Love & Sorrow

by Chaplin, Jenny Telfer

  A somewhat lesser cacophony had been with her since early childhood and she had learnt to accept it as an essential element of tenement living. Strangely enough it was only after she had moved to stay with her mother in the Main Street flat that such noises had begun to annoy her in any way and then, as today, actually intrude on her sensibilities.

  This is ridiculous, Becky thought for the tenth time in as many minutes, the noises off are only different in scale and volume from those I regularly heard around at Aunt Meg’s flat in the Parliamentary Road, so why am I making such a fuss now?

  Becky knew in her heart the answer to her question. She was desperately unhappy at having had, arbitrarily, to leave the comfort, the tender loving care of Aunt Meg’s home. Not only was she depressed and miserable, but she knew she was hypercritical of everything in the Bryden’s flat. To make matters worse she was keenly aware of how stressed and anxious she felt at the dawning of each new day in having to cope with her job at the carpet factory. If she were being honest with herself, Becky knew she was piling all her frustrations, uncertainties and misery onto the one element of her daily life at which she could openly rail and complain.

  Sitting by the fireside trying to relax after yet another hard day’s graft at Templeton’s she heard the one sound which not only set her teeth on edge, but these days was slowly but surely driving her to very edge of insanity.

  “Oh, no! Not again. Honestly, Mammy, I don’t know how you can stand it. Can’t you at least bang a broom handle on the ceiling? Let her know you are aware of the noise and that it is disturbing you?”

  With a tut of annoyance Mrs Bryden laid down the sock she had been knitting.

  “Becky, ye’re the one with the ladylike feelins. So if the squeaky pulley from upstairs bothers ye that much, jist ye bang awa at the ceilin tae ye hert’s content. But Ah’ll tell ye this noo – it’ll no dae ye, nor onybody else for that matter, one damned bit o guid. The auld besom will jist bang back doon tae us the then we’ll hae e’en mair noise.”

  Becky sighed. “Well, then if that’s the case, why on earth don’t you tell her to her face? At least give her the chance to oil her pulley. Surely that’s not too much to ask, now is it? Aunty Meg would never have put up with this. She would have resolved such a situation amicably at the very outset.”

  On the point of resuming her knitting, Mrs Bryden cast a baleful look over the top of her spectacles at the red-faced, irate Becky. “Oh, aye. Yer wonderful Aunty Meg, she could dae naethin wrang – no accordin tae ye anyroads. Weel, put it this wey, Ah’m no yer sainted Aunty Meg, but Ah’m enough o a guid neebor for tae realise it’s no up tae me tae dictate tae ony auld widow woman, far less the Widow Wilson upsterrs, hoo tae spend her precious bawbees. Believe me, that same Aggie Wilson would right soon gie me the edge o her tongue for interferin wi her business. Aye! She can be a right nippy sweetie that auld woman.”

  Becky opened her mouth to protest but her mammy wasn’t finished yet. “Listen, Becky, Ah micht no hae aw the airs and graces o yer beloved Aunty Meg, but even Ah ken one important fact o life – ye jist hae tae learn tae live and let live. And if truth be telt, Ah’ll bet ye a silver sixpence that the Raffertys below us, they–”

  Becky broke in: “You mean that couple downstairs with the six children?”

  “The very ones. Weel, Ah’m certain sure that mony a time they could see us far enough. Especially when mibbe they’ve jist got their squad o weans aff tae sleep and they’re hopin for a bit o peace and quiet, then oor Erchie gets sterted wi his daft cantrips. Reelin in drunk as a lord, singing his herrt oot about his Granny’s Hielan Hame, fallin ower the creepie stool to collapse intae the chair, and droppin his boots fae a great height ontae the flair. Dae ye no think that the Raffertys can hear aw that stramash? Aye, we must be a real trial tae the Rafferty clan, but guid neebors that they are Ah don’t recall them iver complainin tae me or iver wance bangin a broom handle on the ceilin neither.”

  As Becky was finally drifting off to sleep later that evening she smiled to herself. On reflection, between the sounds of screaming children, mewling cats, fighting dogs, scrabbling rats in the back-court middens, the rushing of many waters from the stair-head cludgies, perhaps one squeaking pulley wheel was not after all such a trial. Live and let live.

