by Millie Gray
The trawler, which Gus noted was called the Jeanie Wilson, quickly came alongside the quay but the women didn’t move. It was very obvious, however, that they had business with this craft.
When a muscular young lad jumped from the boat and onto the harbour to secure the trawler the women again nodded to each other, indicating their pride and relief. The other five crew members followed the young lad onto land but the oldest, a man evidently too old for trawling, was not as agile as the rest and the women winced as he laboriously climbed down.
While the crew and women spoke, wily Gus approached an old man sitting on a capstan and engaged him in what appeared to be a casual conversation. In between puffs of his clay pipe and spitting into the water the aged fisherman told Gus how the trawler was owned by one of the Wilson families. He went on to softly confide that the skipper of the Jeanie Wilson, the husband of the younger woman, had recently died of a heart attack. This unfortunate happening meant that the young lad had been taken out of school to join the crew, and to make up for his inexperience the older man, his grandfather, had come out of retirement.
The women, who were sole traders, should have been out selling part of their menfolk’s fishing harvest. In the younger woman’s case, vending from her creel, no less than one hundred and twelve pounds’ weight of fish, round the doors of Edinburgh. The older woman, now obviously too old to carry such a heavy creel, could normally be found sitting at the bottom of Leith Walk selling her wares from a barrow.
When the men climbed back on board to unload their good catch, Gus sauntered up and asked if they’d like a hand. “And why would we need that?” the bemused old fisherman asked.
Gus pointed out to the horizon. “Because a storm’s brewing and I can work twice as fast as you.”
The aged man’s laughter echoed round the harbour. “Just twice?” he mocked, hoisting another box of fish on before signalling to swing the load onto the quayside. “When I was your age, I could work the like of you to a standstill.”
Without uttering another word, Gus jumped aboard and suddenly the loaded hoist was flying off and on the boat so quickly the old man couldn’t hide his astonishment.
Once the unloading was completed and most of the catch had been dispatched for auction, the old man came forward to Gus with an outstretched hand. “Thank you, mate. I’m Charlie Wilson.” Gus nodded and Charlie continued, “That unloading was quite a spectacle. But know what I’m wondering?” Gus shook his head. Charlie, silently contemplating, took off his hat, scratched his head and spat into the sea, then added, “Just where you were taught to work as hard and as fast as you do?”
Warmly shaking Charlie’s hand Gus replied, “How about on two long harsh trips to very jaws of hell.”
Standing back, Charlie took a good look at Gus. He knew from the first handshake of his shovel-like hand that Gus was a no-nonsense bloke – a grafter – who was hungry for a job. Keeping Gus under constant scrutiny, Charlie wondered if hiring this tall, dark, muscular man would be what his family needed right now? He was sure he was right to consider this break from tradition by hiring someone from outside the local fishing community. After all, what his family immediately required was someone of Gus’s experience who would be more than able to deal with any emergency that occurred at sea.
He knew he should be offering Gus a job but something – he didn’t know what – was telling him all was not as it seemed with Gus. He paused to mull over the dilemma. Why, he asked himself, would a money-hungry man, not afraid to graft, be looking for a much lesser-paid job than whaling? Charlie was convinced that the deep knife gouges he’d felt when he shook Gus’s hand told him he’d once been a whaler. Also why did he go twice to whale? For most men one trip was more than enough. “So you were a whaler,” Charlie stated with emphasis.
“Retired.”
“That so. But why haven’t you high-tailed it back up Peterburgh, way where you hail from?”
Gus, unnerved that Charlie, by listening to his accent, could place him within ten miles of where he’d been born and raised, decided not to contradict him. Indeed he knew there was no advantage in saying he hailed from the far-flung Hebrides. But he also judged it was time to play an ace and, engaging Charlie with a smile, he replied, “Married a lowland lassie. A Leither, to be precise.”
