever returns.

Thursday, 26 January 2012

The Walking Wounded By Bobby Stevenson

Sally Anne leaves the house at number 17 with her heart almost bursting through her chest.

She’s pregnant, ‘with child’ as she read somewhere - just like the girl who was on the cover of  that magazine – Sally’s really really happy, she’s already deciding how her new home will look. She only found out while her Mum was making the toast and tea and the little line turned blue.

At number 22, the curtains twitch as Sam Lot watches his little distraction, Sally, walking down the street - bless her. Tonight’s the night he’s going to have to tell her it’s over; his wife is beginning to suspect.

The Hammerston twins, Fred and Irene at number 31 leave together, saying ‘good morning’ together to everyone they meet. As they run up the street for the West Town bus, Irene wonders how she’s going to tell her brother about her job up north.

Next door in number 33, Geraldine paces the floor – ‘born worrying, die worrying’ her mother used to tell the neighbours. But the lump on her breast makes her pace faster.

‘Lucky’ Jim turns into the street after finishing another night shift at the old plastic Works. He knows it has its bonuses - Jim had no trouble finding stuff to wrap his wife up in. And every morning when he finishes work he buys a newspaper, ten menthol cigarettes from the corner shop and wonders if this will be the day they find her.

In the little shop on the corner, Andy, the milkman, delivers another crate of cream and then creeps out having failed to ask Matilda - who works there – if she’d like to go to the park on Sunday.

Matilda’s heart is almost bursting through her chest as she waits for Andy to ask.

And Hugh, big strong Hugh from number 36, can’t tell anyone (not even his best friend) that his black eyes - which he covers with his wife’s makeup - are not from playing sports. She’s warned him, if he acts like a child then he must be punished like one.

He’s hidden the packed bag in the shed for the day he leaves her.

At the white house on the corner, Alice takes in gentleman callers until her husband gets back from a far off land.

And in the bus shelter Eddie drinks a can, not to brighten the dull day but to tone down the colours.

And from every house on the street comes the screech of silent screaming.

Only the dogs can hear.

Wednesday, 25 January 2012

The Smell of Distant Bonfires By Bobby Stevenson

It was like being reborn,
When the fever waned,
Feeling that he had been spared,
For another hour, for another time,
He could raise his head a little,
The glass-sharp pain had run its course,
And through the sliver of space in the
Old cedar window,
He could smell the smoke of distant bonfires,
Somewhere, far across the lake,
No smell of gunpowder,
Or of war,
The woodsmen had passed on to new battles
And he had survived.

If Fish Could Scream By Bobby Stevenson

We live in twilight,
We do,
All of us who stay silent about these things,
All of us who never speak up and say it’s wrong,
So another one of us is taken from the river of life,
And we thank the heavens that it wasn’t our turn,
Not today, at least,
Not this time,
But someday soon, because we never spoke up,
It will be our turn,
And as the hook silently spears our mouths,
We’ll forever wish
That fish could scream. 

happy birthday Robbie Burns.

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

The End of Lonely Street By Bobby Stevenson

Elvis arriving at Prestwick, Scotland.

