About the Author

An Englishwoman abroad, Gill now lives deep in rural Ireland

with her partner Frank and their dog Sheeba. Pastimes include
gardening and sewing and, depending on the weather, the
lawn is mown or the patchwork sewn!
Ubiquitous Q is Gill's first venture into the literary world.

For M&M
With love to you both
G xx

Gill Casey

UBIQUITOUS Q

Copyright Gill Casey (2015)

The right of Gill Casey to be identified as author of this work has
been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the
publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this
publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims
for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British
Library.
ISBN 978 1 78455 565 8 (paperback)
978 1 78455 566 5 (hardback)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2015)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LB

Printed and bound in Great Britain

Ubiquitous?

I can remember so vividly reaching the dictionary down from

the bookshelf in the lounge. This was a treat, a very grown-up
event, only allowed under parental supervision. Mum had
instilled in us the sheer joy of books and there was a bookcase
full to the brim of all manner of childrens reading books in
the kitchen; every imaginable board book, picture book,
factual and fiction, but this was different. I was on a mission
that warranted a trip into that parental domain where books
were special and regarded with proper reverence: I had a
school project that allowed, indeed, demanded, the use of the
Oxford English Dictionary!
Miss Harper had set her 26 pupils the task of finding a
word to use in tomorrows story that no-one had used before!
Each of us picked our letter from Misss flower pot, usually
used to keep pencils, pens and chalk tidy on her desk. I had a
few words floating around in my head and as the letters were
selected one by one by my classmates, each of my thoughts
and suggestions were taken by others. At last, my turn and, a
U. Well, not one of my thoughts had begun with a U. I was
quite sure underneath and umbrella wouldnt win me any
prize for originality, hence the need for the trip to the special
bookshelf.

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I opened the pages with due respect and flicked through to

near the back to find the words beginning with U. And there it
was; Ubiquitous. An adjective defined as present, appearing,
or found everywhere. This was going to be my word. It
seemed to jump out of the page at me. I knew with absolute
certainty that no-one in my class had ever even heard of the
word, let alone used it in a story before. This was most
definitely the word that I was going to use tomorrow to amaze
all my classmates, and especially Miss Harper, who by all
accounts didnt have much faith in my ability in English
lessons. She was probably right: maths was more my subject,
but this was going to be my shining moment in the literary
world!
I mean, wonderfully, this marvellous word ubiquitous
contained three Us in it so I was convinced it must be worth
bonus points.
Even more perfect was the fact that ubiquitous contained a
Q, my very own special letter!

11

Q is for Quetzal

I am Q. I answer to Q and I think of myself as Q. I have been

Q ever since I can remember. And its all because Id rather
be known by anything other than my full name. Naturally
there are exceptions: my passport, bank account and other
official times that require proper names are used and
nicknames are frowned upon, if not altogether illegal.
So my friends and siblings call me Q, my husband calls
me Q, my children call me, well actually they call me Mum,
but everyone else calls me Q. Even my parents have come
round to calling me Q. And thats a big step, considering it
was them who gave me the name Quetzal in the first place.
To explain, my mum and dad (probably more Mum
initially and Dad just agreed, anything for a quiet life) had this
really bright idea that it would be delightfully quirky to call
their eldest daughter something different to all the other little
girls, and, bizarrely, they thought Quetzal was the perfect
answer. Delightfully quirky for them, maybe; not so for me.
Of course, to be named after a beautiful bird of paradise is
not such a bad thing, its just that Quetzal is beyond different,
beyond bizarre, beyond common sense. Why would anyone
choose a name for their long-awaited and much-wanted
daughter from a childs alphabet book? You know, the A is
for Apple, B is for Banana type, except this particular book
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was all animals: A is for Alligator, B is for Bear... I mean, it

