The Gourlay Girls

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

‘Good for him,’ Granny said. ‘He’s the fella for you. It’s a strong fella you need tae sort ye out.’

  ‘Now you must wear something really nice,’ Teresa said excitedly. ‘And take time off tomorrow to get your hair done, dear. Get a bit cut off that fringe. You always look as though you’re trying to hide underneath it.’

  ‘You’re making me feel nervous with all this fuss. I told you, I don’t want to go.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly, dear, of course you’ll go. And you’ll have a lovely time.’

  ‘Ah’ll gie ye a loan o’ ma good kirby-grip wi’ the diamonds on it,’ Granny offered.

  In a sudden impulse, Wincey rushed over and gave the old woman a hug and a kiss. ‘Thanks, Granny, you’re very kind.’

  ‘Away ye go an’ don’t be daft.’ Granny looked embarrassed but pleased at the same time. Teresa looked pleased as well, and Wincey thought there was nothing for it but to keep the appointment with Doctor Houston, if for no other reason than to avoid disappointing Teresa and Granny.

  The next day, she couldn’t concentrate on her work. Charlotte noticed, and even Malcy’s eyes kept wandering curiously towards her. Charlotte said, ‘Has something happened, Wincey? You look all flushed and sparkly-eyed.’

  ‘Not really. I’m going out for a meal tonight, that’s all.’

  Charlotte clapped her hands in delight. ‘Oh, at last, Wincey. I was getting worried about you. It’s not natural never to go out and enjoy yourself. It’s a boyfriend, isn’t it? You wouldn’t be all aglow like this if you were going out with a girl.’

  Wincey fussed and tutted and protested she was nothing of the kind, but Charlotte just laughed at her. The truth was of course that she was excited. But it was an excitement tinged with apprehension. She tried to be sensible. Doctor Houston was a perfectly respectable, kindly man who just wanted to help her. Why on earth should she feel so nervous of him? She felt angry with herself. She told herself not to be so stupid—all to no avail. The more she thought about it, the more she began to convince herself that nothing she could ever do or say would cure what was wrong with her. It had nothing to do with Doctor Houston. It was an irrational fear that was always there, deep inside her. No doctor had any pills or potions or could give any advice that would ever help her.

  ‘For goodness sake, dear,’ Teresa said, as seven thirty was drawing near, ‘try to look a bit cheerful. You’d think you were going to a funeral, not out for a meal with a handsome man.’

  ‘Aye,’ Granny said, ‘she’s never been wan tae talk much, but noo she’s gone completely dumb. Ah sometimes think she’s aff her heid, that yin.’

  Still Wincey didn’t say anything. Even when they heard the car hooter, she just left the house with only a wave and a faint smile to the two women.

  ‘Quick,’ Granny shouted at Teresa, ‘hurl me through tae the room windae.’

  Doctor Houston got out of the car and opened the door for Wincey. The faint nervous smile stuck to her face as Wincey climbed into the front seat. He slid in beside her and the car moved off. They didn’t talk much until Doctor Houston said, ‘You’re looking very nice.’

  ‘Doctor—’ Wincey began.

  But he immediately corrected her, ‘Robert. Friends, remember?’

  ‘Robert,’ she said, although it felt very odd to be saying it, ‘I’m nervous of sitting in a restaurant in town in case one of my family or their friends might see me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve thought of that. I’m taking you to a little hotel I know out near the Campsie Hills.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So relax.’

  She nodded, and they lapsed into silence again. The hotel was an old coaching house and the restaurant had once been the stables. It still had the original flagstones under foot, whitewashed stone walls and dark oak beams. A huge log fire crackled cheerily in the ancient hearth.

  ‘This is lovely,’ Wincey said.

  ‘I thought you’d like it. I’ll go over to the bar and fetch some drinks. What’ll you have?’

  ‘A gin and tonic, please.’

  ‘Right.’

  She watched him stride over to the bar and smile and chat to the barmaid. She noticed that above the bar there hung horse brasses and horse shoes. Her attention kept being drawn, however, to Houston’s muscular back and his head of blue black hair. Even from this distance, she could sense the strong aura of masculinity and self-confidence emanating from him. He returned and sat down opposite her. He raised his tankard of beer.

