Caged
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When we entered the hail at the back of the Tartan Arms, Jay, the band’s new drummer, was the first to notice that the stage was surrounded by thick iron bars. ‘Shit, look at this, lads, a cage! How are we supposed to get the gear in there?’ Hearn went up to the bars and gave them a rattle. ‘I hope we’re not going to have a lion tamer as a support act tonight.’ Trench threw a half-smoked cigarette on the floor and stood on it. ‘I don’t like the look of this. I’d better go and get an explanation from the manager. Wait here while I go to the bar out front and try and find him.’ Trench left the hall and returned a few minutes later with a small, fat, red-faced Scotsman. ‘Boys, this is Hamish, the manager of the place. He’s going to open the cage so that you can get the gear on stage. The cage, by the way, is for your protection. Hamish has been telling me that the club gets a little rowdy on Saturday nights.’ Hamish laughed. ‘Eye, it does that. But don’t worry boys, you’ll be perfectly safe inside them bars. They’re an inch thick. Once I lock you in there tonight no one will be able to touch you.’ Hamish took a large key from his jacket pocket and inserted it in a lock in the middle of the cage. I cleared my throat. ‘You mean you’re actually going to lock us in there while we’re playing?’ Hamish pushed open a section of the cage. ‘It’s for your own safety, laddie. In the three years I’ve been managing this place we’ve never had a musician hurt. When you see how wild things get here tonight you’ll realise that that’s quite an achievement. And it’s all thanks to these safety bars.’ Peters shook his head. ‘But isn’t it dangerous locking us in? What if a fire broke out or something?’ ‘Och, don’t be frettin’ yourself. There’s a wee exit door at the back of the stage. You’ll be able to get out through that in an ermergency. And there’ll be an ambulance on duty outside the club from ten o’clock tonight.’ Trench’s eyes widened. ‘An ambulance??’ ‘Eye. They used to wait until we called them out but it became such a regular occurrence they started coming of their own accord, to be prepared. They have all the medical stuff they need in the van for most patch-up jobs. They only take the people with serious injuries like broken limbs to hospital. Occasionally they have to call in a back-up team from Drumcacklin a few miles over the hills, but that’s usually only necessary on special occasions like New Year’s Eve or Easter Sunday or when the local football team win a championship, which isn’t very often I can tell you.’ We looked at one another and lowered our eyes. In the two weeks we’d been touring Scotland we had played in some hairy places but this took the biscuit. We set up our musical equipment inside the cage and ran through a few songs, then we drove off to a local B&B that had been booked for us. We arrived back at the Tartan Arms just before nine thirty, our scheduled time for going on stage. We had already changed into our stage clothes so we didn’t bother going to the dressing-room. Hamish escorted us straight through the hall - which was already beginning to fill up - and locked us inside the stage area with his key. ‘Give them lots of dance tunes and you’ll have no problems.’ While the band were checking their tuning and settling themselves on stage, I went to the lead microphone and looked out at the audience, most of whom were grouped around the bar at the back of the hail. I cleared my throat. ‘Good evening. It’s nice to be here in the Grampian Highlands. This is our first time playing behind bars but I swear we’re innocent, your honour.’ A few people laughed in the bar area. I breathed a sigh of relief and raised the microphone a little on its stand. ‘We hear you like dancing so we’re going to kick off with a few hornpipes.’ Two or three people glanced at me with blank expressions. I laughed into the mike. ‘Only joking. We’ll start with a song by Curtis Mayfield called Move On Up.’ The moment the band began to play the dance floor started filling up. At the end of our first number we received a good round of applause. This put us somewhat at ease. We launched into Dancing in the Street and more dancers filed onto the floor. An hour sailed by without incident. I announced that we were taking a ten minute break. Hamish came and let us out of the cage and walked us to the dressing-room. ‘You’re doing great, laddies. Keep it lively, that’s what they go for up here.’ Five minutes after we returned to the stage a fight broke out in the bar area. The lights went up. From the elevated position of the stage we had a clear view of the scrap. There were only three or four individuals Involved but they made a hell of a racket, overturning tables and chairs while flailing their fists at one another. Within the space of a few minutes it was over, broken up by a small team of hefty bouncers. The lights in the hail were turned down again. The couples on the dance floor resumed dancing and the drinkers at the bar turned back to their glasses. I took a deep breath and went on singing. Ten minutes later another fight started right in front of the cage. A red-haired dancer was set upon by a fella who struck him on the jaw for no apparent reason. The victim retaliated. A few girls yelped and jumped back. The lights were turned up again. Bouncers came from every corner of the hail to try and break up the fight but most of them ended becoming involved in it themselves. Within minutes half the male dancers on the floor were at one another’s throats while their female partners looked on wide-eyed from both sides of the hall. On stage we moved back from the bars and kept playing. A few minutes into the fight a fella was knocked to the floor and didn’t get up. One of the bouncers rushed to an emergency exit and pushed the bars open. Moments later a couple of stretcher bearers in uniform rushed into the hail and whisked the unconscious victim away on a canvas stretcher. I looked across the stage at Peters and threw my eyes up to the ceiling. The band went on playing. The stretcher bearers were kept on their toes right up until we played our final song at eleven thirty. Then Hamish came and let us out of the cage. ‘You did well under pressure, boys. It was a wee bit fierier than usual tonight but there were no serious injuries. Get yourself a drink at the bar before it closes. It’s on the house. You’ll be safe enough now. Most of the trouble-makers are gone.’ Peters and myself went to the bar and ordered a couple of pints of bitter. A girl with tight cropped hair approached Peters and congratulated us on our performance. ‘They don’t appreciate good music up here in the Highlands. All they’re interested in is beer and fighting. My friend Gwen and I aren’t from these parts. We’re just camping here for the weekend, a mile out the road. That’s Gwen smiling at me from the table across the way. You can join us, if you like. My name’s Mags.’ Mags’s attention was directed at Peters so I looked across at her friend. Gwen had long auburn hair and an attractive smile. We went across to the table. I sat beside Gwen. ‘Hi, I’m Johnny and he’s John. Your friend Mags here was telling us you’re camping outside the town?’ Gwen smiled and lowered her eyes. ‘Mmm.’ Mags laughed. ‘Johnny and John! That must be confusing for you?’ Peters squinted. ‘They call me by my second name. Actually there are three Johns in the band. Our guitarist in Johnny too but we call him Mac, which is part of his surname, McMahon.’ Mags laughed. ‘I thought Ireland was a land of Micks and Paddies. I love your accent by the way. What part of Ireland are you from?’ Peters shifted the glasses on his nose. ‘Most of the band are from Limerick but I’m from a place called New Ross and our drummer, Jay, is from Dublin. He only joined us a few weeks back, just before we came to Scotland. Before that we had an Italian drummer.’ The memory of Alfredo taking his leave of the band came into my head and disturbed my conscience. I looked at Peters. ‘He wasn’t Italian, actually. He was born in Ireland.’ Peters glanced at me and turned away. Mags ran her finger around the rim of her beer glass. ‘Where are you playing next?’ Peters sat forward. ‘Tonight’s our last night in Scotland. We play Newcastle, Manchester and Birmingham next week, then we move down to Swinging London where we’re going to base ourselves for our big assault on the British music industry.’ I offered Gwen a cigarette. ‘What part of Scotland are ye from?’ Mags turned to me. ‘We’re from a place called Kircaldy, a godforsaken spot south of here on the east coast. I’d love to live in London myself. I often dream of moving there.’ Peters swallowed some beer. ‘Why don’t you go there then?’ ‘Och, I wouldn’t have the nerve to just up and go on my own. I’m hoping Gwen will come with me someday but she’s a bit of a homebird. Aren’t you, Gwen?’ ‘Mmm.’ The shutters came down on the bar and the bouncers started asking people to leave. I was becoming a little irritated by Gwen’s silence so I finished my drink and stood up. ‘I’ll go and help the others take down the gear. Goodnight girls.’ Peters drank back the last of his beer and stood up. ‘I’d better go with you or they’ll be calling me a shirker.’ Mags got to her feet. ‘That’s a pity. We were just beginning to enjoy your company. Now we’re going to have to walk out a dark lonely road all by ourselves. We were frightened out of our wits going back to the tent last night. Weren’t we, Gwen?’ Gwen nodded and rose from the table. Peters looked at me, then turned to Mags. ‘We’ll walk you out, if you like. Won’t we, Johnny?’ I hesitated. ‘Sure. Just give us a few minutes till we help the lads pack away the gear. A midnight stroll would be nice.’ Outside the village it was pitch dark. We followed a narrow winding road between high hills for well over a mile and still there was no sign of the girls’ tent. It started to rain. I had a jacket but Peters was only wearing a light pullover. Mags took off her anorak and invited him to take shelter under It. ‘It’s not far now, just up here a few hundred yards.’ We had to scale a wail and trudge through a muddy field to reach the spot where the girls were camped. The tent was small but the four of us piled in to get out of the rain. After a long search in the dark Mags located a torch but then discovered that the batteries were dead. ‘Och, I knew there was something I should have done today. We’ll have to sit in the dark now. If this rain keeps up you two are going to have to stay the night. You can share our sleeping bags, but no funny stuff.’ The rain grew heavier. The girls got into their sleeping bags with most of their clothes on and we joined them. Though Gwen was thin it was a tight squeeze getting into the single sleeping bag with her. Once inside I became aroused. I put my arm around her and pressed my mouth to her lips. While we were kissing I ran my hand over her small breasts and then lowered it to the front of her jeans. Gwen suddenly drew back and put her mouth to my ear. ‘I’m in my flowers, I’m afraid.’ I jerked back, surprised not by Gwen’s words but by the deep bass tone of her voice. In the dark it was almost as if I was lying with a man. I said a quick good night, resettled my head on the hard ground and tried to go to sleep. Eventually I managed to nod off. Sometime in the middle of the night Mags woke me. ‘You and Gwen are going to have to shift. The rain’s coming in at our side of the tent.’ Before I had a chance to move, Gwen’s deep baritone rumbled like thunder beside me: ‘Ochhhhhhh, it’s coming in here too. We’re all going to have to move to the back of the tent or we’ll be saturated.’ Over the next few hours the four of us shifted backwards and forwards trying to avoid the incoming rain. In the end we gave up and lay back on the waterlogged sleeping bags and waited for dawn to arrive. Soon after it started growing bright the rain stopped. The four of us got out of the tent and started squeezing the water from our clothes. There were high craggy hills all around us dotted with sheep. I gazed up a long misty valley. A huge mountain range jutting into the sky took my breath away. ‘What a terrific place! It would almost make you want to go off and become a shepherd.’ Peters squinted. ‘I can barely see through these blasted lenses; they’re all fogged up from the damp.’ Mags dragged the two wet sleeping bags out of the tent and threw them across a wide granite boulder. ‘We won’t be able to sleep till these things dry out. We may as well walk back as far as the village with you. At least you’ll be able to get a few hours sleep in your B&B before you move on.’ As we approached the village bells rang out from a small grey chapel on a hill. We made our way to the stone building and were surprised to discover that it was a Catholic church. Peters looked through one of the porch doors. ‘Mass seems to be starting. Will we go in?’ Mags laughed. ‘I never heard of rock musicians going to church.’ Peters smiled. ‘Come on in with us.’ Mags shook her head. ‘But we’re Protestants.’ Peters pushed open the door. ‘That doesn’t matter.’ The two girls looked at one another and smiled, then the four of us stepped into the quiet, half-empty church and walked up the echoing aisle.
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Page(s) 146-149
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