Bob Servant (3 page)

Dad's other family lived in Monifieth and I always respected him for that, not having them too close to home and rubbing me and Mum's faces in it. He told us all about them eventually, which was pretty tough and must have been one of the worst anniversaries he and Mum had ever had.

It was annoying not having Dad around but, as he explained, the fifteen-minute bus journey from Monifieth was pretty boring and to be fair he always came back for his birthday. He'd arrive all excited and we'd have to get out the presents we'd got for him. It was the one thing that I remember him being strict about. The presents weren't
allowed to be homemade and we had to give him the receipts with them in case he wanted to take them back. I remember Mum once giving him a pink shirt and Dad said that he wasn't even going to go through what he called the pretence of taking it out the wrapping. He was always using words like that and I greatly admired him for it.

I remember the day my father died very well, largely because it was the day he died. I was sitting at my desk at school and spotted Mum in the corridor. She'd been called into the school a few weeks before after I was involved in a misunderstanding in Religious Studies and I thought that nonsense had maybe cropped up again but, no, she was there to tell me Dad had kicked the bucket.

Mum said the timing was awful because her Amateur Dramatics group were about to start a two-week run of
Oliver Twist
at the bowling club so I was to go and see Dad's other family and sort out the funeral. It was a lot of responsibility for a ten-year-old but I think Mum must have followed the Alex Ferguson policy of ‘if they're good enough they're old enough'. Plus to be fair to Mum she was doing well with the Amateur Dramatics at the time despite that ridiculous stage name
⁹
and she'd been given the part of Fagin which is a big ask for any actor, let alone a woman.

After school I caught the bus to Monifieth and went round to see Dad's other family. His other wife wasn't home, just a lot of people I didn't know, but they told me it would be Saturday morning for the funeral. There was a depressing air about the place and I just wanted to get out but I feel bad saying that because it was a nice house and Dad had obviously put a bit of time into the garden.

The funeral was a strange old day. Mum had to go straight to a matinee so she was in her full Fagin costume which I was a bit uncomfortable with but I soon forgot about that when Dad's other wife arrived. I knew that her nickname was Bazookas and I presumed that she was maybe in the army but when she walked into the church I saw that she most definitely wasn't in the army and that wasn't why she was called Bazookas.
¹⁰

I'll never forget the minister's face when he came out to see the front row of me, Fagin and Bazookas. He must have thought he was part of a joke and to be fair he put on a decent show under the circumstances. After the funeral Mum and I had to rush off so she wasn't late for the matinee and I never saw Bazookas again. Sometimes I think Dad deliberately died just so I would meet her and learn a little bit about women. Usually though, I think it would probably have worked out better for me and Mum if he hadn't met Bazookas at all.

As I said, over the years a lot of people have told me Dad was a great guy but I think it's fair to say he didn't do a massive amount for Yours Truly. He did at least leave a joke in the will that was just for me. ‘And give my golf clubs to my only son Brian,' he wrote.

The guy didn't even play golf.

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8
See
The Dundee Courier
, 10 October 1970 – ‘
Arrogant Aberdeen in Unlikely Oil Claim'.

9
See
The Dundee Courier
, 5 November 1954 –
‘Ribeye Servant Sizzles Again'.

10
I tracked down a photo of this woman from the period. Taken long before the era of airbrushing and other image manipulation, I was as astonished as Bob was. I discovered she died in the 1970s. When I told Bob he voiced sadness, quickly followed by speculation as to the shape of her coffin which he suggested must have looked ‘like a camel'.

Getting on with teachers would have been good for me. I'd have got all my exams and gone off to shake things up as a scientist, lawyer or chat-show host. But that's not how it worked out and by the time I was twelve I'd just about had it with that lot.

As a profession (if you can call it that, they get more holidays than Alf Whicker
¹¹
) teachers must be the most sensitive mob around. Don't get me wrong – they're not alone. When it comes to having a laugh I've never got much change out of judges and I can tell you with confidence not to waste any good slapstick on doctors. But teachers are in a different league for taking themselves seriously. They always think they know best and try and take charge of the conversation.

After The Lone Ranger problems I got sent to Bell Street Primary. With me not having much of a chance to chat at home, I saw it as an opportunity to really get things going on the conversation front, but oh no, the teachers weren't happy with that. It was an absolute joke. A lot of the stuff in school is pretty much up for debate, especially Religious Studies, but when I tried to get a wee conversation going they'd always pull the We Know Best card.

The irony is that most of the time I was trying to help the teachers and it was trying to help that would eventually get me expelled from Bell Street Primary. We had this guy Mr Conway for Maths and he was a real hopeless case. Being a teacher is about entertaining kids
but very few of them could hold a story and Mr Conway was the worst by far.

I saw an opportunity to both help the poor guy out and make a little something for myself so I waited behind in class and offered, very kindly, to supply some jokes to Mr Conway for 15p a time. I said that, although I obviously wouldn't name names, people were talking about him and none of it was good and this would be a chance for him to start the long journey back to respect (that was a phrase my Dad had used on me a few years before after I had an accident in my trousers and it had stuck with me ever since).

