GENTLY brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, she looked deeply into my eyes, holding my hand with a winsome gentleness.
She was checking for signs of concussion and divining whether I still had a pulse. It was just one of my regular trips to casualty as a wean and the nurse, who had almost become a family friend, was ministering to yet another fallout in the MacDonald family.
This particular incident came back to me in a flash (or as a result of a my post-traumatic stress disorder as the column's resident psychiatrist insists on calling it) when news of an exhibition at the Scottish Football Musuem was given to me.
This contains oil paintings charting the growth of women's football in the past 130 years. It has been created by artist Stuart Gibbs and commemorates many unsung heroines connected to the women's game in Scotland from the international match of 1881 to the success of Glasgow City in reaching the last 16 of the UEFA Women's Champions League in 2011.
It does not, however, choose to recall the role of women of the 1960s in the development of the game in the south side of Glasgow. A generation of male Busbyites were given added pace and obdurate resilience by the intervention of the fairer sex.
The visit to casualty chronicled above was occasioned by one such incident. My younger sister had smacked me over the head with a metal implement after a disagreement over the precise spot a ball passed over/beside a jersey. Her only concession to outdated notions of the feminine role was that she chose a cooking pan to emphasise the force of her argument.
Said pan was given to her by mater who was encouraging my sister to make mud pies. Said sister instead made the top of my napper resemble an overcooked pizza.
My reader may expect that I will use the occasion of an exhibition on women's football to make a series of childish, sexist points. He/she (there is some confusion after a frankly unexplained trip to Bangkok) would be wrong. I have reached advanced years and I attribute this longevity to never, ever disrespecting any woman at any time, particularly in sport.
This is not as a result of superficial gallantry but of experience. The playing fields of Possil and Busby are festooned with the grisly bunting of the entrails of those who had a fly dig at our sisters.
My admiration for women in sport is undimmed, consistent and unfailing. And will someone pass this on to my wee sister because my brothers say she is looking for me after a disagreement about the efficacy of 4-2-3-1. The bad news is that she was carrying a wok. The worse news is that the Royal Infirmary insists that bookings cannot be taken for accident and emergency.
Here are five little-known facts about Scottish women and football. Can one spot the deliberate mistake?
5 The earliest account of women playing football in Europe comes from Lanarkshire in 1629. No-one knows by how many goals they beat the men.
4 The development theory for pinpoint bombing used in modern warfare was strongly influenced by my grannie in Old Shettleston Road. Jessie could drop a piece from three floors straight into the mitts of a waiting wean.
3 The first recorded goalscorer in women's association football is Lily St Clair, for Scotland against England in 1881. It would have been in 1880 but some of them took several months deciding what to wear. (Sorry, sorry. This is wrong. I apologise.)
2 My big sister destroyed my football career by beating me in a chase for a through ball. She was wearing high heels at the time. She, too, was robust. Graeme Souness' arrival in Scottish football was delayed because of her. He refused to come back to his homeland until he had binding legal assurances that she had quit.
1 My wee sister went on to work as a nursing sister in casualty.
All of the above are true. No.1 is an example of irony. But don't tell my sister. She will hit me with an example of iron.
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