Fortunes of the Heart

by Jenny Telfer Chaplin

  Unused to such praise and lacking the necessary élan with which to deal with such compliments, Danny took refuge in toeing the rag rug with his booted foot. Kate, who had put out a loving hand with which to pat his smooth cheek, thought the better of it. Instead, she diverted her hand to smoothing back a stray lock of her own hair.

  ‘Yes, Danny Boy, you’re growing up. So I’d better not go chucking you under the chin or patting you like a baby. That would never do, to upset your manly pride.’

  Knowing all the while that she would have loved to gather her son up in her arms, Kate ignored the compulsion and instead concentrated on making him a special piece for his sweet bite which he always enjoyed at his school playtime. In honour of the Royal occasion today, her own darling Danny Boy would have, instead of the usual dripping, a taste of Granny’s lemon curd.

  As she handed over the newspaper-wrapped pack of thick bread slices, Kate smiled fondly at her son.

  “Now, Danny, have a wonderful time at the Great Exhibition. And your teacher’s got the money all gathered together to get your class in, isn’t that right?”

  The boy nodded, hardly able to contain his impatience to get going. However, polite as ever, he answered: “That’s right, Mammy. Mind, we’ve been paying it up a farthing a week since March. Creepy Connor said it was cheaper going with the school – tuppence each instead of sixpence.”

  Kate smiled despite herself, but even so, she felt a mild rebuke to be in order.

  “Danny. That’s enough of that Creepy Connor talk. No way that to speak about your headmaster.”

  Daniel pressed his lips together then, lowering his head, looked up at his beloved Mammy.

  “Sorry, Mammy. But you must admit he is a bit creepy the way he sneaks about with his big Lochgelly belt in his hand. Just fair looking for folk to punish.”

  Kate laughed.

  “Away with you, cheeky wee rascal that you are. And you’d better hurry or you’ll get a doubler from his belt for being late.”

  At this threat to end all, Daniel was halfway out the door before his mother stopped him with a restraining hand on his arm.

  “No need to take me at my word quite so fast, Danny. Anyway, you’ve forgotten something.”

  He frowned and looked around the kitchen, and finished by patting his Sunday best jacket pocket to check that his pack of bread and lemon curd was safely stowed therein. Kate watched this performance then, without a word, she walked over to the mantelpiece and lifted down the highly-polished best tea caddy. With eagerly seeking fingers, she scrabbled around the inside of the caddy. Then, as her fingers closed over something, she withdrew her hand and again approached her son.

  Whatever it was, she kept it in her tightly bunched fist. Then with a mock-serious expression on her face, she smiled at her adored son.

  “Danny. Close your eyes. Then just you hold out your hands. I’ll give you a creepy Kinnon doubler. See how you like that.”

  When Daniel again opened his eyes and looked in wonder at his upturned palm, a slow smile crept over his face.

  “Oh, Mammy, Mammy. Two whole silver threepennies. For me?”

  Kate threw back her head and laughed, delighted that the planned surprise for which she had also been saving at the rate of a farthing a week had proved so acceptable to Danny. Again, she laughed.

  “Of course it’s for you, Danny. To spend at the Exhibition. And listen, it couldn’t possibly be two half silver threepennies, now could it, you daft gowk. Away with you –you can’t keep Royalty waiting. And mind and use that rag I gave you for a hanky. Would never do to let the Prince of Wales think that we’re all Glesga Keelies in this benighted City – even though we are Irish.”

  As she waved her son off from the front-room window, Kate found herself wondering: ‘ What tales would he have to tell on his return.’

  Since she herself had never been to an Exhibition of any kind, be it international or otherwise, she had no way of knowing, or any possible conception as to what delights may or may not be awaiting him. But knowing Daniel, she knew he would be full of it on his return home. Her one remaining hope was that Pearce would, for once in a lifetime, take time out to listen to his son. As she turned away from the window, having caught Daniel’s last cheery wave as he turned the corner, she thought: Ah well, time will tell. Meantime I’d better see to Hannah and the girls. Can’t stand here day-dreaming for ever more: much as I’d like to.

