YesterdayOctober 1971
In the weeks that followed we were constantly harassed going to and from school, and irrespective of how many times we changed our route. There would be cops, or brits, check-mating us ensuring the now customary ritual. Address. Age. Date of Birth. Any distinguishing marks.
The usual smirk aimed my way, and the repetitive stoppage receiving the habitual cocky replies. Three of us arrested coming home from school the day after the death of a soldier in Cupar street.
Arriving at the barracks to find Tub and Pat already in custody, and the
special branch pair eager to welcome us. Immediately recognising them from the snug in the George pub.
''Remove all your top clothes, put your hands on the wall, and assume the frisk position,'' said the skinny purple-nosed one.
