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The Outing
I am eight years old; standing hands in pockets in the middle of this sort of concrete clearing at the end of some Glasgow terraces-ahead of me is the way into the city, behind, the area where my grandparents, both sets, live. Some distance in that direction is where my brothers and I were born, really on the outskirts (you couldn't really call it part of the city) at the opposite side to the infamous Gorbals. Its all grey just here though -I hate the monotony of the surroundings-no character, no individuality. At my left is a wall with trees behind it-only one row, but their leaves are green and thick-they might be conker trees or oaks. To my right is another wall, but all I can see behind it is the palish blue-grey sky.
I turn towards the wall, smiling because at least this place is still nearly in my home area: I hate the place in England we've moved to, I prefer countryside with fields of corn, streams, and the mountains further up Scotland. That's the place I belong. That's the place I call home-even though I was very young when we left. We are only visiting now.
My smile shows the gap in my teeth where I'm waiting for the adult teeth to replace it. Above the smile are freckles on a cheeky face, higher are green-blue eyes under thick brown hair-it will become darker soon like some of the others in my family, but for now it still has a quite gingery look. I'm wearing a brown woolly material cap of the style that looks flat and too big, my clothes are of the same dark material-it maybe my best outfit. A soft, unstarched white-cream collar peeks out the top of my jacket collar, beneath the jacket; I have britches, long brown, wide-ribbed socks and boots. The soles of my boots are so worn; the tacks in the sole show and shine brassy coloured in the light.
Two older boys are with me, my brothers: twins but not identical in looks or personality-similar, but not quite the same. Mother says it's so she knows who's who! Will, the oldest by a few minutes and possible a good dose of outward maturity, stand before me. He seems to be taking my photo with an early small camera. Andrew is slightly ahead, turns and tries to make me laugh, blue eyes shining, reflecting his grin. William smiles too, but he's not as 'goofy' as Andy, and his eyes are brown-they show no annoyance but you can see the impatience in them. They are keen to show me something that figured in their many exploits in the city when they were my age and we still lived near the fields. It is Andrew who is especially keen to show me this thing-he's always explaining things to me, showing me things, telling me what they used to do. Its almost as if he wants me to not be left out of the fun he used to have, and likes 'teaching' me things, so I know what how things go on, for when I'm older.
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We share many interests-some Will likes too, but he's more distant, more academic, he's not into history, creative things-humanities so much, I suppose. Andrew sticks up for me when the rest of the family treats me like I'm different or an inconvenience. My mother is great but she is bullied by my father-it is he who is largely the problem-he wouldn't accept Andrew as he was at first, then I came along-the 'dreaded accident'-and that was it. Will is his favourite, he's taken Mother's confidence and Andrew's the only one who seems to take me as I am, we're very close-treats me as an equal as far as age will allow. I stick up for Mother, which please him too, but angers Father even more while to Will, I'm still 'little brother' even though he's fun and doesn't mind me most of the time.
As they are closer to adult status they wear grey flannels. William has cap, jacket and trouser, more tidy than us. He has his jacket buttoned, shoes buffed neatly, a little triangle of black shows his tie between his white collar He is not a perfectionist- ironically his hair for a start is always longer and scruffier than Andy's or how I'd like mine, he is not pretentious-still, compare him to Andrew who is wearing just a white shirt and trousers, tie discarded as soon as we left our grandparent's house. His boots are shiny only at the front and worn into being comfortable. Will, we think wants Father's approval, even though he won't admit it: he is most like Mum in looks-but of us, he is the most like father in temperament-without the bullying streak; our mum is interested in history and stuff like us.
Andy calls to him to hurry up and he takes the photo, teasing me for the gappy smile-photos are meant to be serious!
He rounds us up, and we carry on; two tallish, slim but strongly built young men, with a shorter version in the middle. The sun shines and we are going to have a good day, Will walks along explaining how he is going to try and develop the pictures, Andy joshes me, and we play fight while he talks
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