This is a short script and just a bit of silliness. 
On March 3rd 1960, Elvis Presley landed, for a few
hours, at Prestwick Airport on his way home from Germany. It
was the only time he ever visited the UK.
INTRO MUSIC: “Well, since my baby left me,
I found a new place to dwell.
It’s down at the end of lonely street
At heartbreak hotel.”HEARTBREAK HOTEL
And here we are at Frankfurt
airport as Elvis Presley boards the
plane that is to take him home to
the US.
There is a large crowd here to
watch Elvis wave goodbye to his 16
year old girlfriend, Priscilla
Going around the room: a beat up guitar sits in the corner
and a photo of Elvis placed up against some magazines.
Elvis was quoted as saying ‘I
haven’t seen much of Germany’
A calendar displaying ‘March,1960’.
‘And I’m sure going to miss
Priscilla. She’s real cute and
she’s very mature for her age.
A HAND in a Brylcreem Tub. Stop at a mirror of SAMMY, 16,
adjusting his quiff (a tuft of hair) with a comb. He looks
cool and he knows it.
Apparently Elvis and Priscilla have
only been going out six weeks.
A HAND switches off the radio. It’s SAMMY’S MOTHER.
You haven’t heard a word I’ve said
Sammy. Get to work, those animals
won’t cut themselves up.
She storms out the room. Sammy doesn’t care, he’s got his
quiff to love. Front door CLOSING. Sammy’s POV of HIS MOTHER
walking out through their garden.
MISTER ANDREWS, sixties, stares out the window and is talking
to BRENDA ,off screen. Through the window is Sammy’s Mother
walking across the street. As she passes Mister Andrews’
window, he smiles with a half hearted wave.
There goes Mrs McMillan.
Mrs McMillan does not react.
I tell you what, Brenda love,it’s
such a lovely day, I think I’ll
wash the car.
Through the window ,FIONA, 16, Sammy’s girlfriend, walks up
to Sammy’s front door across the street.
Fiona, pushing her spectacles up her nose, KNOCKS the door.
She is agitated and appears to be in a hurry.
Come on.
Fiona takes a few steps back and looks up at Sammy’s bedroom
window. He smiles down while still playing with his quiff.
Sammy opens the door. He leans towards Fiona to give her a
kiss. She ignores him and walks through the hall.
Fiona knows this kitchen and where everything is. Sammy tries
to cuddle up to her but she pushes him back – she is too busy
getting the ingredients together to make sandwiches.
What are you doing?
We’re going to need these. I’ve no
idea how long we’ll be waiting. So
I need you to brew up a flask of
I’ve got to go to work.
Okay, then I’ll go and see him
All this time, Sammy is following Fiona around the room.
Who? For crying out loud, who?
The front of the house – quiet , sedate then..
A couple of birds fly off and a few distant dogs start
No one is in the street, except Mister Andrews washing his
car. Fiona and Sammy are hiding behind a wall and whispering.
So how do you know he’s not lying?
Because he swore on Mum’s life.
How do we get to Prestwick airport?
Why do you think I brought you out
No idea.
They’ll never say I love you for
your brains.
You love me?
Shh. The car. Mister Andrews’ car.
What about it?
Fiona is on her own as she approaches Mister Andrews. He is
cleaning the car with a religious fever. She carries the bag
with the tea and sandwiches.
Can I help you, Fiona?
Mister Andrews, I wondered if maybe
I could use your bathroom.
I’m a bit busy Fiona, can you not
use your…you know, your friend’s
They’re all out and I’m desperate
Mister Andrews.
I suppose so. Follow me.
Fiona follows. Mister Andrews stops – suddenly.
And don’t touch anything.

They continue. He stops again.
And don’t rub against any walls.

