Mrs. Cairns

Burnfoot was shite but like all estates it had its characters, like the irascible Mrs. Cairns. She lived in the flats near Galalaw Road.

We’d put fireworks through her letterbox, or tie her knocker to the one opposite, bang on the doors and run. It’s what disaffected working class youth like us did for a laugh. Somehow she always knew who it was.

‘I’m going to tell your father.’

‘Tell my dad to go fuck himself, Mrs. Cairns.’

We always called her ‘Mrs. Cairns’, even while we were trying to scorch her flat.

We were brought up to be respectful.