In a Class of Their Own

by Millie Gray

  “I’ll gae if Hannah gangs wi’ me,’” said Sam reluctantly, willing her to send her precious Hannah with him.

  Sam’s face fell though when Rachel shouted, “Carrie!”

  “I’ve an idea,” Carrie said, jumping from one foot to another.

  “Your heid’s aye runnin’ on wheels,” Sam replied. “An’ I hope to heavens this time ye’ve thocht of somethin’ that’ll get us oot o this blinkin’ queue.”

  “Well, no exactly out o the queue,” Carrie went on chirpily. “But how’s about we take turns to stand here and that’ll let us go round the corner to Admiralty Street to see Granny for a heat?”

  Sam shook his head, but then he began to make clucking sounds with his tongue.

  “And just remember, Sam,” Carrie wheedled when she saw him weakening, “Granny aye has soup on the fire. A big black pot of yummy soup.”

  “Aye, an’ she ayeways has big slices of plain breid to dunk in it.” Licking his lips, Sam decided, “Richt. Ye first. But dinnae be ower lang. I’m stairvin’.”

  Carrie’s backside landed twice on the icy pavements so she decided to walk instead of run to her Granny’s. But when she did finally reach 35 Admiralty Street, she bounded up the worn wooden stairs two at time. Until, that is, she reached the dark landing – the dark landing where Spring-heeled Jack had sprung down and grabbed children, to whisk them away, never ever to be seen again. Or so the story went, as Carrie had been told it again and again by her mother.

  A door creaked open as Carrie crossed the landing to the next flight of stairs. She froze. Footsteps shuffled. Carrie began to whistle loudly and then called, “Granny, Granny, it’s me. I’m coming.”

  “Aw it’s just ye, Carrie hen? Comin’ to see yer granny, are ye?” the neighbour called out.

  “Aye, Mrs Burgess. Didnae ken it was you. Thought it might be – Spring-heeled Jack.”

  Mrs Burgess chuckled. “Wish’d I was. Oh aye, maybe a couple o springs on my heels would help my auld rheumaticky legs get up and doon they stairs.”

  Carrie just giggled at Mrs Burgess’ comments. At her Granny’s door, she knocked before opening it.

  Like all the doors in 35 Admiralty Street, this door was always unlocked. It wasn’t simply that everybody trusted everybody else in the stair; it was just that nobody there had anything worth stealing. Yet Carrie wouldn’t remember much of the poverty, squalor and stench of that condemned slum, with its scampering mice and cockroaches. Nor would she recall the bug-deterrent red lead paint that covered the floor and three feet up the wall of her Granny’s bed-recess; nor the ramshackle dresser that held everything Granny owned, but whose doors had to be jammed shut with cardboard wedges because it stood on a steeply sloping floor. Yet Carrie would always remember the wardrobe, rammed tight against the foot of the bed, whose mirror welcomed you when you opened the door, and the white, starched valances that skirted the brass-knobbed big bed where she had often cuddled into Rosie. Then there was the two-seated linoleum-covered fender-stool where she and Sam had sat to warm themselves and listen to Granny’s stories, the small wooden stool that Sam saved his pennies in, the battered alarm clock that would only go when face down and the wally dogs that adorned the sloping mantelpiece. But her most treasured memory would be of Rosie, her grandmother, whom she never noticed had become bent over with arthritis and was now weary of the struggle of just staying alive.

  Once inside the darkened room, Carrie was glad to see Granny was sitting by the fireside, dressed in her floral wrap-over pinny. The hairpins that held her bun in place had been removed, and she was busily grooming her hair.

  “Hiya, Granny.”

  Rosie turned. “Carrie, love,” she said delightedly. “Whatever brings ye oot on a sic a day?”

  “We’ve no coal for the fire so we’ve come to buy briquettes at the coal yard.”

  “Whae’s we? You an’ Hannah?”

  “No. Hannah doesnae stand in queues – only Sam and me. Anyway we decided … because it’s a really long queue. Three hours, Granny.”

  “That lang?”

  “Aye, so as I was saying, we decided I’d come up first for a wee heat here and Sam would keep our place in the queue.” Carrie looked over to the range and smiled when she saw, sure enough, that the big black pot was over the fire. “What’s in the pot, Granny?”

