Moving On

by Millie Gray

  Forgetting not to repeat the street gossip Connie blundered in with, ‘And folks were saying he might swing for it.’

  ‘Connie,’ Kitty blustered, ‘don’t say that – that is tempting fate. We have to believe that he has a fighting chance.’ She moved over and grabbed Connie by the shoulders. ‘Please, please try and understand I can’t deal with thinking that it might end like the gossips are . . . Oh no, it just couldn’t.’ Kitty was now sobbing and all Connie could do to comfort her was to put her strong arms around her. As Kitty’s tears ran down Connie’s neck she mumbled, ‘That happening would not only destroy Eric but it would also be impossible for Laura and her mum to live with.’

  It was just after half past eight when Laura got home. When she had finished work at six o’clock Michael, her lovely loyal Tricky Mike, was waiting for her.

  Before he could say anything she said, ‘You will have heard about Edna and . . .?’

  ‘I don’t think there is anybody in Leith who doesn’t know or have an opinion on it.’

  Laura bit into her top lip before saying, ‘That will include your mum and dad.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘And am I still to have tea at your house tonight?’ Mike’s reply was to lower his head. ‘Do they want you to give me up?’

  ‘My dad doesn’t. He says the war’s to blame for it all . . . mind you I don’t know how he comes to that conclusion but . . . and aye okay my mum thinks . . . for just now it would be best not to be seen with you.’

  ‘So.’

  ‘Well I’m here and I think we should go to the chippie and have our tea because nothing will change how I feel about you, Laura, and even if my mum puts me out on the street I’ll still court you.’

  Her mum saying, ‘Have you eaten?’ brought Laura back to the present.

  ‘Aye, Mike met me and we had a chippie.’ She shrugged her shoulders and gave a little giggle in the hope that it would lift her mum’s spirits. ‘And like two bairns we sat in Taylor Gardens sharing a supper and a single fish.’

  ‘So his folks are not going to get him to give . . .’

  ‘No, Mum, they are nice people. Now let’s forget about Mike and me, how did things go?’

  ‘Well we have a lot to thank God for.’

  Laura couldn’t see just what, but as her mother’s faith meant so much to her, and that would be the thing that would see her through whatever was to come, she just nodded.

  ‘Mark took me in to see Eric. Quiet as he usually is, he was. And Laura, they have appointed a solicitor sort of advocate man for him. Young lad but keen and bright . . . but they have to be very clever to be solicitors, don’t they?’

  ‘They do, Mum. And did Eric have anything to say?’

  ‘Just that his lawyer’s name is Bill Gracie and that he wants you and me to bring up wee Billy.’

  Laura could not help but frown.

  Noticing Laura’s reluctance Nessie quickly added, ‘I know there have been rumours that Billy was not Eric’s but today Laura, God let me see the proof that he is.’ Laura’s eyes widened. ‘Aye, Connie Anderson and I took Billy and her two to play in the hall. Honestly, I could have screamed when our Billy went over and lifted the piano lid up and started tinkering on the keys. Then on our way home just to make sure, but I needed no proof, I bought him a wee mouthie.’ Nessie stretched forward to grasp Laura’s arm as she emphasised, ‘Laura, the wee soul can blow on it already. Now is that not all the proof we need?’

  Laura nodded. It was true people like herself were better educated and therefore they asked more in-depth questions than the simple ones that her mum did. And she really did hope that Billy was indeed Eric’s son, but that would not matter to her mother and herself now. No matter what anybody else said, wee Billy was one of them – a true Stewart through and through.

  PART THREE

  JULY 1945

  Whenever Kitty and Laura entered Kitty’s dad’s house they threw themselves down on the couch.

  ‘You two look how I feel . . . all in,’ remarked Connie with a long sigh.

