A BLAW UP AT THE DANCIN’
Sketches is remembered in a collection of his hilarious columns She canny t alk ony other way.w Hur wallies don’t fit hur awfy well
more nor less than this handsome bottle of whisky!”
And teetering forward in her long dress to receive the star prize went Barbara the Blonde. Wee Andy directed his most winning smile on her and, as he handed over the bottle, he modestly lowered his eyes as the blonde kissed him on the cheek.
“It’s a dampt disgrace!” declared Rita.
The Master of Ceremonies was mortally offended. “How dare you implicate that this young lady’s salutation to me is unproper!” he protested.
“Ah’m talkin’ aboot hur getting’ that boattle!” Rita cried. “It’s a ruddy carve-up!” “Madam, this is absolutely outrageful!” cried Wee Andy indignantly.
“Aw don’t try tae kid us,” Rita bawled. “Yiz ur winchin’, an’ it wiz a cinch she’d get the best prize in yer lucky number swin’le.” Barbara, the elegant blonde, now intervened. “You shut yer big gub,” she ordered Rita. “I don’t want my afferrs talked about in public”.
“By jings, if we talked aboot a’ the afferrs you’ve hud we’d be here fur two weeks” Rita shrilled.
“If you do not detract these malnutritious allygations, drastic action will be took at once,” Wee Andy warned her sternly.
“Ah’ll settle hur hash fur hur!” announced the blonde, carefully handing her prize to a friend and marching towards her critic.
“Ladies! Ladies!” cried Wee Andy, hurrying to the scene. “I beg of youse – do not indulge in no unseemly violence, if youse please!”
But Rita’s handbag was swinging through the air. It just missed the head of the Master of Ceremonies as he stepped back adroitly, and caught Barbara full on the make-up. A low emergency whistle was emitted.
Five minutes later Rita was being charged with assault and breach of the peace.
“Ah only gi’ed that blonde bizzim wan scud,” she said in court. To her disgust, this solitary scud cost her £3.
Archie and Davie, attired in their new charcoal-grey suits, waited patiently at the street corner. “D’ye think thae Judies’ll turn up?” asked Archie a trifle anxiously.
His crony beat a severe look upon him. “Judies!” he echoed frostily. “That is nutt no way to talk about Shirley and Lucy. Fur once-t we’ve goat a date wi’ a perr o’ dames that’s been well brung up.”
“Ye’re right therr,” conceded Archie. “Shirley’s that partic’lur aboot hur appearance tae. Thon night we took them tae the picturs, she spent hauf the time combin’ her herr.”
“Aw, aye. They’ve goat class,” agreed Davie. “Thur no’ like this perr that’s comin’ alang.”
And he stared disapprovingly at two young ladies in the distance. One wore blue trousers and the other red trousers.
“If therr’s wan thing Ah canny staun’, it’s weemin in troosers,” stated Archie, averting his eyes from the grievous sight.
“Me an’ a’,” said Davie, also turning his back on the betrousered damsels.
Two minutes later, they were greeted by that well-known Glasgow salutation – “Hullawrerr!”
The cronies turned and were dumbfounded to see that the trouser-wearers who had been approaching were none other than Shirley and Lucy.
“Oh, ah didny … didny reckanise ye!” faltered Archie. “We knowed ye widny!” cried Shirley, who was wearing the red trousers.
“We pit oan wur jeans because it wiz that dampt cauld. Thur rerr fur the cauld weather.”
Davie, appalled, could think of only one thing – getting the young ladies out of sight as quickly as possible.
“Well, whit aboot gaun’ tae the picturs acroass the street therr?” he suggested.
“Heh, Ah thought we wiz gaun’ tae the dancin’ the night?” said Lucy.
“The dancin’?” mumbled Archie. “But yiz canny dance in thae…”
“Canny dance in wur troosers?” exclaimed Shirley. “That’s whaur you’re wrang, pal! We kin eckshully dance mair better in them. Sure we kin, Lucy?”
“Of course we kin,” said Shirley briskly. “Come oan, let’s get gaun’. Ah could dae wi’ a spoat o’ jive tae warm me up.”
“Wait a minnit,” said Davie desperately. “Me an’ the china here’s no’ very hoat at the jivin’.”
“Ach, ye don’t need tae worry aboot that!” Lucy assured him. “We’ll learn ye.”
There was nothing for it. The cronies had to take the young ladies to the small dance hall.
Archie and Davie were greatly embarrassed by their reception. Wolf whistles resounded throughout the hall.
Then, clear above the clamour, came the somewhat strident voice of Wee Sadie. “A coupla blinkin’ bachles in thur pyjamas err!” she cried.
Shirley, who was vainly trying to teach Archie the intricacies of jive, stopped between a rock and a roll. “Haw, ur you gonny let that wee midden talk tae me like that?” she asked her chap.
“She canny talk ony other way,” he said. “Hur wallies don’t fit hur awfy well.” Shirley gave him a keen look. “Ya scunner!” she howled. “Ye’re takkin’ the mickey oota me!” Without further ado she smacked Archie’s face. He then grabbed her arms to prevent a further onslaught. Lucy wrongly assumed her girl friend was being roughly treated. She gave a yell, dashed up to Archie and pummelled him in the back with her fists. Davie, in turn, tried to pull Lucy away. A noisy scene ensued. It culminated in the foursome being ejected.
Next day Shirley and Archie appeared in court on breach of the peace charges.
The young lady wept and was admonished.
Archie was morose. “Anough tae mak’ ye immigrate tae St Kilda!” he growled as he paid his £1 fine.