by Millie Gray
“Levenhall! But that’s miles away.”
“Will you all stop whining? You’re upsetting your mother and the most important thing is that we get her home in time for her medication.”
Patsy and Crystal took up their stations behind the car. Joe, who was in charge of keeping the back door open for Patsy and Crystal to jump in, was much more interested in what his father was busy doing and therefore was holding the door only half open.
Tom shouted the command for Patsy and Crystal to start pushing, while he steered, shoved and sprinted forward. Of course, Tom had no experience of the roads in East Lothian and was quite unaware that the road out of Tranent was steep and winding. Quite suddenly, he panicked as the car went round a bend. Before he could straighten it up, he was faced with another bend – then another – and yet another. Each time they turned a corner, the car went faster and faster. It had now gained such momentum that he could hardly keep up. Reluctantly he decided the best solution was for him to jump back in and yank the brakes on. Just as he was about to leap in, the engine roared into life. “Run for it now,” he shouted as he leapt aboard and slammed his door shut as the car raced away.
Unfortunately, it was all too much for Patsy and when Tom shouted, “Run for it,” she stopped to get her breath back. A belated attempt to jump led to her falling face-down in the road with Crystal landing on top of her. All they could then do was wail in anguish as the car disappeared from view round the next bend.
The pair of them had been sitting there for no more than a couple of minutes when they heard the clip-clop of hooves and along came a horse and cart. “You could easy get yourself killed sitting there,” warned the farmer who was driving. “It’s hay-time, you know.”
Crystal nodded. “Our car broke down and when it got going again it went off without us.”
The farmer looked bewildered. “Drove off on its own, did it?”
“No, my Dad was driving but he’s just learned and once he got the car going again he was too frightened to stop.”
“So he left you and your mother to get on with it?”
“She’s not my mother. She’s my Granny. Look. Could you please give us a lift to a bus stop?”
“That’s no problem.”
“Thank you.”
“But, Miss, the real problem is that there won’t be a bus until tomorrow morning!”
“You’re joking!”
“No. Now, if you could get yourselves to Musselburgh – though that’s a long, long walk – you could get a bus there.”
Crystal started to realise that she would have to get on this man’s good side, so she wheedled, “Look, Mister, my Granny’s very old and she has the rheumatics. Could you maybe let us sit up on your hay bales and take us to Musselburgh?”
“Suppose I could,” drawled the man. “Especially if you was to make it worth my while.”
Crystal held out her sixpence. The man shook his head and chewed on a piece of tobacco before proposing, “But if you, the young one, were to promise to come back this weekend and help me and the missus on the farm, I could …”
Crystal didn’t wait for him to finish. “Done!” she shouted as she began to hoist Patsy on to the cart and then jumped up herself.
25
All the women seated round the table smiled with relief when the power was switched off and the noise in the bottling plant ceased. Break times were always so welcome in the Bond. Times when you could have a ten-minute break. And what was even more appreciated was the thirst-quenching cup of tea from the tea trolley.
They’d all collected their tea from the trolley and were now back chatting when Ina Stewart, her mouth full of biscuits, said, “Here, Crystal, think I’ve won my bet?”
“Not quite,” Crystal replied. “You see, I’m not exactly going down to the Halloween Dance with Sam Campbell …”
“See. I bet you a couple of bob that lover-boy would never go with you. So stump it up.”
“No. You see, he’s going to meet up with Chalky and his cousin first – so he asked me to go to the Assembly Rooms with his sisters – you know, Carrie and Alice.”
“So that means I’ve won my bet.”
“No,” argued Crystal. “You see, he’s meeting me at the dance hall.”
Crystal’s response was met with half the group sniggering and nudging each other, and the other half (mainly the older women) just nodding their heads wisely and regretting Crystal having been given a dizzie, as they put it.
