The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 (10 page)

Chapter Twenty One

  “What’s wrong, darling.  Is there something wrong with the food?” Susan Flaw asked her husband.

  “What?  Oh no, the turkey is lovely, darling.”

  “I’m sure you’re allowed to take an hour off on Christmas day, Daddy,” Eleanor Flaw said, passing the Brussels sprouts across tae her brother, Dan.

  “So, what’s bothering you then?  And don’t say nothing.  I’ve been married to you long enough to know when something’s going on in that head of yours,” Susan chided him.

  He looked at his family.  The love he felt fur them wis so powerful, that he felt his chest tighten.

  “I’ve met this woman...” he began, causing Dan and Eleanor tae whistle and hoot.

  “Do tell us more, Daddy, but keep it clean, eh?” Eleanor said, smiling.

  “Hush, you two.  Go on, darling…you were saying?” Susan encouraged him.

  “As I was about to say, I’ve met the most amazing women that I have ever met in my time here in Springburn...apart for you, that is,” he said, placing his haun in hers before leaning o’er and gieing her a peck on the cheek.

  “Well, that’s good to know, especially since I’ve been slaving away all day in that kitchen, without so much as a hand or an offer of help,” she said mockingly, looking across at the two teenagers.

  “I did set the table, Mummy dear.  Remember?”

  “And I cleaned out the grate and made the fire,” Dan reminded her.

  “Who is she, darling?”

  “Remember I showed you the leaflets that two of the local women were handing out at the church entrance recently, regarding warrant sales?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s one of them.”

  “And what about the other one?  Isn’t she equally as wonderful?” Dan asked.

  “What’s warrant sales?” Eleanor asked.

  “Warrant sales are when The Corporation or some other company like the gas board or electricity companies apply to have Sheriff officers impound a family’s belongings...usually their furniture...and sell them by advertising in The Evening Times or Evening Citizen the date, place and time of the sale in their columns.  The sales usually take place in the home of the person who cannot pay off their debt.  Before the sale, Sheriff officers enter the house and place rock bottom prices on the goods that they believe are worth selling.  It’s a horrible business.”

  “You mean the sale takes place in the person’s house?” Dan asked.

  “Yes.  It can be very distressing.  The sales attract people from all over the city, and beyond sometimes.  I’ve seen the same vans, driven by the same people, doing the rounds.  The Sheriff officers are only interested in recovering the amount that is owed, hence the rock bottom prices.  They sell everything, and I mean everything...beds, televisions...even children’s toys, if it will raise a few pennies to pay off the debt.”

  “And The Corporation allows this?  It’s legal?”

  “Oh yes, perfectly legal.  The legal name for it is 'poinding.'”

  “So, where does this amazing woman come into the picture then?”

    The Reverend telt them the story aboot the death ae young Joe McManus and how he’d gone up tae the hoose tae offer the family comfort.  He explained that he wisnae aware ae the connection until him, and some ae his parishioners, hid turned up tae demonstrate ootside the closemooth, where the sale wis taking place.  He explained the near riot before Mrs McManus and the other woman, Helen Taylor, hid turned up.

  “I’ve heard her name being raised in various quarters ever since we moved to Glasgow, and not always in complimentary terms either, so it was good to actually see and meet her in person.  She took control like some sort of general.  Her impact on the gathering was instantaneous.  Within seconds, she had restored order.  It was extraordinary.  What made it so amazing was that she had old Mrs Jamieson, Mrs Johnston and Mrs Thompson marching up and down the pavement, waving placards in amongst the other local women.”

  “Old Mrs Johnston and Mrs Thompson were marching up and down a pavement carrying placards?” Eleanor exclaimed in disbelief, laughing.

  “Mrs ‘Hang-em-high’ Johnston?  That Mrs Johnston?” Dan asked, equally astonished.

  “The very ones.”

  “So, what happened then?” Eleanor asked.

  “The sale was abandoned.  It was astonishing.  I’ve read about the street demonstrations that took place during and after the First World War that were organised by female agitators within the tenement community, but to see this woman in action took my breath away.”

  “Did anyone get hurt, Daddy?”

