‘If you take things that don’t belong to you it’s called stealing, which makes you a thief, and what happens to all thieves? They end up in prison, where all you get to eat and drink is bread and water,’ he said in a gruff voice.
I started to cry, I thought at that moment he was going to send me there, but instead my crying must have brought out the sensitive side of him. His tone of speech changed to a mellow tone as he took my hand.
‘So, in future if you find anything that doesn’t belong to you, promise me you’ll bring it to me, so when the person who lost it can collect it from here.
The fear of prison frightened the life out of me, so every time I found anything, be it a glove or a pencil, I took it to the police station. I actually spent hours looking for things to take to the police to prove I wasn’t a thief. I was terrified in case I was sent to prison. The last straw for the police officer was when I found an old boot, it was in such a state an old tramp wouldn’t wear it. The policeman told me that for being so honest in the past two or three weeks he was scoring me off the probation list. Anything I find I had to pass it on to mum to save time. I was so relieved. In later years I learned that my mum set all the police lecture up to teach me a lesson not to keep valuable things I find, as they could belong to someone who needed them more than me.
We had the best mum in the world, but she by no means had the quietest voice in the world. The punishment I hated more than anything was when she went on and on. I would rather have had a slap and got it over with. My mum seemed to get more and more angry with me over certain things, maybe it was because I was getting older and the things I got up to were a lot more daring than what they were when I was the so-called baby of the family. Or maybe with four of us now and a bigger house to clean it was more responsibility and extra work she accumulated. When me or my older siblings done anything wrong, we’d hide away when she was on the warpath because she would take her frustration out on whoever was the nearest. Same with errand running, it was usually always me she found when needing anything. I would be happy in the middle of playing a serious game when I heard the voice, ‘Nan, here I want you.’ I always had to drop what I was playing and run to see what she wanted because if you didn’t you only made it harder for yourself. I hated when she wanted me to run to the shop, you no sooner got what you were sent for, and as soon as you got back you heard the familiar words,
‘You’ll have to go back hen, I forgot to tell you to get so and so.’
Mum once asked me to give her shoes a quick brush because she was in a hurry to catch the bus, she was going to visit my granny with my little brother, and he was crying for something or other and mum was all agitated. I thought my big brother should have cleaned them, as it was a boy’s job, so all I did was click my tongue and mumble, ‘That’s not fair, that’s our William’s job.’
I never saw the clout coming, but it caught me right on the side of my head and sent me flying. Needless to say I learned to keep my mouth shut. Especially when she seemed harassed, what she regularly was.
Mum used to visit my granny at least twice a week and take our little Jimmy with her, leaving our Wilma who was twelve years old to look after me and my big brother, when dad was on the afternoon shift at the pit. I absolutely hated when she watched us. As soon as my mum had gone she shouted us in for bed at seven o’clock. But then she’d say,
‘If you do the dishes and tidy the scullery for me I’ll let you stay up another hour.’ So my brother and me cleared the table between us, then I drew a chair over to the sink, got up to the elbows in soapsuds washing the dinner plates while William dried and I put them away. After we’d finished, she made us go to bed, warning us if we told my mum that we done them she’d give us a good hiding. We would look out the bedroom window at all the other kids playing. The worst part was when my mum came home; she praised her for working hard at cleaning the kitchen up. It’s funny how at that age you’re interpretation of everything is completely selfish and full of self pity when things don’t go your way. That’s what my memories as a seven year portrayed of my sister Wilma then. I must stress when I say things about my older Sister it’s through the memories of a child feeling sorry for myself, because believe me she was a well liked and really a nice girl, but then I felt she dominated my brother and me to the extent that we were more afraid of her that my mother.
Talking of pecking orders I seemed to be going further and further to the bottom each year. It was the same when my baby sister was born, I automatically slid down to the absolutely rock bottom of the list. I had no say in anything.
