I bit my lip, unsure what to do.
Nellie continued, ‘This march is a protest against unemployment and now it seems our dole money is going to be cut and we’re all to be subjected to this awful means test. My Wullie is on the march and I’m hoping he’s all right as well. Rita’s man wasn’t well so she put her foot down at him going. That’s why he’s like a bear with a sore head.’
Rita appeared and nodded. ‘Oh, aye, it’s obviously better being out with your pals, shouting and singing and chucking insults at the police.’
‘Aye, you’re right, Rita. Wait till my man gets back and finds I didn’t get his five Woodbines – all hell will be let loose.’ She turned wearily towards her house then stopped. ‘Heavens, I didn’t ask how wee Lily is. I hope she’s fine.’
I assured them that all was well with the baby. After the two women had gone I decided to wait for Dad in the house. There was no need for a key because no one ever bothered to lock their doors.
As I stood on the threshold, I almost burst into tears at the sight of the neglected and untidy room. The bed looked as if it had never been made since my last visit. The bedclothes lay in a heap, some on the bed and the rest on the floor, and not only that – they looked grubby.
Grey ashes had built up in the grate before finally spilling out in a lifeless eruption on to the tin fender. Some had even landed on the little colourful rag rug that Mum had lovingly made one winter from a pile of jumble sale rags. Dad’s boots had trodden cinders into the fabric, making the colours appear subdued under this ashy cover.
A thick layer of dust lay along the mantelpiece, covering the few cheap and cheerful ornaments that had also been Mum’s pride and joy. The wooden kitchen table was minus its oilcloth. There was a stale loaf of bread, a packet of margarine with a knife still sticking in its yellow surface and an almost-empty bottle with an inch of milk at the bottom of it that had long since gone sour and congealed.
The sugar bowl lay on its side, a trail of silver crystals decorating the rough table top in a haphazard pattern before mingling with a dried-up pool of tea stains. Beside this was a brown-stained cup with a thick sugary film clinging to the sides while brown tea drips formed a pattern on the outside. A small teapot lay on the unlit gas ring, holding in its depths something that resembled a petrified fossil.
‘Oh, Dad, how could you end up like this?’ I thought aloud. ‘Mum kept this room like a wee palace.’
Danny appeared back and his eyes opened in amazement. I held up my hand. ‘Not a word to Granny about this but can you help me clean it up?’
He cleared the table, throwing the milk down the sink and putting the margarine in the cupboard while I stripped and remade the bed. Finally I filled a bucket with several scoops of ashes and carried it down to the midden in the courtyard.
When I got back Danny was whistling cheerfully. ‘Your dad’s going to wonder who did all this cleaning for him,’ he said, running a rag over the dusty surfaces. ‘Now I’m not leaving you here so hurry up – I’ve to get back to work.’
I was busy laying the fire, placing the kindling crosswise over screwed-up paper. I then picked up the dirty sheets and, with a quick backward glance, we left. Dad had still not returned.
I was feeling so sad as we headed back for the Overgate, retracing our steps through the shortcut because the crowds were still surging around the bottom of the Hilltown. Although the noise had subsided slightly, the racket was still going on. It was the same scene at Albert Square, which had been the venue for the start of the march. There was still a multitude of people and some of the injured were being ferried away. We saw one policeman with two young men, both of whom had blood streaming down their faces.
‘Better get them to the Dundee Royal Infirmary,’ said a voice from the crowd.
‘This was a peaceful march till you lot waded in,’ shouted another angry disembodied voice from the heaving mass.
There were groups of tearful women with distressed children. Tearful streaks running down their dirty faces gave them a two-toned striped look.
‘You would be better off taking your kids home than have them howling here,’ suggested one policeman.
This was met with enraged shouts. ‘Take the kids home, did you say? And what happens when we get there. We get cut off from the dole and maybe even the parish relief. What do we feed them on? You tell us. Aye, we’ll take them away – take them home to starve.’
The policeman retreated to the far edge of the crowd. He obviously didn’t have the answer to that tragic thorny question.
