Of Different Times

by Agnes Kirkwood

  My brother, sister and I used to go home at dinner time. But, when our baby brother Jimmy was born, we had to stay for school meals. Then, the gym hall was used as the dining room, and with my class being next to the Hall, I could hear the noise of the tables and benches being set up about half an hour before dinner time. The meals came in big metal trays and the smell used to waft into our classroom making me hungry.

  When the bell rang we had to stand at our desks and wait for the order to march out of the classroom in single file. The ones for home marched straight out to the playground, the ones for school dinners formed a queue in front of the large tables and benches which appeared in line. We waited until all the other classes one after the other had joined us all in single file down the corridor before being ushered to our seats in rotation.

  The teachers would take it in turn each day to serve us. They dished out our dinner from a long deep oven tray onto plates, then we had to pass them down the table until everyone had a serving.

  It just looked like a scene from Oliver Twist. There was no such thing as ‘I don’t like this’ or ‘I don’t like that’; we were given what was there, and made to eat it.

  When I first started with school dinners I hated them. All I wanted to do was go home at dinner time. Truth be known, mum had a new baby in the house and I had a feeling that mum didn’t need me there anymore and I was being pushed out. I felt very frustrated with an awful feeling in my stomach. When I look back I think it was just plain jealousy, mum was only finding it hard with three other children to look after as well as a new baby.

  When dinner was finished we had to quietly make our way to the playground with a warning not to go out of the school gates. I hated that more than anything, all I wanted to do was go home, even if it was just for a few minutes, it broke the day. Now the days felt never-ending.

  It was always two courses. Main and pudding, soup and main, but what school dinner I hated most, was when it was just soup and pudding. The soup tasted nothing like mum’s, and although I loved the puddings, especially the chocolate sponge and custard. To this day, I’ve yet to have any that beats the schools. I hated that meal because they only gave you one spoon for both, so after having the soup, you had to lick the dirty spoon clean ready to use for the pudding.

  Money was tight in them days we didn’t know what pocket money was. I remember one special occasion when my little baby brother was born, my uncle was on leave from the army and came to visit us. I was really pleased to see him as he only visited about once a year. He looked so smart in his uniform. When he lifted me up and sat me on his knee I felt as though he was a hero and couldn’t believe he was my uncle. When he gave me half a crown to get some sweets, my eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets. I felt like a millionaire as half a crown in them days was a lot of money. As I sat on his knee that money was burning a hole in my hand and all I wanted then was for him to go so I could get to the shop and get loads of sweets.

  When he finally got up to go we walked him to the door. Mum and me stood on the landing waving as he made his way down the concrete stairs then disappeared around the gable end. I made a beeline for the stairs ready to run down and race to the shop to spend my half crown, but mum caught me by the jumper. As I turned round I could tell then by the look on mums face that my half crown was no longer mine. I was right, she held out her hand and demanded the money.

  ‘It’s not fair, Uncle Willie gave that money to me for sweeties,’ I cried, but the only answer I got was a clout at the side of my head that put me in my place straight away.

  ‘That half a crown can give us all a good dinner tomorrow, rather than you stuffing your face with rubbish.’

  What could I say; I’d lost the battle before it even began, because to their delight my only retaliation was to go in the huff for the rest of the day. They probably enjoyed the silence.

  I felt older when my baby brother came along. No longer was I treated like a baby, I had more freedom to play further away from the doors view with my pals. There was one girl I seemed to stick to most all through my school days. I was born upstairs in the pit house and she was born in the house underneath us. We would fall out with each other and go on unspeaking terms, but we always seemed to get back together. When I remember the places we used to play, and the things we got up to, I cringe. If my mum or dad ever found out about our little escapades, I surely would have got the biggest hiding of my life. It seemed all the places we were warned not to go near seemed to be like magnets to us. It was no wonder I had to be scrubbed in the large ceramic sink every night. Everything around the area was always filthy with black coal dust, and when it rained the pit dust on the ground combined with the muck turned into a black slime.

  It was worse on schooldays. On our way to the classroom, we had to walk down the corridors which had lino tiles. When they got wet they were slippy so you can just imagine mixed with the black slime from our feet just how bad and slippy the corridors were. It must have been a nightmare to the cleaners in them days.

  I remember one such wet afternoon. We were all marching in single file like little soldiers to our classroom, which we did then. All of a sudden there was an almighty scream. When I looked around the teacher had fallen flat on her back. I wanted to laugh my head off, but like everyone else I pinched my nose and sniggered in silence. Another teacher helped her to her feet, but not before everyone saw her bloomers that went down to her knees with elastic round the bottom. Her clothes were filthy with black slimy water. It was the funniest day I had at school since I started, but the fun soon went sour when the headmaster took us for lessons the rest of the day as the teacher had to go home. We don’t know if it was because of her clothes being dirty, or if she hurt herself. She was back on course the next morning as if nothing had happened.

