The New Breadmakers

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  Sammy’s enjoyment was slightly forced. He didn’t feel happy deep down. He hoped that going to church on Sunday would soothe his troubled spirit. It usually made him feel better and so did the cup of tea and chat to everyone afterwards. Julie had long since got into the habit of going with him and it seemed to help her too.

  The following Sunday, although nobody openly gave him the reassurance he sought, they all sat in silence. A calmness washed over him and reached deep inside him and he knew, for the first time, without any hatred or bitterness, what he must do.

  Julie was astonished when next day he announced to her that he was going to visit his father.

  ‘I don’t want to worry Mother. So don’t mention it to her. There’s no need for her to know. At least not right now.’

  ‘She’s so happy at the moment.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Why should you go, Sammy, after all this time?’

  He shrugged. ‘He’s a very old man. He can’t do me any harm any more. And he is my father.’

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

  ‘No, no. This is something I have to do on my own.’

  And so he made the journey that he’d thought he’d never make again. It was snowing and the air was a haze of white. His feet sunk deeper and deeper into the snow as he came nearer and nearer to the lonely back road and the isolated cottage. He could hardly see it until he was almost at the garden gate. After quite a long struggle to open the gate – the snow was piled so deeply on either side it just wouldn’t budge – he vaulted over it, sinking knee-deep into the snow on the other side. The gate obviously hadn’t moved for some time. He had a bad feeling about that.

  Eventually he got to the cottage door. He knocked loudly at it and stood waiting. No sound. He turned the handle and the door opened. The first thing that met him was the smell. It was sickening, disgusting.

  Rubbish, bits of paper, dirty clothes, even rotting food, lay about the hall floor. He picked his way into the sitting room and found his father sitting on his big chair but not filling it like he used to. Here was a bent, gaunt skeleton of a man, a mere shadow of what he had been. Sammy was shocked.

  There was no fire in the grate and the old man looked blue with cold. God alone knew when he’d last eaten. He must have needed help but of course he’d been too proud and ‘thrawn’ to seek it.

  ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea, Father.’

  The old man’s rheumy eyes swivelled round at him.

  ‘Can ye no’ offer me something better than that? A wee half maybe?’

  ‘If I can find some.’ Sammy searched in the sideboard, found nothing but eventually dug a bottle out of a cupboard in the kitchen. He handed his father a glass of the amber liquid but had to hold it to the old man’s mouth.

  ‘Here, get this down you.’

  Hodge smacked his lips. ‘By God, that was good.’

  ‘Is there anything in the house to eat?’

  ‘Can ye no’ eat in yer own house?’

  ‘I mean for you. I’ll cook you something.’

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t be bothered getting up off this chair any more.’

  ‘Have you had the doctor look at you?’

  ‘Are you deaf or something? I can’t get around the house, never mind get out to a doctor. Who are you, anyway?’

  Sammy was taken aback.

  ‘I’m Sammy, Father.’

  ‘Sammy? Samuel? From the Old Testament?’

  ‘No, Sammy. Your youngest son.’

  ‘I don’t remember you. Where have you been?’

  ‘I’ll make you something to eat, Father.’

  All he could find in the kitchen was a tin of Heinz tomato soup. He opened it and heated it. He felt so terrible, he hardly knew how he was going to be able to cope, what he should do next.

  He had to spoon the soup into the old man’s mouth. He was obviously too weak to feed himself.

  Eventually he said, ‘Now I’m going to carry you through to bed, Father, and fill a hot water bottle to keep you warm until I go and fetch the doctor. We’ll see what he says and then decide what to do for the best. All right?’

  ‘What was it you did in the Bible again?’

  ‘Never mind about that just now.’

  The old man felt like a bag of bones and Sammy could have wept at the awfulness of it all. He got him settled in bed with the hot water bottle.

  ‘Now, you’re going to be all right, Father. I won’t be long. I’ll be back as soon as I can with the doctor.’

  ‘Aye, Hannah was your mother’s name. What was your father’s name again?’

