In a Class of Their Own

by Millie Gray

  Rachel’s only problem was that she was now out of a job. It had come as a great shock to her when Paddy Doyle had forced four weeks’ wages into her hands a fortnight ago. It turned out he’d heard that Edinburgh Corporation had condemned the pub and the surrounding flats on the Broad Pavement. They were to be demolished and replaced by a multi-storey block – a ten-floor skyscraper in the shape of a banana! When Rachel heard of the proposal she said with incredulity, “A skyscraper in the shape of a banana in Leith? How the hell will the bairns ken exactly whose jam piece it is when it comes winging down from they dizzy heights?”

  What she really couldn’t understand, however, was why Paddy should have thrown in the towel so early? After all, the Corporation had condemned Admiralty Street over twenty years ago, and here they were in 1952 with some folk still awaiting the bulldozers. The other thing that puzzled Rachel was why Myles Dolan and Paddy, who had been mates for years, couldn’t have sorted something out between them? But whatever the problem was, she found herself out of a job.

  That hadn’t bothered Rachel unduly because she assumed she had nothing else to do but find herself another job in a bar. However, smart as she always looked, it seemed that the customers, in all the establishments she applied to, liked their pints served by nubile, blonde twenty-year-olds. There was just no place for an experienced forty-four-year-old, even if she could make a thirty-five-year-old look ancient.

  Mulling over her problem, Rachel reluctantly concluded that she should try for another week at least to get a decent job. And if nothing came up she would then – and only then – consider Grace’s proposal that she should apply to the Eastern General Hospital for a cleaner’s job.

  Nevertheless, there were more than a few problems with that solution. First, she knew that once she did take a cleaning job there would be no chance of her climbing back up the ladder. Second, it was very easy to hold your head up when you were climbing up the ladder but hellish hard when you were falling off it. Last but not least, Hannah was now about to qualify as a Staff Nurse. She’d done so well, in fact, that she was the top nurse on her course and would have the pick of the jobs that were available. And as luck would have it, there was a vacancy for a Staff Nurse at the Eastern General, and if Hannah took that job Rachel couldn’t afford to let her down by being a cleaner in the same place. No. That certainly wouldn’t do!

  Rachel sighed as she looked out of the window at the thickly falling snow, and she conceded that the other problem – the more pressing – was that she had to be earning; and earning more than in the past because Paul needed to be kept for another six years. Why, she wondered, had she allowed Hannah, Sam and Carrie to pressure her into letting him go to Leith Academy? All three had promised they’d chip in to give him the chance. Had they hell! Hannah spent her cash on deodorants, nylons and feeding the poor. All Carrie could be relied upon to do was to pay for Alice’s dancing lessons and bring home ice cream cones, fish suppers, bottles of red Kola – and once a Mars bar that she cut equally into six bits, making sure that she and Alice got the chocolate-coated ends. As for Sam – well, Sam could be relied upon – but at what price? It had never ceased to amaze her that Sam had never once been lifted by the police.

  The snow continued to fall heavily. Rachel, deep in thought, was still gazing out of the scullery window when the front door opened and in stomped Alice.

  “Oh, Mammy, what a pig-awful day.”

  Wistfully, Rachel turned to look at her youngest daughter, who was now a willowy sparkling blue-eyed blonde, and tartly remarked, “Aye, so it is. But that doesn’t give you the right to forget to wipe your feet on the doormat before coming in here.” Rachel gave a backward jerk of her thumb. “So, my lady, if you don’t mind, get back out there and get it done.”

  Alice grumbled loudly and stamped her feet on the mat, took off her Wellington boots and bounced back into the living room – but since the floor was wet from her first attempt to come into the house, her stocking soles skidded all the way along the highly polished linoleum before catapulting her into the scullery.

  “Damn and blast!” she swore, picking herself up and rubbing her bruised backside. “Know something?”

  “That you’d better watch your language?”

  “No, that life was a lot less dangerous here when we had nowt. That polished lino is a death trap. Only last week poor old Granddad tripped over the fireside rug and banged his head on that new-tiled fireplace.”