  ‘Health and happiness.’

  ‘Health and happiness,’ she echoed, raising her glass.

  After a moment, he said, ‘Wincey, your grandfather was an old man and there’s no doubt he died of natural causes. You do know that, don’t you?’

  She stared down at her drink and said nothing.

  ‘I just wondered if you felt guilty in some way about his death, and that’s what made you run away–and stay away,’ he added. ‘But believe me, you had nothing to do with his death. I’ve looked into this and he died of a heart attack. He had a heart condition. There’s absolutely no doubt about that.’

  Just then a waitress came to take their order for the meal and Houston said, ‘Let’s concentrate on enjoying the meal. We can talk about that afterwards.’ And he turned the conversation round to Granny, reminding Wincey of some of Granny’s hilarious pronouncements. Soon Wincey was laughing and adding some anecdotes of her own that he had not heard. She enjoyed the meal and afterwards they took their glass of wine over to one of the more private areas that had wooden partitions on each side. Wincey guessed that perhaps they had been where the horses would have been stabled.

  ‘So,’ Houston said, ‘was I right about the guilt?’

  She hesitated, her heart thumping. ‘In a way,’ she managed at last.

  ‘In what way?’ he asked gently.

  She shook her head. ‘You won’t understand. You’ll just hate me. Everybody would if they knew.’

  ‘Try me.’

  Wincey didn’t answer.

  ‘Wincey, try to let it out. You’ve obviously been harbouring some secret that you believe is terrible. And for so many years. It’s time you got rid of the burden of it and got on with your life. As a doctor, I’ve seen and heard some terrible things. I’ve long since stopped being shocked at anything. If I ever was shocked at all. I’ve always been able to take things in my stride—you have to be like that working in the Royal in Glasgow. That’s where I was before.’

  Wincey took a deep breath. ‘I killed him.’

  Houston shook his head. ‘No, no, Wincey. I’ve just told you—’

  ‘I watched him.’ In anguish Wincey closed her eyes. ‘I can still see him gasping for breath. I’ll never forget it. And how I let him die.’

  ‘My dear girl, you were only a child. You couldn’t have done anything.’

  ‘Yes, I could have run upstairs as I’d done before, and fetched his tablets. But I didn’t. I just stood there and watched him die.’

  ‘Wincey, you were a child. You were in the house alone with him. You were in shock. It stands to reason, especially when it was someone you loved. Anyone would have understood that. My dear, believe me. You weren’t able to do anything but just stand there like that.’

  Wincey looked down at her hands. She was twisting them tightly together. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘No perhaps about it. I’ve seen too many people in shock to have any doubt whatsoever. You were in shock,’ he repeated firmly. ‘You must rid yourself of all these guilty feelings.’

  Wincey kept twisting at her hands. ‘You don’t understand. I wanted him to die. I hated him. He had … he had …’ her hands now moved, instinctively, down between her legs, in an unconscious attempt to cover and protect, even from the memory … ‘he had been touching me, doing things … for years. It was wrong, horrible … but what could I do? He was my grandfather …’

  ‘Oh my dear!’ Houston’s big hand covered hers. ‘My poor Wincey. Now I really do understand.’


  Tears began gushing down Wincey’s cheeks. He moved closer to her and put his other arm around her shoulders.

  ‘It’s all right. You’re going to be all right, do you hear?’

  She tried to nod and after a minute or two, he said,

  ‘It’s one of the terrible things about this kind of abuse. The victim gets the idea that it’s their fault. This is totally wrong. It’s always the fault of the abuser. But I’ve known this to happen over and over again. Whether the victim is a child or an adult, they feel dirty and they feel guilty. And these feelings can ruin their whole lives. I’ve known elderly women who were abused as children, and were still suffering deep inside as a result. They’ve never got over it. It’s tragic. You mustn’t go on suffering like that, Wincey. I won’t let you.’

  She raised a tear-stained, anxious face. ‘You don’t hate me?’

