The Gourlay Girls

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  ‘I’ve done my share of all that in the past. I’ve lived in the world of tenements and suffered poverty myself.’

  ‘All the more reason to help now. You know what it’s like. You more than most will understand. I appreciate the work you’ve done for me, Virginia, but by doing something like this, you’ll be putting your politics into practice. You’ll not only be arguing that the poor should have a better deal, you’ll be at the grass roots helping them to have it. I’m sure you’d feel you were doing a worthwhile job. People like Maclean and Maxton always believed that the workers and the poor should be educated, so that they can help themselves in the fight for equality and a decent life. Both of them used their teaching skills at a practical level, and so have I. It’s time now for you to do something practical, Virginia.’

  She made the tea and sat down at the table. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘You’re thinking too much, that’s your trouble.’

  ‘Oh, all right. Anything to get you off my back.’

  He gave her one of his grotesque twisted smiles. ‘That’s my girl.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be teaching this morning?’

  ‘I haven’t a class until eleven. I’d better be off as soon as I’ve finished my tea.’

  After he’d gone, Mrs Rogers arrived after having packed her children off to school. She helped herself to a cup of tea and Virginia went through to the sitting room, out of her way. The sitting room was heavy with silence. Virginia went over and gazed from the window, down over Kirklee Terrace and the grassy bank onto Great Western Road.

  Mathieson was right, she supposed. She was lucky in many ways. She remembered the tenement close in the Gorbals where she’d once lived with her mother and father and brothers, and her sister Rose. Poor Rose had died of tuberculosis. One brother had been killed while working in the munitions factory, the other killed in the war. When she thought of all that her poor mother had had to suffer, and yet she had kept going with such courage and unselfishness, she felt ashamed. Not only had her mother coped with all the family tragedies, but she had had to struggle with life in a terrible slum. She had to fight to rid the place of bed bugs and to slave endlessly for some level of cleanliness, not only in the room and kitchen house, but in the overflowing lavatory out on the landing.

  Virginia leaned her forehead against the window. Oh, her poor mother! No doubt there had been many other working-class women like her. No doubt there still were—the unsung, unknown heroines, often with a wonderful sense of humour despite the tragedies in their lives.

  Mathieson was right. For far too long, she had been blinded by self pity. She had been wallowing in it. But not any more. She was shaken by what he had said. Yes, Mathieson was right—she must do something.

  She was suddenly impatient. Where to start though? Should she ask at the nearest church? She wasn’t a churchgoer, however, and still had no inclination to become one. Nor was she a member of the Salvation Army, who did so much good work in the city. They had always been more practical and certainly more visible in the poorer districts, doing their best to help people, and they were courageous. Their female members with their bonnets tied under their chins did not shrink from going into the rough male bastions of pubs to collect money for good causes. Virginia, however, couldn’t imagine herself either wearing the uniform, or going into the pubs. Again she felt ashamed. Where had all her courage gone? She used to have a reputation of being a really spirited young woman. Spunky was the word often used to describe her. She wasn’t young any more, of course. She wasn’t all that far off forty. ‘Forty!’ she thought incredulously. Where had all her life gone?

  She forced her mind back to the problem at hand. There must be lots of charitable organisations that she could help, even if it simply meant dishing out hot soup at street corners to the unemployed and homeless. She’d seen them queuing up in the streets of poor districts and she’d heard about soup kitchens. She would phone around. She would speak to one of her Labour councillor friends. She would ask a doctor. Not her local West End doctor but a doctor from one of the poorer districts. She would talk to people at the next political meeting Mathieson organised. She had long since given up going to most of these meetings, but just this once, she would go to seek advice. There must be something worthwhile she could do, especially—as Mathieson said—with her life experience. She would not be just another middle-class do-gooder, she would know from first hand experience what it was all about.

  For the first time in years, she felt drawn to go back to her roots, even just for a brief visit. On an impulse, she went for her coat and hat. It was a fur hat and the coat she put on was a rust coloured wool with a huge fur collar. She immediately took them both off again and found instead a Burberry tweed travel coat and a plain, soft brimmed hat. She decided she wouldn’t take her motor car. Instead she went in search of a tram that would take her to the Gorbals.