  “By the time we arrived in a couple of cars, one of the policemen, Sergeant McPhee, had blood pouring out of his mouth.  The air was electric.  It crossed my mind to turn back and get the ladies from the church…all ten of them…back into the cars, but it was too late.  They were all standing on the pavement, looking towards me and wondering what to do next.  I needn’t have worried.  Within a few seconds of remonstrating with the police sergeant, Joan of Arc arrived on the scene and took command.  It was spellbinding to see her operate.  Before I knew it, she had allocated everyone a task and had taken it from there.  The interesting thing about it, apart from the ladies of the church carrying out her commands, for me at least, was that during the melee, she gave Sergeant McPhee, clearly the enemy, a cloth to stop the flow of blood from his mouth.”

  “I can’t wait until I tell Lucy Primrose and Angela Wilmington that my dad took part in a riot,” Eleanor said, smiling.

  “There was no class distinction between the local women and the ladies from the congregation.  She commanded and everyone took up their positions instantly, without questioning her leadership role.  It was humbling to watch and be part of.”

  “So, what happens now, darling?”  Susan asked, putting her haun in his.

  “I really don’t know.  I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about it.”

  “Why don’t you invite her around for a meal, Daddy?  I would love to meet her,” Eleanor asked, eyes shining.

  “Yes, you could invite Lucy Primrose and Angela Wilmington around and we can all stare at her and she may even let you and your friends prod her with your grubby little fingers, Eleanor,” Dan said.

  “So, will you be seeing her again, Donald?” Susan asked him.

  “I really don’t know.  I suppose she’ll be in attendance at Mrs McManus’s son’s funeral.  After the service this morning, the ladies in the congregation asked when the next warrant sale was taking place.  Seemingly they’ve enlisted half the congregation to take part in the next one.”

  “Amazing.  I want to come,” Eleanor said.

  “But you’ll be back in Oxford, darling,” Susan reminded her, looking at her daughter.

  “I’m sure Professor Hodgeston will understand, Mummy, dear.  He’s always on about the working class rising up when the revolution comes, and I want to be part of it,” Eleanor said, reaching for the Brussels sprouts.

Chapter Twenty Two

  Helen lay oan her back looking up at the ceiling.  She’d been in her bed fur at least hauf an hour, bit she couldnae sleep.  She lay listening tae Jimmy wheezing away beside her.  She wis glad he wis her man.  She loved her new electric fire and couldnae wait till the morning came so she could try it oot.  The day hid been a total success, apart fae a wee hiccup her and there.

  “Noo, Ah know how Jesus felt when he wis feeding the five thousand,” she’d heard Jimmy say tae Betty’s Stan.

  “Aye, bit Ah bet their roast chicken wisnae as good as this wan,” Stan hid replied, getting tore intae a leg.

  By the time Issie and Wee Mary hid come roond, minus Tam, wae wan ae her chickens and a bag ae vegetables, Betty and Stan hid awready arrived.  Helen hid sent Wee Mary next door tae Big Jemima’s and then doonstairs tae Soiled Sally’s tae find oot whit time they wur cooking their Christmas dinners.  The timing couldnae hiv been better.  The baith ae them said that their ovens wid be free aboot four o’clock.  Big Jemima also took hauf the tumshies and Brussels sprouts tae cook.  Jemima and Soiled Sally refused tae take any money fur their meters.  The family and entourage hid aw sat doon, or rather, sat where they could find a spot and hid eaten their Christmas dinner at aboot six o’clock.  Jimmy’s good ironing board that he’d goat Helen fur her Christmas hid sat against the living room wall, full ae dishes that wur piled high wae mashed and roast totties, sprouts, tumshie and a big jug ae Bisto gravy.  The telly hid been shite, so Stan hid nipped back tae his hoose and goat his accordion.  Mrs McInally oan the ground flair, who everywan called The Cat Wummin oan account ae her hivving thirteen cats, hid jist goat oot ae the hospital earlier in the month.  She wis a bit ae a hermit, bit hid trusted Helen tae feed her cats while she wis away.  Isabelle and Anne’s boyfriends, Malcolm and Tommy, hid been sent doon tae fetch her up, wance the music started.  They’d appeared wae her, still sitting oan the chair she’d been sitting oan when they went in tae her hoose and insisted they wurnae gaun back up tae Helen’s withoot her.  Jimmy hid moaned that they widnae be able tae get rid ae the smell ae cat’s pish fae the hoose when Malcolm and Tommy hid disappeared tae collect her.  Tae add insult tae injury, they’d then plapped her chair doon beside Jimmy's by the roaring fire.

