Interview with Douglas Brodie, an everyday hero*
William McAllister, reporter from the Glasgow Gazette interviewing Douglas Brodie for his crime column:
WM: Who are you?
Brodie: The simple answer? Douglas Brodie; most folk just call me Brodie.
WM: And the complicated?
Brodie: I used to be several things. A scholar of sorts. Then a policeman. And lately a soldier. Now? I’m not sure who I am and where I’m going.
Wm: Let’s go back to being simple. Tell us about your early life.
Brodie: Born on Rabbie Burns’ day, 1912, which makes me 34. Grew up in Kilmarnock, a small town in Ayrshire. My Dad was a coal miner.
WM: Was?
Brodie: … pause… Died in 1930. He was only 49. A mix of Black Lung from the pits and Mustard Gas from the Great War. The nice coal company blamed the war and cut my mother’s compensation. My Mum’s still living in her wee tenement in Bonnyton, part of Kilmarnock.
WM: But you didn’t follow him down the pit?
Brodie: He wanted something better for me. I’d dutifully stayed on at school – the local academy – by winning bursaries. We could never have afforded it otherwise. But by the time I reached 17 I decided I’d had enough schooling. That I wouldn’t go onto university. Then he died, and I was stuck with his dying wish. So I went up to Glasgow to read English and modern languages. The German came in handy, I suppose, at war’s end.
WM: the right result then?
Brodie: Academically, maybe. Socially? It was torture. Oh, the rich kids at Uni were nice enough in their way, but patronising. I’d left all my old pals behind at Kilmarnock. While they were all out learning a trade, earning money, I was discussing Voltaire in French with a bunch of posers.
WM: So why join the Glasgow police?
Brodie: Everyone expected me to be a teacher. I wanted to do something - more active, shall we say.
WM: A strange rebellion. How did that go?
Brodie: Fine, for a while. I got the action I craved and made detective sergeant within three years.
WM: But. . .?
Brodie: It stank, Wullie. Corruption. Laziness. Sheer incompetence. I couldn’t stand it.
WM: So the war was a blessing?
Brodie: That’s a stupid thing to say. War’s never a blessing.
WM: But you shot up through the ranks. You won the Military Cross and left as a Major in the Seaforth Highlanders. That sounds like you’d found your niche.
Brodie: [Laughs] That’s why I found your first question complicated. Who am I? Damned if I know any more. You know what scares me, Wullie? I miss it. For six years they trained me to be the best killer I could be, and I was. I was one of the best. A natural. And now I want out. I want to be an English teacher. I want to write sonnets and study Eliot again. But no-one gave me a compass back to civvy street when I handed back my crowns.
WM: How do you mean?
Brodie: People keep trying to kill me.
WM: Do you run or fight?
Brodie: Is running ever the right choice?
Wm: Is there a woman in your life?
Brodie: You would need to ask Samantha Campbell that. . .
* Douglas Brodie stars in the Glasgow Quartet comprising:
1. The Hanging Shed
2. Bitter Water
3. Pilgrim Soul
4. Gallowglass
WM: Who are you?
Brodie: The simple answer? Douglas Brodie; most folk just call me Brodie.
WM: And the complicated?
Brodie: I used to be several things. A scholar of sorts. Then a policeman. And lately a soldier. Now? I’m not sure who I am and where I’m going.
Wm: Let’s go back to being simple. Tell us about your early life.
Brodie: Born on Rabbie Burns’ day, 1912, which makes me 34. Grew up in Kilmarnock, a small town in Ayrshire. My Dad was a coal miner.
WM: Was?
Brodie: … pause… Died in 1930. He was only 49. A mix of Black Lung from the pits and Mustard Gas from the Great War. The nice coal company blamed the war and cut my mother’s compensation. My Mum’s still living in her wee tenement in Bonnyton, part of Kilmarnock.
WM: But you didn’t follow him down the pit?
Brodie: He wanted something better for me. I’d dutifully stayed on at school – the local academy – by winning bursaries. We could never have afforded it otherwise. But by the time I reached 17 I decided I’d had enough schooling. That I wouldn’t go onto university. Then he died, and I was stuck with his dying wish. So I went up to Glasgow to read English and modern languages. The German came in handy, I suppose, at war’s end.
WM: the right result then?
Brodie: Academically, maybe. Socially? It was torture. Oh, the rich kids at Uni were nice enough in their way, but patronising. I’d left all my old pals behind at Kilmarnock. While they were all out learning a trade, earning money, I was discussing Voltaire in French with a bunch of posers.
WM: So why join the Glasgow police?
Brodie: Everyone expected me to be a teacher. I wanted to do something - more active, shall we say.
WM: A strange rebellion. How did that go?
Brodie: Fine, for a while. I got the action I craved and made detective sergeant within three years.
WM: But. . .?
Brodie: It stank, Wullie. Corruption. Laziness. Sheer incompetence. I couldn’t stand it.
WM: So the war was a blessing?
Brodie: That’s a stupid thing to say. War’s never a blessing.
WM: But you shot up through the ranks. You won the Military Cross and left as a Major in the Seaforth Highlanders. That sounds like you’d found your niche.
Brodie: [Laughs] That’s why I found your first question complicated. Who am I? Damned if I know any more. You know what scares me, Wullie? I miss it. For six years they trained me to be the best killer I could be, and I was. I was one of the best. A natural. And now I want out. I want to be an English teacher. I want to write sonnets and study Eliot again. But no-one gave me a compass back to civvy street when I handed back my crowns.
WM: How do you mean?
Brodie: People keep trying to kill me.
WM: Do you run or fight?
Brodie: Is running ever the right choice?
Wm: Is there a woman in your life?
Brodie: You would need to ask Samantha Campbell that. . .
* Douglas Brodie stars in the Glasgow Quartet comprising:
1. The Hanging Shed
2. Bitter Water
3. Pilgrim Soul
4. Gallowglass
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