Of Different Times

by Agnes Kirkwood

  The only times I saw Gran’s house overpacked with family was at special events like the Highland Games which were held in a massive field just outside the village, and of course the village Gala Day held in the swing park. The house used to be bustling with family, and the atmosphere was like the inside of a busy pub with cups of tea rather than pints.

  When the Highland Games were on, the house would be full of adults having a cuppa and a good auld natter whilst all us children would make our way down to the games, where the fairground would be in full swing. The adults came later on when it was time for the races, Highland dances, tossing of the caber, horse trotting and many more things going on. The sound of the pipe-bands blared everywhere as each band practised in all the corners of the field before the contest for the best one.

  A couple of cousins my age and I made our way to the fair, we were all excited because we had money in our pockets. I ran from one fair ride to another and soon spent up. I told my cousins I was going back to Gran’s to ask my dad for more money. They weren’t very pleased and reminded me that we were warned to stick together. I being as strong headed as I was took no notice and ran all the way back to Gran’s. After all the tellings-off from mum and my aunts I finally got my own way. In the end all my uncles put their hands in their pockets and collected a few shillings for me. Mum told me to stay and go back to the games with them, but I pleaded to go back myself. In the end I won after promising to be careful and not talk to strangers. On the way back a man on a bike asked me if I wanted a bar of chocolate and a lift on his bike to the fair, I said no but he kept on about it and said I would get there quicker. He was persisting and wouldn’t go away no matter how much I ignored him. My older cousin who was on her way home with a few of her friends came over,

  ‘This is my little cousins and if you don’t get going I’ll get the police,’ she shouted. All the people stopped to see what was going on. They thought he was with me, but when they realised he wasn’t they started shouting at him as well. He cycled off in a hurry and disappeared into the crowd of people walking down to the games. My big cousin got a hold of my arm and was dragging me back to Gran’s. I didn’t realise the danger I was in and struggled to get away. The more I fought the tighter the grip she had on me. I calmed down for a bit when I realised she wasn’t going to let me go, but the money my uncles gave me was burning a hole in my pocket so I gave one last go at getting free. All of a sudden I wriggled and turned causing to free the grip she had on me and I was released. I managed to run away from her into the crowd. When I turned she looked as if she had given up and was rushing back to Gran’s, so I ran as fast as I could back to the fair with one thing on my mind, spending my money on the rides.

  Less than an hour later, my dad, six uncles, and a stream of older cousins dragged me all around the crowds looking for the man who tried to get me on his bike. Is this him? is that him? was all I heard for the rest of the day. All I worried about then was the money I had left in my pocket, of course when mum knew I had it, it was gone.

  I now understand why they were all worried about me, and it frightens me to think how easily children can be enticed away. Thank goodness my cousin was passing, because who knows what might have happened.

  Airth Gala was another time when we all congregated at Grans at the same time; I suppose there was just too many of us to be there at the same time. Looking back, Gran had a hard life, she married my granddad when she was only sixteen, and had ten children. My Granda was a coal miner all his life just like his dad before him. He stood six feet six inches tall. I remember his hair was thick snow white with a white moustache to match. He looked like Ward Bond the famous film star who starred in the well-known television cowboy series Wagon Train. One of Gran’s sons died in an accident down the pit, and one son died when he was only a toddler. They also had one grandson who was born blind, he was the son of the uncle killed in the pit, and attended a special school for the blind.

  Granda, along with three of his sons who all lived in the same village, used to go salmon fishing in the River Forth. It was nothing unusual to visit my Gran and find a couple of huge salmon swimming in the bath. Before we went for our bus he would kill one and put it in a bag for my mum to take home and share with Auntie Kate. I think that’s why to this day I don’t like fresh salmon, I’ll stick to tinned mashed up with a touch of vinegar on sandwiches.

  When looking back and counting to the best of my knowledge, Gran and Granda had about fifty grandchildren. They both died in their eighties, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they had at least a hundred great grandchildren by then.

  I remember their Golden Wedding Anniversary, it was held in the village hall. When we walked into the hall I was mesmerised, it was all decorated with Christmas decorations. I thought we were going into a Christmas party when I saw all my aunts, uncles and cousins and, a few of Gran’s neighbours.

  The hall had loads of long tables set for a meal. We were ushered to the table to sit down by someone who was not part of the family but worked for the catering service hired to provide the meal. I hadn’t been to any kind of function before, so it felt very special getting served with strangers. I can’t remember what we had but I do remember after the meal was over we all joined in folding chairs and tables and storing them under the stage. No doubt us kids were more of a hinderance than a help, but it was fun. After the meal there were musicians on the stage playing Scottish music and every one was singing and dancing. That was when I realised just how big our family was with aunties, uncles, cousins and even second cousins. The Hall was packed, with blood relations. I remember about five or six of us cousins more or less around the same age having a good old carry on sliding on our knees along the floor whilst people were trying to dance, then when we got bored with that we played Tig, a game where you chased each other in order to touch them. As people were trying to dance we were shouting and screaming in between their legs trying to hide from each other. That was when Granda came over to us, I never saw him look so angry; he was like the giant out of Jack and the beanstalk, he grabbed each and every one of us, took us into the toilet away from the hall and gave us a warning I’ve never forgotten to this day.

