Chapter Seven
Issie and Helen hid hunkered doon, wae the tap ae their heids ploughing intae the gale that wis howling alang Keppochhill Road and hid caught the number thirty seven oan Springburn Road which took them aw the way back doon tae the mortuary in the Saltmarket. It hid been another hectic morning. Jist as Helen hid been putting oan her coat in the lobby, a loud knock oan her door hid startled her. When she’d turned roond, she’d clocked the ootline ae two big bizzys’ heids through the frosted glass. She’d frozen oan the spot. Fae where she wis staunin, she could see the two plump Rob Roy chickens sitting oan tap ae her draining board oan the sink, still hauf frozen fae the day before, due tae the cauldness ae the hoose. She’d held her breath and wondered how long they’d been staunin there and wondered if they could see her ootline. The bedroom door behind her hid been open and the sky fae the windae at the front ae the hoose lit up the far end ae the lobby. She’d felt hersel jumping as the door rattled wae the force ae the chapping. Eventually, wae her mooth as dry as the sole ae an Arab’s sandal, she’d made up her mind, buttoning up her coat as she heided fur the door. When she’d opened it, The Stalker hid been staunin there wae Biscuit Smith, his partner.
“Mrs Taylor?”
“Ah’m in a hurry, so Ah am,” she’d telt them.
“Aye, well, Ah wis wondering if we could hiv a wee word?”
“Whit aboot?”
“Kin we come in fur a minute?”
“Ah telt ye, Ah’m oan ma way oot,” she’d replied, barring the way wae her body, while tying a knot in her heid scarf under her chin.
“Ye widnae want us tae staun oot here oan this cauld landing, discussing yer business in front ae aw and sundry, wid ye?” PC Shiny Buttons, The Stalker's partner, hid asked, voice echoing oan the empty stairheid landing.
“Anything youse hiv goat tae say tae me won’t put me tae shame. Ah’ve nothing tae hide or fear fae ma neighbours,” Helen hid retorted, expecting the chickens tae jump aff her sink any second and run oot clucking that they wur saved at last.
“It’s aboot the warrant sale roond in Endricks Street this coming Friday,” The Stalker hid said, attempting tae saften his original growl.
“Christmas Eve, the season ae peace and goodwill tae aw men,” PC Plod hid reminded her.
“And wummin,” Helen hid shot back, no being able tae contain hersel, despite jist being aboot tae be huckled fur chicken kidnapping.
“We’ve jist come up tae hiv a wee friendly chat aboot how it’s tae be conducted. We wur wondering if there wis any way we kin come tae some kind ae wee arrangement where everywan kin get something positive oot ae the situation,” The Stalker hid said soothingly.
“In this so-called season ae peace and goodwill tae aw men, including aw us wummin and weans, cancelling the warrant sale oan Christmas Eve wid be the best ootcome fur aw concerned. If ye think we’re gonnae staun by and let youse sell the beds fae under the feet ae Mary Porter and her weans, then ye’ve another think coming, so youse hiv,” Helen hid retorted, bristling, as she unhooked her hoose keys fae the string that wis dangling behind her door.
“While Ah agree wae yer sentiments, we’re no in a position tae cancel the sale. Oor job is tae ensure that nowan gets hurt, that the sale proceeds smoothly and the Sheriff officers kin go aboot their official business, unmolested.”
“Look, we’re no interested in the Sheriff officers. We’ll be there tae make sure maggots and leaches who turn up tae benefit and profit aff ae other people’s misery and misfortune, reconsider whether this is the maist appropriate way tae earn a few bob, particularly at this time ae the year,” Helen hid telt them, pulling the door shut behind her as she brushed past them.
“Aw we’re asking ye tae dae is ensure that ye’re no blocking the closemooth or hindering people gaun up and doon the street, gaun aboot their lawful business. Is that too much tae ask fur?” The Stalker hid pleaded wae her, as the two ae them followed her doon the stairs.
“Aye, well, don’t ye worry aboot that...the only people that’ll be gaun up and doon that street will be people coming tae show how angry they ur at whit’s happening tae a single mother and her weans, the day before Christmas. Ah’m sure we’ve goat God oan oor side oan this wan,” Helen hid grunted, leaving them staunin at the front ae her closemooth, as she hurried up towards Gourlay Street and Issie’s hoose.
If that hidnae been bad enough, she’d come across Issie trying tae lift Tam up aff the stairs below her landing where he’d tripped, heid first, pished as a fart, heiding oot tae the licensed grocer’s tae get another bottle ae Auld England sherry.
