by Mary Easson
I wasn’t keen but I didn’t want to offend Jean who was full of enthusiasm for the idea of me going to the dance. ‘But they’re yer Sunday Best. What will ye wear in their place?’
‘Och, niver mind me,’ she replied. ‘Who’s gaunnae look at me at ma age? I can mak dae. But you, Minn Graham! There’s plenty wants a look at you! Noo, get ben the hoose an’ try this oan till I see what’s what.’
I obliged and disappeared into the back room, returning minutes later feeling swamped. The blouse was two or three sizes too big and the skirt too wide around the waist and the hips by a fair margin. The look on my face must have said I wasn’t hopeful of a flattering outcome. Jean, however, thought otherwise. She took the skirt fabric in each hand, first at the waist then down the side seams where it slumped over my hips then she turned her attention to the blouse, pinching the cloth under the arms and in at the waist.
‘That’s fine,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll get tae work on them in yer absence and we’ll have another look at ye in a week’s time. Ye micht be surprised at the difference. Noo, get yersel changed an awa’ see whaur yer sister’s got tae wi’ the bairns. Else we’ll be up tae yon time getting’ them intae their beds. Some have school the morn.’
I returned from the back room to find Jean hard at work once again, altering a small white smock for one of the younger children. She had unpicked a seam to let the material out as far as it would go, sufficient for a growing child. I studied this hard working woman who devoted her life to looking after others, including children who were not her own. Jean Graham took great delight in giving them all a happy home.
‘Just when I mind,’ she called after me as I went out the door. ‘Tak this roon tae Peggy Duncan, would ye?’ She held out a small white chemise. ‘It’s for Maggie but, if it’s ower big, she can bring it back next time she’s passin’ an’ I’ll tak it in a bit mair.’
I took the chemise from Jean. My hands trembled and I hoped it didn’t show. Suddenly I had an excuse to visit the Duncans and I wondered if Annie would agree that this was a good sign.
At Peggy’s place a small face appeared at the window before the door was opened a chink.
‘Good evening, Miss Margaret Duncan,’ I said in an affected voice worthy of Daisy Gowans at her elocution lesson. ‘Could you tell your mother that Miss Thomasina Graham is here to see her?’
In a fit of giggles, Maggie opened the door wide.
‘Come in, Miss Graham,’ she ordered, in the voice of somebody ten times her age. ‘Mither, we’ve a visitor!’
I held out the chemise for Peggy and passed on Jean’s message. Peggy asked after the Grahams, inviting me to take a seat for a moment. I would’ve been happy to stay, hoping for a glimpse of Rob had there been room for me at the table. But two of Peggy’s boarders – the Fifer and the foreigner with the big moustache – sat finishing off their supper and the only other chair, over by the fire, was occupied by Peggy’s knitting.
‘I’ll no bide,’ I said hovering by the door.
‘Weel, I’ll no keep ye,’ replied Peggy. ‘It goes like a fair in here whiles! Just as weel Sandy an’ Rob are alang at Rowanhill wi’ their freens.’
I tried hard to hide my disappointment but I’m sure I saw a wee smile on her lips.
The door to the back room opened just then and two aged figures shauchled forward.
‘Here’s Mr and Mrs Pow, ma ither lodgers,’ said Peggy taking a few paces across the room towards them with her arms outstretched, ready to catch whosoever fell first. The old woman grimaced and turned her head to hear what Peggy was saying.
‘Whit ye sayin’?’ asked Mrs Pow. ‘Sit doon an’ I’ll mak a cup o’ tea, hen.’
‘Naw, Jess, naw,’ insisted her husband who’d hobbled into a better position to hold up his wife. ‘Mind this isnae oor hoose. This is Peggy Duncan’s bit. We’re bidin’ here a while. Peggy maks the tea in this hoose.’
‘Does she?’ replied old Jess Pow, looking confused. ‘Whau gied her permission? Was it yersel, Tam?’
He shook his head.
‘Three cups o’ tea, dear,’ ordered Mrs Pow, smiling at Peggy. ‘Milk and sugar.’
‘Ye mean, twa cups, Jess,’ corrected her husband.
