The Sunday Girls

by Maureen Reynolds

  Disappointment was written all over my face. Seeing this, she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. ‘Try the grocer’s shop along the road – the one next to the second-hand shop.’

  The woman in the grocer’s shop was totally different from the other one – not so nice and certainly not deaf. I got the impression she would hear a scandalous whisper from a distance of five hundred yards. When I entered, she gave me a sharp look before resuming her task of placing a dozen or so tins of pilchards in a pleasing looking pyramid.

  I asked her about Marlene. She sniffed the air as she pondered on my question. When she spoke, her voice was as clipped and sharp as her facial features. ‘I don’t discuss my customers or where they stay with any strangers,’ she said, turning her back on me and dismissing both me and my quest.

  I was desperate. I didn’t have all day to look for Dad as the weekly washing still had to be tackled at the wash-house. ‘It’s not really Mrs Davidson I’m looking for,’ I said, annoyed that I was being forced into discussing our family problems with this martinet. ‘It’s her lodger I’m looking for. He’s my dad but my granny has lost his landlady’s address.’

  The woman turned. Her lip curled as if to say, ‘Pull the other one’ but she grudgingly took her attention away from the pilchards. She walked over to me. ‘Her lodger, eh? Is that what you call him?’ She looked me up and down, her sharp eyes noting my appearance. ‘So he’s your dad? Well, well.’

  I decided to make a show of throwing myself on her mercy, a quality I doubted she owned. ‘Aye, he’s my dad. He comes every Sunday to see us at my granny’s house and yesterday, after he left, my wee sister became ill and now I have to tell him quickly. If you know where he is, missus, tell me because it’s urgent.’

  She stepped back smartish – she was taking no chances with something that might be infectious. ‘Mrs Davidson stays in Powrie Place. I don’t know the number of her close but I’m sure somebody will tell you.’

  With an exaggerated show of thanks, I bolted through the door but, to my dismay, Powrie Place was similar to the Hilltown and the Overgate – an absolute warren of tenements, closes and stairs. After a few fruitless encounters with dead ends in this maze of humanity, I finally found an old man who not only knew Mrs Davidson but seemed to be fully informed on her entire life’s history.

  ‘That’ll be Marlene you’re looking for. She lives on the top stair,’ he said pointing a thin, yellow nicotine-stained finger upwards, as if pointing to heaven. ‘Aye she’s had a hard life has Marlene. No luck with men if you know what I mean. Men seem to die on her. Poor lass. But this latest one seems healthy enough. Mind you, her last three were healthy enough at some stage before they popped their clogs.’

  I realised he was describing Dad and I tried to escape before I heard something I didn’t want to hear but the old chap was still talking. ‘I’m not sure about this latest flame of hers, though. I think she’s more interested in him than he is with her but maybe that’s the attraction.’ He chuckled loudly before almost collapsing with a coughing fit.

  I didn’t want to leave him alone while he was choking and gasping for air but he assured me in between wheezy gasps that he was fine. ‘I get these attacks from time to time but they don’t last long.’

  Marlene’s close was like a long dark tunnel. There was a dank, musty odour that spoke of too many visitations from the cat and dog populations. This animal mustiness also mingled with numerous human smells – the pungent aroma of fried onions taking top billing.

  I climbed the stair and was surprised to come out on to a stone plettie which was high enough to catch the sun, a luxury that was denied to the lower dwellings. This little corner was already bathed in warm sunshine and Marlene was taking advantage of it. She sat beneath her window in an old fireside chair which was so threadbare that the pattern had long since vanished. Minus her make-up and with her thin legs all brown scorch-marked from sitting too close to the fire, she looked old – much older than Dad. She turned suddenly at the sound of my footsteps and a thin white, scrawny hand shot up to her mouth.

  Not wanting to alarm her, I held up my hand. ‘Mrs Davidson, I’m sorry to bother you but I really need to see my dad. Is he here?’

  She nodded wordlessly and inclined her head towards the window behind her.

  I skirted round her and knocked on the door which lay beside her left arm. There was no answer so I knocked again.