could have been so much worse; O (Ostrich), P (Porcupine)
or, horror of horrors, Y (Yak) but even so, I ask you.
Now the resplendent quetzal is one of the worlds most
strikingly-beautiful and exquisitely-coloured birds, only found
in the mountainous tropical rainforests of Latin America. The
metallic-green tail plumes can be three-feet long and although
the hunting of quetzals for their feathers has been outlawed for
over a century the practice still continues, and combined with
its natural habitat being cleared by peasants to grow maize,
there are ecologists who believe this magnificent bird could be
extinct in our lifetime.
Its the national bird of Guatemala, appearing on their flag
and coat of arms, and is even the name of their currency. To
the Aztecs and Mayans the quetzal was known as the rare
jewel bird of the world and revered as a god of air, goodness,
and light and I mean, how many people do you know that has
the chance to be resplendent, or rather be named after
something resplendent?
So the quetzal is lovely, except for the fact its what my
parents chose to call me, and if I had a fiver for every time Id
had to explain my unusual name, well, Id be living a lifestyle
that overpaid footballers and lottery winners can only dream
about!
Naturally, there have been times when Quetzal has been a
good name to have: its excellent in Scrabble, for example, if
you can get it on a triple word score! Its not as though I have
the same name as anyone else and then get confused when
your name is called but you dont really know if its you or
someone else thats wanted. It must be so bewildering to be a
John or a Jane! And as an initial when you sign your name,
there are endless possibilities to be as elaborate and ornate as
your imagination allows. My school-friend Olivia (from
Bolivia, though, on reflection, that was probably just a
nickname; she was more likely to herald from Somerset than
South America!) always bemoaned the fact that her O could
never compete with my Q! What can I say?
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And I dont have to share my name with anyone famous,

like my bank manager, Michael Jackson. Or by one of those
quirks of marriage end up like my friend, Stacey Casey. I
could have one of those names that have a different variation
for almost every day of the week: Margaret (Maggie, Mags,
Marge, Peg, Peggy); Elizabeth (Liz, Lizzie, Beth, Betty, Eliza,
Bess); William (Bill, Billy, Will, Willy, Liam) and Edward
(Ed, Eddie, Ted, Teddy) to name but a few.
But I dont. Im just Q, and quite unique!
Over the years Ive learned lots of information about Q,
like its the only letter of the alphabet not to appear in one of
the 50 state names in the USA (who knew, and I suppose you
could argue, who took the trouble to find out?) and for a long
time the letter Q was banned in Turkey (why would a country
ban a letter?) but on the whole the usefulness of these pearls
of wisdom has been limited, to say the least.
Theres also the fact that, whenever items of my school
uniform needed a name in, my mum only needed to put the
initial Q on the label and no other child in the school came
anywhere near to pretending the clothes belonged to them!
And Im not even the first Q in my family as it turns out;
Granny on my mums side was Queenie Brown, known to one
and all (including her six children) as Queenie B, even after
her marriage to Grandpa Price.
So Quetzal, abbreviated to Q, it is. And its hardly
surprising that I have had a lifelong fascination in peoples
names, if only to compensate for the lifelong fascination
people have shown in my name! And Q in itself might not be
so bad, but growing up with a surname like Pugh, then my
name just cried out to be made fun of, or at least it did all
through school. You get the picture, Q Pugh.
For years I had to endure Q Pugh is in a stew, Q Pugh is
all askew and Q Pugh has done a poo. Well it was school
and kids can be unkind, as we all know. But it didnt end
there. At church, the Sunday School teacher would quite
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innocently say Q take a pew and then wonder why all her
charges were falling about in giggles. The Brown Owl of my
Brownie Pack would instruct everyone to form a queue
behind Q, and so it went on.
I guess, looking back, I employed some questionable, and
frankly dodgy, tactics to deflect attention away from my
name. As a toddler, apparently, if ever I was asked my name I
would simply reply with a different answer, like stating my
age, or, more embarrassingly for my mum, stating her age,
thus ensuring we hurried away from the inquiring passer-by. I
became a master deflector of questions, letting out squeals of
laughter instead of giving a straight answer. In short, I was
trying to get my own back on my parents for their shortsightedness when choosing my name.
But despite all this, I am resigned to having Q as my
name. In fact, nearly fifty years on, I wouldnt change it for
the world, its become an integral part of me and its hard to
imagine answering to anything else.