  “Noo, what would ye like to be in the pot?” said Rosie, sitting up and lifting the lid to let the aroma waft over Carrie.

  “Soup. Some hot bubbling soup.”

  “Weel yer luck’s in cos that’s just what’s in it. And ye’ll get yer share in a meenit or twa, when it’s ready.” Rosie lifted a wooden spoon and stirred the soup before sitting down again.

  “Could I brush your hair while we’re waiting, Ganny?”

  “Brush my hair?”

  “Aye, I’d love to brush your hair. We’re no allowed to have long hair. Just short back and sides.”

  “Why?”

  “Cos Mammy says long hair ends up getting nits and poggies and we’re not allowed to have them neither.”

  Rosie chuckled as she handed over the brush and Carrie began with long, sweeping strokes to brush her grandmother’s hair. Soon the hair was free of tugs and began to shine. Rosie sighed. “That feels guid, Carrie. Really guid! Noo I’ll just put the plaits in and roll it back up.”

  While Rosie arranged her hair, Carrie sat watching with a feeling of unease creeping over her as she noticed that her Granny’s china-blue eyes, the deepest blue Carrie had ever seen, were now growing rheumy. The chill of that discovery was soon replaced though by the warm glow that swept over her when she realised that, no matter how dimmed her granny’s eyes became, she would always be there for her – as she had been last week when Carrie and her Mammy had had one of their many rows. That time it was because Rachel had forbidden her to go anywhere near the Carnival that had arrived at Leith Links.

  That particular row had resulted in Carrie running out of the house and vowing never to return. But after pouring out the whole story to her Granny about how desperately she wanted, only once, to go down the helter-skelter, Rosie had let Carrie warm herself by the fire and had given her some soup before sending her back home. Carrie would always remember Rosie’s words as they parted.

  “It’s in naebody’s interest for me to hae a row wi’ your Mammy. She’ll hae cooled doon by noo. So ye go richt hame and it’ll be aw richt. Never fear.”

  Carrie never told Granny what terrible things Rachel said – that Rosie was a drunken, snuffing old bitch. And Carrie knew her Granny liked her snuff. She was often sent to the newsagents for a quarter-ounce poke of it. On the way back Carrie would open up the poke and have a wee sniff at it herself. She cackled at the thought of being so daring and remembered the big sneeze that would invariably follow. Carrie also knew her Granny didn’t drink. Not now, at any rate.

  “Granny,” Carrie asked quietly. “Is it true that you used to drink?”

  Rosie took a deep breath and exhaled ever so slowly. “Aye,” she admitted. “I drank at a time in my life when I couldnae cope. Couldnae tak ony mair, so help me.”

  “What was so awful for you, Granny?”

  “Yer grandfaither, Andra, God rest his soul,” Rosie said, crossing herself, “was a stoker on the steamships. He’d be awa for years at a time, so he would. He’d leave me an allotment – part of his wages, that is. But he was nae different from ony ither men. Naw, naw, my share was far less than what he kept for his ain pooch. I just couldnae manage, so I took a job in the Roperie to mak ends meet. In the hemp bit I was. Making ropes for the big boats.”

  “It’s an awfy dirty place, that Roperie, Granny. My Mammy says that people who work there are all dirt-common.”

  “Listen, lassie,” Rosie interrupted. “Onybody that gaes oot to work for their livin’ is respectable. And there are some richt guid folk work in that Roperie. Onyway, I was tellin’ ye, while yer grandfaither was at sea I had took a job that seared yer lungs. But I needed it to keep yo
ur Auntie and Daddy that were at schuil. Nae to mention wee Paul and the other bairn I was cairrying. Weel, yin day I went into work at eight. I’d put wee Paul into the Tolbooth Wynd Nursery just efter seven and that let me work through till six at nicht.”

  “That was a long working day for you, Granny.”

  “Aye, was it. But at six I cam oot and went to the nursery to pick up the bairn. Just eighteen months auld, Paul was.” Rosie stopped to take out a piece of rag from her pocket to dab her eyes. “Handed him to me, they did. Cauld and stiff.”

  “Oh Granny, are you sayin’ they never came to your work and told you that he was ill?” Carrie gasped, flinging her arms around the old woman.

  “Naw. They didnae bother in they days aboot folks like us. They thocht we’d nae feelings. Factory fodder. That’s aw we were to them. Just like the beasts o the fields.”