  Now slightly recovered from her surprise at seeing me, she said, ‘Just go in. He’s probably sleeping in the chair.’

  I stepped inside and another surprise awaited me. Hattie had told us that Marlene was sluttish as a housewife but I now saw this wasn’t true. Although sparsely furnished, the room was spotlessly clean. Dad was indeed asleep on a large Rexene-covered armchair. He had been listening to the wireless and the clipped cultured voice of the announcer droned on unheard.

  ‘Dad,’ I called. There was no answer and I soon realised why when I saw the two empty beer bottles lying at his feet. I marched over and gave him a hard shake. He opened his eyes and gave me a puzzled look until he focused on me. He suddenly sat upright but was still puzzled-looking, no doubt wondering how I had managed to find him.

  ‘Ann, what’s the matter? Is something wrong?’ His voice shook slightly but I was in no mood to pander to him.

  ‘Dad, I want you to come to the Overgate with me. We have things to sort out.’ I knew I sounded angry but I couldn’t help myself.

  Although I hadn’t heard her, Marlene had entered the room and she was standing behind me. Dad gave her a warning look and made a slight movement with his hand. She tactfully left the room and resumed her seat in the sunshine.

  ‘We can discuss things here, Ann. What do you want?’

  I decided to ignore the preliminaries and go straight for the jugular. ‘Hattie tells me you’re to be evicted from the house. Is that true?’

  To my surprise he didn’t bat an eyelid.

  ‘She also says you haven’t paid your rent for weeks.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s right – I haven’t paid the rent for two months now and I don’t care about it. It’s a right unhappy place and I never want to set foot in it again.’

  Tears ran down my cheeks and his voice softened. ‘Don’t take it to heart, Ann. You’ve got your granny’s house to stay in and well …’ He stopped and gazed around the small clean room. ‘Well, I’ve got here.’

  ‘So you’re getting married to Mrs Davidson?’

  For a brief moment the old sparkle appeared in his tired eyes and he laughed softly. ‘Oh, no, not me. Not that Marlene’s not good to me because she’s kind and she looks after me. She’s a good-hearted lass but being married to her is another thing. Oh, no, Ann, marriage is the last thing on my mind.’

  I was confused and I said so.

  He said, ‘This arrangement suits us both. I’m the lodger with my own room.’ He pointed to a door at the far wall. ‘No Marlene and I are just good friends and a damn good landlady she is and she looks after me so well.’

  ‘But Hattie said you wanted money to pay the rent.’

  ‘Aye that’s right but I needed the money to pay the rent here. I can’t expect Marlene to keep me for nothing.’

  I knew there was nothing else to say to him except to make the arrangements to empty our old house. After all, the factor would want to get a new tenant in as soon as possible.

  ‘Dad, I have to go and do the washing this afternoon but we’ll meet later at the house and get it all sorted out. Now remember and be there.’

  I stepped out into the sunlight. Planning to say a few words to Marlene to thank her for looking after Dad but, to my consternation, I found that she was crying. Huge teardrops ran down her pale face – tears which she tried to brush away when she saw me.

  Suddenly a blast of music and the announcer’s voice from the wireless came from the window which I saw was open and I realised then that she had overheard our conversation – every word of Dad’s intentions. Feeling so sorr
y for her, I mumbled a few words of thanks and made my escape down the stairs. Before I reached the bottom, I stopped as something was puzzling me.

  Why had I not heard the wireless on my arrival? Then it dawned on me. Marlene, curious to hear everything, must have opened the window quietly from outside. Poor Marlene – in her case, it was true about eavesdroppers not hearing anything good.

  As I passed the grocer’s shop, I noted with amusement that the sharp-faced woman was now assembling a similar pyramid of pilchards in the window. It was obviously going to be a pilchard week in Ann Street.

  Back at the Overgate, I told Granny all the news while we loaded the big bath of dirty washing on to the folding pram. This was such a blessing to us instead of the cumbersome high pram which had been the washing transport for ages. That pram had been given away to another family who lived in the Westport. Granny laughed at the time and said it was getting nearer to Hattie with every move.

