We were contentedly quiet, able to relax over our breakfast because Da’s attention was so taken up he paid little heed to anything else. When the meal was over there was the usual argument over the dishes but the minute I was free I grabbed the Sunday Post and raced downstairs to my ‘reading room’. All the peace in the world was mine as I sat on the wooden toilet seat scanning each page quickly till I came to ‘The Broons’. Sometimes the Toilet Paper Lady crept down to try the door but I gave no thought to her needs till I had finished my favourite articles. It became quite a contest between us to get to the cludge first on a Sunday morning, but if she pipped me to the post I unnerved her by bouncing a ball against the landing wall so that she made haste to leave the coast clear.
But to atone for my sins, the part of Sunday I didn’t relish came all too quickly. We all had to get into our best clothes for our weekly visit to the Sunday school. Kirsty and I plaited each other’s pigtails and Margaret’s fair hair was brushed till it shone. Now that Ian was away from home so often Da had lost his passion for getting the boys’ heads ‘doon tae the wid’, and Alec’s dark, wavy hair now sprouted thickly, though on Sundays it was watered down and put into a ‘cow’s lick’.
Armed with a penny each for the collection plate we set off to kirk, an establishment situated at the top of a long street. Kirsty marched resolutely into kirk every Sunday but on the odd occasion the rest of us played truant, spending our pennies in a little shop nearby, then retiring to the library till enough time had elapsed for us to go safely home.
One of my favourite pranks was to go into the kirk toilet with Alec and pounce out on the other children as they filed primly past. Pink cherubic faces looked down haughtily on such indiscretions and I was labelled as ‘the girl who goes into toilets with boys’. Uncaringly I made faces at clean little girls and poked them in the ribs when they were being particularly anxious to please the teacher. If I was given a pretty marker for my bible as a reward for correctly answered questions, dark looks were thrown at me from the rest of the class which said plainer than words that a little horror like me didn’t deserve anything.
Although Kirsty threatened to report our misdemeanours to our parents she never did, and our dear Mam never suspected that we were anything less than the good little souls she strived to create. Oh, how good it was to get out of our good clothes, which were usually someone else’s best cast-offs, and return to the dubious recreation the backcourts had to offer!
On an occasional Sunday we were allowed to take the Govan ferry over to Partick to spend the afternoon in the Kelvingrove Park. Independence came quickly to tenement children, especially those who belonged to a large family. I loved the park with its wide open spaces and the magical lover’s lane, dark and mysterious, smelling of earth, the tall, closely-knit trees breathing secrets into the sigh of the wind. We hid behind large trunks and giggled at young lovers strolling along, kissing and cuddling, locked away in their own little world.
When we had exhausted the pleasures of the park we popped into the nearby art galleries, going first to the cases that held the bones of prehistoric monsters. We also loved the glass jars which contained the innards of amphibious creatures, never tiring of staring goggle-eyed at gruesome curls of intestine and other viscera. The maze of glass-cased displays presented marvellous territory for games of hide-and-seek. We crept on tip-toe along polished floors and pounced on each other, disregarding the obvious annoyance of serious-faced adults.
On one occasion we lost Margaret. We hunted everywhere but she was nowhere to be seen.
‘Maybe she fell into one of those old graves,’ suggested Alec hopefully. He had been on rather bad terms with Margaret prior to losing her.
‘Don’t be silly,’ I chided, but we hurried back to the room where the old graves had been reconstructed for public inspection. On the brown too-clean earth lay parched bones and crumbling skulls, together with urns filled with ashes of the dead. We forgot all about Margaret and stared afresh at the graves, our eyes delaying with morbid interest on the old bones. Just then the bell went for closing time and we looked at each other panic-stricken, not relishing the idea of being locked in with prehistoric monsters, stuffed jungle animals, and ancient skeletons. It was lovely to look at such things in the kindly light of day but how awful to spend the night with dead eyes watching you and the spirits of the long-departed haunting you at every turn. In such a place inanimate objects could be far more terrifying than things that moved. Even the suits of armour with black nothingness behind the visors had a certain eerie aspect about them. Da’s pictures were benign in comparison.