  Rosie sighed and Carrie stayed silent.

  “I mind,” Rosie began again, more to herself than to Carrie. “Aye, I mind takkin’ him in my airms. Openin’ my shawl and haudin’ him close to me. Tryin’ I was, to warm him up. Bring life back to him.”

  Rosie stopped and dabbed her eyes again. Carrie gently climbed up on her Granny’s knee and put both arms around her neck.

  “When I got hame to this hoose,” Rosie continued in her distinctive Irish lilt, “my guid sister, yer great-auntie Anna,” that fetched up yer Mammy and looked efter your Auntie Ella and yer Daddy for me – she took wee Paul frae me. Washed him, she did, and got him ready for buryin’ in the paupers.

  “Next week, the bairn I was cairryin’ came early. Lang afore her time she was, that’s for sure. Never breathed. Naw, wee Jeanie never breathed a breath.” Rosie hesitated and shook her head before going on. “Efter that, I just needed somethin’ to blot oot aw the misery. Ye see, oor betters were wrang. We dae hae herts and mine was sair wrung.” Rosie stopped again and clicked her tongue before adding dreamily, “Red Biddy dulled the pain. So, aye, I was a drunken disgrace for a couple o years. Faw doon into the gutter, I would. Glad enough I was, to be in a senseless stupor.”

  “How did you manage to stop drinking, Granny? Our grandad, Gabby, can’t do it. Mammy says he really is a drunken disgrace,” Carrie interjected.

  “Weel, when Faither Kelly came to be priest at Star of the Sea he picked me richt oot o the gutter yin day. Didnae kick me like the nuns yaised tae. Took me to the Chapel Hoose he did and talked things ower. Telt me, he did, that drinkin’ wasnae the wey oot and I should come back to my faith cos Christ was waitin’ for me. An’ he said that Christ gave his blood to forgie me onythin’. An’ somehow, Carrie, the guid Faither got me on the wagon and we made it.”

  “You never touched a drop from then on?”

  “Couldnae exactly say that. Naw. Naw. I did slip aff a couple of times, but Faither Kelly was ayeways there to pull me back on board.”

  Rosie shook her head again before putting Carrie off her knee. Lifting up the poker she vigorously stirred the fire. Flames leapt. Logs crackled.

  “Is that him that’s still in St Mary’s Star of the Sea?” Carrie asked, wondering if she had been put down because the soup was ready.

  “Aye, a fine man. Kens the names of aw the bairns in Leith.”

  “Aye, even us Proddies.”

  Rosie smiled. “Mind ye, even though I’ve been dry for years, there are still them that like to mind hoo I let awbody doon.” Rosie hesitated before whispering, “Just like yer Daddy’s daeing noo.”

  “Could I get my soup now, Granny? Sam’ll be waiting,” Carrie deliberately interrupted before hearing anything bad being said about her Dad.

  “Richt enough and he’s turnin’ into a braw lad, is oor Sam.”

  “Tallest in the class, he is. And Granny – know something else? – Sam can pee further up the school wall than any other laddie. Just a shame he’s got dropsy now.”

  “Dropsy?” Rosie exclaimed. “Oh no! Hoo did he get that?”

  “Well last Monday he was puttin’ the morning rolls into bags to deliver to his customers when he dropped one on to the dirty floor. Manager told him to bucket it. So every morning now he has dropsy – drops a buttery for himself an’ a bran scone for Paul. Never drops anything for me or Hannah though.”

  Rosie shook her head in mock horror. “Dearie, dearie me, my hert was sair wrung for yer Mammy when Sam didnae get sittin’ for the bursary.”

  “But it was Mammy stopped him.”

  “Aye, I ken,” Rosie said with a nod. “That was because she couldnae dae onythin’ else. But it must hae broke her hert. Oh aye, aw she’s ever wanted was for ye aw to dae weel. Dreams, she does, of ye being doctors, lawyers and whatever. Puir soul, when her dreams for Sam and Hannah were comin’ true, she couldnae find the blinking bus fares.” Without another word Rosie stood up and started to dish up Carrie’s soup.

  As soon as the blue and white delft bowl was placed in front of Carrie she began to drool. She was in such a hurry to sup the scalding liquid that she spluttered some of it over the clean newspaper that Granny always covered the table with. Once finished she immediately stood up. “Got to give Sam his time off now,” she said.

