by David Leslie
This sullenness showed itself in different ways and probably contributed to her attitude at home of ‘Why should I care?’ By the age of 14, she had become lazy and lethargic, lying about the house on a settee, disputing orders by her mother to run here and there. She would utter the expression ‘Aye, later’ more often than any other.
‘Hannah, go get some milk from the shops.’
‘Aye, later.’
‘Hannah, take in the washing.’
‘Aye, later.’
‘Hannah, go to the butcher.’
‘Aye, later.’
Everything became ‘Aye, later’, a pattern that would only be broken when it was time to get ready to go dancing. ‘Right away,’ she would call. ‘I’ll be there, don’t you worry.’
While her contemporaries were anxiously casting about, seeking work and the rewards of receiving a pay packet, she showed no such urgency, finding excuses time after time to avoid going to interviews, mostly pointing out that her mother’s health was worsening and she had to be on hand to help care for her. Her interests were restricted to dancing, music and clothes, the latter being hampered by a lack of money and so she relied on hand-me-downs from Isobel, though even here she would find herself at the back of the queue. That she showed little interest in sex was neither surprising nor, for that time, out of place.
She saw her life as following the same pattern as that of so many others she knew – leaving school, eventually getting a job, having a good time, meeting a man, getting engaged then married, and having a family. The matter of finding out about sex would come in time. When she needed to know, she would either find out by asking her friends or simply by discovering through experience. For now, sex and the way in which babies were made had to wait, generally until after marriage. Until then, it did not feature in the scheme of things; dancing and music were what mattered. And the existence of Granny Martin.
Having been knocked about by her mother for so long and in so many ways, physical and emotional, Hannah came ever increasingly to lean on the old lady with a fondness that was always reciprocated. It may have been in that fondness that she found the goals for which she spent her entire life searching: happiness, security, comfort and love. It was probably the only time when, having discovered something she needed, wanted and could call her own, it was not snatched away by the actions and greed of others. She would spend so many years feeling unwanted, even unnecessary, which must surely have left within her a sense of resentment and bitterness, especially towards her mother. Jessie told her one day, ‘When you get married and you’ve weans, if you have a wee lassie promise me you’ll call her Isobel.’ Despite everything, Hannah gave her word and would keep it.
TWELVE
DYING FOR A SONG
Hannah was always destined to take second place to her sister. In the normal course of family life, she might have expected to find Isobel a slight favourite – after all, she was the firstborn and was understandably looked on by her parents as special. But Hannah had then disappointed her heartbroken parents by being a girl when they had hoped for a replacement for Richard. While Jessie took hardest the failure to produce another boy, Malcolm seemed simply glad to have been blessed with two pretty girls whom he adored, his fondness for them shining as a lighthouse in a storm, his love never wavering. In time, Jessie was given further reason to pile her attentions on Isobel.
Like most mining communities, there was a special warmth about the atmosphere at the Pailis, even if the houses themselves were dank and vermin-infested. Housewives were forever popping in and out of each other’s homes to gossip, sympathise or borrow a cup of sugar or a half-pint of milk. Their menfolk worked, drank, watched football and occasionally fought together, although disputes rarely lasted beyond the end of the following morning’s hangover. Even religious differences were few, Protestants and Catholics living alongside one another in relative harmony; jibes that in Glasgow, for instance, might be liable to spark an open street battle were laughed off as nothing more than nonsense. The Martins were among the last to move into the village, and as newcomers they were treated with a certain suspicion, an attitude not sweetened in time by gossip over the way Jessie treated her youngest. But children are the world’s greatest diplomats and the girls themselves quickly struck up their own circles of friends.