  25

  He knew her real name. He’d consulted not only the police missing persons files, but those of the Salvation Army. She felt angry, as well as afraid. How dare he interfere in her life!

  ‘You had no right!’ she told him.

  ‘I keep telling you, Wincey, I just want to help you.’

  ‘I don’t need your help.’

  ‘I think you do.’

  ‘I don’t care what you think. I’m living a new life and I was perfectly happy until you started interfering. The last thing I want to do is go back to my old life. You say I look frightened. Nothing fills me with more fear than the thought of that.’

  ‘Why? What happened, Wincey? It might help you to talk about it.’

  ‘You’ve done enough harm as it is.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing to harm you, and I’ve no intention of ever doing so. If you want to go on living as you are—as Wincey Gourlay—I’ll respect that. And I’ll also respect and keep confidential anything you tell me about yourself, or anything I already know about you.’

  ‘What do you know about me, apart from my name?’ She couldn’t keep herself from asking the question. Nor could she control the anxiety in her voice.

  ‘I know that your previous address was Kirklee Terrace in the West End. And your mother and father are Virginia and Nicholas Cartwright. Your grandmother and grandfather lived in Great Western Road and it was in their villa that you were last seen. It is believed that you found your grandfather dead—or the heart attack that killed him was witnessed by you—and you ran from the house in grief and panic.’

  And so he knew everything—or nearly everything.

  ‘Promise me, please, that you’ll never tell anyone—anyone—that you know who I am, or where I am.’

  ‘Wincey, I thought I’d already made that clear. You have my word. I swear to you that no-one, either in your past or your present life, will know one thing about you from me.’

  She tried to relax. ‘I need to believe you.’

  ‘I know. And you can.’

  She nodded, still wide eyed and anxious. She felt weak and trembling, as if she’d been through a terrible ordeal. Or as if she’d experienced a nightmare that she still wasn’t quite able to shake off.

  ‘I think,’ the doctor said gently, ‘we’ve talked enough for today. I’m going to drive you home now.’

  ‘No, I’m all right.’

  He smiled. ‘I’m the doctor, remember, and you my dear girl are proving even more perverse and difficult than Granny.’

  She couldn’t help smiling herself then, despite her inward trembling. She allowed herself to be led from the room and the surgery, and helped into the doctor’s car. He drove the short distance in silence. Then when they arrived at her close, he smiled at her as she was getting out of the car and said, ‘Don’t worry. You’re perfectly safe, and you are going to be all right.’ She nodded and hurried away into the close.

  Granny had been sitting in her wheelchair at the front room window, gazing avidly at what was going on outside. ‘Wis that the doctor’s car ah saw you gettin’ oot o’?�
�� she bawled from the room.

  Wincey called back, ‘Yes, he kindly offered to drop me off on his way home.’

  ‘Wid wan o’ ye hurl me back tae the kitchen. Ah’ll be losin’ ma voice next. As if the power o’ ma legs wisnae enough.’

  Wincey answered her call and pushed the wheelchair through to the kitchen.

  ‘You can’t say you’re frozen any more, Granny. That’s a grand big fire in the room.’

  ‘Aye, aboot time tae. Whit wis the doctor sayin’ aboot me that he couldnae say tae ma face?’

  ‘Nothing. He was just summing up your progress. He’s really very pleased with you.’

  ‘Seems funny he couldnae sum it up tae me.’

  ‘He’s a busy man, Granny. He can’t keep coming in here to visit you now that he’s running the practice single-handed.’

  ‘His auld faither did that for years.’

  ‘Yes, but you know what he was like.’

  ‘Aye, well, whit’s for ma tea?’

  Teresa said, ‘A nice wee bit of cod, Granny, and stewed apples and custard.’

  Granny’s eyes lit up and her jaws began chomping at the mere idea. She liked a nice bit of fish softened with one of the tasty sauces that Teresa made. Granny admitted that Teresa was ‘a dab hand at comin’ up wi’ tasty sauces’. And stewed apples and custard slipped down without any bother.

  ‘How did you get on at the doctor’s?’ Teresa asked. ‘Granny said he’d asked you to go to the surgery tonight.’

