The First Scottish Boy On The Moon

As a child growing up in the 1960’s there was always a feeling of wonder and awe about celebrations that took place at Nana’s house. I suppose it was because her house wasn’t like a typical Nana’s house (whatever a typical Nana’s house might look like) and she wasn’t a typical Nana (whatever a typical Nana might be). As a nine-year-old, I had a stereotypical vision of a Nana in my head. The type of Nana that other kids at school had. My Nana’s house didn’t have quaint old furniture, there was no rocking chair with knitted cushions and no homely hearth. There were bean bags, psychedelic lamp shades, lava lamps and a chair hung by a chain from the ceiling that looked like half of an Easter egg, only bright orange. Her house didn’t smell of old things, or cats, or tea, or wee, it smelled fragrant and unusual. Years later when I was a student in the 1970’s I came across that familiar smell again and again at student parties, a heady mixture of booze, patchouli oil and marijuana.

‘We’re not staying long,’ my Mother would always say.

‘But it’s for my birthday!’ I would whine, on the occasions the celebration would be for my birthday.

‘We’re still not staying long.’

It didn’t matter what the occasion was – Birthdays, Christmas, Halloween – we would stay a maximum of an hour and then slip away before “Nana’s colourful acquaintance’s”, as my Mother would like to call them, got into “full swing”. My Mother would sit rigid, barely talking to or acknowledging anyone, sipping chilled water from a small flask that she would bring with her.

‘You know I can’t offer you water, I only have significantly stronger libations on offer. Best that you bring your own.’ Nana would throw me a wink as she sipped from an outsized goblet of luminous blue liquid decorated with maraschino cherries and paper umbrellas.

‘Pity Jim couldn’t make it,’ Nana would say sarcastically whilst choosing a record on the jukebox (yes, nana had a jukebox in her living room). Jim (my father) would never make these celebrations, he couldn’t stand Nana – perhaps because Nana couldn’t stand him. She could see him for what he really was, which didn’t amount to very much – and Nana took no prisoners!

Prisoners! My father (Jim) went to prison – for fraud! To this day I don’t know exactly what happened, something to do with tax returns being falsified. However, that was the last anyone saw of him, as my Mother (the other prisoner in this saga) decided to free herself from her shackles by filing for divorce and moving us out of the family home.

‘We’re going to have to stay with Nana for a while – it’s going to be such hard work,’ she spat out after the wall-to-wall hysteria had abated. Hard work? It wasn’t as if she had been asked to build the pyramids with her bare hands. I couldn’t hide the fact that I was jubilant, overjoyed, ecstatic, and couldn’t wait, which made my Mother cry again.

Not long after we had moved in, Nana announced that she was going to have a fancy-dress Moon landing party, in honour of Neil Armstrong having just become the first man on the moon. My Mother was horrified, and said that she would take a couple of sleeping tablets and go to bed on the evening of the party. I got to work immediately making an astronaut costume from tin foil, corn flake packets, washing up liquid bottles, a snorkel and a pair of old wellies. I would be the first Scottish boy on the moon, and I would look amazing.

All of Nana’s guests looked amazing. Melvin and Bernard who owned DeLeon’s Hair Salon came as Steve Zodiac and Venus from the animated children’s programme Fireball XL5. Betty and Tony from next door came as triffids, with tentacles hanging from there heads. Nana’s friend Sue, who stayed over in Nana’s room on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, came as the lunar landing module. Nana herself wore a long blonde wig, silver mini skirt, silver knee length boots and a silver bra and claimed to be Jane Fonda in Barbarella. The juke box played hits old and new, and the mob of space creatures, aliens and galactic defenders twisted and twizzled into the early hours. Nana passed round special lunar libations, which were purple and adorned with lit sparklers whilst a lady dressed as a Clanger sang, "I Went to a Marvellous Party" by Noel Coward. Then everyone sat in a circle and took turns at drawing on a cigarette that was being passed around, whilst a dark-haired young man dressed as Captain Scarlet played the guitar and I walked in slow motion at the centre of the circle, imagining that I was planting the Scottish flag on the moon.

As I planted the flag for Scotland, I noticed someone dressed as a cow sitting in the circle, beside Captain Scarlet, partaking of the lunar libations and drawing on the cigarette. What a strange costume I thought, and I space-walked to get a closer look.

‘MUM!’

‘I’m the stupid cow, who jumped over the moon,’ she said, before she pulled Captain Scarlet’s mouth to hers.

I had never seen my Mother drunk or stoned, but here she was, drunk and stoned, and attempting to kiss Captain Scarlet! I remember naively announcing at the top of my voice, ‘this is one small step for woman, one giant leap for womankind,’ which still makes me cringe.

‘The eagle has finally landed,’ whispered Nana, into my ear.

To this day my memories remain as crisp as the happiness that creased that colourful, joyous landscape. The perfect little waves of moon dust that rolled away from my wellies as I walked in slow motion across the lunar carpet in Nana’s living room. Where I became the first Scottish boy on the moon.