The Dark Side of Pleasure

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  Maureen nursed a dream of becoming a lady and had total faith in Augusta bringing this much-desired transformation about. Not that Augusta entertained any hope of success. In her opinion, and she had made this quite clear to Maureen, a lady was born not made. But Maureen had brushed the information aside:

  ‘If you can learn a drunken idiot like Boozer to write his name you can learn me that’s got brains to be a lady.’

  Augusta was glad that Luther didn’t drink to the excess that men like Boozer did. She often thought that if the navvies were paid fortnightly or even weekly it might reduce the severity of these drinking bouts. But most companies paid every four or five weeks. Some waited for as long as a quarter and even a whole year before paying out hard-earned wages. As a result the men had to exist on subs in the form of tommy tickets which had to be spent in the company store. Then when they did eventually receive a lump sum the temptation to celebrate overcame them, especially when they were actually paid in the tommy-shop which sold strong drink.

  Occasionally Luther got drunk but only once had his drinking seriously affected her. He had burst into the hut and proceeded to behave in the most outrageous manner. A vicious kick had upturned the table. One sweep of a clenched fist had sent her precious brush and comb set flying from the dressing-table. She had not reacted at first, partly because his unexpected behaviour had so taken her aback. But as soon as she found breath she had indignantly accused him of being an uncouth drunken oaf, no better than the lowest of the navvies he had been consorting with. Then, even more unexpectedly, he had struck her. Over and over again until she was screaming in panic. The children had wakened and begun sobbing in distress. She often thought afterwards that it was only the children that had saved her, for immediately on hearing them, Luther stopped. Then his big hands had smoothed over her, not gently but with a carefully restrained violence, until her agony of body merged with ecstasy as he invaded deep inside her. Yet all the time she suspected that his hatred of her was so strong it made even his lovemaking a humiliation for her.

  Disturbed by these thoughts she stole another glance at him. His thick blue-black hair and luxuriant side whiskers made a starling contrast against the white peaks of his collar that curved high round his sturdy jaw and the scarlet neckerchief wound round and knotted underneath it. His ramrod back was given a certain elegance by the cut and quality of the black velveteen jacket she had been so proud of finding for him in a second-hand clothes shop. Obviously it had once belonged to a gentleman and she was glad that it had proved such a good fit. His reddish brown breeches and high black boots completed the outfit and gave him as good an appearance as any gentleman. But a gentleman he was not. She averted her gaze. She had never forgiven him for striking her. To use violence on a lady was contemptible. Even worse was the humiliation, the fact that he was able to give her sensual pleasure that despite her hatred she could never resist. She felt shamed by this weakness. Other women could turn their duties as a wife into a very useful source of power with which to smooth their own paths and get their own way. Looking back, she realised now that her mother had been an excellent example of this.

  Maureen of course used much less subtle and delicate means. With embarrassing and, as Augusta never failed to point out, unladylike frankness, Maureen often told her how she never allowed Boozer on top of her if he was drunk. Even for days after a severe drinking bout Boozer was repulsed with punches and kicks and bites unless he could promise a pair of shoes to replace her worn ones, or some small domestic article that was needed, or if they were in or close enough to town, a night’s entertainment at a penny theatre. Sometimes nothing would soften Maureen and Boozer would have to do without. Augusta had lectured her on wifely duties and what it said in scriptures about a wife obeying a husband and other passages that were relevant to the occasion. Secretly, however, she envied Maureen’s strength of character.

  She was not without strength and courage herself, despite her petite and delicate appearance. Many times she had tried to get the better of Luther. Sometimes, in small ways, she succeeded. Nevertheless she was aware of a cruel, invisible line over which she dare not cross.

  Suddenly she noticed him spur his horse and jerk it on ahead. Billy stopped whistling.

  ‘We’re nearly there,’ he said.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Luther said: ‘I want you to help run the store, and that’s all about it.’

  ‘No, it is not all about it.’ Augusta raised her chin defiantly. ‘What about Samuel and Alexander?’

  ‘Maureen can look after them.’

