‘It’s not so much me,’ Wincey said. ‘It’s the quality of the work. Our reliability in getting orders done on time, and our prices. But mainly I think it’s the high standard of work.’
‘That’s good, dear, but I can see what you mean about Granny, with her being a pacifist, and having all these pacifist folks as her idols.’
‘She’ll be telling us that her Johnny Maclean would birl in his grave at you helping the armed forces.’
‘We’re not going to war, Mammy. We’re just sewing clothes.’
‘Does your Daddy know yet?’
Charlotte shook her head and Wincey said, ‘I don’t suppose he’s going to like it either. But we can’t help it, Teresa. It’s going to be the making of us. If we do well with this first small order, we could end up supplying the whole of the Army, and maybe the Air Force as well. We’re in line to make a fortune.’
Charlotte laughed then. ‘You’re about as bad as Florence with your imagination, Wincey.’
‘It’s not imagination. It’s hard facts. Why shouldn’t they give us bigger orders if we show we can do a good job with this one? And we can. You know we can.’
‘All right, dear, but it’s time we all went to bed. Och now, look what’s happened. The girls have fallen asleep and we haven’t got Granny sorted yet.’
Florence and the twins were slumped over the table, head down on the crook of arms, eyes shut, mouths hanging open.
‘We’ll try and help,’ Wincey said. ‘Come on, Charlotte.’
Before long, they were scarlet-faced with their exertions at trying to get Granny to bed. Then they had to half drag, half carry Florence and the twins through to their beds.
‘Don’t bother lighting the gas,’ Charlotte said, once she and Wincey were in their own room. ‘If we don’t pull the blinds, there’ll be enough light from the moon and the streetlamps.’
‘That’s another thing,’ Wincey said. ‘It’s time we had a place with electric light. Or at least had electricity put in here.’
‘Well,’ Charlotte sighed, ‘it’s up to you, Wincey. Malcy and I are going to start looking around for a place of our own. You mentioned up the Balgrayhill and the park. I was thinking of buying one of these nice villas in Broomfield Road, opposite the park.’
‘Buying? A villa?’ Wincey echoed incredulously. The villas in Broomfield Road opposite the park housed lawyers and doctors and ministers.
‘Yes. Fancy me buying a house—and a villa of all things! Actually, Wincey, we’ve already been looking at one. It was Malcy’s idea.’
‘I’ll bet,’ Wincey thought.
‘He just loves Springburn Park,’ Charlotte went on. ‘It’s always been his dream to live in one of those houses looking onto the park. It would be a dream come true for him, he said.’
‘I’ll bet,’ Wincey thought again.
13
An unshaven, shabbily dressed man was crouched on the bottom step of the stairs outside the Gourlays’ door. He was greedily supping a bowl of soup and tearing at a hunk of bread with his teeth. As Wincey was putting her key in the door, he jerked his head towards it and said, ‘She’s an awfae kind wuman, that, for a teuchter.’ Wincey couldn’t help smiling at the Glasgow word for a Highlander. Teresa often gave soup or bread to beggars who asked for it. So did many folk up other closes.
For years now there had been quite an army of beggars, the plight of many, Wincey suspected, caused by the Depression. They were unemployed men who, through no fault of their own, were reduced to either begging or starving.
‘That man out there is fairly enjoying your soup, Teresa.’
‘Oh, there you are, dear. You look tired. Sit down and relax and I’ll dish your soup. Have you had a busy day?’
Wincey flopped into a chair. ‘Yes, but it’s better to be busy than idle, like some of these poor men.’
‘That’s true, dear, and I know you’ve done your best in giving jobs to as many as possible.’
‘There’s only so many we can take on, unfortunately.’
‘You do your best, dear. Would you like a wee nip of whisky to help you get your strength back?’
‘No thanks, Teresa. I’d rather wait for your soup.’
‘I’ll go and get my plate back from that poor soul out there before I start setting the table.’
‘Is Granny at the front room window?’
‘Yes, I’m going to bring her through in a minute.’
‘I’ll fetch her.’
‘No, you sit where you are, dear, and rest yourself.’