  Before she left, Rosie asked, “Is that thin coat aw ye’ve got to stand in that lang queue wi’?”

  “Aye, but I’ll be all right, now I’ve had your soup, Granny.”

  But Rosie took down her own black woollen shawl from the nail on the back of the door, wrapped it around Carrie and fastened it securely with a hairpin from her newly-groomed hair. “Noo aff ye gang, my dear,” she said, opening the door.

  Carrie hesitated. “Granny,” she said, reaching up to peck Rosie’s cheek, “I don’t care if you did drink long ago. You’re the best soup-maker in all the whole wide world now. And what matters to me is that you aye keep some for me.”

  Rosie turned away. She didn’t want Carrie to see the tears springing to her eyes. “Here, lass, I’m forgettin’,” she said, hurriedly, lifting the steaming marrow bone out of the soup pot and laying it on to a plate. “On yer wey past tak that ben to Mrs Burgess, and mind an’ tell her I’ve only boiled it the once.”

  Carrie looked puzzled.

  “The docks hae been rained aff for a fortnight, lassie,” Rosie explained. “That means there’s nae sae much grub aboot. So we aw hae to stick thegether this winter or we’ll nae survive it.”

  CHAPTER 6

  CHRISTMAS GREETINGS

  The snow that had started falling at six o’clock, when Carrie left home to do her morning paper run, had now developed into a raging blizzard that swirled and eddied about her as she made her way to school.

  She had the comfort, however, of knowing that the door would be opened when she arrived at the school. The weather had been so harsh for the past five weeks that the children had not been expected to line up in the playground or huddle together in the sheds. They went instead straight into their classrooms whenever they arrived. And it was not unusual for Hermitage Park School to grant more than one half day off in a week that winter. Many of the children attending Hermitage Park were judged to be needy and therefore lacking the suitable clothing or footwear to withstand the elements.

  As she trudged along, Carrie became aware that someone was following her. Then she was greeted with a “Hiya, Carrie. Here, d’ye think we’ll get anither halfie the day?”

  “Don’t think so, Jean, seeing we got one on Thursday and Friday last week and it’s only Tuesday today.”

  “Aye, but that doesnae maitter if the weather’s really bad. And it’s worse the day than it was on Friday,” argued her classmate, Jean Watson.

  “I know that,” Carrie emphasised with more force than was needed. “But it’s also Christmas Eve, so we’ll be getting out at half past two anyhow.”

  The next thing the girls knew was a shower of snowballs thudding into their backs. Jean ran into school screaming but Carrie bent down and seized a fistful of snow which she firmly pressed into a ball and fired it into the ring-leader’s face. Before John
Ellis or any of his gang could retaliate, Carrie bolted for the school steps but as she reached the door she heard a voice call out: “Hey, where’re ye goin’?”

  Pulling up hard she retorted, “Into school, Sam. Where else?”

  “Weel, come ower here first and gie’s a haun.”

  “You’re not really expecting me to help you to humph that milk into the classrooms?” Carrie spluttered with indignation.

  “Naw. I need ye to haud they twa Kola bottles while I fill them wi’ milk. Then I’ll bunk them in the jannie’s office and tak them hame later.”

  “But that’s stealing.”

  “Naw, it’s no. It’s bein’ thrifty, cos aw the really puir bairns are hardly ever at schuil the noo. So their free milk would just go to waste if I didnae find a yaise for it.”

  “You’re turning into a right spiv, Sam.”

  “Am I? Weel see, the nicht, when ye reach ower to pit some o this milk on yer parritch, I’ll cut the fingers aff ye, so I will,” snorted Sam as he filled up the Kola bottles.

  Carrie said nothing, but raced away into the school building.

  She was pleased to see that she was into class before Sheila, the girl she shared the double desk with. That meant she could get herself to the far end of the seat and tuck her feet underneath the radiator. While her hands and feet were gradually thawing, Carrie’s thoughts turned to Sheila. Though her best friend at school, Carrie hated the fact that Sheila had been lucky enough to get herself born to a forty-seven-year-old mother – which meant Sheila had a jammy life because her three elder brothers were all working. Not only could her mother afford Wellington boots for her daughter, but she could buy slippers for her to change into when in class. “How come you have such an old Mammy?” Carrie had once asked her.