  ***

  Chapter 5

  As the weeks passed the two new gophers settled into the job at the carpet factory. The friendship between the girls slowly ripened to the point where not only would they help each other through the hazards, trials and tribulations of each working day, but they would exchange confidences.

  Becky raised her head from the task in hand, that of again sweeping a vast expanse of the floor of the mill, to see Caz approaching her with arms over-loaded with heavy bales and her eyes brimming with tears. Close to Becky she indicated a man standing at the far end of the enormous looms by a backward nod of her head.

  “Watch oot for that new gaffer. Whitever he tells ye tae dae, dae it bluidy quick. A holy terror that man and English tae boot. Ye can hardly mak oot a word he says.”

  With that hastily delivered warning Caz hurried on her way leaving Becky in a state of nerves at this new, as yet ill-defined, menace.

  When she could not prolong the sweeping of the floor any longer, Becky reluctantly headed towards the end of the room to replace the massive broom in the store cupboard. As she passed the new English gaffer she kept her head down and her eyes averted hoping thus to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

  After all, she thought, no point in looking for extra work or trouble when it can be avoided.

  She turned away from the cupboard and thought she had safely negotiated her way past the gaffer when a shout behind her meant her sigh of relief was premature.

  “You girl! Yes, you. A word.”

  Becky looked round and seeing that all other girls within earshot were busy at the gigantic looms with a sinking heart realised the raucous summons must be for her. She trailed her way back to stand in a state of fear and trembling before the giant of a man.

  He thrust a paper bag into her hands and barked out the words: “Eat my pie.” Then he turned on his heel and marched back to the small enclosure that served as his work area.

  Thoroughly bemused by this strange order Becky set off in search of her friend.

  If anyone would know what to do it would be streetwise Caz.

  But luck wasn’t with Becky; Caz was nowhere to be found. Becky then remembered that Caz had said she couldn’t understand a word the man said, so perhaps Caz wouldn’t be much help anyway. Becky on the other hand had had no problem understanding – he had said quite clearly: “Eat my pie.”

  Was it some form of initiation joke? Becky wondered. Like the time I was sent for a left-handed hammer. Or maybe someone had given the Englishman a Scotch mutton pie and he didn’t like it and gave it to me rather than see it wasted.

  With a shrug Becky happily ate the pie as she went about her work. About half-an-hour later a purple-faced gaffer came rampaging through the weaving shed shouting: “Where is that bloody girl? Where the ’ell is she?” When he spotted Becky he bore down on her. “Well, you’ve taken your time, ’aven’t you?”

  Becky gaped at him open-mouthed.

  “When I tell you to do something, you do it. That’s an order and you bloody do it. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He pushed his face to within inches of Becky’s face. “Well then. So where in God’s name is it? Where’s my bloody pie? My stomach thinks my throat’s cut.”

  Where did the stupid man think the pie was?

  When Becky still made no answer the gaffer said: “I asked to you ’eat my pie. Surely that was clear even to your scant intelligence. Stick it on a shovel and warm it over a gas ring.”

  Becky felt herself shrivel up inside. This story would haunt her for the rest of her working life in Templeton’s Factory. If her work mates had thought her a stuck-up idiot before, surely this mistake would add fu
el to their habitual mockery of her ‘bool in the mooth’ accent.

  ***

  Chapter 6

  It had been a long hard day in the heat, noise, and frenetic activity of the weaving shed. Now that Becky, having risen from the lowly ranks of being at everyone’s beck and call, was now training for the skilled job of tenter the work was becoming daily more arduous and even more physically and mentally exhausting.

  Climbing the stairs to her tenement home she was looking forward to a seat at the fireside, a welcoming cup of tea and the promise of a substantial helping of her mammy’s mouth-watering stovies to follow. While it was true that despite Becky’s ongoing entreaties Mammy still didn’t indulge in either the fancy table settings or even the more imaginative varied menus so beloved of Aunt Meg, never-the-less the good plain cooking more than adequately filled the bill.

  Yes, she thought, and especially coming in to my evening meal already cooked and waiting for me. I’m certainly a lot luckier than Caz. She has to turn to and prepare and cook the evening meal herself for her idle, lay-about brothers.

