Rue End Street

by Sue Reid Sexton

  ‘I’m not a baby. I’m looking for my dad,’ I said.

  ‘Well, there’s plenty to choose from here,’ he said, nodding at a row of soldiers who were lined up against a wall.

  ‘I don’t think my dad’s one of those,’ I said.

  ‘Why not? Is he a conchie, then?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘He’s... he’s a... he’s an...’

  ‘Well? What is he? Tinker, tailor, soldier sailor?’

  ‘Um...’

  ‘Rich man?’

  He picked up a steaming hot cup of tea from a window ledge and took a slurp. There was a chunk of bread in his other hand. I wished the tea and bread were mine. He took a bite and talked as he chewed.

  ‘Not a rich man then?

  I shook my head.

  ‘Probably not a thief then either.’

  I shook my head again.

  ‘Where have you come from?’

  Unfortunately my mouth had gone to jelly again and no matter what I did, no matter how big a breath I took I couldn’t get any words out.

  ‘C... ,’ I went. ‘C...’ A rush of heat filled my head and I thought I’d faint right over and fall on the ground. ‘C... C...’

  ‘Kilcreggan?’ he said.

  ‘C...’

  ‘Cardross? Kilpatrick? Cartsdyke? Crinan? Campbeltown?’ He went on and on and named all the places he could think of that began with C and I stared at him with my mouth open not even trying. And with every name he laughed all the more until he got to Clincarthill and the tears were rolling down his cheeks. He was laughing so much he had to put his tea back down on the windowsill because it was spilling over.

  ‘Canada,’ he laughed. ‘Canberra. Kansas!’

  I was just about to scream CLYDEBANK and CARBETH at the top of my voice when another man appeared between us and pinned the sailor to a wall by his neck.

  ‘She’s a wee lassie!’ growled the man. ‘Leave her alone!’

  I waited a moment and held my breath and saw the ferryboat leaving behind them.

  ‘I was only having a bit of fun,’ the sailor man protested. ‘No need for that!’

  I wished I’d stayed on the boat. Too late! Instead I ran away from them along the pier not caring who noticed me, past piles of boxes, barrels so big you could drown in them, ropes, bollards and hundreds of men in strange uniforms standing in rows. Then I reached the end of the dock and had to turn up towards the road. There was a close doorway so I threw myself into it and blammed against the wall. I shook and raged and wiped the blood from my lip until half my hand was red and I sobbed until I thought I’d choke.

  Oh Mr Tait! I thought. What have I done? Mum, I’m so sorry. What was I thinking? Mr Tulloch, why didn’t I listen? Mavis, Rosie, I’m so sorry. I hope you’re alright. What am I going to do?

  A motor car went past with its horn blaring. Then the rain started pelting down and some soldiers clattered by all talking at once, their boots echoing round the close. I edged back to the doorway and washed my hands in the rain. No-one paid me the slightest attention.

  I needed to get home, but I was too scared to go back into that station. I was too scared to go to the police for help either. It was even worse than before, the daughter of an Italian stowing away in a ship. I decided the town hall might be best, if I could find it, if the rain would only stop.

  Eventually, of course, it did, and by that time I’d managed to stop crying and found some of my courage, enough to tidy myself and start up the street.

  At the end of it, the biggest tower you ever saw stuck right up into the sky, and I thought it might have the town hall underneath it, but the bombers had done their work in Greenock too and the streets between the waterfront and the town hall had buildings with walls missing and no roof. Wallpaper and fireplaces were uncovered for everyone to see and there were piles of rubble and mess still there beside the roads, same as Clydebank. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the town hall had been bombed too and a whole row of buildings beyond it. I stood in front of the town hall trying not to smell all the things I’d smelled in Clydebank or see things hiding in the strange shapes of the debris, the arms and legs and heads, but that’s another story. I was trying so hard not to see it that I forgot I could just run right out of there.

  Then an old woman came along. She had a stick to hold her up and a bright woollen scarf tied tight around her head to keep her hair down in the wind, out of which her face bulged.

