Of Different Times

by Agnes Kirkwood

  On leaving the toilets we decided to sit on the benches outside the waiting room and watch the trains come and go. The noise was horrific as trains shunted to a halt screeching with the steam from the engines blasting out between the wheels as they stopped, same when they moved off. The smoke created a stench which belted out of the top of the train filling the air with a smoky smog.

  Watching people coming off and on the trains was fascinating. Some had cases and looked as if they were either coming or going on holiday, women with bags of shopping and were struggling with little children after spending the day shopping in town.

  The men who worked in offices stepped off the train with shoes that shone even after a day’s work. They were the white collar workers who wore smart suits and wore trilby hats carrying a briefcase going home after a hard day’s work at the office.

  Ordinary labourers wore an open necked shirt, jumper and jacket with boots and a flat cap on their head, the majority with hands in pockets and a cigarettes hanging from their lips. This made me realise for the first time in my life the difference in the workforce. I lived in a village where nearly all the men worked in the pit, it was all I knew.

  As we took a walk down the platforms we heard a woman ask if the train standing on the track was going to Alloa, the other woman agreed that it was. We looked at each other and decided we would go into the carriage that had an empty compartment all to ourselves with a long seat at each side. As we sat there we heard the train hissing off steam then the porter blew his whistle and cho-cho-cho, away we went. We worried the whole journey in case when we reached Alloa some conductor or other would come up and ask us for our ticket, or worse still money, because we had none. When we reached Alloa we got out off the train and looked around, we noticed the waiting room so we headed for that. As we sat there planning how we were going to get back we heard the woman on the loudspeaker say; the next train to Stirling will be arriving on platform two. So we headed for that and waited for the train alongside lots more passengers. When the train arrived we casually waited until everyone got off the train then made our way into the carriage, this time we were not alone people just kept coming, until the carriage was full.

  The journey seemed as if we were never reaching our destination. When we finely reached Stirling Station we followed the crowd upstairs to where the porter was collecting the tickets from the passengers as they left the station. We nervously handed our platform tickets, he took one look at them and said,

  ‘You two have been down there a long time, what have you been up to?’ Quick as a flash my pal said, ‘We were waiting for my granny coming of the train, we waited for two trains, but she never came. I thought to myself, ‘that was quick thinking.’

  Reaching the age of thirteen my interest were changing, it was the time when rock and roll shook the music industry up. It certainly shook my pal and me up. It was the time for tight jeans and jiving.

  We joined the youth club where they played all rock and roll records. We’d pay sixpence at the door to get in, but that gave us a cup of tea and a biscuit at half time, then we’d jive till the cows came home. I wore a pair of red tight jeans that I spent days sewing Bill Hayley on one leg and Pat Boone on the other, they were my idols until King Elvis came along a couple of years later. The jeans went halfway up my legs and I felt the bee’s knees in them. Out the window went the skating skirts, and in came the jeans, I loved them that much I wore them to the skating every Saturday. Even though I was only thirteen years old, this was my years of being a teddy girl. It was great.

  My brother also mad on rock n roll joined the youth club and dressed in his drainpipe jeans and Wyatt Earp tie, he was really cool; not like my big sister who was what we called a square, she was all matching gloves and handbags, everything had to match when she went anywhere. She liked ballroom dancing and wore fancy ballroom dresses when she went dancing at the Plaza in Stirling which was a well-known ballroom dance hall. I was the opposite, I loved jiving and wore tight jeans with my hair in a ponytail.

  My brother was a great jiver and I loved jiving with him. When my dad was on night shift we’d put Radio Luxembourg on the wireless, which was very hard to get in the fifties as the tuning was very fine and it would sizzle and whistle before we could get the reception right, then we’d jive in the living room when my mum was in the kitchen. I think we used to drive her mad, but she put up with it because it was the thing of the times. Even when my pal and me were babysitting we used to put Luxembourg on the wireless and jive till it was time for my mums bus, then we would sit like two little angels when she walked in.

