‘No, I don’t want money,’ I said earnestly. ‘I’m – er … working for one of my Brownie badges and must do a week of good deeds.’ The glib lie invoked a few moments’ stunned silence but I smiled angelically and eventually the old lady said I could sweep the floor. I went to work with a will, brushing great clouds of dust into the air. Miss Carmichael coughed and the cat sneezed so much he fell off the counter to stalk through to the back shop, his tail high in the air. For a whole week I tidied shelves, dusted, and generally cleaned up.
When the week was over I was rather proud of the way I had neatened up the appearance of the shop.
‘My, ye’ve done right well,’ approved Miss Carmichael. ‘Whit a good wee lassie ye are … but then – I always knew Mrs Fraser had nice bairns.’
She handed me two bars of chocolate and a silver sixpence, but I put everything back on the counter and ran from the shop, my conscience clearer than crystal. My career as a coiner had died a very quick death. It was far safer to spend jolly evenings with the gang tying door knobs together in the closes.
When Mick came with us the fun was even more intense because his ideas were more sophisticated than ours. He stuck bits of chewing gum on to window panes with a thread attached. Buttons went slithering along the thread to rattle at the windows. One awful night a large man ran after us and caught me, shaking me till my teeth rattled. ‘Only a girl would get caught!’ taunted the boys, so to show I was as good as them I joined their cinnamon-smoking parties, puffing with great bravado while I turned green in the dark.
On miserable wet nights we gathered round the range and Mam told us stories about her own childhood. Mostly her tales were of a happy nature, but sometimes her eyes grew sad when she spoke of the lovely countryside of her birthplace. So vivid were her descriptions I could almost see the blue Grampian mountains and hear the rushing waters of the river Dee.
Occasionally we managed to coax her to play for us on the fiddle. Mam had been the youngest of her family and had received certain privileges that her sisters didn’t get. One of them had been music lessons on the violin and if she was in the mood she got out the beautiful instrument from its red velvet case. All her favourite tunes filled the kitchen, but the one I liked best was ‘Thora’.
‘I stand in a land of roses but I dream of a land of snow,’ sang Mam and my eyes filled with tears. Her land of roses was very far in the distant past. Years of scrimping had woven silver threads into her lovely burnished hair, yet her eyes remained bright with the love of life. It hadn’t yielded much to her in the way of financial perks, but hers was a happiness that went far above materialism. She found pleasure in the simplest things, showing her feelings with a childlike candour that made her seem like a Peter Pan, someone who would never really grow old.
Her attitude rubbed off on all those around her, even on our surly, undemonstrative father who was softening with the passing years. When Mam tired of playing the violin, that was the time for Da to tell his well-worn stories of the war.
‘C’mon, Da,’ we coaxed till he felt himself to be in such demand our pleas were a challenge to his ego. ‘Tell us the one about Chatterina.’
‘Right,’ he smirked. ‘Well, you know that Chatterina was the best mate I had? We went all through the Great War together, never one without the other. One night we were lying aboot in the trenches havin’ a wee rest … jist talkin’ and passing the time like.’
‘Ay, Da,’ we encouraged.
‘Well, we were a lot of poor souls. We were tired that night … jist no’ as careful as usual. Suddenly a bomb came whizzing down, jist where Chatterina Tottie Scone was sittin’. Can ye guess whit happened then?’
‘No, Da!’ we chorused, knowing full well what was coming.
‘Well, that damt bomb blew Chatterina’s heid clean aff his body. There was Chatterina, no body on his heid, no heid on his body. It was terrible, there his heid lay, jist lookin’ at me. Well, out o’ the blue one o’ the eyes winked at me and I says, “I see ye havny lost yer sense o’ humour, Chatterina.” There’s no’ many poor blokes would wink at ye from a blown aff heid … is there?’
‘No, Da!’ we yelled breathlessly, joyfully imagining the gory scene.
‘I couldny leave my best mate jist lyin’ there,’ continued Da. ‘So I looked aboot for something that would stick him back together.’
‘Just like Humpty Dumpty,’ we cried eagerly.