  ‘If you’re looking for the town hall,’ she said, ‘they’re in a special office down there past the police station.’ She pointed with her stick. ‘There’s a notice on the police door telling you where.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, and down a little street saw a sign with POLICE on it and a huddle of policemen in dark uniforms beneath.

  ‘What’s the matter? You look all undone,’ she said.

  ‘Um,’ I said.

  ‘You looking for someone?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Go and ask the police, then. They’re only down there.’

  I shivered and looked at the ground.

  ‘Why not? Are you in trouble?’

  I thought about this. ‘Yes, I suppose. I don’t know.’

  ‘For brawling?’

  ‘No,’ I said, putting my hand to my face.

  ‘That looks sore. Ooo, your lip’s still bleeding. Don’t you have a hanky? What happened?’

  Where could I start?

  ‘Come on, love. Cat got your tongue? Who is it you’re looking for? Come on, you can tell me. I’m just an old woman in the street trying to get up the hill and home.’

  I had to wonder if she was a spy. She didn’t look like one.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come here on my own but I need to find my dad,’ I said.

  ‘Ah, I see. Is he in the services? He’ll be down at the docks or maybe up there at the barracks. Depends what kind of service man he is. They don’t stay long. They go off in trains every day, all nationalities, talking every language and most of them don’t understand a word I say, even the Brits.’ She chuckled to herself. ‘There’s all sorts based here. From all over the world, Americans, Canadians, Norwegians, French. You name it. I don’t understand half of what they say either.’

  ‘He’s Scottish,’ I said. ‘No, British, English, I think, sort of, not quite.’ I shook my head to get my thoughts in the right order.

  ‘Hmm. Impressive. A citizen of the world,’ she said, ‘just like the rest of us.’

  ‘He was in the army, the British Army. He was, but I don’t think he’s in it now.’

  ‘That way,’ she said, and poked her stick back towards the docks. ‘Down there for the town hall offices. Good luck! And you watch yourself, specially down at that Rue End. There are too many men in this town.’

  ‘I will, thank you,’ I said. ‘What’s the Rue End?’

  ‘It’s where all the trouble starts,’ she said, ‘pubs and... och, just don’t you go there. Go along that way instead.’

  I sooked up the blood I could feel oozing on my lip and followed the line of her walking stick.

  ‘Where’s your mum?’ she said when I didn’t move.

  ‘She’s at Singer’s, in Clydebank,’ I said.

  ‘Singer’s? You’ve come all the way from Clydebank? Well, you’re some lassie. I worked in Singer’s myself a long time ago. Married a man from Clydebank, but he’s long dead. Died in the last war.’

  I dabbed at my lip with my sleeve.

  ‘Tsk, don’t do that, love, you’ll get it all over your clothes and it’ll never come off!’ She took a hanky out of her pocket and patted the blood away. It wasn’t a perfect white one like Mr Tait’s and smelled distinctly not nice. ‘I’m up there,’ she said and pointed up the hill. ‘Near the top on the right, number twenty-two, top floor, if you need any help. Mrs Strachan. Don’t be slow in calling.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Strachan. Twenty-two. I’m Lenny,’ I said.

  ‘Lenny? That’s unusual for a girl. Are you a Roman Catholic then?’
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  ‘I don’t think so.’

  She laughed. ‘You don’t know. That’s nice.’

  Then she turned and started up a steep steep hill at a slow pace and I wondered if she’d ever make it.

  But time was hurrying along, so I had to hurry too. I started down the road then stopped. Mrs Strachan had taken two steps to my twenty and put her bags down. Her cheek bulged out of her scarf. She coughed and her cheek wobbled. She wiped her nose with the same hanky and bent, slowly, to pick up her bags again. I went back.

  ‘Mrs Strachan?’ I said.

  She put down her bags and straightened to look at me.

  ‘Can I help?’ I said. I glanced up the hill and felt Mr Tait smile at my good deed. Then I heard a train chunter by and saw thick black smoke above the hill, reminding me I should go home.