Mrs Pow stopped their advance across the room and glared at him. ‘Three,’ she repeated. ‘Yin for yersel, yin for me, an’ yin for Jamie.’
Old Tam glanced briefly at Peggy. He encouraged his wife to take a few more shuffling steps then plonked her down in Peggy’s chair, more by accident than design but with great tenderness.
‘Jist the twa cups, Jess,’ he said to her, kindly. ‘Mind, Jamie’s gone, lass. Jamie’s gone.’
‘He’s gone? Awa’?’
‘Aye. Awa’.’
Mrs Pow frowned. ‘Oh, aye,’ she said, remembering. ‘Jamie’s awa’.’
Peggy turned to me. ‘As ye can see, Minn. Never a dull moment here at the Duncans’.’
I watched as Peggy turned back to Mrs Pow, telling her she would get her a cup of tea straight away. The foreigner with the big moustache grabbed a cup and poured thick black liquid from the tea pot. The Fifer ladled in two heaped spoonfuls of sugar and stirred, adding a splash of milk from a jug. Maggie reached up and took it, carrying it carefully across the floor to old Jess, without spilling a drop. I closed the door quietly behind me thinking how kind it was of Peggy to take in Mr and Mrs Pow and save them from the poorhouse. Peggy, whose husband had died in the same pit accident as Jamie Pow, had a heart of gold.
I was pleased to find that my friend, Jenny Campbell, was at home when I knocked on her door. She called to her mother that she would be back in a minute to help bath her younger brother and sisters. We whispered hurried plans to attend the dance. Jenny would talk to the other girls in the village about who was going and she would see about tickets for the two of us, if there were any left. She had something she could wear and she liked the sound of what Jean had in mind for me. We wondered what boys would be there, boys that we knew and maybe some that we didn’t know, boys who might be nice and ask us to dance. Jenny hoped that Rob would be there for my sake and I listed the names of all the young men I could think of for Jenny’s appraisal. Wasn’t there somebody she had her eye on? Jenny just smiled. Her mother had told her never to wear her heart on her sleeve and she was taking her advice. It brought you nothing but trouble, Jenny warned. And she wasn’t a shameless hussy like Minn Graham. Everybody knew I was mad about Rob Duncan, she teased, Rob of the dark, brooding looks who rarely smiled these days, especially at girls. Still waters run deep was another of Jenny’s mother’s wise sayings. You’d to watch the quiet ones, according to Mrs Campbell. I took my friend’s teasing in good spirit because I knew that Jenny was a good friend and didn’t mean anything by it. I’d tried to hide my feelings about Rob and only Sarah, Jenny, and Annie knew how I felt about him. I’d felt that way for years, ever since I’d been in the same class as him at school, stealing glances as he sat in the back row, giving all the right answers. In my book, Rob was top of the class in more ways than one and always would be.
We were soon brought back down to earth with a thump, reminded of our responsibilities, when Mrs Campbell appeared on the doorstep, hands on hips, bawling at the top of her voice even though Jenny was barely two feet away. There was too much work to be done before bedtime for us to be standing there gabbing, she called out in her Irish brogue. And who cared if it was the Sabbath?! She would say her piece. The Lord seemed to have forgotten about women when he made that particular rule, the one about resting on the Seventh Day, she declared for all and sundry to hear. Sure it was proof, if proof was needed, that the Good Lord, God Almighty, was most definitely a man and not a woman! Mrs Campbell hauled Jenny away before I could make plans to see her the following week and I prayed that it wasn’t a bad sign when the door slammed in my face.
I decided that Sarah must have returned with the ch
ildren by now and that I’d better hurry back to help with bathtime before the men returned. They were at the allotment, taking advantage of the fair weather and the long daylight hours of summer to tend their crops. The good weather of recent days, interspersed with showers, was bringing everything on a treat, including the weeds, so there’d be plenty to keep them occupied – as I knew fine well from my own work at Netherside. Leeks and cabbage were well established and the onions were starting to swell. The potato shaws were well through and the soil wasn’t needing to be heaped up anymore to protect from frosts which were surely past now that it was well into June. Even the peas were flourishing, sending out tendrils and showing signs of flowering, which was surprising when you considered the altitude hereabouts. Surely, a triumph of hope over experience! But on this side of the ridge, the slope faced south and that helped. There would be vegetables aplenty in late summer and into the autumn, and supply enough to keep the family going in broth well into the winter months. The allotment was also an excuse for the men to be out of the house in the fresh air after long days at work. It was a place where they could stop for a blether and a pipe of tobacco at a time of their choosing for a change. They could take a rest on a makeshift bench, survey the peat moss in peace, hearing nothing but the sound of the curlew and the soft summer wind.