‘Have the girls been home yet?’ Florence and the twins had recently escaped from the factory. Florence was working in the millinery department of Copeland & Lye’s and had become quite toffee-nosed, or so her father said.
‘I have to speak proper in the millinery department of Copeland’s, Daddy,’ Florence had explained. ‘It’s all posh customers that go there.’
The twins had found jobs in the Co-op. Euphemia was in ladies’ underwear, and Bridget in hosiery. They too had polished up their accents.
‘Yes, the girls have been in and away again. Since they’ve all started courting, they’re hardly ever in. I’m looking forward to Charlotte’s wedding, though. Aren’t you? Just three months to go now.’
Wincey nodded but looked away.
‘You never seem all that enthusiastic about it, Wincey. Aren’t you pleased that she’s happy?’
‘Of course I want Charlotte to be happy. It’s just …’
‘What, dear?’
‘I’m not all that keen on Malcy. I just hope she’s not making a mistake, that’s all.’
‘Och, Malcy’s a good lad. What on earth can you have against Malcy? Erchie says he’s a hard worker, and he’s been that nice and polite to me, and to Granny. He brought us a box of chocolates last week, and look at the nice presents he gave us all at Christmas. Erchie got that box of Woodbines and that was a lovely scarf he gave me. And—’
‘I know, I know,’ Wincey cut in. ‘Just forget I said anything. Have you made up your mind what you want to wear at the wedding yet? You just need to tell us what you want, you know, and we’ll make it up for you.’
‘No, dear. Thanks all the same, but I know how busy all of you are at the factory, and Florence was telling me of the lovely dresses there are in Copeland’s. Lots to choose from, she said, and I could try hats on while I’m there. Match colours and everything. So that’s what I plan to do. Malcy was saying that Charlotte should get her wedding dress there. Nothing but the best, Malcy says. Charlotte’s started an account there. Fancy!’
‘And I expect Malcy will be getting everything he needs there too.’
‘I don’t know, dear. Why?’
‘Well, nothing but the best, as he says.’
‘You sound—’
A roar from the front room cut Teresa short.
‘Are you gonnae let me sit through here till ah die o’ starvation or whit?’
Teresa tutted. ‘I was forgetting about poor Granny. She has been sitting through there for quite a while.’
She hurried from the kitchen and in a few minutes returned pushing Granny’s wheelchair.
‘Ah wis frozen stiff as well.’ Granny stared at Wincey. ‘Whit’s up wi’ your face?’
‘Hello, Granny. Nothing.’
‘I’ll dish the soup. That’ll soon heat you up, Granny.’
Teresa hustled over to the range. These days she had her hair professionally conditioned, cut and finger waved. She wore a pretty floral pinny over her navy skirt and frilly lavender blouse. Wincey thought how different and how much better she looked now than when she’d first set eyes on her. That seemed a lifetime ago now.
‘Wincey and I were talking about the wedding, Granny. May’s usually a good month for weather. It makes such a difference to photographs if the sun shines.’
Wincey said, ‘You’ll have to get a new dress as well, Granny. We’re all going to be dressed up to the nines.’
‘Ah’ve already got a
good dress. The one ah used tae wear tae church.’
‘Granny, it’s reeking of mothballs,’ Teresa said, ‘and it’s an old thing.’
‘Ah’m an auld thing.’
Wincey and Teresa laughed. ‘Yes, and a right awkward torment of an old thing. Here, eat up your soup. There’s nice lamb chops as well.’
‘Any puddin’?’ Granny had a sweet tooth.
‘Of course. Guess what it is. Can you not smell it?’
Granny’s nose twitched at the spicy air. ‘No’ a clooty dumplin’?’
‘The very same.’
Sheer joy flashed into Granny’s eyes but hastily she lowered her head and began slurping at her soup, muttering in between slurps, ‘Aye, well, it’s taken ye long enough. Ah’ve been askin’ for years aboot a clooty dumplin’.’
Teresa winked at Wincey. ‘Now, now, Granny. You’re getting worse than Florence for exaggerating.’
Soon Erchie had arrived to join them at the table. At least he—like his mother—had never changed, Wincey thought. He still wore his skipped bunnet all the time and a comfortable old jacket and trousers.