Hastily we made our way outside and sat on the gallery steps, wondering what we were going to tell Mam. We couldn’t very well go home minus our little sister but we consoled ourselves by telling each other how stupid she was to get lost.
‘We have to drag her everywhere,’ mumbled Alec.
‘I know, she’s too wee to be much use at anything,’ I rejoined, though my mind was racing with the implications of the situation.
‘She is stupid!’ insisted Alec.
‘Daft as a brush,’ I agreed. Nevertheless, we were most relieved when the swing doors opened and an attendant came out leading a sobbing Margaret. She was a very angelic-looking child with her blue eyes and fair hair, and there were times when she used her charms to full advantage. She was using them now, looking up at the man with swimming blue eyes, and he had fallen for her – people did for Margaret. I, on the other hand, with my berry skin, green eyes and auburn hair, looked a regular little gypsy. I had no wiles to use to my advantage and my merry look incurred the suspicions of the adult world.
To make matters worse, the attendant was one who had admonished us earlier for sliding on the polished floors and when Margaret pointed at us, claiming us as her guardians, he glared at us with knitted brows. He had found Margaret wandering in the picture galleries where she had gone to look for us. Sternly he lectured us on our responsibilities and we received his words in respectful silence. Humbly we led Margaret away while he watched from the steps. At a safe distance I turned and yelled, ‘Ya! Kilty cauld bum, big banana feet! Tickles a’ the lassies and fa-arts in his seat!’
Breathless with laughter we grabbed Margaret’s hands and ran for our lives to the safety of Mary’s house situated a few streets away. Here we played with her baby daughter and were fortified with lemonade and biscuits before we set off on the long trek to the ferry. While waiting for the ferry to amble over, we threw stones into the oily waters of the Clyde and dared each other to climb down the greasy steps on the pier. Green patches of scum floated on the dirty water; pieces of debris bobbed on the black waves and we tried to catch them with long sticks. The little stretch of water between Govan and Partick was the only ‘sea’ we had ever known. The tang of salt water was an unknown element in our lives and it was as well I didn’t know of the paradise that lay beyond the lower reaches of the Clyde or I would never have been content to live among streets again. Already the sky and green trees were precious, wonderful things to me, things to appreciate silently in moments of solitude, the patterns of clouds, the tracery of leafy branches. But beyond parks and gardens I knew nothing of the country surrounding Glasgow. None of us knew except Ian and he never spoke about it much.
On alternate Sundays, our house was full of visitors. Aunts came, bringing cousins, and the evenings were riotous with Mam telling endless funny stories. One aunt in particular laughed till the tears ran down her face and she and Mam seemed to do nothing else but take off their glasses to wipe their streaming eyes.
We were well behaved with visitors and even more so when we were visiting. Wild little monkeys in our world of play, polite little innocents in other people’s houses, we stayed quieter than mice, listening respectfully while the grown-ups talked. This was really a great advantage. I learned a great deal just by keeping my ears pricked. When the talk got round to various aspects of procreation I listened extra hard while sang-froid sympathy was expre
ssed for the poor souls who were ‘away with it again’. Most of the facts of life were known to me by the time I was nine. Mam believed in calling a spade a spade. When I asked the so-called ‘awkward’ questions there were no evasive answers about storks and cabbages. Information was direct and I sifted it all away happily, marvelling at the miracle of life and at a God who had thought it all out so carefully.
God was spoken about freely in our house. Mam spoke about Him in the way she would speak about a dear friend, without embarrassment but with pride. Her belief in Him was almost childlike. She never went to church, yet I knew she thought far more about God than many people who did. She prayed for simple things, like health for her family and the strength to be able to look after us all no matter how difficult that was with so little money.
Yet, despite all, we did have some treats to brighten our lives, one of the most appreciated being a trip to the local cinema. Our parents had a habit of going every Friday and we had turn about going with them.
One such Friday it was decided to take Kirsty and myself, leaving eleven-year-old Alec in charge of Margaret. Kirsty and I were delighted and for once needed no prompting to wash up after tea. We got ready, Kirsty plaiting my hair and making sure I was tidy. Da changed into his good suit and Mam donned her best coat, a green tweed that brought out the colour of her eyes.