  “Jist like being in yer cab, eh, Jimmy?” Helen hid teased him, laughing.

  Within an hour ae them finishing their meal, Big Jemima hid come across wae her man, Ron, followed shortly by Soiled Sally wae her Bert.  Christine and Chas Bailey, who lived across the landing fae Sally and Bert hid arrived no long efter them.  Chas hid also taken his accordion and Christine hid sent Wee Mary doon tae haul up their booze.  The place hid been jumping and every wean up the close hid been running fae hoose tae hoose, chasing each other.  Norma hid gone doon oan tae Keppochhill Road tae use the phone box.  When Jimmy hid asked her if she’d been away phoning a boyfriend, she’d body-swerved the question by asking him whit the awful smell wis.

  “Listen, hen, there’s only two things in life that smell like cat’s pish, and wan ae them is auld Mrs McInally.”

  Everywan hid sang alang tae aw the auld Christmas classics coming fae the accordions, like Jingle Bells and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.  It hidnae taken long fur Jimmy tae launch intae his usual party piece ae Tony Bennett’s ‘Ah Left Ma Heart In San Francisco.’  When he’d goat tae the ‘high oan a hill’ bit ae the song, Helen hid thought that Isabelle, Anne and Norma wur gonnae pish themsels silly, they wur laughing that much.  Baith Tommy and Malcolm hid been in the thick ae it tae...erms stretched ootwards, alang wae everywan else’s, gieing it big licks and fair murdering the song.  Before long, Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra hid goat an outing and then it hid been the Scottish wans like ‘Westering Home,’ ‘The Lights ae Lochindaal’ and ‘The Skye Boat Song.’  Auld Mrs McInally hid sang ‘Ally Bally’ tae the weans when they wurnae running aboot, wrecking the place.

  Isabelle and Malcolm hid left, tae get the weans hame tae their beds, aboot ten o’clock.  Wee Ian hid thrown a wobbly because he didnae want tae leave.  Malcolm hid come back tae pick Anne and Tommy up, hauf an hour later.  Norma hid decided tae stay o’er.  Helen wis glad.  It wid gie her a chance tae catch up wae her and find oot who the new boyfriend wis, o’er a cup ae tea, and in front ae her new fire, in the morning.

Chapter Twenty Three

  Helen haunded Issie a fag and lit up wan fur hersel as Issie passed her a cup ae tea across.  She looked at the clock oan Issie’s mantelpiece.  It wis coming up tae hauf ten in the morning.  She felt as if she’d been running aboot like a mad wummin for hauf the day awready.  She looked across at Wee Mary and smiled.  Wee Mary wis sitting in front ae the fire oan the flair, playing wae her wan-eyed doll.  Jimmy hid tried tae fix the eye oan it bit hid pressed too hard and the eye hid disappeared intae its skull.  Jimmy hid saved the day when he disappeared and came back wae a black eye patch that Charlie wore fur a few weeks when he wis a wean, efter wan ae his pals nearly took his eye oot wae a stane fae a sling.  Efter shortening the heid strap oan it, the doll became a patient and Wee Mary hid been nursing it back tae health ever since.  Helen hid noticed that Sherbet hid a kiddies nurse’s uniform hinging up in his shoap and he’d agreed tae take a hunner Embassy coupons fur it efter Helen hid explained the situation.  Every time Wee Mary moved the doll’s heid, her and Issie could hear the eye rattling aboot inside it.  Helen hid heard some disturbing news and wisnae too sure whether tae tell Issie in front ae Wee Mary, bit she could hardly ask the wean tae leave the warmth ae the room.  Why the hell wis it that it never rained, bit poured, she asked hersel fur the umpteenth time.  Malcolm, Isabelle’s AA man, hid gone up and collected Helen’s da tae take him across tae the cemetery oan Sighthill tae visit her maw’s grave.  Helen hid met them across there.  Her da wis looking fine, although he wis a bit unsteady oan his feet.  Malcolm hid left them tae it and hid gone and sat in his van.  Efter laying their flowers and arranging fur Malcolm tae take her da back tae hers fur a wee cup ae tea and a biscuit, Malcolm hid whisked him away aheid.  There wis only two front seats in his van, and she wisnae prepared tae sit in the back amongst aw his tools, so she’d slowly sauntered efter them.  Jist before she’d goat tae the gates oan Keppochhill Road, she’d bumped intae Squinty Alex, wan ae the gravediggers.  She liked Alex and his wife, Nan.  If ye wur desperate, ye could usually manage tae wedge Nan oot ae the hoose, tae make up the numbers at a warrant sale, bit only if ye wur prepared tae spend an hour and a day flattering the arse aff ae her first.

