Auld Acquaintance

by Ruth Hay

  When she reached the fifth floor, she was immediately impressed by the thick, patterned carpet that undoubtedly contributed to the hushed silence, contrasting with the crowd and noise of the reception area.

  The room was clean and well supplied although smaller than those found in most Canadian hotels. Dumping her cases and bags, Anna was drawn to the window. As she divested herself of coat, scarf and some of the extra layers of clothes she had worn on the plane, she looked out to see her first real view of Glasgow.

  At street level, buses commanded attention. Double–decker buses adorned with adverts for what looked like theatre shows or movies, followed each other in procession on the opposite side of the street from her hotel. Passengers streamed off at one of several bus stops only to be replaced by others who moved forward into the rain from sheltering doorways. There did not seem to be many private cars on the street although Anna was thrilled to see occasional chunky black cabs familiar from so many English movies.

  The buildings were a strange combination of the old and the new. An ugly grey apartment building with a look of the fifties loomed above the street for eight storeys or so and a new-looking parking building with a huge banner proclaiming its purpose, occupied a corner above several small stores. Immediately in front of her, Anna could see the roofs of a more traditional structure in red sandstone with opportunistic small trees growing out of the gutters, advertising its age and condition. Further away the glint of a high glass pyramid announcing a new development of some kind.

  “Quite a mixture of styles here,” she declared to the view, “and not a speck of tartan to be seen.”

  Turning her head far to the right, Anna caught sight of another busy street running parallel to an area showing, through trees, the unexpected gleam of moving water.

  From the little she knew of Glasgow, she deduced that this might be the famed River Clyde.

  Immediately she had a purpose. Eat; then find access to the river.

  Thankful that her hours of oblivion on the plane had granted her the energy to explore the city, Anna had a quick wash, changed her boots for shoes and donned her hooded raincoat again.

  An efficient buffet service in the restaurant ensured she lost no time in helping herself to a substantial breakfast of cereal with fruit, scrambled eggs, bacon, beans and delicious sausages accompanied by toast and washed down with a surprisingly fine coffee dispensed piping hot from a metal urn.

  Duly fortified, Anna ventured into the rain and raised the hood of her coat after passing through the collection of smokers huddling near the hotel’s doors.

  The ‘No smoking allowed indoors’ rule applies here, as well as at home, she realized.

  Conscious of the fact that the Samba ladies were expecting regular reports from her, Anna looked for the name of the street where the Jurys Inn was located. Jamaica Street was discovered, eventually, on the side of a building, reminding Anna of Scotland’s historic trading links to the rest of the world.

  It was only a few steps to the corner where Jamaica Street crossed another busy street named, strangely, Broomielaw, and then became a solid-looking bridge with polished stone walls and wide sidewalks.

  Anna negotiated the crosswalk carefully. She observed that the traffic did seem to move more rapidly than in Canadian cities and that she should remember to be cautious about this in future.

  Her attention was focused on the river ahead but also on the massive stone piers immediately in front of her, which must once have supported another bridge. This appeared to have been supplanted by a higher railway bridge where a train now roared overhead.

  In the midst of the noise coming at her from all directions, Anna longed to escape and see the river more closely. As if in answer to her request, she spied a walkway to her left leading away from the bridges. In only a few steps she found herself passing under the Jamaica Street’s bridge with only about two feet to spare above her head. Emerging from this unexpected experience she descended a dozen steps and left much of the traffic noise behind.

  For the first time in what seemed like months, Anna drew a deep breath and tried to catch up with her feelings after the disorienting turmoil of the last ten hours.

  The river could now be clearly seen and its majestic size and depth contributed to Anna’s new sense of contentment. Running swiftly and smoothly, contained on both sides between its walls of stone topped by iron railings, the Clyde seemed impervious to all the hustle and bustle of the large city it had given birth to. The grey skies overhead were reflected in its surface. No branches or debris floated by as Anna stood mesmerized. Only a cluster of white seagulls bobbed in the centre of the flow, preening their feathers and calling out with their echoing cries.

  The walkway stretched ahead for what looked like kilometres. It was five metres wide in places and on the side nearest the city it was buttressed by gardens bearing large trees and bushes, some with the shiny leaves of evergreens.

  At this point Anna was shocked to discover that she, normally observant by nature, had completely missed the fact that there was no snow to be seen anywhere. Indeed, there were signs of spring in the daffodils peeping out from the grassy banks between the trees where young leaves traced the branches.

  “Of course, the temperature here is much milder than in Ontario in March,” she declared, shaking her head in astonishment. “What was I thinking? I guess I wasn’t thinking at all! Too much change coming at me too fast by far!”

  A cyclist sped past Anna at this point and smiled as if a stranger talking to herself was not an uncommon occurrence in his day.

  Anna walked on. Her attention was split between the far side of the river with its elegant stone buildings just far enough away to be tantalisingly indistinct, and the variety of old and new structures looming above her on her left beyond the tree bank.

