Chapter Thirty
Helen trudged through the black snow, trying tae avoid the mucky puddles left in the wake ae the feet that hid been pounding the pavements in search ae fresh breid and milk. The shoaps hid only opened fur the first time that morning, efter the New Year’s shut-doon. As people wished her a Happy New Year, she played a game ae ‘spot-the-money,’ trying tae work oot which wans still hid a few bob tucked away in their purses. Wae some, it wis obvious, like auld Elaine Hinky and Mary Flint, who’d hid a run ae wins at the bingo jist before Christmas, bit there wis an odd wan she wis surprised tae see scurrying up the road wae a fresh loaf sticking oot ae their shoapping bag. She knew there wid be very few ae her cronies oot and aboot. She never knew anywan who bought same-day loaves, unless they wur really lucky and managed tae get their hauns oan some at the end ae that first opening day, before the Co-op or the bakers shut up at five o’clock. A few years back, Helen hid gied up looking fur fresh breid oan day wan efter the festive season. It hid been the wan day ae the year, alang wae the first opening day efter Christmas, that she knew that aw the shoaps wid manage tae shift their boards ae loaves withoot any bother. If they hid any spare slices left in their packets fae before New Year’s Day, Helen and the lassies usually put oot the word amongst themsels tae let each other know that they hid a wee bit ae surplus. She stoapped and turned tae see who’d interrupted her contemplation.
“Helen, Helen, hing oan!”
“Brenda, how ur ye daeing, hen? Happy New Year, by the way,” Helen shouted tae the wee fat wummin who wis carrying two full shoapping bags, dodging the traffic and trying tae cross Springburn Road tae Helen’s side, withoot being flattened by a number forty five bus.
“Fur the mother ae God, Helen, hiv ye goat ear plugs stuck in yer lugs or whit? Ah’ve been screaming at ye, like a wummin possessed, fur the last three hunner yards, so Ah hiv. Hauf ae Springburn must’ve heard me...apart fae you, that is,” Brenda panted, arriving safely in wan piece.
“Aw sorry, Brenda, Ah cannae hear a bloody sound wae this scarf ae mine wrapped roond ma heid, especially wae me facing intae the wind.”
“Aye, ye look like a wummin oan a mission, so ye dae,” Brenda sighed, putting her bags doon oan tae a clean bit ae snow underneath Salty Tony’s shoap windae.
“Ach, ye know whit it’s like? So, how ur ye daeing, hen?”
“Apart fae ma bunions oan they feet ae mine and ma piles feeling like there’s a bunch ae grapes hinging oot ae ma arse, fine and dandy, so Ah am.”
“Ach, Ah’m sorry tae hear that, Brenda. Ah did think ye wur walking a wee bit funny as ye wur trying tae dodge that big bus, so Ah did.”
“Ye kin see why they named a film efter them.”
“Film? Them? Whit film wid that be then?”
“The wan wae that Henry Ford wan, girning aw the way through it.”
“Whit? The Grapes ae Wrath?”
“Aye, that’s the wan...whoever came up wae that name knew fine well whit they wur talking aboot, so they did.”
“Aye, well, there, bit fur the grace ae God, eh?” Helen cooed, sounding sympathetic, bit appreciating Brenda’s analogy and trying no tae pish hersel laughing.
“Ach, if only they bus drivers knew whit they wur dealing wae, they’d maybe think twice before they hit the accelerator when they clocked some poor soul like masel, struggling tae get across no man’s land in wan piece. Somewan should report the basturts, so they should.”
“Anyway, whit ur ye up tae, Brenda?” Helen asked her, trying tae get in there quick before Brenda goat started oan her favourite subject ae slagging aff the city’s bus drivers.
“Bring back the tram cars, that’s whit Ah say. At least they never chased ye aw o’er the road, the way they madmen in the buses dae these days, who it’s obvious, hate the sight ae us wummin, so they dae. Ah suppose it’s their wives gieing them a right deserving bit ae stick that gets them aw riled up and makes them want tae take it oot oan us poor pedestrians, gaun aboot oor daily business.”
“Aye, well Brenda...”
“And then there’s the uniform. Ma Frank always said that, as soon as ye put somewan in a uniform, then ye’ve created a shitehoose fur life, so ye hiv.”