  Christmas that year is one I will never forget as long as I live. It was the year of music to me, especially with a new heartthrob on the scene by the name of Elvis Presley, everybody loved him. Nearly all the rock singers had a backing group with drums and guitars, bands like Bill Hayley and the Comets, Buddy Holly and the Crickets and many more. Even Elvis had the Jardinières. I was besotted with the music, That was when I made my mind up to be a famous singer when I left school.

  I wanted a guitar for my Christmas, and even pestered my pal into asking for one.

  ‘Just think,’ I said ‘we could be famous in a couple of years’ time.’ In the end she agreed and we soon got excited waiting for Christmas. We used to practice singing at every opportunity, in the playground, the swing park, as we walked from school to the bus stop, in front of the mirror in the school toilets. One night my dad was at a meeting, mum was visiting Gran, and my sister who was then eighteen had gone out, so had my older brother. I was left to babysit my young brother and sister, who was then six and eight and were fast asleep in bed. My pal came round to our house and it didn’t take long before we headed for my big sister’s bedroom, with the full length mirror. We got dressed up in her baby doll pyjamas, that she recently got as presents for her eighteenth birthday from her friends at work. We were in full swing strumming our pretend guitars and singing when we heard the front door and a voice shouting to someone outside, ‘Wait there I’ll only be a minute.’ We looked at each other. ‘It’s my sister,’ I whispered in a panic, we grabbed our clothes and switched off the light and both made a dive under the bed, we were terrified of moving for what seemed like half an hour while she palavered about changing from one dress to another until one she was satisfied with, then ran down stair and back out the front door. When we heard the front door bang behind her we crawled out from our hide-e-hole and looked at one another.

  ‘We’ll laugh at this when we’re stars,’ I said, we both went into a fit of laughing, then carried on where we left off.

  We had dreams of forming a duet with our guitars like the famous Everly Brothers. Finally Christmas morning arrived, and I rushed downstairs to find a little plastic ukulele on the chair where my presents were, along with a new Timex watch, which my mum must have paid a lot for, long before I asked for a guitar. I felt as if my dreams were shattered, and couldn’t think to even pick up any of my presents, the ukulele lay on the chair untouched all morning. I felt so let down, especially when the rest of the family was so happy and I had a miserable face on. As if that wasn’t bad enough the worse was to yet to come, later when I looked out the window I saw my pal struggling in the gate with a guitar so big it put Elvis Presley’s to shame. I ran over and grabbed the ukulele and hid it under the cushion on the couch. I was too embarrassed to show her it. After showing her the watch and pretending to be excited, I lied saying, ‘My dad’s ordered me a guitar out the music shop but it only comes next week.’ Just then my mum walked into the living room with a cup of tea, and blindly sat on the couch, broke the ukulele in half and held it up in the air. The only thing holding it together was the strings. All I felt was embarrassment, but looking back I think it must have broken my mum’s heart because she sent my dad to the music shop in Stirling with me after Christmas to buy one. All the way there the excitement was ecstatic, but I soon came down to earth with a thud when the man in the shop said, ‘I’m sorry we have completely
sold out, but I’ve got them on order and they’ll be in next week’. As soon as he said that I knew my mum’s broken heart would not last that long. I was right.

  One woman in our village used to come around every week to collect money for a women’s only weekend trip to the Blackpool Illuminations. This was a regular yearly trip for the women of our village who wanted to go. It was the first time mum put her name down and really looked forward to going. The coach would leave on Friday afternoon, and arrive back on Sunday night. My big sister used to be good at cutting hair and always cut mum’s. On the day before the trip she wanted her hair cut, but my sister was going straight to her friend’s house because they had arranged to go to the Plaza that night.