  ‘Yes, I was just saying—he’s too busy to keep spending so much time in here. He was just explaining about Granny’s progress and how we’d no need to worry. But if we do need him to make a visit, we’ve only to let him know.’

  ‘Oh, isn’t that kind of him. He’s a nice man. Clever as well.’

  ‘Yes, he is very clever,’ Wincey agreed.

  ‘Are you all right, dear?’

  ‘We’ve been awfully busy. I’m exhausted but I’ll be fine after I’ve had my tea.’

  In the homes of Florence and the twins, the evening meal was now referred to as dinner. Lunch was in the middle of the day, dinner was in the evening and tea was only something one took mid-afternoon. In the Gourlay home, however, it was still dinner in the middle of the day and tea in the evening.

  Erchie arrived then with the paper, after having enjoyed a couple of pints in Quinn’s with his mates on the way home. Quinn’s at the bottom of the Balgrayhill had one entrance on the Balgray and another on Springburn Road. The place was a landmark in Springburn with its tower on which there was a large clock. Erchie flung the paper down and rubbed his hands.

  ‘By Jove, ah’ve a horse’s appetite on me the night. How long’s tea gonnae be, hen?’ he asked.

  ‘Just about fifteen minutes.’

  Granny said, ‘Tell me whit’s in the paper while we’re waiting. I don’t suppose there’s anythin’ cheery?’

  ‘Naw. It gets worse every day. Noo there’s whit they’re callin’ spring cleanin’ of thae Austrian Jews.’

  Teresa, busy over at the range, shook her head. ‘Spring cleaning? Is that not awful? Poor souls!’

  ‘Aye,’ Granny said. ‘Thank God we wernae born Jews, that’s aw ah can say.’

  Erchie lifted the paper. ‘An’ it’s been carried oot at great speed, it says. Jews huv been dismissed from their professions, Jewish judges huv been dismissed, shops huv been forced tae put up placards saying “Jewish concern”. It says as well that theatre an’ music halls huv been already “spring cleaned” an’ among the artists that Vienna will know no more are Richard Tauber an’ Max Reinhardt.’

  ‘Is that no’ awfae?’ Granny said. ‘Whit’s the world comin’ tae, him such a good singer as well?’

  ‘An’ here’s a bit about a church leader—Pastor Niemoeller. He’s been detained in Sachsenhausen concentration camp where he’s tae join three thousand inmates under the “Death’s Head” Battalion o’ the SS.’

  ‘The poor soul,’ Teresa said. ‘A man of God. How wicked can anyone get?’

  ‘Here,’ Granny said. ‘Ah mind in the war, the British an’ the Germans were slaughterin’ each other by the million. Half the time just for a few yards o’ muddy ground, as well. An’ good men like oor Johnny bein’ tormented in jail because he stood up against it.’

  Teresa sighed. ‘Must you tell us all this before we eat our tea, Erchie? It’s enough to put us off.’

  ‘Sorry, hen, but Granny—’

  ‘I know, I know, but as I’ve said before, you can read to Granny through in the room after we have our tea.’

  Granny snorted. ‘Hiding yer heid in the sand never does anybody any good, or solves anythin’. That’s the trouble wi’ a lot o’ folk.’

  ‘You were hoping for something cheery yourself earlier on,’ Teresa reminded her.

  ‘Aw ah said wis, ah didnae suppose there was anythin’ cheery in the paper. An’ aw wis right!’

  ‘I used to think Erchie’s Daily Worker was awfully serious, but this paper’s just as bad.’

  ‘It’s no’ the Record’s fault, hen. It’s what’s goin’ on in the world. The Record jist lets us know.’

  ‘Yes, yes, but just do me a favour, Erchie, and keep it until after tea.’

  ‘Anythin’ you say, hen.’

  ‘You’re awful quiet, Wincey,’ Teresa said.

  ‘When’s she ever been a blether?’ Granny wanted to know.

  Wincey tried to pull herself together and pay attention to her immediate surroundings. She had been far away in Kirklee Terrace, remembering her home there and the way her mother sang as she moved about. She remembered the loving looks that passed between her mother and father. How happy and so much in love they’d been. She’d never seen—before or since—such a happy, loving couple.

  ‘I’m sorry, I was dreaming,’ Wincey said.

