Vets Might Fly

The two hind feet hit me almost simultaneously but as I sailed backwards through the door I remember thinking quite clearly that the one on the chest had made contact fractionally before the one on the abdomen. But my thoughts were rapidly clouded by the fact that the lower hoof had landed full on my solar plexus.

and maybe buy him a half and half pint at one of the Gova pubs. It wouldn't have mattered if he had turned out to be a Celtic support. at that decisive moment because I had the Celtic team on my tongue all read to trot out

"Two flight, four . . .! This is one flight, three squadron. What the hell are ye daein' here?"

Arms swinging high, staring rigidly ahead, I took a deep breath. Concealment was futile now.

"Try in' to get tee see ma wife, corp. She's havin' a baby soon."

I glanced quickly at him. His was not the kind of face to reveal weakness by showing surprise but his eyes widened fractionally.

"Get tee see yer wife? Are ye daft or whit?"

"It's no' far, corp. She lives in Darrow by. Three hours in the bus. Ah wid be back tonight."

"Back tonight! Ye want yer held examinin'!"

"I've got tee go!"

"Eyes from!" he screamed suddenly at the men before us. "eft'ight,"eft'ight!"

Then he turned and studied me as though I were an unbelievable phenomenon.

He was interesting to me, too, as a typical product of the bad times in Glasgow between the wars. Stunted, undernourished, but as tough and belligerent as a ferret.

"Dye no' ken," he said at length, 'that ye get leave when yer wife has the wean ?"

"Aye, but a canna' wait that long. Gimme a break, corp."

"Give ye a break! Dye want tee get me shot?"

"No, corp, just want tee get to the bus station."

"Jesus! Is that ai?" He gave me a final incredulous look before quickening h steps to the head of the column. When he returned he surveyed me again.

"Whit part o' Glesca are ye free?"

"Scotstounhill," I replied.

"How about you?"

"Go van."

I turned my head slightly towards him.

"Ranger supporter, eh?"

He did not change expression, but an eyebrow flickered and I knew I ha him.

"Whit a team!" I murmured reverently.

"Many's the time I've stood on terraces at Ibrox."

He said nothing and I began to recite the names of the great Rangers tea' of the thirties.

"Daw son, Gray, McDonald, Meiklejohn, Simpson, Brown." H eyes took on a dreamy expression and by the time I had intoned

"Archibald Marshall, English, McPhail and Morton," there was something near to a wistful smile on his lips.

Then he appeared to shake himself back to normality.

"Eft'ight,"eft 'ight!"he bawled.

"C'mon, c'mon, pick it up!" then he muttered to me from the corner of his mouth.

"There's the bus station. When we march past it run like !"

He took off again, shouting to the head of the flight, I saw the buses and the windows of the waiting room on my left and dived across the road and through the door. I snatched off my cap and sat trembling among a group of elderly farmers and their wives. Through the glass I could see the long lines of blue moving away down the street and I could still hear the shouts of the corporal.

But he didn't turn round and I saw only his receding back, the narrow' shoulders squared, the bent legs stepping it out in time with his men. I never.

saw him again but to this day I wish I could take him to Ibrox and watch the Rangers with him