‘Ay, but that daft egg never did get mended. The sojers in that story were a wee bit stupid … but not me … I used my heid and hunted aboot till I found a big pancake a coo had dropped earlier. It was still fine and soft so I scooped it up and used it to stick Chatterina’s heid back on his body. He was right as rain after that, never looked back!’
We howled with glee and asked the usual question, ‘Did that really happen, Da?’
‘Of course, do ye think I’m tellin’ lies or something?’
Kirsty smiled with quiet scepticism each time the story was told but the rest of us were never quite sure if such happenings were possible, I in particular dwelling on the scientific aspect of Chatterina’s quick repair job, my mind needling into each macabre detail.
I had a very quick and enquiring brain and was always thinking out novel ways to pass dreary winter days. One afternoon we were ensconced in the room, watching dismal rivers of rain running down the window.
‘I’ve got a great idea!’ I shouted suddenly, clapping my hands in excitement. Alec and Margaret looked at me with interest but Kirsty was more wary of my madcap schemes.
‘Listen to this,’ I instructed, rocking myself in a monstrosity of a rocking chair which had been given to us by a friend of Mam’s living some distance away. Alec and I had gone to collect it, pushing it all the way home on squeaky castors, stopping every now and then to rock ourselves in the middle of pavements, heedless of the stares of passers-by. ‘Let’s make up dummy parcels,’ I continued, pulling the ends of my long plaits restlessly. ‘We can put them on the pavement and watch from the window! It’ll be a scream!’
‘Och, you’re daft!’ said Kirsty, but there was a sparkle in her green eyes.
Diving out of the chair I went to the big cupboard to look for a box. ‘Get some brown paper and bits of string,’ I ordered Alec and he ran through to the kitchen, returning in a few moments with the required items.
‘I told Da we were playing pass the parcel,’ he said hesitantly.
‘Good for you,’ I approved while I put all sorts of rubbish into the box together with a note that read, ‘Ha! Ha! Ever been had?’
Kirsty wrapped the box in her meticulous fashion and neatly wrote a fictitious but highly plausible address on the finished parcel. I ran downstairs, took a quick look round to make sure I was unobserved, placed the parcel invitingly on the pavement, then raced back up to the room to hide behind the curtains with the others. For a time the street remained deserted and the parcel began to take on a distinctly sodden appearance. Then the Wee Fast Lady came pelting along, so named because she never walked but ran all the time. Our hearts jolted with hope, but she tore past the parcel like an express train and our hearts sank. Moments later a man came hurrying along, head bent against the driving rain. He came to the parcel, stopped, walked on a little way, came back and looked up at all the windows. We sucked in air and held it as he kicked the box into the gutter, a nonchalant whistle coming tunelessly from his lips. He took another hasty look at all the windows before he stooped, put the parcel inside his coat, and walked quickly away.
We hugged each other, then collapsed in hysterical laughter, Kirsty rolling about on the rocking chair, the rest of us prostrate on the floor.
‘Let’s do it again,’ I choked.
Another parcel was made up and again placed temptingly on the pavement. This time we didn’t have long to wait. A stout woman with a large shopping bag came along. Without hesitation she picked up the parcel, examined it openly, then, with an expression on her rain-washed countenance that said, ‘Finder’s kee
pers’, popped it into her bag and went on her way.
This time we almost wet ourselves. It was so funny watching the different human reactions to our parcels we could have gone on with the prank for hours, had not Mam shouted, ‘Tea time!’
In days to come, when we had nothing better to do, we made up our dummy parcels and got a terrific kick out of it all. Many of them found their way to the local Post Office, taken there by honest citizens, and we liked to imagine the postmistress’s reaction as more and more of our mysterious parcels found their way into her hands. Not all our plans went off with such a hit. From time to time we were all keen to map out various schemes for making money to allow us to add a few luxuries to our lives, one of them being the delicious ice-cream cones from the ‘tallies’ at the corner. Pocket money was a hard commodity to come by, though we didn’t question why other children got more than we did. We accepted the fact that we were poor and the only way to even the odds was to earn our own money.
