SCOTLAND ZEN and the art of SOCIAL WORK Read online

  Chapter 2

  Thursday 8th May

  Huntington's disease was previously called Huntington's chorea. Chorea means jerky, involuntary movements - a main symptom of the condition. This is so far an incurable condition.

  Thursday morning, and the church is full to the gunnels for the funeral Mass, everyone looking smart, wearing nice dark respectful clothes and solemn expressions. Most of the people in the church are related to each other, from close family to kissing cousins.

  Patrick comes on the Altar to light the candles, he is also a distant cousin, but not too bright, in fact not even as bright as his candles. He has helped the priests set up mass for the last 40 years. He has a terrible limp. He drags his left leg like a truculent child back and forth in front of the altar, a victim of childhood polio. When we were small Kate and Mickey and I were terrified of Patrick. He was the real life boggy man and we scared each other silly with stories of how he would capture us, and torture us, and worst of all make us touch his bad leg. We could imagine nothing in the world more horrible than that.

  Poor Patrick, he probably has no idea of the traumatic effect he had on a whole generation of Carfin kids, parents threatened their children with him as punishment for bad behaviour, we thought he was a monster.

  ‘You better be home before dark or Patrick’ll get you’, still rings in my ears.

  Young Father McDonald, who’s a stranger to most of us, gets on with the Mass and then at sermon time, he talks briefly about Uncle John’s life. There is a moment then that will be remembered by me for a long, long time.

  ‘Although John O’Hara was ill for many years, we cannot say he didn’t lead a useful life. He was a hard worker in his day, and a great supporter of the Grotto. The Lord has reasons for everything, but some, we will never understand.’

  Father McDonald then went on to say,

  ‘I will pray for John’s family who have had to bear the burden and worry of this particular condition, as the hereditary links can be ruthless and devastating.’

  Silence, you could have heard a pin drop, and then there was a soft intake of breath from someone behind us, and a few embarrassed sounding coughs. I couldn’t catch my Mother’s eye and I was totally mystified at what the priest had said. What burden? What condition? Hereditary, what was he talking about? Mam kept her head respectfully bowed but Kate turned to me and gave me a look and a shrug which implied the Priest was at the wrong funeral, because he certainly wasn’t making any sense at this one.

  The mass finished with the final blessing and we all sang ‘Receive his soul into the Kingdom of heaven,’ the finality of the words of this hymn make it a real tearjerker. It’s unfortunate that it’s the last hymn as it’s the worst time to get emotional, when you have to walk out of your seat and face everyone else in the church.

  As we leave, I see Mickey in the back pew, he steps out as my Mother passes and he takes her arm protectively. He is such a dear, he holds no resentment towards Mam although she consistently criticises him and fails to condone or even understand his lifestyle. He is so handsome, heads turn, and Mam manages a sad smile, she can always play to the gallery.

  Things get a bit busy then, sorting people in cars and the hired bus for the short journey to the cemetery. The cortège passes the main Carfin crossroads where the Muslim Culture centre is, the makeshift Mosque. Called locally ‘the paki mosque’. It started life as a Church of Scotland, and with few modifications is now a unique cultural landmark in Lanarkshire. A group of young men loitering on the front steps stop what they are doing and move to stand respectfully at the edge of the pavement until all the funeral cars go by.

  These young men are second and third generation Pakistani Lanarkshire lads. Mostly they are exotically handsome with dark good looks and broad west of Scotland accents. They seem to have confidence in who they are and where they belong, and have adopted some gallus Carfin habits, like always having a fag behind their ear, for any emergency smoking opportunity, and acknowledging friends with an upward tilt of the chin, which is not so much a nod but equivalent to a handshake.

  They retain their middle-eastern identity and their style is polished off with adopted Scottish-ness, for example, they smoke, bet at the race track, and wear their football colours when not wearing their robes.

  I kept going over and over what Father McDonald had said at the mass. What was he talking about? I’ll have to interrogate him and Mam later.

  There is a standard steak pie reception in the Cooperative hall in Motherwell, good wholesome food, nicely cooked. We call the steak pie purvey a nice funeral or a rush wedding; guess what we ate at my wedding?

  Everyone has a drink but no one overdoes it, there’s no house to go back to continue the wake, as John’s flat was given up to the council a long time ago. John’s sister Therese thanks everyone for coming but doesn’t invite anyone back to her house. Fair enough, it’s only an excuse for more alcohol and that’s never a good thing.

  Chapter 3

  Still Thursday 8th may.

  It is possible to have symptoms of Huntington's disease for a long time before you find out you have the condition. It is a very gradual onset.