Off we set, bidding farewell to a rather sulky Alec into whose ears Da had poured a long list of safety precautions in the house. Kirsty and I skipped along and were at the cash desk waiting long before Mam and Da came in through the swing doors. At the sweet kiosk Mam bought her usual quarter-pound box of chocolates and we got threepence each to spend.
‘It’s a horror picture!’ I breathed happily to Kirsty on the way into the darkened hall. It took some time for us all to get settled. Da was like a character straight out of a situation comedy. Off came his coat with a struggle and a few swear words. A flying sleeve slapped at a lady’s hat, knocking it awry, the view of the people behind was blocked by his tall sturdy figure. A few disembodied remarks stirred among the ranks but eventually Da was settled to the accompaniment of a fervent ‘Thank God’ from a lady behind.
Now it was my turn to disrupt things. Eager to watch the horrible doings on the screen, I found my vision blocked by a huge lumpy head in front. Even with the aid of an uptilted seat I had to crane my neck from side to side in conjunction with the movements of the anonymous dome before me. Eventually I whispered to Mam; she in turn whispered to Da who rather grudgingly got up to change places with me. In doing so he had to take his coat with him and his spectacle case fell from his pocket. Kirsty had to grope about for it in the dark and when it was found and returned to the pocket we all had to stand up to allow Da to squeeze past. Clumsily he tripped over Mam’s foot and landed on her lap, which gave me the chance to squeeze past the double barrier of their jutting knees. By this time we were decidedly out of favour with our fellow patrons and sounds of annoyance came from all sides.
For a time comparative peace reigned. Thunder and lightning crackled on the screen, infusing Frankenstein’s monster with life. A period of breathtaking hush followed, during which Mam decided to open her chocolates. Engrossed in the picture, she removed the wrapping with a flourish, rolling it into a crackling ball that competed ably with the sound effects on the screen. The box was held in front of Da’s nose. Liking soft centres, he never chanced pot luck, so he struck a match and peered into the box for what seemed eternity, his horny fingers fluttering uncertainly till the match went out and with a muttered ‘Dammit’ he shoved his hand into the box and chose at random. It was a toffee centre! After much loud chewing he calmly removed his teeth, struck another match to enable him to find the offending lump of toffee, extricated it from the plate, then ate it without the aid of his teeth which were only replaced when the sweet was finished.
We had come in during the latter half of the horror picture but didn’t mind, as we knew we would see the whole thing again after the showing of the supporting film.
At the interval we all got chocolate ices, Mam fastidiously spreading her hanky on her knee to catch the drips, Da making happy sucking noises. Mam was forever pulling him up for this habit, especially when he ate soup which he slurped from the spoon with lips shaped like a funnel.
‘For heaven’s sake, Pop,’ Mam would scold, ‘I’ve heard a coo drinking quieter out a pail. Anybody would think your lips were tacked up.’ He was no better with his ice-cream and Mam threw him a few dark looks, but he was oblivious and sucked contentedly till he was finished. Out came his hanky, which he pummelled over his lips with enthusiasm. He blew his nose to produce a sound reminiscent of a fog-horn, then settled back to enjoy the big picture which was just coming on. He now wore spectacles for most things, after a bad accident while chopping wood when a large sliver had entered the eye with force. For almost a year he was back and forward to the eye hospital but eventually the eye had to be removed. Once over the horror of losing it he soon adapted to using an artificial one and was quite proud of how well the colour matched his remaining eye. It hurt him occasionally and caused a lot of watering, forcing him to remove it sometimes to give the eye tissues a rest.
Tonight the eye was giving him a lot of bother and his hanky was out frequently wiping away the tears of irritation. Always proud of his appearance, he would never have entertained the idea of coming out minus his glass eye, no matter how much it hurt him to wear it. I was engrossed in the picture when his fiercely muttered words penetrated my consciousness. ‘Christ, Evelyn,’ he hissed at Mam, ‘my e’en! It came oot wi’ my hanky and dropped on the floor!’