  Kitty bolted herself upright so she could get a better look at Connie. Immediately she could see that her miscarriage of two weeks ago had taken its toll. She never said, but Kitty and her Aunt Kate thought that trailing around the Wider Granton constituency, pushing leaflets through doors, begging people to hang posters in their windows and forever talking to women in the shops, at the school gates, on the street corners, had been the main contributor to Connie losing her baby. It was true that when she had first discovered that she was pregnant she had been far from happy but when the little life died within her she somehow felt that she had been robbed. There was also the deep regret that when she had found herself pregnant again she had said that she could have done without another mouth to feed. Kitty also remembered that when Connie had returned home from her brief stay in Bruntsfield Women’s Only Hospital, her first remark to Kitty was, ‘I know I said I didn’t want him, but I did. You see, I am just so sure that the wee soul would’ve been a son. And I would have liked that. Because I would have felt that I had, in some way, given your dad his darling Jack back.’

  Moved emotionally by these remarks Kitty had blundered in with, ‘I know you can never be a substitute mother for our Bobby because he was away from home when you and dad got married. But you and Dad still have Davy at home.’ Connie huffed and it was then that Kitty realised that Davy was now eighteen years old and it was true that he liked Connie but she was not the woman who had given him birth – the mother, like Kitty, he remembered and loved so much that no one could ever replace her. A little smile had then flicked on to Kitty’s face and taking Connie’s hand in hers she quietly said, ‘Connie, we are forgetting that there is one thing that everybody appreciates about you and Dad getting married and that is that at last Rosebud has a mother. And you are doing such a great job with her. Indeed she and wee Jackie will always be not only sisters but best pals too.’

  That was all two weeks ago. Today everyone was worn out. Johnny had expected that everybody would work themselves into the ground to get him voted into parliament. He hoped they all realised that he desperately needed to have a purpose in life. Needed to be earning enough to keep his family and his head above water. He never said to Connie, or anybody else for that matter, how he felt about Connie losing the baby. It was as if nothing was to come between him and his winning the election. To be fair to him he did manage to rearrange his schedule so he could go into Bruntsfield Hospital to visit Connie. However, on the downside, he only managed to sit, not still but agitated, for a full half an hour. Kitty was also at Connie’s bedside during his visit and she was more than a bit put out when all that seemed to be concerning her Father was that the Conservatives were cocksure of not only winning the election but doing so with an increased majority. In a voice that was laden with ridicule Kitty had suggested that before he threw in the towel it might be a good idea to wait and hear what the result was.

  It was true that Kitty was utterly exhausted. This was because she had done more than her bit in canvassing for her father. Even today, when she had been so tired that when she had finished her early shift at the hospital all she wished to do was go to bed. But no, she was duty bound, according to her Father, to do one last round of electioneering. She was so fed up that she vowed that should her Father be elected and later stand for a second term she would volunteer for the foreign legion or whatever just as long as she didn’t have to hand out another poster or knock on another door. She smiled. Grateful she was that after today helping her dad would be over and she would have time again for everyone else that was important in her life. Still staring at Connie she was about to suggest that she pull herself together when Laura took the initiative.

  ‘Connie,’ Laura diplomatically began, ‘is your hair tied up in that dull turban because you’ve just washed it?’

  Shaking her head Connie pulled the scarf from her hair. Kitty immediately became concerned because she could see that Connie had not sham
pooed her locks for some time.

  ‘Just cannae be bothered to do anything really,’ Connie whimpered. ‘I cook, clean and shop but by the time I’ve bedded the bairns I just want to sit and . . .’

  ‘Bubble,’ suggested Kitty.

  Holding back the tears Connie nodded. ‘I’m useless. If it wasn’t for Dora downstairs and Laura’s mum . . . och . . I’m such a mess I need them to keep the cruelty man from taking Rosebud and Jackie away and putting them into a home.’

  ‘Into a home!’ exploded Kitty. ‘Don’t be daft.’ Kitty swallowed and mellowed her tone before going over and laying her hands on Connie’s shoulders. ‘Look, I’ve seen this before. You are not failing. It is just that women who lose a baby get what’s called “the baby blues” and okay with all that has been going on . . . and my Dad not being around much to support you, perhaps . . . and only perhaps, you’ve got a bad dose of it. But starting right now I’m going to run you a bath and Laura, who should really be a hairdresser, is going to wash your hair.’

  Somebody bothering, trying to understand, should have had a calming effect on Connie but it only succeeded in upsetting her further. Through choking sobs she snivelled, ‘The two of you will be good ones if you can because the fire has not been lit today so there’s no hot water. There’s only a sliver of Palmolive soap left and not enough Derbac to wash my eyebrows.’