  Mrs Strachan laughed so her cheeks both wobbled like bags of water and she wiped a drip off her old nose with a pointy finger. ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘You’re in a hurry. Lenny wasn’t it?’

  ‘It’s no bother,’ I lied.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ she said.

  ‘No... ,’ I said.

  She smiled again. ‘It is, though, isn’t it?’

  I wanted to say, Do you want my help or not? but in my head I saw Mr Tait’s face wrinkle with disappointment. I lifted the bags and smiled back. ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘My dad’s been a long time lost!’

  ‘All the more reason you should hurry,’ she said, and we set off together.

  The bags were both string bags with lots of old newspaper holding everything inside. There were probably ten tons of tatties in there and another ten of turnips. We took a couple of steps together then she told me to go on ahead and leave the bags outside her door.

  So I did. The hill was as long and steep as the hill at Carbeth and the door to number twenty-two had a slanty step. I went in and up the stairs until I found a door with Strachan written on it. I leant my head against the door until I caught my breath then dropped the bags and leant against the wall for my heart beat to slow. It was dark and damp in there with no stair-lights and I didn’t like it one bit, so as soon as I could, I set off back down the stairs.

  Mrs Strachan was still near the bottom of the hill but from outside her close I could see the river and the bank on the other side, maybe Helensburgh, faintly through the mist. This was a relief. I had almost believed it had been taken away and that there was no way back. The clouds had lifted a little and across the water I saw boats and ferries and battleships, small in the distance or giant up close. Then, as I watched, the cloud slipped over again.

  I ran back down the hill.

  ‘Thank you, Lenny,’ said Mrs Strachan. ‘What a kindness!’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said.

  ‘Now you know where I am if you need me,’ she said.

  Chapter 23

  The rain clouds seemed to sit over Greenock and the water like a thick grey blanket stealing all the light. The four big policemen were still outside the police station as if they had no thieves to chase. I slowed down and walked past them with my face pointed at something interesting on the other side of the road so they wouldn’t see me, then ran round a corner to another door with a handwritten sign on the outside. ‘Town Hall Tempry Office’ it said in letters that seemed about to fall forward on their faces. I leant my head to read the list of opening times below. It shut at five. I peered through the window and saw a clock which said ten past five. The door rattled in my hand.

  I stared at the notice for some time, willing it to change, then stared at the clock. How ill thought-out the whole thing was. A shudder of fright ran through me and left an ache that wouldn’t go away. Then a deep rumble from some huge machinery at the docks made the ground shake under my feet. Another train whistled by up on the hill, racing along with its smoke lying along its back, then vanished behind the buildings. Soon there would be no more trains for the day and I would be stuck there overnight.

  There was a sign for a railway station further down the road on the opposite side. I’d go straight there and get on the next train home.

  As I went down the street, one car honked and another one rattled. A man bumped my shoulder and two ladies tutted. Another man with rubber legs (drunk) swayed round me and almost into the road so another car hooted like a foghorn. A huge tall man in overalls grabbed the rubber drunk by his shirt front and swung him back onto the pavement and against the building.

  ‘Stay off the sauce, eejit!’ he said.

  ‘No harm, pal,’ slurred the rubber man, patting the big man’s chest. ‘Just trying to get home.’ He started singing, his hand by his mouth as if he was pulling the sound out with his fingers.

  The big man let go of him and walked away.

  My eyes were so busy following this bulk of a man that I didn’t realise my feet were following him too. He was crossing the street towards the station, where I was going. Unfortunately trams, unlike cars, don’t make any noise except their bell and I didn’t hear any bell until it was far too late and a tram had come right up behind me. The big man turned and swept me out of its path as the bell rattled by my ear and its wind tried to suck me along with it. I was hot then cold then hot again. He set me straight while I took in what had happened.

  ‘Watch where you’re going!’ he said in a friendly voice. Some other people stopped to stare.

  ‘Is she alright?’ said another man.

  ‘She got a fright,’ said the man, ‘but it missed her.

  I blinked and stared at them.

