for you, Father? I'll have none of that nonsense now. Come to the reception and have a wee dram. I know we're no' your type. But just for me. It's no' every day a person sees their oldest lassie getting married.'
As she spoke her plump words, I caught sight of Mark and Lisa over her shoulder. Mark was wearing a black tie. He saw me looking up and made a quick, friendly nod, as if proposing that I acquiesce to whatever Mrs Nolan was asking of me. 'Of course,' I found myself saying. 'Of course I'll come. That would be splendid.'
Rice was sticking to the umbrellas and pinches of confetti floated in the puddles. The faces of small children appeared; they had different haircuts, the children, but the same eyes, and their voices rose in anticipation of a challenge and an opportunity.
'Scramble!' they shouted.
I watched them from the tinted dark of a hired limousine, the best man throwing handfuls of silver and the children diving onto the gravel to pick up the coins.
'Look at the state ae them,' said Mr Nolan, the bride's father. 'A buncha piranhas. You'd think they'd never seen a coin in their lives.'
'It's one of your Scottish traditions?' I said.
'A good one,' he said. 'When I was young, we used to scour the town looking for weddings, just to get in on the scramble.'
The car moved off down the lane with a beep at the crouching kids and a squeak of upholstery. 'You were born in Dalgarnock, Mr Nolan?'
'Born and bred,' he said. 'And I'll tell you something for nothing: it's no longer the place I grew up in.'
'How so?'
'I'll tell you how,' he said. 'There used to be plenty of work about here. Good jobs. Coal mining for one, and a big steelworks over the river. That ICI place used to employ thousands, making paint, and, before that, it was Nobel, making explosives. Men worked in those places for forty years and at the end of it the Jobcentre was trying to turn them into Avon ladies.'
Mr Nolan was a youngish man, still in his forties I'd have said, but his delivery was hardened and wise seeming, his attitude somewhat elegiac, as if life had already shown him its uselessness.
'Is that right?'
'You're damn right it's right,' he said. 'Humiliating. That's yer global economy for ye, Father. Experienced tradesmen start working in pet shops, and that's the lucky ones. Half of them have never worked since they got their apprenticeship papers. And these younger ones leaving school? Well, they wouldn't want jobs even if there were jobs to give them. Talk about lazy.'
The car was being driven up the coast road, the other passengers cooing about the bride's dress or things being nice, but Mr Nolan seemed to grow more surly as we passed the dual carriageway and the new houses. 'This was all fields,' he said. 'Now would you take a look. It's all houses for people who aren't even from here. Incomers, Father. People from Glasgow or England or worse. Interlopers. You know they're even packing those bloody asylum seekers into those boxes?'
'Places do change, don't they, Mr Nolan?'
'Aye, well. I'll tell ye, this place has changed for the worst.'
'Oh, for heaven's sake put a smile on your face, Dominic,' said Mrs Nolan. 'You'd put years on a person, the way you talk.'
'Well, it's all true,' said Mr Nolan. 'He's as well to know the truth. This used to be a good place to rear children. Now, it's just an open-air asylum. People used to have sports days and Highland games or whatever else out on that grass. Scottish country dancing. You name it. Now it's all Indian restaurants and Christ knows what else, and no jobs for the locals.'
'Just ignore him, Father,' said Mrs Nolan. 'He's always in a bad mood when he knows he has to part with a shilling.'
'I'm sure that's not the case,' I said.
'Oh, it's true all right,' said Mr Nolan.
'I'm sure you've heard all the great sayings about the Scots, Father Anderton,' said Mrs Nolan.
'I simply ignore them,' I said.
'Well, you shouldnae,' said Mr Nolan, 'because they're all deserved. I'm getting
As she spoke her plump words, I caught sight of Mark and Lisa over her shoulder. Mark was wearing a black tie. He saw me looking up and made a quick, friendly nod, as if proposing that I acquiesce to whatever Mrs Nolan was asking of me. 'Of course,' I found myself saying. 'Of course I'll come. That would be splendid.'
Rice was sticking to the umbrellas and pinches of confetti floated in the puddles. The faces of small children appeared; they had different haircuts, the children, but the same eyes, and their voices rose in anticipation of a challenge and an opportunity.
'Scramble!' they shouted.
I watched them from the tinted dark of a hired limousine, the best man throwing handfuls of silver and the children diving onto the gravel to pick up the coins.
'Look at the state ae them,' said Mr Nolan, the bride's father. 'A buncha piranhas. You'd think they'd never seen a coin in their lives.'
'It's one of your Scottish traditions?' I said.
'A good one,' he said. 'When I was young, we used to scour the town looking for weddings, just to get in on the scramble.'
The car moved off down the lane with a beep at the crouching kids and a squeak of upholstery. 'You were born in Dalgarnock, Mr Nolan?'
'Born and bred,' he said. 'And I'll tell you something for nothing: it's no longer the place I grew up in.'
'How so?'
'I'll tell you how,' he said. 'There used to be plenty of work about here. Good jobs. Coal mining for one, and a big steelworks over the river. That ICI place used to employ thousands, making paint, and, before that, it was Nobel, making explosives. Men worked in those places for forty years and at the end of it the Jobcentre was trying to turn them into Avon ladies.'
Mr Nolan was a youngish man, still in his forties I'd have said, but his delivery was hardened and wise seeming, his attitude somewhat elegiac, as if life had already shown him its uselessness.
'Is that right?'
'You're damn right it's right,' he said. 'Humiliating. That's yer global economy for ye, Father. Experienced tradesmen start working in pet shops, and that's the lucky ones. Half of them have never worked since they got their apprenticeship papers. And these younger ones leaving school? Well, they wouldn't want jobs even if there were jobs to give them. Talk about lazy.'
The car was being driven up the coast road, the other passengers cooing about the bride's dress or things being nice, but Mr Nolan seemed to grow more surly as we passed the dual carriageway and the new houses. 'This was all fields,' he said. 'Now would you take a look. It's all houses for people who aren't even from here. Incomers, Father. People from Glasgow or England or worse. Interlopers. You know they're even packing those bloody asylum seekers into those boxes?'
'Places do change, don't they, Mr Nolan?'
'Aye, well. I'll tell ye, this place has changed for the worst.'
'Oh, for heaven's sake put a smile on your face, Dominic,' said Mrs Nolan. 'You'd put years on a person, the way you talk.'
'Well, it's all true,' said Mr Nolan. 'He's as well to know the truth. This used to be a good place to rear children. Now, it's just an open-air asylum. People used to have sports days and Highland games or whatever else out on that grass. Scottish country dancing. You name it. Now it's all Indian restaurants and Christ knows what else, and no jobs for the locals.'
'Just ignore him, Father,' said Mrs Nolan. 'He's always in a bad mood when he knows he has to part with a shilling.'
'I'm sure that's not the case,' I said.
'Oh, it's true all right,' said Mr Nolan.
'I'm sure you've heard all the great sayings about the Scots, Father Anderton,' said Mrs Nolan.
'I simply ignore them,' I said.
'Well, you shouldnae,' said Mr Nolan, 'because they're all deserved. I'm getting
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