Meanwhile, down in the Rows, the Grahams’ place was a hive of activity. Sarah was in charge of heating the water for bathing the eight younger children. Some mothers bathed their bairns on a Friday night, dunking the entire brood in the wash house boiler with the fire heating the water from below then everyone hurtling through the Scottish weather in their night clothes back to the warmth of the house. But that wasn’t Jean’s way. The Sabbath was bath night in her household. It was a special time when all of the children were given their supper then bathed in turn by the hearth and sent to bed for a good night’s sleep before school the next day. I sat at the table with the older ones, made sure they had done their homework then took the family Bible from the shelf above my father’s bed and the children read a short piece in turn, to practise their reading skills among other things. In the back room, Jean laid out clothes for the following day. Sarah, set up the clothes-horse, draped with some towels to give the children privacy from each other and from anyone who might walk in the door. When she said that the bath was about ready for the younger children, a line of five formed.
Eight year old Jenny read aloud.
‘The Lord is my light and my salvation: whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?’
Jean hushed the two girls in the bath; told everyone to listen carefully. She loved the Psalms, she told them. The Psalms never let you down.
‘When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell,’ continued Jenny.
With wide eyes, the children hung onto every word.
‘Though my host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident.’
‘Weel done, Jenny dear. Angus, your turn, you have a go,’ ordered Jean.
I helped Angus spell out the difficult words like ‘trouble’, ‘sacrifices’ and ‘tabernacle’ whilst Sarah bathed each of the smaller children in turn, keeping them quiet as she soaped their soft skin and their hair. They were passed onto Jean for drying. Then their hair was inspected with a bone comb. Jean declared each one free of nits, Thank the Lord, and handed them their night attire to put on by themselves. Even the wee ones were old enough to learn.
Felix read out the last verse of Psalm 27. ‘Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.’
‘Weel done, Felix. Yer readin’s comin’ oan. An’ yon’s guid advice, boys and girls,’ said Jean, repeating the words which she knew off by heart.
I went with Sarah and the wee ones through to the back room. We supervised the ritual of potty, prayers, and getting into bed: the two youngest girls under the window leaving room for Jenny, and the three boys side-by-side at the bottom of the big bed. Angus and Felix would get in at the top when they came through. There was a commotion in the boys’ bed so Sarah reminded them that they had to go in order, an order which they knew very well but which they chose to ignore every night.
‘Stop yer nonsense, Tommy,’ I said.
‘Read me a story,’ he pleaded.
‘No the night, no oan the Sabbath. Sarah’ll read tae ye the morn’s night.’
‘Read me yer letter,’ said Tommy, his sing-song voice letting me know he had remembered the letter was a secret and he wasn’t supposed to know.
‘Aye, read us yer letter,’ said everyone else in unison.
‘Niver you mind aboot ma letter,’ I said, exasperated that virtually the entire family now knew about it.
I tucked Tommy in and tried to placate him with a rhyme.
‘Tommy Graham is a noun
Parse him up and parse him down
Pronoun, gender, hopeless case
Subject to his funny face!’
Tommy erupted in peals of laughter. ‘Again!’ I ruffled his dark hair and told him to settle down.
Each of the bairns had to be told the rhyme in turn with their own names inserted into the first line instead of Tommy’s. They giggled and roared and Tommy took a fit of the hiccups that caused even more laughter. Jean appeared with the three eldest, astonished at the raucous carrying-on. So Sarah and me left her to it, taking our chance to slip out into the evening air, using the excuse of having to empty the bath tub.
Outside, we tipped the dirty water into the syver along the middle of the street then propped the bath up against the wall of the cottage to dry.
