Document 592

The Girnin Gates - Chapter 3

Author(s): Hamish MacDonald

Copyright holder(s): Hamish MacDonald, Dr James Robertson: Signed on behalf of Itchy Coo, a partnership between Black & White Publishing and Dub Busters.

THE NUN WHO DECIDED TAE INTERVENE

Bi two in the mornin Clydebank Toon Haw wis fillt up wae evacuees. Da gote a haud a some blankets an hud laid thum doon fur Maw. Ah hud decidit ma time wis right, an that Ah wantit oot frae the womb at last. So Ah startit burrowin ootwards lik a wee mole, an Da shoutit:

"Help! My wife's watters huv broke! She's gonnae huv a wean! Help!"

Anen evrubdy crowdit roon, but there wis nae nurses nur doactors nur nuhin, ther wis jist a nun. The nun decided tae intervene.

She breenged in an held Maw's haun an goes in a tuneful Irish twang:

"What is your name, dear?"

"Merry MacGlinchy!"

"Well, Merry MacGlinchy, I'm Sister Josephine and everything's going to be just fine. I will pray to God and everything will be fine."

Anen Maw startit haein me. She's greetin wae the pain, an Da's haudin ur haun, an the crowd partit back a good six feet, an sister Josephine wis staunin ther prayin tae God, anen some bigot balloon frae oor street cawed Scobie interruptit an goes in ees big daft voice:

"Heh! Stoap! Stoap! Somedae stoap that nun prayin! The MacGlinchies ur Prodissants! If thon wean comes oot while the nun's prayin it'll be boarn a Cafflick!"

Anen Da goes:

"Ach shut yer stupit pus Scobie! Whit's it tae you? Ye spend that much ae yer time in a bookie's ur a boozer's ye widnae know the inside ae a church frae a flyin-saucer!"

Well, ma Da might well huv ees faults, but never hus ee hud any time fur stupit religious bigots. An ee goes tae Sister Josephine:

"Keep prayin Sister! At least until the wean's heid appears, anen ma wife'll manage fine bi ursel."

Sister Josephine stood an prayed hard. Maw gied a big push an Da went tae guddle me oot. The nun stepped forward tae help. Ah drew in ma first breath tae take a scream. Yes! Ah wis boarn!

Anen the wins ripped the angel frae its base. Bronze wings provin useless, it toppled doon a hunner feet frae the clock-tower dome an crashed right through the roof a the haw. It landit oan the flerr wae a mighty bang, landin exackly oan the spot wher Sister Josephine hud been staunin prayin jist a few seconds afore. Oh man. Whit a miracle.

Anen it boonced up oan the sprung dance-flerr a the haw. It landed oan its tip-toes an pirhouetted, shot ten fit intae the err. It burled roon, anen drapped an cloacked Sister Josephine right oan the side a the napper. Aye. It wis a miracle awright. A miracle she wisnae splattered. Six months in the Western wae a fractured skull. It's no exackly lucky-white-heather Ah know, but hud Sister Josephine no stepped forward at that very moment, she wid've gote pulverised tae burger-meat bi yon angel.

An that wis the night Ah wis boarn. But little difference wid that smaw mercy make tae me, the new arrival. A new-boarn wean, a fallen angel, an a comatose nun. Hauf a Clydeside blootert bi the Ned Storm. Ah suppose frae that moment oan, it wis gonnae be in the script that everhin wis ma fault.

Information about Document 592

The Girnin Gates - Chapter 3