The mention of Leith brought about a changed in Charlie’s demeanour. “Don’t say we don’t like Leithers,” he drawled. “It’s just that they’re hard to thole. That’s right, Daisy, isn’t it?” he went on, turning to his wife for confirmation.
Daisy, aware that her husband was no longer fit enough to be back out fishing, took her time to answer. She knew people, like herself, just had to look at her husband to see his old bones were stiff and gnarled by a lifetime coping with his heartless mistress, the sea. Looking lovingly at him she wondered what use he would now be in a time of crisis. She accepted he wouldn’t be able to react quickly enough and therefore he would be a liability – a liability that could compromise the safety of the other family members. The foregoing being the case, she looked quizzically at Gus before asking, “Where about in Leith does your wife come from?”
“Lochend Road. You know the new houses,” replied Gus when he could see Daisy was no longer preoccupied.
“But I asked you where in Leith your wife comes from?”
“Couper Street. 18 Couper Street.”
Daisy face softened. “You wouldn’t know an Anna Campbell?”
Gus laughed heartily. “Know her? She’s the bane of my life. None other than my bossy mother-in-law.”
“Is she now?” replied Daisy, nodding her head. “Aye, but one Bonnie Fechter, she is.” She gave a contemptuous sniff before elaborating, “Just like us Newhaven wives, she rules the roost.”
“Aye, but at what price?” Gus paused and waited vainly for Daisy to respond. “Left you speechless, have I?” he chuckled. She remained impassive so he added, “And that’s exactly what Anna does to all men! Oh aye, none of them are allowed to have an opinion.”
Daisy’s head shook from side to side. “You,” she said, pointing to Gus, “and all your feckless cronies might think that – but I ken it sticks in your craw that, like the Salvationists she belongs to, any bairn that’s wanting or homeless she takes in. Believe me, never a soul that has needed tending or feeding has she ever turned away.”
Gus pondered. “You’re right,” he conceded. “My Bella’s one of the bairns she’s fostered.” He now realised that Daisy’s admiration and respect for Anna could be the thing that could assist him to negotiate a job on the trawler.
Instinctively he knew Daisy Wilson needed him. She being, like Anna, a Bonnie Fechter would, no matter the consequences, do what was best for her family. She was well aware that her husband was too old to master the Jeanie Wilson, and her grandson – well, what would a green laddie know about how to read the signs of where the fish were? Not to mention his lack of knowledge of tides, reefs and winds. And when the weather changed to the fishes’ advantage, would he be wise enough to head for shelter or foolish enough to chase them and flounder?
She had read Gus well. He was desperate for a job on a fishing vessel. But not having kith or kin in Newhaven, he would only get one if she gave the word to her menfolk to hire him.
* * *
At the conclusion of the deal Charlie had asked Gus to join him for a pint in the Anchor bar. As was the custom, Gus signalled to the barman just as soon as Charlie’s pint glass was empty that he should serve up another round.
By the time Gus left the bar he had downed six pints and by the time he arrived home an irate Bella was waiting for him.
“Kept wee Nat up well past his bedtime, I did,” Bella loudly hissed. “And all because, stupid me, believed you when you said you wanted to build up a relationship with him.”
“And I do,” lisped Gus. “Now listen. I’m going back to work.”
Bella visibly relaxed. “Oh, so you went to Leith Hospital to see about that porter’s job th
at Sandy told you about?”
“No. The sea’s in my blood …” he spluttered, staggering towards the table.
“Oh no. Don’t tell me you’ve signed up for another two years?” wailed Bella, swallowing hard. “I mean, what about the bairns? What about me? How am I going to manage?”
Bleary-eyed and still not steady on his feet, Gus threw himself down on a chair. “What are ye talking about?”
“I know my auntie Anna told me never to argue with a man who’s had his feet in the sawdust but I just have to have my say,” bawled Bella before whacking him with a dishtowel.
Gus shrugged then waved his hand to indicate she’d his permission to continue. “What I would like to know is how you expect me to cope with two bairns and another on the way while you sail the seven seas?”