I thought that Mr Conway might haggle on the money or supply a few taboos I shouldn't cross with the jokes but in fact he reacted by clipping me on the ear. I told him, very calmly, that I had now lost any remaining respect that I had for him and he reacted by clipping me on the other ear and escorting me to the headmaster's office. I told Mr Conway that I was more disappointed in him than angry and he went a funny colour (which was the first funny thing he'd ever done) and told me to wait outside while he went in to give the headmaster his Woe Is Me act.

I wasn't too worried because I liked the headmaster and I saw a lot of myself in him. He could tell a great story for a start. Some of the assemblies were really top drawer. To this day I smile when I think of one week when he told an absolute belter about Jesus that had me off my seat at the end. I got into trouble for that, which is unbelievable really, getting into trouble for giving the Top Dog a standing ovation. That's the kind of logic I was dealing with at Bell Street Primary.

Anyway my point is that I wasn't too worried when Mr Conway stormed off and I was called in to see the headmaster. I remember really enjoying the experience because the headmaster had these leather seats in his office so sitting there talking to him felt like he was a chat-show host and I was a chat-show guest. Apart from the fact he was giving me into trouble and the fact that I was wearing shorts.

Overall, the headmaster was pretty decent. He got a bit angry when I referred to the situation as The Mr Conway Problem but I decided that was misplaced loyalty. We were getting on pretty well when he said something that nearly made me fall off my chair. He looked really tired and said that the school was full of problems and he didn't
need another one. I knew exactly what he was telling me. I thanked him for his time, which he looked a bit confused about, and left.

It took me a week of hard work. I did a bit in lessons when the teachers weren't looking and then stayed up late at night which wasn't a problem because Mum was out starring in a production of
Oklahoma
.

The day I was finally ready was one I'll never forget. I got up early, did my hair really nicely, walked to school and straight into the headmaster's office. He was surprised to see me and even more surprised when I placed the folder on his desk, winked and said that A Little Birdie had told me he was looking for this. On the folder I'd written in block capitals –

I will tell you right now that for a twelve-year-old that folder was a bloody work of art. I had diagrams, sketches and some really well-written material. I'd identified the main character flaws in all the teachers, including the headmaster, and I'd also collected all the major rumours floating around, including about the headmaster. Of course, in my report I called for the firing of Mr Conway but I suggested that the headmaster saved Mr Conway embarrassment by announcing at Assembly the reason that Mr Conway wasn't at school any more was because he'd run away from home. I also had some great stuff on school lunches and was well ahead of my time by suggesting what we know today as a buffet.

I couldn't have done much more for the headmaster but, well, he didn't exactly appreciate it. Looking back, it was probably one of the best chases that I've ever been involved in but at the time it was terrifying. Luckily for me he tripped over his bin in his hurry to get round the desk at me so I had a bit of a head start. I was down the corridor and halfway through the playground by the time the headmaster made it out and shouted to a janitor to stop me.

The jannie tried to catch me but I dropped my shoulder and gave him the eyes and I was away and through the gate. Reform Street was hard work. Every time I turned round the headmaster and the jannie were closing in like ospreys. I twisted and turned my way through the shoppers and took a short cut down Bank Street past
the fire station and that pet shop where the owner got done for talking dirty.
¹²

I made it onto Commercial Street but by now I was getting tired and when I turned round the headmaster was only about twenty yards away. I dashed into Debenhams, ran up the stairs and found myself in the Ladieswear Department. There was a row of dresses hanging up and I slid under and got inside one. I was just in time because I could hear the headmaster arrive and ask if anyone had seen ‘a little fucking lunatic' which I thought was completely inappropriate language for a headmaster to use anywhere, but especially in the Ladieswear Department.

All in all, I was inside that dress for about an hour. I have to say that, on what was otherwise a tough day for me, I enjoyed it. It was nice hearing people go about their business while I stood inside what felt like a big, flowery tent. It was my own little world where nothing bad could happen to me. Don't get me wrong – I knew I couldn't be inside the dress forever. If I'd stayed inside it forever and grown up inside the dress then at one point I would have gone from being inside the dress to wearing it and that's a different business. I waited until I couldn't hear the headmaster's voice, ducked out of the dress and made my way home feeling like someone had used my heart as a football.

Not getting the respect I deserved for

hit me hard. That folder should have made me famous and put me halfway to Hero status before I was out of shorts. I could have been a child star like Mozart, Mickey Rooney or Jimmy Krankie. But instead I was expelled and after the summer holidays I was sent to Grove Street Academy. It was the last school left for me in Broughty Ferry so I knew I had to keep my nose clean or I'd really be in trouble because Mum didn't like being bothered with what she called paperwork.

So I went to Grove Street Academy and, just when things couldn't get any worse for me, I met Frank.

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