Isobel herself made a particular friend of a girl named Margaret, whose family had moved to Bothwellhaugh from Glasgow. The youngsters went to school together, played with one another and regularly visited one another’s homes. Margaret had an infant sister and regularly babysat for the tot when her mother went shopping or visiting. Isobel was thrilled to help care for the child. One Saturday, when she was aged around 13, she and Margaret were happily playing outside her friend’s home when they became aware of smoke pouring from its windows. Neighbours began screaming that the building was on fire and, to her horror, Margaret realised the baby was inside in her cot. Understandably, she became hysterical, screaming, too petrified to move, but her friend, without a moment’s thought, dashed into the by now blazing building, ignoring flames and deadly fumes, lifted out the sleeping baby and fled into the safety of the open air and the waiting arms of neighbours and helpers.
In no time, alerted by the emergency services and admiring onlookers, newspaper reporters and photographers were at the scene. Rescuing children from fire always guarantees good copy, but here was the newsprint equivalent of solid gold: a youngster, ignoring peril and the likelihood of death, saving the life of a helpless child. It sounded good and next day her story was splashed across the Sunday newspapers. ‘Brave Isobel’ read one headline, ‘Girl Heroine’ another. Photographers persuaded her to pose and the articles also carried a blown-up photograph of the baby. Jessie proudly kept copies of the accounts of her daughter’s bravery and would naturally boast of what Isobel had achieved to anyone within earshot.
Some years after the drama, the baby’s family moved away. Hannah would often wonder whether the child grew up knowing the name of the schoolgirl who defied danger to save her life, or was aware of the other drama that would involve her saviour.
Like the majority of girls stepping up into their mid-teens, Isobel became, in the words of the song that might have been written for her by The Kinks in 1966, a dedicated follower of fashion. An attractive girl, she dressed to look older in knee-length dresses splashed with giant polka dots – a favourite of the day – and dark two-piece suits, and had her dark hair swept up in a bouffant style. She made friends easily, but, like Hannah’s, they were often older because she preferred their maturity, probably reckoning that by mingling with them she would more quickly be gathered into their worlds, with boyfriends, even marriage, following on. It was a desire echoed by many of those her age, whose youthful looks might have prevented such wishes. But Isobel knew how to dress, and dress well. Photographs taken at the time show her as an elegant young woman rather than a teenager. It was not unnatural for her to frequently be the centre of attention, something the younger Hannah would often find difficult to cope with or accept; indeed it may be that as time went on she would feel, if not dislike towards Isobel, then certainly resentment.
One sad story demonstrates why. It is not the sole reason for the lack of warmth between the girls but is an indication of how one viewed the other. One day when she was around 13 years old, Hannah was at home when a party of Isobel’s friends arrived. The younger sister was not invited into the group, a snub that left her feeling isolated and unwanted. Nevertheless in the small family home she was able to overhear the conversation, a mix of girlie talk about boys and the young womanly subjects of fashion and make-up. The subject turned to marriage and the relative prospects of the group. Each described the wedding they hoped to have. When it came to the turn of Isobel, one of her friends said, ‘When you get married, Isobel, I expect you’ll want Hannah to be your bridesmaid.’
The reply cut deeply. ‘Will I hell have her, she’s too ugly!’
If there were further words, the
laughter of the little group drowned them out, as it did Hannah’s sobs. Perhaps their youth and ignorance absolve either sister from blame for such a distressing state of affairs, but the same cannot be said of Jessie, who must have been aware that Isobel was set on ensuring Hannah was left out of her circle of friends.
There were other ways in which Isobel showed disdain for her younger sibling, as a close friend of Hannah’s remembers. ‘Isobel wouldn’t be seen in the same thing twice in the same month and having bought a garment or a suit once and worn it, if she didn’t like it, it would be cast down, never to be worn by her again. It would be a case of, “I don’t want this, so I don’t care what happens to it.” The cast-offs – although since they were often virtually brand new that might not be the correct way to describe them – went to three girls: first, a relation; second, someone close to the family; and third, Hannah. In that order.