  ‘Is that right? And I hope you think that will stop Laura and me getting you bathed and your hair washed. No chance . . . just inconveniences that can be got rid of, so they are. Right, Laura, come on, help me to get the pots and kettle filled up and on to the cooker. Then we will fill up the clothes boiler. And Connie, as you are not lousy we won’t be requiring the Derbac soap, and to get your locks washed I will just dissolve a teaspoonful of “A One Soap Powder” in a jam jar. Then a final rinse with chip-shop vinegar. Oh aye, not only does it taste great on your chips but it fairly makes your hair shine!’

  ‘Aye, and do you know something, Connie, uptown hairdressers, when they do what Kitty is going to do to your hair, they call it shampooing and conditioning?’

  The girls both tittered and laughed as they raised their hands to bob their own hair.

  ‘But why are you bothering?’

  ‘Because tomorrow Aunty Kate will be babysitting here and you will be at the counting station standing beside my dad and there is no way I could allow you to go there looking like Betsy the Rag Woman.’

  ‘That also means that your crossover overall and these thick Lyle thread stockings will be getting an overdue holiday?’ Laura said whilst untying Connie’s overall from the back.

  ‘You’ve got it in one, Laura.’ Kitty then turned her attention back to Connie. ‘Don’t suppose you have any nylon stockings?’

  Connie shook her head.

  ‘Right I’ll lend you a pair for tomorrow.’

  ‘Where did you get them?’

  ‘From an American soldier whose nose I put two stitches in. But, as they are fifteen denier to die for, I want them back . . . and with no snags or rips.’

  Laura laughed uproariously before gurgling, ‘Here, Kitty, since when has Connie had such long locks?’ She then lifted up a handful of Connie’s thick hair and as she began curling it through her fingers she mumbled, ‘Think since you have so much of it I will set it up in a victory roll.’

  Kitty’s reply was a wicked nod and a wink.

  It was past midnight when Johnny finally got home. Everyone was abed. He firstly felt a bit miffed that Connie had not sat up for him. But as he lowered himself into his comfy armchair he was glad he was alone with time to think. Something he had perfected of late was talking to himself and his thoughts were now on the last couple of months.

  It had been some roller coaster, the run-up to the election. To be honest the accident that had made the amputation of his left forearm necessary had not only resulted in the loss of that limb but also his self-confidence. It was true that Robbs, the shipyards where he had spent all his working life, firstly as an apprentice and then as a fully qualified plater, did try to find him a job that he could do. But if he was being honest, watching to see that the men were only clocking themselves in was not only demeaning to him but it was against his trade-union principles to spy on his brother workers.

  Refusing the job in Robbs had meant that he had to go, cap in hand, to the union and ask for a job. And they did find him one, one where he did the mediating in disputes that broke out in all the industries in and around Leith. He did like that job and he was very good at it but the pay was only half of what he had earned in the shipyards. To him, watching Connie scrimp and scrape on his reduced earnings was humiliating. This being so he made up his mind that he would have to win the seat in parliament so he could hold his head up again – honestly earn a living wage so that he could suitably provide for his family. He accepted that he was not intellectually brilliant but he was above average, and where he scored was that he had more than his fair share of common sense. He was also, where his fellow man was concerned, caring and sympathetic and when having to give out news that the workers didn’t wish to hear, he used his diplomacy skills to put it over.

  Today he had been at the gates of the factories before seven and he had tried his best to persuade people to vote for him. Tomorrow he had to accept the will of the people. If he lost he could do no more than stand back and let the bus go by. But if he won, and please God, he pleaded, let that be the outcome, I will again have some power – be a man who commands respect – be someone that the people trust and listen to.

  Thursday the 5th July was a long, tiresome and worrying day. It was a foregone conclusion that Hoy would win in the Leith seat. Wider Granton was well . . . all day Johnny tried to keep control of his emotions and a count of who was voting for him. But some of the residents in Wider Granton kept to themselves, as they were entitled to do, who they had voted for. However, Johnny grudgingly accepted that the upper class saw no need for change, but the workers, the men and women who had worked and fought in the war, were now demanding social change so perhaps . . . ?