  Becky was still mentally counting her blessings as she entered the flat. She was surprised to hear from the kitchen her Aunt Meg’s voice. Although Becky visited Meg and Jack’s home in the Parliamentary Road weekly, she smiled at the unexpected treat of meeting her at her mother’s home. In her haste to hang up her shawl Meg missed not only the hook but the entire rack of hooks and the shawl slithered to the floor. As Becky bent to pick the garment up she froze in mid-motion. Instead of the comfortable drone of polite conversation, what had stopped her was the harsh sound of raised, angry voices issuing from the kitchen.

  “Meg, that’s enough! Ah’ll no hear anither word. Ye and me, we ken fine weel whit we went through. Aye, we baith suffered, so we did. Especially efter yon Hannah Adair telt us you and me could baith end up in bluidy jail if she iver chose tae spill the beans.”

  Meg’s reply, though angry was still ladylike in delivery. “Nellie, I’ll thank you to watch your language. I know you’re upset by what I’ve suggested, but even so–”

  “Even so, be damned! Becky stays here and let that be the end o it.”

  Becky, hearing her own name being bandied about, still clutching the shawl drew closer to the closed door.

  “Ah suppose it’s her bluidy paypoke ye’re efter. Ah cannae imagine it’s the doubtful pleasure o Becky’s company, is it noo?”

  A scandalised shout was quickly followed by Aunt Meg’s shocked tones. “That’s a terrible thing to say, Nellie. Surely you know–”

  “Whit a dae ken is this: surely tae heaven Ah’m entitled tae some kind o reward in ma auld age for haen kept up the pretence aw this wheen o years? No much tae ask that, noo is it? For helpin ye tae … for protecting yer guid name.”

  There seemed to be no reply to this from Meg. Becky pressed her ear even harder against the panel of the door.

  “Damnit aw tae hell, Meg, let’s face it. If is wisnae for me still keepin ma mooth shut … if Ah wis tae tell the world whit Ah ken there’s wan thing sure … if Ah wis tae spill the beans tae yer guid man Jack and aw the rest o the folk roon aboot, ye’d damn sure be drummed oot o aw yon fancy flower-arrangin and ither such ladylike falderals. Aye, yer minister and yon toffee-nosed wife o his, they widnae think ye such a prissy wee goody two shoes then, noo wid they? You a fallen woman wi a bastard child … God Almighty, but the minute they found oot aboot yer daughter Becky–”

  At these words, together with an angry shout, there was the sound of a chair being scraped back across the linoleum floor. Realising immediately what this implied, Becky decided to take flight. She flung the shawl she still had in her hand around her shoulders, with trembling fingers turned the brass knob of the hall’s outer door, and ran out on the landing pulling the door closed behind her.

  She then re-entered the flat noisily, slamming the door behind her and shouting: “Yoo hoo, Mammy, it’s only me.”

  Almost immediately she was face-to-face in the lobby with Aunt Meg as she emerged from the kitchen. Affecting what she fervently hoped was an expression of surprise and pleasure at this unexpected meeting, Becky said: “What a surprise, Aunt Meg, to see you again so soon.”

  After a quizzical glance at Becky, Meg gave her a perfunctory peck on the cheek and in a voice Becky realised was choked with tears said: “Becky! Sorry I can’t stop, dear. I stopped in for a minute to see you’re … er … to see my sister. I must rush off now, Jack’s expecting me back.”

  And with that she was off.

  This time Becky took her time to hang up her shawl very carefully before she turned towards the kitchen. With her hand on the door handle she wondered if her mammy – How on earth should she address the woman now? Would her ‘mammy’ make any reference to what had just passed between herself and her genteel sister?

  ***

  Chapter 7

  In the days that followed, Becky found she could not get that overheard conversation out of her head. Should she confront her mammy or her Aunt Meg or perhaps better still both of them? That would require confessing that she had deliberately eavesdropped on their conversation. If the conversation did indeed mean she was the daughter of Aunt Meg should she admit that from the depths of her being she would much rather be the natural, illegitimate daughter of her beloved Aunt Meg than the legally born-in-wedlock daughter of a woman with whom she had nothing in common?

  After days of mental anguish Becky was no nearer to making a decision.

  A week later walking home from work with Caz, Becky said: “Caz, I need to talk to you – the thing is … my worst nightmare … there’s something troubling me.”