‘Hannah was last because Jessie was the one who decided who would get Isobel’s things when she was finished with them. The relation had first choice, then the friend, and Hannah got the last pick of what remained. The friend certainly did not know she was getting the chance to wear the clothes before Hannah, and Hannah never commented, but it must have hurt horribly to see her own sister’s belongings being offered to others, while she would have the chance with what the others didn’t want.
‘Isobel didn’t seem interested in what happened. She’d just say to her mother, “I got this for the dancing, but I’ve had it on a couple of times and don’t want it any more. Do what you like with it.” The relation would probably wear it and then Mrs Martin would say to the friend, “I think you should have a wee shot of that.” But she’d never say – and the friend never ask herself – if Hannah wanted it first. Instead, she’d pick it up and think, “That’s great,” because the other girls didn’t have a lot and they all loved getting really dressed up to go to the dancing, just like the older ones.
‘When she was 14, Hannah was bought a brown suit from a department store. To her, it was like a child’s very first toy. This was the only new thing she’d ever had that Isobel hadn’t worn first. It was Hannah’s very own and she would never share that suit. It was sad to see how one sister had so much, yet so little of it ended up with the other.’
Like the other Pailis families, the Martins would hardly be classed as being well off, yet there never seemed to be any shortage of money, particularly when it came to buying for Isobel, who earned modest wages working as a machinist in the Hector Powe factory in High Blantyre. For instance, Jessie was able to buy her daughter an ocelot coat. Standard ocelot coats came with three pleats at the back, so Isobel turned heads immediately as she walked down the street wearing a coat showing five pleats, a clear indication it had been made especially for her and, as such, would have cost a small fortune. So, where did the money come from?
Jessie might have been a good manager, but there was talk along the streets of the Pailis that she had a sideline that took her to Glasgow from time to time, and when she returned her purse was bulging. The suggestion was that Jessie sold herself to the occasional man. No one would ever know for certain, but the rumour only added to the reluctance of neighbours to allow their children into the Martin house without an adult chaperone.
On Monday, 14 December 1964, Hannah was 15. Christmas Day, eleven days later, seemed no different from any other. Friends visited each other’s homes for a celebratory drink, exchanged cards, admired presents. Isobel was excited when she awoke the following day. It had a special significance because one of her friends, Jean Caffrey, was getting married and Isobel was among the guests. The elder sister had been looking forward to it for weeks and had wondered about buying a new outfit, but in the end settled for a dress she had worn to the marriage of another of her friends. Of course the fun would come after the wedding ceremony, during the reception that was to follow. Isobel was calling the shots, instructing her sister and her friend to meet her that evening outside a Bellshill pub, after which they would meet the rest of the wedding party in the town’s miners’ institute, the ’Chute.
After splashing out on Christmas presents, Hannah’s friend was broke and her appeals to her mother to give her enough cash for a night out were falling on deaf ears. To add to her misery, she had caught a heavy cold. Hannah was to step from a bus at 7.20 that evening, walk to the friend’s home and then the two teenagers would take a five-minute walk to catch another bus for a ten-minute ride that would see them in front of the institute at eight. It was neatly planned, but in the end the arrangements would count for nothing. The friend prepared, half-heartedly, to meet Hannah, but the 7.20 bus came and went and she was nowhere to be seen. Her friend, almost relieved, stayed in for the evening and went to bed early, wondering what the explanation was for Hannah not showing up. The next morning, after picking up a newspaper, she discovered why. Staring in horror at the front page, she read the headline: ‘Wedding Tragedy: Three Dead’.
A further report in the Daily Express on Monday, 28 December 1964 gave details of the accident. Under the headings ‘Policeman’s Call Stuns Guests at Reception’ and ‘Wedding – Then Three Died in Car Horror’, accompanying a photograph of a happy couple staring shyly at the camera as they cut their wedding cake, came these words:
The bride and groom smiled happily as they cut their wedding cake. The guests looked on and applauded. But little did Charles Glancy (23) and Jean Caffrey (21) know that their wedding reception was a prelude to tragedy.