He’s about to start off again, but stops.
And wash your hands. And take your
shoes off before you go in the
Fiona slips her shoes off, leaves he bag down, then she and
Mister Andrews enter the house. Sammy appears from behind a
bush. He crawls around to the road side of the car. His hand
reaches up and opens the car door. Keeping low, he checks the
ignition. The key is there. Yes!
10 INT. MISTER ANDREWS’ HALL – DAY 10Mister Andrews’ face shows panic. He is uncomfortable with
visitors. Fiona is in the loo and Mister Andrews is hovering
expectantly outside the door; unconsciously dusting. Maybe
he’s worried that she’ll run off with the bathroom fittings.
The CAR HORN is sounding. The bathroom door opens and Fiona
bursts out. She’s still drying her hands – she passes the
towel to a perplexed Mister Andrews and exits.
More CAR HORN then Mister Andrews catches on. He runs after
Sammy leans over and opens the passenger door. Fiona is
running towards the car that is starting to move.
Hurry up!
Fiona is closely pursued by Mister Andrews. She jumps in the
car just in the nick of time.
The car kangaroos away and each time it looks as if Mister
Andrews will jump on top of it.
Eventually the car speeds off.
I’ve just stolen a car.
And I’ve left my shoes back there.
The car disappears into the distance with Mister Andrews
standing in the road with nothing to polish.
And the tea and sandwiches.
Mister Andrews picks up his telephone.
They’ve taken the car Brenda. Do
you think I should phone the
Mister Andrews thinks about it, then puts the telephone down.
You’re probably right Brenda love,
you always are.
The High Street has a few SHOPPERS. Fiona spies Sammy’s
mother talking to Sammy’s employer – the town BUTCHER.
Your Mother is talking to your
Sammy and Fiona duck down.
Sammy’s mother stops to wave to Mister Andrews in his car,
but the car is going forwards with no one in it. She pauses,
thinks she must be seeing things, then continues talking to
the butcher.
As the car leaves the town, Fiona and Sammy sit up.
MISTER WEBSTER and HAMISH are having their tea break which
always involves looking out of their window.
Mister Webster (or ‘Nosey’ as he’s known in town) sees the
car passing the window
I’d swear that was Andrews’ wee
Morris Minor. What do you think
Hamish is not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Both he and
Webster are drinking cups of tea at exactly the same time -
in a synchronised style.
And I don’t think that’s Mister
Andrews driving. What do you think
I think I’ll call the Police
Station. What do you think Hamish?
You’re a good man, Hamish.
Sammy and Fiona in the car and without a care. They turn the
corner and there is a police road block.
There is only one POLICEMAN. He stands with his hand up for
them to halt (this is 1960 after all).
What do I do?
The car makes a sudden turn to the right, almost on two
wheels. The policeman runs back to his car and gives chase.
The road becomes a lane. The lane becomes a dirt track. The
dirt track runs out and we are on grass.
Fiona and Sammy are bouncing up and down.
The police car in pursuit. The Morris Minor struggles to get
up to the top of the hill, but it’s still doing better than
the police car which gives up. The Morris Minor rocks at the
top of the hill.
Mister Andrews has returned to staring out the window. It
seems to be a way of life in these parts.
I wonder if I should have warned
those two about the brakes, Brenda?
18 EXT. HILL – DAY 18
SCREAMS – the Morris Minor careering down the hill. Straight
across the main road and into the airport. That’s handy.
Fiona and Sammy run into the hangar. They are exhausted but
in a few minutes it’s all going to be worth it. Fiona has no
shoes and keeps yelling at the pain.
All that is blowing though this place is dropped rubbish from
earlier. There is an OLD MAN behind a sliding window.
(to Fiona)
Have we got the wrong place?
Fiona gives Sammy that ‘don’t be so stupid’ look. Fiona
knocks the window. The old man is pouring out tea from his
flask while eating a large sandwich.
If you’re here to see Mister Elvis
Presley, then you’re too late.
Been and gone and it’s me that’s
going to have to clean up this
mess. Do you know what that eejit
said? He said ,’Where am I?’. Would
you credit it? ‘Where am I?’.
Bloody Scotland, that’s where!
Dejected, Fiona and Sammy start to leave.
I think they said he was going to
that teenage club of rascals, up
the road, if that’s any help.
There is a God.
A Scout hut. Music and lights from the inside. An ELVIS
RECORD is PLAYING. Some TEENAGERS sit outside. A farm truck
stops. Fiona and Sammy are sitting on the back. They jump off
and run to the teenagers.
Is he here?
Gone. But he was dreamy.
Oh, he was dreamy all right.
Wouldn’t take his hat off, though.
(bad American accent)
“I’m sorry Ma’am, I can’t take it
off, ma’am”.
The two girls kill themselves laughing. Fiona starts
SCREAMING. The teenage girls run off.
Now I see, you would have run off
with him. To America. And left me.
Fiona calms down, slumps on the steps and looks sheepishly at
I would have invited you to the
21 EXT. ROAD – DUSK 21
It’s almost dark. Fiona and Sammy are sitting apart by the
side of the road. The Morris Minor stops. It is Mister
Andrews. He rolls down the window.
Hop in and I’ll give you a run
home. You can tell me all about it.
Fiona gets up and walks towards the car.
(to Sammy)
You coming?
Mister Andrews is standing by the fire place.
You’re looking a wee bit grubby
today, Brenda love.
Brenda’s ashes are in an urn by the fire place. Mister
Andrews dusts the urn. Satisfied, he goes back to looking out
the window.
Now you’re ready to face the world.
Mrs McMillan comes out of Sammy’s house and crosses the
street towards Mister Andrews’ place. For the first time ever
Mrs McMillan waves to him. He waves back.
Mister Andrews smiles.
CAPTION: “On March 3rd 1960, Elvis Presley landed, for a few
hours, at Prestwick Airport on his way home from Germany. It
was the only time he ever visited the UK.”