  ‘Wincey!’ He drew her head down against his chest. ‘Of course I don’t hate you. Quite the contrary. Now, in a minute or two, I’m going to go and fetch you a glass of brandy. That’ll steady you up a bit. Then I’m going to drive you home. You’ll have a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you again tomorrow. All right?’

  ‘All right,’ she murmured into the hard warmth of his body.

  27

  As Virginia walked about in the Gorbals, memories of her past life came flooding back. It was almost as if she was back in the teeming tenements of her youth, with their cavernous closes—man-made tunnels between the bottom of stairs and the streets. They were dark, cold and draughty places which the sunlight could never penetrate. She knew the worn stairs, and the flickering shadows of the gas light, and the stench of the overflowing lavatories. She heard the children crying, the racket of husbands and wives arguing, the drunk men, some aggressive and some maudlin. She returned to the close where she had been born. Seeing it, Virginia wondered how she’d ever survived in the place. Many others had not.

  She heard again the deep melancholy booming of a foghorn from the river. The Gorbals had been the subject of a great many stories in newspapers and books in the past few years and had acquired a terrible reputation for violence. Reading these stories led outsiders to think that it was an area of constant violence and one pitched battle after another. But this had never been Virginia’s experience. The main problem as far as violence was concerned was wife beating. And it took place on Friday or Saturday nights, after the husbands came home from the pub. She’d often seen women with black eyes and bruises at weekends. It was quite common to see or hear a child rushing along the street to the Southern Division police station shouting, ‘Ma faither’s killin’ ma mither.’

  There were two other types of violence Virginia had witnessed. One was caused by men coming out of a pub where they’d been talking and arguing, and continuing the argument in the vicinity of the public lavatories at Gorbals Cross. Another was at the intersection of Gorbals Street and Cumberland Street, near where she’d lived. Again it usually happened on a Friday or a Saturday night. An argument would become heated and lead to a street fight. This was always conducted with fists, and as a rule by no more than two men. A crowd of spectators would gather around though, and fair play was always insisted on. If the police saw the crowd and heard the disturbance, they would come along and order the fight to stop. It usually did. The policemen were often big Highlanders, well known and respected by most of the locals. If the police order was ignored, or if one of the fighters abused or attacked the police, there would be an arrest, with the policemen grabbing the offenders by the scruff of the neck and marching them off to the local police station.

  The only other form of violence Virginia knew of was street fighting—but between youths of seventeen and under. They named themselves ‘Cumbies’ from Cumberland Street and ‘Billy Boys’ from Bridgeton. There was another gang of older men, she remembered, called the ‘Beehives’, after a shop at the corner of Cumberland Street and Thistle Street. They were unemployed men who used to hang about nearby and air their grievances. Sometimes their bitterness and resentment would boil over and once or twice a year, they’d gather together on a Saturday evening and march along a few streets, shouting and waving sticks. Sometimes groups of youths formed themselves into gangs and had tussles with the Beehives, but again only fists and sticks were used.

  Virginia often wondered why this myth about the Gorbals as a hotbed of vice and violence had arisen. Mathieson said it was government-inspired—all part of an attempt to discredit men like Maclean and the other Red Clydesiders. In his view, this was why every minor incident that occurred in the Gorbals was blown up out of all proportion in the press and made to sound like a civil war was going on.

  Virginia had a heavy heart as she wandered through the familiar streets. She remembered her mother and father and brothers, and many kindly neighbours and friends of long ago. She hardly knew anyone in Kirklee Terrace. It suddenly occurred to her that she missed the teeming life of the tenements, the closeness of neighbours and the involvement in each other’s lives. Had she still lived in the Gorbals when Wincey disappeared, she would no doubt have had much sympathy, compassion, support and practical help from everyone around her.

  Nevertheless, she could still imagine her mother and other working-class women, even without any help, soldiering on with courage and tenacity. It made Virginia feel ashamed of her own weakness and dependency. She made her way through the Gorbals streets with their crowds of ragged, barefoot children at play and women, some wrapped in plaid shawls, standing in groups at close-mouths or leaning on folded arms on windowsills, having what they called ‘a hing’.

