Jenny Telfer Chaplin

by Hopes

  As she sat back in the chair recently vacated by Granny Mutch, the comforting warmth of the fire almost made her drift off to sleep but a thought – something Granny had said before she left – jarred her back to wakefulness.

  Granny said both Callum and the baby were a bit out of sorts – a bit hot. Oh, God! Please, God, no. Ah haven’t brought anything infectious back from the hospital.

  Despite Mary’s fears and a gut feeling of impending doom, apart from the usual sniffs, coughs and colds of a Scottish winter no one in the house fell ill.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As the anniversary of Ted’s death approached, Granny Mutch was giving signs of having the intention of verbally reliving every incident of the tragic event and going into a full mourning mode.

  I know Granny, a widow herself, makes a real meal of her husband’s anniversary, and she is obviously expecting me to be the same, Mary thought, like a professional mourner around the days and weeks leading up to the actual black-edged day itself. How do I get it through to her I have no intention of following her lead?

  Mary decided enough was enough, and tried to put forward her views on the matter.

  “Granny, life is for the living. Ah’m not going to subject myself and the bairns to ongoing annual scenes of misery and mourning. Ah know ye, and for all Ah know, the rest o the world feel it is the expected and done thing.”

  As Mary had feared and predicted Granny was as scandalised as if Mary had made an obscene suggestion.

  “Mary, surely ye don’t mean – ye can’t mean – to let Ted’s anniversary go unmarked. To ignore it. Not even to light a candle and say a wee prayer for his immortal soul?”

  Taking a deep breath, Mary tried to explain.

  “Ah learnt a lot from Miss Patten. Ah know that not only has Ted gone to a better place than this sad world of ours but–”

  “But what, Mary? Honestly Ah cannot understand ye. It’s not decent for ye a grieving widow to go on like this.”

  “Ah’ve no intention o being a grieving widow for the rest o my life. Anyway, the longer Ah cling to Ted’s memory, the longer Ah’m holding him back from the freedom, the glorious freedom, which awaits him on the other side.”

  Nothing would shake Granny Mutch from the horror with which she now regarded the self-appointed, non-grieving widow.

  Mary thought the matter resolved even though Granny was strangely quiet and uncommunicative for several days, until the Saturday evening the old woman delivered her ultimatum.

  “If ye can’t bring yerself to honour yer dead husband then Ah can’t be bothered to spend what’s left o ma days on earth in looking after yer now fatherless bairns.”

  “Och, Granny, please–”

  “Och, Granny nothing. According to ye, life is for the living. For all Ah know while Ah’m here looking after yer weans, ye’re out there living life to the full – maybe even looking for another man. It’s not decent for a widow-woman. Ah’ll not be a party to any such behaviour.”

  Having bestowed a pitying glance at the three now weeping children Granny left.

  Mary tried to calm the calm the children as she thought: Go with the flow? Isn’t that my belief? Well, it’s in full spate now. What on earth do Ah do on Monday when Ah have to get back to work?

  Sunday found Mary no nearer to a solution. In the afternoon with Iain in his go-chair and four-year-old Elenor clutching three-year-old Callum by the hand Mary trudged her way across Langlands Road to Elder Park. There seated by the pond she watched Elenor and a boy of about her daughter’s age play with a small, crudely-carved toy boat. A woman settled herself on the bench beside Mary and told the girl with her: “Go and play with yer brother.” She gave the girl a push in Elenor’s direction.

  “Ye’re Mary Drummond, aren’t ye, that lost her man last year at Ibrox?”

  Mary nodded, not willing to get entangled with yet more talk about grieving.

  However, the woman went on: “Ah’m Dora Fraser. Ah’m in a room and kitchen two closes down from ye. How are ye managing without yer man?”

  Although it was on the tip of Mary’s tongue to tell Dora to mind her own business, after a hesitation she found herself confiding in Dora about her problem and her fear of losing her job.

  “How much were ye paying auld Granny Mutch to look after yer weans?”

  Again Mary almost gave a sharp reply but instead said: “Ninepence a week.”

