The Scottish Heart

Chapter 1-2

Earlier, Eric, dandified in an English cut Donegal tweed jacket and striped Club tie, drunk and querulous, but still on his feet, had demanded the band play Scottish Country-dances.

“We don"t do Scottish Country-dances,” Nathan said.

Eric worked at the yard, a ship"s draughtsman. Once, Nathan had pointed out an error in one of his drawings. The weld was in the wrong place. Eric hated that.

“I"m speaking to you,” Eric said, nodding at Leo.

Leo pointed to Nathan, “We lead the band. Like he said, we don"t do Scottish Country-Dances.”

“This is ridiculous” Eric said. “You"re being paid to entertain us.”

“Ah tell ye, Mate,” Leo said. “We"ll leave right now, an" ye can shove yer money up yer arse.”

Nathan opened the valve on the Bach and let the accumulated spit drain on to the floor; Eric swayed back. “So, what"s it to be?”

“Damned common riff raff,” Eric muttered, staggering away.

Nathan removed the mute, and then dried off the Bach trumpet. Leo had his Conn alto in the case, Chuck covered the bass and Joe finished packing the drum kit.

“Let"s go, Nathan,” Leo said.

Chuck and Joe were outside putting the bass and drums into the back of Leo"s beat up Humber estate car.

“No" bad for this fuckin" place,” Nathan said to Leo as they walked to the main door of the club. He looked in the bar again. Eric and the other hearty still lay there, passed out. “Gentlemen, eh?”

“Money"s good, Nathan. Don"t knock it.”

“Fuckin" tossers.”

When they got to the door, it was raining steadily on an ambulance parked at the gate. The ambulance men passed a stretcher with a body lying on it, into the back.

Dorothy Jones, the kid he"d met earlier stood at the door. Nathan liked the way her white dirndl skirt hung below mid calf, a pretty white border for her coat. He and Leo stopped; not relishing a sprint through the rain to the car, hoping Chuck had the wit to bring the car over to the door once the ambulance had gone.

Dorothy had come up to the band at the interval, just as they"d finished playing a hard driving rendering of Wives and Lovers. She held out her hand,

“I"m Dorothy Jones. That was a lovely and an exciting song. What"s it called?”

She was a sweet girl. Her pretty lilac blouse and flat summer shoes went well with the white dirndl skirt. Some people might see Dorothy flawed by slightly prominent teeth. Nathan liked her pale complexion and well cut, short fair hair. He pressed her hand and he thought that one of the bears had taste, inviting her to the Ball.

“Hello, Dorothy. Thanks. It"s called Wives and Lovers, written by Hal David and Burt Bacharach. I"m Nathan,” he said, and pointing to the band, “Leo, Chuck, Joe, meet Dorothy.” They waved and she smiled.

Leo and Nathan had a passion for Hal David, and Burt Bacharach songs. They"d swung into Wives and Lovers, coaxing and driving each other to sharp, jangling improvisations. They brought Chuck and Joe to playing sensed, swinging rhythms.

Many of the rugby men, too far gone in drink to notice the shift to Jazz, as they shuffled round, out of step, heavy brogues bruising their partners feet.

Nathan saw Leo"s beat up Humber estate approaching the gate. “Something wrong, Dorothy?” he said.

“Oh, hello. Charles, the boy who brought me, was up to high jinks and broke his leg when he fell down the stairs. I think he was drunk. His friends are away with him to the hospital.”

Back in the recesses of the Club the rear guard of the revelers burst into a raw chorus, attempting to resuscitate the corpse of the Ball.

“Mary from the Mountain Glen,

Fucked herself with a fountain pen…

They called the Bastard, Stephen; they called the Bastard Stephen,

For that was the name of the blue-black ink.”

He felt for Dorothy having to listen to this and he quivered with fury at their unthinking use of bastard.

“Are you going home?”

“Yes, I"m going to walk.”

It was after one and raining hard. She was in for a soaking in her light summer coat. She"d be going by a quiet road to a pleasant middle class street, but there might be trouble with a stray drunk on the way.

Nathan turned to Leo. “Leo, got room for one more?

“Sure, as long as you don"t mind the instruments, Miss.”

Joe and Chuck wanted dropped off first and Nathan and Leo chatted to Dorothy Jones as they drove them home.

“Don"t you have a Jazz Club where you play, or do you just play at dances?” Dorothy said.

Leo caught Nathan"s eye in the rear view mirror and they both laughed.

“Yes, we have a place,” Nathan said. “It"s not much, but sometimes the music is pretty good.”

Their Jazz sanctuary: primitive with inadequate heating and a dire toilet. Nathan and Leo paid to have the battered upright piano tuned and they played and heard some great jazz there on Sunday nights. It attracted riff raff with nothing to do on Sunday evenings. The room was located behind and above a tacky fish and chip restaurant, rumoured to be a brothel. The Palm Grove. They called it Greasy Bella"s. Regularly, foreign seamen came and went through its portal. The owner of The Palm Grove let the room for a nominal fee. The fans attracted to a Sunday night gig consumed large quantities of his fish and chips at the interval and when they"d finished.