‘Huv ye seen the papers yet, Ma?’
‘Ye know fine ah cannae read noo wi’ ma eyes. How? Whit’s been goin’ on?’
‘Lots of men are goin’ over tae Spain tae fight in the Civil War. Mind the other day I read tae you about whit’s happened there.’
‘Naebody’ll thank them for it,’ Granny said.
‘It’s a good cause, right enough,’ Erchie conceded. ‘It’s against Fascism. It says in the Record crowds o’ intellectuals are goin’, even fellas from Cambridge. An’ fancy! The British government has warned Britons who enlist on either side that they’re liable to two years in prison.’
‘Och, it’s gettin’ beyond me,’ Granny complained. ‘Wan minute they’re jailin’ men for no’ goin’ tae fight—good men like our Johnny Maclean. Noo they’re jailin’ men who are goin’ tae fight. Whit dae they think they’re playin’ at?’
‘Never mind, dear,’ Teresa said. ‘Here’s a nice pork chop.’
‘Ah know whit their game is,’ Erchie said. ‘It says in the Record here they’re goin’ tae spend one thousand five hundred million—fancy!’ His voice rose to a screech. ‘One thousand five hundred million—to build up arms stocks. They’re plannin’ another bloody war, that’s whit they’re playin’ at.’
‘Now, now, Erchie, watch your language.’
‘Well, it’s enough tae make anybody swear. They told us the last war was tae be the war tae end all wars.’
‘Ah never believed a word o’ it at the time,’ Granny growled.
‘No, Ma, an’ neither did ah. Ye cannae believe a word they say.’
‘Remember how Johnny prophesied another war wis on the cards?’
‘Aye, we could always believe whit Johnny said. He wis an honest man. An’ his prophesy’ll come true. You mark ma words. It says in the Record—’
‘Och, Erchie,’ Teresa protested. ‘Will you put that paper away and let us have some peace to enjoy our food.’
‘All right, all right, hen. It’s just that Ma likes tae be kept up tae date wi’ whit’s in the paper.’
‘Well, dear, you can read every page of the Record to Granny later. Through in the front room.’
‘She’s aye shovin’ me through there oot the road. Ah’ve been sittin’ through there frozen stiff aw day.’
Teresa sighed. ‘I’ll light a fire for you, Granny. Then you and Erchie’ll be nice and cosy while he reads you the paper.’
‘Aye, well …’ Granny said grudgingly, but with one eye on the clooty dumpling now drying out at the fire. A fine sight it was—fat, dark brown, fruity and spicy and with a beautiful shiny skin.
‘I’ve cream as well, Granny.’
‘Cream? Cream?’ Granny echoed incredulously. ‘By Jove, it’s well seen we’re well off nooadays.’
‘I was just thinking,’ Teresa said, ‘what with Charlotte getting married, and no doubt Florence and the twins won’t be long behind her, and there’s you as well, Wincey …’
‘Oh no,’ Wincey said, ‘I’ll never get married.’
‘Nonsense, dear. Of course you will. One day. But you’re still young, so don’t worry.’
‘I’m not worried. It’s not that.’
‘I was just thinking, you see,’ Teresa interrupted, ‘there would be no point in us going through all the upheaval of moving again. This’ll do fine for us, won’t it, Erchie? It’s such a nice close and we’ve such good neighbours.’
‘Aye, ye’re quite right, hen. This is where we belong, no’ among the toffs up the Balgrayhill.’
Wincey shrugged. ‘Well, if you’re happy here, it’s all right by me.’ And yet she felt a pang of sadness. She didn’t know where it came from.
1937
14
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Nicholas,’ Mathieson said. ‘You’re forty-two.’
‘So? What does age matter?’
‘I would have thought you’d have had more than enough of fighting. I thought you’d become a pacifist.’
‘This is different, James. It’s against the growth of Fascism. I think it should be nipped in the bud before it spreads any further. Derek and Nigel and Peter have already gone.’
Mathieson sadly shook his head. ‘Good men, and we’ll never see them again. Good, intelligent men who could have been an asset to Scotland.’
‘What a pessimist you are, James. Of course we’ll see them again.’