I went hot with a horror that had nothing to do with the picture. Kirsty was squirming in her seat beside me, her face aghast. Poor, sensitive Kirsty! I could well imagine the agonies she was going through, visualizing the usherette flashing her torch about in search for Da’s eye. But Da had no intention of employing the help of an usherette.
‘Chris,’ he whispered imperatively, ‘I’ve dropped my e’en! Get doon and look for it!’
I didn’t dare disobey but plucked up enough courage to say, ‘Kirsty will need to help me.’
‘Ay, the two o’ ye can look for it,’ he returned urgently.
Kirsty was almost crying as we grovelled among the debris of sweet papers and ice-cream wrappings on the floor.
‘It’s not here, Da,’ I whispered.
‘It must have rolled,’ said Mam, sotto voce, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the screen as if she had nothing at all to do with the situation.
A lot of tongue-clicking had been going on in the row behind and now a lady’s voice came out of the gloom in very forbidding tones. ‘Whit the hell’s goin’ on here? It’s a damt impossibility to concentrate on this picture wi’ you lot playin’ peep-bo in among the seats! I’m no’ standin’ it much longer. I paid good money tae get in here! I wish I’d brought my man … he’d have sorted ye oot!’
Da ignored her completely. ‘Away ye go doon the rows, Chris,’ he instructed urgently. ‘Ask if anybody’s seen my e’en. Some bugger might put a tackity boot on it.’
‘Can we not wait till the picture’s finished?’ I asked in a trembling voice.
‘No, we can’t. Dae as ye’re told and none o’ yer cheek!’
‘It’s not fair,’ I grumbled as I squeezed past knobbly knees and stood on several toes. I went down the dark passage, the giggle of nerves choking me as I put my question to several people. ‘Have you seen my father’s glass eye? It fell out his hanky and rolled.’
The giggles made everyone think I was kidding. ‘Go away,’ muttered an irate gentleman. ‘Ye’re just a damt wee upstart!’
But eventually I managed to engage the services of one or two people. The word got passed from row to row. ‘This wee lassie’s lookin’ for her faither’s glass eye. Can anybody see it?’
I was almost at the last row and nearing desperation when the eye was finally unearthed. ‘Here it is … doon here,’ said a round-f
aced youth, staring with some awe at the object at his feet. It lay right way up, ghoulishly macabre. I pounced on it, feeling a slight revulsion as it nestled in my hot, sticky palm.
When I got back to my row Da leaned over and muttered, ‘Take it tae the cludge and gie it a good wash, Chris. It’ll be covered in germs.’ Clicking my tongue loudly and feeling very hard done by I hurried to the ladies’ toilet where I deposited the eye in a washbasin and ran the tap over it. The force of the water made it go bouncing all over the place and I became engrossed in watching it spinning about, quite enjoying the dull chinking sound it made as it rolled against the porcelain. A lady came out of a toilet and parked herself at the basin next to mine. ‘Can ye no’ find a better place tae play wi’ yer marbles?’ she asked dryly. ‘These toilets are no’ playgrounds, ye know.’
‘It’s not a marble – it’s a glass eye,’ I said cheekily.
She peered closer into my basin. ‘My God! So it is, ye dirty wee bugger! Take it oot o’ there or I’ll tell the manager!’
Hastily I made to depart but on reaching the door I turned and said solemnly, ‘You’d better pull your knickers up before you go out of here!’
Her face blanched and she looked down at her ankles, whereupon I disappeared smartly before she realized I had only been pulling her leg.
At last I returned the eye to Da. Typically, he took it without a word of thanks and I settled down to watch what was left of the film. But the fun was not yet over. Da had no intention of facing the world without his eye so he inserted it into place in the dark cinema. He could have gone to the Gents’ and sought the aid of a looking-glass, but he was of the stuff that disregarded such assistance.
The ‘Queen’ was played and we began to wander out of the hall and into the brightly lit foyer. The usherette was at the door and at first gave us no more than a cursory glance. Then her head swivelled round in a quick double-take. She was staring in disbelief at Da, her hand fluttering to her mouth which had fallen open.
Blue Above the Chimneys Page 6