“Ah tried tae tell the eejit that it wisnae open fur another two hours, bit he widnae listen,” Issie hid said apologetically, as the baith ae them managed tae manhaundle Tam back up oan tae his feet and hauf drag him back up the stairs and intae the hoose.
“Fur Christ’s sake, Tam, whit a state ye’re in,” Helen hid admonished, haudin him steady oan the seat beside the kitchen table, as Issie dipped a dish towel intae the basin in the sink, before pressing it against the bloody gash oan his foreheid.
“Dae ye think he’ll need tae go and get it stitched, Helen?” Issie hid asked, as the baith ae them peered at the wound.
“Probably, bit Ah don’t think they’d entertain him in the state he’s in. Ye’d be better wrapping a towel roond that heid ae his and see if the bleeding stoaps.”
“Right, Tam, ya bloody bampot, ye...Ah’m gonnae wrap a towel roond yer heid tae stoap yer bleeding. Ye’ll hiv tae go back tae yer bed. If ye move aboot, it’ll only get worse, so it will,” Issie hid shouted at him, as the baith ae them humphed Lawrence Ae Arabia through tae the bedroom and slung him doon oan tae the bed.
“Oh, Ah think Ah’ve fractured ma skull, doll,” Tam hid slurred and groaned. “Ye couldnae nip alang tae the LG’s and get me a wee bottle tae stoap the pain, could ye?”
“Ah’ve telt ye, Tam, the bloody licensed grocer’s disnae open tae eleven.”
“Christ, Ah don’t know how ye put up wae it, Issie. If that wis ma man, Ah wid’ve taken a stick tae his bare back long before noo,” Helen hid said wance they wur back through in the kitchen, hivving a fag o’er a cup ae tea.
“He’s still in mourning, so he is. Ah’m sure he’ll come roond in a day or two, Helen. Between getting huckled by the polis and then wae poor Joe, it’s a wonder Ah’m no lying through there pished as well. Ah’m glad Wee Mary his goat school tae go tae. Her and her wee pal hid tae walk doon his back tae get past him this morning. She wis so upset efter he started yelping that the heels ae their shoes wur digging intae his ribs.”
Chapter Eight
“Will ye dae aw the talking, Helen? The thought ae poor Joe lying somewhere in here is gieing me the heebie-jeebies,” Issie sobbed, as they went through the glass panelled door ae the mortuary.
“Hello, Ah’m Mrs Taylor and this is Mrs McManus. We’re here tae pick up the death certificate ae Joe McManus,” Helen informed the receptionist.
“Okay, let me see...McManus, ye said?” asked the receptionist, picking up a clip-board before starting tae rustle through the sheets.
“Aye, Joe, er, Joseph McManus…a young boy…” Helen said, haudin Issie up as the baith ae them stared at the thick sheaf ae paper oan the clipboard.
“Johnston, Murphy, Ralston, Baker, McLeod, another Ralston…nae relation,” the receptionist murmured, looking up at them wae a wee apologetic smile, in case she hid confused them. “Sweeney, MacDonald, Mitchell, Henderson, McCauley, Thompson, Gibb, Sing, McGregor, Fredrico…he’s Atalian, that wan,”
Helen cocked her ears as the eerie sounds ae Mark Dinning’s ‘Teen Angel’ began tae waft through the place.
“Ah don’t want tae appear cheeky, hen, bit is it no kind ae creepy listening tae that kind ae stuff in a place like this?” Helen asked the receptionist, shivering.
“Oh, dae ye think so? Ah must say, Ah like it masel. It seems so, so appropriate, so it dis.”
“Ach, well, everywan tae their ain, Ah suppose,” Helen tutted, turning tae see where Issie hid disappeared tae and relieved tae see her plapping her arse doon oan tae an auld rickety chair, clearly upset at the sound ae the music.
“McPhee, Innes, Martin, O’Conner, Conner, Halston, McGinchy…McManus! There ye go, hen. Joseph McManus, male, born 8
th
November 1953, Glasgow. Admitted oan December the 18
th
, 1971. Died as a result ae multiple stab wounds, blah, blah, blah and aw that. Is that him?” Miss Subtle enquired, as ‘Deid Man’s Curve’ by Jan and Dean started up and Issie fled through the doors intae the street.