  “Is young McManus’s funeral planned fur Wednesday, Helen?” he’d asked her.

  “Aye.  Is it yersel that’s digging the grave, Alex?”

  “Aye, alang wae the other three planned that day.  Ah’m supposed tae be starting oan his plot this morning, bit ma gaffer telt me tae hing oan till we see whit the score is.”

  “The score?  Why?  Is there a problem?”

  “Look, Ah shouldnae really be saying this, bit we’re downing tools the morra,” he’d replied in a whisper, looking aboot the empty cemetery tae make sure nowan hid heard him breaking The Official Secrets Act, Nineteen Canteen.

  “Ach, Alex, youse ur no, ur ye?  Tell me ye’re hivving me oan?”

  “Ah’m sorry, hen.  The Corporation hiv telt us tae fuck aff again, wae oor claim fur a wage rise, so they hiv.  They said they’ve nothing in the kitty, so we’re expected tae continue as if there’s nothing we kin dae aboot it.”

  “So, whit ur the unions saying aboot it then?”

  “The same as they’ve been saying fur the last eighteen months noo.  Keep oan hinging in there...they’re daeing their best tae get us an increase.  The gaffer said everywan his hid enough, so the morra, it’s doon wae the shovels and spades tae encourage management and the union tae sort something oot.”

  “So, the unions ur no supporting the walk-oot then?”

  “Naw, they want us tae keep digging, bit we’ve hid enough.  We’ll hiv pickets oan the cemetery gates, first thing the morra morning.”

  “So, whit happens aboot the burials then?”

  “They’ll jist hiv tae either wait, or go aheid ootside ae the city.  Ah know it sounds terrible, bit there isnae much we kin dae.  We’ve nae weans at hame and we’re still skint by the time we pay the rent, the Provi-cheque man and get some food in.”

  “Ach, don’t apologise, Alex.  Ah know ye don’t want tae be daeing this.  Christ, whit am Ah gonnae tell Issie, Ah wonder?”

  “Ma advice is tae get straight up the road and let her know oan the QT.  She might manage tae get in tae The Glesga Crematorium across in Lambhill if she disnae leave it too late.”

  “The crematorium?  Christ, Ah cannae imagine Issie and Tam gaun fur that, seeing as Joe wis baptised a Catholic.”

  “Aye, well, that’s understandable.”

  “Right, Alex.  Ah’ll hiv tae shoot the craw.  Thanks fur gieing me the latest.”

  “Aye, well, ye’re welcome, Helen.  Tell Issie and Tam that Ah’m sorry.  If there’s any change tae the situation, Ah’ll get Nan tae take a run up and gie her a shout as soon as Ah know anything.”

  Helen hid nipped hame tae get her da squared up, bit she’d been oan edge aw the time.  Her da hid picked up oan it.

  “Helen, whit ur ye up tae then?  Ye’d think ye’ve goat ants in yer pants.”

  “Ach, it’s nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s nothing.  Ah might be an auld codger, bit Ah’m no daft.”

  Helen hid telt him whit Squinty Alex hid telt her. 

  “Well, whit ur ye daeing, sitting here talking tae me?  Get yersel roond tae Issie’s and try and get it sorted oot then.”

  She’d insisted that she could go and see Issie anytime, bit the AA van hid hardly pulled away fae the kerb wae her da in it, before Helen hid nipped back up the closemooth tae get her fags and matches and scooted roond tae Issie and Tam’s.

  “Right, whit’s up then?” Issie finally asked her.

  “Whit makes ye say that?”

  “Because ye’ve goat the look.”

  “The look?”

  “Aye, yer rolled-up sleeves look.  Whit’s happened?”