  By the time she’d boarded a tram car and was on her way home, she had made a vow to be stronger from now on. To look forward with courage and optimism, not backward with sadness and regret. On the main street, she saw a placard outside a stationer’s advertising the Empire Exhibition in Bellahouston Park and, feeling more cheerful already, she suddenly took the notion to sample the wonders of this new Glasgow venture.

  As soon as she got home, she prepared a special evening meal for herself and Nicholas and while they were eating it, she suggested that they should visit the Exhibition together.

  ‘I don’t think as a writer you should miss this experience, Nicholas.’

  His eyes brightened with interest. ‘Yes, you could be right.’ And so it was arranged—their first outing together for longer than she cared to remember.

  On the way to Bellahouston Park in the car with Nicholas at the wheel, she made a point of showing interest in his writing. She’d shown nothing but bitterness and resentment towards it for too long.

  ‘How is your work progressing, Nicholas? I hope it’s going well.’

  He glanced round at her in surprise but he also looked pleased. ‘I’ve been having a bit of a struggle for a while,’ he admitted.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘if I’ve been less than helpful or encouraging recently. I know I’ve been far too self-obsessed.’

  ‘Darling, if anyone’s been self-obsessed, it’s been me. I should be the one apologising. Come to think of it, I haven’t been of much help or support to you. I’ve withdrawn so much into myself as well as into my room. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Never mind. Let’s both try again, shall we? Let’s make a go of our marriage, I mean. It’s been drifting dangerously near the rocks, don’t you think?’

  He nodded, his eyes still on the road ahead. ‘Yes, we’ve been needing to talk for a while.’

  ‘And we will,’ Virginia said, ‘but let’s relax and enjoy our visit to the Exhibition. Let’s pretend we’re a young courting couple again and we’re out on an exciting date.’

  He grinned. ‘Well, if we’re going to act as we used to, you’re not going to have much chance to talk, Virginia.’

  ‘We can’t behave exactly as we used to. There are no woods around here for a start.’

  ‘There’s the trees in the park, and lots of nice springy grass.’

  She laughed and playfully smacked his hand
. ‘Do you want to get us arrested?’

  ‘It would be worth it. I’m game if you are.’

  She tutted and shook her head, but she was light-hearted with happiness.

  After Nicholas parked the car and they entered the park, Virginia linked arms with him. He looked down at her with surprise and pleasure lighting his eyes again. Soon their whole attention was riveted by the fantastic sights all around them. There was the Highland clachan built beside a loch among a grove of trees. It consisted of thatched roofed cottages clustered around an old castle. At one of the cottages, wool was being spun. In the castle, ceilidhs were being held, songs were sung, and stories told that had been handed down from father to son for centuries in the Highlands.

  There were the noisy thrills and spills and looping the loop of the amusement park, including a scenic railway, and the Rocket ride. Virginia and Nicholas stood for a time admiring the lake with its beautiful fountains and cascades. Everywhere there were magnificent pavilions, each representing a different part of the Empire—Australia, Canada, and Africa—all illustrating the Exhibition’s theme of modernity.

  Eventually Virginia said, ‘We’ll never be able to see it all in one afternoon. I’m exhausted already, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, let’s have a leisurely meal and then make for home. We can come back again another day. In fact, I think we’ll have to come back several times, Virginia, if we’re to see everything. Next time, let’s come in the evening, so that we can see the illuminations. I’ve heard they’re really special.’

  ‘Right.’ Virginia was studying her map. ‘Let’s go to this treetop restaurant. It’s on the first storey of the great Tower of Empire. It says the tower is a three-hundred-foot-high triumph of engineering. It certainly looks impressive, doesn’t it?’

  They strolled towards the tower and were soon settled at a table in the unusual restaurant where trees were growing up through the floor and enormously high windows sparkled all around. They had champagne with the meal and Virginia became quite giggly.

  ‘If I don’t get you home right now,’ Nicholas told her with mock seriousness, ‘you’re going to give me a showing up. Come on.’