“Aye, that wid be him,” Helen snarled, feeling upset hersel, bit haudin it thegither tae stoap hersel fae punching the stroppy cow oan that over-made-up face ae hers.
“Sign here then, hen.”
“Whereaboots?”
“Here, then here, then there,” Miss Pan Stick Heid drawled, pointing wae a red nail-varnished finger, that looked as if a hungry rat hid chewed it doon tae the wick, as Helen scrawled her name.
“Is that it?” Helen asked her.
“Aye, the undertaker will take it fae there wance he sees the certificate. Look, Ah really shouldnae be saying this…” the receptionist said, looking aboot and lowering her voice tae a whisper.
“Aye, Ah know, go tae Clydeside Funeral Directors across in Tradeston because they’re the cheapest,” Helen said, drily.
“Oh, and by the way? Ah’m sorry fur yer loss, hen,” the lying cow hid the cheek tae say, as Helen rushed through the doors in search ae Issie.
“Issie, Issie, ur ye awright, hen? My God, that wis terrible, so it wis. Imagine playing aw that creepy music in a place like that, eh?”
“Ah wisnae too bothered aboot the music playing, Helen….bit Ah jist cannae bloody staun that pair ae jessies, Jan and Dean. Their stuff is crap, so it is,” Issie declared, as they held oan tae each other, heiding towards The Albert Bridge, tae take them across the Clyde tae Tradeston and the undertaker’s.
Chapter Nine
Helen wondered if looking like an undertaker wis aw part ae the training. Her initial comparison ae the two pinstripe-troosered crows, staunin in front ae her and Issie, wis wae Laurel and Hardy. The fat wan, who wis daeing aw the talking, looked and sounded as if he’d gone tae The School Fur Second-haun Car Salesmen, while the other wee skinny runt jist kept gulping and nodding his heid up and doon, tae confirm that everything Fatty wis saying wis straight oot ae the gospels. Helen wis conscious ae how much stress and sadness aw this wis causing Issie, so, oot ae respect, decided she’d let Issie haundle the situation, while she’d jist staun back and enjoy the show. She’d always hid a saft spot fur fly-men, due tae the fact that they always worked hard tae improve oan their performance, so insteid ae urging caution oan Issie, she’d made the mistake ae letting them get oan wae it…by haudin that tongue ae hers.
“And it’s a burial ye’ve decided upon, is it, Mrs McManus?”
“Aye, Ah widnae feel right gaun fur a cremation. Hellfire and damnation and aw that,” Issie replied apologetically.
Issie wis staunin, being held up by Helen, oan a white painted line at wan end ae a row ae upturned, empty coffins, which wur displayed in the middle ae the room.
“Look, hen, we aw know how much ae a sad occasion this is, and him being so young tae boot, so getting the best wan tae fit the occasion is hauf the battle, so it is. Wance the next-ae-kin decide oan the appropriate funeral and casket, everything else usually jist draps intae place, so it dis.”
“Aye, it dis that, hen,” Stan Laurel soothed, confirming whit Oliver Hardy hid jist stated wis the God’s honest truth.
“So, if ye’d like tae look alang this line here. This is the Apollo range…aw haunmade in oor ain factory. We’ll start fae the, er, cheaper end ae the catalogue, and work oor way up tae the crème-de-la-crème end. Noo, listen, hen, it’s important that ye don’t feel under any pressure whitsoever and ur no ashamed aboot no gaun fur the ‘Absolute’ at the end ae the line. That wan is usually used for burying Bishops, High Court judges, big car dealers, gangsters and local Corporation cooncillors, so ye’re no under any pressure, so ye’re no. Is that okay? Will we jist start, hen?”
“Aye, right, Mr, oh, er, Ah’m sorry, Ah’ve forgotten yer name again.”
“Depardieu. It’s French, so it is. Ma maw and da arrived here jist efter the war and never went back, so they didnae.”
“Aye, well, Mr Departure, Ah’m no sure we’ll be journeying far alang this line here, given that it’ll be a NAB funeral,” Issie admitted, clearly feeling ashamed and avoiding they sly eyes ae The Jackal, while gripping Helen’s erm tight against her thin body.
“Don’t ye worry aboot a thing, Mrs McManus. Ah totally understaun where ye’re coming fae. There’s nae shame tae that in here. Jist look upon it that, at least it’s no yersel that’ll hiv tae pick up the tab, eh? That’s whit's so wonderful aboot the caring society we live in nooadays, so it is. We’re aw entitled tae a wee haun noo and again, so we ur. Thank God fur the welfare state, that’s aw Ah kin say.”
