Authors: Eleanor Thom
‘Does it nae say anything oan oor Ebby, no?’
‘I cannae find anythin, Ma. Doesnae look like it. The bloody McPhees are in trouble again, though.’
‘Wheesht, Jock! Dinnae talk ae oor folk like that. It’s nae right. Shaness!’
‘They gie us a bad name, Ma. Everyone kens we’re related.’ He looks up at the Bissaker. ‘You ken if it wisnae for those eejit twins, I’d ae been able tae go away an dae National Service, like our Peter.’
Ah tell him nae tae talk bad ae oor kind, but ah ken it’s true. The McPhee lot are aie in trouble. It wisnae always like that, though. Ma ain mither wis Ginger Frank McPhee’s mither’s sister. Or mebbies she wis his daddy’s sister, or wis his mither mammy’s cousin? Doesnae matter. But when ah wis young aw ae us shared camps wi McPhees. Half ae them ah cried Uncle or Aunt or Cousin. They were nae such a bad lot then. A good laugh. Three ae ma brothers an wan ae ma sisters married theirs an aw. An thon McPhees were great wi animals. That wis their gift. They could talk tae the horses, that’s how it seemed. Ma daddy did a fair few deals wi them. Spit an shook, the auld wye. We got aw oor yokes fae the McPhees.
Maist ae that faimly went aff wi the show people after work oan the farms dried up. They ran awa wi the circus! O ho! Ha! Ha! We were quite a breed in oor day, but, afore we joined the clowns. There wis some real gangsters amang us! That’s whit fowk’ll tell ye! O ho! Ha! Ha! Ha!
Pity, whit the settlin’s done. It maks fowk bitter. Ye dinnae see wan another. It sits fine wi some, an others tak tae the drink. It’s nae a lie. That Ginger’s aie in the whisky. He let his twin boys run roun like wild animals since they were jist wee lambs. It’s nae wonder whit’s happened tae them. Shaness! We hae tae deny where we come fae when we leave the hoose noo. It’s the ainly wye tae keep oor heids up.
Ma Jock. He’s the ainly wan carries oan aboot the travellin noo, him an his adventurin, seein the world. Rest ae us barely dream ae it these days. Barely dream. Shaness! Ye nivver mention oor past. The Bissaker an Duncan tak comfort in the drink, maistly when business is poor. Ah can keep ma een oan them.
Hawker’s bad record. – In Court on Monday, Frank McPhee was sentenced to three months’ imprisonment for theft. Baillie Wittet, who was on the bench, said that the charge was a very serious and could not be lightly dealt with. The accused had been at the court on two occasions this year already, under charges of assault and breach of the peace. On these occasions he was offered a fine. On Monday, McPhee pleaded guilty to the theft of a bicycle, the handlebars of which he had later painted green in an attempt to evade discovery. The court heard how on arrest, McPhee had appealed for immediate release, promising to give up drink. Mr McPhee is a character known locally for collecting and selling pine cones, and for appearing to consume a fair amount of drink with the proceeds.
‘Poor Thomasina,’ ah say. ‘God rest her soul. Her family’s aie the talk ae the toun wi her in her grave. Whit can ye dae, though, eh? Whit can ye dae? The tobies ken them too weel noo. O ho! Ye ken whit they tellt me?’
‘Whit’s that, Ma?’
‘They’re watched sae closely they get lifted if they dare tae sae much as fart! O! Ho! Ha! O ho!’
Ah get up tae go, shufflin ma hem ower the flair. At the door ah turn back, screw ma mou like a coo’s arse an blow a ‘pfrrrt’ noise. ‘Oh! There we go! They’ll be comin tae arrest me! O ho!’
The boys laugh till Duncan gets the sneezes.
‘Mind an get some fresh air soon, sons. Tak a wee stroll. Wullie, you send them oot!’
‘Right ye are, Betsy,’ goes the Bissaker.
‘An aw yous stay awa fae those McPhee boys. Ah’m nae wantin oor name in the paper next week.’
It’s dark as the Deil’s den oot tonight. Nae a star in the sky. When ah get intae the hoose ah hear Big Ellen snorin. Ah light a candle an get ready fer ma bed quiet as a wee moosie. At the sink
ah’ve ma auld mirror. Ah look at massel in the light ae the wee flame while the pannie runs, pull ma hair roun like a length ae rope, untie it at the bottom, wind apart the twists. Ma hair’s been slate grey fer years an ah’ve worn it this wye ever since ma weddin day. Almaist reaches doun tae far ma waist once wis! O ho! Ha! Ha!
George loved ma tresses when we met. Used tae be him untied them fer ma each night afore bed. He wis aie gentle. Jock taks after him. He’s the ainly wan. Duncan’s got somethin ae George’s looks, but he has the quick temper ma ain father had, an Jugs is stubborn, affae set in his wyes. He learnt that fae me! There’s a deep wrinkle atween ma eyes fae aw the frownin an sulkin ah’ve done! O ho! Ho! Ha! Wan look at ma face these days an fowk ken they’ve met their match. Ah dinnae get much bother. O ho! Ho! Ha! Ha!
