‘Welcome home, son,’ Erchie took hold of Malcy’s kitbag after giving him an awkward hug. They all hugged him and echoed that cry of ‘Welcome home, Malcy’.
Malcy gave a half smile. He looked confused. He allowed himself to be led away, his gear stuffed into the boot of Wincey’s car and himself pushed into the front seat beside Wincey. She drove very confidently, laughing and chatting with Teresa and Florence who were in the back seat. Erchie and Granny were following on in a taxi. Malcy tried to respond to some of the questions that were fired at him until Wincey said, ‘Give him a break. He’s tired. He’s probably been travelling for days.’
He gazed out of the window at places he’d come to believe he’d never see again. His eyes strayed up to the ornate facade of the Central Hotel. They didn’t build them like that nowadays. There was Hope Street with its equally beautiful Victorian architecture. And St Vincent Street and Renfield Street. Street after beautiful street, everything seemed intact and just the same as it had always been. It was as if the war had never happened.
Then there were the high black tenements of Springburn Road. There was the Avenue on the right with Wellfield Street branching off it. The Wellie picture house would probably still be there. Further along Springburn Road now, there was the Balgrayhill rearing up in front of them. He cringed as he saw the banner stretching across the top of the street with huge letters emblazoned on it, ‘Welcome home, Malcy.’ There was another one draped across the close, and flags and balloons floated at windows.
He managed a smile and a wave to the neighbours standing around the close and greeting him with shouts of ‘Glad to see you, son’ and ‘Have a great party’.
Oh God, he thought, a party! The smile stuck to his face and he waved back as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Inside the house was all decorated with paper chains and balloons. Somebody helped him off with his heavy khaki greatcoat and shoved a drink into his hand.
Soon Erchie and Granny joined them, followed by a crowd of neighbours, until the kitchen was packed and the rag rug became rumpled against the fender. The table was cluttered with glasses and bottles. People were perched on the draining board at the side of the sink and on the high bed in the recess. Teresa had a struggle to get the press door open to fetch out more glasses. The noise of chattering voices and laughter bounced off walls and ceiling.
The only thing for it, Malcy supposed, was to get drunk. Even getting drunk, however, proved difficult but at least it helped him to loosen up a bit and become more talkative. He assured everyone that Pete and Joe were all right, and would soon be home too. He warned however that they had suffered a lot and were very thin and undernourished. They needed to stay in hospital and have their strength built up before they’d be fit enough to travel.
‘Ye’ve lost a pound or two o’ flesh yersel, Malcy,’ somebody said.
‘Poor laddies,’ Granny kept muttering. ‘Poor laddies.’
Florence told him that there had been lots of marvellous celebrations on VE Day and VJ Day and all the neighbours agreed. There were shouts of ‘Marvellous’, ‘Smashing’, ‘Magic’. Florence assured Malcy it was especially good fun on VE Day. Her eyes rolled with pleasure, remembering.
‘You should have seen the mass of people crushing into George Square, Malcy. Chock a block, it was.’
There were cries of ‘Like sardines we were’. Then one woman added, ‘Ah said tae wan man, if we get any closer, we’ll huv tae get married.’
‘It’s a wonder no one was seriously hurt in the crush,’ Florence said. ‘But we managed to dance all the same, didn’t we, Wincey? Everyone was dancing like mad. What a laugh it was.’ Florence giggled. ‘Men we’d never set eyes on in our lives kissing and hugging us. What a scream it was, wasn’t it, Wincey? A real scream.’
‘Ah bet them wernae the kind o’ screams Malcy’s been used to,’ Granny muttered. She was very bent and shaky nowadays, and spoke as much to herself as to anyone else.
‘Granny, for goodness sake, this is supposed to be a happy occasion. Don’t you go spoiling it.’
‘Ah cannae open ma mooth these days,’ Granny muttered into her chest. ‘Ye’ll be auld yersel’ wan day.’
Malcy went over and took the old woman’s hands in his. ‘You’re quite right, Granny. But I suppose I’ve got to try and forget all that now.’
‘Aye, well, ah just hope ye’ll be able to, son.’ After a minute’s thoughtful silence, she added, ‘But maybe it’s no’ good to forget aw thegither.’
‘I know what you mean, Granny.’