“Er, aye, Ah suppose, when ye put it like that.”
“So, here we ur then. This first wan is The Apollo Tontine, which is yer normal standard, laminated cardboard, made tae look like mahogany wood. It’s goat a nice pink nylon imitation Shanghai petal silk interior, although it disnae come wae padding or haundles. The training oan lifting it in and oot ae the car and chapel fur family members and friends is included in the price. This wan is maistly used fur cremations.”
“Ooh, Ah don’t like the sound ae that. Don’t get me wrang, it still looks nice, though,” Issie said apologetically, running her haun doon the nylon interior and catching the faint sound ae static crackling under her fingertips.
“The second wan, The Tontine Two, is much the same as the first, although the crimpolene lining in this wan is shaped tae gie ye the illusion that it’s padded. It’s the matching pink buttons embedded throughoot the imitation Shanghai petal silk interior that enhances the lines ae the crimpolene fur effect. This wan dis include haundles. Wance again, we throw in lifting training as part ae the deal. Ye widnae believe the amount ae people, maistly they big labourers or coalmen, who jist grab haud ae the haundles and gie them a wrench when trying tae pick the coffin up. We kin usually cope wae wan or two, bit when aw the haundles come aff at the same time, it kin be a wee bit distressing fur the family, especially seeing their beloved being manhaundled up oan tae the shoulders ae pallbearers who ur usually aw different shapes and sizes,” Oliver said, wae a straight face, as Stan tut-tutted behind him, clearly picturing the last time this catastrophe hid happened.
“And this wan?” Helen asked, clearly furgetting she wis there tae keep her trap shut.
“Ah, noo this wan...this wan is The Apollo Launch. It comes in teak laminate as well as mahogany and includes baith haundles and real padding. Similar construction tae the Tontines, bit a lot mair sturdy. If ye compare the thickness ae this wan and The Tontine Two ye’ve jist looked at, ye’ll see that we’re talking aboot a good quarter ae an inch thicker oan the body, so we ur. This wan is quite popular wae the aulder generation, so it is… especially wae the wives.”
“Really?” Issie asked, looking fae wan tae the other.
“Oh aye, it’s usually the auld wummin who choose this wan fur their other hauf. Looks the part, bit is as cheap as a poke ae chips. Good seller, so it is.”
“He’s only eighteen,” Issie murmured, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Aye, it’s a liberty, so it is, Mrs McManus. Dae ye want me tae get Mr Morrell here tae get ye a wee cup ae tea tae sip, as we heid tae the next wan in the line?” Hardy asked, as Stan Laurel, looking as eager as a gluttonous monkey, stood facing Helen and Issie, while blocking the path tae the chairs that they’d been sitting oan before inspecting the coffin parade.
“Er, naw, Ah’ll…Ah’ll be okay, Mr Departure, bit…er, thanks fur the offer. That’s very kind ae ye,” Issie said appreciatively.
Helen wis noo kicking hersel. This two wur in a league ae their ain and Issie wis diving fae the tap board, heid first, towards ‘The Absolute’ at the far end ae the line.
“So, whit kind ae cost ur we talking aboot here?” Helen asked, trying tae sound impartial.
“Oh, we’d need tae look at the overall costs, alang wae the rest ae the associated requirements and take everything intae consideration,” Oliver Hardy crowed wae that forked tongue ae his.
“Aye...like the hearse and the lead car...whether Mrs McManus will need additional cars...then there’s the priest and the plot...“
“There will be nae priest at ma boy’s funeral!” Issie hissed bitterly, deflecting Helen’s intervention, as the pair ae crows shot daggers at her wae they eyes ae theirs, fur trying tae interfere wae their well-rehearsed flair-show.
Efter Issie hid goat the news aboot Joe, she’d expected Father John tae appear at her door, tae offer her and Tam a wee bit ae comfort, even though she hidnae been tae confession fur a while. Oan the Saturday…two days efter the stabbing…wan ae the local ministers hid turned up at her door, asking if there wis anything he could dae fur her. Issie hid thanked him, peering o’er his shoulders, oot intae the empty stairheid landing, and hid said that she wis expecting Father John at any minute. Oan the Monday past, the minister, a Reverend Flaw, hid turned up again…this time, wae a bag ae groceries and an envelope wae a fiver in it fae his congregation. He widnae stay fur a cup ae tea, bit hid telt Issie tae gie him a shout if she needed anything else. He’d left efter saying that him and his congregation wid pray fur young Joe and the family. Tam, Issie’s man, hid been gaun oan aboot him fur days, aboot how good he’d been tae them, considering they wur Papists…and how handy the fiver wid be, seeing as Auld England sherry cost twelve and a tanner a bottle. Father John hid still no darkened Issie’s door, as far as Helen knew.