An hour later, three of the guests were dead, victims of a car crash at Mount Vernon, Lanarkshire – where the Hamilton to Glasgow road swerves under a railway bridge. Their Ford Zephyr failed to take the bend, struck a lamp standard and rammed the brick bulwark of the bridge.
Robert Glancy (22) of Kerr Street, Blantyre, brother of the bridegroom, and Anne Caffrey (20) from Whinpark Avenue, Bellshill, sister of the bride, were killed instantly.
Isobel Martin, another guest, died on her way to hospital and Michael Glancy (24), another brother of the bridegroom, was taken to Glasgow Royal Infirmary. His condition last night was ‘comfortable’.
The young couple were married in a Bellshill church on Saturday morning. They had breakfast afterwards at a local restaurant and then went to a reception at the bride’s home in Whinpark Avenue, Bellshill.
It was from there that the Glancys and the two girls set off to return a borrowed car.
Behind them they left 16 wedding guests celebrating. They were to rejoin the party later.
The report went on to say that the reception had been interrupted by a policeman calling to break news of the horror.
In the Martin house, around four that afternoon, Malcolm, Jessie and Hannah had been relaxing. As her parents, their appetites sufficed by another huge meal, nodded off in their chairs before the coal fire, Hannah was in her room making preparations for going out that evening, wondering what the others would be wearing. There was a knock at their door in Clyde Place. Jessie answered the door to a policeman, who asked for her husband. The adults knew something was wrong, but the police officer would say only that there had been an accident and he had been asked to collect Mr Martin and take him to the police station at Bellshill. He had no other information. It was a white lie, but an understandable one. Malcolm was actually being taken to a mortuary in Glasgow, where he would be asked to look at a body lying on a slab and confirm it was Isobel. He would later say he noticed only a bruise on her forehead, but few believed the damage to be so slight.
As he was being helped back into a car, an officer asked how old she had been. ‘Eighteen,’ Malcolm replied, fighting back tears.
Around nine that night, the family re-assembled, this time joined by others, including the grandparents. It was left to Malcolm to formally break the news, but before he did so a doctor arrived to sedate Jessie.
It would later emerge that Robert Glancy and Anne Caffrey had died when they shot through the car windscreen as it came to a catastrophic halt. Isobel, in the back s
eat, was catapulted into the driver, who was crushed against the steering wheel. When horrified locals reached the carnage, she was still alive but ambulance crew were later forced to concede they had lost the fight to save her.
Some reporters covering the tragedy had taken the trouble to look in their newspaper libraries and unearthed the fact that the Isobel Martin who had perished so dreadfully was the same heroine who had rescued the baby from the blazing house years earlier. It gave them an excuse to publish a fitting tribute to her – a photograph of the child whose life she had saved. It appeared among black-and-white shots of the wrecked car, a high-speed tomb in which so much hope had been wiped out in a tick of time. Other journalists had the thankless task of calling at the homes of relatives, seeking photographs of the victims and a few details about their lives. One or two discovered the true reason for the deaths. The mission had not been to take back a borrowed car; rather the four young people had leapt, happy and laughing, into the Ford to take a ten-minute journey to Bridgeton, where they would collect a guitar for one of the guests to help provide the entertainment that night. They had died for a song.
The next day a particular friend of Hannah’s felt she ought to pay a fleeting visit to the Martin home to express her sorrow and then quickly leave to allow the teenager space in which to grieve in privacy. She was surprised at how she was received. ‘Hannah was there all right and I’d expected her to be down; she wasn’t. Her mother said, “Oh, that’s good you’re down for Hannah. Just you stay where you are, don’t bother going up the road until it’s time for you to go.” Hannah wanted to talk about what I got for Christmas. It was an odd reaction and I never really understood it. I had the feeling I was more upset over Isobel’s death than Hannah.’