Home Brew

The teenage years of 16 to 18 are the most rewarding but also the most dangerous. That two year period can make, break or just finish you off altogether.It is a rite of passage as a luxury in a modern economy and society thankfully spared the tragic exposure of that age group otherwise to disease, famine, war or natural disaster. At 16 there usually begins the experimentation with alcohol. Up until midnight on the last day of your 15th birthday anything alcoholic tastes, frankly, revolting. There were public gatherings where parents permitted a small sip of champagne (weddings), sherry (funerals), beer (christening) or babycham (anything else) and that usually resulted in a grimace, nausea and an intention never to let the same ever pass your lips.  At one minute into your 16th year the same liquids suddenly assume a mystical and forbidden taste. My own exposure to this temptation was fairly mild, not bitter, but mild. Older brothers of friends, themselves still under the legal drinking age of 18 would be partying usually accompanied by 'Freebird' or 'Stairway to Heaven' and we could usually sneak in and partake in the dregs of the party cans or discarded cans without being noticed and ridiculed. It did not take much to make me feel a bit tipsy. More by suggestion than actual ingestion. On a carol singing outing on Christmas Eve ,with a social group, at the age of 16 I was well under the influence. I remember, to this day with shame, stashing my collection of unopened beer cans in the porch of the church having arranged to meet up with my family for Midnight Mass. I got there after the service had begun and with all eyes on my late arrival I staggered in, waved dumbly and leered at all those there congregated. My mother and sisters made up half the choir. My father and younger brothers looked on. The church was full. Nothing was ever said to me about the whole sorry affair although disapproving looks continued for much of the following year. It was a moment for contemplation between me and God. With a family move, not because of my drinking I hasten to add,  there was another peer group and resultant pressures. At the age of 17 I attended a party, host and occasion unknown. After meeting at The Oddfellows public house, a sympathetic hostelry to the under-aged, I was able to buy a share of a four pack of McEwans Special Brew. A bit like alcoholic Marmite in texture and not far off in taste. I drank my cans on the way to the party. In the hosts house things were well under way.Parents out, gatecrashers in and then the inevitable sound of breaking glass, a girls scream and then mention of The Police. My combined survival and homing instinct in the face of trouble or conflict immediately kicked in. Later, I learnt that the glass was a toppled beer glass, the girl screaming was just an excitable girl and The Police were the emerging pop band of Sting, Summers and Copeland. By all accounts it was a great party. I was however on my way home. It was dark. Pedestrians seemed to loom out of the darkness, take a look at me, mutter and then stride off. I made out the town centre, the end of my street and then my house. I found it unusual that the front door was unlocked but crept in and sat down on the bottom stair, head in hands, the mosaic tiled floor spinning uncontrollably. I sensed a presence. Through my intertwined fingers I saw the blurry outline of a child. My 11 year old brother asked me if I was alright. I asked him what the time was, thinking he was up very late. He told me it was only half past eight.I had only been out of the house for 90 minutes. The rest of the family gathered round, with genuine concern but bordering on amusement. I was spared the indignity of trying to walk a straight line, touch my nose with thumb and forefinger or recite 'The Leith Police Seizeth Me", all apparently stock tests for intoxication prior to the introduction of the breathalyser. I spent the whole night with my head out of the attic window trying to steady and revive myself in readiness for my sunday morning paper round commencing at 5am. I survived that particular ordeal and I had learnt a valuable and sobering lesson which has stayed with me ever since. DO NOT DRINK SPECIAL BREW-OTHER DRINKS ARE MORE AGREEABLE. I am, however, regularly reminded of the whole affair whenever I happen to visit the old family home and stand anywhere near to the bottom of the stairs or unwittingly sit on the lowest step to tie a shoe lace or talk to the dog.