At two o’clock in the morning, the house in Restalrig Road was so quiet that even the scampering of a field-mouse out in the garden would have sounded like a herd of stampeding elephants. So Crystal, shoes in hand, opened the outside door very quietly and then crept in. But Dinah was awake. “That you, Crystal?” she called out in a loud whisper.
Opening the door to the back lounge, where her mother now slept, Crystal entered and crossed to the settee. “Sorry, Mammy. I didn’t want to waken you.”
“I was awake anyhow,” answered Dinah. “Did you have a good time? Please tell me that it was Betty Grable, the girl with the million-dollar legs, who won.”
Crystal let out a long, weary sigh. “I’d no chance. But worse still. Oh, Mammy, you were right. I should never have gone chasing after Sam Campbell.”
“What happened?” Dinah asked earnestly, moving over on the couch so that there was room for Crystal to sit down.
“It’s a long story,” replied Crystal, settling down beside her mother. Crystal enjoyed the intimacy because it reminded her of when she was a wee girl and either Granny Patsy or her mother would sort out any problems she had.
“And I’ve got all night,” said Dinah. That remark confirmed for Crystal that perhaps her mother would know how to deal with her dilemma.
“Well, Mammy, everything was going well. The pubs had closed and we were all there. I was dancing with Sam and we were getting on great, when this Rita Hayworth look-alike arrived. Honestly, Mammy, you should have seen her. There wasn’t a man in the hall that wasn’t drooling. And who was the lucky devil she got in tow with – none other than Sam Campbell! Anyway, she won the fancy-dress competition hands down and Sam was going to walk her home.” Crystal huffed and puffed before going on. “We’d all started to walk over the Links without Sam when Chalky ran back and punched Rita a shot.” Crystal started to laugh and she leant back against her mother before continuing, “Sorry to be laughing but the more I think of it! Rita went head over heels and her wig fell off but that wasn’t the worst of it. Her big bosom burst and squealed itself flat – because, oh, Mammy, they were only balloons and when we all looked at her, bald and deflated, we realised that Rita was a Roger!”
“You mean he was a transvestite?”
“Oh, I don’t know what religion he is. I only know he was a man dressed as a woman and Sam Campbell – ha ha – she made him look the right idiot he is.”
“So you now realise he’s not for you?”
Rising and going into the kitchen to put the kettle on, Crystal said, “Aye. I know now that all these years I’ve been hoping … well, hoping that he’d see that I’d grown up and wasn’t any longer a silly gawky lassie, but …” She gave out a little snigger and sniffed philosophically before adding, “You’re right, Mammy. Time to move on.”
When Crystal came back into the room with two steaming cups of tea, Dinah asked, “So you’ve definitely decided to forget dashing Sam?” Crystal nodded. “And how do you propose to do that?”
“Think I might take a walk over to the Crematorium tomorrow. What time do they open the gates on a Saturday?”
The first of the winter frost had settled on the cemetery grounds and Crystal thought how the white dusting gave the grounds an eerie appearance.
She’d made her way halfway through from the Pirniefield entrance when a man began to run towards her waving his arms.
“Oh, hello, Bing. Fancy seeing you here.”
“I work here. Isn’t it you that’s not in the right place?”
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Crystal started to laugh. “I see what you mean. I’m just on my way to visit one of the women I work with in the Bond. She has one of those bungalows in Craigentinny Avenue North.”
“One of those?” mused Bing. “I always think that houses as fine as those in that street should have been built somewhere much nicer. I mean, would you like to have an outlook to the rubbish dump – not to mention also having to put up with the Seafield pong? You know, that stink makes this place smell like Paris in the spring.”
Crystal shook her head. “Suppose so. But, you know, some of the people there might prefer where they are to a flat in Jameson Place.”
“Suppose you’re right. But what would you prefer?”
Taking time to consider her reply, Crystal eventually said, “I suppose … a nice cosy flat, like you have, would be best. Handy for the shops and all.”
