It was raining quite hard as I passed the police station.
The garden of the police house there was over grown and long neglected.
The bushes shook just ahead of me and a voice shouted out, "Mister, are you walkin' oot tae Polbeth ?"
When I got closer I could see a small boy hiding.
"Can a walk wi you tae we reach the Roadhoose ?"
We started walking the road.
I had been at mass in West Calder. It was Easter and I had been at the Saturday night vigil. I bought some fish and chips afterwards and was walking home.
In West Calder the churches competed with the public houses in popularity and if you were a Catholic you could easily combine devotion to both if you attended Saturday evening chapel; over by 6.30 and then straight into the Legion or Railway or Commercial.
At the top of Main Street stood the United Free Church. You could usually hear its bells calling the faithful just as Canon Boyle, in St. Mary and St. Bridget's Roman Catholic Church, began his Sunday morning sermon. As you left the village with the library and its half height flag pole on your right (last Remembrance Day somebody had taken a saw to it) you would pass the last of the three churches, the United Presbyterian.
"Ave just been to the youth club in Cauther", he said. "Ma faither gave me the money tae go."
The road out to Polbeth was dark and it was drizzling. From the station bridge you could see the outline of Addiewell bing and the Five Sisters. Under the next bridge there ran a disused railway line that had once been used to carry the shale and as you reached the Daks factory, the road was lined on either side by trees.
"I thought the youth club finished earlier", I said, since it had now gone 10.30.
The 10.35 from Edinburgh had stopped at the station but no passengers either got on or off.
"Did you miss the bus ?"
He pointed down the road.
"Naw, see they laddies."
Just as the road bent round to the factory, there was a small group of boys walking along. You could hear them laughing as they pushed each other around.
"They said they wir gonna beat me up."
"They're Catholics. They go tae the Catholic School in Polbeth."
He didn't need to tell me, for as soon as he mentioned the school in Polbeth I knew that he went to the primary school in Cauther.
The old Catholic primary used to stand behind the chapel in West Calder. When the roof collapsed in its games hall, the authority decided to rebuild and re-locate to Polbeth. Children who attended that school, transferred at secondary age to Our Lady's High School in Broxburn.
You could see the 'proddie' primary school from the railway station. At eleven years old, children moved from there to the West Calder High School in Polbeth !
"Ma faither says ye canna trust papes."
As if to prove the point, the bus shelter in Polbeth had been daubed in IRA slogans, ready for the Orange Walk that was planned to take place there later in the year.
"They laddies wir gonna thump me because I'm a Prod and they're Catholics. If a had ma gang wi me they'd be the yins that wir runnin."
I did wonder whether I should tell him that I was a Catholic, but decided the shock would probably be too much for him.
I left him at the Roadhouse pub and walked on home alone.
(Many thanks to the author for permission to use this story)
The garden of the police house there was over grown and long neglected.
The bushes shook just ahead of me and a voice shouted out, "Mister, are you walkin' oot tae Polbeth ?"
When I got closer I could see a small boy hiding.
"Can a walk wi you tae we reach the Roadhoose ?"
We started walking the road.
I had been at mass in West Calder. It was Easter and I had been at the Saturday night vigil. I bought some fish and chips afterwards and was walking home.
In West Calder the churches competed with the public houses in popularity and if you were a Catholic you could easily combine devotion to both if you attended Saturday evening chapel; over by 6.30 and then straight into the Legion or Railway or Commercial.
At the top of Main Street stood the United Free Church. You could usually hear its bells calling the faithful just as Canon Boyle, in St. Mary and St. Bridget's Roman Catholic Church, began his Sunday morning sermon. As you left the village with the library and its half height flag pole on your right (last Remembrance Day somebody had taken a saw to it) you would pass the last of the three churches, the United Presbyterian.
"Ave just been to the youth club in Cauther", he said. "Ma faither gave me the money tae go."
The road out to Polbeth was dark and it was drizzling. From the station bridge you could see the outline of Addiewell bing and the Five Sisters. Under the next bridge there ran a disused railway line that had once been used to carry the shale and as you reached the Daks factory, the road was lined on either side by trees.
"I thought the youth club finished earlier", I said, since it had now gone 10.30.
The 10.35 from Edinburgh had stopped at the station but no passengers either got on or off.
"Did you miss the bus ?"
He pointed down the road.
"Naw, see they laddies."
Just as the road bent round to the factory, there was a small group of boys walking along. You could hear them laughing as they pushed each other around.
"They said they wir gonna beat me up."
"They're Catholics. They go tae the Catholic School in Polbeth."
He didn't need to tell me, for as soon as he mentioned the school in Polbeth I knew that he went to the primary school in Cauther.
The old Catholic primary used to stand behind the chapel in West Calder. When the roof collapsed in its games hall, the authority decided to rebuild and re-locate to Polbeth. Children who attended that school, transferred at secondary age to Our Lady's High School in Broxburn.
You could see the 'proddie' primary school from the railway station. At eleven years old, children moved from there to the West Calder High School in Polbeth !
"Ma faither says ye canna trust papes."
As if to prove the point, the bus shelter in Polbeth had been daubed in IRA slogans, ready for the Orange Walk that was planned to take place there later in the year.
"They laddies wir gonna thump me because I'm a Prod and they're Catholics. If a had ma gang wi me they'd be the yins that wir runnin."
I did wonder whether I should tell him that I was a Catholic, but decided the shock would probably be too much for him.
I left him at the Roadhouse pub and walked on home alone.
(Many thanks to the author for permission to use this story)