  ‘Never mind mam I’ll cut it for you,’ I said. She gave me a funny look, but I managed to persuade her to let me do it. I had watched my sister cut hair and it looked easy, so mum eventually through desperation sat down with a towel around her shoulder and off I started with the scissors. Things started off all right, until it was time to make the other side match the side I had cut. After shifting from one side to another several times I couldn’t get them even. It was harder that I thought. I did my best but knew it was time to give up. ‘That’s me finished mam,’ I said gently moving out of the line of fire. By the time she looked in the mirror I was out the door to the tune of ‘What a bloody mess, I’ll kill you lady if I get a hold of you.’ I hid behind the shed terrified to let her see me, because if she did she would make me go in, and that would only mean one thing. I jumped over the fence and went round to my pal’s house. That night as I sneaked in my mum was in the living room talking to the woman who lived across from us. They were laughing so I gently tiptoed in and found my mum sitting in the armchair at the fire she had more curls in her head than an African.

  ‘Your hair’s absolutely lovely,’ I said cautiously.

  ‘It’s no thanks to you lady, for God’s sake don’t go in for hairdressing when you leave school.’ The neighbour said, then both mum and her laughed. To this day I have never attempted to cut anybody’s hair again.

  When I reached fourteen I heard that Woolworths was advertising for Saturday workers, so off I went to ask if I could have a Saturday job, they interviewed me and gave me a large sum to add up and timed me as I done it. I passed so that was all there was to it, I had a job in the biggest shop in Stirling. I loved it, it made me feel grown up, and the money was good for someone my age.

  Every Saturday was just the same as through the week, except, after delivering my papers, I caught the bus to Stirling, but instead of going on the bus to school in my uniform, I felt like a grownup sitting on the bus with all the other workers. All dressed up with my Woolworths gear in a bag. The only thing I missed by taking the job was it meant I couldn’t go to the skating on Saturday afternoons, and was not allowed to go at night so I had to give it up until a later time, work came first so my father drummed into us at an early age.

  The last year at school seemed to drag. The exams felt as if they were a waste of time knowing as soon as I left I was going straight into a factory that my auntie was a supervisor in and guaranteed me a job. Never the less I was very competitive and still revised for my exams, I reached the top of the class again, but this year it was jointly with my best friend, and I let her have the top corner desk.

  The school leaving dance was the thing to look forward to in the last year at school. Today it’s called the School Prom. You knew then the end of your school years were in sight.

  The preparations that went into the leaving dance were like organising your wedding. That was all we girls talked about for weeks before, what colour of dress we were wearing, how we will have our hair, what kind of shoes.

  My sister being a ballroom dancer had lots of ballroom dresses that stuck out like a princess’s wedding dress and the colours were magnificent. She offered me my pick so I chose her newest, she was very hesitant about me wearing that one but I promised her I’d make sure no tea or orange juice would get spilled on her new dress. She gave in and let me borrow it.

  Finally the night of the school dance arrived, and instead of my hair being tied back in its usual ponytail I let it hang down my back in the Page Boy style. My mum said I looked like a young lady. I felt like a million dollar film star that night in my frilly ballroom dress, and a pair of silky nylons my mum bought me. I’ll always remember that night setting off, I was very careful and frightened in case I dirtied my sisters beautiful dress or laddered my stockings, but as the night went on I got used to wearing it and forgot all about the warnings, and the carefulness. We danced all night, from barn dances to waltzes, but the highlight was when they played rock and roll, we soon learned who all the squares were that night, that’s what we teddy girls and boys called the ones that couldn’t jive.

  I’ll never forget when the dance ended and all the girls from my village was walking to catch the bus home. There were about ten of us all from the same village. As we reached the bus station and saw our bus in we all started running to get the front seat at the top of the bus. Through all the excitement I ran upstairs to the top of the bus for the front seat and every stair I climbed my foot went through the dress and ripped it to shreds. I can’t repeat the words my parents called me that night, and to make things worse I was made to pay for a replacement out of my pocket money before I even started working.

  Needless to say my sister never lent me anymore of her clothes after that. I didn’t lose any sleep over it because her clothes were that of a square anyway. Yuk.

