THE RAISING OF WILLIAM WALLACE, JUNIOR

It was only fitting that, on the afternoon William was born, the skies were thick and heavy. Drizzle hung in the still air. It seemed that nature was preparing the scene for the entry into the world of one who was unexpected, unwanted and as disadvantaged as any child’s arrival could be. His mother was Mary Wallace, a tall, lanky girl still in her teenage years and with very little idea of what her troubled world was all about. She was naïve, even to the point of ignorance, and having a baby was about the last thing she needed. And there she was, in this Glasgow hospital, delivering a healthy, bonny boy. For now, in the temporary warmth and care of the busy ward, people were on his side. But that would soon change. He was not born into happiness. Mary was better endowed with looks than in the brain department. She had known a string of boy friends, but few had gone past the first date because she was deemed to be boring, with nothing of interest to talk about. She left school with nothing to show for it; indeed she had so rarely attended classes it would have required a small miracle for her to have acquired anything at all. Her friends had all moved on into jobs and situations, leaving her far behind in their wake. However she had at least been firm and determined to carry her baby into its rightful birth, and so, there she was, finally displaying the evidence on that gloomy day in a Glasgow hospital. Pregnancy had carried no problems. Her big, sturdy boy arrived safely and she even looked with a certain pride at what she had produced. Her baby was as ugly as any other new-born but hopefully that would change as the hours go by. He was to be called William. After all, she was a Wallace so the boy might as well be a William Wallace. She had heard there was some sort of Scottish hero of that name back in history, as indeed there was. However, Mary had absolutely no idea that he was a warrior who, in days gone by, had saved Scotland from the enemy south of the border. History had not been her strong point at school; nor indeed had any other subject, for that matter. One lesson was as boring as any other to Mary. Where ignorance is bliss, it is indeed folly to be wise. Sadly, there was no big bunch of flowers from a delighted father to welcome another Scot into the world. On hearing of her pregnancy, her young lover had done a runner, no maintenance payments from him, thank you very much. He was long gone and never to be seen again. William was duly fussed over by all who saw him in his hospital cot. He was cooed at and baby-talked by all, admiring his chubby build and pink cheeks. He took it all in his stride, as though he already knew how fickle people were in their affections. It was as if he knew that all this loving was about as good as it would get. His life was not destined to be a bed of roses, just the thorns. Not that he actually said so, of course, he just stared up with a face of no expression whenever elderly hairy female chins came down to greet him with goo-goo baby talk.