  ‘But I don’t see the point; why should you take over the tommy-shop as well as working as a ganger?’

  ‘I would have thought the point was obvious. Money.’

  ‘I can do without that kind of money,’ she said disdainfully.

  He shook his head. ‘You’re incredible.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘For years you lived in luxury. Did you ever question what kind of money you were enjoying then?’

  ‘But that was Papa’s money, honestly and decently come by.’

  ‘Honestly and decently come by my arse!’

  She averted her face. ‘Must you be so coarse?’

  ‘There was nothing you took pleasure in that didn’t come as a result of someone’s misery. The food you put in your mouth, the clothes you wore on your back, the fire you lazed in front of.’

  ‘I knew nothing of that, nor could I do anything about it. But I do know what evil places tommy-shops are.’

  ‘Evil?’ he scoffed.

  ‘Yes, evil. And it’s against the law to deal in truck. The men are entitled to be paid all their wages in coin of the realm, not just a small percentage, and not in groceries, inferior and far too expensive ones at that.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, woman.’

  ‘I should know. I’ve had to put up with the tommy-shops often enough when you were a navvy. I’ve walked for miles to the nearest village to shop there, rather than pay extortionate prices for truck, and was victimised for my trouble.’

  ‘I was vicitmised, you mean. You lost me another job.’

  ‘You were not without one for long.’

  ‘That’s hardly the point.’

  ‘What I cannot understand, Luther, is why the companies force people into continuous debt. Surely if the wives or the men could save a little money they would have no need to ask for subs and . . . .’

  ‘It’s the subs that keep the tommy-shops going.’

  ‘Exactly. Because instead of being given coin and allowed to spend it wherever they wish the men are given tommy tickets that have to be spent on truck. It’s not fair.’

  ‘Fair? Of course it’s not fair. Life isn’t fair. Why should your precious mama and papa be kept warm and pampered and overfed in George Square while my mother and sister died of hunger and cold in the Briggait?’

  Augusta sighed. ‘Luther, destroying yourself with bitterness is not going to do any of us any good. There are some things in life that simply have to be accepted. Everyone has their allotted place. The poor will always be with us. That is not to say they should not be encouraged to be thrifty.’

  ‘There are times,’ he said, ‘and this is one of them, when I could cheerfully strangle you.’

  ‘And there are times,’ she replied stiffly, ‘when I simply do not understand you.’

  ‘Don’t try. Just do as you’re told. That’s our hut next to the store. Maureen and Boozer can take the one next again.’

  ‘Luther, wait,’ she called as he was about to ride off. ‘Surely you don’t expect me to sell strong drink?’

  He erupted with laughter. ‘The men would have something to say if you didn’t. We’d have a riot on our hands. I’ve arranged for a storekeeper to work with you.’

  He reined his horse away between the lines of huts. The chances were there would be a riot anyway if he wasn’t careful. In his six years of navvying in various jobs, laying gas main
s, underground pipes for sewers, working on the construction of reservoirs, bridges and harbours as well as laying wagon-ways, he had come across four categories of men: Irish, English, Lowland Scots and Highlanders. He soon learned the strengths and weaknesses of each group.

  The Irish were warm-hearted and generous, with a willingness to work that caused them to be hated by the other navvies. They would eagerly accept a job for any miserable pittance that was offered. They were fiery-tempered and reckless, especially when they had money to throw around. The English, on the other hand, would rarely pick a quarrel for the mere sake of it. They had a weakness for food, especially beef, and spent all their money on filling their bellies. The Lowland Scots were less excitable than the Irish and could stand a much greater amount of provocation. They were also much more careful with their money. The highlanders were not dependable, being apt to disappear from time to time in order to cut their peats or sow their seeds back home. They were even more clannish than the men from across the water: stiff and reserved with strangers they kept to themselves. They disliked their brother Scots from the lowlands and the English; the Irish they hated.

  The only time in fact that Luther had seen the highlanders, the lowlanders and the English unite was to drive away the Irish. It was the policy of most companies to keep the four groups apart but this was not always possible, and many a time he had witnessed bloody battles with shovels and pickaxes and rocks or whatever came to hand as weapons.

