a short story by Andy Crichton
It was still early but striking lecturers and their supporters had begun to arrive in reasonable number. Across the concourse in front of the college, people were distributing placards, unfurling banners and preparing bundles of leaflets for handing out – all accompanied by the sounds of folk stamping their feet, beating their arms or moaning about the weather. However, the mood of those present was greatly boosted by the turnout, even if they were jokingly cursing their union for calling the first day of action on a seriously cold February morning. A quick exchange between a small group of pickets reflected the wider mood:
“Jeez – a bit fresh, is it no?”
“Aye, pretty much confirms what I’ve long suspected.”
“What’s that then?”
“Told you before – God’s a Tory.”
Despite the hour, there were people in the building already and the crowd outside would greet them with a mocking cheer every time one of them sneaked a sheepish glance out the window. This also helped warm the spirits, if not the body temperature, of the steadily increasing crowd outside.
One of the main approach roads to the college came down a gradual slope from a residential area and a small industrial estate. Vehicles coming from that direction were experiencing some difficulty, the day not having warmed up sufficiently to defeat the black ice. Pedestrians weren’t having a particularly easy time either.
Walking down that road towards the college and struggling to keep her feet on the icy pavement was Kym, an art student in her mid-twenties. Her attempts to stay upright were hindered by each hand being fully occupied, having bought a cup of tea and a bacon roll from the burger van that served the industrial estate further up the hill. She would occasionally use an elbow to support herself on the wall of one of the buildings that lined the street but the icy conditions underfoot were proving especially treacherous. On a day like this, she wanted to avoid a potentially painful fall. More importantly, she was determined to protect the tea and bacon roll.
She wasn’t actually going into college that day (no way would she cross a picket line) but she was intending to do some sketches of the lecturers’ picket, their banners and the general activity in front of the main building. The subject for her ‘final’ was popular protest and she had already completed some quite striking pieces on the Glasgow rent strike of 1915 and the emergent Black Lives Matter movement in the US. ‘Live’ sketching was the part of the course she really enjoyed – the lecturers’ dispute here seemed to have come along as something of a bonus and she thought a few sketches from the national campaign’s opening day of action would help round things off. She had to admit, however, that her commitment had been sorely tested when she looked out her window that morning and saw that the Scottish weather had resorted to dirty tactics.
Having avoided any major catastrophe on the way down the icy slope, Kym found herself at her intended ‘perch’, a three-foot high sandstone wall in front of a deserted office building. This was at the foot of the hill and across the street from the college. This setting gave her a great view across the groups of pickets with the main building of the college rising behind them. Significantly, for now at least, the coping stones atop the wall gave her a place to rest her tea and roll while she retrieved an A4 sketch pad and a couple of 3H pencils from her rucksack.
As she was getting organised, Kym noticed a woman, maybe early thirties and accompanied by a spaniel, walking towards her. She smiled towards Kym as she passed but the spaniel, clearly distracted by the aroma of the bacon roll, wanted to stay there. It was only when the woman had crossed the road towards the college, with the spaniel following on reluctantly, that Kym saw her donning a Hi-Viz jacket and armband and realised that she was clearly a figure of some importance in that morning’s proceedings.
The warming comfort of the tea and bacon roll was already beginning to wear off as the cold continued its relentless assault. Kym looked at her watch and realised it was still early. Ridiculously early. Well practiced in speed drawing, she had been sketching the figures outside the college, capturing the movement and their exchanges. She even included the spaniel whenever it came back into view, its owner doing the rounds and talking to people across the concourse.
After an hour or so, with the bacon roll now a really distant memory and happy with the quality of the sketches made, Kym was thinking it might be time to move on. As she looked up from her sketch-pad, she saw the spaniel and its owner make their way back across the road towards her. The dog, again distracted, appeared intent on pursuing the departed spirit of the bacon roll while its owner nodded again towards Kym:
“Freezin, eh? You’re lookin busy there?”
A wee bit flustered at having been noticed, Kym knelt to pat the dog:
“Aye, I’m an art student and thought I’d do some sketches of the demo for my finals project. Hope you don’t mind”
“Nae problem. Just worried that Special Branch might have been hit by the cuts too”
Kym, puzzled, could only reply:
“Eh?”
“Agents bein sent out without cameras, so they’re resortin to drawin the strikers instead?”
Kym’s face warmed a little and, the ice having been broken, the spaniel’s owner smiled and made her way back across the street to the main gathering. Maybe this was the time, Kym thought, to demonstrate her own solidarity with that particular picket. Trying to look calm as she hurriedly packed her stuff away, she made to cross the street, pleased to see the spaniel and its owner turning to wait for her.