  “Ninepence a week?’ Dora said. “For that Ah’ll take them in for the day while ye’re at work. Ye could just drop them round on yer way to work and pick them up when ye’re finished.”

  “Are ye sure?”

  “Aye, Ah’m home all day with ma own two. Just one thing, if ma man asks ye what ye’re paying, tell him sixpence. That way Ah’ll get to keep the other threepence rather than having him drink it. All right?”

  So life continued over the summer. The children missed Granny Mutch but seemed happy enough with Dora.

  Mary, however, missed the old woman and was sure that she in her turn was missing her contact with the children. By early autumn Mary was beginning to feel that she should make the first move towards a reconciliation with Granny Mutch.

  Yes, she thought, Ah’ll do it this very day after Ah get home from the hospital. Ah’ll take her in a wee bowl o the soup Ah made last night. Ah’ll make friends with her again – at least Ah’ll try. Just think she’s in her seventies now, how would Ah feel if she passed to her Maker without so much as a kind word from me? Anyway a friend for me on the other side wouldn’t go amiss.

  The renewal of the friendship with Granny Mutch coincided with a bumper crop of livestock from the children’s hair on Friday evening. By the following Monday, Mary had dispensed with the rather haphazard and slovenly care of her children by Dora and they were back with Granny Mutch to their mutual delight.

  With Granny back in the fold of the Drummond family not only were the children happier and more contented, but Mary herself felt more at peace. However, as time passed, Granny was gradually taking over more of a command in the day-to-day running of the household and while initially Mary was happy enough with this state of affairs gradually she felt a niggling doubt.

  Was Granny making herself indispensable and ousting Mary as the rightful dispenser of their nurturing and above all discipline?

  Yes, Mary thought, how far can Ah let things go before Ah confront her? But, maybe Ah should just leave well enough alone – that last spat with Granny took long enough to mend, and Ah do need her.

  Mary became something of a diplomat in turning a blind eye to Granny’s ministrations and even became complacent and accepting of Granny’s role as self-appointed head of house. All was running smoothly until the vexed topic of religion arose.

  Although Elenor, Callum and Iain had been baptised and christened in the Church of Scotland at Ted’s insistence, none of the family had been in any church since Ted’s funeral. The issue hadn’t been touched on since Sunday was the one day in which Mary was alone with her children until late afternoon when Granny Mutch would appear for tea. There had been no discussion or even light conversation about Sunday activities until one Saturday Granny announced, out of the blue, that since Mary was showing no interest in the children’s religious education she would collect Elenor, Callum, and Iain next day at ten sharp and take them with her to be enrolled in her church’s Sunday school.

  Mary argued that Elenor at four, going on five, and Callum and Iain not yet four were too young for formal instruction. Granny countered that there was a crèche set up for the younger children under the priest’s instructions and that they would at least be in a ‘proper’ atmosphere. The word ‘priest’ started a row like the re-opening of the Covenanting Wars. Mary was not at all mollified to hear that the priest was not Roman Catholic but Scottish Episcopalian and therefore Protestant. She, and only she, would decide on how her children would be brought up.

  Again Granny Mutch walked and Mary cap in hand had to plead with Dora to take the family
in again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As Mary served afternoon tea to Matron and one of the senior doctors visiting the Elder Cottage Hospital, she overheard part of their talk about the outbreak of diphtheria. For the remainder of the afternoon she worried.

  Could Ah possibly carry such an infection home from the hospital? Sure, in all the time Ah’ve been working here now nothing like that has happened. But this diphtheria sounds really bad ...

  “Nonsense, Mary,” Matron said, when Mary voiced her fears later that afternoon, “This is not a fever hospital we don’t have patients like that here. And in any case you are never around patients even if they had anything catching. Diseases like diphtheria are spread where people are in close contact in crowded insanitary surroundings.”

  But her children had been back with Dora for a week now. As Mary knew to her cost Dora’s house wasn’t exactly a model of cleanliness, and since Tuesday she’d had three other children under the age of five in the room with her own two and Mary’s three. Close contact in crowded unsanitary conditions indeed.