“So, Brenda...”
“And don’t get me started oan they bus clippies. Apart fae the odd exception like Dizzy, that cousin ae mine, they’re the biggest fascists this side ae the Berlin Gate, so they ur...and them being maistly aw wummin as well. Ma Frank says tha...”
“Brenda, wis there anything in particular that ye wanted tae speak tae me aboot?” Helen shouted above the howling ae the wind, shivering like a naked snowman.
“Oh, aye, right…sorry, Helen, hen. Ah’ve goat a wee present fur you and the lassies tae share oot amongst yersels. Ye’ve jist saved me a journey up tae yer end ae Gourlay street, so ye hiv,” Brenda said, bending o’er and taking two plain loaves oot ae her bag.
“Aw, Brenda, is that no nice ae ye? And fresh as well,” Helen said, squeezing the loaves between her frozen fingers.
“Aye, well, it wis ma turn fur ma menodge number this week and it’s been burning a hole in that purse ae mine’s since Hogmanay. Kin ye imagine how that feels? Me sitting at hame oan ma sore arse wae three pounds hard cash and naewhere tae spend it because ae they shoapkeepers no working o’er the New Year? It wis worse than hivving the toothache, so it wis.”
Helen hid furgoatten that Brenda’s number hid been up that week. Efter moving up fae the Toonheid tae Springburn a few years earlier, Helen hid set up a local neighbours’ menodge club. Each week, aw the lassies put four bob intae the pot. There wis presently thirty wan wummin in the club. Each wan who joined received a number which corresponded tae a week and when her week came roond, she goat aw the money fae the pot in wan go. It wis straight forward enough. Helen wis number wan, so every thirty wan weeks, efter paying in her four bob each week, she goat everywan’s four bob fae the pot. Efter her, Sharon Campbell wis number two, Soiled Sally wis three, then came Issie, Betty, Christine fae doon the stairs, auld Mrs McInally, The Cat Wummin, then Anne and so forth. It wis a fabulous feeling fur whoever’s number came up that week. It meant that any tic owed tae Sherbet in the corner shoap could be paid aff, or wan ae the lassie’s weans could get decked oot wae new shoes fur school. The menodge club kept the wolf fae the door. Despite everywan being notorious fur no paying their bills, everywan paid their four bob in oan time, even if it meant cashing in their Embassy and Kensitas fag coupons at Sherbet's tae pay their dues fur that week. If things goat desperate, some ae the wummin wid swop their numbers aboot so they could get their money early, although, oan the whole, maist people wur superstitious and stuck tae the original number they goat issued wae when they first joined. So far, nobody who’d joined up hid drapped oot.
“Look, Brenda, Ah’m gonnae hiv tae get ma skates oan. Ah’ve goat tae nip up and meet The Reverend Flaw’s wife at the manse. She wis expecting me aboot ten minutes ago, so she wis,” Helen said, unfolding the cloth shoapping bag that she kept in her coat pocket and stuffing the loaves intae it.
“Oh, right. Well, ye better no keep her waiting then...ye know whit these Christian wans ur like, especially if she’s the minister’s other hauf.”
“Brenda, ye’re a kind soul, so ye ur, hen. Ah’ll make sure everywan gets some slices ae breid, including auld Mrs McInally oan the ground flair.”
“Aye, well, mind and tell her the breid’s fur her and no aw they pishy cats ae hers,” Brenda warned her, picking up her bags and shuffling aff towards Gourlay Street.
Helen crossed the road and slipped her haun through the haundle ae her bag and stuffed baith hauns deep intae her coat pockets. It hid started snowing heavily and the wind wis chucking it intae her face as she passed the train station oan her right. She wis starting tae feel a wee bit nervous, bit excited at the same time. Although her teeth wur chattering and her body wis being wracked wae her shivering, she felt a warm glow ae excitement inside as she saw the manse hoose looming up in front ae her.