I remember the day my little sister was born, I had to run around to my Auntie Kate who lived in the next street with an important message, and I had to hurry. So off I ran as fast as I could., and rushed in the door shouting,
‘Auntie Kate my mammy sent me to tell you it was time.’
She straight away panicked, then noticed my doll in my arms and shouted,
‘Where did you get them clothes your doll’s wearing?’
I just looked at her and smiled, thinking she was admiring them,
‘I found them in the bottom of the tallboy drawer, Auntie Kate, I think my mammy knitted them for me, cause I seen her knitting them a while ago, only I think she forgot to give them to me.’
My auntie took the clothes off my doll and shoved them in a paper carrier bag saying,
‘Well we better put them back in the drawer until she gives you them herself, because she’ll want to surprise you.’
Auntie raced around to the red telephone box on the main road, made a phone call then ran to our house with me trailing behind her, that was the first and last time I ever saw her run. When we reached our back door she told me to go and play. I immediately knew something was wrong.
‘What about my doll’s clothes?’ I shouted, but there was no answer. The next time I saw my doll’s clothes, my baby sister was wearing them. I hung about the back garden knowing something was wrong, but nobody would tell me anything. Shortly after an ambulance came and took mum away. When it drove off, I started running after it. I did not want her to leave us. I remembered the last time she went to hospital she was in there for months.
‘Let my mammy go; don’t take her away.’ I shouted. My auntie caught me and calmed me down.
‘They’re taking her to the stork shop to buy you a new baby.’ I struggled free and shouted
‘We don’t need a new baby we’ve got an old one.’ But then I realised my little brother was no longer a baby. He was two years old. Auntie Kate took him home to her house and looked after him, but my brother and I were left with my older sister who looked after us until my dad got home from the pit. Before going to bed I prayed that the stork would hurry up and give my mum our little baby so she could come home to us.
When we came home from school next day my auntie Kate was waiting for us, with my little brother who was only two.
‘Your mum has got you all a little baby sister and will hopefully be home before Christmas. She told me to tell you that you all have to be good and look after one another, and definitely no fighting or arguing from you two, okay?’ she said pointing to me and William.
A little baby sister, those words echoed in my ears, I was glad it wasn’t another brother. ‘Much did it cost Auntie Kate?’ I chipped in.
‘A fortune,’ came the witty reply ‘Your mum had to ask Santa Claus for some money, so, I don’t think he’ll be able to bring you any toys this year.’
‘Nothing at all?’ I said looking at my brother in disgust.
‘Oh take no notice, there’s no such thing as Santa,’ he cheekily said.
I never derived a conclusion then, because it never dawned on me what he was really saying. All I remember was the slap she gave him, which nearly knocked him off his feet.
My sister, brother and me stayed at home with dad, and every day after school my sister looked after us till dad came home. It was only a couple of hours but it seemed like a lifetime, because it gave her
the opportunity to dominate us. We were always glad when dad walked in.
The day dad told us mum was coming home, I was so excited. I sat on the kerb outside our front gate waiting for the ambulance. After what seemed hours the ambulance came around the corner and parked up outside our house. The ambulance door opened, and there she was. My mum with our new baby sister. I followed behind her all the way in the house with anticipation to see what the baby was like, but she was wrapped up in a beautiful white shawl. It wasn’t till mum took off her coat and sat in her usual armchair by the fire that the shawl was actually removed and there she was, my little sister. She was so tiny with the thickest black hair I’d ever seen on a baby, nothing like my little brother, who was so fair he looked bald. I was absolutely mesmerised. Mum sat me on the couch and put the baby in my arms, it felt weird to have a little living breathing doll sitting on my knee and being told it was my little sister. I never had a little sister before, only a dominating old one. I was pleased as punch, I felt so proud.
In the forties a baby wore a binder and a long white flannelette night-gown for about two months before going into proper baby clothes, which was called shortening.