At regular intervals we held jumble sales in the backcourts, gathering together tattered books and broken toys for the event. Kirsty, adept in the art of making tablet, shut herself into the scullery to stir delicious-smelling concoctions till her arms ached. With great restraint we resisted sampling the results and to this day I can remember the ache of longing in my jaw while I wrapped that lovely tablet into squares of tissue paper.
Before one such sale we made all sorts of elaborate preparations. Kirsty made batch upon batch of tablet but when the great day arrived the rain was coming down in torrents. Our friends had looked forward to the sale because Kirsty’s tablet was very popular and we had quite a squabble at the outside door.
‘Sell yer tablet the noo,’ we were urged and sticky pennies were proffered eagerly, but I had a mind to get rid of all our unwanted toys as well so we stalled for time by saying we would wait for an hour to see if the rain eased up.
A quick confab in the room followed. We were left to our own devices a lot, the room being regarded as our den, so we weren’t too hesitant about finally deciding to hold the sale in the room and hastily arranged our stalls between the furniture. Laboriously I made out a large, colourful notice bearing the message, GRAND JUMBLE SALE, which I took to the front door to pin in a prominent position. Da had gone out for a few hours, our minds were easy, the sale would be over and the notice down before he came home.
Our cronies came up the lobby, poked at the stalls, most going away with the coveted tablet but leaving the rubbishy toys. My tongue wagged glibly as I tried to convince prospective customers that an armless doll or a legless panda was just the thing they needed to make their lives complete. The hours passed and our load of junk grew lighter.
Running through to the kitchen I said proudly to Mam, ‘We’ve made enough to buy you a nice new apron.’
She sat at the fire, peacefully darning a great pile of socks, her smile lighting her face. ‘Have you a lot of friends in? The door’s been going like a bairn wi’ too much castor oil.’
‘We were selling our tablet,’ I said breathlessly. ‘It was too wet outside.’
‘Och well,’ she picked up a woolly sock, ‘there’s no’ much you can do on a day like this, but don’t let your father catch bairns tramping through the house.’
An imperative knock came on the door and I raced to open it. A large lady stood there, her face red with the exertion of climbing the stairs. ‘Is this where the sale is?’ she asked, edging her way into the lobby.
I gulped and stuttered, ‘Yes, b – but …’
She stood in the lobby, dripping rain on the floor, and said, ‘I heard aboot it jist a wee while ago. I hope I’m no’ too late. Has all the best stuff been taken?’ She peeked round the wall to the room. ‘Where dae I go? Ben here?’
‘Yes … no, it was there but …’ I faltered and stopped.
Her bulldog expression grew determined and she stomped past me into the room. She surveyed the furnishings, a calculating look coming over her swarthy features. ‘It’s no’ up tae much,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘I’ve seen better at a Sally Army hostel. How much is that chest of drawers?’
We stared aghast as she walked round our domain, looking at things with a professional air.
‘It’s not for sale,’ I muttered, making frantic signs at Kirsty to air her seniority, but she didn’t comprehend. I sidled up to her and hissed, ‘Tell her it was only toys and sweeties! She just barged in the lobby. She thinks we’re selling our furniture!’
Kirsty’s face was crimson. ‘You tell her! It was your idea to have the sale in here.’
‘Oh, that’s a lie, we all wanted it in here!’
‘Da will be in soon,’ whispered a white-faced Alec.
At his words I flew to the door and took down the notice. When I got back the lady had decided she wanted my bed, the rocking chair, and the wardrobe.
‘How much dae ye want for the lot?’ she asked Kirsty. ‘Mind, ye’ve a cheek tae sell it at a’. If it wis me I’d gie it away for nothing tae get rid o’ it.’
At that moment the key turned in the door and I knew Da had come home.
Kirsty grew desperate and blurted out, ‘They’re not for sale, nothing here is! It was only toys and sweeties. It’s only for children.’
A decidedly nasty look crept over the woman’s red features. ‘Whit dae ye mean?’ she asked brusquely. ‘There wis a notice on the door aboot a jumble sale and I wis told ye were sellin’ yer furniture! Have I come a’ this way in the rain for nothing?’
‘Somebody’s been kidding you on,’ I quavered. ‘We were only selling toys to our pals.’