Ah struggle oot ae ma lang black claes an pull oan ma nightdress afore blowin oot the candle an cooriein doun. In ma half sleep that article fae the
Courrant
goes roun an roun ma heid, an ah toss an turn.
There’s Ginger Frank oan his bicycle wi the green handlebars, drunken cheeks, rosy-red like Coco the Cloun, jugglin wi his pine cones. An somehow in the dream the bicycle turns intae a big orange coo. Duncan’s there, an Jugs. Ma Jock’s in a plane flyin ower the big top, wi a lang ribbon oot the back that says ‘
Birthday wishes for my dear mother
’. But then it’s nae a ribbon, it’s ma ain hair, the colour ae a storm, aw loose an flowin oot, an nae a star in the sky.
The next day ah’m gettin the quines ready tae go oot fer cinders. A good bit ae exercise fer the lot ae us. We tak the pram tae fill. Rachel will ride wi Nancy oan the wye, Wee Betsy hangin aff the handlebar, an when the pram’s full we’ll walk hame, except Nancy, who’ll sit oan top ae the cinders.
As we go oot the front door, Wee Betsy runs her haund alang the scuffs oan the wall.
‘Whit did that, Granny? Wis it Jock wi the bikes?’
‘No, quine,’ ah tell her. ‘That wis the coo. Ye ken aboot that.’ ‘The coo?’ Rachel says.
‘Aye. The routler. The coo.’
We bump intae Jock at the gate. He looks aw chuffed wi hissel an he’s haudin a thing like a wee black lunch pail oan a strap.
‘Wee Betsy,’ he goes, pointin tae the auld wall. ‘Go over there. You go an all, Rachel.’
‘Photo!’ Rachel shouts. Betsy starts askin how he got a camera, an the twa ae them get so excited ah hae tae tell them tae wheesht.
‘A pal lent it. Stand there. Okay.’
Wee Betsy bends ower tae pull her kilt doun a bittie. It’s gettin too wee fer her, an her daddy teases her fer her knobbly knees. Then she stands grinnin wi her chin up, an Jock maks the camera tak a photie. He turns roun.
‘Ma! Say cheese.’
‘O ho! Ho! Ha!’ ah go. ‘Whit’s ye wantin a photie ae an auld wifey fer?’ But Uncle Jock’s already taken another.
‘That’s the photo shoot over,’ he tells us, an he waves an runs awa up the Lane tae the store. Wi aw the excitement ah almost forget whit it wis me an the lassies were oot fer. The sight ae the pram reminds me. Poor Wee Nancy’s still sittin there good as gold, waitin tae go fer the coal. We didnae even get a photie ae her.
‘Tell us the coo story,’ says Rachel aw ae a sudden.
‘Again? No, bairns. Ah’ve tellt ye aboot thon daft coo a hunnerd times afore.’
‘Sooo,’ Wee Betsy’s whinin. ‘Ye tell us other stories a hundred times.’
An then ah remember the dream ah had, oor Ginger Frank in the circus an thon bicycle turnin intae a coo. Ah laugh at massel. O ho! Ha! Ha!
‘Fair enough, bairnies,’ ah go. ‘Ah’ll tell ye fer the last time.
An ainly cause it wis the wan time thon Uncle Frank McTootie ae yours haed his name put in the paper fer a good deed! The wan an ainly time.’
‘Goodie!’ goes Rachel. ‘The coo!’
‘Quiet, noo! When we first moved intae Hill Terrace we used tae jist bide the winter, me an yer grandfather George an oor bairns. It wis afore the twa ae yous were even thought ae. We still travelled every summer. Back then, the farmers used tae tak the coos tae the market alang the High Street. Right past the bottom ae oor Lane! Can ye imagine whit that wis like, bairns? O ho! Ho! Ha! ha! So wan day, this coo, great orange beast it wis, managed tae run awa fae the herd. An far did it go?’
‘Up Lady Lane!’ they both shout.
‘The very same! Up oor Lane. An nae ainly that. It didnae stop there. This coo came right intae oor front door, which wis left wide open while yer daft daddy wis standin like a useless craitur at yer mammy’s gate. He wis sae taken wi the lassie next door, he nivver even seen this beast walkin intae his ain hoose till it wis too late. The coo crossed the threshold.
‘By the time Duncan got tae the door he found he couldnae get back inside. This coo’s arse wis sae wide it filled the hale ae the hallway. O ho! Ho! Ha! Ha! Yer daddy wis nae very good wi cattle. He wis a wee bit feart an he didnae ken whit tae dae. But he gied this coo a wallop oan the haunches wi a stick, then a wee tug oan its tail. “Help!” he cried oot. “Daddy, come quick.”’
Wee Betsy an Rachel are almost greetin fae laughter cause they ken whit’s next. Ah go oan.