  ‘If I see any of you lot sliding on that floor, or making a nuisance of yourselves again, I will take this belt off and lay on all your arses then I will personally take you to a children’s home and leave you there. Do you understand?’

  We looked up at this giant of a man who we loved, and knew he loved us. As we nodded our heads in agreement we were terrified in case he dragged us to a children’s home.

  ‘Aye Granda,’ we timidly said in unison. ‘Right go and enjoy yourselves without any carry on, and don’t forget I’m watching you.’

  Hmm! It’s memories like that, that locks in your heart forever.

  My mum and auntie Kate were both married to miners and lived in the same Pit House Block as us before we all moved to our new houses. I loved listening to them reminiscing about the days of the war, the terrifying times when the warning sirens wailed all over the Blocks.

  With there being no shelters everyone was advised to go under the table. They laugh when telling us about the time when mum was heavy pregnant and well into labour with me.

  It was a Friday night and pouring with rain. Auntie Kate was in our house with her five children looking after mum as well as my brother and sister. Of course with mum being in labour and dad and Uncle Pat still working down the pit. she daren’t leave her alone.

  All was going well at first, the older children were trying to keep the little ones amused, which was all very well for a few minutes until, one got fed up and soon all the others joined in. That’s when everything became a little hectic.

  Then in the forties when we lived in the Blocks you couldn’t send the kids into another room, because the only room in our pit house was the main room which was living room, kitchen and main bedroom all rolled into one. The little bedroom next door was so small that you couldn’t a swing a cat around.<
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  Auntie Kate made a cup of tea for her and mum and, even beyond all the racket of kids arguing and screaming, were trying to enjoy it. All of a sudden, the squealing sound of warning sirens was heard all over the Blocks. Within seconds the house went into complete silence whilst under our table two terrified mothers and six petrified kids all huddled together as the sound of bomber planes roared above them.

  I was delivered that same night by a woman who lived in the Blocks. It turned out to be a family joke, especially when we were all together and the noise got too much to bear, Auntie Kate would shout,

  ‘What we need Minnie is a siren going off that’ll quieten this lot down.’

  There was also humour as well as drastic moments during the war, which I suppose didn’t seem funny then but, looking back, we all laugh at the stories dad told us when reminiscing about wartime.

  When his mum died at the age of ten, dad was brought up in Dumblane Military School for boys until he turned eighteen years old, then went straight into the army. At the age of twenty- one he was discharged with a perforated ear drum.

  When war was declared a few years later he was married with a four-year-old daughter, my older sister. Having the military background he was put in charge of the local Home Guards which consisted of a band of men responsible for the safety and security of the Blocks.

  A hut was allocated at the back of the school which was turned into the Home Guard Centre. Many men volunteered to join it for the safety of the village. On the first meeting an army truck rolled up to the hut and out came a strict looking army officer. He gave them all a lecture of the do’s and don’ts of security. The men were told to line up for their weapons as the officer jumped into the back of the camouflaged army truck.

  As the men queued up for their weapons from the military they were all enthusiastically excited thinking of rifles and ammunition they were about to receive. When the officer jumped down from the truck with an armful of wooden rifles, the men’s faces dropped like a sack of coal. Dad’s name was called out to be in charge of the men, because he had military training. Even he challenged why the wooden guns, and was told they needed all the live ammunition for the soldiers fighting the war.

  When the officer drove away the men stood in silence not knowing whether to laugh or curse. That was until one man shouted out, ‘It’s maybe a good job the bloody guns are not real, ’cause if they were, I’d probably shoot the wife dead when she starts her nagging.’

  The men all had a good laugh and agreed that for safety’s sake it was better they didn’t have real guns in the village for the fear of the kids taking them to play cowboys. I could understand that myself, with the type of houses we lived in. No matter where you hid them, if a nine-year-old boy knew there was a real rifle in the house, he’d find it alright.

  Mum laughed her head off when she saw it and never took the whole Home Guard thing seriously, she always thought it an excuse for the men to sit in their little hut playing cards or whatever men do when they’re together.

  One time dad had the house upside-down looking for the wooden gun as he was going off training with his little group. Mum stood there watching with arms folded waiting for the inevitable question:

  ‘Minnie, have you seen my wooden rifle anywhere? I was sure I put it in the corner of the chimney breast, but it’s disappeared, I hope the bairn hasn’t taken it outside to play.’

  ‘Oh that wooden stick you call a rifle. I used it to kindle the fire this morning. You never brought me any firewood like you said you would, so I had to use that wooden gun,’ said mum.

  ‘You had no bloody right to use it, that happens to be army equipment,’ he shouted.

  Mum just calmly looked at him and shouted back, ‘Holy smoke John, we’ll not lose the war because I’ve burnt your wooden gun.’

