Chapter One - The Fellowship

The table between them swam with the flat yeasty beer that had escaped in frequent sweeps between table and mouth. Brodie was draped, in abandoned fashion, over the chair. His shirt was open, his head dangled, and his unfocused eyes bounced around the rim of his glass.   Billy's movements were equally unco-ordinated. Both forearms rested on the table, his shirt soaked from cuff to elbow, as both hands punctuated his slurred speech.

 

Billy Morrison was slim and short..   He had a fine-boned face and dark eyes;  topped off with a mop of unruly, black hair.   Not  particularly handsome, but he did have a sparkle in the eye, and  beautiful, expressive hands.   Everyone said he had a piano player's  hands.   This was a tough, hardy fishing community.   It wasn't a compliment.   One look at his companion helped to point the contrast.

 

Brodie Smith could not be anything but a North Sea Fisherman.   He was also short and  possessed of black hair.   But there the resemblance ended.   He was broad across the shoulders and the chest.   His thick forearms were muscled and furred, and the hands that dangled from them lacked animation.   Unlike his face which was mobile and elastic.  

 

"C'mon Brodie, man.  Lighten up.   This is supposed to be a party; our last night.   Come tomorra...we're gone." 

 

"Yea, and some ither bastard will get the boat.   I’m the best... the best fisherman in Ainster", he said, running his thick fingers through his hair. "Ma mither's right.   It should be the Navy if anythin’.   Why are we daeing this?   Tell us again Billy, weave yer magic."   

 

‘How many times have I heard that’ thought Billy, ‘weave yer magic’.   Billy was an incomer.   He hadn't been born there, brought up there.  Wha are you aff? they would ask.   If they didn't know your lineage, they didn't know you.  They didn't trust you.   How could they really?  Billy was from Cowdenbeath.   One of the larger coal towns in the centre of the county.   The son and grandson of miners, he was a scholarship boy, educated at great cost.   Billy's father had been single-minded in his ambitions for his only son.   Billy would never forget the pride in his father's eyes, on the day he was awarded the scholarship.  Nor when he'd  announced to them both that he was to be the accountancy clerk in the area's largest coal merchants.   A year later, they were both dead.   Billy had stood alongside his mother as his dad's broken body had been carried into the winder's office, along with the rest of the shift.  Twenty-three men dead, after a roof strut had given way up at the coalface.   Mary never made it through her grief.   Six weeks later the police called at the coal merchant's office.   Billy's mum had pulled a sharp knife across her wrists.   With everything which had held him in place now gone, Billy packed his meagre belongings in his Dad's old canvas bag .   Begging a lift from one of the lorry-drivers, he travelled in comfort as far as Leven.   By dawn the next day, Billy arrived with the sunrise in Pittenweem. 

 

****

 

Brodie stood in Mrs Black's lodgings, clutching his parcel of fish; watching Billy descend the stairs.

 

"I'm here fer ma maw."

 

"Well she's no wae me,"   said Billy, already enjoying the encounter.

 

"I mean I'm here at ma mither's bidding.   Tae gie ye this."   Billy was surprised at the size and feel of the package.   "Its fish, fresh fish.   Two pair o' kippers and a bit o' haddock.   It's my maw's way o' saying ' Thank You'; for what ye did fer her...this morning...in Ainster....Mary Smith."

 

"All I did was gie her a haund wae a heavy basket. So you'll be...?" prompted Billy.   Brodie remained stony faced.   "OK, we'll try it another way.  Hello there, the name's Billy Morrison."   He extended his hand.

 

"Brodie...Brodie Smith", he said, grudgingly, thought Billy with a wide grin.   "And it will be a while before I touch haunds wae you, Coal Boy!

 

They were an unlikely pairing,but Mary Smith was formidable.   She provided the warm, comfortable home that allowed her husband Robbie and their three children to pursue life unencumbered.   Folk instinctively came to her with their problems.   She sponsored friendships; brokered deals, and helped to place youngsters in work.   Seeing something in Billy, she was determined to get him settled.   She recognised strengths that would complement those of her son.   She saw beyond the obvious differences and acknowledged the strength of such a friendship. Less than three years later they had touched hands to seal a promise which was to bind all nine friends. 