I was still agitated. ‘Danny, promise me you’ll no’ say a word about the state of the house. It’ll just worry Granny and she’s got enough of that on her plate at the moment. No, I’ll just have to look hard for a job then I’ll be able to look after Lily and Dad.’
Granny was relieved to see us – so relieved that she didn’t notice the sheets. ‘My, I’m glad to see you both. What a night it’s been. Some windows in the Westport have been broken and the rumour is that the communists are behind it. Personally I don’t believe that. The Establishment will need a scapegoat because they’ll not want the riot to be their fault. No, siree.’ She suddenly spotted the bundle. ‘What’s that?’
I looked nonchalantly at them as if seeing them for the first time. I tried to sound unruffled. ‘Oh, these? I decided to change the bed for Dad and I’ll wash the sheets along with our washing at the steamie.’
She looked disapprovingly at me. ‘Your dad will not be pleased. We’ve all tried to help him but he’s that thrawn at times and he says he wants to think things out for himself.’
‘I’m no’ working out his problems for him, granny – just changing the sheets.’
It was important to keep the secret from her. If she saw how Dad was now living, she would be round to the Hilltown in a flash, packing his things and removing him to her caring and orderly domain.
Although I didn’t say it, my plans included a quick visit every week to keep an eye on Dad and on the house.
4
Granny always said Hattie had a lucky streak. She was the kind of person who, should she fall out a window, would go straight to heaven without the initial impact of hitting the pavement.
But that wasn’t really true. The one time her good luck deserted her was when her husband Pat died, leaving her a widowed mother at twenty-five. She met Pat during the summer of 1913, a year before the Great War started. Instead of going into one of the numerous jute mills like most of her contemporaries, the fourteen-year-old Hattie had gone into service as a housemaid in a large house near Glamis. Pat had been on a day’s hike with a Lochee walking club. The men had stopped for a refreshing drink from a water fountain in the street and he saw Hattie coming out of a shop. When their eyes met, they were both smitten and it was love at first sight. At least that was the story according to Hattie but I always thought it was so romantic.
After a quick courtship they were married. In 1915, two weeks after Pat had left for France, Danny was born. Pat didn’t see his wife or son until he was posted out of the army in 1917.
I could well remember Bella going on about it in her usual garrulous manner. ‘Oh, he was a poor soul. He lost all his toes on his right foot in a shell blast,’ she said, scrutinising her own feet with a sharp glance to make sure her own toes were still intact. ‘Well, he got sent back home but, one Sunday morning, after a visit to his family in Lochee, he got killed by a tramcar – fell right in front of it.’
Granny had tried to hush her up but Bella was the kind of person who spoke first and thought about it later. ‘Now just keep quiet, Bella. Don’t rake it all up again – especially in front of Danny. Hattie has done a good job bringing him up and she’s aye had to work hard.’
Bella was unabashed. ‘Still, she aye seems to land on her feet. She got a few quid from her man’s insurance policy and she has the money to make her house bonny – it’s real palace, her flat in Westport. And now she’s got another cushy job in another fancy bi
g house.’
Bella sounded jealous of the fact that Hattie was getting on in her life. Granny suspected that Bella would have liked to see Hattie descend the social scale rapidly but, instead, Hattie was climbing the ladder slowly, rung by rung.
Even at Mum’s funeral, Bella had been harping on about Hattie. ‘I see Mrs Hoity-Toity has landed herself another fancy job – no dole money for her or even working in a dirty jute mill.’
Actually this statement was untrue because her job as housekeeper to an old lady in Forfar Road had been terminated due to her employer’s death. That had been over a year ago and Hattie had been doing odd jobs here and there. Then, with her special brand of luck, fate and providence had stepped in – or, to be more accurate, had fallen in.
While out for a walk one cold winter’s day in Perth Road, when the pavements were a lethal mixture of ice and snow, she came across a woman in distress. Mrs Pringle had slipped on the ice and was in considerable pain with a sprained ankle. Hattie had escorted the woman home and called a doctor. This was all done with a combination of skill and cheerfulness, assets that hadn’t gone unnoticed at the time, and the rest was history. Hattie had landed on her feet again with a job as housekeeper–companion to the Pringle family.
