age a timeless phenomenon

back to main list of stories and articles

Age a timeless phenomenon

Let me tell you about George Oag.  Briefly, I’ll no be long ‘cos I haven’t seen him for nigh on 48 years, or is it 47 years 11 months and 3 weeks?

George and I went to the same primary school from the age of 6 or was it 5?

I don’t want to appear pedantic at this point, but this vague area is the whole substance of this tale.

George’s birthday was the 25^th August 1949; mine was bang on 1^st September, same year.  Every year in the 50s, if the 25^th landed on a week day, George took absolute delight in asking the one question I dreaded, and which would last a whole eternity for that particular week, every bluidy day:

-David: how old are you?

-Ah’m 5.

-Ah’m 6.  How come you’re only 5?

After school, two stairs-sometimes three-at a time up the 88 steps to the top flat.  Bang, bang at the door.  The most wonderful person in the world would appear, looking down at me in loving admiration:

-How old Ah’ma, mum?

-You’re five, David

-George Oag is 6! 

Every day for one week, every year between 1956 and 1961 the same reassurance about time, date and difference in age, the temporary nature of things, how big dugs are big and wee cats are wee, how Saturday was always before Sunday or vice versa if you rationalised, an here’s a penny barra toffee for ye.

It never did reassure.  The whole traumatic episode would disappear when the dreadful week in question had passed and I was a year older again.

Until the next time.  The next year.  And it was as clockwork and regular as tears.

Even when our paths diverged like the gushet at Eglinton toll, such was the conditioning from this one week in my formative years that I often thought of George at key points in my life: 16 , 18 and 21^st birthday celebrations, especially the week before-damn you George!

The 40^th and 50^th birthdays.  I had nearly got over the dispiriting episode and was beginning to make light of it.  The occasional chuckle and smile.  A good drink might even make me laugh out loud in public places.  Frequently I was in company at these very same moments.  I was never lifted. That does not imply that I was never lifted full stop. That’s another tale.

Now as I approach my 60^th on the 1^st of you know what, my thoughts are again wandering of to George Oag.  I envisage a chance encounter with him.

-You’re Davie McDonald, eh no?”

-Aye.  An you’re George Oag.”

-Know what day it is, wee man?

-Aye.  And so dae you!

“How old are you, Davie?”

“Ah’m only 59.”

“Ah’m 60, but you look as though you’re 80, y-auld b!*#**% !”

Mum………

Webmaster replies

Hi there David,

This is difficult to believe.  I sincerely doubt whether George really existed and I think he was only a figment of your imagination?  

It would explain a lot.

Incidentally, that's a funny way to spell 'buffoon' - on the last line.

What do other people think?     Contact us and let us know.