Gus rose and tried to grab hold of Bella who expertly evaded him. “You’re having another one?” he chuckled. “That’s just great!” Looking in the mirror he pointed his thumb back at himself before saying, “Eat your heart out Dr Glaxo.”
“Well,” corrected Bella slowly, “I don’t know for sure. But as I explained to you that the lassies in Crawford’s told me, that if I didn’t want another baby for a couple years, which I don’t, it would mean you getting off at Haymarket.”
Gus nodded and giggled. “But as I didn’t know where Haymarket was – didn’t I, steed that I am, just gallop straight on to the Waverley.”
“Precisely,” hissed Bella. “But in case I’m no away you can sleep in that chair until you go away to South Georgia.”
“But the Jeannie Wilson just trawls in the North Sea. No way could she make it to Antarctica.”
“What are you talking about?” Bella demanded, flashing her eyes upwards. “Oh Lord,” she pleaded reverently. “Please grant me patience.”
“What I’m trying to tell you is this: Daisy Wilson, a pal of your auntie’s, gave the thumbs-up sign to her man to give me a job on their trawler. Oh, Bella,” he pleaded again, seeking to get hold of her, “the sea’s in my blood and this way I’ll be happy and I’ll be home every weekend.” He stopped, flashed her wolfish smile, licked his lips, winked and whispered, “And I might even try getting off at Haymarket, if you really want me to.”
Bella couldn’t subdue the irritation in her voice. “If you know what’s good for you don’t you dare talk to me like that,” she warned.
“Oh, I see, you were brought up by a Bonnie Fechter and now you think you’re one as well.”
Opening the living room door Bella inhaled deeply before saying, “Do me a favour. Go to bed and die there!”
* * *
The family had been up for two hours before Gus came back into the land of the living.
Sauntering into the kitchen he was surprised that Bella withered him with a hostile stare. Scratching his head, Gus muttered, “Was it something I said or … maybe did?”
“No. It was the gallons you drank!” replied Bella, banging a plate of cold porridge in front of him.
Lifting a spoon and plunging into his breakfast Gus tittered when the spoon stayed upright in frozen solid offering. “Aye, now where was I?”
“Well, when you remember perhaps you could let me into the secret too,” replied Bella in a voice leaden with sarcasm.
Blowing out his lips Gus was obviously having problems remembering and then slowly he brightened as his memory returned. “Did I no tell you? I took myself to Newhaven.”
“I well, they mustn’t be as particular as they used to be,” spat Bella, as Gus donned a quizzical look. “Oh aye,” she further informed. “Not any Tom, Dick or Gus do they allow to cross the bridge from George Street.”
Gus ignored Bella’s comments on how the Newhaven folk kept themselves to themselves and proudly announced, “And I got myself a job on a trawler.”
Bella sniggered. “In your dreams.”
Going over and, trying to put his arms about her but unable to do so as she ducked behind the table, Gus announced with gusto, “But I did get a start. So first of all I must get down to the shore and buy the clothes and gear I need.”
Bella, who was still stiff with anger and resentment, didn’t respond so Gus then decided to change tactic and threatened, “And that’ll include a nice big gutting knife that might come in handy at home too.”
“Gus,” a contemptuous Bella answered, “there is no way any skipper in Newhaven will share out the earnings of a boat with any stranger – especially one that bides in Leith.”
Sniffing Gus replied, “You’re right. But I’ve bargained with them and for half of what a Newhaven bloke gets paid they offered me a job.”
“Have you lost your marbles? How will we live on that?”
“I thought about that but I still agreed.” Gus went over and closed the door to the back garden. Raising his finger to his lips he signalled that they must not be overheard. “You see I can work better and faster than any of them and I also have better knowledge and respect for the sea. So I’ll go on a few trips for the pittance on offer.” He stopped to savour the moment. “Then when they find out that they cannae do without me … I’ll put in my notice and …”
Bella, a true Leith woman, was now grinning. “Renegotiate,” she shouted, punching the air.