  When Mary picked up her children on Saturday evening both Callum and baby Iain were crotchety, even more resistant than usual to the nightly combing for lice with the bone comb, and very difficult to settle for the night. By Sunday afternoon both boys were running a slight fever and complaining of sore throats. Mary tried the usual remedy of butter balls rolled in sugar and for a time this seemed to soothe them somewhat. The night was anything but peaceful as the boys were restless and at dawn Callum coughed and spluttered when Mary tried to give him a drink. He complained he couldn’t swallow and when Mary looked at him in the light from the window his neck seemed swollen at one side. In a panic now, Mary decided she would have to call the doctor as soon as possible. When she heard the school-age children in the flat above begin to move she ran upstairs and asked her neighbour if one of the girls could run to the doctor’s office for her and ask the doctor to come as soon as possible. That done she waited with baby Iain on her knee.

  Shortly before ten Dr Dagg arrived, pocketed his ninepenny house visit fee and examined the boys.

  “I’ll notify the fever hospital and they’ll have an ambulance here for the boys as soon as possible.” He looked at Mary and Elenor. “Your daughter shouldn’t be with other children until she’s had at least three clear days without any fever or sore throat.”

  “What about my job?”

  Dr Dagg stopped closing his bag and glanced up at Mary. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Drummond. I’ve seen you at Matron’s quarters at the Cottage Hospital. You certainly can’t be there until you too have had three days clear of any fever. I’ll let Matron know this afternoon when I do my rounds there. I expect she’ll keep your job open for the week anyway.”

  The ambulance came and went with the two boys, leaving Mary and Elenor in the suddenly empty-seeming house. When Mary started to cry setting Elenor off, she gathered what composure she could manage to comfort her daughter.

  “Don’t cry, Elenor. The doctor said it was just a touch of fever the boys have. They’ll be right as rain in a few days.”

  But as she spoke Mary remembered the conversation she had overheard in the hospital, “ ... heavy mortality rate, Matron, especially with the under-fives ...” and experienced one of her gut feelings of imminent disaster. Spring of 1902 had been a calamity for the Drummonds and spring of 1904 looked equally ominous.

  The outer door opened and Granny Mutch walked in, still dressed for the outdoors.

  “Mary, lass. Ah saw the Fever Van just drive away from this close. Please tell me it wasn’t for any o yer weans.”

  Once glance at Mary and Elenor told her the worst and she swept into the room.

  “Why didn’t ye tell me at once ye had sickness here? Ah’d hae been in at the trot.”

  “Oh, Granny, after our last spat and what ye said Ah didn’t think ye’d ever set foot into our house again.”

  “Hmph! What Ah say and what Ah do are maybe not always the same thing. Now sit ye down there with Elenor and give her a wee cuddle while Ah make us some hot sweet tea.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Two years had passed since the death of the boys and Mary and Granny Mutch had become very dependent on each other. Elenor seven now was in her second year at Greenfield Primary School and already a keen Scottish Country dancer.

  “Ye know it’s thanks to ye that Elenor got started last year onto the dancing,” Mary said.

  Granny Mutch nodded. “Aye, it was real good luck that Ah came across that second-hand Highland outfit at a jumble sale. The dancin’s been very good for her. It helped take her mind off broodin after the boys ...”

  Granny’s voice faded away even now unable to put into words the sadness she and Mary felt over the death of the two young boys.

  “Aye,” Mary said, “Ah know. Ye’re right Elenor’s dancing has given us all something to cling to. Ah meant to tell ye there’s going to be a special dance competition in Elder Park on Glasgow Fair Saturday. Pipers, special dance judges from all over Scotland, and everything. Why don’t we enter Elenor for that? After all, she did win that wee medal last week. What do ye say? Ah’ve got that Saturday off, since Matron Calder is starting her annual holiday that day like most folk in Glasgow and Ah’ll be free for a fortnight.”

  Saturday started off badly, at least as far as hoped-for bright, summer weather was concerned. Mary looked out at the back court. The day was as dark overcast and dreary as a day in the middle of the Scottish winter

  Oh Ah hope they don’t have to cancel the dance competition if it comes to torrential rain, Mary thought. Elenor’s so excited about today and hoping she’ll win another medal.

