by David Leslie
Sometimes her absence would be noticed. Isobel might tell their parents that her younger sister had left and one or other of the adults would seek her out and bring her home. Sometimes Hannah would hop on a bus to Cambuslang and reach her journey’s end only to be told she would have to go back to her parents’ house. And when she did return, after being walked to the bus stop and seen safely on board, she would always arrive back at the Pailis with her favourite home-made dumpling that Granny had made. If there was not one ready, Hannah would be allowed to wait until it was baked. She looked upon the dumpling as her comfort against all the ills the world was throwing at her. Best of all, it was for her and no one else – certainly not Isobel.
So, why did she run away? Almost certainly because she had a miserable time at home, her legacy as an unsuitable substitute for her dead brother making her the whipping girl of Jessie, whose eyes, thoughts and love were reserved for Isobel. This glaring disparity in the way the mother treated her daughters was never more terribly illustrated than during Christmas 1956, as Hannah’s seventh birthday approached. Malcolm Martin could not help but notice that at this time of year, when thoughts are with children, his wife would devote herself to ensuring a happy time was had by her elder child. That year he finally felt it was time to intervene and, alone in her bed, miserable and in tears, Hannah heard her parents arguing as her father looked over the pile of wrapped presents heaped upon a kitchen chair.
‘All this stuff is for Isobel! Where’s Hannah’s?’ he demanded of his wife.
‘I forgot.’
‘You forgot?’
‘Yes, I forgot.’
‘Are you seriously telling me you forgot you had a second wean?’
‘I can’t be expected to remember everything, can I?’
The weeping child would not see what followed, but next morning the pile had been halved. It would make no difference, though; the girl knew she had been snubbed, left out, and that the gifts she was given were no more than an afterthought, an attempt to clear the conscience of her father. She would never know what lay inside their wrapping because she refused to touch them, hiding them away, a woeful reminder of what it meant to be forever second-best.
What happiness Hannah enjoyed emanated from her grandparents, not her parents, and the extent of this was demonstrated one summer when Malcolm announced to Jessie that the family would be taking a week’s holiday in Argyll. His choice was a reasonably priced hotel near the then almost derelict Carrick Castle, a spectacular ruin on the side of Loch Goil and one the family had occasionally reconnoitred during Tea in the Grass excursions to nearby Lochgoilhead. It would be a remarkable change of scenery from the Pailis: the backdrop to the deep waters of the loch was a forest through which wound a maze of paths and animal tracks. Malcolm was convinced it was just the sort of spot where the family could bond and the sisters play together, something they rarely did. Hannah took along a school friend and the two youngsters loved the break, but as she remembered how much she loved it she recalled how her mother and Isobel had hated it. What made the break even more delightful for Hannah was the unexpected appearance one day of Granny and Granddad Martin. To her, the arrival of Father Christmas could not have been more welcome. That day, with her friend and her father, she showed her grandparents around the area, excitedly pointing to nooks and hidden paths the children had discovered.
‘It was a very, very happy time,’ her friend said many years later. ‘It may have been the one and only happy time in her childhood.’
ELEVEN
A NICE LITTLE EARNER
One in three girls is a victim of child abuse. Hannah was that one and her sickening experiences surely helped guide the direction of her life. Experts agree child abuse comes in many forms: physical, when parents or others simply batter their charges until they are bruised or bleeding; sexual, when kids are forced to indulge in acts the purpose of which they are usually unable to understand at the time; and emotional, most often showing itself in a lack or total absence of care and affection by parents. Hannah was certainly a victim but by way of a fourth, more subtle, method: exploitation.
Nowadays, society is conscious of abuse to the extent of sometimes being overprotective. Incidents in recent years, in Cleveland and on Orkney in particular, have demonstrated the horrific damage caused to families by overzealous workers in the caring professions. In the 1950s, when Hannah was a child, abuse was often accepted as a way of life, a part of growing up endured because there was no alternative but to allow it to happen, and many knew no better anyway.
The initial lack of affection that appears to have been shown by Jessie towards her daughter, who she always felt should have been a son, might have been understandable to a degree but with the passing of time it ought to have disappeared. Instead, the mother’s affection for the elder daughter, while excluding the younger, would only grow more obvious. As the years passed, Hannah became ever more conscious that she was, in her mother’s eyes at least, unwanted. But then her mother found other uses for her child.
Perverts have polluted society in every walk of life, from the excesses of the Emperor Caligula and earlier. As children were at risk in the palaces of Ancient Rome, so they were in the terraced streets of the Pailis. Rife, too, was gossip, innuendo and suspicion. In the marbled corridors along which strode the elite of Roman society, strange desires were discussed openly. In Bothwellhaugh, they were whispered about behind closed doors. No one wanted to be identified as the source of gossip, even if the facts were true, but it was claimed that Jessie was using her youngest daughter for a neat little sideline.
