Geography were cold, industrial prints showing the building of the Forth Road Bridge, and between Geography and Art, 'The new liner
City of New York
takes shape at Clydebank, 1886', 'East coast fishwives gutting herring, 1900', 'The men of Cumnock Colliery, 1912', 'Cleaning fleeces before baling, circa 1870' and a larger one, smudged and grey: 'Workers at William Blackie and Co.'s book bindery at Glasgow in 1932'. The people in the photographs had the solid bearing that only history affords. Arms folded, working overalls creased and blackened, eyes sharp, they lit out from a known, dead world, no longer unhappy, no longer curious, but ghosts in that long corridor children now pass down on their way to a better time.
***
The pupils were waiting in World Religions. They hung over their desks as if they had just been dropped there from a great height, looking like their limbs confounded them and their hair bothered them, and several chewed the frayed ends of their sweaters in the style of caged animals attempting to escape their own quarters. They tended to wear uniform, though each pupil had customised it with badges and belts and sweatbands; you felt they had applied strict notions of themselves to the tying of their ties and the sticking up of their shirt collars. The small energies of disdain could be observed in all this, and the classroom fairly jingled with the sound of forbidden rings and bracelets.
They had already been given a talk by Sister Pauline, who apparently spoke quite passionately of her attempts to gain the canonisation of Mother Mary Joseph, the founder of her order, and another group had gone on a visit to the central mosque in Glasgow.
'It was mad,' said one of the girls. The threads of her school badge had been unpicked: once upon a time the Cross of St Andrew, it was now a flare of orange fuzz on the top pocket of her blazer, like a sacred heart. 'Totally mad,' she said. 'We had to wear these mad as shit scarves and stop talking and everything.'
'And shoes,' said a tall boy next to the radiator. 'They had a thing for shoes by the door. Yer no' allowed shoes. No' even trainies. Guys went into one place and lassies into another. It's mad. You're no' allowed to mix.'
'What did you learn?' I said.
'They chop off women's hands for nothing,' said the girl.
'They eat bulls' cocks,' said the boy. 'Telling you. They eat anything.'
That was the first time I met the pair of them, Mark McNulty and Lisa Nolan. They called him 'McNuggets'. I never knew him as that, though I would come to know him well enough.
'I don't know why we had to go there,' he said. 'It's all suicide bombers and everything. You're jeest walking down the street and next minute people are blown up and dying everywhere. Jeest for walking down the street. It's totally nuts.'
As this was said, the mouths of most of the other pupils twitched into a smiling complicity. Giggles erupted. Friendly swipes were given or received. A smaller boy with a cold called Cameron seemed to take his own view. 'That's no' right,' he said. 'That's jeest prejudiced.'
'Shut it, Ca-Ca,' said Mark.
'My name's Cameron.'
'Shut it, Cameraman.'
'Come now,' I said. 'What else did you learn?'
'It felt creepy,' said Lisa.
'That's not very thoughtful,' I said.
'It's true, but,' said Lisa, looking for support.
'Check this out,' said Mark. 'It stank. They're all ... thingmi. Whit's it called? Asylum seekers.'
'You can't let them say that, Father,' said Cameron. 'They are jeest being totally ignorant.'
'It was on Fox News,' said Lisa. 'My da watches it.'
'That's jeest crap,' said Cameron.
'Language,' I said.
'Whatever,' said Mark. 'Don't ask us if you don't want to know. We went to the place. It was a total dump. They throw acid in people's faces if you don't agree with them. That's some crazy shit.'
'There's no evidence for that,' said Cameron.
'Dry your eyes, Cameraman,' said Mark.
'Aye, shut up, Cammy,' said Lisa. 'He puts on this big act. He's always