I had my overalls open to the waist. A black leather belt with steel buckle embossed with eagle and swastika held up my pants.
“Why are ye wearin" that belt, son?” Fergie said.
“It"s a fuckin" German Army belt. Ma uncle took it aff a deid Gerry.”
“Ah know whit it is. Ah wis in the Army. So, get yer arse tae the fuckin" stores. Ah want a number four drilling machine, a boring post and an air hose. Get it up tae the tap a" the engine. Right?”
I was wary of Fergie, and I stopped wearing the belt. I found out later that the belt, the Nazi badge on the buckle, offended him. He"d spent the war fighting Germans in North Africa and Europe.
During the five-year apprenticeship, we got one stint with a good journeyman. This was mine. But no one rated Fergie; he was one of the awkward squad. That