‘Oh! Oh, ho! Is that right? Well, we’ll see aboot this! Where’s yer mither?’
‘Please go away,’ begged Kirsty with tears in her eyes.
‘Naw! I will nut! I want tae see yer mither!’
At that inopportune moment the door opened and Da popped his head round. ‘Any o’ you weans seen my tabaccy knife?’ he asked then seeing the woman he said, ‘Beg yer pardon,’ and made to withdraw.
‘Jist a meenit,’ ordered the woman sharply. ‘Are you the faither o’ these weans?’
Da was immediately on the defensive at the woman’s tone. ‘Ay, whit of it?’
She treated him to an ominous glower. ‘I’ll tell ye whit! These weans o’ yours have been puttin’ notices on the door aboot a jumble sale in here. I came a’ the way in the rain tae buy some stuff and wis told they wereny sellin’. Is that right?’
Da came further into the room and drew himself up to his full height, sparks flying from eyes that had turned steel-blue. ‘Ay, that’s right, they’re only weans and they were playin’ a game.’
We knew his protective attitude towards us was only for the benefit of the irate lady. Sparks would fly the minute she was gone. Her defences were crumbling rapidly in the face of his iron personality.
‘Well,’ she muttered in a grumbling voice, ‘you should keep better control over them … that’s a’ I can say.’
‘And you’d best get the hell out my house,’ returned Da with frightening calm.
‘Don’t use that tone tae me, ye cheeky bugger,’ she said ably, but she was already making tracks to the lobby. The door closed on her and we waited for the tirade to follow, but for once Da used a different approach. ‘Get this mess cleared up,’ he directed, ‘then ye can all go tae bed. There’ll be nae tea for any o’ ye the night. Never let me catch ye up tae shenanigans like this again!’
Crestfallen, we set about clearing the room, wondering which was the worst kind of punishment, the knife edge of Da’s tongue or the terrible fate of having to go hungry to bed.
We lay and watched the rain teeming down the window while our bellies rumbled incessantly in the gloomy silence.
Hours later, when the room was growing dark, Mam came quietly through bearing a tray heavy with steaming mugs of cocoa and thick slices of bread and jam.
‘Sit up, the lot of you,’ she said, trying to sound stern but unable to keep the wa
rmth from her voice. ‘I persuaded Pop to let you get something to eat, though you don’t deserve it after a’ the bother you caused. I thought you were only having friends in to buy your tablet. I never knew about the notice on the door. None o’ you mentioned it to me.’
‘We’re sorry, Mam,’ said Alec as we sipped the hot cocoa gratefully and wolfed into the bread.
‘We won’t do it again, Mam,’ I promised. ‘But we’ll buy you a nice new apron to make up for being bad.’
In the dark her warm hand grasped mine and suddenly the world was all right again. She took the tray but paused at the door to say with a laugh, ‘Och well, she didn’t sound like a very nice wifie anyway. It served the bitch right to get sent packing.’
Treats and Tribulations
Sunday was always a quiet day in our house. There was a special, peaceful quality about it so that it could never be mistaken for a weekday.
Breakfast was a treat of fried eggs on toast, the latter made on a long fork held next to the fire. I enjoyed making the toast with the heat of the fire flushing my face and my imaginative eye seeing pictures in the leaping flames. I was inclined to dream a bit while I waited for the bread to brown and sometimes Da growled at me to hurry, but not on a Sunday with the aftermath of his Saturday drinking hanging like a thick curtain over all his sharp edges. We all took advantage of his mood. I was able to dally long over my toast-making, only called to earth by the second-in-command waiting impatiently with the butter.
Mam and Da shared the Sunday Post between them, Da’s specs hanging on the end of his nose, his lips moving, while he devoured each item avidly. Mam relaxed in bed wearing her flowery cardigan, thoroughly enjoying her breakfast from a tray beautifully set with a china cup and saucer, a tiny milk jug and sugar bowl, and a glass dish full of butter which she spread with a little silver knife she had received in a present. She liked the good things, did Mam, and though she got so very few of them she was always fussy about her eating utensils. Hers had been a family of repute and the good manners and fastidiousness of her childhood adhered to her still.
Blue Above the Chimneys Page 5