  My Teenage Years

  With my school days behind me I looked forward to my life in the big wide world. Given a choice, my life would have taken a different route. I’m not disappointed with the end results, but there are a few things I would gladly change if knowing then what I know now. All the dreams and adventures I planned never got a chance to come to life. One thing it taught me was to make sure my children chose their own careers.

  I left school one week, and started my working life the next in a paper mill just outside Kincardine called Kilbagie.

  My Auntie Cathy knew the supervisor and arranged an interview for me. She also took me there. I still remember that nerve-racking experience. There was me dressed in my school skirt with my white ankle socks on, because my mum wouldn’t let me dress in anything that made me look like a Teddy Girl, but that’s what I was proud to be called. I loved rock and roll and went to all the bob-hops at the youth club in our village Church Hall. I loved wearing sloppy sweaters along with my red tight jeans. On my feet a pair of flat shoes that you could roll up and shove in your bag, because they would be too cold to wear outside in the cold weather. At least I certainly was not what you would call a square like my big sister Wilma who was a Dickie Valentine and Dennis Lotis fan and loved waltzing.

  I was very nervous on entering the mill. I felt everyone looking at us as we walked through the department past about ten rows of tables each with six in a row and on every table a pair of eyes staring at us. At the bottom of the room an open wooden stairway led to a mezzanine packed with boxes of all shapes and sizes, situated in the middle of them stood the office. The supervisor opened the door and took us to a desk at the corner of the office and told us to take a seat. All that was heard was the clicking of typewriters at the back of the office as six girls were all typing on a long table,

  As I sat there I could see the whole department busy overhauling large sheets of paper on their work table; with reams piled five feet high in places at their side on wooden pallets. The interview was more like a reunion for my aunt and the supervisor, as they spent all the time talking about old times. I barely had two words spoken to me and when asked if I could start on Monday.

  ‘Of course she can.’ my aunt answered on my behalf, I didn’t get a chance to say one word which gave me the impression the job was mine before I went. What a waste of time I thought, why didn’t they just let my aunt know I had the job and could start on Monday, it would have saved me all th
e hassle of getting there.

  There was one drawback though, no buses went through our village to Kincardine, so I had to go and live with my Gran who was nearly eighty, and of course my Auntie Barbara and my cousin William, who was three years older than me. I had no other choice, as a lot of girls from Gran’s village worked at the paper mill so Kilbagie put on a special works bus that picked them up and took them home at night.

  That weekend I spent packing my clothes and anyone would think I was going on a safari; it was exciting I was thinking peace at last, no more arguing with my brother, and no more having to be at my sister’s beck and call. Yes I couldn’t wait to start my new life away from home; of course I was expected to go home every Friday night until Sunday, but it was still like leaving home, and I was looking forward to my new grown up life.

  When Monday came I was awoke by my aunt and given tea and toast for my breakfast, I missed my fresh baked bread roll which was delivered every morning by the local bakery from Bannockburn who like the milkman delivered rolls to your door every morning. After I had my breakfast I made my way to the pick-up spot and wait with all the other girls for the works bus. I had two older cousins that worked there which made me feel a lot better. When we reached the mill all the girls made their way to their department and I was ushered to a huge table that had a two-sided wooden L shaped frame. I was given a rubber tube to put on my middle finger like a thimble then the supervisor who knew my aunt got one of the lads to bring over a pallet full of paper that was piled higher than me, and each sheet was about two feet by four feet oblong. She took about four inch in depth off it and laid it on the table beside me, then with my finger that had the rubber tube on, I had to flick one sheet at a time into the L-shaped frame checking for blotches, different shades and marks which had to be taken out and graded. When that was examined I shuffled it in the frame to make it even then put the finished paper on a different pallet until the whole lot had been examined. Then you started all over again with another pallet full. I really hated that job It was quite boring and my imagination used to get carried away into a fantasy world where I could be anything I wanted, from a film star to the world’s greatest rock and roll singer. Then I’d come back down to earth, just waiting for break time then finally home. Each day dragged, and weekends seemed an eternity away.