  As I reached six years old, I was more aware of the things we could get away with, and what to avoid. For instant, if Betty and I played away from view our mums would automatically think that we were at each other’s house playing. Both our parents never spoke to each other, so we knew they would never know. It gave us more scope to do the things we wanted to do without them knowing. I don’t know what their problem was, it was a shame why they never got on. I think it probably stemmed down to a dispute or something between their families, because they lived all their single years in the same little village of Airth where my Gran lived. Betty and I were the best of pals. Nicknamed in later years as the Siamese twins.

  The mining village I lived in had a row of co-op shops; a grocery, butchers, drapery and post office. At the grocery store, if you took your empty jam jars back you got a halfpenny on each jar, and a penny for each lemonade bottle. Therefore, we’d sneak around the back of the building and take it in turns to help the other climb a big six feet wall, into the yard of the store where they kept all the empties in crates. We’d grab a couple of bottles and pass them over the wall to the other, then climb back over. The same with the jam jars. We would then take them into the co-op to get the money on them. We never exchanged them for sweets in the co-op because we didn’t have coupons. We told them our mum wanted the money. Once we got the money we’d run to the little sweet shop at the side of one of the Blocks. You seemed to get more for your money, and there were lots you could get in her shop without coupons.

  Sometimes we’d stand at the counter for ages in the co-op store with our empty jars and bottles waiting for the shop assistant to serve us. We used to watch those filling blue bags up with sugar from a big sack with a scoop. Cutting butter and patting it with wooden paddles. We would smack our lips at the biscuits in big square tins piled on top of each other with the glass lids facing out so you could see inside them; the broken ones you got very cheap by the bagful.

  Between the aroma of the fresh baked bread and the strong fragrance of paraffin and sawdust on the floor gave the store a unique smell. We stood on tiptoe at the counter which was nearly as tall as us; waiting until it was the woman’s turn to serve, because she never asked qu
estions just gave us the money then shouted ‘Next’ then moved onto the next customer. I often wondered if she knew what we were up to. Maybe she did the same when she was young, who knows. The man was a different kettle of fish, with a big starched apron on that was slipped over his head then looped all the way around and tied in a knot up at his chest. He used to ask us all kind of questions.

  ‘Where did you get them from, surely your mammy doesn’t use all that jam in a couple of days?’

  ‘No mister, we’ve collected them from door to door.’ Quick as a flash we had an answer ready.

  We knew his suspicions reached a desperate point when every time we entered the store he looked at us suspiciously. One day he said to the woman shopkeeper, ‘I’ll serve them.’ Then he stared at us for a moment before saying, ‘I know what you two are up to.’

  Bet he did, because you can’t kid a kidder.

  We got wise and took the jars and bottles to the mobile co-op van that travelled to Throsk a little village about a mile up the road from the Blocks. My Granda lived there, and we used to call for a visit until the van came then we would say we had to get home. We’d pick up our jars and bottles from under the hedge where we hid them before going into Granda’s, get our money then head for the sweet shop in the Blocks. At least if someone told mum they seen us in Throsk we could honestly say; we were just visiting my Granda. What we had to do for a few pence in them days, but it was the only way we could ever get money for sweets. Not like kids today, they just don’t know what wanting is with their computer games and all the accessories that go along with them.

  Dad always seemed to be at meetings with most of the other miners trying to get the pit officials to do something about safety down the mines, or trying to get something done about the living conditions in the Blocks. To free our houses from rodents and the insects which infested them.

  My mum was terrified of mice right up until she died, she screamed when she saw one, even if one came on telly she would turn away in shock. That, I’m sure was the result of our living conditions then. Us kids were used to beetles and such, we used to catch them in matchboxes take them to the edge of the drying greens and have them race to see which one reached the safety of the grass first. I was never afraid of any kinds of insects then, not like now.

  I suppose all the meetings paid off in the end. My dad and another man sat for council, and won the election. Of course, there was always a downfall with everything that’s good, and we children suffered for it. The councillor my dad beat in the election was our headmaster, and boy, did he take it out on my brother and me. The least thing we did wrong, we were sent to him and punished. Even at playtimes, he was at his window watching every move we made. He’d find jobs like picking up all the paper from the playground, if we happened to be one minute late queuing up in the playground, he’d send us to his room; it was as if he was looking for us to do something wrong. My brother William used to pray my dad lost in the election so he would stop picking on us. One day I was late into the assembly hall because I had to run to the toilet as we marched in the school. He caught me as I sat down on the floor cross-legged alongside the rest of my class. He made me come out and stand right in front of the hall, bearing in mind the rest of the classes were still coming in. When everyone was present, he pointed at me and shouted for all to hear, a sentence he loved to say about not only me but my brother and little sister as well:

  ‘This is the daughter of a councillor and she can’t even get to school on time.’