“Look, why don’t we go and hiv a wee seat wae a cup ae tea, Issie, eh? It'll gie ye time tae get yer breath back,” Helen pleaded, tae the dismay ae Laurel and Hardy.
“Naw, naw, Helen, we’ll need tae watch oor time. Ah want tae get back up the road before Wee Mary gets hame fae school. Ye wur jist saying, Mr Departure?” Issie said, eyeing up the next coffin.
“This next wan is The Apollo Swift. As ye kin see fur yersel, Mrs McManus, it’s aw fully padded wae brushed cotton, which comes in a choice ae three interior colours including a wee green shamrock flower pattern. The screws, haundles and lid plate ur aw pure brass, so they ur, and as well as coming in teak and mahogany, this wan comes in Ye Auld Oak style…as preferred by Royalty. Whit distinguishes this fae the Tontines and The Launch is that it’s made ae real Melamine,” Oliver announced, beaming, as he gied the side ae the coffin a few raps wae they knuckles ae his, tae prove the sturdiness ae it.
“Oh my, this is beautiful, so it is,” Issie sighed, beaming at Helen.
“So, whit’s Melamine then?” Helen asked Stan and Ollie.
“It’s the new wood nooadays and it’s cheaper tae boot, seeing as it’s manufactured here, in oor ain factory. Aw caskets will be made ae this in the next few years, including the smeltered wans.”
“Aye, bit whit is it?” Helen continued.
“Ah’m no meaning tae sound technical here, hen, bit if ye kin imagine taking a pile ae sawdust and mixing it wae special glue before rolling it intae big thin sheets, then laminating it...that’s sticking it thegither tae you and me...wae the type ae wood effect ye want. That then forms the basis ae the construction material, so it dis. Ah wid defy anywan tae tell me the difference between wan ae them and a solid wooden casket, so Ah wid.”
“So, insteid ae being paper-mache, like the wans we saw first, these wans ur...er...technically speaking...sawdust then?” Helen asked.
“Aye, er, well, the cost implications tae the bereaved ur much lower than this next wan,” Oliver said, guiding Issie forward subtly and smoothly, before Helen could come back at him.
“Oh, Helen, Joe wid absolutely love this wan, so he wid,” Issie sobbed loudly, knees starting tae wobble as she clasped her hauns o’er her mooth.
“Aye, ye’d need tae go a long way tae pick up a better example ae the finest craftsmanship than The Apollo Maple, Mrs McManus, so ye wid.”
“Whit? It’s real Maple?” Issie asked him in wonder.
“Er, naw, no quite maple, bit jist as solid. This is yer finest white pine, aw the way fae Canada where maple comes fae. It’s goat everything ye’d want in a casket and mair. Real horse hair stuffing in the padding, bleached Shanghai brushed white cotton tae ensure there ur nae imperfections before being dyed in a choice ae nine different colours, split lid fur showing while lying at rest and bush brass fixtures wae deidlock hinges oan the tap end tae stoap any accidents, should family and friends get too emotional and start tae lean intae the coffin in distress. It wid surprise ye how many people hiv ended up wae the back ae their heids cracked open when the tap hauf ae the split lid his crashed doon oan tap ae them.
Issie hid that dangerously impressed look oan her face that wis aw too familiar tae Helen and which hid wreaked havoc fur maist ae the wummin in Glesga throughoot their married lives. The bug wis the scourge ae everywan she knew, and usually led tae a warrant sale and the debtors’ court.
“Bit, er, Issie, wid we no be better looking at the other wans again, jist tae make sure ye’re getting whit you and Tam kin afford?” Helen choked, panic rising in her voice.
“Oh, we hid a stoating wee deal that jist finished last week, bit seeing as it’s Christmas, Ah think we’d get away wae extending it tae yersel, hen, jist this wance. This wid include oor special Lift Aff range ae favourable payment plan options, tae ease the pain ae yer loss,” Ollie Hardy cooed as Stan’s Adam’s apple shot up and doon that neck ae his like a tennis baw oan heat.
“Ah’ll take it!” Issie beamed.