THE GUZZLER
“It’s bad manners to watch somebody eat!”
At least that’s what a generation were taught growing up in the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s. Perhaps it was the result of rationing…the fare of the day was simple and hunger lingered. ‘Eat watching and guilt’ were closely associated terms and we all had the images of the ‘camps’ etched in our minds.
Obesity, diet and ‘body mass index’ were alien terms. They had no place in the vocabulary. “Aye, you’ll eat what’s put down in front of you or you’ll go hungry, there’s weans in Africa would be gled o’ that dinner”. The most oft used meal time phrase. Consulting a menu?….. non existent.
In modern times 50% of prime tv is dedicated to the cult of watching folk eat, indulgent consumption is enthusiastically encouraged and even applauded.
Gazing at an old primary school photo, dominating centre pic, is Big Fat Anne McAlister….as the poor lass was known for life. Anne was a normal healthy looking wean, the rest of the class were skeletal, The comparison was relative.
In exception to post war etiquette, there was a man who it was difficult not to watch eat. He was known in the shipyard as the 'Guzzler'. A platers helper famed for his ability to consume a whole ‘piece’ …or better eat a ‘piece’ whole. ( ‘piece’ - a clydeside term for a sandwich) with breathtaking speed…without remorse or hesitation, in a single continuous gulp.
The Clydeside ‘piece’ is a subject in its own right. It was the focus of much discussion within the shipyard and has as a result various classifications.
‘Lassies Pieces’, a sexist term aimed at thinly sliced bread neatly cut across at 45 degrees, ‘Space Pieces;’ anything wrapped in tin foil, Doorstops; carved from a loaf of plain bread, thickness variable, filling….anything reasonably edible.
The Guzzler was a doorstop man of the unsliced classification. ie the whole loaf height…slice thickness dictated by oral capacity
Theories abounded as to the origins of his eating habits…amongst the favoured “He lived in a house full of weans that were trough fed and speed was vital for survival’, or that he had a ‘worm’ which consumed 90% of everything he ate, consequently he was always on the verge of starvation. To others he was just a greedy b******
Debates were entered into as to whether basic functions took place, chewing, swallowing and the like. Proof was needed and in the environs of a shipyard, proof has to be tested.
Furtive forensic examination of the Guzzlers pieces revealed spam was the Thursday choice. Spam of course is a subject deserving its own story…but for this tale one only needs to know that it’s pink.
With a limited palette of options in the forming plot the only other known pink item in the shipyard was the racing section of the Evening Times.
A plan was forged, the plot agreed…the spam pieces would be lined with skilfully trimmed sheets of racing section. Debate as to ‘how many layers’ took place, 1 to 5.…3 became the settled number on account that 5 might might be instantly discoverable and all agreed 1 would go unnoticed.
News spread and more that the usual number were seated around the lunchtime oil-drum brazier in the platers shed in the west yard. A silence lingered, broken only the crackle of burning template wood, blue smoke rising. Tea cans filled by the ‘boy’ arrived and were distributed. All around a pretended air of forced disinterest …..all eyes squinted in the direction of the Guzzler, the scene set, outcomes were pondered.
The Guzzler briskly removed the wrapping paper from his pieces revealing a white bread tower…split intermittently by pink layers…a brief moment of anticipation…..then mouth met piece….or visa versa, in seconds it was gone. The awesome spectacle was re-enacted again, and again, 3 times without hesitation or interruption…and with no effect.
Witness reaction was mixed…disappointment…astonishment…hard analysis…had the dampness of the spam and Stork margarine softened the newsprint making it edible? should the maximum of 5 sheets been applied, had the Guzzler pre discovered the plot and removed the alien content? …
A clearing gulp from his tea can revealed a pink paper strip damply tacked to side of his mouth…heads cocked and eyes focussed to read the name of the surviving horse…a divine bet for the hardend gambler.
The Guzzler… aware all eyes were on him…
Whit are you lot looking at? dae ye no know “it’s bad manners to watch somebody eat”.