The strange thing was that, like Mum, Mrs Pringle was also in her forties and expecting another baby. Having Hattie around was a blessing for her as they didn’t employ any servants.
Hattie did a few light household chores, made a meal for Maddie on her return from school and generally kept Mrs Pringle company until her husband returned home from his solicitors’ firm in the early evening. Another important fact was that she was treated as a member of the family instead of the hired help and that, in Hattie’s estimation, was worth much more than money.
‘I get a good wage but what I like best is they never have a snobby attitude or take sides,’ she said.
This statement incensed Bella even more. ‘I sometimes see her when I’m carrying my messages up the street.’ She gave Granny a ferocious scowl. ‘She swaggers towards me, dressed like the lady of the manor, but does she offer to help me? Does she thump.’
Granny was fed up hearing Bella’s moans. ‘Well, Bella, you should get your messages delivered from Lipton’s and Danny will bring them on his message bike. And another thing, Hattie is my lassie and I’ll not have you running her down. We think she keeps herself really smart. Especially when she wears her bonny blue frock with the dropped waistline. It goes really well her dark Eton crop hairstyle. She looks like Ann.’
I was appalled. I hated my short dark hair, longing instead to have lovely long golden ringlets. But I had to admit silently that my hair was the least of my worries just now. I was still without a job and another thorn in my flesh was the non-appearance of Dad. Every time I called at the flat in the Hilltown, he was out and I was even beginning to suspect that Rita and Nellie were just as evasive. But maybe I was just being daft.
The flat kept slipping back to its original untidiness and, although I did make attempts to keep some sort of order, I finally gave up. As it was, we had enough worries to think about. Lily was teething and every night was a trial with her noisy bouts of crying. Twin red spots appeared on her smooth cheeks and she looked distressed and wet-eyed.
One morning, after a particularly fractious night, I was sent to the chemist. ‘Get a packet of Seidlitz powders for the baby’s sore gums,’ said Granny.
These powders helped slightly but we started to take it in turn to get up through the night with her. All through this demanding time, I was thankful not to be working because I doubt if I could have got up in time for work in the morning after such disturbed nights. It was lovely to lie in bed in my tiny cupboard after a spell of night duty and listen to Granny as she stirred the large pot of porridge, its aroma wafting through the cracks in the door.
Although the year was almost over and the weather was bitterly cold, Grandad still took Lily for her daily walk in the old dilapidated pram. She loved those trips and Grandad never stopped telling us how much she adored her pram. Not like Hattie – on seeing the pram for the first time, she had threatened to boycott the entire family such was her humiliation at being associated with it, albeit at a distance. In fact, she had almost fainted at the time. This was followed by a strangled cry when she was told where it had been bought. She had stepped smartly backwards as if it would contaminate her, a look of disgust on her handsome, refined face. Still, she had come round in time. Not that she was reconciled to it – no, it was more the solemn promise extracted from Grandad that he would keep well away from the Perth Road with it.
One day, she produced some of Joy’s cast-off clothes but, because of the difference in size, nothing fitted Lily except for a lovely knitted yellow pram suit with a matching pixie hood. This had been a present from a relative who had obviously never set eyes on the dainty Joy – hence the fact that it fitted our Lily. Sitting propped up against a thick cushion, she looked like a bright sunbeam in her pram and lots of people stopped to comment on her prettiness – compliments with pleased Grandad immensely. ‘Folk aye stop me when I’m out with the baby and nobody ever mentions the scruffy pram.’ This was obviously aimed at Granny. He remembered her initial response and Hattie’s look of horror.
A few days before Hogmanay, Hattie appeared at the house, a deep frown on her face. ‘Mrs Pringle wants me to bring Ann and Lily out to her house for a visit.’ She made it sound like a royal command. ‘She wants to have a chat with Ann.’ The frown deepened as she gazed at me with her dark eyes that were seemingly so like my own.
I was alarmed. ‘What does she want me for?’
Hattie screwed up her face. ‘I don’t know, do I? She gave me this lovely little frock for Lily.’ She held up a lovely confection of a dress, all ribbons, rosettes and frills but far too small for our bouncing baby.