 

****

Billy applied for a job with the Fishermen’s Mutual Association, in the Accounts Office.

 

“Thank you, Mr Denholm sir.  I’m very happy to be working here.”

 

“Your credentials are good Morrison,” he said.  “But you best be thanking Mrs Smith.  She put in the good word for you son.”

 

That evening, in warm summer sunshine, Billy walked the two miles between Pittenweem and Anstruther.  His landlady had given him directions.  The end cottage on the front in Anstruther Wester, though she called it Ainster.  He went to the back door and knocked.

 

“Yes.  Can I help you?”  Billy could feel himself staring.  The speaker stood level with his nose.  She had the whitest, most flawless skin he had ever seen.  Her hair, in contrast was as black as the washed coal at the pithead.  But it was her eyes.  Dressed in black as she was, all the colour was centred in her green eyes.  Her head slowly tilted in a quizzical look, a half smile on her lips.  “Cat got your tongue?”

 

“Anne!  Leave the boy alone,” said Mary Smith. “Come in Billy, what brings you here?”

 

“I jist wanted to thank you for putting in a good word for me with the FMU,” said Billy.

 

“Anne go and tell Brodie to come doon here,” said Mary, indicating that Billy should sit at the kitchen table.  “So what brought ye here in the first place?  Have ye nae family back in Cowdenbeath Billy?”  

 

Brodie nodded in acknowledgement as he came into the kitchen.  Billy simply smiled and waved, already enjoying the young fisherman’s discomfort.  “No, Mrs Smith.  My parents are both dead, and I was an only child.”

 

“You’ll scarce credit this Billy, but My Brodie has jist been complaining aboot having naebody tae gan tae the Fishermen’s dance wae tomorrow.”  Billy caught Brodie’s grimace, and waited for the denial..  Brodie glanced at his Mother, his face a mute appeal.  Long seconds passed.

 

“OK coalboy, here tomorrow at half six,” Then he was gone.

 

“I’m goin’ too, Coalboy...so smarten yerself up a bit, eh? said Anne.

 

“That’s enough out of you madam.  Go and get Billy that cup of tea,” said Mrs Smith, as she leaned across and patted Billy’s hand.  He felt overwhelmed by this first bit of close human contact since... well for the longest time.

 

“Well that’s grand.  They baith seem tae have taken tae ye Billy son.”

 

****

“I’m only doin’ this for my mother’s sake.”  It was the first time Brodie had broken the silence since leaving the Smiths’ cottage.  His sister Anne was no more forthcoming, although she didn’t seem uncomfortable in Billy’s presence.  He felt she might have a lovely smile, though she certainly hadn’t graced him with it so far.  She had shed the black clothes in favour of a dark green dress.  Such a lissome thing, not at all like her brother.  Billy suddenly halted.

 

“OK Brodie, listen.  If you don’t want tae take me, I’ll just head back tae Pittenweem.  And I won’t say anything tae yer Mother.”  The big fisherman looked uncomfortable.  Anne looked up at her brother.

 

“Brodie,”  she said.

 

“Alright, my sister wants ye to come, and I promised I’d take ye. Just don’t tell anybody where yer from.”

 

“I’m frae Pittenweem,” said Billy, shrugging his shoulders.  He was sure he saw the trace of a smile from both of them.  By the time they reached the fish market hall, they were making conversation.  It was another fine summer evening, and Billy found himself looking forward to the night ahead.  He could hear music from inside the fish market but, due to the fine weather, everyone seemed to be gathered outside.  Brodie went off to get beer for them, and Billy was left with Anne.

 

“So are you still at School then Anne?”

 

“No, of course not,” she said.  “I work in the library actually - Assistant Librarian.”

 

“Really?”

“Yes really.  So don’t take that condescending tone wae me, Coalboy,” she said, eyes flashing and a rose flush to her white cheeks.  Billy looked on, stunned as she walked purposefully away.  He was still deep in thought when Brodie came back with the beer, in the company of two powerful looking young men. 