  Chapter 17

  When later that same day Daniel arrived home from his visit to the Exhibition in Kelvingrove Park, from the bemused expression on his face, it was clear he was still slightly shell-shocked from the impact of the wonders he had seen. The family was seated round the kitchen table and with the exception of Hannah who as usual, understood little or nothing but her own immediate needs, it was to an enthralled audience that Daniel spoke. Amazingly, even Pearce seemed not only attentive, but also even somewhat impressed. He allowed the boy to finish speaking, all the while stroking and smoothing down his handsome black beard.

  “Yes. Daniel, I am indeed pleased that you’ve been able to give us all such a comprehensive report of your visit. Yes, that twopence was most certainly money well-spent.”

  Daniel’s eyes widened as he started to correct Dadda as to the total amount of money spent. He got no further than: “Oh. but Dadda, I had – “ when catching a warning look from Mammy, he at once changed tactics, and to cover his confusion, started coughing and spluttering, as if something had stuck in his throat.

  Kate immediately got to her feet, returning a second later with a mug of cold water. With a twinkle in her eye and a conspiratorial air for his eyes alone, she held out the mug, with the tongue-in-cheek words: “Something go down the wrong way, Danny?”

  When he again sufficiently recovered, Daniel resumed answering the eager questions still being fielded by Jenny and even wee Isabella whose eyes were out like organ stops in amazement. Much to Daniel’s enjoyment of the unique situation, even Dadda seemed to be hanging on his every word.

  “But Daniel, is that really true?” Isabella said. “What you told us about the statue heads – made out of soap?”

  Daniel nodded so emphatically that a lock of hair fell over his brows.

  “Honest, Isabella, it’s true. I swear it. How could I even make up such a thing? There was a head and shoulder ...”

  Here Pearce, ever one to educate his children interposed: “It’s called a bust, Daniel. Such a carving, no matter of whatever material – it’s called a bust.”

  Daniel digested this fact and went on: “Well, there was a bust of the Queen, Queen Victoria herself, with a crown on her head. And one each of the Prince and Princess of Wales. And Robert Burns, and Walter Scott and David Livingstone. And lots more. Wonderful to see. And all made out of soap. Now what was it called ... oh yes ... white Windsor Soap.”

  From then on, even after tea was well finished, Daniel was allowed, for once in his life, to hold the centre stage and regale his audience with wonders untold. There was the gigantic corncob archway with the words picked out on it; there was a full-size reproduction of a miner’s workplace with the new marvel of the age – electric lights; there were dozens of ship models, including that of Livadia, the fantastic steam yacht recently built for the Czar of all the Russias; there was a special Exhibition of the Queen’s Jubilee presents from all over the world.

  “Imagine it,” said Danny, with shining eyes, “eight hundred presents. Silver boxes, jewels, books, silks and satins, medals, and even slippers.”

  At this revelation, the girls clapped their hands in delight, as they ooh-ed. and ah-ed, all the while trying to form a mental picture of eight hundred gifts. But such a feat was beyond them, so it was left to Daniel to go on.

  “There’s even a whole Indian Street where you can buy ...” he cast a sideways glance at Mammy, “... if you’re any money, that is, you can buy fancy sweeties in lovely tins and even in carved boxes.”

  Pearce laughed.

  “But
not, I hope, carved in Windsor soap, eh, Daniel, my boy?”

  By this time, the girls were almost hysterical with laughter, as was Daniel at his father’s rare joke.

  “And Dadda, there’s even a switchback railway. Yes, and they’ve got attendants stationed down below, ready to pick up any articles that get lost in all the excitement. Isn’t that just grand, Dadda?”

  Pearce nodded.

  “Mm, Yes, grand perhaps, but not entirely educational. I rather think we could do without the switchback railway. Never mind, Daniel, you have certainly used your ears, your eyes and your tuppence all to good effect. I do congratulate you, son.”

  At this rare and totally unexpected praise being heaped on his unsuspecting head, Daniel was momentarily at a loss for words. Then he decided to press home his advantage for the sake of the common good.