  When I tried to tell him I wasn’t late and that I went to the toilet on the way to the hall, it made him worse and he sent me to his room for being cheeky and talking back at him. I got the strap that day for the first time. There was nothing unusual about getting the strap, but to get it when completely innocent having done nothing wrong showed revenge for my dad winning against him. I dwelt in self-pity until playtime, and then I ran home to tell my mum. She marched up to school and gave him a piece of her mind, but it made no difference, in fact, it made matters worse, so I never told her anymore. It didn’t stop me wanting my dad to win every election. When it was near polling day, I used to go around the doors and push leaflets through the letterboxes.

  Living in the pit blocks to us children might have been like an adventure playground, but to the adults it must have been stressful. They were continually having meetings with the pit officials complaining about the living conditions. With nothing getting done they got to the stage that they refused to pay rent on them until the houses were brought up to standard. The local councillors complained to Stirling Council who sent out building inspectors to investigate the living conditions in the Blocks. They immediately took them over from the pit and placed a demolishing order on them as being unfit for human habitation due to an infestation of woodlice, cockroaches and rodents. The trouble started at the beginning of the twentieth century when coal was discovered two miles out of Stirling. That created a sudden rush to build houses for the miners and their families who were coming from all over. The Blocks were built in a hurry with untreated materials. Forty years later they were no longer fit to live in.

  The re-housing list gave priority to the families with the most children. With four children in our family, we were by no means at the top of the list; but were not at the bottom either. Within about five or six years, all the families living in the Blocks were re-housed.

  However, before a family was allowed to move into their new house. All their furniture and belongings were put in a van; which got the nickname bird van and was taken to an isolated spot down by the River Forth and fumigated; before being allowed into their new house.

  My mum was rushed into hospital seriously ill one morning, Wilma and William, were taken to auntie Kate’s, who had just moved into their new house a mile up the road from the blocks.

  My baby brother and me got taken to Airth where my Gran lived. The baby stayed at Auntie Annie and Uncle Jimsie, I went to Auntie Cathy and Uncle Fred where I loved going anyway because I had three older cousins who I could tell liked me. At bedtime we all slept in the same bed, two at the top and two at the bottom and spent half the night giggling and telling jokes. Every morning we blamed each other for wetting the bed. The mattress seemed to dip in the middle and the rubber sheet my Auntie Cathy put on top held the pee, it was like waking up in a hot tub. I also went to my cousin’s school while I lived there, it was a much better school than mine. The teacher wasn’t as strict and everyone was nice, but nevertheless I missed my family, especially my mum. What made things worse, no one seemed to tell me how she was. My dad sometimes visited me at the weekend and tell me mum was getting better, but for some reason I never really believed him half the time because he wouldn’t tell me if she was dying anyway, and sometimes I got the feeling I’d never see her again. It used to make me sad and I’d go somewhere and have a cry. Something I never did in the open, especially in front of my cousins. I suppose dad thought I was too young to worry over mum’s illness; which I believe was critical. It was only in later years that I learned she had serious blood poisoning. I remember one day I was so fed up and homesick I decided that I would go home on my own. I stood at the bus stop where mum always waited after visiting granny, then as the bus stopped I jumped on and sat down, but as soon as the conductor saw me he stopped the bus; seemingly he knew us and was aware of the situation and made me get off at the next stop. When Auntie Kate visited Gran next day the conductor on the bus told her about me, so consequently I got a good telling off from Gran.

  I went over to Gran’s one day because I felt so homesick and I was crying to go home. She took me on her knee and told me we had a new house and when dad got it sorted he would come to take us all home. She told me mum was getting better every day and that it wouldn’t be long until she was able to come home. I felt a lot better after my Gran telling me that, in fact I couldn’t sleep for excitement.

  At last my Auntie Cathie told me that dad was coming to collect me at the weekend as he had move
d into our new house. I felt so sorry for him having to cope on his own, but I’m sure Uncle Pat would have helped him as dad helped him and Auntie Kate move into their new house. The moving day must have been very stressful, especially when it was always mum that did any arranging in our house. Mum was so house-proud and no matter what dad did to try and help her she would only go over it to her own liking.

  When dad came that weekend for me, I was so excited at going home after what felt like years. As we sat on the bus I hugged my belongings in a brown carrier bag and stared out the window at a journey I remembered so well and desperately longed to see again. As we arrived at the Blocks the bus stopped to let people on. I stared at our old house with sadness. Gone were the curtains that I watched my mum hang, now there was nothing but a bare window. When the bus passed the Blocks I looked out and caught a glimpse of my best friend playing on the swings situated at the end of the Blocks. I felt like getting off the bus to play with her as I’d never seen her for months. About a mile up the road from the Blocks the bus stopped to let us off.

  Once off, dad took my hand and carried my bag as we made our way down the street to our new house. They were all brand new and looked posh with a front garden, so different from the Blocks where the houses were all crammed together in a dusty yard made from coal dust and dirt all mixed into a hard dusty yard.

  As we walked up the path I had butterflies in my stomach. Dad opened the door and as we walked up the front hall Auntie Kate came out to meet us. She had my brother William and sister Wilma with her. We all ran to each other and hugged with excitement. Dad told us to go and have a look around so we rushed to explore our new home.