  Rachel calmly opened the bread bin and took out a well-fired loaf that she began to saw with a bread knife. “C’mon, Alice hen,” she coaxed, “I’ll make you some nice toast and tea.”

  “Oh, great,” said Alice, drooling at the thought of the hot crusty toast dripping with fresh butter. Then she seemed to have second thoughts. “But, well, oh, maybe I should give it a bye.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, you know how Carrie got me that job modelling clothes for the Economic Warehouse tick-shop down in Constitution Street?” replied Alice, running her hands proudly over her nubile figure.

  “Aye. Both of you are going.”

  “Well, Carrie says they’ve chosen the stuff we’re going to wear – so we’d better not put on any weight till after the show.”

  Rachel lifted the slice of bread she had been going to toast for Alice and she looked at it quizzically. “Right enough,” she agreed, “this one wee slice would turn you into a right two-ton Tess.”

  Before Alice was about to say that maybe she could eat just one slice of toast a loud bang on the outside door silenced her.

  “You answer that,” Rachel said, turning to heat the teapot.

  At the door Alice was confronted by a big police sergeant, who bellowed, “This the Campbell’s’ hoose?”

  Alice nodded.

  “Your Mammy in?”

  Gaping, Alice nodded again.

  “I’d like a wee word wi’ her.”

  Still dumbfounded, Alice nodded yet again while the sergeant pushed past and strode into the scullery.

  “What the hell do you want?” Rachel snarled. In reality she was terrified at the thought that Sam, who’d been very lucky never to be caught and charged by the police, had at last landed in trouble.

  “Just a wee word wi’ ye,” said the sergeant soothingly. “Just ye hae a wee seat.”

  Rachel was about to comply meekly when the door opened again and in bounded Sam and Carrie.

  “Mammy! Wud ye believe it that this daftie, oor Carrie, was oot there playing snowbaws with the wee Stoddarts?” bellowed Sam, giving his sister a dunt in the chest.

  Rachel looked at Carrie, thinking, “Where have I gone wrong with this lassie? Surely at her age she should be behaving with some decorum. But no. Here she is, her coat covered in snow, her good woollen gloves sodden, her hair dripping wet and her high-heeled shoes squelching.” But before Rachel could tackle Carrie on why she wasn’t wearing Wellingtons, the sergeant went over and slapped Sam on the back.

  “That was some gemme ye played on Seturday. Fower goals, eh? Ye should try and get yersel’ a job where ye can yaise yer footbaw skills.”

  A deep sigh escaped Rachel and she rolled her eyes upwards before demanding witheringly, “Are you another idiot that’s come here to fill this laddie’s head with nonsense – or is there an official reason for you trespassing?”

  “Oh, aye,” the sergeant nodded. ‘“Thanks for remindin’ us.”

  Rachel braced herself. She’d never quite worked out how she would handle being told that Sam had been found selling nuts and bolts – most of which she was sure had fallen out of his and Carrie’s heads. However, when the sergeant motioned for her to sit down again she knew it was more serious than nuts and bolts.

  “Ye are Rachel Campbell, nee Forbes?”

  Alice, now standing protectively behind her mother, nodded and said, “Aye, she is.”

  “So ye’d be the next-of-kin,” the sergeant said, taking out his notebook and flipping over the pages, “to yin Gabriel Forb
es who bides at…”

  Sam muttered under his breath. “The Winter Palace for the Destitute.”

  The sergeant went on, reading from his notes. “… The Model Lodging Hoose in Parliament Square, Leith?”

  “Aye,” replied Alice, nodding her agreement.

  “Then I’m sorry to report that he’s noo …” The sergeant hesitated and adopted a suitably pious look. “… Is noo temporarily detained in Ward One at Leith Hospital.”

  “Drunk and incapable again?” said Sam warily.

  “Naw, son,” the sergeant replied. “This time it’s mair serious. He’s sober and he’s raving.”

  “That’s serious. Very serious,” said Rachel quietly. “But we’ll have something to eat first and then Sam, Carrie and me’ll go down and see him.”