 

“What did ye say tae oor Anne?  I’ll no repeat what she called you.”

 

“I think maybe I was a bit o’ an arsehole.”

 

“Well right enough,” he sniggered. “That’s what she said.  Here, try wan o’ these.  Eck brews the best ale in the East Neuk.”  He is right, thought Billy.  The beer was rich and dark with just enough hops to give it an edge.

 

“This is David, and  his younger brother Stewart.  They’re Barnetts fae Pittenweem; fishermen like mysel.  This is Billy, he’s fae Cowdenbeath,” said Brodie.  Billy thought  it was made to sound more like a disease than a place.  Both men nodded in sympathy.

 

Billy soon lost track of all the people he was introduced to.  He felt light-headed.  He kept bursting into laughter.  God, he thought, this beer is strong.  The girl standing with him was Maggie, he remembered that.  Brodie’s lass, Maggie Livingstone.  No beauty, but striking; with flame-red hair and tall, almost as tall as himself.

 

“She’s a great woman, Brodie’s Mum.  She’s been really kind tae me,” said Billy.

 

“Yes, she’s a strong-willed woman for sure.“  After a couple of seconds she continued. “Brodie is a really good lad.”  She nodded in his direction, and Billy could see him in deep conversation with two of the men he had already met;  Alan was it? And Martin from Arbroath.  “He’s very kind.  Wouldn’t hurt a soul.  You’re lucky to have him as yer friend.”  People were now drifting  inside as the dancing got started in earnest.  Maggie went off to catch Brodie.  Billy could see Anne and a girl friend surrounded by a group of young men.  The conversation appeared intense.  Anne seemed to be standing her ground, although her friend was already in tears.  Shaking his head at the thought of what he was about to do, Billy crossed the intervening space.

 

“Anne.  Would you like to dance?”

 

“Fuck off!  She’s talking tae me,” said the biggest of them.

 

“Is that right Anne?  Are ye wanting tae be talkin’ tae him?”

 

“I’m fine Billy, leave it please.”

 

“You heard her pal, so make yersel scarce.”  God, he is big thought Billy, and ugly.

 

“Listen mate, this is my pal’s sister.”

 

“I know wha she is.  I know wha her brither is.  I’ve nae fuckin’ idea wha you are tho,” he said as he turned from Anne and grabbed Billy by his shirt front.  With all attention now fixed on him, the girls took to their heels.

 

“And I suppose it’s too late for civilized introductions now?”  The cartlidge in Billy’s nose cracked under the impact of a huge fist.  Blood, in juicy gobbets, splashed his shirt and Billy had his answer.  The next flailing punch put Billy on the ground and amongst the boots of the group.  Kicks rained in on him as he tried his best to protect his vulnerable parts, and it seemed that he drifted in and out of consciousness.  And then the kicks stopped...

 

“I said leave him Watson.  Five o’ yez, for one wee ootsider?”  Brodie’s voice, harsh, insistent. “Let’s jist go here; the two o’ us.”

 

“I’ll no fight ye Smith.  Jist dinnae make the mistake o’ thinking I’m feared o’ ye.  C’mon  boys.  Billy felt himself being turned 

 

“Come on Coalboy.  Wake up Billy.”   Once they had him off the ground, Billy was made to sit on a bollard.

 

“Aw Billy, look at yer poor face,” said Anne, kneeling in front of him.  He felt a sharp stab of pain each time Anne applied her hankerchief to his face, but no girl had ever looked at him like that before.  He drank in every detail of her face.  The large, bright eyes, the wonderful sharp line of her nose, the pouted lip, and the tiny pulse that beat at the sculpted base of her throat.

 

“There’s mebbe somethin’ broken,” said Brodie, prodding Billy’s oversized, over-ripe nose with a thick finger.  They’re all here thought Billy  - Martin from Arbroath, the Barnett brothers, Alan Bowman, English John, Jimmy Hughes - all come to my rescue.  Billy was impressed.

 

And so the fellowship was born, very much as Mary Smith had conceived it.  Formed in diversity and already lightly forged in adversity, its strength untested as yet, its lusty birth-cry announced itself to those with the wit to discern its existence.