Alan stepped out of the shower, singing that he wasn’t going to work on Maggie’s farm no more. He threw on some clothes and headed off to the baker’s for a couple of Aberdeen Rolls (‘rowies’), well-fired. En route, he picked up a copy of the Saturday edition of the Press & Journal (‘Start the Day with the P&J’).
His flat was on Prospect Terrace but it was soon to morph into Desolation Row. He dug into his pocket and checked his phone: a text from Lorna. She wouldn’t be at the pub tomorrow evening, after all. Liam, from her work, had a spare ticket for the Springsteen concert in Glasgow.
He’d met Liam previously, an older guy with a carefully distressed, expensive, leather jacket and a misplaced sense of entitlement. He was a creep, with a string of ex-partners, including Rona, Alan’s cousin. Rona had said that, after he’d gone, his legacy lingered on in her flat like an unflushed toilet.
Alan was suddenly bereft. He’d thought that his friendship with Lorna (she of the big brown eyes and the tumbling hair) had been progressing nicely. He’d been hoping that their forthcoming night out at the pub, with mutual friends and a local band playing in the upstairs lounge, might be the precursor to their relationship ‘moving to another level.’ There’d be no use warning her about Liam – it would sound like jealousy – demeaning spitefulness.
Weirdly, he’d sat through this movie before, when he’d been working down in Glasgow. Back then, the girl had been Jenny and the concert had been Bob Dylan’s. He’d been too slow off the mark, getting tickets, and some wealthy scumbag with a green sports car (unbelievable!) had waved a couple of blackmarket tickets under her nose.
He sighed deeply as he bit into his well-fired rowie and flicked through the P&J. A job ad. caught his eye – ‘Keeper of the Snowy Owls’ on the Isle of Fetlar in the Shetlands. Could it be just the job for him, while he healed himself of his ‘grievous wound?’ Looking after a few owl roosts at the extremity of the British Isles, just south of the Arctic Circle? …He got cold feet.
He reached over, switched on the CD player, and hit Judy Collins’ version of Dylan’s ‘Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues.’ It was a track he’d inherited from his mum. She said she’d played it every morning just before she’d headed off to sit her disastrous final exams at the Uni.
He saw the point: the musical mood was certainly sombre. But, he reflected that though Dylan had been stuck in the rain in Juárez, sick, lonely and humiliated, he’d turned right around and headed ‘back to New York City.’ Alan didn’t need the sorrowing solitude of the Isle of Fetlar. He needed the jangling hubbub of New York City. Or, the next best thing: he could settle for a welcome and a pint or two at The Prince of Wales on St Nicholas Lane. What’s more, he’d heard that Jenny, older and wiser, was back living with her parents and popped into the Prince of Wales occasionally.
Image by Erik Karits from Pixabay – A snowy Owl sitting on a branch looking very wise.
literally stories 
Mick
Fortunately the lesson was already learned. Dylan and Sprinsteen too are older and wiser. Wonderful lilt you have in your stuff. Great flow.
Diane found a tremendous Owl!
Leila
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Thanks Leila. I remember writing this: more than most, it came together pretty quickly – I imagine that helped the flow.
And Yes! Diane found another great image!
bw
Mick
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Wonderful! A real treat of a piece and I absolutely loved the line “ his legacy lingered on in her flat like an unflushed toilet.” Perfect!
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Mick
The liveliness of this piece is infectious in the best possible way.
This story is also like a parable of how so many of us use the life and work of Bob Dylan. (Only Leonard Cohen can compete with him on that level, perhaps; and maybe The Boss, too, sometimes; as well as Tom Waits; and, for me, Lou Reed – and Van Morrison and Emmylou Harris.)
As such, this is a wonderful little parable about the power of music (and literature) and the necessity (and the joy) of going on, forgetting “it,” and moving forward past whatever disappointments, which is a daily chore for any and all of us who want to LIVE, not rot away or stew in our own juices. Therefore, this is writing as a life-giving gift to the reader. Because if one doesn’t embrace the disappointments and then move past them, it’s life itself that one is turning one’s back on.
Thanks so much, Mick! Your style, characters, and the magical “everydayness” of your work are always endearing, convincing, and memorable.