  Greatly daring, he ventured: “Dadda, do you think maybe you could take us all one of the days to see the Exhibition? There’s plenty more I’d like to see or even get a closer look at. And the girls would love it, Dadda.”

  Pearce sat further back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and with pursed lips appeared to think deeply before giving his ‘yea’ or ‘nay’.

  All the while he was mentally deliberating, the rest of the family, including a flush-faced Kate, held its collective breath. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock, the distant clang of a screeching tramcar, and the sucking sounds from Hannah as she chewed at the fingers of a long-suffering and somewhat mutilated Raggy-Aggy.

  At length, Dadda cleared his throat. Never had he had a more appreciative or expectantly hushed audience. Leaning far back in his chair, he inserted his thumbs under the topmost part of his waistcoat, and from this stance of authority, he surveyed his audience.

  “Well now, let’s see: a family outing to see for ourselves the wonders of the Empire and of the world on display at Kelvingrove Park.

  Again that silence.

  “Just one proviso: we leave Hannah with Granny Gorbals. ‘Twould be too much for the poor child, what with the crowds, the noise, and the bustle. We do that ... and yes, I think such a visit would indeed be feasible.”

  The girls looked at each other in disbelief, clapped a hand to mouth and ended by flinging their arms wide and hugging each other.

  Daniel got to his feet, walked around the table, and shook Dadda by the hand.

  Chapter 18

  The summer was going on and as yet, Dadda had not fulfilled his promise to take the family to Kelvingrove Park, there to see the wonders of the Exhibition. True, he had been on the point of going towards the end of May, but then the weather had broken and there were fierce storms, and he decided to leave it until a later date. What further strengthened his resolve was that there had been reports of a number of leaks in the Exhibition’s main roof and he decided in his unassailable wisdom that this would be harmful to Wee Isabella’s somewhat delicate constitution. To drive home the point, he had even brought back from the Fruit Market a cutting from one of the newspapers. Under a report of the problems of the leaking roof, there was a cartoon picture of some Glasgow street urchins standing in front of the White Windsor display of soap carvings of such notables as Queen Victoria herself, the Prince Consort, Burns, Scott, and Livingstone. The aptly-worded caption read: THE GREAT UNWASHED get a free tub at the Exhibition during a thunderstorm.’

  Pearce nodded his head sagely.

  “I have already said we will go, and go we shall. But we’ll wait until there are no more leaks in the roof or until the weather improves. Whichever is first.”

  And there the matter had rested, with no amount of cajoling, coaxing or ever tears of any avail in making Dadda change his mind.

  By the time that the month of August was drawing to a close, the sun was again shining from a cloudless blue sky. Not only that, but on the 22nd of August, the streets of Glasgow were ablaze with colour of a different variety. From the topmost of every building, from each Civic office hung flags and bunting. In short, Glasgow itself was decorated to the hilt. Further, it was being said that not only had there been a flurry of repainting and an additional ornate porch added to the Main Building of the Exhibition, but also the statue of Robert Burns had been removed from the Grand Hall, there to make way for an impressive, blue bedecked throne.

  “Yes, it’s true, Isabella,” Daniel said. “The Queen herself is coming to Glasgow – and this very day.”

  Isabella clapped her hands in delight, and this action was soon copied by Hannah, for whom movement and laughter of any kind was always a delight.

  Daniel ruffled Hannah’s coarse black hair affectionately as he passed her go-chair. Then, looking up at Mammy, with head cocked on side, he said in his quiet, thoughtful way: “Mammy. There’s far more flags and excitement in the streets now for the Queen’s visit than there was for the opening day itself when the Prince and Princess of Wales came. Why do you think that should be?”

  Kate raised her head from the pile of freshly ironed clothes which she was about to hang up to air on the overhead wooden pulley. Glad of a break from her over-warm task, she sank with a sigh into the nearest chair.

  “You’re perfectly right, Daniel. People hereabouts are much more impressed. at the prospect of this visit. Of course, many a one thought she should have made an effort and opened it herself. But there’s another reason ...”

