Working Class Boy Read Online Free PDF Page A

fish shop.’
    â€˜Thanks, Dad.’
    â€˜Don’t tell her I’m in the pub either.’
    He was probably in there spending all the money that Mum was sitting home waiting for so she could feed us. But when we got to drink mussel brae we felt like kings. Small, dirty, snotty-nosed, cheeky kings. But still kings in our heads.
    There were good times in Cowcaddens, too. November the fifth, Guy Fawkes Night, was a great night in Glasgow. I can remember massive bonfires on the spare grounds. It seemed like the only time kids from different streets mixed. Maybe this was because the parents were around but I don’t think so; it was just a chance to forget about everything and be a kid for one night. Whatever the reason, we all loved that night and couldn’t wait for it to come around.
    The excitement built for days as the pile of stuff to be burned grew and grew until it was the size of a house. They should have burned a few of the houses too, come to think of it; they were shocking. Everybody brought out old furniture and beds and piled them up with bits of old wood that had come from demolishing the buildings around the area and anything else they wanted to burn. Evidence, bodies – no, I’m only kidding.
    We would all stand around and watch the wood and furniture go up in smoke and light up the sky. We would stand and stare into the fires until we were dragged into the house for bed. Then the next day there would be a mound of smouldering ashes lying on the ground, which were blown around by the wind, leaving more shit that never got cleaned up. But for that night it looked spectacular and Glasgow shone – in the eyes of the children anyway.
    I felt relatively safe near Mum and Dad, particularly my mum, but when they weren’t around my world would collapse. It hurt to be away from my mum’s side. She was my world, she was everything. My first day in preschool traumatised me. My mum and granny took me to this place filled with strange kids and very cold-looking women, and just left me there. Where were they going?
    â€˜Come back, what have I done? I’ll be good!’ I remember screaming at the top of my voice. But they were gone. There was a playground and a wall around the outside so I ran up a slide to see if I could stop them. But they never even looked back. I was certain that they were never coming back. I thought that I was going to have to stay there and take mid-afternoon naps forever. I don’t think I ever forgave them for that. I hate naps.
    But kindergarten turned into school and school turned out to be not so bad. The school I went to in Cowcaddens was called the Normal School. It was sort of clean and every day you got fed a hot meal. For us and a lot of other kids that might have been the only hot meal we got. Most of the kids looked as scared as I did so I didn’t stand out. I was only four going on five, but I learned very quickly that if I made the teachers like me, life would be easier. I was the kid who always had his hand up first. The kid who was always trying to get the teacher’s attention. I would try to be involved in everything the class was doing.
    * * *
    Around the time I started school I was faced with another challenge. It came from home and a place I least expected it to come from – my mum. She started force-feeding cod-liver oil to me and the other kids. Maybe it was one of those times when all the adults in the country decided that this would be good for their kids. And it might have been, but it was torture to me. It was like tongue kissing a salmon. Not that I’ve ever tried kissing one. My mum had to chase me around the house and hold me down and force the vile liquid down my throat. I would be yelling and sputtering as she force-fed me. And no sooner was it in my mouth than it was all over the floor or even my mum. But after a couple of swift smacks across the legs I soon swallowed it like it was sugar syrup. I know fish oil