Dale
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Thanks, Dale. Apologies if this reply appears out of order (still can’t quite master wordpress). With you 100% on Dylan, Springsteen, Waits & co as life coaches and mood shifters. I’m in your debt for the phrase ‘magical everydayness,’ which I shall try to live up to. It’s certainly something to aim for. bw mick
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Thanks, once again, for your comments, Steven. Pleased you liked it – maybe you’ve been to The Prince of Wales on St Nicholas Lane? bw mick
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Poignant, quietly humorous and sprinkled with heartbreak, resignation, and tentative hope. I appreciated the Dylan references and the metaphor of the snowy owls. Very nice.
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thanks, David. I really appreciate your appreciation. Incidentally, alas, there is no keeper’s job on Fetlar now: the original pioneer male owl drove the fledging males away, so there was no third generation. bw mick
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Hi Mick,
I found this a wee tad different from you.
There is no denying your skill as a writer but this was something else. You normally hit us with a knowledge and a learning. This was a snapshot, a brilliant snapshot I might add, that gives Adam Kluger a run for his money!!!
I baked for twelve years and was happy when I had a pan of burn’t rolls. Not only could we sell them, a couple with cheese and jam for my breakfast was a joy to behold!!
I love the image of a distressed leather jacket. Unfortunately, I don’t have any anymore although I’m pretty distressed so would do any clothes a service!!!
If that job is still available, please send me the details!!!
Loved this my fine friend!!!
Hugh
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Thanks, Hugh. There really was once a job ad for a ‘Keeper of the Snowy Owls.’ But, as you’ll see from my reply to David Henson, there’s no such job on Fetlar now. Sorry, hope you find something that suits you soon. Maybe a bakery job?? My dad worked for the old Co-op bakery when I was a child, I remember him bringing back things like the first Hot Cross Buns of the year, still warm from the ovens. best wishes, mick
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Hi Mick,
We actually won a ‘Best Pie’ for a Junior Football team. (Auchinleck Talbot – We were there the glory years 85-87…I think!!)And to be honest, a pie just out the oven is as good as it gets!!! Well apart from a tattie scone just off the hotplate!!
All the very best my fine friend.
Hugh
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Big fan of brevity. Alan, keep your chin up, who knows when you will turn the right corner. Fifty-five years ago last relationship had crashed and burned, then I met my editor to be.
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Thanks, Doug. Yep, light at the end of the tunnel. bw mick
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I was captured by the title and the picture. As an amateur nature photographer. I’ve gotten a few pictures of Snowy Owls in Indiana. When they come down in the winter from way up North. It’s a pretty exciting deal. They look magical—straight out of “Harry Potter.”
I thought this was a very original story. There is something endearing and funny about a job caring for Snowy owls “just south of the Arctic Circle.” I like that. Only a writer could come up with such a creative idea!
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Thanks for commenting, Christopher. My brother is a keen ‘birdie’ and amateur photographer. Never seen a snowy owl myself, but I understand the attraction. The thought of heading off to the Isle of Fetlar ‘to heal my grievous wound’ appealed because, after the last battle, King Arthur told Sir Bedivere that the barge would take him to ‘the Island-Valley of Avilion… to heal my grievous wound.’ best wishes, mick.
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Another beautifully honed and instructive gem, Mick. Thanks! Music and lyrics to live by. Do I vaguely remember seeing the Keeper of the Snowy Owls position advertised in a newspaper not that long ago? Talking of Keepers, have you seen the BBC’s great documentary about Bert Trautmann (‘The Keeper’) German POW who became famous – and controversial – playing for Mancester City?
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Hiya Alex! Thanks for commenting. I dont think it would be a recent advert you saw. The one I saw was in Aberdeen’s P&J more than forty years ago and my understanding is that the colony died out because the original pioneer male wouldn’t allow any other males onto Fetlar.
Will follow-up on the Bert Trautmann tip. As I child, I watched the cup final on the tv when he played on with a broken neck.
Trust Cabot is making headway. bw mick
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We know a lot about this lyric influenced Alan from a few paragraphs. “Keeper of the Snowy Owls,” sounds like a Dylan song, or maybe Joni Mitchell. This Alan’s a romantic, Dylan influences his wise choice to stay in the city. He has the romantic’s loss to bad boy Liam and deja vu re: green sports car man, hopefully the next movie will have a different outcome.
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