In later life, Hannah would confide that when she was aged 11, her mother had suggested she should sit on the knee of a local businessman. No harm would come to her from this innocent act, said Jessie. The man might simply caress her as a dog owner lovingly strokes his pet. She was to be taken to his place of business, but knew it was not right and ran away.
‘Her mother hammered her for not doing what she was told,’ said her friend. ‘Hannah knew it was wrong and was smart enough to recognise her mother had agreed to let her be abused by a man for money. What was so awful was that the money was to get Isobel a dress for some party she was going to.
‘Hannah was too terrified to tell her dad and wondered if he would have believed her, in any case. It would have been her word against that of her mother. I know of at least one girl who used to go to Hannah’s house, but when her father got to hear of what Jessie was doing he tried putting a block on his daughter going there. Jessie got the message that her little game was out in the open when the Martin family asked the girl if she would like to accompany them on a caravan holiday to Ayrshire. She knew she would be made very welcome and asked her own parents for permission, but was refused. The disappointment of not being able to join in what seemed a great adventure was made the worse when the girl demanded to know the reason, and none was given. Some years later, the friend’s mother told the daughter what her father had said.’
It is probable at the time that Hannah did not fully understand how dreadful a proposal her mother had put to her, but as the years filtered by she became ever more aware of and revolted by it, and it is almost certain that the path she took in life in later years was a consequence of knowing one man at least had wanted to abuse her with the approval and permission of her own mother. The abused would in time learn to use men.
While Jessie’s scheme fell flat when the principal performer refused to take part, it did not stop her abusing the child in yet another, more insidious fashion. Jessie’s connection with Arthur Thompson was the result of a mutual association with a Glasgow gang known to handle stolen goods. Clutching their loot, shoplifters and burglars would make their way to the base of this group, which operated on a remarkable ‘sale or return’ basis, an arrangement previously unknown within the criminal fraternity. The home was an Aladdin’s cave of treasures, from blankets to bicycles, carpets to curtains, tea sets to tables, even coloured prints to china dogs. Coll
ecting goods was a risky business because no one could be certain an informer had not tipped off the police, who could be lurking in wait, the threat of a cosy prison cell awaiting anyone caught.
Jessie would peruse the items on offer during visits to her relatives in Bridgeton and hand over the asked-for sum, although there would occasionally be haggling over the price. She would then tell those running the reset operation that someone would be along later to fetch her purchases. There was no way she was going to take a chance herself; instead, she would slip Hannah her bus money, tell her to take a day off from lessons at Bellshill Academy, assuring her she learned nothing there anyway, and give instructions as to what was to be brought home.
The girl knew, even at the age of 11, that if she was caught, it might mean being put away for a spell in a home for wayward or wanton children. But the feeling of solitude brought on by being so often ignored or abandoned by Jessie had made her stubborn and independent. As much as she told herself she was being used, she did what was required, mainly because it was a little bit daring. She had an audacious spirit, which would stay with her throughout her life. She enjoyed mingling with criminals. Hearing about the exploits of movie-star gangsters and flashy molls aroused in her an excitement that school books could never inspire, and as the years wore on Hannah found herself drawn ever more to lawbreakers – not cheap thugs with a taste for violence but big-time gang bosses with imagination and verve. These were the people she would come to admire.
Meantime, her mother impressed on her daughter that their arrangement had to remain a secret between them; certainly Hannah should never tell her father. Often the little deceit would be arranged to fool him, with Hannah arriving back from one of her trophy-gathering expeditions at the same time as she would normally have returned from school, having already called in at a close neighbour’s and left the stolen goods until the coast was clear.
This set-up involving Hannah became so prolific that the school authorities began to wonder why the child was having so many absences. It was a grossly unfair arrangement, depriving Hannah of an education and condemning her to a future restricted to menial work – one more abuse to add to the list. But at least it was better than sitting on a man’s knee to be fondled.
While her peers learned about the outside world, its history and geography, and were shown how to paint and calculate, the increasing blanks against her name in the school attendance register meant Hannah had few interests. She would eventually become obsessed with dancing, but treading ballroom floors would never pay the bills. Much later, Hannah would demonstrate an ability to adapt herself to take advantage of any opening that came her way, earning a steady income in the process, even if it meant partnering criminals. But even when compared with the least intelligent of her classmates, she fared badly. Her school reports were poor, riddled with complaints about absenteeism, urging her parents to ensure she turned up more regularly. Naturally, these comments were never seen by her father. When she did take her seat in class, it was quickly apparent she was so far behind the others that there was little, if any, prospect of her ever catching up.
Eventually, Jessie was ordered to appear before the School Panel, a team representing the school and the education board, and asked for an explanation as to why Hannah stayed away so often. As ever, she had an excuse. ‘I have a bad heart,’ she said, producing a note from the family doctor confirming what she said. ‘Some days, I’m too tired, too breathless, to get out of bed and I have to rely on Hannah to help me get about the house and go for the messages.’
It was true she had poor health, but strangely no one appears to have asked why the task of caring for her could not be shared with the older sister. The upshot was that the situation was allowed to continue as before, although it was suggested to Jessie that she should make a greater effort to reorganise the household so her younger daughter could be at school more often.