  Because the street level with its cars and pedestrians was obscured, Anna could see these buildings in the kind of detail that was usually hidden from passers-by above her.

  The interesting variety of styles and architecture drew her eyes away from the river for a few minutes. Within two hundred yards she first saw a stately Customs House surmounted by a remarkable stone coat of arms with beautifully-carved lion and unicorn animals guarding either side.

  Next to this building, stood a red stone structure of five storeys that was decorated at every level with different styles of tracery and many balustrades adorning windows of varying heights. The modern ceiling lights seen on the top floor gave the impression that this splendid edifice was now an office of some sort.

  Anna had no time to wonder about this before the most amazing contrast came into view.

  Two buildings that seemed to epitomize the difference between old and new stood together, each a splendid example of style but representing two entirely different eras.

  A flight of wide stone steps ahead of her led Anna up to the street level so she could look more closely at the church opposite. She could just make out the signboard stating that this beautiful building facing the Clyde was Saint Andrew’s Cathedral.

  The stonework was lighter in tone than previous buildings Anna had seen. It seemed to draw the available light towards it so that the wet columns gleamed. The style might have been Gothic, she thought, but Anna realised she lacked the vocabulary to describe the soaring spires either side of the central tower or the curved doorway with its statues and embellishments. She did, however, recognise how impressive a sight it must have been when viewed from the river below. It must once have commanded the skyline.

  The contrast was supplied by the attached, rectangular structure completely fronted in mirrored glass. At almost the same height as the cathedral, the two could not have been more different.

  Could this be the equivalent of a church hall and offices, Anna wondered? What a bold statement blending traditional and twenty-first-century style, she thought, although she was not sure she approved.

  Turning back to the riverside, Anna ran down the steps and continued to walk f
orward.

  A watery sun was trying to filter through the cloudy sky as she reached another bridge over the Clyde. This one was a narrow suspension bridge for pedestrians. A girl with a baby buggy and a young man carrying a briefcase were the only occupants.

  Anna quickly climbed to the bridge level and walked across the river admiring the view from this new perspective. She could see so many bridges from here and each one was different in style, materials and purpose. Obviously, Glasgow had needed many crossings over this broad river for convenience and commerce and it must have taken many years to provide them in this quantity.

  When she reached the opposite bank, Anna was delighted to find a display board with information about Glasgow’s bridges confirming her own deductions.

  She read that she had just crossed the Portland Street Suspension Bridge, one of twenty-one bridges of eight types representing 150 years of engineering history. By checking the map provided, she discovered that the bridge carrying Jamaica Street over the river was, named Glasgow Bridge, and the next one past the railway bridge was the King George V Bridge, built in 1928. Not very far from there was the newest addition, an S-shaped pedestrian bridge known as ‘the squiggly bridge’.

  “These Glasgow people are not afraid to mix the sublime and the ridiculous,” laughed Anna. “I think I’m going to like it here!”

  Now that she was across the river, the buildings that had seemed elegant before were now revealed in more detail. A solid line of three-storey houses with the formal, square shapes of Georgian-period architecture, fronted a cobbled street. Each building had matching stone steps and iron coach lamps. Brass plates mounted above the doorways announced that they were banks or offices.

  Walking back to the Glasgow Bridge, along a sidewalk separated from grass lawns at the riverside by handsome black railings, Anna thought these Carlton Place offices must have been highly-sought-after residences at one point in time.

  Crossing the river again, Anna could see her hotel ahead and she now had a much better view of the huge stone bridge piers she had noticed before. They rose to a height of about ten metres above the water level and were formed of rough-hewn, drum-shaped sections with a flat plinth above. Anna was reminded of pillars in Egyptian tombs except that these were the same width from top to bottom.

  Carved deeply into the side of each, in Greek letters and in English, was the motto;

  ‘All greatness stands firm in the storm.’

  Anna stood, leaning on the bridge wall, contemplating these structures in the river, unaware of the buses, cars and transport vehicles rushing over the bridge behind her.

  The nobility of the pillars struck her forcibly. Standing there, bereft of the bridge that they had once borne, they still commanded respect, and Anna thought of the engineers who made space for them, honouring their history despite the necessity of building the much more utilitarian railway bridge that almost blocked them from view.

  In this contemplative mood, she suddenly thought of her father. As an engineer, he might well have known these many bridges although he had never spoken to his daughter about his work in Scotland. He had been a quiet man with an underlying strength and it must have been difficult for him to be demoted to mechanic while he regained his qualifications in Canada.

  Not long after Anna had married Richard, her father moved to Calgary to live with Simon’s family, and he had lived there until his death in his early seventies. Anna felt she had missed knowing her father as an adult and for the first time she felt a kinship with him.

  If only he had shared his Scottish life with her, she thought sadly. Then, looking around her, Anna now realized she would not have been able to understand the loss of a country and a culture that, she could already observe, were able to blend the old and the new and yet remain true to their heritage.