  By the afternoon, however, the sun was flitting out and in between the clouds as Mary, Granny and Elenor made their way through the park. There was a decided air of festivity as the crowds approached the competition venue. The judges were already seated and right on time the event got under way. Much was at stake as the girls and their mothers knew, for today there was to be the first-ever presentation of the Elder Park silver cup for the best junior dancer. The winner would actually get her name and photograph printed in the Govan Press!

  Competition was fierce and although Mary and Granny were biased they had to admit that it might be a very close run between Elenor and a wee blonde girl. When the judges had consulted and the results were about to be announced the air was alive with anticipation. The medal winners were announced first. When even the wee blonde girl had been awarded a medal and had climbed back onto the platform to accept her trophy, Mary and Granny exchanged glances. Did this mean that Elenor had not been good enough to earn a medal or ... and they could hardly bear to dare think it ... that Elenor might be the final winner?

  One of the judges who had not yet made a presentation, a richly-dressed woman, stepped forward and with a rather puzzled expression on her face glanced again at the card another judge handed her with the silver cup.

  “The winner of this fine cup, who I am intrigued to find bears almost the same first name as myself, is Elenor Drummond. So Elenor will you step up to accept this well-earned award?”

  Mary sat with her hand to her mouth. I don’t believe it. She’s better dressed than I remember ... and a bit plumper ... but it is Miss Patten from Dunoon. Oh spirit friends ye’ve done me proud this day.

  On the evening of the dance triumph Mary and Granny sat at their leisure over a cup of tea while Elenor played outside in the back court.

  “Thanks for taking Elenor home for me after the competition,” Mary said. “It gave me a chance to talk to Miss Patten by myself.”

  “That was the lady that handed Elenor her prize?” Granny said. “And by the way, why did she no get to keep it?”

  “The committee will have her name engraved on it and then Elenor will get it to keep. Yes, the lady was Miss Patten from Dunoon. Ye’ve heard me talk about her before.”

  “Ye worked for her didn’t ye?”

  Mary smiled. “Yes, bu
t that’s not half of it. Ye remember I told ye about a stable she was going to let Ted convert into a wee cottage?”

  “Aye, and the fool dragged ye here to Govan instead.”

  “Well, for some reason Miss Patten had it converted anyway ... it’s a long story maybe I should start at the beginning.”

  “From the look o ye it’s a good story. Ye’ve been grinning yer head off ever since ye got in.”

  “Ah’ll make us some more tea first. It is a long story and a strange one.”

  Granny sat fidgeting while Mary fussed with the teapot and opened a small packet of biscuits before she finally sat again.

  “When Ah realised that one of the dance judges was my very own Elenora Pattten from Dunoon ye could have knocked me down with a feather.”

  “Aye, did look as though ye’d seen a ghost.”

  “A ghost? Yes, Ah suppose she was a ghost – a haunting figure from my past. Anyway when Ah managed to speak to her she told me why she’d come to Govan as a dance judge. It seems she judges quite often at these competitions and when she heard that this one was to be held in Govan she felt she just had to be here.”

  Granny shook her head. “Ah can’t think why anyone would feel they had to be in Govan.”

  Mary laughed. “Miss Patten is a medium. She was guided here by her spirit friends. Of course, in their usual fashion they didn’t tell her why she should be in Govan or even what she would find here or what her mission would be. Can ye understand that, Granny?”

  “Sounds a bit double-Dutch to me, but go on.”

  “When Miss Patten, a psychic, gets a message either for herself or for someone else, from beyond the grave, no matter how garbled or strange it may be, she pays heed to it. When she saw me in Elder Park that’s when she knew why she’d been sent to Govan. It was to find me – us now – and to offer us a different way of life and at the same time bring some comfort to herself in her advancing years. She did once, years ago now, predict that her lovely home Ivylea would forever have a place, not only in my mind and memories, but also in my life. Remember Ah told ye she’d had the cottage renovation done?”