Its Colours They Are Fine. Alan Spence
over at the stove, looking in the pot. The broth was coloured red-gold and the fatty stock made the surface shine, globules bubbling, catching the light.
‘Smells good.’
‘Well, ye kin get intae that when ye get back. Noo c’mon or ye’ll be late.’
On his way out of the close he was about to take a running kick at a tin can but he remembered about the shoes and he stopped, restrained. At the next corner were three or four boys he knew, boys his mother was always telling him to stay away from, because every time he got into trouble, it just happened to be with them. They saw him crossing the road and they whistled and shouted at him.
‘Waell!’
‘Gawn yersel!’
‘Heh Aleck, yer luvly!’
‘Ah’ll get ye!’
One of them began singing and clapping his hands in time.
‘Will ye come to the mission
Will ye come will ye come
Will ye come to the mission
Will ye come.’
Aleck laughed back at them but he was blushing and he felt hot and confused. He wanted to go to Sunday school, but at the same time he envied them their freedom and their dirt. His walk was suddenly clumsy and awkward and he was happy to take a short-cut through a close, away from their taunting.
The mission hall was a converted shop, stuck between a close and a HANDY STORE. The flaking paint on its front was an indeterminate colour – a dirty green or brown. Above the door was the name GLASGOW CITY MISSION and on one of the boarded-up windows was a list of the week’s activities. Sunday School. Bible Class. Christian Endeavour. Band of Hope.
Mr Neil was at the door to welcome everybody in, grinning, nodding, pushing up his glasses which kept slipping down his nose. He was not much taller than most of the older children.
‘Hello Aleck. Hello. Comeaway in.’
Inside, the place was cool and dark, the only sunlight getting in through the open door. Aleck could smell the different fruits and flowers and vegetables that most of the children had brought, above the usual smell of damp and polished wood and musty old books. The seats were arranged in groups of five or six, the children grouped according to age. At the far end was a small raised platform, with a piano, a lectern and a table draped with a white cloth. On the table stood a wooden cross and a vase of mixed flowers – yellow and red.
At the piano was Mrs Neil, a big woman with greying hair. She wore a white hat and glasses with frames that turned up at the side, like wings. She was talking to Jim, the teacher for Aleck’s group, who waved to him as he came in.
Aleck went and sat at his place, making too much noise with his chair. There were four other boys in the group – David, Robert, Martin and John. They all looked up and said hello.
‘Learned yer text Aleck?’ asked David. David was the only one of the group that Aleck really thought of as a friend. The others had returned their attention to their Bibles and were soundlessly mouthing the text over and over.
‘Jist aboot,’ said Aleck. He opened his Bible at the place, which he’d marked by inserting his attendance card and his membership card for the Life Boys.
He went over the words into himself.
‘Mark 4:28 and 29 – For the earth bringeth forth fruit of herself; first the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear. But when the fruit is brought forth, immediately he putteth in the sickle, because the harvest is come.’
‘Quite a long wan this week, intit,’ said David.
‘Aye, so it is,’ said Aleck. ‘An ah canny get ma tongue roon that “putteth in the sickle”.’
‘Aye it’s hard right enough. Whit is a sickle anywey?’
‘It’s wan a they things fur cuttin grass. Lik a big knife wi a blade lik that . . .’ and Aleck drew an arc in the air with his forefinger.
He went on, ‘D’ye remember they kerds ye goat wi FLAGS bubble-gum?’
‘Aye.’
‘Well, d’ye remember the Russian wan ah hid, the wan ah widnae swap?’
‘Aye, aye it wis a red flag.’
‘Well, thoan wee things in the coarner wis a hammer an sickle, croassed lik that.’ He crossed his forefingers in front of him.
‘Aw aye, ah remember. Huv ye ever seen a real wan?’
‘A red flag?’
‘Naw, a sickle.’
‘Naw. Huv you?’
‘Naw. Bet it wid be some chib, eh?’
They hadn’t heard Jim coming up behind them. He tapped David on the head with his Bible.
‘What would be some “chib”?’ he asked, sitting down at the head of the group.
‘A sickle,’ said David, slicing the air to demonstrate. ‘Schuk!’
‘Bloodthirsty shower!’ said Jim.
Aleck asked him if he’d seen a real sickle.
‘Och yes,’ he replied. ‘We’ve got one at home. In the toolshed.’
Aleck had forgotten that Jim lived in a house with a garden. He only came to Govan to teach at the mission. He was about twenty-five and he always had a redfaced, clean and scrubbed look. He smelled of soap and haircream, and he always wore a sports jacket with a Christian Endeavour badge in the lapel.
‘Ah’m glad you all managed to bring something for the service,’ he said. ‘Have you all learned the text?’
He got five different replies, from Yes through Silence to No.
‘Ach well, we’ll see anyway. Would you like to pass me your cards?’
While he was taking in the attendance cards, David turned again to Aleck.
‘Didye go tae the pictures last night Aleck?’
‘Naw. Ah jist steyed in. Did you?’
‘Aye. Ma big brurra took us tae the Lyceum. It was a war picture. Aboot Korea. Terrific! Ah’ll tell ye aboot it efter.’
Jim took each of them in turn, and with varying degrees of assurance and hesitancy they intoned the text for the day in the same monotone of incantation that characterised the way they would recite the alphabet or the multiplication tables or any other memorised litany. Then he marked their cards, once for attendance, once for reciting the text. He also marked Aleck’s Life Boy card.
The Junior Division of the Boys’ Brigade. Sure and Steadfast.
‘That’s fine,’ said Jim. ‘Now if you’d all like to open your Bibles at the place, we’ll have a wee look at it. Mr Neil’s going to talk about it after, so I won’t spend too much time on it. Right, well what’s the text about then?’
‘Harvest,’ said Robert.
‘Right, and what’s that?’
‘Time a year when aw the crops ur ready,’ said David. ‘Corn an wheat an stuff.’
‘Fine,’ said Jim. ‘In fact all the crops we need to make food. To live. And that’s why we celebrate harvest specially. To give thanks for our food. Now. Do you remember what a parable is?’
‘A story,’ said Aleck.
‘That’s right, but it’s a special kind of story that Jesus told. If you look at the top of the page it says The Parable of the Sower. Now Jesus told stories like this when he wanted to explain something in a way people could understand. This one starts at verse 3.
‘. . . Behold there