  “Lord above!” she exclaimed, “I am getting maudlin already and making pronouncements when I’ve hardly been here for five minutes. What would Susan think of me?”

  The rain had stopped and a brisk breeze was pushing the clouds away to the east. Anna shook the raindrops off the hood of her coat, mentally adding this warmly-lined garment to the list of items for which Maria deserved her fervent gratitude. Turning up the collar she gave her attention to the Broomielaw crossing and with just one backward glance toward the Clyde, she made her way to her hotel.

  What a morning, she thought, as she spotted a booth in the hotel bar where she could get a warming cup of tea. On the way, she stopped at a display stand and gathered a handful of tourist leaflets and brochures to examine while she relaxed.

  Glancing at her watch, she was amazed to discover it was barely afternoon. She felt as if she had been in Glasgow for a day at least and yet she was not as tired as she might have expected. Remembering other holidays, she knew that time slowed for the first few days and then speeded up once you were oriented.

  This is not a holiday, Anna cautioned herself. I have an agenda here with important decisions to make.

  Tea came with a tiny metal pot, a cup and saucer and a larger pot of hot water.

  How civilized, thought Anna. I can enjoy a second hot cup without bothering the server.

  She spread the leaflets and brochures on the table looking for a map of the city centre and found one that showed a sightseeing tour on a double-decker red bus, partly open on top.

  She smiled, remembering rides on a similar bus in London Ontario, when she was small.

  Stops along the route included more of the Merchant City, where she was now located, Glasgow Cathedral, the University, a number of museums and something called the People’s Palace in Glasgow Green.

  Now this would be an interesting tour for another visit, Anna decided, but I am not sure I have the time today.

  A second leaflet unfolded to reveal a colourful border illustrating a wide variety of restaurants and theatre shows, with a map of the city centre in the middle.

  The Clyde was on the southern edge of this map and Anna could easily find the location of her hotel. She spotted Queen Street station near George Square, and wondered if her feet would carry her that far. Much closer to her was something called Saint Enoch Shopping Centre which, if the map was to be believed, covered an entire city block.

  “Now, a little retail therapy is exactly what I need”, she announced, “and as it’s on that pedestrian precinct I saw this morning, I can hardly get lost on the way there.”

  “That’ll be Argyle Street, miss.”

  Anna looked up from the map and realised she had been talking out loud. The young waiter was clearing her tea things away and must have thought she had been asking for directions.

  “You can’t miss it. Just out the door here, and the second street on your right and you’re there. Folk say you can buy anything at all in that place, though I wouldn’t know. My wife doesn’t let me near it!”

  Chuckling at the ability of Glasgow people to strike up a conversation at any time, with any one, Anna gathered up her things and, leaving a nice tip on the table, ventured out once more.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Hello there! Excuse me Mrs. Mason! This is the receptionist!” “Hello!”

  Anna emerged from a deep sleep to hear a persistent voice and accompanying loud knocks on the door.

  For a moment she could not figure out where she was, or why someone was hammering on her door. Then she saw the cases, and it all came flooding back.

  Staggering out of bed on legs that had become more jelly than bone, she lurched to the door and managed to undo the locks while reassuring the person outside that she could, indeed, still hear.

  “I apologize, Mrs. Mason, but I could not get a response to the wake-up call you left.

  I’ve been ringing you on the phone for over an hour and I was afraid something had happened to you”.

  “Oh, no, I am perfectly fine, thank you,” croaked Anna. “Sorry to worry you.

  It’s only jet lag, I think.”

  “Right then, I’ll leave you in peace.”
>
  As soon as the door closed, Anna fell back into bed to calm her racing heart.

  “What a horrible way to wake up,” she moaned.

  She was almost turning back to the oblivion of her soft pillows when it struck her that she had asked for a wake-up call for a reason. She was catching a train to Oban today at noon and there were things to do before then.

  What time was it? The bedside clock said 10:00am. She must have slept for twelve hours!

  She could scarcely remember the shopping centre and the meal she had eaten there, before falling into bed last night.

  “It must be the tension of the last few weeks catching up with me. Oh, my God!”

  Anna caught sight of herself in the mirror opposite the bed and groaned aloud.

  “I need a shower, and a make-over, and a very large cup of coffee before I take one step out of here. I look like death warmed over.”

  * * *

  Refreshed by the shower and the room service coffee that awaited her when she emerged, Anna felt almost human again. She brushed her hair into a loose style, and applied make-up to give some colour to her face then she repacked one case, checked her train ticket, looked under the bed for missed items and made her way down to the reception area to check out, before heading to the buffet to grab some breakfast. She almost, but not quite, forgot to retrieve her valuables from the locked safe. This scare brought her awake even more effectively than the coffee had done.

  Reaching into her coat pocket she retrieved the business card the cab driver had given her. Was that just yesterday? Leaving it with the helpful reception girl, she grabbed a plateful of toast, scrambled egg, tomato, and another of those scrumptious sausages, with juice and more coffee to wash it all down.