  Sammy escaped outside and stumbled as fast as he could through the snow.

  ‘God forgive me,’ he thought. ‘Please, God, forgive me.’

  39

  To say that she was surprised would be the understatement of the year. Catriona was astonished when Julie told her that Sammy had been to see his father. She’d always understood that Sammy hated Hodge Hunter. And with good reason, as far as she could see. Sometimes she even thought that what she and Sammy had most in common was hatred and their understanding of that emotion. He couldn’t have changed, surely. She hadn’t changed though, for a time, she thought she had – to some degree, at least. Often the only emotion she felt for Melvin was pity.

  He had changed so much, especially physically. The change had been caused by the war and she couldn’t blame him for that. The war had wrecked him physically and, she often suspected, emotionally and mentally as well. That was another thing she and Sammy had in common – their abiding hatred of war. Sammy’s beliefs now went even deeper. To him, peace was not simply the absence of war, it was a vision of human wholeness. He seemed so idealistic at times, and Julie was the same these days. They both believed in living adventurously, though, which certainly seemed wise to Catriona and something she wished she had taken to heart much sooner in her own life. Sammy and Julie’s religious beliefs also led them to hope for reconciliation between all sorts of unlikely people. It was all pie in the sky to Catriona. She knew from bitter personal experience that there were some people with whom it was simply impossible to be reconciled, no matter how hard you tried. The Quakers obviously meant well but where had their God of love been when she had needed him?

  She even doubted if she could be sure of any love from Andrew any more. But, oh, how she was trying to deserve it. He wanted her to be reconciled with Melvin and visit him more regularly at the hospital and she’d forced herself to go. It was during these visits that her hatred had taken root again and outweighed any pity she felt for Melvin.

  If she was alone with him for any length of time before Andrew arrived, or on those rare occasions when Andrew couldn’t manage to visit, Melvin would nag at her in the same way he always had. She would sit watching the bitter downward twist of his mouth and keep silent. He was also beginning to sound more like her mother every day. He too had begun to say things like how wicked she was for deserting him, and how God would punish her. Meantime, he was doing his nasty, malicious best to punish her himself.

  He’d told her that he’d already made the house over to Fergus. ‘I know you,’ he’d said, ‘if anything happened to me, even though Fergus was supposed to inherit my house, you’d contest the will. You’d try to claim at least half. Well, this way, you’ll never get anything because the house legally belongs to Fergus now. I’ve explained to him it’s just for his legal protection so that, after I die, if he wants to sell it, the proceeds’ll go to him. Every penny. Andrew will get the business.’

  ‘What business?’ she thought. The place was barely making a profit any more, despite Baldy Fowler’s best efforts.

  She listened to Melvin in silence, only able to do so by repeating over and over again in her mind, ‘For Andrew. For Andrew. Smile for Andrew’s sake. Suffer it, suffer him, suffer anything, suffer everything for Andrew’s sake.’

  And certainly Andrew’s attitude had at least softened towards her. He was pleased and grateful that sh
e was acting in what appeared such a kind and compassionate way to his precious dad.

  Melvin was a different man when Andrew was there. His sour face would break into a sweet smile of welcome and he’d put out a hand to Andrew, who’d lovingly clasp it in his.

  Maybe Sammy had forced himself to go and see his father for much the same reason as she went to see Melvin. Maybe it was to please his mother although she found that hard to understand. Why on earth would his mother want him to have anything to do with that old horror?

  Next time she saw Sammy, maybe she’d get the chance to talk to him about it. Then it occurred to her – perhaps it was something to do with Christmas, the time of peace and love, forgiveness and goodwill to all men and all that. Yet, as far as she’d understood it, Quakers didn’t give extra emphasis or value to any particular day. They had no calendar of specially significant events. So it couldn’t just be about Christmas.