  A look of consternation clouded Caz’s face. “Oh, naw, for God’s sake, naw! Don’t tell me ye’re the next tae get caught – like ma sister Lizzy. Ye didnae let that bampot Colin gae aw the wa wi ye efter the last dance?”

  Becky felt hot colour rush to her face and was glad the street’s dim gas light would help hide her embarrassment from her friend. When she could trust herself to speak Becky said: “Caz! Can you think of nothing else these days? Honestly surely there’s more to life than that.”

  Caz stopped and turned to face Becky. “Nae call for ye tae get aw uppity wi me. It’s the way o the world. Frae yon randy foreman that’s aye chasin efter us lassies tae ivery eejit that thinks he’s in wi a fightin chance if he buys us a bag o chips as he walks us hame frae the soirée. See men! Aw the same so they are. Only efter the wan thing.”

  With a shrug Caz started to walk on, then she stopped again. “Becky, therr is wan thing. Best freens or no if ye’ve been daft enough tae get caught, ye’d better get a weddin ring on yer finger pretty damn quick for Ah’m no aboot tae help ye wi yer problem. It’s agin ma religion.”

  Becky, now on the verge of a fit of giggles at the turn the conversation had taken, said: “You mean you wouldn’t lift a finger to help? Not even with a bottle of cheap gin?”

  “Oh Ah’ll help ye aw right. Ah’ll be yer bridesmaid. Ah’ll dance at yer weddin in the Co-op Hall. But onythin mair than that forget it. Efter aw, ye widnae be the first sixteen-year-old bride aw done up in white wi a bairn awready in her belly.”

  At these words Becky could contain her mirth no longer and as her laughter rang out she held on to the nearest lamppost for support. A passing elderly lady gave her a sour look muttering something about the ‘evils of drink’. This ill-considered, judgemental comment only added to Becky’s hysterical mirth. When finally her fit of giggles had subsided and she explained to Caz that far from seeking advice regarding an unwanted pregnancy all she wanted were Caz’s views about a family row, Caz too laughed.

  “Oh, Becky, a family barney. Is that aw? Forget it, hen. Ma advice is tae leave weel enough alain – jist get on wi yer ain life. But mind ye haud tight tae yer knickers’ elastic, yer best freen – at least until yer safely married. And don’t forget Ah’m promised for tae be yer bridesmaid.”

  ***

  Chapter 8

  I
n the few months since Becky’s discovery about her parenthood and her decision to follow Caz’s advice, “to leave well enough alone,” a degree of uneasy peace had descended on the Bryden household. Not that there was any greater feeling, far less any outward display of affection between Becky and her mother and brother but at least they could get through most days without screaming rows.

  One morning just as Becky was about to leave for work Nellie said: “Two of yer sisters will be here when ye get hame the nicht – Augustina and Sarah. Ye wouldnae know their weans, of course, ye’ve niver met them livin away frae Glesga as they dae but they’re yer nieces and nephews so ye should get tae know them.”

  Becky didn’t have good memories of any of her four older sisters and the one four years younger than her, Elspeth, who had died quite young of diphtheria. After she gone to live with Aunt Meg, visits to Mammy had been a bit of a nightmare. Erchie and the older sisters had made no secret of their jealousy of Becky’s better clothes and openly scornful of her, to them, affected speech and manners. However, if she had to meet any of them again Augustina and Sarah were probably the least obnoxious.

  After a hard day’s work which had included a difficult run-in with one of the new, recently promoted, highly officious gaffers Becky felt tired and out of sorts and wanted nothing more than to get to the flat, have a reviving cup of tea, and soak her feet in a basin of hot water. As she attempted to enter her own close-mouth several children who were having a riotous game of kick-the-can, to the detriment of any passing pedestrians, obstructed her way. Becky weaved first one way then another, but outnumbered as she was could make no progress. When the rusty old can came hurtling towards her shin, in a white heat of anger she lifted her booted foot and dealt the can a hefty kick. This had the effect of scattering the children, allowing her clear passage, but the can found a target in the leg of one of the children. In the ensuing shouted obscenities which followed her, Becky resolutely went on climbing the stairs muttering under her breath: “Perhaps they’ll go and play at their own close now and give us a bit of peace and quiet.”