  Rachel took a deep breath as she and the twins strode into the hospital. There was something very comforting and reassuring about the hygienic smell of carbolic, and so she made her way almost serenely up the corridor towards the wards. Ward One was at the far end of the corridor on the right-hand side, and when Rachel and the children arrived there a nurse barred their way – stating, as she looked at her watch, that the visiting hour wasn’t until seven o’clock.

  “But we’re here to see Gabriel Forbes,” explained Rachel.

  “Maybe so,” the nurse said primly, “but as he’s on the critical list only his immediate next-of-kin are permitted to see him.”

  “That’s me,” Rachel replied, making to push past.

  “Really?” said the nurse, but nevertheless directed them to a side ward where Gabby lay propped up on pillows.

  Nurse left, quietly closing the door behind her. Carrie, Sam and Rachel all looked at each other in amazement. There was Gabby lying in a bed with the sheets and blankets so tightly tucked around him that he was unable to move. As Carrie well knew, it didn’t matter to Sister or Matron if your circulation was cut off and you were in danger of getting gangrene, just as long as the bed looked immaculately tidy.

  Gabby lay there as they’d never seen him before – clean-shaven, dressed in a stiff white nightshirt and looking more emaciated than they had ever realised.

  They were still trying to come to terms with this when Gabby half-opened his eyes and stretched out a scrawny hand. “Rachel hen. Rachel hen,” he gasped. “Thank God ye’ve come!” Gabby struggled for breath. “Ye’ve got to get me oot o here.”

  “Out of here?” exclaimed Rachel. “I’m still trying to figure out how the hell you got yourself in here.”

  “Collapsed in Dolan’s pub, so I did. But listen, Rachel, I hiv tae get oot o here,” Gabby pleaded, “I just cannae abide that midden o a Sister.” Gabby stopped to get his breath. “Which minds me, Carrie hen – ye gae and get the polis and then yer Mammy can hae her chairged,” Gabby’s breath was now rasping and he waited a full minute before continuing, “wi’ theft, arson and …” he struggled for breath again before uttering ominously, “… cruelty!”

  “Theft, arson and cruelty!” exclaimed Rachel. “And how in the name of heavens did she manage all that?”

  Gabby gasped his answer. “Well, when I got brocht in – first thing – she – had me stripped naked.” Lifting his head from the pillow, he sought for Carrie’s hand and tears welled up in his eyes. “Aye, aff came ma coat, ma jaiket, ma muffler, ma jumpers – aw three o them – ma shirt – ma vest…”

  “They’d need to do that to examine you,” Rachel interrupted impatiently. Gabby flung his head back on the pillow and groaned as she went on. “And, as no one’ll want them, you’ll soon get them back.”

  These ironic words of comfort only made Gabby more agitated and his breathing become still more erratic.

  “That’s where ye’re bluidy well wrang,” he wheezed. “Didn’t the auld midden kick them oot the door and then tell the porter to burn the lot. That’s right, Carrie hen,” cried Gabby, who was now sobbing openly. “The bloody bitch burnt aw my claes. Didnae even leave me wi’ a hankie.”

  “Right,” said Rachel complacently, thinking to herself, “Good! That’s what I’ve wanted to do to them for years.”

  To Gabby, she said, “That takes care of the theft and arson. But, know something? I think you’ll have a hard job, a hellish hard job, convincing anybody that it amounted to cruelty?”

  Gabby struggled again to speak. “The cruelty bit, Miss Know-all, was wheeling me mither-naked intae the bathroom and then me bein’ …” He was overtaken by a fit of stertorous coughing before he could continue. “… bein’ flung in a bath, doused wi’ raw carbolic an’ then bein’ scoured wi’ a deck scrubber.”

  “Oh, that’s just awful, Mam,” whimpered Carrie. “Can you no do something about it?”

  “No, Carrie, I can’t. The nurses are only doing their job.”

  Rachel picked up her bag gingerly and cautiously brought out a bottle. Simultaneously, the door opened and Sister flounced in.

  “Mrs Campbell,” she announced in the sternest of tones, “that paper bag that you’re just about to slip to your, em, father, wouldn’t be concealing a bottle of alcohol, would it?”

  A deep red glow suffused Rachel’s face. “It’s just a wee dram, Sister. You see, he’s been a heavy drinker all his life.”