My uncle Mathew, who was on leave from the army came to visit us again after my little sister was born. I saw Mum’s eyes lit up when he gave us all two shillings each. I noticed the price had gone down too, maybe all these babies were bankrupting him. Although I thanked him I didn’t get too excited over it this time because, I knew it would only be mine until he went out the door. It’s only when I look back that it must have been such a bonus for mum then to get a little extra income of some sort. At least, she gave me and my brother sixpence each to buy sweets, so it was no big deal. My mind was on my baby sister anyway.
With Christmas being around the corner and my Auntie Kate’s words ringing in my ears I worried about not getting anything for Christmas. Of course I had no need to worry at all because when the big day arrived mum and dad did us all proud.
So that was the time of my life I had no set place in the pecking order. My older sister Wilma was at the top with her dominating next was my brother who used to lie through his teeth and mum always believed his side of the story over mine. I always seemed to get the blame for everything, even the things I didn’t do. If guilty, fair enough, the punishment was like water running off a duck’s back, but if I was innocent, I’d put up an argument, only to be told off for having the last word.
At seven I was never taken seriously, only because I seemed to be the one to get caught. I know that I was always doing things I shouldn’t, but so was my brother, only he was slyer and was just as bad as me for getting up to no good.
My younger brother Jimmy, always suffered from a bad chest, coughing and wheezing, and sometimes mum tended to treat him with kid gloves. But truth be known he played on it, I remember him getting hold of my chestnuts from under the bed and breaking them up with a brick outside. When I caught him, I gave him a slap, and he started screaming. Mum came running out to see what the trouble was. When I told her why I slapped him, he started wheezing as if hard to breath. She told me off, picked him up in her arms, and slung him over her shoulders, as she turned to go in the door he turned to me and smiled a little snigger before putting his tongue out. With my baby sister being fussed over by everyone, including me, that definitely made me rock bottom of the pecking order.
At school, we were busy preparing for Christmas, each one of us were given coloured gummed paper strips to make chains. When we were finished all our chains were joined together and hung all around the room, corner to corner. It looked really colourful. We also had large paper decorations that looked years old. They were flat in the shape of a half circle and when unfolded made perfect large coloured paper balls. Teacher told us Santa would be visiting the school on our last day before the holidays, and might visit our classroom on the way to the gym hall.
The whole class was excited as we decorated the room. I loved that day getting the class nice in case Santa visited. We made Christmas cards, and not to forget the New Year Calendar for our mums.
At last the final day before the Christmas holidays arrived. All the classes were marched into the Gym Hall to sit cross-legged on the floor. When everyone was settled the headmaster marched in to the front of the hall and gave us all a lecture.
‘I hope you enjoy your Christmas holidays. But, let me warn you all, if I get any complaints about anyone causing trouble or getting up to no good during these holidays, they’ll have me to deal with when they get back to school’ The silence in the hall would make a pea falling on the floor sound like a cannonball.
The Minister from the church across the road was present. He told us all about the story of baby Jesus, then we must have sang every carol known. I felt as if time was dragging and thought Santa had got lost. I was daydreaming with boredom until we all sang ‘Jingle Bells’. That was when good old Santa Claus appeared with two sacks over his shoulders, one for girls one for boys.
We were told to go up to Santa one row at a time. I was glad my class was in the front row, it meant we were first. As we walked near Santa I was overwhelmed with excitement, the kind that stays with you for the rest of your life. One by one we went up to tell him what we wanted for Christmas. He’d reach into his sack and give you a present, then one of the teachers would quietly tell us to make our way to the cloakroom for our coats, then we were ushered out the door.
It was always freezing cold in the gym hall, and outside was ten times worse, but who cared about the cold on that special day, not me. Going home was a great feeling no matter how cold it was. Hurray! No school for two whole weeks.
