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Radio Rebel

Music,

Loud.

Up! Up! Up!

Abba?

No!

Crap.

Radio 3?

Opera la, la, la.

No.

Anne McKillop singing?

Crap.

Archie Darling

Aye.

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REBEL

"Recalcitrant, defiant, rebellious, miscreant"

Eleanor cowers from her mother's rant

Blinding tears mask the descending hand

Endlessly flinching as each slap strikes home

Love and care don't live in this cold home.

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Rebel

Margaret was a tall, dark, attractive girl. We became friends in the last year of primary school. She had a sense of adventure and a rebellious streak meaning she didn't always obey authority. Our teacher, Mrs Irvine, often produced the tawse and punished you, even for as little as not knowing an answer. I was intimidated by the belt and very seldom found myself in the humiliating position of standing in front of the class to be belted. But Margaret didn't give a toss if she was given the belt. She thought it was one huge joke.

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Rebel

Oh! I know where to begin. The minute I saw the word rebel I thought ‘not me’ but then, after a while, I thought ‘yes me’.  I’m a wee bit of one of them.

But it goes back to last century, when I was young, say about ten or eleven-ish.

‘In them thar days’ we played ‘roon the doors in wee gangs.’

We didnae hae many toys – if ony – so we made oor ain entertainment.

An’ ken whit? Yin o’ the gemes we played wis ‘Kick Door Run Fast’.

Noo, ye kinda hae tae bide whaur there’s buildins. That’s Boness’s wurd fer tenements, ken – Glasgie’s tae fer that matter.

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Rebel

I will be rebellious, and I will guard fiercely what I believe
Some self-respect is all that is left
And there's no way I will let it lose
To your angry eyes and accusing hands
Burning into my space
I wait until you are done
And you can feel like the greater one.

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Rebel

There used to be a programme on Radio 4 called ‘I’ve Never Seen Star Wars’ where the guests would confess that they hadn’t done some seemingly normal thing that absolutely everyone would have done. I used to listen to it and think ‘I haven’t done that either’. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a hermit. (It did tempt me once, mind, a nomadic existence in the Lammermuir Hills.) I just have other priorities. Take TV. At work, we often talk movies and TV.

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Rebel

My mother was born a rebel
as soon as she learned to talk,
it was no to this, no to that,
whatever grown-ups said,
stern words a red rag to a bull,
she attended many schools
in childhood never obeyed rules,
in holidays fought with three sisters,
and a younger brother too.
At twenty one, ran off to France
in Paris, took up with a young man
who was a native of Bordeaux,
after an idyllic summer in Cannes,
transpired he was promised to another,
humiliated, began the journey home,

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Rebel

Words are easy. Words are cheap. When people say where did you get the idea for your book, words are what they want, and words themselves have nothing to do with why I write. Because I’m not really a writer. What I am, is a reader. That’s me. Curled up somewhere so deep inside a story that it’s more real than the real world. If it’s night time in that story I’ll look up confused at the sunshine coming through the window. Daydreamer. Fool. And when I sit down to write a book it’s not some grand idea - it’s because I want to read that book and I know nobody is going to write it except me.

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Rebel

When I was in my teens, I lived in a village where everyone knew each other. So it was hard to get into trouble without anyone seeing you, and telling your parents.

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Rebel

I was a rebel, so I’m going to let you all know just how it was for me.

I just started looking around me, all the energy in me was needing to come out. I needed freedom, enough to give me a good look at things around me.

There were plenty of things to do where I stayed.  

I could get up to lots of things, no angel was I.

I was an out and about person and a law unto myself, as far as my family was concerned.

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