Eggs

It's Glasgow, december 1959. Flag McAndrew has been tossed out of college - no money left for fees - and has got himself a job as a trainee bus conductor on a Glasgow Cororation double decker bus. Hugh is his instrucor.

 

Saturday was a mixed day on Flag McAndrew’s Clydebank bus. Hugh was letting him handle most things, under his watchful eye. In the early evening a middle-aged couple boarded the bus in the city as it headed for Clydebank. They were quite well loaded in more ways than one. Flag guessed they had spent at least three hours in the pub since purchasing their groceries - most of which were being carried by the man. The wife carried only a small string bag besides her handbag, even though she looked twice as strong as her small skinny husband.  He had two large string bags in each hand, and was having a struggle to board the bus. Flag was about to assist him, when the wife grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled.

“Oh cim oan will you, get a move oan,” she said, before releasing his jacket and pressing the bell. Flag had stepped into the aisle to give them room, and there was nothing he could do about what he knew was going to happen. The woman was blocking the aisle as the bus moved off, with her husband still on the platform, his hands full of grocery bags. He started to fall over, and stepped backwards to regain his balance. Geordie changed up, and the man swayed forwards briefly, before the bus surged, and he stepped backwards - off the edge of the platform. All this in a matter of seconds. Flag was in the process of reaching for the button as the husband stepped on thin air.

“Aw, Jeesis” he cursed as the road came up to meet him. Flag pressed the emergency stop signal, and the bus stopped less than a hundred feet from the casualty. He was lying near the gutter, where spilled groceries were still in motion.

“Oh mah Gawd, oh mah Gawd,” cried the lady, jumping off the bus and running in ungainly fashion towards her wounded spouse. “Mah eggs, mah eggs, Oh mah Gawd, mah eggs!”

Flag ran back to the man, and bent over him. He was lying face up, gazing at the stars. He seemed unharmed, but when Flag bent closer, he winked before releasing a loud groan, while flicking his eyes towards his wife.  The wounded spouse preferred to lie down, rather than jump up and be KNOCKED down by the Amazon for breaking the eggs! She was scurrying around collecting groceries from the gutter and muttering

“Stupit bloody gommerel, useless prat, whit did ah ever see in you?”

Flag decided to join the pantomime. It WAS the Christmas season after all. He crouched and helped the man to his feet. “Just hang onto me sir, and I’ll get you a nice seat on the bus. You’ve had a nasty bump there, but it looks like nothing is broken,” then whispered, “except oh mah Gawd, mah eggs.”

The man started to shake with suppressed laughter, while trying hard to keep his face straight. Funny how drunks always managed to land like cats. “Oh, you’re shaking sir, must be the shock setting in, or are you just freezing cold? Never mind, the bus is nice and warm, and you can sit at the front, next to the engine.”

The other passengers fussed over the man while the missus reboarded the bus festooned with groceries - nobody helped her. Hugh had run upstairs so he could laugh in peace. Flag hid a grin, pressed the button, and they were on their way. There was certainly a lot of Christmas spirit around.

Three stops farther on, eight happy men joined the bus, outfitted in green and white stripes. Two of them carried large rattles, while a third blew a stirring note on a toy trumpet. They all trooped upstairs, where they were soon entertaining their fellow passengers with their own personal arrangement of When Irish Eyes Are Smiling, for wind and rattles. Flag waited a few minutes, until Hugh gave him the nod to climb the stairs.

“Fares please” cried Flag, as he neared the choir, with Hugh hovering behind. The largest and fattest green and white singer proffered a ten shilling note. “Eight sixpennies son, an’ keep the change.” 

 “But sir, this is a ten shilling note, and it’s only four shillings.”  

“Well, that means you can spend six bob on your girlfriend the morn disn’t it? See, ah can still count, so you hing onto it laddie, jist gi’es the tickets, and a merry Christmas to you.”

“A merry Christmas to all of you too sir” said Flag. He dispensed the tickets with alacrity, and bumped into Hugh as he reached the bottom of the steps.

“Celtic must have had a real- good win the day” was Hugh’s droll comment

 

Reviews

[Chelle]

Excellent story in every way! The plot itself is unique in how the setting is during the late fifties and in a place such as Glasgow. It's also very rare to read a story that focuses on the observations from a bus conductor. The dialect within the dialogue is brilliant as well! I personally couldn't help but chuckle when reading the section where Flag is helping the husband off the ground while imitating the man's wife and her tantrum over spilled groceries.

This story I found to be comical, heartwarming, and realistic. Absolutely fantastic!