  Danny’s face posed the question and Kate went on: “Well, the truth of the matter is this: Her Majesty has only once been in Glasgow, close on forty years ago, if I understand it right. Seems she hated the grim, grey skies, was appalled at the state of our slums, and said that she disliked the City of Glasgow so much that she never wished to return.”

  Daniel smiled.

  “Seems like she’s changed her mind then; at least about never coming back.”

  Kate nodded.

  “A woman’s privilege, Daniel. And if any woman knows about privilege then it’s our beloved Queen Victoria. Mind you, I agree with her about the state of Glasgow. Just wish that I could have taken one look, turned my back on the grey, horrible place, and then dismissed it from mind. But then, of course, I’m not a queen: not even the Queen of our close.”

  Danny laughed, knowing instinctively that his own kind, loving, gentle mother was much too backward at coming forward ever to aspire to be that formidable matron who kept tramps, drunks, and wayward children at bay: namely, the Queen of the Close.

  She was, however, strong enough an authority in her own household to chivvy her troops, lest they were too late for the grand parade along Sauchiehall Street.

  Rubbing her hands together in anticipation, Kate smiled at her son and said: “Come on, Danny Boy. Let’s get a move on. Or it’ll be another forty years before we see her Britannic Majesty and Queen Empress. You lift Hannah’s go-chair down the stairs for me, and I’ll bring Jenny and Isabella – not forgetting our pack of cut-bread and dripping. We can all wave our flags and then eat our pieces in the park. Right, here we go.”

  It was a tired but happy crew of children who returned later that evening after a feast of flag-waving and cheering. And it later appeared that no less a personage than the Queen herself had also had a good day.

  For instead of just stopping-by on her way to her beloved Balmoral, as had been her stated intention, she visited again privately two days later, when she showed ‘appropriate interest in the Women’s and Indian Section.’

  Better still, as far as the Kinnon family were concerned, with the stamp of Royal approval now firmly adhering to the entire concept of The Glasgow International Exhibition, Pearce decided the time had now come for his own family, with the exception of Hannah, to make a cultural visit.

  Chapter 19

  The day chosen by Pearce for the family cultural outing was a fine sunny Saturday at the end of August. By dint of working additional overtime, not only had he amassed an extra spot of money for the great event, he had also gained the rare privilege of a free Saturday afternoon. As the childre
n and Kate herself bustled about getting ready, Pearce sat at the kitchen table, his money spread out before him, as he counted it into separately allocated bundles.

  “Right. Now as to the cost of admission: it will be a shilling for you, Kate, a shilling for me, and sixpence each for Isabella, Jenny, and Daniel. I make that three and sixpence altogether.”

  It was a statement rather than a question, but even so, Kate shook her head.

  “Not so, Pearce.”

  Her husband pursed his lips in annoyance.

  “Forgive me, Kate,” and this in a tone of voice which begged for no forgiveness, neither brooked any meddling by a stupid, uneducated woman.

  He cleared his throat and repeated: “Forgive me, Kate, but if there’s one thing I do know about, it’s counting. After all, I am working with figures, and large columns of them at that, every day of my life at the Fruit Market.”

  Kate nodded, but beyond that made no comment.

  “So, my dear good woman, if I say that the total admission fee comes to three and sixpence, then that is exactly right.”

  Again Kate shook her head, if anything even more vigorously than before.

  “No, Pearce, I’m sorry, but isn’t the entrance fee higher on a Saturday?”

  At once enlightenment dawned on his face and happy, as always, to be able to correct her, he said: “You are correct in one point, Kate. Yes, it is more expensive one day a week, but fortunately for us, not on a Saturday. For some reason best known only to our City Fathers, on the Thursday of each week, the entry fee jumps to an astronomical half-crown.”

  Kate looked suitably impressed with this nugget of information. Even so, she again, and much to the interest of Daniel, said: “Your total is still wrong, Pearce. You are forgetting another sixpence for Hannah.”

  At once her husband’s face darkened, and he pounded a clenched fist on the table with such force that his carefully constructed piles of money disintegrated and scattered in disarray across the width of the oil-cloth covered table. He half-rose to his feet.