  Sister snorted contemptuously. “That’s all too evident. In here, however,” and she hesitated before continuing with every ‘r’ imperiously rolled, “rules are rules and regulations are regulations and the Demon Drink is not permitted on my ward.”

  Gabby struggled to grab hold of Sister, failed and had to be content with a heartfelt imprecation. “Wi’ ye, ye frustrated ugly auld coo, there’s nae drinkin’. An’ nae livin’.” He stopped to gather enough breath for the final insult. “See, if ye’d hae been in the murderin’ Gestapo ye’d hae been drummed oot for sheer bluidy cruelty.”

  “Maybe so,” the Sister responded coolly, pushing Gabby back on his pillows and pulling the blankets even tighter about him. “And might I remind you to kindly moderate your language while in this hospital?”

  “Look, Sister,” pleaded Rachel, “surely it’s not good for him to be cut off the drink so sudden? I mean it might – er – well -finish him off!”

  Sister’s only response was to toss her head. Clearly, in her opinion, Gabby’s demise would be no great loss.

  Three days later, Carrie stood at Robb’s Shipyard gate, ostensibly waiting for Sam. And when Will Fraser came out he only told Carrie what she already knew – that Sam had taken time off to help Rachel, who’d been upset at being asked by the warden of the Model Lodging House to clear out Gabby’s locker. The man wasn’t really insensitive, it was just that were more homeless people in Leith than there were beds. And everybody recognised that it was highly unlikely that Gabby would ever go back to lodge there – even though he did seem a little better.

  Taking time off to help Rachel was natural for Sam. What he could never cope with was Rachel being distressed, so before she could dry her eyes he’d volunteered to go down to the Lodging House and clear out Gabby’s belongings. Before he left, however, he asked Rachel if he could borrow a suitcase from the neighbours and she had replied grimly, “You won’t need a suitcase, Sam,” she said, handing him a brown paper carrier bag. “All his worldly goods that haven’t ended up in the furnace will go into this.”

  Will Fraser again asked Carrie why she didn’t know about Sam having taken time off. She blushed slightly and stammered “I – just forgot. You see, I’m so upset about my Granddad. Brought back memories of my Granny who died a couple of years back.”

  “Can I walk you part of the way?” Will asked sympathetically.

  Carrie immediately consented. That had been her objective all along, but she wouldn’t have had the courage if Sam hadn’t told her that Will thought Carrie had the loveliest legs he’d ever seen – even better than Betty Grable’s million-dollar ones.

  But Sam had angered Carrie by telling Will he was never to look at her legs again – or if he did, he’d end up in bits like
the last guy Sam had warned. This was all because Carrie and Alice both had legs like Rachel’s – absolutely perfect. Carrie knew they were because Alice and she were always carrying out the “perfect leg test” by taking three half-crowns (that is, if they were lucky enough to have three) and place them between their ankles, knees and thighs. If they stayed in place, that was the all the proof they needed that their legs were indeed perfect.

  By the time Carrie had stopped thinking about the perfect leg test, she and Will were walking together along the pavement. They had gone only a few yards when Will felt for Carrie’s hand – but not wanting him to think her a fast piece she pulled her hand away and thrust it safely into her coat pocket. Then she wondered whether she’d been a bit hasty in taking her hand out of Will’s, because it had felt so nice there – when wallop! She bumped into something hard and solid.

  “What idiot put that there?” she cried, rubbing her forehead.

  “That lamp post?” asked Will. “It’s always been there.”

  “Has it? I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Maybe you should be wearing your glasses.” Will chuckled.

  Carrie was furious. Everybody knew that boys, especially those as dishy as Will, didn’t make passes at girls who wore glasses. And she had only taken hers off to encourage Will to make a pass at her. Tossing her head, she retorted, “I’m not wearing them cos I only need them for reading.”

  “Aye, and for seeing lamp posts,” chortled Will.

  Carrie felt her face burning with embarrassment and she began to stomp off. But before she was out of earshot Will called out, “Hang on a minute, Carrie. I want to ask you something.”

  She wheeled about to face him again. “Like what?” she yelled.