‘Ah’m no’ talkin’ about bloody useless stone monuments an’ paper poppies, mind.’
‘I know.’
‘Aw these names frae the First War on aw them stone monuments. Every town an’ village has them. Now they’ll be carvin’ other ones for another million or mair poor laddies. What good is that tae their wives an’ mothers? Folk like Mrs McGregor doon Springburn Road. Her man an’ her poor wee Jimmy.’
‘For God sake, Ma!’ It was Erchie’s turn to protest. ‘This isnae the time or the place. We’re tryin’ tae gie Malcy a cheery homecomin’.’
‘Aye, well, ah’m glad tae see ye’re back aw in wan piece, son. Ah am that.’
‘Thanks, Granny.’
They put records on the gramophone. It’s a grand night for singing, and I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts and Don’t fence me in. They belted them all out until Granny complained, ‘Where’s aw the good auld Scots songs.’
So they launched into Scots songs, including the favourite, I belong to Glasgow, dear old Glasgow town.
Everyone joined in, including old Mr McCluskey and his daughter, Miss McCluskey. She, by force of circumstances including war work, had mellowed somewhat. It turned out that she had quite a sweet singing voice. The house was packed and the party went on well into the early hours. Granny fell asleep in her chair despite the racket. Her head sunk forward into her chest, her mouth puttering with snores. There was a lot of talk about rationing, which was still going on, and the difficulty folk coming back from the war were having in getting a place to live. But mostly the talk was about scarcity of food and other items. Theirs had been a different war from Malcy’s.
At last people began to say goodnight. They shook hands with Malcy again, and told him again how glad they were to see him. Before they left, of course, they all joined hands to sing Auld Lang Syne. He appreciated their warmth and friendliness, although he was so exhausted that he was glad to see them go. Refusing a cup of tea from Teresa, he collapsed into bed and oblivion. He hadn’t even the energy to get undressed.
Next morning, he was thankful that, unlike most of the tenements in Springburn, this house had a bathroom. He couldn’t remember the last time he was able to relax in a warm bath. Through in the kitchen, Granny, Erchie, Florence and Teresa were at breakfast. Wincey was nowhere to be seen.
Teresa said, ‘I was going to give you your breakfast in bed, Malcy. I thought you needed a long lie.’
‘This is late for me.’
Florence said, ‘Did you know I’m housekeeper for the Cartwrights of Kirklee Terrace now, Malcy?’
Granny said, ‘She means she dusts an’ polishes an’ makes whit she calls their lunch.’
‘I start at ten,’ Florence pressed on with determined cheerfulness. ‘And it’s time I was away. Wincey says she’s taking the afternoon off, so she’ll be seeing you then too. She’ll be back earlier than me though, in time for lunch. Then this evening, we’ve all to visit Kirklee Terrace as guests of the Cartwrights. We can call them Virginia and Nicholas, of course, because we’re family in a way. Wait until you see that lovely house, Malcy. You’ll be so impressed.’
Malcy tried to look impressed.
Erchie rose. ‘Wincey wanted me to stay off as well today but somebody needs to be there to keep an eye on things. Ah’ll see you the night, Malcy. OK?’
‘Right, fine,’ Malcy said.
After Erchie and Florence left, and Teresa was washing up the breakfast dish
es, and Granny had nodded off, Malcy announced that he was going out for a walk.
‘A good idea, Malcy. You relax and enjoy yourself, son.’
He needed to be alone to think. It was as if he was convalescing from an illness. He felt not only that everyone around him was a stranger, but he was a stranger to himself. He clumped along Springburn Road in his big army boots, occasionally catching a glimpse of his reflection in a shop window. He saw a big, rough looking man with a scarred face and shaved head showing under his khaki bonnet. That wasn’t the man who used to swagger whistling along Springburn Road, winking at all the pretty girls. So many years ago.
He wandered away up to the park and sat on a bench, staring ahead at nothing in particular. It was only when the cold began to seep into his bones that he made a move. As soon as he entered the close, Teresa had the door open and was rushing out to meet him.
‘Malcy, I was worried sick about you and Granny’s been watching for you at the window for ages.’
‘Sorry, I seem to have lost track of the time. I was just wandering about.’
