Para Handy: the Complete Collected Stories by Neil Munro

Author:Neil Munro
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Birlinn Limited

50. The Goat

Para Handy, having listened with amazement to the story of the Stepney battle1 read by the engineer, remarked, ‘If it wassna in print, Macphail, I wouldna believe it! They must be desperate powerful men, them Rooshian burgulars. Give us yon bit again aboot Sir Wunston Churchill.’2

‘ “The Right Honourable gentleman, at the close of the engagement, went up a close and shook 127 bullets out of his Astrakan coat,” ’ repeated Macphail, who always added a few picturesque details of his own invention to any newspaper narrative.

‘It was 125 you said last time,’ Para Handy pointed out suspiciously.

‘My mistake!’ said Macphail frankly; ‘I thocht it was a five at first, but I see noo it’s a seven. A couple o’ bullets more or less if it’s anyway over the hundred doesna make much odds on an Astrakan coat.’

‘Man, he must be a tough young fellow, Wunston!’ said the captain, genuinely admiring. ‘Them bullets give you an awfu’ bang. But I think the London polisman iss greatly wantin’ in agility; they would be none the worse o’ a lesson from Wully Crawford, him that wass the polisman in Tarbert when I wass at the school. Wully wouldna throw chuckies at the window to waken up the Rooshians; he wass far too caautious. He would pause and consuder. Wully wass never frightened for a bad man in a hoose: “It’s when they’re goin’ lowse aboot the town they’re dangerous,” he would say; “they’re chust ass safe in there ass in my lock-up, and they’re no’ so weel attended.”

‘Wully wass the first polisman ever they had in Tarbert. He wassna like the chob at aal, at aal, but they couldna get another man to take it. He wass a wee small man wi’ a heid like a butter-firkin, full to the eyes wi’ natural agility, and when he would put the snitchers3 on you, yuu would think it wass a shillin’ he wass slippin’ in your hand. If you were up to any muschief – poachin’ a bit o’ fish or makin’ a demonstration – Wully would come up wi’ his heid to the side and rubbing his hands thegither, and say a kindly word. I’ve seen great big massive fellows walkin’ doon the street wi’ Wully, thinkin’ they were goin’ to a Christmas pairty, and before they knew where they were they were lyin’ on a plank in his lock-up. You never saw a man wi’ nicer mainners; he wass the perfect chentleman!

‘ “Stop you there, lads, and I’ll be back in a meenute wi’ a cup o’ tea,” he would say when he wass lockin’ the door of the cell on them. “Iss there anything you would like to ’t?” The silly idiots sometimes thocht they were in a temperance hotel by Wully’s mainners, and they got a terrible start in the mornin’ when they found they had to pay a fine. You mind o’ Wully Crawford, Dougie?’

‘Fine!’ said Dougie. ‘He was the duvvle’s own!’

‘ “Caaution and consuderation iss the chief planks in the armour of the Brutish constable,” Wully used to say, rubbin’ his hands.

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