  Already he’d discovered that highlanders were to be working on this section of the line so his first task was to seek out their ganger to organise them to work apart whenever possible, and to sleep in different huts. Ganger McAulay was a broad-chested man, not very tall but rugged as if gouged out of solid rock. Red muck had frozen deep into the lines of his face, neck and the ridges of his corduroy waistcoat. His moleskin jacket, breeches and kneestraps cracked with earth when he moved.

  Luther dismounted and joined him. Immediately the slush rose over his boots. Mud was a continuous hazard at all the workings and most of the places where colonies of huts had been thrown up, but it was the midges that nearly drove the men frantic. One navvy complained, ‘If you kill one midge a million comes to its funeral.’

  Luther nodded at Ganger McAulay then gazed around at the tightly packed lines of shacks.

  McAulay scraped off his bonnet and scratched his head. ‘I am not liking this at all.’

  ‘Keep them separate.’

  ‘That is not so easy.’

  ‘I’ve got the tommy-shop and the hut next to it. My men can fill the rest of the huts at that end. You start at the other.’

  ‘That is not separate enough, and my men will be passing the huts of your men on the way to the tommy-shop.’

  His lilting highland voice irritated Luther. ‘You’ve a better suggestion?’

  Another scrape at the closely shaven rock-like head. Another pause.

  ‘Och, no, no, I have not.’

  ‘Well, there’s no point in wasting any more time.’

  Immediately he began bawling orders at the men and tramping into every hut to make sure that it was filled. Most of them were long wooden erections with a fire at each end on which to cook food. Two glass windows, an unusual luxury, let in light. Along one wall were six beds that would accommodate twelve men. Already a couple of long-legged dogs were snarling in protest at being chained to the beds.

  ‘You’ll be in trouble yet with these bloody dogs,’ he shouted above the boisterousness of the men and the clanging and clumping of boots. ‘Keep them away from the locals and don’t let anybody catch you poaching or the dog’ll be shot and you along with it, if you’re not careful.’

  In each hut he organised the shifts. ‘Dayshift—Digger, Tunnel Joe, Red Regan, Busher, Horse O’Conner, Mike the Moocher. Nights—Ginger, Paddy the Cards, Doolan . . . .’

  Back outside he could hear Ganger McAulay calling to his men in the Gaelic. It might have been Chinese for all Luther could understand of it.

  Horses neighed and whinnied as they were led behind some of the huts where a cluster of trees and bushes made a convenient tethering place. The bushes, the trees and the hillocks of long grass around the clearing were convenient in more ways than one.

  He returned to the end of the lines of huts to where his own place claimed a little privacy from the others, thanks to a broad-trunked oak tree. Across a patch of churned up earth and stones stood the longest and the only building made of brick. This was to accommodate not only the tommy-shop but the pay office and a public house.

  The shop had already been opened by the storekeeper, a Lowland Scot called Wylie Grant. Old Wylie, as he was now known, had been forced to give up navvying because like most men over forty he was no longer strong enough or fit enough for the job. Navvying was a young man’s occupation. Old Wylie and his family would have joined the scrapheap of starving unemployed if Luther had not offered him the job as storekeeper.

  ‘Aye, Wylie,’ Luther greeted him now. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘A fine place, Ganger. A fine place . . . .’ Ceaselessly he stumped about, lifting goods on to counter and shelves as if determined to belie his frail appearance. ‘The wife and lad are helping unload the stores wagon. We’ll have the shelves packed up and everything ready in no time. You won’t regret giving me the chance, Ganger, by God you won’t.’ He had taken off his moleskin jacket and the bony elbows jutted from under rolled up sleeves. But his blue bonnet was still cocked at a jaunty angle over his sandy-coloured hair.

  Luther said, ‘Mrs Gunnet will be in later.’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure for my wife and me to work with her, Ganger.’