15

Quick History Lesson

So just to put you in the Pugh picture... Dad is Stuart and

apparently the first time he met my mum, all he could think to
say was so your initials are SP too! What a chat up line!
Suzanna Price was, surprisingly, undeterred by this and,
within a year, Dad had proposed and plans for their wedding
were underway. Amazingly, it was Dave, Dads life-long
friend and best man who first declared in his speech after the
wedding breakfast: So now we have Stu and Sue Pugh.
Now Mums family were always shopkeepers, coming
from that tradition of corner shops that stocked everything
from groceries and toiletries to newspapers and toys. Grandpa
Price had a sign above the door: Come on in, the Price is
Right! He was ahead of his time and could have made more
money from patenting the slogan than all the years of serving
the public. He and his wife, Queenie B, raised their six
children (four sons and two daughters; Mum was the youngest
of the lot) in the rooms at the back of the shop. While it might
have been tight for space and lacking in privacy, it certainly
meant there were lots of extra pairs of hands available if the
shop got busy! By the time Dad married into this emporium,
the rest of Mums siblings had moved away from home and so
Dad was welcomed into the business, allowing Grandpa and
Queenie B to retire gracefully. Sadly, as so often is the case,
Grandpa lasted only ten months before he passed away, was it
16

boredom or the undiluted time with his wife? Speculation was

rife!
Before long, Dad saw the potential to specialise rather
than diversify; he sold off all the various stock to
neighbouring outlets and concentrated on footwear, retaining
only the shoe repair counter from the existing shop. After a
while this too had to go (Cobblers to that I believe was his
expression!) and Pughs Shoes was launched on the world,
well, our small town, but you get the picture.
Drakeford is a town of diminutive proportions (it could
possibly be a large village, Im not sure how the distinction is
made) originating back through the ages at the easiest crossing
point, for several miles up or downstream, of the River Drake.
Evolution, more than intentional design, has led to the current
layout, basically in the shape of a cross, where High Street
runs north to south and across the bridge, and Quay Street
runs along the riverbank (theres a surprise). Shops adorn both
sides of the bustling High Street with its wide pavements ideal
for pedestrians, while Quay Street is obviously quieter as
buildings are only along one side facing the river, including
Quincys Hotel, with its south-facing gardens and river views
bringing much-needed business (and employment) into the
town. The intersection between these two thoroughfares has
long since featured traffic lights to regulate the flow of
vehicles and since Pughs Shoes sits only three stores up High
Street away from this junction, Dad always had splendid
window displays to catch the eye of motorists waiting for their
green light. The most memorable (and still talked about to this
day) was when he created a brilliant yellow brick road and
displayed every pair of red shoes in the shop, including
sandals, slippers, stilettos and wellington boots, promoting the
week-long movie festival to launch the re-opening of the
towns cinema.
Helping him in the shop was Bernie Wright who had
started off as a Saturday girl and went on to work full time
when she left school. Dad used to call her his Wright-hand
lady, which tickled her enormously. Bernie worked in Pughs
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Shoes for so many years she became almost family and we