  ‘Give her a minute,’ he said.

  ‘Oh dear, what happened to you?’ said a lady in lipstick who seemed too close.

  ‘Nearly run herself over,’ said the man.

  ‘Aw, wee chook,’ said the lady, and she touched my chin with two dirty fingers.

  I stepped back from them, looked at my feet and wondered whether anyone’s heart had ever broken their ribcage.

  ‘She’ll be alright,’ said the man. ‘You won’t do that twice, will you?’

  ‘You okay? I don’t think she’s okay,’ said the lady and she peered in at me and smelled funny. Whisky like my dad, that was it.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, only my voice seemed to have finally disappeared. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Leave her be,’ said the man.

  ‘And since when is it your business?’ said the lady, her voice rising.

  ‘It’s not your business anyway,’ said the man.

  ‘And who’s business is it to decide whether it’s my business or not?’ said the lady. She was sharp and slurry at the same time. I ducked into a doorway as the argument heated up then slid along the wall and off down the road.

  I hadn’t gone far before a boy ran out of a side lane and then another boy, both grinning from ear to ear, and rushed past me so close that I dropped my photo which I’d just taken out of my pocket. Then a third boy came flying out after them and didn’t see me bending to pick up the photo. Luckily I already had it before he fell right over the top of me.

  ‘Out of the... !’ he said as he went down with a thud. A bread roll bounced away from him along the pavement. He picked himself up as quickly as he could, grabbed the roll and his cap, which had tumbled after it, and peered down at me. ‘Sorry. You okay?’

  ‘Stop! Thief!’ shouted a man in a white apron. He didn’t see us down there but then suddenly he did. ‘Ah-ha,’ he said. ‘So there are four of you.’ He yanked us to our feet by our collars, his fingers tangling in my hair. So I screamed. I didn’t scream a little scream. I screamed a big one and I didn’t even plan it. It was like Ella all over again. My brain switched off and I fought for my life, kicking and punching and howling like a dog. I bit the man’s hand, which was floury because he was a baker. I’m not proud of this but at least he let go of me and I took off down the road. The boy came running down the street after me shouting to anyone who was interested ‘I’ve never seen her before in my life, honest!’ and laughing like a
hyena, which is a special kind of extra cheerful dog that you only get in Africa, according to Miss Read. I ran across the road to get away from him and nearly got hit by another tram, then scuttled down a side street before either of them could come after me.

  There I stopped on a corner to get my breath. Greenock seemed to be every bit as dangerous as Mr Tulloch had said, if only I’d listened. Another train went by on the hill, but then a man passed me who looked exactly like my dad. I only saw him from behind but he had the same dark hair and stood very upright and walked with a lilt as if one leg was longer than the other, which my dad’s wasn’t, but that’s the way he walked. I followed him because I wasn’t sure. It seemed too unlikely, too easy, too good to be true, to just bump into him in the street. He went the way I had just come and was moving fast, so I had to hurry to keep up.

  Back on the main road there was no sign of the baker or the boys, and it was so busy I nearly lost the man who looked like my dad and even had his quickness.

  Then I saw a sign that said ‘Rue End Street’ and had to stop and think what Mrs Strachan had said: Don’t go there. That’s where all the trouble starts. But I had to keep following too, in case it was my dad, even though he’d never have gone to a place with trouble.

  There was a pub on the corner and another pub on the next corner too, but there were churches in between, so maybe it was alright. Maybe I could go to the church if there was trouble. The man seemed to be on urgent business and then, without warning, he crossed the road and turned into one of the pubs. Then, almost as quickly, he came back out, backwards. There was a shout, then another man staggered out past him and landed against a lamppost near the door. The man who might have been my dad didn’t even look but carried on straight back into the pub and I stopped where I was to watch. The other man hugged the lamppost but then straightened himself and rubbed his forehead where he had banged it. He was unsteady on his feet, lurching to one side like the rubber man I saw earlier. He looked about, as if he was lost, so I smiled when he looked my way in case he needed help. Then he crossed the road and staggered towards me.