Authors: Jenny Telfer Chaplin
Meg hummed quietly to herself as she went about her
usual chores in preparing the shop for the business of the day ahead.
An involuntary smile rose to her lips as she thought:
For once life seems to be much better. Not only is old Mrs Martin in a better
frame of mind and slightly more amenable to my helpful suggestions these days,
but also the new arrangement allowing me to meet up with Nellie and Becky on
Glasgow Green on my half days, weather permitting, seems to be working
smoothly, so far at least.
Petronella interrupted Meg’s thoughts with: “Is it a
private matter or may I join in, Meg?”
Meg roused herself sufficiently to reply: “Sorry. What
was that? I didn’t quite catch your meaning.”
Petronella laughed. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You
were miles away, grinning all over your face. So, what’s the joke? Surely it
can’t just be this lovely April day that has so lifted your spirits.”
Meg laid down the duster she had in her hand on the
counter. “Well, it goes without saying, Spring is my favourite season of the
year, but yes, you’re quite right, there is something else … a couple of things
actually.”
Petronella stood head cocked to one side as she waited
to hear Meg’s announcement, while Meg mentally debated just how much of her
news she should reveal.
At last Meg gave a quick nervous cough. “First of all
and uppermost in my mind is the fact that your mother and I do seem to be
getting on a great deal better of late.”
“Yes,” Petronella nodded, “I have noticed a big improvement.
Mother now seems more at ease with herself and not nearly so quick to take
offence or fly into temper tantrums. I would be the first to admit that that’s
all thanks to you, Meg.”
Meg demurred graciously at the compliment and
Petronella went on: “But I interrupted you. You said there were two things.”
Meg gave a mischievous grin. “If we’re doing a
stocktaking of the good things in my life right now, actually I should have
said three not two.”
“Now you’ve really got me intrigued. Do tell.”
“If you’re sure you can stand the excitement … This
coming Saturday, Jack Dunn, you remember we mentioned him before? We’ve been
meeting each other at almost all church social functions this last year and a
bit – and not by accident! Well, he’s invited me out for tea at Miss
Cranston’s. He’s arranged to meet me in town after he’s been to the football at
Ibrox and later on we plan to go to a church soirée.”
“At last! I knew things would brighten up when you
started to take the advice I gave you long ago, even before you moved in with
us. Splendid! Just one thing – I hope you won’t be rushing into a whirlwind
marriage or any such elopement to Gretna Green too soon. Mother and I would
miss you.”
Meg gave a hearty laugh. “It’s early days yet,
Petronella, so no need to worry on that score. Now, I’d better get back to
work. You’re not paying me good money just to stand about here chatting.”
Petronella put out a detaining hand. “Not so fast,
young lady. I’ve still to hear about your third item of good news.”
Meg frowned suddenly aware of how close she’d come to
disclosing details of Wee Becky’s domestic arrangement.
On the instant, she decided to fob off her employer
with harmless trivia about the new dress she had bought for Saturday’s big
event. However, as she started speaking the ping of the shop bell disturbed
them.
Petronella gave a rueful smile. “I’ll hear about your
new outfit later, Meg. For now it’s back to work for both of us.”
***
Saturday came at last and in honour of the great
occasion Petronella even allowed Meg an extra half-day off to get her hair done
and perhaps have time for a spot of window shopping in town before meeting up
with Jack.
As Meg walked the length of Sauchiehall Street, despite
knowing it to be the height of vanity, she could not resist admiring her
newly-coiffeured image in the many shop windows lining the world-famous
thoroughfare. On all sides were fur-coated matrons, who, judging by their
self-satisfied airs and the number of expensive carrier bags they carried, had
obviously done rather more than the expense-free window shopping Meg had
indulged in. As she looked with interest at the scene around her she was struck
by the fact that although the centre was busy, women, fur-coated or otherwise,
were certainly in the majority. Apart from the occasional, obviously henpecked
husband being trailed along on his wife’s manic shopping spree there was
scarcely a man, eligible or otherwise, to be seen anywhere.
Enjoying to the full the luxury of the unexpected hours
of freedom from work Meg decided to do the entire traditional Glasgow outing of
‘Up Sauchie and doon Buchie’. As she left Sauchiehall Street and strolled down
the equally prestigious Buchanan Street she played her own private, harmless
game of looking for further examples of henpecked husbands to add to her
growing list. Halfway down Buchanan Street, having had her fill of window
shopping and wishing to rest her tired feet, she decided to treat herself to
afternoon tea.
Seated in the cosy tearoom and having already decided
how many of the mouth-watering delicacies she could afford from the
three-tiered cake-stand, she remarked to the waitress: “Not too many men
indulging in afternoon tea, are there? It rather looks as if we’ve got it all
our own way today.”