  Auntie Kate’s new house was in the next street to us and both her and mum stuck together through thick and thin. They had their own friends of course, but they were there for one another when needed. They were both house-proud, but I think we got a little more freedom in our house than my cousins got in theirs, but one thing they were both strict on was having nice windows. They would sparkle and always had lovely curtains hung up. We were never allowed to go near the windows in case we touched or breathed on the glass and left smudges.

  They used to swap curtains with each other, I suppose to let their neighbours think they had more than they did. One day mum heard something that Uncle Pat had said about my dad, she was so angry she marched right around to their house and had it out with him. I don’t know what the argument was about but it was probably something or nothing, never the less they didn’t speak for a while.

  Next day mum went house-cleaning mad, like she usually did when something upset her. In her mind she was probably still arguing with Auntie Kate. All was silent until it came to her cleaning the living room window. She remembered my auntie had her curtains and sent me round to get them. So off I skipped and walked into Auntie Kate’s smiling, not knowing about the trouble between them.

  ‘Auntie Kate, my mammy said can she have her curtains back?’ I said, in an natural tone. My auntie’s face turned from sunshine to thunder as she marched straight over to the window and tugged the curtains off the window in anger and threw them at me.

  ‘Here tell her to shove them up her ar… jumper,’ she shouted in temper.

  I just froze because I didn’t know what was going on.

  ‘Is everything all right Auntie Kate?’ I said shyly.

  ‘No hen, but nothing for you to worry about. Just take your mammy’s curtain home,’ she said in a quieter tone. When I arrived back home mum asked me what my auntie said, I just told her that I thought Auntie Kate seemed angry over something, because she ripped the curtains off the window in a flash, rolled them up and threw them at me.

  ‘She said you have to shove them up your jumper, mammy.’

  ‘Oh She Did, Did She?’ Mum said seething with anger. ‘Well we’ll see about that.’

  This feud went on for quite a long time. They even changed the day of the week for visiting Gran, in case they bumped into one another. The worst part of them falling out was when we ran out of something, usually it was sugar and when she didn’t have money to send me to the shop she’d send me to Auntie Kate’s. I suppose Auntie Kate missed that as well.

  I was so relieved when I walked in the house after school and Auntie Kate was there, they were both laughing so I knew then everything was okay.

  After the summer holidays things were a bit unsettled at school. We had to change classrooms to make way for the newcomers, so the first week was a bit of an unsettled time. Our new teacher in class three seemed to be a bit less strict than the first two. Maybe it was because by the time we reached her class we were hardened to the disciplined regime of the school. At least we weren’t afraid to put our hands up to answer any questions.

  I had my own way of tricking the teacher into thinking I was cleverer than I was, this didn’t always pay off. She would ask the question and I would immediately raise my hand if I knew the answer, but if I didn’t know I’d wait until she’d chosen someone else. This worked fine until they got it wrong and fell upon me to answer, which was usually one I didn’t know. Although she was strict I liked her better than the previous teachers.

  Although all the rules were the same she didn’t shout at you like the others. By that year we more or less could read fluently, so the teacher put us into little groups of six to stand at the front of the classroom and in rotation would each read a page of our reading books. If you were at your desk listening it was like having a story read to you, but with some of the less fluent readers boredom would set in with the risk of dosing off.

  Every now and then we’d get the gigglers and couldn’t read for sniggering and this would set us all off laughing. Sometimes the teacher saw the funny side but other times we’d pay the price.

  One year it had snowed all night, not enough to stop us going to school but as the
day went on it started to snow again very heavily. We were all excited waiting to get out in the snow, but something was going on and we were unsure what it was.

  The entire teaching staff had to report to the headmasters room. And of course before our teacher left the room she left her pet boy in charge. If anyone spoke he had to write their name on the blackboard, needless to say as soon as the teacher left the room he was warned of a good hiding from some of the boys if any names were put on the blackboard.

  With someone on lookout and no teachers within earshot we all went wild and took no notice of the boy in charge. When the teacher was on her way back silence was quickly restored. Before we knew it we were told we couldn’t go outside because the snow was too deep and we had to wait for help. We were given paper to draw on but we were more interested in what was going on outside. Even the teacher joined us at the window.

  It was very exciting to us children, looking out of the windows at all the commotion going on. There was a large bulldozer, men and women with shovels; it took hours before we could go out, even then it was one class at a time. The snow at each side of us was piled up and was about the height of us children.

  We kids loved it when it snowed heavily because we were able to build barricades at the bottom of our street where no traffic could go. We had snowball fights with the kids in the next street, we’d roll large snowballs then square them up with shovels to make snow bricks to make our barricades. At one time I was on lookout with my brother, spying on the enemy to make sure they were not sneaking up on us. My mum shouted on me to go on an errand, so someone else took my place which was fine, but she wanted me to go to my Auntie Kate’s house to borrow something, I can’t remember what but guess where she lived? In the enemy’s street! I sneaked over all the back gardens and just as I reached her house I was spotted by a some of the enemy kids and was annihilated in all directions with snowballs. My aunt had to escort me back to the safety of my own street. Did that put me off? not on your life! I was back out there seeking revenge by making more snowballs. We had hundreds piled up behind the barricade, ready.