were all surprised (and a little bit upset) when she declared
that she was going to marry her long-time boyfriend Sid
Bridges and they were moving to Australia. She was burning
her bridges, by name and nature, as it were.
Meanwhile, Mum was happy setting up home in the flat
above the shop. Up until then, Grandpa had used the rooms
for storage, junk and his little office to keep his paperwork up
straight and, since Dad wanted to extend the shop into the
rooms at the back, it made sense to convert the upstairs space
into their new home. Its amazing what a clear out, a lick of
paint and an assortment of second-hand furniture achieved;
within no time, Mum had the place looking great and it didnt
take her long to start feathering the nest!
Just eighteen months into married life, along came their
first baby. They chose to name the bouncing boy Andrew, a
lovely name in its own right or even shortened to Andy, but,
as was to become a theme, he became known as Drew. Five
years wait, to the point of resigning themselves to having an
only child, along came the little girl they wanted, yours truly,
enough said! Then another daughter, two years later, was
given the gloriously ordinary name of Lucinda-Louise, which
despite all attempts to resist, was abbreviated to Lulu. Hence
the Pugh family consisted of Stu, Sue, Drew, Q and Lulu!
Thank goodness they stopped at three children.
Now I know of other families who have had their fair
share of momentary madness when it comes to the naming of
babies, for example, my mums friend Oonagh. A lovely name
but add in her younger sisters Doris (shortened to Dos) and
Teresa (answers to Treys) and you get the Latino version of
one, two, three! Then there are the Syms siblings that we met
on holiday once; Kimberley, with her brothers Timothy and
James. And the general store in Draxmouth called
ENNYthing and Everything, run by Kenny and Jenny and
their two kids Lenny and Benny...
And there are always those nicknames that are the result
of trends of the day, like childrens television characters.
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Drakefords postman was known by one and all as Pat for the
twenty years or so that he delivered our mail. It wasnt until
his retirement party that we found out his name was actually
Sam (did he secretly yearn to be a fireman?). Coincidentally,
he was succeeded by another Pat, but on reflection, maybe he
wasnt.
Anyway, to come back to us Pughs, ours was a great
upbringing in a very happy home. And it was as though those
special childhood days would never end. When I was at
school, every day seemed like it would never pass. And I
dont mean that in a bad way. It wasnt that I didnt get
pleasure from my education; on the contrary, I was one of
those rare students who actually enjoyed learning. I had
friends (joking about my unusual name aside) and I had a
mind that absorbed new information like a sponge. No, school
days were definitely happy, and the clocks ticked slower back
then. School holidays stretched on forever and summers
seemed endless (they also seemed sunnier but thats another
story). Drew, Lulu and I grew up thick as thieves; close
friends as well as siblings. But as often happens, once we
reached adulthood (well, the other two did, Im still a teenager
at heart!) our lives drifted in different directions and as a
consequence we rarely see each other. Now, if theres a family
get-together for any reason were back as if weve never been
apart but for the most part our paths dont cross too often.
Drew met his wife at the wedding of his best friend from
school: Bella Cooke (by name but apparently not so by
nature!) was the brides first cousin and chief bridesmaid.
Within six months they were engaged and married
themselves! Whirlwind romance doesnt come close but thirty
years, four children and four grandchildren (so far) later, they
obviously found their soul mates and have definitely lived
happily together ever since. It turns out Bella is really
Annabelle, so both she and Drew had dropped the Ann, as it
were. Being rather batty (or maybe just continuing a family
tradition of sorts) their children were christened Angelica,
Angus, Anthony and Anne-Marie, all of whom were known
by their names minus the Ann! Crazy, but somewhat
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expected! And when they told us they were moving to Dover,

well you can understand our confusion about the real location
of their new home. Was it really in Kent? Or maybe
Hampshire?
Lulu was determined to remain unmarried forever, she
was always far too busy as a career woman to be in a
relationship and always had far too many countries to visit to
consider settling down with anyone. She earned good money
and enjoyed planning foreign holidays at every opportunity.
So it came as a complete surprise to all of us when she
returned from one of these far-flung adventures with news that
even she had succumbed to romance, albeit at the less than
tender age of 33. It seems Millennium Madness might have
been to blame! The man who swept her off her feet was also a
confirmed bachelor in his thirties and even to this day seems
mildly perplexed that he simply booked a fortnight on safari in
deepest darkest Africa, and ended up married with two lovely
twins. His name is Joe King (no, Im not joking, he is!) and
blimey, didnt they choose Lee and May for their babies
names. I ask you! On reflection, were all just grateful that
they didnt decide to make their surname double barrel and be
forever known as the Pugh-King family!
So thats my family tree and while the mild eccentricity
unquestionably accounts for a lot, it also means I am in good
company.