The frilly lace cap quivered on top of the grey-haired
bun as the waitress chortled: “Aye, yer deid right therr, hen. They’ll all be
ower yonder at Ibrox, like a lot o daft wee boys, shoutin their lungs oot for
tae cheer on the Scotland team, so they will.”
Meg nodded, light dawning at last. “Oh, of course. I
knew there was a match on but I’d forgotten it was such a big match – Scotland
versus England!”
“Weel, hen, if you’ve forgotten aboot it, ye must be
the only one in the whole country. One wey and another, they reckon there’ll be
mair than 70,000 fans at Ibrox this day. But listen, Ah’d better scoot aff and
get yer wee pot o tea or ma boss’ll be checkin me again for talkin ower much
tae customers. See her! She’s aye sayin: ‘Now then, Euphemia, less talk, more
walk.’”
On the point of turning away, the waitress bent over
and whispered in Meg’s ear: “Listen, hen, when ye’re pickin yer dainty bites
frae the cake-stand, tak ma advice and steer clear o them pineapple tarts.
Rotten, so they are. Been sittin there since last Monday. See me, Ah widnae put
tooth intae them, so Ah widnae.”
With these words of warning, a wink, and a wicked gleam
in her eye – her duty done to a fellow worker on life’s journey – the waitress
scooted off.
***
Meg’s head was still buzzing with scraps of overheard
conversational titbits from her fellow diners in the tearoom as she had a final
aimless wander through the overheated and heavily perfumed shops at the bottom
of Buchanan Street. Then at last it was time. Time to go along to the pre-arranged
spot in bustling Argyle Street where she was to meet up with Jack Dunn.
Rounding the corner she was not surprised to find that Glasgow’s favourite
rendezvous was already crowded with young women. Situated near the famous
Hielanman’s Umbrella, the designated meeting place, like a magnet, drew to
itself couples who were already walking out or were about to embark hopefully
on the courting circuit as the first stage on the sea of matrimony. In the
usual, long established, but universally misunderstood, Glasgow camaraderie of
talking in confidence to complete strangers it was no surprise that within
minutes Meg found herself deep in conversation with two of the other women.
After exchanging the usual pleasantries regarding the
weather, one of Meg’s new-found friends said: “Weel, here’s hoping ma lumber
turns up. Ah don’t know him all that weel. Just met him last week at a church
soirée that ma Ma dragged me along tae. She’s that desperate tae find me a man
and for tae get me aff her hauns.”
General laughter greeted this comment then an
auburn-haired girl gave a bitter laugh. “Aye, fine weel dae ah ken whit ye mean
on both counts. No only is ma Mammy goin aff her heid in case Ah end up an auld
spinster o the parish, but Ah got a real dizzy last Saturday nicht when ma
lumber didnae gee hissell aboot turning up tae meet me.”
Another girl joined in. “Uch, listen, hen, if ye got a
dizzy yer no the first and Ah’m damn sure ye’ll no be the last. So jist join
the rest o the human race and stop girnin aboot it. It happened again tae me a
couple o weeks back. No only did the eejit no come that nicht but Ah havenae
even saw the bastard since.”
Meg despite her prissy upbringing knew enough of the
Glasgow parlance to realise a “lumber” was a boyfriend and that a “dizzy”
referred to the acute disappointment when a promised date did not put in an
appearance. This was the ultimate social shame for any self-respecting young
Glasgow woman. For several minutes the trio discussed this topic before
launching into a subject dearer to their hearts – the latest fashions.
The auburn-haired girl peeled herself off the shop
window she’d been leaning against. She smoothed down her skirt, titivated her
hair and with a look of triumph at her companions laughed. “Looks like Ah’m in
luck the nicht. Here comes ma lumber aw decked oot like a fish supper. Cheerio
then girls – Ah hope youse’ll be lucky tae.”
Linking arms with her swain as if to establish her
territorial rights and thus warn off any predatory females they walked off
already deep in conversation. Unexpectedly they stopped. The young man pointed
back towards the other girls and as if having reached a decision he took a step
in their direction as though intending to speak to them. His girlfriend
physically held him back shaking her head.
Meg couldn’t be altogether sure but she thought she
heard the girl say: “Uch, jist leave them, Donald. If that’s the lie o the
land, poor souls, they’ll find oot soon enough.”