Granny looked doubtful. ‘It’ll not fit her, Hattie. We’ve told you before that Lily is far bigger than Joy.’ She sounded as if my sister was some gigantic wrestler. She held the frothy garment in her gnarled, callused hands. ‘Still it’s really bonny and maybe I can let it out a bit.’
Hattie turned a haughty eye on Grandad. ‘Another thing – I’m not pushing Lily in that monstrosity.’ She pointed to his pride and joy.
‘What? Not take the pram?’ He was affronted. ‘Lily loves her pram and she’ll cry if she doesn’t get her hurl in it.’ He retreated to his chair in the corner and sat down with his back to Hattie.
‘Well, that may be so but she’s not going in it with me,’ said Hattie, a steely determined note in her voice, ‘even if it means that I have to carry her.’
She turned to me. ‘Now, Ann, make sure your hands and face are washed. Oh and make extra sure that there’s no dirt under your fingernails. I always think that looks common.’
Up till this point, Granny had stayed silent but now she was highly annoyed at Hattie and set about her in a fierce voice. ‘Now you look here, Hattie. You come marching in here with your commands and your dos and don’ts – well, let me remind you that we keep a clean house here and Ann’s hands, nails and face are aye spotless.’ She stormed over to the sink. ‘We maybe live in the Overgate and not the Perth Road but we’re no’ tinks.’
Grandad nodded in approval as Hattie’s cheeks burned bright red but she had the grace to apologise. ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she stuttered before dashing out through the door.
I thought that, if she had a tail, it would have slunk between her legs as she departed. Granny, as usual, had brought her down to earth with a bump.
Meanwhile Grandad was still smarting from the slur on his pram. He muttered darkly, ‘I’m beginning to think that Bella is maybe right about that lassie being a snob.’ He added quickly, ‘Mind you I would never tell her that.’ We all knew that he never saw eye to eye with Bella.
By two o’clock the following day, we were ready and waiting for Hattie, both of us scrubbed to within an inch of our life and wearing our best clothes.
Mainly because I wasn’t given any handouts from the Pringle family, I was wearing a white blouse, a dark woollen skirt and a cardigan in a rotten shade of olive green. I felt frumpish in this and I knew I resembled some middle-aged matron because the cardigan had come from Alice next door who, unfortunately, was my size.
But, if I looked terrible, at least Lily resembled a pink cherub in her frothy frock. Granny had managed to let out the seams and the only thing that wouldn’t fasten was the tiny pearl button at the neck. Lily had almost choked when we tried to fasten it.
Granny warned me, ‘Now never mind Hattie – mind and leave the neck open, Ann. Hattie is not to touch it and just never heed her if she starts moaning about it hanging open. She would sooner let the baby choke than show herself up in front of the Pringles.’
I promised, hoping and praying that the visit would be a short one. I just knew I would look out of place amongst a load of toffs. The only saving feature in the entire fiasco was the fact that Danny would be there as well. He always went to see his relations in Lochee every Sunday but he was coming along later in the afternoon – hopefully in time to rescue me.
Before leaving, I asked Granny what Mrs Pringle and Maddie were like but she just shook her head.
‘No idea, Ann. I just saw Mr Pringle at your mum’s funeral but I’ve never met any of the family. Still, to listen to Hattie, you would think they’re royalty so maybe they are snobby. You can tell me all about it when you get back.’
She then turned her attention to the large pile of ironing, a job I usually did when I wasn’t socialising with the rich and snobby. She heated the flat iron on the gas jet before tackling the wrinkled garments.
We set off on our visit with Hattie holding Lily in her arms. With her yellow coat over her pink frock and a multicoloured crochet blanket around her legs, Lily looked like a little rainbow. And me … well, I looked drab and shabby in my old school trench coat.
As we left the high tenements and grubby narrow streets behind us, the houses became more prosperous and spacious with their well-tended gardens and high, multi-paned and richly curtained windows. On a sunny day, these windows would no doubt gleam but on this cold drizzly day they reflected only greyness.
The Sunday Girls Page 6