Celebrations by Alan Burns

Author:Alan Burns
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Alma Books
Published: 2019-10-16T11:43:15+00:00

Chapter 9

Shaped by the rosy affirmation natural to people who own new cars, the happy couple were shown to the crowd, but the trick did not work. The steel sun covered herself with snow; the workers barely raised their heads; it was a matter of fatigue. This slackness lasted an hour – it divided the men from their work; it reduced their value. To Michael this was a sign that it was a time for culture and for art. A holiday would release the men; they would dance round a tree. When the novelty wore off, the taxes could be increased; the law would remain in force; the people would be sheltered from the blast of peace.

Not a twitch on the face of the bored constable, whose deadpan expression turned towards the crowd that was egging him on. Beneath the intractable gaze, a woman patted her headscarf with white gloves, a hard-faced man with regimental tie said he did not intend to be home till two. There were well-wishers too. At five o’clock the joyful couple were asked to step outside. To fusillades of flashbulbs and shouts of “God bless you, sir” and “We’re with you, Mr Williams”, like stars ducking, Michael and Jacqueline turned their backs as the crowds swarmed, and their car revved up and swirled off towards the square. In the public gardens at nine in the morning, before the pubs opened, the crowds arrived to drink the nourishing beer. The men took off their jackets; they had come from their different jobs, and at seven forty-five they disturbed the district with the purposeful rattle of railings. There was fun in their faces; a thirsty queue formed round the garden; the gardeners looked in envy; the head gardener closed the gates, and soon the plush and straining ropes held in the crowd’s common determination; they were not all young; the coaches kept rolling up to discharge their loads over the hedges; they were going to have a wonderful time; the pace of the early hours would make climbing the stairs hell by evening; still more honest workers arrived – to hell with the licensing laws! – and so to pleasure. There was another reason for the general gaiety; they seemed almost grim as with determined step; hell-bent on this hilarious morning, with added mateyness, they thrilled with the sense of sin. There were few lone children at play or pleasure; naturally there was one huge insistent party as the trains put down their passengers and the coaches collected the crates of beer. Williams and Michael drank large whiskies with beer as a cleansing chaser; Michael brought his bride and sat her in the corner of the garden. On every chair was a can of beer, and as the morning went on the garden became barricaded with crate after crate; barrels were opened and emptied and used as seats. At the centre of the alcoholic typhoon, the tempo warmed as they piled themselves on tables and the stomachs, heavy with beer, turned towards the afternoon sun.

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