  He just had time to whisper the result in Connie’s ear before he and the other candidates were called up to the rostrum where the winning candidate and votes would be announced. Connie, thanks to Kitty and Laura, who were also in the hall, was looking good, but when she started to cry Laura and Kitty rushed over to support her. Both girls thought the worst and then they had to keep quiet whilst the votes for each candidate were announced. When Johnny’s count was called out Kitty slumped to the floor – he had not only won but by the national average of forty-seven per cent of the vote. The Conservatives’ candidate was second with thirty-six per cent and the Liberal could only enjoy nine per cent.

  Everyone seemed to be able to get to Johnny to shake his hand except his own family, but that didn’t matter to them. He had won. For Connie it was a dream come true. She truly believed the old Johnny that she had fallen so hopelessly in love with would now be reborn. Oh yes, the husband, father and brother that she and the family loved so well would now be able to come to terms with his disability and re-emerge as a whole person.

  The party spirit that had spontaneously erupted on Victory in Europe day started up again in Leith when it became clear that not only had James Hoy won the Leith seat with a staggering sixty-one per cent voting for him but also that one of their own sons, Johnny Anderson, had taken the dubious seat of Wider Granton.

  As the rejoicing started up again the people truly believed that at last social change would come. They would see in the lifetime of the Labour Government a fairer society – the bringing in of a just society that included a Welfare State and a National Health Service.

  When the immediate and wider Armstrong clan arrived back at Restalrig, Connie immediately dragged the large cooking pot full of tripe, potatoes and onions on to heat. She knew that the day and night would be long and at the end of it all her family would require sustenance. She had therefore reckoned that what her hungry family would
need, whether Johnny won or lost, was a big comforting bowl of Leith’s very own cheap delicacy – tripe and onions.

  Four weeks later anyone standing on the platform where the ten o’clock train to London was about to depart would have thought that a senior member of the Royal Family was about to board. However, it was just that all of Johnny’s immediate and wider family, along with some close friends, had gathered to wave him off. They of course only had platform tickets and they cheered when Johnny boarded the train brandishing his House of Commons Member of Parliament rail pass – this gesture was just to emphasise that he really was on his way in more ways than one.

  It had been a long four weeks for Johnny since he was voted in as Member of Parliament for Wider Granton and he was more than eager to get on with his new job. Nonetheless, he had to mark time as the final results of the General Election were not known until 26th of July 1945 when Churchill resigned as Prime Minister and Clement Attlee was summoned to the palace and invited by King George IV to form a Labour administration.

  To be truthful, the weeks whilst he was waiting had not been wasted. Connie had insisted on taking him down to the “Fifty Shillings Tailor”, where he was fitted out with a suit and a hat, known as an Anthony Eden. Connie reckoned that if this hat was mandatory for a Conservative posh boy then Johnny would just have to have one too.

  Johnny had gulped when he realised the expense that had to be lavished on his clothing for his new job. Then when Connie had suggested to him that he ask Kate if she could advance him some of the three hundred pounds that she was due to pay him, for the third of the house that his mother had left him, he humphed, hawed and spluttered.

  It was true that his mum’s house had been valued at a staggering nine hundred pounds. Kate naturally wished to stay in the house that had been her home for nearly twenty years but she also wished to be fair to her brother. However, three hundred pounds she and Hans did not have at the present time. They did offer to pay so much a week but Johnny felt that way his mother’s legacy to him would just be filtered away on housekeeping and rent. The second offer to pay the amount in full in eighteen months’ time was accepted by Johnny. What he had not divulged to Kate was that in the biscuit tin that his mother had left him there was a large envelope marked, “Johnny’s Own Doorstep Fund”. This was, of course, Jenny’s way of reinforcing what she was always encouraging Johnny to do – start saving so that one day he could purchase a home of his own. Renting, Jenny always said, was fine but everyone should be trying to buy their own home. Unfortunately the ninety-five pounds, all saved in ten-shilling notes over a period of years, he had to use, not to buy a house, but to pay rent arrears to Edinburgh Corporation and thus keep a roof over his family’s head, food, heating and new clothes and bedding for the children. Not a penny of it was left when he humbled himself, as he saw it, to ask Kate for fifty pounds advance from what she owed him.