“Precisely,” replied Gus, grabbing Bella and dancing her round the room.
Suddenly he stopped. “But until the proper money comes in I was thinking – you know how the lassies working with Rachel are always asking her if you’ll tell them their fortunes?” Bella, who was delighted her fame as a medium was spreading, nodded and Gus continued, “Then why don’t we put the word about that, if anyone crosses your palm with silver, you’ll tell them their future in our front room on a Thursday night?”
Bella preened. It was not just the thought that she would be known as a fortune-teller in Leith, it was the fact that Gus believed she had the gift! “Well, why don’t I do it two nights a week and maybe a Saturday afternoon as well?”
As if he could push that idea away Gus raised his hands. “No. One night only – and always when I’m at sea. Don’t want people to think the hoodwinking of daft lassies has anything to do with me. No. No. I’ll be your silent partner.”
Crestfallen Bella replied, “But that means I’ll still have to do shifts at Sandy’s.”
“And that’s good.”
Bella looked bewildered. Gus took her hand in his and gently stroked it before adding, “But can’t you see your gullible customers will think that when you’re washing and dressing the dead you’re also talking to them and getting the gen.”
Bella’s mouth gaped. “What are you talking about? Of course I talk to the dead when I’m washing and dressing them. It would be …” she paused, “un–unfeeling to heave them into a wooden crate without a word of good luck and goodbye!”
19
DANCING UP A STORM
Rachel, firmly clutching the dress bag in her hand, emerged from the centre doors of the Leith Provident Department Store. As her heels clipped swiftly along the road her excitement grew. Bud had actually picked up the courage and asked her to accompany him to his firm’s annual dinner dance to be held on Friday night. He’d also told her the orchestra had been instructed to play some modern dance music at the function. This was great news for Rachel who’d never been keen on the old-fashioned Victorian group dances where all you seemed to do was point your toe and pass behind your partner’s back and emerge to curtsey to another man. She squirmed with delight as she thought of the modern dances – waltzes, foxtrots, tangos – all the type of dancing where you and your partner were afforded the opportunity to hold hands and dance cheek to cheek.
To add to her excitement, Bud had said there was to be a Charleston dance competition. She knew she was in with a shout to win this because, at every possible opportunity, she had perfected her routine. Added to her expertise of the dance she, unlike some, would be fittingly dressed with the dress and headdress that were secreted in her bag. Of course, to finish off her ense
mble she’d invested in a long imitation pearl necklace that she would twirl and twist as she circled.
While nonchalantly swinging the bag it brushed against her leg, which reminded her of just how much she’d handed over to buy the necessary creations. Craning her neck until it hurt she wondered what Auntie would say about her reckless expenditure. It wasn’t only the dress that had nearly broken the bank but the cost of the shoes, gloves and headdress had also been crippling.
She had asked Bella when she’d come into the shop to buy a maternity smock what she thought she looked like when she adorned her head with the feather creation and was somewhat put out when Bella replied, “A demented hen!”
Rachel was now turning into Couper Street and half-turned when she heard someone call out, “Wait a minute, Rachel. I’ve something to tell you.” Turning around completely she discovered there was no one to be seen. “Rachel,” the disembodied voice called out again before Robert hobbled into view.
“Why are you limping?”
“The sole’s hanging off my shoe. I’ll need to get mending them,” replied Robert, lifting his leg so Rachel could view the problem.
Rachel sighed. Robert, who had been taught cobbling in the Industrial School, had been going to repair his shoes for over a week now and if he didn’t carry out the necessary work soon they’d be too far gone to do anything with, but then that was Robert – everything would be done tomorrow. Trouble was, tomorrow never came.
Sensing his sister’s disapproval he sidled up to her and whispered, “But never mind my shoes … I’ve got something to tell you.”
“And what might that be, Robert?” Rachel asked kindly because she remembered what an awful life her brothers had had until Auntie had taken them in.