‘Come on through, son. You need to get yourself in front of the fire. You look blue with the cold.’
‘Where’s Granny now?’
‘Here she comes. Wincey’s pushing her through.’
‘Whit dae ye think ye’re playin’ at. Ye nearly had me freezin’ tae death.’
‘Sorry, Granny. I don’t know where the time went.’
‘Whit a bloody daft thing tae say. Get oot o’ ma road. Ah’ll have tae get a cup o’ tea tae thaw me oot.’
Teresa had already started to pour out tea for everybody. ‘I’ve only made scrambled eggs on toast tonight, Malcy, because I’m sure we’ll get lots to eat at Virginia’s later on.’
‘Oh yes,’ Florence said. ‘I offered to prepare supper in advance but Virginia wouldn’t hear of it. But rest assured she’ll do us proud. And wait till you see the house, Malcy. You’ll be …’
‘Yes, yes, dear, we know,’ Teresa interrupted. ‘Now all sit round the table and have your tea. I’ll help Granny.’
‘Did Virginia tell you that Richard is coming home soon?’ Wincey asked.
Florence ate a dainty mouthful of scrambled eggs before replying. ‘I believe she did mention it.’
‘And his wife of course. I thought he’d end up living in Castle Hill, but apparently it has been taken over by the National Trust,’ Wincey said. ‘His mother and father in law are now living in a cottage in the grounds. Castle Hill got to be too much for them to cope with in their old age. I’m not surprised. What a size of a place it was.’
‘Will Richard and his wife be living at Kirklee Terrace, do you think?’ Florence asked.
‘No. With old Mrs Cartwright.’
Florence said, ‘I think she must have spent all her money making that place of hers habitable again, but it still looks awful. And it must be terribly cramped inside. The bedrooms were upstairs and they’re all gone now. I don’t think Richard and his wife will stay there for long.’
Wincey shrugged. ‘I suppose he’ll have to find a job and a place of his own eventually. It’ll be changed days for Richard, I’m afraid.’
‘Especially,’ Florence went on, ‘when she’s not a pleasant character. The old woman, I mean. I know she’s your grandmother, Wincey, but I’m sorry, I just don’t like her.’
Wincey shrugged again. ‘I can’t say I’m all that keen on her myself.’
‘Now, now, girls,’ Teresa said. ‘She’s an old woman and she’s had to suffer being bombed.’
‘Well, actually Mother, she was a couple of miles away at her bridge club meeting when the bomb dropped.’
Teresa wasn’t listening. She was gazing worriedly at Malcy, her fingers tucking and twisting at her floral, wraparound apron. ‘Eat up, son. You’ve hardly touched your eggs. Oh, there’s Erchie. I was so worried about you that he went out to look … Well, not especially to look for you,’ she hastily corrected herself. ‘He had to go out for his paper, you see.’
Erchie’s small, skinny figure breezed into the kitchen and waved his paper at Granny. ‘Plenty tae read tae ye the night, Ma. Hello there, Malcy. Had a nice day, son?’
‘Yes, fine thanks, Erchie.’
‘Do you not like scrambled eggs?’ Teresa said worriedly. ‘I can easily make you something else. Just say the word, son.’
‘No, it’s great, Teresa. I just don’t seem to have much of an appetite these days.’
‘No wonder you’ve lost so much weight, Malcy. You’re a big man. You need to eat. Now how about some baked beans. I could quite easily …’
Suddenly Granny bawled, ‘For God sake, Teresa, will ye shut up an’ leave the man in peace.’
Teresa’s pale face acquired two pink blotches. ‘I was just trying to help.’
‘And I appreciate it, Teresa,’ Malcy assured her. ‘I really do. I feel so lucky you’ve all accepted me as family like this. Where would I be, what would I do without all of you?’
‘Och!’ Teresa went over to give him a hug, her old slippers scuffing across the linoleum. ‘You’ll always have a home here, Malcy. You’ll always be one of the family.’
Granny had nearly dropped off again but she suddenly roused herself. ‘Aye, that’s right, son. Now forget about the bloody eggs. It’s jist that dried stuff anyway. Jist think yersel’ lucky it wisnae spam. See aw that Yankee junk.’