Away from the house, Hannah would always be full of fun, trying to see life as a giggle, not to be taken too seriously, an outlook no doubt encouraged by her lack of knowledge as to the pitfalls of life. She had a reputation as a happy-go-lucky girl, but privately she resented the way in which people took advantage of her youthful helplessness. ‘I’m the gopher,’ she would bitterly complain to friends. ‘I go for this and go for that. All I hear is “Hannah will do it . . . Hannah will get it.” It’s just so unfair. Even when I do what my mother orders me, it’s as if I’ve made a mess of it. In her eyes, I can do nothing right, while Isobel can do no wrong.’
To say that Hannah was treated worse than the lowliest skivvy is not an exaggeration. There is no better example of this, and of the recklessness shown towards her by Jessie, than in the callous disregard the mother showed for her daughter in asking her to collect and deliver stolen property.
When she was aged 12 or 13, a distant family member found himself incarcerated at Saughton prison, on the outskirts of Edinburgh. Prison life then was considerably more severe and restricted than it is now. Under European human rights legislation, prisoners today are allowed to receive mail without it being read by staff, while the censoring of outgoing letters has also been dispensed with. Such laxity did not exist in the 1950s and ’60s. Anything an inmate wanted, such as an additional packet of cigarettes, a lighter or extra tobacco, would first have to be vetted by prison staff, though it is unlikely items such as these would be permitted, as they were generally used within the prison as currency. Those in possession of such items had the ability to build up a minor empire.
The prisoner had asked his family if there was any chance of them helping him by sneaking illegal items into Saughton. He was probably aware of what the answer would be. There was no way they were going to jeopardise their own freedom on his behalf. Then a solution was mooted. Why not send Hannah? Adults meeting with inmates were carefully searched before getting anywhere near the visiting room – if anything untoward was found on them, the police were called and, while the miscreant was hauled off, the inmate was deprived of privileges, no matter how much he might protest his innocence. But at that time children did not receive the scrutiny they do now. Streetwise Hannah could probably get a pack or two of cigarettes, or whatever, past guards and slip it to the man in the course of a welcoming hug.
Another advantage to this proposal was that as well as being safer it was actually cheaper to send a youngster to Edinburgh, because her age meant she could travel on the bus half-fare. So while the relative’s own brothers or sisters would not contemplate putting themselves at risk, they were content to endanger a schoolgirl. Having worked once, it was a plot that was repeated on a regular basis, prison staff becoming familiar with the little girl who seemed so innocent.
These forays into crime meant Hannah was effectively trained in the arts of guile and trickery. She grew old before her time. An inevitable spin-off from these lessons was that she began organising her own life early on. By the age of thirteen, she had as good as left school; few of her pals can recall her joining them at their desks and lessons before she officially left two years later.
While her friends had to be at home by a certain hour, she had the run of the streets. Hannah almost turned the runs to Glasgow or Saughton into a form of blackmail. If Jessie came down hard and refused to allow her daughter to stay out, then Hannah could simply refuse to carry out her visits. Malcolm was a stern disciplinarian, but it was Jessie who directed her daughters and so others looked, often with envy, at the leeway Hannah was allowed. Friends wanting to stay out later would have to dream up excuses or lies, often relying on the age-old ‘my cousin wants me to babysit’ and praying that by the time the cousin was next seen the good turn would have been forgotten. There was no such need for duplicity by the Martin girls. They simply came home when they were ready, an arrangement that only added to rumours about what went on in the household.
While good girls her age were tucked up in bed by nine, not so the youthful Hannah, who began spending more time with older girls, including on occasion
s Isobel. And even at only 13, she was discovering the delights of the dance halls. She looked old for her age and was sufficiently cunning to know how to dress up and look the part of a shop assistant or factory girl of 17 or 18. And she was a natural at picking up dance steps. The Barrowland was her favourite destination and it was no surprise men cast her admiring, even salacious, glances. Had they known they were contemplating tampering with a child whose age would put them behind bars for a long time, they would have acted very differently. But this confident Lolita was innocent of dressing to thrill. She simply preferred the company of older people; many of them would even admit she seemed the most mature in their group, exuding a confidence about the dance floor that belied her years.
But back at the Pailis, she would forever live in the shadow of Isobel, a sad substitute for the brother there would now never be. The girls had little in common other than that as they entered their teens their teeth began dropping out due to a calcium deficiency. At least it gave them something to talk about.
While she received little affection at home, to those outside who were kind to her Hannah could show a remarkable degree of loyalty. She was a faithful friend who looked on those close to her with possessiveness rather than intimacy. All she ever wanted was somebody for herself: she did not take kindly to having to share friends or friendship. In a crowd, seeing a close friend spending time and showing an interest in someone else – Isobel especially – Hannah would noticeably become quiet and sulky and show signs of jealousy. At home, she had to take second place behind her older sister but did not see why such unfairness should continue outside.