Westburn, 1958; there were few restaurants and none opened at night. Dining out in the evening, generally meant eating on the hoof, standing in shop doorways or sitting on a park bench in fine weather, hands moving rapidly in and out of paper parcels loaded with salty, soggy, vinegary fish and chips. Nathan hated the smell of cold fat and vinegar lingering on his hands and fingers.

“I don"t think you"d like it much, Miss,” Leo said.

“Why not? And please call me Dorothy. I hate being called, Miss.”

Leo pulled a face in the rear view mirror. “Sorry.”

“That"s Calle Crescent. Can you stop at sixteen?”

Leo pulled over. Nathan got out, mounted the pavement and let Dorothy Jones out of the car. “Come on, I"ll see you to the door.”

“Thank you.”

He held the gate open and followed her up the path to the front door. It burst open filling the entrance with light and then, the bulky shape of a big man darkened the light.

“Dorothy. What do you mean coming in at this hour? Who is this man?”

“This is Nathan; he helped me and gave me a lift home. He plays in the band.”

“Band is it? Damned hooligans. You, get to hell out of here.”

He moved towards his daughter, raising his arm to strike her and Nathan stood between them. Nathan choked on the stink of whisky. Dorothy cowered. Nathan saw his face, Jones, the senior manager in charge of submarine building down the yard.

He was a brutal big man. The men called him Horse Jones, after the Hoss character in the TV Western, Bonanza.

Nathan never took on fights since leaving the Army. He worried about injuries to hands, lips and front teeth. Broken fingers, split lips and a wrecked embrasure that he"d spent years shaping and toughening. Fatal for a trumpet player: but he"d not walk away from this man.

“There"s no need for that,” Nathan said, raising his hands, palms out, offering Horse Jones peace or a square go.

Nathan had a deep sense of chivalry towards women that went beyond respect and admiration. He despised Horse Jones for his drunkenness and the violence he wanted to wreak on Dorothy.

He wanted to see this girl again, but he knew that if he didn"t protect her, he never would. Nathan caught Dorothy"s elbow and steered her towards the door. Her arm trembled. “Go on, get inside and into bed. We"ll fix this up. Don"t worry.”

Leo"s squat solid figure was between Horse Jones and Nathan. “You"re right out o" order, Mate. Touch the girl or Nathan, an" Ah"ll kick yer fuckin" head in. Yer no" on the subs the night. The clown that took yer daughter tae the dance got drunk and broke his leg. He"s in the hospital. Mebbe ye should have a word wi" him.”

Leo waited. “Well, come on. If it"s trouble yer after, I"m here.”

Leo was careless with his talent. An alto player, he needed good hands with flexible, supple fingers, firm lips and strong teeth as much as Nathan did.

“I know you two,” Horse Jones, said. “You work in the yard, on the submarine. I won"t forget this.”

“You don"t know us, Mister and where we work is none o" yer fuckin" business.” Leo stuck his forefinger an inch from the Horse"s face. “Touch that wee lassie o" yours an" Ah"ll come after ye.”

Leo turned to Nathan. “Come on, let"s get tae f**k away from this cunt.”

Leo drove the car. He was white with barely controlled fury.

“Thanks for stoppin" him, Leo.”

“No trouble, Nathan. Ah can"t get over the way that big fucker wis gonny hit Dorothy. Imagine; hittin" yer flesh and blood. She"s such a nice lassie. I"d kill masel" before ah laid a finger on ma children.”

Leo had three beautiful daughters all under five and he loved them. They were great children and Nathan adored having fun with them. Sometimes he watched them to let Leo and his wife go out of an evening. Then he could listen to Leo"s wonderful collection of Jazz records. It was a relief to think about Leo"s daughters and the music. Good memories cheered him and Nathan considered the rest of the weekend.

He looked forward to Saturday. With Leo, he had a gig with a big band at a dance hall in Glasgow. The music was dull, but the pay was good for an evening"s work. In the early morning he"d practise quietly and then, mid morning, travel to Glasgow to The Athenaeum for a lesson in music theory. In the afternoon, he attended a lesson with his teacher of trumpet, Thomas Youngman, Principal Trumpet with the National Orchestra.

But Nathan was unsettled and jangled with nervous energy. He wanted to talk about Dorothy Jones, to tell someone that he"d just met this lovely girl. He wondered how the hell he could see her again. Right now, it would be so good just to say something nice about her. But he was afraid of being mocked.

“Whit dae ye think, Leo; how old is that girl?”

“Dorothy? Seventeen, mebbe eighteen.” He grinned. “Don"t tell me ye fancy her. Man, yer twenty five; ye"ll get done fur baby snatchin".”

“Just wondering, that"s all. She"s no" really my type.”

It had turned out a fine night; the rain was off and a full moon was on the sky, bathing the streets of the town in soft yellow light. Leo let Nathan out at the Square and he walked back up Ann Street and along Galt Place to enjoy the moon lit views of the town, the shipyards and the river.

It had been a long time since Nathan had warm thoughts of a woman. Several times, girls he"d liked brushed him off when they found out he was illegitimate. But that night, he forgot these bitter disappointments and suppressed doubts that Dorothy was too young. As he fell asleep the images of Dorothy Jones came, and he felt he could touch her. As he drifted over, he gave in to hope that this slender, quiet, lovely girl might like him, quite forgetting that he had no idea how he might see her again.