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Quinn

It was the school Christmas disco, organised by the youth club

for everyone in the sixth form. My best friend Jilly Jones
(known as JJ) and I were part of the organising committee,
responsible for posters, decorations around the school hall and
arranging five million fairy lights (give or take a few that blew
on the night, why does that always happen?) to disguise the
gym equipment that bedecks the hall walls. JJ and I had met
on our first day at infant school; her parents had just taken
over the greengrocers a few doors away from our shop, so we
were kindred spirits. All through school (and the many years
since, as it turns out) we remained close buddies, but on that
particular evening I was to ignore JJ, and everyone else,
everyone, that is, except Barney.
The first time I set eyes on him it was as though the whole
world stopped for just that moment. I remember the day, the
time, the venue and the occasion with great clarity, but at that
precise moment the entire universe just stopped and became
as if nothing. Now Barney was unremarkable in that he was
average height and build, had no distinguishing features, good
or bad, but there he was and there it is; my life from now on
would be with him.
Of course, I didnt even know his name was Barney to
start with. He was introduced as Barbie, which made me think
21

I must have misheard or maybe I was suffering from

temporary insanity. And you know how it is when youre
introduced and then dont like to ask again, I spent ages trying
to catch what other people called him but each time it just
reinforced the original impression of Barbie. What kind of
bloke is called Barbie? Even my parents would have been
pushed to come up with that one!
His mate, Tony (I heard that alright) was the DJ and I
subtly tried to hang around the turntables, speakers and other
assorted electrical wiring and equipment without making it too
obvious that I had no real need to be near them at all!
Eventually, I plucked up courage, bit the bullet and
blurted out, to the amazement and amusement of all in
earshot, So are you really called Barbie? When everyone had
stopped giggling and regained their composure, Barney took
me on one side and explained that his real name is Barney
Quinn but ever since he started school he had been known as
Barbie Q. My first heart-stopping impression of Barney just
repeated itself. Well glory, glory, would you believe it?
Another person on this earth with parents who never thought
through the naming of offspring...and even more glory,
glory...Barneys name is Quinn, as in Q.
Barney fitted into our family comings and goings straight
away but then ours was an open house (well, flat above the
shop), and always had been for any and all of our friends and
relations, so it was so easy and natural to invite him to join us
for tea or in for a coffee after wed been out for an evening.
Dad and Drew immediately struck up an easy friendship with
him, strengthened by a mutual interest in football (though a
healthy rivalry as to whether Manchester United or Arsenal is
the better team!) and an unhealthy (in my opinion) delight in
watching horror films in the dark. Mum, for her part, simply
thrived on a happy household and so was delighted to
welcome him into her home, cooking for six instead of five
without even batting an eye!
My first visit to the Quinn household was more of an
event; a formal invitation wasnt issued but almost! Wed
22

been going out together for quite a while and the longer it
went on that I hadnt met his parents the more I wondered if
they would like me. I mean Mary and Joseph, I mean
seriously, their names are Mary and Joseph, and theyre from
Catholic Ireland (well originally, previous generations-wise)
what would they think of me, Quetzal, not named after my
granny or a holy woman with a saintly disposition!
It turns out they were a great couple, more quiet and stayat-home than flamboyant and outgoing, but very welcoming
and Barneys dad in particular had a wicked sense of humour.
If I had been dreading an inquisition of the Spanish variety, I
couldnt have been more wrong! I learnt they were both from
small families: Mary had just one brother who had emigrated
to America over twenty years earlier and hadnt been home to
visit since, and Joseph had only two cousins to his name,
which was such a different experience to my own parents and
their huge array of siblings and could well explain their
acquiescent nature and more demure attitude to life. Their
delightfully neat bungalow, tastefully furnished with demure
and choice antiques, was one of only five in a small cul-de-sac
on the edge of town, with a large garden looking over fields
and hedgerow.
If Marys fashion flair back in the sixties led people to
think she was more Mary Quant than Mary Quinn, it was
obvious that, over the decades, flower-power had been traded
in for flowers! Mary loved her garden and as she took me on a
tour, pointing out all the shrubs and bedding plants, I nodded
enthusiastically at what I trusted were the right moments.
Having spent my entire life living above a shop, with the back
garden long since buried beneath a stockroom extension, I was
hoping it wasnt too obvious that I barely knew a daffodil
from a dandelion, or a hyacinth from a hydrangea. Josephs
contribution to these horticultural activities appeared to be
confined to the physical labour end of the spectrum, though
his workshop next to the garage was obviously not only his
pride and joy but also his refuge when pruning, mowing or
similar actions were required.

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