‘Granny, it’s wicked, talking like that,’ Teresa scolded. ‘It was very kind of the Americans to help us out with all that food, and spam’s really tasty. So is dried egg. Everybody thinks so.’
‘Ye cannae have it poached or boiled, and spam cannae hold a candle tae a pork chop or a plate o’ good steak mince.’
‘But if we hadn’t had things like spam and dried egg, we’d have had next to nothing, Granny. I know because I’m the one who’s had to trail around all the shops looking for a bite to eat. I’m the one who’s had to wait in mile long queues for hours on end.’
They were at it again. Food and rationing and shortages. It was all they seemed to talk about. Malcy sat staring at his plate, allowing the conversation to wash over him, as he drifted further and further away.
35
Kirklee Terrace was an elegant cul de sac separated from Great Western Road by a sloping green bank that in spring was covered in crocuses, then daffodils. It had been designed by the architect C. Wilson in 1845. Overlooking Great Western Road at the front, the Cartwright house also had excellent views of the Botanic Gardens.
Florence gave Malcy a running commentary on the house as they travelled in Wincey’s car. ‘There’s a gorgeous entrance hall,’ Florence enthused, ‘with a marble floor—a marble floor, would you believe. Downstairs there’s the kitchen and the dining room and sitting room and a study that Nicholas calls his writing room. A grand staircase leads up to the bedrooms and the bathroom. There’s a drawing room upstairs as well. Wait till you see that drawing room, Malcy.’
‘All right, Florence,’ Wincey said. ‘Just let him wait, will you.’
She swung the car off Great Western Road at the junction of Kirklee Road, then sharp right onto Kirklee Terrace. A golden carpet of autumn leaves crackled under their feet as they walked from the car towards the front door.
‘Of course, in the old days,’ Florence said, ‘there would have been a maid to open the door. But it’s impossible to get staff since the war. Everyone has to do more or less everything themselves.’
‘Aboot time tae,’ Granny said. Erchie had helped her from the taxi which had followed Wincey’s car. ‘Spoiled, lazy sods! They lived the life o’ Riley an’ tried tae make oot they were superior tae the likes o’ us. They gave folks like us absolute hell an’ we were supposed tae believe we were the inferior ones. Well, no’ me. Ah believe it’s the other way roon.’
Teresa rolled her eyes. ‘Well, not any more, Granny. At least the war has evened all that out.’
‘Ah aye said you came up the Clyde in a banana boat.’
; Just then the door opened and Virginia welcomed them in.
‘An’ dinnae think they’re aw like her,’ Granny persisted. ‘She came frae a Gorbals slum, an’ used tae work as a scullery maid.’
‘Granny!’ Teresa looked distraught. ‘I’m black affronted, Virginia. She was going on about class, you see, but I’m sure she didn’t mean any offence.’
Virginia laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not ashamed of my background.’
‘Ah should think no’,’ Granny said, ignoring Teresa’s furious glare.
‘Come away in.’
‘See what I mean about the hall, Malcy.’ Florence, head tipped proudly back, gazed around in a kind of ecstasy. She was dressed for the part in her best hat with its winged birds and draped veil.
‘Will somebody shut her up?’ Granny said. ‘Ah’m fed up wi’ her witterin’ on aboot this bloody hoose.’
Virginia laughed and led them into the sitting room.
‘We could carry Granny up to the drawing room,’ Florence said, easing off her hat. ‘We could all go up there.’
Wincey said, ‘Florence, will you never learn. We’ve come to visit my mother and father.’
Florence withdrew into a silent huff. They all knew however that this would not last. One of the unfortunate things about Florence was she never remained offended or silent for long.
Nicholas rose to greet them and, as Florence had told Malcy more than once, he was a very handsome man indeed. ‘And a genius as well, Malcy. An absolute genius.’ Florence had always had a dramatic imagination and a talent for exaggeration.
‘No, Florence,’ Wincey said. ‘Not a genius.’
‘But he’s won literary awards, and he’s made a fortune.’
‘He’s a good writer, and he makes a good living, but he’s not a genius and he doesn’t make a fortune.’
‘Fancy you denigrating your own father!’
‘I’m not denigrating him. I’m only telling the truth. He’d say exactly what I’ve said about himself.’
Clydesiders at War Page 21