  Catriona herself dreaded Christmas. It was all very well for the likes of Julie and Sammy. They had their love for each other – and Julie had her love for her daughter. She still clung to the hope that one day they would be reunited. Their love made their wee room and kitchen in Bishopbriggs a place of peace and sanctuary, as well as hope. She really liked to visit them there and, no matter what state she had been in before she arrived, she always came away feeling better. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason. Maybe the loving atmosphere of their home was somehow infectious. She tried to tell herself not to be so daft and think things like that. At the same time, there was no denying that she cheered when she visited Sammy and Julie. They did have some interesting evenings at their house, lively discussions about all sorts of things, with fascinating and unexpected people.

  Julie said that’s what they did at the end of their Quaker meeting every Sunday – everyone shook hands at the end of it. Once, Julie had said, ‘We’ll get you there yet, Catriona.’

  She’d replied, ‘No way!’

  Sammy had looked quite annoyed. Not at her but at Julie.

  ‘You shouldn’t do that, Julie.’

  ‘What?’ Julie looked surprised.

  ‘Try to put pressure on Catriona or anyone to go to Meeting.’

  ‘I wasn’t putting pressure on her.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Catriona assured Sammy. ‘Even the word worship puts me off.’

  Sammy said, ‘I know what you mean. It can sound as if it means bowing and scraping before some tyrannical master. But in fact the word derives from the word worth – we see it as the time we give to finding worth in our lives.’

  It was all very interesting but did it help her situation, her problems? Could anything help her problem with Melvin? Those moments of relaxation and peace at Julie and Sammy’s, those moments of appreciating the love that she experienced there did help to keep her going in a way. And they were such good friends.

  Maybe if she paid them a wee visit before Christmas this time … but before she could make that visit, something happened that neither Julie nor Sammy could help her with.

  40

  Hodge Hunter was removed to Stobhill Hospital and promptly transferred from there to a nursing home. Beds in the hospital were more urgently needed. Hodge had been diagnosed as suffering from dementia and it was obvious that he had to be in a nursing home from now on in order to get proper care and attention.

  ‘He’ll be comfortable and safe here, don’t worry,’ Sammy was told. It had all happened so quickly, Sammy found it difficult to grasp the situation and get on with ordinary life. He had taken time off work to organise everything and was glad to be able to do so and to see his father safely settled. The old man seemed perfectly happy now. Away in a world of his own but happy. His mother seemed happy too. He thought she’d be very upset but not a bit of it. It was as if she was in a world of her own too. She actually visited the home and sat by the old man’s bedside chatting to him.

  After the Christmas party was over, Sammy went to clear out the cottage. He had been going to leave it until after Hogmanay but then decided it would be better to start the New Year afresh with all the mess behind him and everything more or less organised. Julie went with him and between them, they swept out the sea of rubbish and mopped the floors and all the surfaces with numerous buckets of strong disinfectant.

  Sammy told Julie to go home eventually because she looked so tired. I’ll just stay for another half hour to clear out some of the papers in his desk.’

  ‘All right, I’ll have the tea ready.’ She kissed him. ‘Don’t be too long.’

  After she left, Sammy sat down at his father’s old roll-top desk and began pulling papers from pigeon holes, glancing through them, tidying some and tearing up others. He opened a drawer and found several notebooks. Another drawer held several more. He discovered, on opening one of the books, that in fact it was a diary. He hesitated to read the small, neat writing but curiosity overcame him. He read on, unable to stop, well into the night. Then eventually, emotionally and physically drained, he shut the desk, leaned across it and wept. His father’s diaries had revealed the life of a man he had never known – and the child he had never even guessed at. The tormented, abused child with the strong ambition, as he reached a twisted manhood, of finally getting his revenge on the world.

  ‘We’re all just victims of victims,’ he thought. ‘Why did that never occur to me before?’

  Eventually he wiped his face dry and left the house. He was glad of the snow now and the biting cold wind. He needed it to clear his head and help him find some sort of normality before having to face Julie.

  ‘Sammy!’ She ran along the lobby to greet him. ‘I’ve been so worried. What happened?’

  ‘I got carried away reading the old man’s diaries. A lot of them went back to his childhood. Sorry I’ve taken so long. I should have phoned you from the nearest phone box in Balornock. I never thought.’