  Granny put her coat on. Heatwave or not, she never went anywhere without her coat. ‘I’ll just come with you and give you a wee hand with the washing. Your grandad can keep an eye on Lily.’

  ‘No, Granny,’ I was being quite firm, ‘I’ll manage all right on my own. You’ve enough to cope with all week as it is – both you and Grandad. Now you have a rest.’

  She tried to protest but I was adamant. She said, ‘Remember you have to meet your dad later on and I just hope he’s there – the devil that he is. Sometimes I could cheerfully wring his neck.’

  They were my feelings exactly. Although angry with him when we were apart, the minute I saw him I couldn’t help but pity him and, like lots of other people, I always gave in to his charm. But not this time, I promised myself, as I struggled uphill with my heavy load.

  A fleeting feeling of annoyance crossed my mind when I saw how busy it was. Mondays were always the busiest day at the wash-house and today, with the lovely weather, women wanted to take advantage of the outside drying facilities. Washing lines were full of sheets and towels flapping in the gentle breeze. It was a perfect combination of sunshine and wind and, at times like this, it was easy to believe in a heaven.

  The heat was intense inside my tiny cubicle but I had no option but to get on with the task ahead. Granny helped out by doing small washes every night, drying the things on her kitchen pulley. Big items like the sheets needed to be boiled and the metal boiler stood beside the sinks. Before long, sweat was running down my face in long rivulets, soaking the neck of my thin blouse.

  Granny owned a thick apron made from jute hessian which she had used for many years. I was now the owner of this bulky garment which almost reached my ankles but it was perfect for keeping me dry – or reasonably dry at least.

  Scores of voices echoed overhead and it was a comforting hum. Now and then, someone would screech loudly before breaking out in a loud laugh. Once more I marvelled at the cheeriness of the women and they enjoyed their gossip in spite of the backbreaking work.

  ‘My man was a painter in the shipyard before they closed it,’ shouted one anonymous voice, not caring if a dozen people heard her. ‘Then, when it opened again last September, he made straight for the yard and do you know how many men were ahead of him in the queue?’

  Someone shouted they didn’t know.

  ‘Well, there was two hundred ahead of him and another few hundred behind him It’s a bloody disgrace this country has no work for our men.’ She sounded tired and disgruntled and who could blame her?

  ‘Did he get a job?’ shouted another anonymous voice.

  ‘Did he hell. There was folk there saying they were painters and they didn’t know one end of a paintbrush from the other, Anyway they only took on a handful of men.’

  I thought of Rita and Nellie. Their men were also chasing every job but they were competing with two or three hundred men for each vacancy. I wondered what chance Dad would have and was immediately depressed by the answer.

  I dried my hands on the rough apron. It was in a different bracket from Maddie’s home-sewn garments but it was more practical and I was grateful for that.

  I let the conversations float over my head as I scrubbed the dirty clothes and then suddenly I heard the name Marlene.

  ‘I hear she’s hoping to get married again. Is that true?’

  A burst of laughter was followed by another voice. ‘How many men has she had?’

  The voices drifted away. I rushed out of my cubicle but the aisle was merely populated with tired women pulling their baths of wet washing to the extractors. The trouble with this building was the construction. The chattering women could well be at the faraway end, such was the way the sound carried.

  I was becoming obsessed by Marlene. It didn’t have to be Dad’s friend they were discussing – there must be a thousand or more women in the city called Marlene, I thought.

  I was still troubled when I arrived home. Granny hung the washing on the pulley and it seemed such a shame to bypass the warm sunshine outside but this house didn’t have a drying green. Some lucky households had the luxury of an outside line that stretched from their window to a communal greenie pole that was situated in the backyard and always looked as if it was bending in the wind.

  I thought wistfully of the green meadows I had left behind at the wash-house but with so many women vying for space, drying a washing there always added time to a busy day. And it was time I didn’t have – not if I had to meet Dad.