    Helen telt her aboot the conversation she’d hid wae Squinty Alex doon at the cemetery, leaving oot the bit aboot the crematorium.

  “Ah don’t blame them.  Ah thought we wur skint until Ah wis roond at Nan’s.  She wis warming her hauns aff ae a candle last week.  Ah sent Wee Mary roond wae a bucket ae coal dross fur her, so Ah did.”

  “Aye, bit getting back tae the problem in haun then, whit’s yer thoughts oan the funeral situation, Issie?”

  “Ah’m no sure.  Whit dae ye think yersel?”

  “Ah think ye need tae get oan tae that Laurel and Hardy, the undertaker people, tae see whit they’re saying.  They’re contracted tae get ye tae the graveside oan time.  Ah widnae put it past that pair tae dump poor Joe’s casket at the gates before  hitting ye wae a bill if ye’re postponing the burial date.”

  “They widnae dae that, wid they, seeing as it’s no ma fault?”

  “Well, Ah don’t want tae be cynical, because as you well know, Ah’m no that type, Issie, bit they punted ye a flashy expensive coffin at a time when ye wur emotionally no capable ae thinking straight.”

  “Aye, Ah know.  Lovely though it is, Ah wis wondering if they’d maybe re-look at that and gie me wan ae the cheaper wans.”

  “Well, ye signed up fur everything, so Ah widnae haud yer breath.”

  “Whit aboot the minister?  The Reverend Flaw?  Should we no hiv a wee word wae him?  He’ll know whit the score is.”

  “Look, Issie, Alex said that ye might want tae consider a cremation, bit if ye wur gonnae go doon that road, ye’d need tae make up yer mind fast.  He said that aw the cemeteries in the city will be affected and there will probably be a run oan the crematoriums,” Helen said quickly, avoiding eye contact.

  “The crematorium?  A cremation?  For ma Joe?  Oh, Ah don’t think so.  Joe widnae be intae that, and neither wid we.  Naw, that’s oot ae the question, so it is.  It’s aw right fur aw they Prods...they’re aw gaun tae hell anyway, bit no fur us good Catholics, so it isnae.”

  “Christ, Issie, ye only go tae mass wance a year and ye missed the wan oan Christmas Eve this year.”

  “Aye, Ah know.  Ah hear whit ye’re saying, and Ah know it’s stupid, bit Ah cannae see Tam agreeing tae a cremation.”

  “Look, why don’t ye get doon tae the phone box oan Keppochhill Road and phone that pair ae ballroom dancers who call themsels undertakers and Ah’ll nip up and see whit the minister is saying and then get back tae ye.  How dis that sound?”

  “Oh, Ah don’t know.  Ah’m no that confident talking intae a wee buzzing plastic thing, especially tae they funeral people.  Ah’ll probably end up coming aff the phone, hivving bought wan ae they expensive Apollo Absolutes that aw they gangsters and cooncillors get,” Issie said doubtfully.

  “Issie, ye won’t.  Aw ye’re asking is if they’ve heard anything aboot a grave diggers' strike, and if so, whit happens if the gates ur picketed oan the day.”

  “Hiv ye goat that, Mary?” Issie asked her daughter, tossing a fag across tae Helen.

  “Aye, Ma, and we’ve tae ask if there’s a cancellation fee if the funeral cannae go aheid and we’ve no tae buy an Apollo Absolute, whitever that is.  Is that right, Helen?”

  “Ye’re spot oan, Baby Doll, bit ur ye sure ye know how tae use a coin box, hen?” Helen asked through the blue smoke cloud.

  “Oh aye, me and ma pals always phone up tae see whit’s at number wan in the hit parade every Sunday night, so we dae.  It’s still that Ernie wan, The Fastest Milkman in The West, so it is.”

   “See, Wee Mary will keep ye right, so she will, Issie.”

  “Ur ye sure ye’ll remember aw this, Mary?” Issie asked her, haunin o’er a bob coin.

  “Oh, aye, Ma.”

  “Right, that’s settled then.  Ah’ll go and see if Ah kin hiv a word wae The Reverend Flaw.  In the meantime, will wan ae youse get that arse ae yers doon tae the phone box and Ah’ll see ye in a wee while,” Helen announced, staunin up and putting oan her coat.