Chapter Thirty One
Susan Flaw put the kettle oan tap ae the stove. She’d been surprised by the arrival ae her visitor. She’d been expecting Helen Taylor, who’d sent word the day before, asking if she could come aroond tae the manse tae hiv a chat wae her. Susan smiled, thinking aboot the way people went aboot their business. She’d stoapped questioning the rationale behind the methodology used by Glaswegians when they wished tae communicate wae each other or in their approach tae her and Donald. She could write a book oan Glaswegian approaches and introductions. It hidnae taken her long efter arriving in Glesga tae jist sit back and let people take the lead in their ain time and manner. Her first encounter wae the Glaswegian approach hid been when wan ae the local wummin hid wanted tae be heid volunteer at the Sunday evening children’s club. The chairman ae the Kirk session committee hid informed Susan that the club wid be her responsibility the day efter her and Donald hid first arrived. Susan’s first visitor, Marjory Dorsey, hid arrived and hid gone oan and oan aboot how she loved weans, apart fae her doonstairs neighbour’s boys, who wur apparently the personifications ae aw things evil.
“Don’t get me wrang, Mrs Flaw...Ah’m aw fur turning the other cheek and aw that...jist ask anywan...bit God or no, the first chance Ah get tae take ma haun aff ae they ootsize lugs oan the pair ae them, Ah’ll be in there quicker than that Delilah wis when that Samson wan eventually agreed he wis in desperate need ae a haircut, so Ah will,” she’d panted at a hunner miles an hour.
“Er, right, Mrs Dorsey, and this has to do wit…” Susan hid tried tae reply, no too sure whit wis being said or asked ae her.
“And snappers? Ye jist need tae ask anywan aboot here and they’ll swear oan the good book that when it comes tae weans, Ah’m the Pied Piper ae Springburn, so Ah am. They’ll dae anything Ah ask ae them…apart fae that pair ae wee cretins doon the stairs fae me that make ma life hell…no that they coont, mind ye.”
“Right, so…”
“When Ah snap they fingers ae mine, aw they weans jist dive intae the Christian gospel storybooks, so they dae. Christ, that wee Bobby Stewart...the wan that’s always shiting himsel in front ae everywan...even asked me the other Sunday there if Ah wis an angel sent doon fae heaven. Kin ye imagine? Me? Marjory Dorsey, an angel? Ah didnae want tae disappoint him, so Ah jist telt him Ah wis only part-time and that Ah’d been sent by the heid angel tae tell him that he’s tae stoap keeking his breeks because he's a big boy noo. And dae ye know whit, Mrs Flaw? He never shat his pants fur two Sundays oan the trot efter that, so he didnae,” Marjory hid beamed in wonder, looking heavenwards.
“But, what is it that you need from me, Mrs Dorsey?” Susan hid finally managed tae slip in.
“Hiv ye no been listening tae a word ae whit Ah’ve been harping oan aboot, Mrs Flaw? Ah’m applying fur the heid volunteer’s position in the Sunday Snappers’ Club. Ah kin get ye a barrow load ae references, if ye want?” Marjory hid volunteered, clearly oblivious that Susan could barely understaun a word ae whit wis being asked ae her, due tae Marjory’s strong Glaswegian accent.
Susan hid managed, somehow, tae put aff haunin o'er responsibility ae the children and other volunteers at that time, mumbling something aboot wishing tae take her time before making any important decisions. It hid certainly been a learning curve though. Eventually, those who Susan encountered wid open up, be frank, and get tae the point. The day before, in the efternoon, she hidnae been expecting visitors, although it wisnae unusual fur parishioners tae arrive unannounced, oot ae the blue. When the doorbell hid rung, she’d thought that it must be an emergency. Whoever wis ootside, hid kept their finger pressed hard against the button, so the bell hid rung incessantly until she’d finally managed tae get the door open. Unfortunately, the door hid been locked and she’d hid tae scutter aroond the kitchen till, at last, she’d found the key sitting oan the sink drainer. She’d been pleasantly surprised, and concerned, tae see a young girl, probably ae aboot nine or ten years ae age, staunin oot in the cauld, teeth chattering, trying unsuccessfully tae pass oan a garbled message ae some sort.
“Look, in you come. Let’s get into the warmth before the both of us freeze to death, eh?” she’d said tae the girl.
The girl hid hesitated ever so slightly, before gratefully bolting in through the open door.
“Just go through to the kitchen,” Susan hid said wae a nod towards the door at the far end ae the hallway.