  Luther smiled wryly to himself as he strolled behind the counter and through the door that connected the store with where he planned to have the public house or bar-room. The counter continued along the whole length of this apartment. Wooden benches lined the walls and a few round tables and stools furnished the place. The bar-room had two doors for the use of the men—one for direct entry from the front of the building and another from the pay office which was the third apartment in the building. There was no entry in or out of the pay office except through the bar-room.

  Well satisfied with his inspection Luther returned through the store.

  ‘There’s a heap of clothes in my wagon. I’ll send Billy over with them. Mrs Gunnet will price them for you.’

  For some time now Augusta had proved very useful and successful in purchasing second-hand clothes which she resold to the navvies and their wives. They had saved a tidy sum as a result.

  Later in their hut she worriedly asked, ‘I hope it was not my little project of buying and selling second-hand garments that gave you this tommy-shop notion?’

  He shook his head in reply but wasn’t sure if that had not been partly responsible. Mostly, however, it was his recognition of the profit to be made in a tommy-shop that gave him the resolve to acquire one.

  He went to unload the last of their possessions from the wagon under Augusta’s anxious eyes.

  ‘Be careful with that table now, Luther. I do not want it scratched.’

  ‘Out of my way, woman,’ he said, but she paid no heed, fluttering about with her loose clusters of ringlets bouncing forward over her brow and her skirts swishing. In no time, he knew, she would have the hut looking like home with a picture she’d acquired from some junk shop and a clock and some crockery. He had become fairly proficient at woodcarving and she always proudly displayed his work on the dresser or table or mantlepiece—if there was one. This hut did have a mantlepiece and she was excited about it. Her emotion was not quite so childish and unrestrained as it had once been. Yet there was something about her delicate-boned structure and the way soft wisps of hair escaped from where she’d pinned it up at the back that gave her a childlike appearance.

  ‘What do you think, Luther?’ she gazed up at him and then back at their new home with ill-concealed pride. ‘A lady with spirit as well as good taste,’ she had
once told him, ‘can make any dwelling pleasing and comfortable.’

  She possessed, he realised, now, more spirit and intelligence than he had at first given her credit for.

  ‘You’ve made a good job of it,’ he said of the hut. ‘If you can put as much enthusiasm into the tommy-shop we’ll do well. I’ll keep the accounts and supervise the ordering of the stores at first, but I’m sure in time you’ll be perfectly capable of taking on the responsibility of ordering most of the goods. You can also keep your eye on old Wylie and Mrs Grant. I think they’ll be honest employees. You make sure that they are.’

  She sighed and her eyes became vague.

  ‘Yes, life’s hard,’ he said guessing at her thoughts. ‘And we’ve little choice in it. It’s a case of sink or swim. Don’t forget the Briggait.’

  ‘I’m not likely to.’

  ‘No, nor am I. I had a damn sight more of it than you. I’ll tell you something. I’ll never be hungry again. I’ll never be like dirt under men’s feet again. It doesn’t matter what must be done to prevent it, I’ll do it. And you’ll do it, Augusta. For the sake of the children if not for me.’

  He saw her face tighten warily and he knew he’d struck the right note. There was nothing she would not do to save Samuel and Alexander from starving.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  They sold everything but coffins at the store. Luther contracted with the farmers in the district for all his supply of dairy produce and potatoes. Each workman had a credit book which was continually scrutinised by both Luther and Old Wylie. Any attempt to slope the store or spend cash elsewhere put an abrupt end to a navvy’s chance of further subs. It could mean his dismissal.

  Augusta did what she could to ensure that a decent standard of quality was maintained to compensate for the fact that the prices they charged were often more than double the prices in Paisley or Glasgow. She also tried when she could to help customers in urgent need by giving some change instead of goods to the total of their money. How else could these people pay for their shoes to be mended or meet other contingencies for which the store did not provide? It was very difficult for her to do this if Old Wylie or his wife was around. Luther had chosen them well. They carried out his instructions to the letter and were completely insensitive and ruthless as far as the customers were concerned. The only time Augusta could help the occasional customer with cash change was when Old Wylie and his wife were busy in the bar-room. She had insisted that they serve the drink and not she, and fortunately Luther had been agreeable to this arrangement.