The biggest event of the year without a doubt was Christmas. Before going to bed on Christmas Eve I said to my mum, ‘Auntie Kate said we won’t be getting anything this year because our baby was too dear and you had to ask Santa for some money. My mum laughed and said, ‘Well he said if he has anything left you four can have it between you, so if I was you I’d still hang up your stockings because I don’t think Santa would completely leave you out.’
We hung our stockings on the mantelpiece and had no arguments at going to our beds early. That seemed to be the only night my mum wanted us to have a late night; but it didn’t stop us from getting up at four or five o’clock in the morning, shouting ‘Has he been?’
My parents always slept in the living room, on the bed settee. I was never quite sure why they did this, but looking back, I suppose they wanted to see our faces in the morning, and join in the happiness of it all. But one thing they did tell me in later years, they sometimes had just climbed into bed when we all charged downstairs. We were always pleased with what we got; I don’t think there was ever a year when my brother didn’t get a football for his Christmas, and me a nurse’s uniform, a post office one or a conductor’s uniform. That year I got a doll and a pram, and the doll was my old one that had no eyes only two hollow holes where they had been before my little brother poked them out, suddenly it appeared all dressed in new knitted clothes sitting in my new pram that Santa had just brought. Now that was confusing for a little girl of seven.
Who can ever forget New Year? Now that was a time never to forget, Especially a Scottish one. The house would smell all day of home baking, and cooking.
Hogmanay was for the adults, and we kids were shoved into bed early, whether we were tired or not. It gave mum time to get things ready for Hogmanay. The house had to be spotless, and there was a lot of shuffling of furniture going on. The top of the sideboard was cleared of all ornaments and full of different sizes of glasses and bottles of drink. The table was laid with empty plates ready to be filled with all sorts of things related to the time of the year like shortbread, black bun and no doubt sandwiches and cakes.
Mum always made a huge pot of stewing steak that used to be on the stove simmering all day as I remember. At night the pan of cooked stew was divided into two separate pans, one for making a huge steak pie for our new year’s dinner next day, the oth
er pan of stew had butter beans added to give guests stew and butter beans at Hogmanay after the bells rang. The night was for the adults, but with all the singing and laughing us kids could not sleep, so we ended up downstairs as well half the time.
My dad played the accordion and mouth organ, and with Granda being Irish dad knew all the Irish songs, so between the Scottish and Irish jigs the singing in the house was alive, and the atmosphere of partying was ecstatic. Even people my mum never used to speak to would be in our house as welcomed guests, then next day probably back to unspeaking terms. The celebrations seemed to go on for a week at different houses each night.
New Year’s dinner was always a favourite of mine starting with soup, then steak pie with a puff pastry, mash potato and home cooked peas, then to follow homemade trifle. Delicious.
Gran came to our house for New Year’s dinner that year, a thing she very rarely did. I suppose because of her having a large family, four sons and four daughters and all of them married with lots of kids. Granda never came with her, he wasn’t one for visiting anybody, he just liked them to visit him. Gran took it in turns to visit each of her family on special occasions like New Year. Before she came we were given our usual warning to be on our best behaviour or face a good hiding when she left. Bad habits die hard, and all I remember of that year was being marched into the kitchen and made to sit at the kitchen table to eat my dinner. Seemingly it was for arguing over something or another, I can’t remember what but, I’ll bet my brother had something to do with it. All I heard was everyone enjoying themselves with laughter and me feeling hard done to.
I loved going to Gran’s house, but never got to visit her very often after my little brother and sister arrived. Looking back I understand that being so many of us in her family, it would be overcrowded if we all visited her at once.
All Gran’s sons lived in the same village as her, so they could visit anytime during the day, same with their children. Mum and Auntie Kate lived five miles away, so they had to visit at night and always took the youngest children with them. Same with Auntie Maggie who lived in Falkirk, she had a big family also but only took her youngest with her when she visited. The sisters all had different nights to visit, and of course Auntie Barbara lived with Gran so being a two bedroom flat it would be too overcrowded if they all visited at once.
Of Different Times Page 7