When Susan hid eventually made it through tae the kitchen, efter shutting the door and pulling o'er the curtain that she used as a draught excluder, the girl wis awready sitting oan the edge ae a kitchen chair, one erm resting oan the table, wae wan bare leg swinging back and forth, nonchalantly humming a tune tae hersel. The girl hid seemed entranced by her surroundings, while at the same time, looked tae be totally unperturbed by being in a strange hoose. She’d continued tae hum, taking in the layoot ae the room, wae its over-stacked book shelves, wae a keen interest showing in her green, shining eyes. Susan hid noticed that she wis wearing whit appeared tae be a pair ae her dad’s socks underneath a pair ae thin, dirty white and wet, canvas shoes. Her coat, though buttoned up, hid seemed tae Susan, tae be mair appropriate fur summer wear, rather than fur the middle ae a Glesga winter. The child’s face seemed deathly pale, and although her chattering teeth hid stoapped rattling, she’d still involuntarily shivered every few seconds in fitful bursts. Her heid and face wur surrounded by a mass ae mousy coloured curls. Susan remembered thinking that she’d the face ae an angel.
“Right then, first things first, young lady. Let’s get you a warm drink, shall we?” Susan hid said, pouring milk intae a saucepan.
Susan hid sat silently, opposite the girl, trying desperately no tae cry and reach oot tae draw the girl intae her erms, tae cuddle her in her warm bosom. She’d felt the mothering instinct rise up deep within her and thought aboot her ain daughter, noo at university. Susan hid watched the girl take her time in nibbling the sticky bun that Susan hid placed wordlessly doon oan the table in front ae the girl as the wee soul took small sips fae the warm glass ae milk she’d cupped in her hauns. Susan hid felt hersel smile at the appearance ae a white moustache oan the child’s upper lip. The girl hid made nae attempt tae explain why she wis there, bit insteid, hid continued tae take a keen interest in her surroundings. Susan hid, at first, thought that the girl might be mute. She’d been unable tae stoap hersel fae smiling, when the girl hid unexpectedly burped quietly, before wiping the milk moustache aff her lip wae her coat sleeve, looking apologetically across at Susan, as she spoke fur the first time.
“Oh, er, sorry, Mrs,” she’d said, in a strong Glaswegian accent, that seemed at odds wae the angelic image ae moments earlier.
“Please don’t apologise, dear, it’s only you and I that are here, and I certainly won’t be telling anyone. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Mary...Mary McManus. Ye kin call me Wee Mary. That’s whit everywan else dis, so they dae.”
“Oh,” Helen hid said, feeling her heid suddenly spin.
Donald, her husband, hid conducted a funeral service fur a young lad the previous Friday...Hogmanay. The boy hid only been eighteen-years-auld and hid been stabbed tae death in the street, jist a few days before Christmas. Although the youth hid been baptised a Catholic, his mother, Issie McManus, hid insisted that she didnae want her son’s funeral tae take place across in St Teresa’s chapel in Possilpark, oan account ae the family priest supposedly being slow in contacting the family efter the terrible incident. Donald hid attempted tae mediate and bring Father John, the family’s priest and the McManus’s together, bit the parents, though the father in particular, hid been set against any reconciliation. Susan knew that the mother, Issie, whom Susan hid never met, wis wan ae Helen Taylor’s friends.
“Well, Mary, and what brings you around here on a cold day like today?” Susan hid asked her.
“Ma Maw asked me tae run a message fur Helen, so she did.”
“Helen? You mean Helen Taylor?”
“Aye. Ah hiv tae ask ye if it wid be awright fur Helen tae come roond the morra morning aboot eleven, as she wants tae hiv a blether wae ye...if that’s awright wae yersel.”
“Tomorrow? Yes, of course, that would be quite alright. Did she say what it was about?”
“Naw, that’s it, missus.”
“Well, please tell her that I’ll look forward to seeing her. And Mary, please call me Susan. My friends call me Susan. Hopefully, you can be my friend and feel free to pop in to the manse here for a warm glass of milk and a sticky bun anytime you want.”
“Really?”
“Of course you can.”
“Right, well, Ah better be offskie and get back doon the road then. Ta fur the fine sticky bun and the hot milk.”
