The engineers despised labourers who swept the floor and carried tradesmen"s tools. Some of them were Jakies fond of cheap wine. An old soak used to pour a half bottle of the stuff into his tea can and drink it with his buttered morning roll.
“Ye"d think he"d know better,” Fergie said.
Frank Pollock watched the labourer brushing and cleaning round the bedplate. Pudgie, a poor soul, his nerves wrecked on the North Atlantic Convoys.
“Hurry up, ya wee cunt,” Pollock said. “We"ve tae start the fuckin" job the day.”
I walked over. My gut was tight as I searched for courage. I sensed that my face was white with rage. I owed this bastard for punching me, knocking me out. “Job"s clean. Leave him be.”
“f**k off, Ronsard. Mind yer ain business.”
I grabbed the brush from Pudgie and struck Pollo