  ‘Nothing to be sorry about, dear. As long as you’re feeling all right.’

  Wincey smiled. ‘I’m fine. Can I help you dish the tea?’

  ‘No, no, sit where you are. Everything’s under control. Granny, can you manage on your own?’

  ‘Aye, now the swellin’s down in ma hands, ah’m no’ that bad at aw. Ah wish ah could say the same for ma hips an’ ma knees.’

  Teresa put a tray on Granny’s knee. Then she tucked one of Erchie’s big hankies into the top of the old woman’s dress.

  ‘I’ve mashed it up nice to make it easier for you.’

  ‘Ah’m no’ a wee wean. Ye didnae need tae dae that!’

  Teresa rolled her eyes and served Erchie, Wincey and herself with plates of fish in a cheese sauce. Then she put a dish of boiled potatoes on the table. ‘Wire in now.’

  ‘Ah saw Malcy earlier the day,’ Erchie said. ‘Ah forgot tae tell ye at dinner time.’

  ‘What do you mean, Erchie?’ Teresa said in a puzzled voice. ‘Surely you see him every day in the factory?’

  ‘Aye, ah know, but this was dinner time. He wis comin’ oot o’ O’Donnell’s close. Ah didnae think he knew anybody up there.’

  Teresa and Wincey exchanged glances and Erchie caught their look. ‘My God, dinnae tell me it was O’Donnell’s he wis at!’

  ‘Now, don’t you say anything, Erchie,’ Teresa warned. ‘We’re best not to interfere. Leave it to Charlotte. Any problem they have is between them. They’ve worked things out all right before. Charlotte can be quite firm when she wants. And she loves him that much. I’m sure he loves her as well, so they’ll come through this.’

  ‘Ye’re probably right, hen. Ah like a wee flutter masel’ as you know, but ah’ve been thinkin’ for a while now that Malcy seems tae have been goin’ over the score. Ah widnae like tae get on the wrong side o’ Mrs O’Donnell though. She’s got quite a few hard men at her biddin’. But och, if Malcy’s got in too deep wi’ Mrs O’Donnell, Charlotte’ll bail him out an’ save his bacon. He’ll be OK.’

  26

  ‘I was thinking it might be a good idea,’ Doctor Houston said, ‘if we met for a quiet meal and a
talk in a more relaxed atmosphere. Somewhere away from the surgery.’

  His car had drawn up beside Wincey as she was walking home.

  ‘I’m your patient.’ Wincey felt a bit shocked, as well as frightened. ‘You’re not supposed to take your patients out.’

  He laughed. ‘If we’re going into the ethical and legal niceties, you’re not actually registered with me, are you, so you’re not officially my patient.’

  ‘Well no, but you said—’

  ‘I’m a doctor, yes. And yes, I want to help you. And it’s true that I respect anyone’s confidence. Would it make you feel better if I said I just want to help you as a friend. Forget I’m a doctor if you like.’

  ‘I’m on my way home. Teresa will be expecting me for my tea.’

  ‘We’ll make it tomorrow then. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.’

  ‘Wait a minute—’

  But he’d wound up the window and the car had slid away.

  What a terrible cheek! He’d struck her as the kind of person who always had to get his own way. She felt harassed, as well as everything else. Her emotions were in turmoil. She couldn’t eat her tea.

  Teresa looked worried. ‘Are you sickening for something, dear?’

  ‘Ah’ll eat hers,’ Granny eagerly volunteered.

  ‘Granny,’ Teresa chided, ‘you’ll do no such thing.’

  Wincey hesitated, then thought she may as well tell the truth. They would be sure to find out, or one of the neighbours would probably see her getting into the doctor’s car.

  ‘I’m a bit taken aback, that’s all.’

  ‘What about, dear?’

  ‘Doctor Houston has asked me out for a meal. He says he’s calling for me tomorrow at seven thirty.’

  Teresa’s face lit up with delight. ‘I knew it! Didn’t I tell you? I knew he liked you, Wincey. Oh, I’m so pleased for you, dear.’

  ‘Aye,’ Granny said, ‘it’s high time she had a man.’

  ‘I don’t want to go out with him, but he didn’t give me a chance to say no.’