And wae that, Wee Mary hid stood up, wae a big smile oan her face and hid heided fur the kitchen door.
“See ye, missus,” she’d yelled o’er the noise ae the wind, before disappearing intae the swirling snow.
Susan looked at her unexpected visitor sitting across fae her.
“Right, Mr Mann, one spoonful or two?” Susan asked him, holding up the sugar bowl.
“Five, if ye don’t mind, hen. And it’s Charlie tae ma friends, so it is,” he said, taking aff his coat and laying it across the back ae the kitchen chair beside him.
“So, Mr Mann, er, Charlie, I’m afraid I don’t really know when my husband will be back. It could be in the next five minutes, or it could be in a couple of hours. Can I take a message perhaps?” Susan asked him, pouring the tea and hoping that he wid take the hint and leave, before Helen arrived.
It soon became obvious that Charlie Mann wisnae in a hurry tae go anywhere. In fact, Charlie Mann didnae seem tae be in a hurry fur anything. He jist sat there, gieing Susan the occasional smile, as he took sip efter sip ae his tea.
“Ahhh, ye cannae whack a good cup ae char, so ye cannae,” he repeated every noo and again, loudly smacking they lips ae his.
It took five cups ae tea and two trips tae the bathroom, before he opened up, surprising Susan wae his opening line and topic ae conversation.
“It wisnae that man ae yers that Ah wanted tae talk tae, Mrs Flaw.”
“Oh?”
“Naw, it wis yer good self, so it wis.”
“Oh, right, well, please don’t let me hold you back any longer then, Mr, er, Charlie,” she replied, surprise in her voice, looking across at the auld man sitting there in collarless shirt and braces, still wearing his bunnet.
“Right, Ah’ll jist start then,” he said, before sinking back intae the same suspended stupor that seemed tae take o'er him efter his first sip ae tea earlier.
“Yes, Mr Ma, er, Charlie, you were about to say?”
“Oh aye, as Ah wis jist saying, it wis yersel that Ah wanted tae hiv a wee pow-wow wae, oan the QT…if ye know whit Ah mean,” he replied, tapping the side ae his nose wae an auld gnarled, nicotine-stained finger.
“Good...please carry on...Charlie,” Susan said quickly, not hivving a clue whit hid jist been said.
“Is it true that ye wur involved in helping that Anthony Wedgewood Benn wan tae get elected doon in Englandshire?”
“Oh, well, I was part of his election team, along with a whole host of other, more experienced people than myself. Why?”
“Aye, Ah like that, so Ah dae.”
“What?”
“Yer modesty.”
“No, seriously, Mr Mann. I was far more junior and inexperienced than most of the other volunteers. In fact, I probably learned more from them than what they would ever have got back from me in return. Most of the time, my job entailed stuffing leaflets through doors and licking postage stamps to send out campaign material.”
“Charlie.”
“What?”
“It’s Charlie.”
“Look, Charlie, it is true I was involved, on the fringes, in Tony Benn’s election campaign in 1963. I don’t know where you got that information from though. Given my husband’s position in the community, it’s something that my husband and I don’t exactly shout from the roof tops...or the pulpit, in his case.”
“And the result wis?” he asked, ignoring her protests.
“He got successfully re-elected as the member for Bristol South East in a by-election, despite my eager, though somewhat ineffectual involvement. Malcolm St Clair, the sitting Conservative MP, who took over Mr Benn’s seat, stood down after the peerage act of that same year was introduced, as part of a gentleman’s agreement between them. It was at the time that Mr Benn was allowed to give up his peerage. Mr Benn had already received a majority vote in the ward in the 1960 general election by the local constituents, even though they knew he wouldn’t be able to take up the seat after becoming a viscount on the death of his father. The result was always a foregone conclusion really. I was a young mother of two young children at the time, living the quiet life of a minister’s wife, trying to encourage parishioners, mostly women, to get involved in the local WRI. I would say that that was hardly someone with political influence over people who had already chosen their man, Mr Mann...er, Charlie.”
“Aye, bit ye wur there, in the thick ae it, insteid ae sitting scoffing aw they delicious wee stoating cakes the wummin ae the WRI ur famous fur churning oot, eh?”