‘George wis lightin the fire in the room on the bottom. O ho! Hearin Duncan’s voice he popped his heid intae the hall. Jist then the coo let oot the maist angry MOOOOO! any human has ever heard. An yer granddaddy wis face tae face wi this monster. O ho! Ho! Well, George jumped back, an the coo, haein had enough ae the slaps Duncan wis giein it, bolted forward. Beast took itself right up the dancers! Right up tae yer room, quines,
where it nigh-on gied poor Auntie Jeannie a heart attack as it lay doun oan her newly laundered sheets an brought her hale beadstead tae the flair wi an almighty CLAP!’
Rachel claps her haunds. ‘Did anyone tak a photie, Granny?’
‘Aye, quines, they did. A manny fae the paper came, alang wi three or four farmers, a group ae tourists fae London, the hale ae the Lane an twa tobies’.
‘What did they do?’
‘Oh, me! They roared an shoved at thon coo. Brought handfuls ae the greenest grass tae tempt it. Tied tows roun it. Could they move the beast? Nae a chance. The thing wis as stubborn as yer auld granny! O ho! Ha! Ha! Ha! Nae a soul could mak it budge back doun those dancers. There wis three ae them mannys at its arse, an another twa ae them at the bottom ae the dancers haudin oantae a tow tied roun the coo’s neck. Heavin an ho-in aw mornin. There wis sweat pourin aff these mannys. Ah wis feart they were gonnae shoot the poor beast. But they didnae have tae. Cause dae ye ken who saved the day?’
‘Who?’
‘It wis yer uncle Frank McTootie. Ginger Frank, the wan an ainly, tough as auld boots wi his flamin red hair. He wis the ainly manny wi the gaul tae stand beside the coo oan the dancers, orra-lookin beast that it wis. He stood jist wan step below it. An he took that coo in his bloody great arms an whispered sweet nothins in its lug. He stroked an smooth-talked the craitur doun, wan step at a time. Ah swear he looked intae that coo’s een an it fell in love wi him. Weel seen it took him fer a bull! O ho! Ho! Ha! Ha!
‘That Thursday next there wis a photie in the paper. It wis the coo, safely back ootside the door an giein thon Ginger Frank a smooch the likes ae whit ye’ll ainly see oan the silver screen. Oh, me!’
We mak oor wye tae the gasworks. Ah allow a wee detour past the grocer’s tae gie the quines a look at thon queer neds they
put in the paper. Rachel says they’re ‘silly tatties,’ an ah say, ‘Aye, jist like us!’ The pair ae them can go haukin the neds next year. They can tak the van tae the fields wi their mammy an she’ll gie them each a wee bucket fae Woolworths tae fill aw on their ain. Then the farmer’ll gie them some pocket money.
Nancy’s happy in the pram, flappin her arms aboot. Rachel helps me tae push, an Wee Betsy goes oot in front. She scuffs her toes cause ah cannae go fast enough fer her wi the heavy pram an ma auld bones. Aye, weel, it’s wan too mony birthdays has seen tae that!
Dawn
The park was exactly the same as she remembered it. There was a lake with an island for boats to circle, pedalos that rudely churned the water, and swans turning away their long necks. The only difference was the small painted booth that had once sold drinks and snacks. It looked empty now.
Dad and Maeve were feeding the ducks. The park was Dad’s favourite place. He took a stroll through it every day to stretch his legs and get a bit of space. He’d started using a stick, but right now he was waving it to shoo the geese that frightened Maeve. It was strange, she thought, how small a thing could bring two people closer. How little it took.
Linda was with her on the bench.
Look at that! Linda said. He loves her.
It had been his idea, Sunday in the park and all his girls together.
Mother came back from the café with ice cream, coffee in polystyrene cups for Linda and Dawn, and two long packets of sugar. She handed an ice cream to Maeve and kept one for herself, a strawberry Cornetto. She took Dad’s hand and they started to walk round the lake, Maeve following. They’d never been the holding-hands type but they seemed to lean on each other a wee bit now.
Dawn’s best memory of living with them was of Sunday afternoons, a big lunch and flippy dreams on a full belly. She was always sent upstairs for a nap, and in the front room Dad played his accordion, tapping his foot in time. When Mother closed Dawn’s bedroom door she rolled over and looked at the wall. The paper was patterned with green leaves, and she’d stare at it through half-shut eyes, listening to Dad’s accordion floating up the stairs. Ooom pa pa, ooom pa pa.
The wallpaper was magic. The leafy pattern shuffled itself up and turned into pictures. There were wee men with top hats walking their dogs. On fine days they doffed their hats and the dogs wagged their tails, and in bad weather the ladies carried brollies to keep the wet off. They wore bell-shaped skirts like Mary Poppins in the film. Everyone danced to Dad’s waltz. Ooom pa pa, ooom pa pa. The leafy shoes tip-tapped her to sleep.
The day she went to live with Shirley, she sat on the bed watching her mother folding vests, rolling socks into balls and flinging them at the suitcase like peeled tatties into a pan. Dad was in the doorway.
Can I take the wallpaper? she’d said. Dad laughed and Mother got cross with him.