Still waiting patiently for Jack, Meg wondered at the
strange behaviour of the couples as men arrived, obviously from the football
match, to meet their girls. The pleased greeting from the girls wasn’t matched
by a similar salutation from the boyfriends. Instead each couple was quickly
involved in a conversation which, if facial expressions were anything to go by,
was of a serious nature. Meg couldn’t hear any of the words spoken clearly and
dismissed the puzzle from her mind to concentrate on her own problem – where on
earth was Jack?
A shiver of dismay went through her. Surely she wasn’t
about to be the only girl left unattended on this street corner visibly
announcing to the world she was the latest recipient of the dreaded ‘Glesga
Saturday nicht Dizzy’.
A touch on her arm startled her.
“Listen, hen, don’t think we’re interferin or nothin,
but are ye still waiting for yer man?” It was the young man of a couple who had
spoken.
Meg, ever sensitive to her status as a fallen woman,
thinking she was about to be warned of the dangers to a single woman standing
alone on a street corner, bridled.
“What business is it of yours?”
“Therr’s mibbe somethin ye should know.” The young man
said. “Wis yer fella goin tae the big match afore meeting ye?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact he was. He was going to Ibrox
with his cousin. Why, do you know them?”
The young couple exchanged a meaningful look and the
young lad went on: “Naw … the thing is …”
“Oh for God’s sake spit it oot. Tell her.” The girl
snapped.
“There’s been an accident, a terrible accident. Ah wis
at Ibrox … a bit o the terracing gave way … lots o folk hurt. Doctors,
ambulance men, Polis aw ower the place … Ah even saw one poor soul, lying on
the ground breathing his last …”
The girl gripped Meg’s arm.
“He disnae mean tae upset ye, hen. After aw it’s took
this yin aw this time tae get here whit wey there being crowds of folk aw
trying tae get away and ambulances jamming up the place …”
“Right,” the lad said. “Ah’m no for a minute saying yer
fella’s amang the injured … or even …”
His girlfriend jabbed her elbow into his ribs.
“If ye’ve waited this long, hen, and he hasnae turned
up, mibbe ye’d best jist get alang hame. Chances are he’ll turn up there right
as rain.”
With a heavy heart Meg walked unsteadily away.
***
Meg spent a sleepless night tossing and turning on her
tear-damp pillow as she fretted about Jack and worried endlessly over what
might have happened to him. What made matters worse was she had no means of
getting in touch with him. She didn’t even, after all the time she’d known him,
have the slightest idea of where he and his mother lived.
In a limbo of numbing doubt and anxiety she finally
fell into a troubled sleep on the thought: Surely tomorrow at church I’ll get
some news – be it good or bad.
Sunday dawned bright and sunny. It seemed to Meg, given
the city-wide misery of the appalling disaster at Ibrox on Saturday, this
brilliant April day was an obscenity and this burst of early spring sunshine
did nothing to raise her spirits. Unable to lie in bed any longer she rose much
earlier than was usually necessary, dressed quickly, and arrived outside the
church well ahead of the time for the service. However, she was not alone in
being ridiculously early. Obviously she was not the only person in the City of
Glasgow who had spent a sleepless night and was now seeking comfort in the
familiar ritual of the eleven o’clock service.
Meg settled herself in her usual pew and nodding, “good
morning” to her neighbours, thought: Anyone seeing me behaving normally like
this would think I hadn’t the slightest care in the world. If only they knew
the turmoil I’m going through.
However, well trained in the niceties of church
behaviour Meg knew better than to crane her neck round to see other
parishioners as they entered, so she was glad her habitual pew was close to the
back row of the church.
At least I’ll be able to see almost everyone as they
come in, she thought. But she knew in her heart it wasn’t everyone she was
concerned about.
One by one the congregation filed in and there was
still no sign of Jack or his mother. Meg could feel her spirits sinking under a
rising tide of despair. At last, when she had all but given up hope, she saw
Mrs Dunn being ushered in by her ever attentive son.
For once ignoring the protocol of proper church
behaviour Jack, on spotting Meg, smiled and as he passed her sitting at the end
of her pew slipped a folded piece of paper into the palm of her hand.
A quick glance round at her nearest neighbours
reassured Meg that no-one had appeared to notice Jack’s sleight-of-hand, but
she was left with the dilemma of how to read the note without attracting
attention to herself. After offering up a prayer of thanks for Jack’s obvious
safe deliverance from the football match disaster, Meg asked the forgiveness of
the Almighty for what she was about to do. The very moment that the first hymn
was announced, under cover of the rustle of the pages of many hymn books being
turned, Meg unfolded and smoothed out the secret note and placed it
unobtrusively on top of the designated hymn.
As Meg’s lips moved only she, and the Almighty, knew it
was not the words of the hymn she was mouthing as she avidly read the words on
Jack’s note.
***