‘Have you forgotten all you told me about what it was like in the trenches? And how many good friends you lost there? The flower of British manhood was sacrificed in that war.’
‘This is different.’
‘Not as far as suffering and killing are concerned. We must find other ways, Nicholas. Socialists all over the world must use every means at their disposal to stop every country building up arms. A lot of good Stanley Baldwin was. It was him who started it all again here. Remember George Lansbury’s last speech? He quoted Jesus. “Those who take the sword will perish by the sword.” But it’s the arms dealers and the men who make fortunes out of munitions factories who are at the root cause of war. They encourage war because it feeds their greed.’
Virginia had come into the sitting room then and said, ‘Well, that was a bit tactless of you, James.’
‘Oh sorry, Nicholas. I’d forgotten about your father.’
Nicholas smiled. ‘It’s all right.’ He turned to Virginia. ‘James has been trying to talk me out of my idea of going over to Spain.’
‘I should think so too,’ Virginia said with feeling.
‘Think of Virginia,’ Mathieson said. ‘She still hasn’t completely recovered from losing Wincey.’
‘I doubt if I ever will. But there’s no point using me in trying to persuade him, James. You’re far more likely to succeed if you use his precious writing.’
‘She hates my work,’ Nicholas told Mathieson sadly.
‘No I don’t,’ Virginia protested. ‘It’s just the way you always put it first—before me, before everything.’
Nicholas shook his dark head and said nothing.
It was Mathieson who spoke up. ‘Don’t be so selfish, Virginia.’
‘Selfish! Me?’ She flushed with anger. ‘You’ve got a nerve!’ She glared at his twisted face, his shaggy mop of prematurely grey hair and bent shoulders, and suddenly her anger seeped away. She thought—what was the use?
Mathieson spoke again. ‘Nicholas has been a good husband and provider for you, Virginia. Not only that, he has given pleasure to thousands with his books. But as well as all that, he has conveyed the socialist message more effectively and reached more ordinary people than you or I or any of our friends have done in all the years of our work in politics. You should be proud of him.’
‘I am, I am.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘It’s just … I can’t bear the thought of him going away again.’
‘All right, darling.’ Nicholas hastened to put his arms
around her shoulders. ‘I won’t go. I promise.’
‘I still think of Wincey,’ Virginia said.
‘So do I, darling, and I worry.’ He gazed over at Mathieson. ‘Do you think she felt neglected, James?’
‘Why should she? She had a good home here. She had everything any child could have wished for.’
‘Every material thing, yes,’ Nicholas said. ‘That’s not what I meant. Remember our get-togethers with all our friends when she was here, James. You think of it. Where was she? Who spoke to her? Did I speak to her? My God, James, I can hardly remember seeing her. I’ve got now so that the more I try to remember what she was like, the less I can remember. Sometimes I think I’ve never known her at all.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous again, Nicholas. She was a shy girl, that’s all. She kept herself in the background. She didn’t want to mix with everybody. And why should she, when you think of it? It was always adult company. She was just a child.’
Virginia spoke up then, her tone as worried as Nicholas’s. ‘We should have invited more children to the house for her. We should have encouraged her to bring her friends home.’
‘But as far as I could see,’ Mathieson said, ‘she didn’t have any friends. It wasn’t your fault. There are people like that—loners. It’s just their natures.’
Virginia chewed at her lip. ‘She was far too much in her grandfather’s company. I used to say to her, ‘Be a good girl and keep your grandfather company.’ When I think of it now, I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have done that.’
Nicholas gave her a little shake. ‘You must stop tormenting yourself like this, Virginia. You’re only harming yourself.’
‘Yes,’ Mathieson agreed. ‘It’s time you faced facts, Virginia. And you too, Nicholas. Because if you ask me, you’re just as bad. Wincey is long dead and it was nobody’s fault. She loved her grandfather. She liked him and wanted to be with him. Her death was a tragedy but nobody’s fault. You’ve got to accept that—both of you. It’s the only way. Your child wouldn’t have wanted you to be so unhappy and tormented like this. She loved you too, you know.’
The Gourlay Girls Page 9