  ‘As long as you’re all right.’

  ‘Yes, fine. I’m glad we got the house cleared and organised. We can forget it now.’

  He never wanted to set foot in the place again. Let his brothers do what they liked with it now. That is, if they ever returned to Glasgow. He suspected that they’d only come for their father’s funeral. If they even came for that. Not that he blamed them. The way he felt now, he’d never blame anyone for anything ever again.

  He was glad now to be going to the big match. It would take his mind off everything else. Alec was looking forward to it – as was every man in Glasgow. Well, maybe not every man. Jehovah’s Witnesses John McKechnie and his son Peter would never go near Ibrox Park. They thought football was a sin. Alec maintained they thought everything was a sin. Also up Alec’s close was the Pater family. Alec said they believed in keeping themselves to themselves. Alec said he thought the Paters did karate just to warn everybody off.

  Jimmy Stoddart would be there with all his Orange Order pals. And Michael, Dermot and Sean O’Donnel wouldn’t miss the Old Firm match for the world. They would be at the Catholic end of the park, of course, but not together as a family this time.

  Sammy put on his uniform, remembering how the Red Cross had to change the berets they used to wear to caps. The berets had been the cause of some attacks on Red Cross men. Some idiots had decided they must be IRA supporters because IRA men wore berets.

  He kissed Julie goodbye.

  ‘Now don’t you be getting drunk with Alec afterwards,’ she said and he laughed. They both knew he’d never been drunk in his life and only enjoyed the occasional pint of beer. Two or three at the most.

  It was a dull, misty day with cold, blustery showers. The pitch was muddy-looking and puddled. Sammy didn’t think it was a good idea to play the match in such conditions but knew that there would have to be an earthquake way up the Richter scale before anyone would agree to cancel it.

  It soon became obvious that the O’Donnels would be in their element. Sammy could just imagine Dermot singing his heart out, giving ‘Land of my Fathers’ everything he’d got
. Celtic were having a good game, especially when wee Jimmy Johnstone scored with a header. The crowd at the Rangers end had begun to leave, were already on stairway thirteen.

  Then, hallelujah, Colin Stein stuck one in for Rangers in a goal-mouth scramble. In the very last minute of the game. There was a huge roar and all hell broke loose.

  Sammy saw the crush on the stairway. It looked worse than usual. Instinctively, he made his way towards it. As he got nearer, he began to run. So did several policemen. People were being lifted off their feet by the pressure of the crowd. People were slowly falling. Then the crowd stopped moving but the pressure obviously continued because the air was filled with agonised shouts and cries. But, as time went on, these decreased until there was almost silence.

  Desperately, Sammy and other ambulance men and police fought to pull people from the crowd and lay them gently down on the field. Nurses arrived and everyone tried to help the injured and the dying. Men and young boys with shocked faces and crushed ribs were given oxygen or mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Others were carried to the main stand for medical attention.

  Amidst all this chaos and horror, Sammy caught sight of Alec’s tall figure. He saw him being crushed forward, saw his ashen, blood-smeared face. Like a maniac, Sammy fought his way towards Alec and, praying for a miracle, managed to pull him out.

  Lying on the grass, Alec opened his eyes and looked up at Sammy. Sammy cradled him in his arms and leaned his head down close to Alec’s face. He was barely breathing.

  ‘Alec,’ Sammy said. Alec’s eyes closed. ‘Alec,’ Sammy repeated. ‘Friend with a capital F.’

  And he believed Alec heard him because he saw a ghost of a smile.

  * * * *

  Teresa O’Donnel wondered what all the noise was in the close. But there was usually a lot of noise and singing and carry-on late into the night after an Old Firm match. She opened her front door and listened more intently. It wasn’t the usual sort of noise. It sounded like weeping and wailing. Incredibly, it sounded like Madge Jackson. What on earth could be wrong with her? Cautiously, hugging her woolly cardigan tighter over her chest, Teresa ventured down the stairs. The Jackson door was lying open.