‘It’s no as if there’s much in Meg’s letter,’ ventured Sarah. ‘Jist the bit aboot ye havin’ a young man.’
‘Which isnae true at the present time,’ I said, looking round to see if anybody was about. ‘But it gies me awa’, Sarah.’ I started to walk to the end of the rows, beckoned my sister to follow. I didn’t want to be overheard through an open window.
‘Ye ken whit it’s like roon here. News spreads like wildfire. Even if it’s no true.’
We wandered along the street for a bit, talking about Rob and whether he could possibly feel the same about me as I did about him. I told her about Jean altering some clothes to let me go to the dance. We wondered if, in preparing to go to the dance in clothes that made me look nice, I was influencing my future and, therefore, tempting Fate. Surely there couldn’t be anything wrong with it? If there wasn’t, why did I feel that there might be? Some might say it was too forward, too gallus. We agreed that our father might think it wasn’t right. What would he have to say about my plans to go to the Gala Day dance with Jenny and the other girls? Would he put his foot down when he found out?
‘Be of good courage and wait on the Lord,’ said Sarah, remembering Psalm 27.
‘WAIT on the Lord?!’
‘Aye, so the psalm says. The Lord’s plan will be revealed in guid time.’
‘Is thon whit it means? Dae ye think? WAIT for the Lord... tae mak’ somethin’ happen?’
Sarah didn’t know what to say. She could see I was in torment.
I ventured, ‘Is it no sayin’, Follow the Lord or Serve the Lord... like when a servant waits on a master. It’s nothin’ adae wi’ bidin’ yer time till the Lord’s ready.’
Sarah thought hard. Another silence followed and, at length, she felt compelled to fill it.
‘Miss Fraser’s waited a lang time for the Lord tae bring Neil Tennant back tae her.’ She knew straight away she’d said the wrong thing but persisted.
We talked about the scandal surrounding the minister’s sister and her illicit affair with the village blacksmith. The gossips had had a field day four years before and he’d left for distant lands, le
aving her heartbroken in the process.
‘I hope I dinnae have tae wait as lang fur the Lord tae bring me an’ Rob the gither,’ I said looking off into the distance.
‘Och, I didnae mean you’d have tae wait sic a while.’ Sarah was working hard to make amends. ‘It’s jist that Neil was mentioned in the letter fae Meg. You and Rob bide in the same village. Yer bound tae get thegither, whaur as Neil Tennant’s on the ither side o’ the world fae Miss Fraser!’
My stomach churned.
Sarah recalled Meg’s account of her chance meeting with Neil in Calgary. ‘Miss Fraser an’ Neil micht meet up again when he comes back at the end o’ the summer.’
That made me feel better. I felt a connection with Miss Fraser who, like me, had been pining for her true love for a long time.
That was when Sarah told me the story about Miss Fraser fainting at Murdo Maclean’s funeral and how his nephew had carried her up to her bed in his arms, saying her name over and over again to her, willing her to wake up and get better. Everybody was saying that Miss Fraser had fainted when Mrs Tennant told her that Neil was in Canada, that he wasn’t coming back and it was all her fault. Sarah said that Miss Fraser had stayed in her bed for days. Everybody feared the worst, even Miss Melville, but she had done a sterling job and had brought her good friend back from the brink.
‘Should we tell her Neil’s comin’ back?’
Sarah looked worried. ‘I’m no sae sure we should. Miss Melville’s taen Miss Fraser tae Whinbank, tae visit Mrs Maclean... and Donald Maclean an a’. She’s been lookin’ fair cheered up thur last twa-three weeks.’
‘Ye’re thinkin’ she’s forgot aboot Neil at last?’
‘Aye… mebbe…’
‘So how come we were appraised o’ the news aboot Neil comin’ back tae Blackrigg then? Mebbe its God’s plan and we’re meant tae gie the guid news tae Miss Fraser.’
I thought Fate might be at work in the event of Meg bumping into Neil thousands of miles away in Canada then her writing to tell me about it. On the surface, it could be seen as a coincidence but maybe it was more than that, and I was all for helping to reunite the star-crossed lovers. I looked at Sarah hoping she felt the same.