  It was five o’clock when I reached the Hilltown. Rita and Nellie were standing at the entrance to the close, enjoying the sunshine and having a good gossip. They were so drawn, thin and tired looking that I was shocked by their appearance. Even Rita who, last year, had had the added advantage of her plumpness now looked malnourished and, as for Nellie, well, she was just gaunt.

  Rita patted the bulge and muttered gloomily, ‘Just another month to go then goodness only knows what we’ll do.’

  I mentioned Dad’s coming eviction but to my surprise they sympathised with him. ‘Well, Ann, he’s never going to be happy in that house so maybe it’s for the best that he’s giving it up,’ said Rita while Nellie nodded in agreement.

  Then to my immense relief, I saw him heading towards us. All day, I’d had the dreaded notion that this was another venture he would duck out of but we all made our way upstairs while the two women tactfully retired to their own abodes.

  We made our way down the dark lobby. Inside, the house was just as I had left it on my last visit. Debris from Dad’s few visits was evident and the same air of neglect and abandonment hung in the airless room. I could have cried but that wouldn’t have helped matters, I thought. Instead, we decided what to do about the contents. We drew up a plan that anything small and portable was to be kept.

  ‘Do you think Granny has use for some of these ornaments, Ann?’ he said, in a calm flat voice that annoyed me. ‘Or maybe Hattie will like these knick-knacks?’ When I glared at him, he mumbled, ‘She can look after them till you get a place of your own when you’re older.’

  ‘Hattie’s not getting Mum’s knick-knacks as you call them, Dad. I’ll take them to Granny.’ I removed the few treasured ornaments from the mantelpiece. They had been Mum’s pride and joy, all these little decorations.

  I glanced around, looking for a discarded newspaper to wrap them in. We used to put papers under the chair cushion so I lifted it up and found an old yellowed newspaper there. But, when I lifted it up, I stopped dead. Underneath was a small half-knitted matinee jacket with a ball of wool pushed firmly through the two knitting needles.

  Dad’s gaze landed on it when I cried out. Suddenly we both burst into a flood of tears. As we held each other, a year’s grief spilled out like a well overflowing and the tears streamed down our faces.

  I tried to take a breath but my throat felt constricted and a pain shot across my ribs as a result of the racking sobs that arose from somewhere deep inside my body.

  Rita appeared in the doorway, looking apprehensive. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing the cryi
ng. Look, Johnny and Ann, let Nellie and me clear the house out for you.’

  Dad wiped tears from his eyes and his voice was rough with emotion. It was no longer the calm flat tones that had irritated me earlier. ‘No thanks, Rita. You see this is something we have to do but if we need any help we’ll give you a shout.’

  Rita’s eyes landed on the small garment. She went white. ‘Oh no, we must have missed it when we cleaned up afterwards. I’m so sorry that it’s brought you all this grief.’

  She looked miserable but Dad stepped over to her and placed his arm around her shoulder. ‘No, Rita, we’re glad we found it. It’s something belonging to her mum that Ann can keep – a memento of happier times that she can treasure all her life.’

  I hadn’t viewed it like that and my earlier mortification turned now to tender memories of Mum sitting in that chair, her hands forever busy. It was such a happy memory and so strong in my mind that I almost felt her presence in the room along with us – almost as if she was watching over us. With this comforting feeling in my mind, I carefully wrapped the scrap of knitting in a clean pillowcase and placed it in my bag along with the paper-wrapped ornaments.

  Dad reappeared after seeing Rita to her door but his face was still streaked with tears. He glanced around the room as if seeing it for the first time. ‘We came to live here, your mum and me, just after we got married. You were born in this room, Ann, and the only help your poor mum had was from Granny and Bunty Grey, the midwife. I was fighting in the war, wasn’t I? Fighting in the Great War that they said was the war to end all wars. I was at the battle of Neuve Chapelle when half of the 4th Battalion Black Watch were killed.’ His face clouded over. ‘After that battle, there wasn’t one house in Dundee that didn’t get bad news about a loved one. That’s what they say.’