Bing dragged the toe of his shoe over the frosty ground and kept his head lowered as he spoke: “In that case it’s still on offer.”
Six weeks later the whole family, with the exception of Dinah, who had so desperately wanted to be there, were all crowding into the small dingy registry office in Fire Brigade Street (officially known as Junction Place) to witness Crystal and Bing being married.
It had been quite a rush getting everything organised. But Bing had insisted they marry as soon as possible – before Crystal changed her mind again.
For her part, Crystal would have liked a wedding where she’d have been resplendent in a long white gown with matching veil and train. She felt somewhat short-changed to be standing there in a bright pink dress and jacket that had been made for her by the seamstress at the bottom of Restalrig Road. And adding to the fact that the dress looked so obviously handmade, there was no music and no flowers. She’d often dreamed of her wedding day but somehow today just didn’t match up – especially as one of her workmates came in with a laden message bag out of which a turnip, some carrots and a couple of leeks were protruding. “Judy, God bless her, was the only one in Bond Nine not to have marked the date on the calendar,” thought Crystal. The Bond girls were of course not the only ones to remark when they heard of the rushed wedding, “Time alone will tell!”
“Tell what?” fumed Crystal. “Surely I’m not the only twenty-two, going on twenty-three-year-old virgin in the whole of Leith?” Crystal now thought of her workmates and she gave a devilish giggle as she thought, “Well, I could be – after all, I’m the only one who’s never been inside Fairley’s dance hall.”
Crystal was now being asked by the registrar to take up her position beside Bing, who was looking, as usual, as if he’d put in an effort to be tidy but somehow hadn’t quite made it. He was, however, fully aware of the solemnity of the occasion and was standing so stiff and upright that it seemed as if he had a brush handle stuck up his back. Even the arrival of Crystal at his side failed to make him relax. Before they knew it, they had mutually agreed to spend the rest of their natural lives together and the family were crowding around to offer their congratulations. Crystal felt deeply moved when her tearful father kissed her on both cheeks and wished her well.
The reception, if it could be called that, was to be up at Restalrig Road, where a very frail and ailing Dinah could be included in the festivities. To save work, Tom had gone to Crawford’s up-market bakery in Leith’s Elbe Street and ordered their best purvey. The feast of pies, sausage rolls, sandwiches, cakes and scones had been delivered on three bread boards and the first thing the guests had to do was to help set it all out as a buffet.
Once the time arrived to toast the happy couple and cut the cake – courtesy of the Home Bakery where Granny Patsy still worked – Dinah insisted on standing with a glass of sherry in her hand. Crystal looked towards her mother and a shiver ran down her spine. She had heard that with some people you could see the hand of death resting on their shoulders. Up until now, she’d felt it was an old wife’s tale, but today, as she accepted everyone’s good wishes, she knew her mother was living on borrowed time.
After three hours, when most of the guests, except for the family, had left in order to allow Dinah to get some rest, Tom indicated to Crystal and Bing that it was time to leave for the airport.
When the discussion had arisen earlier of where Crystal and Bing should honeymoon, Tom’s friend Andy suggested that, since Crystal was not having a lavish wedding, wouldn’t it be nice for her to have a honeymoon that would be the envy of most people? All agreed on that proposal and a week had been booked in a pension in the resort of Lloret de Mar on the Costa Brava! Bed and breakfast, together with an evening meal, were all supplied but at a costly thirty pounds each – a whole month’s wages, no less. This expenditure was met by Tom and the two Grannies all giving presents of money, which Granny Patsy pointed out was best – other types of presents not really being needed since Bing had his own house.
It wasn’t until the holiday was actually being booked and paid for that Crystal discovered they would both need passports to be able to leave the country and to be allowed into Spain.
The problem was that the Passport Office that they would have to visit in order to get their passports urgently was in Liverpool. Immediately, Tom had offered his precious Ford Popular to Bing so that he could drive Crystal and himself all the way to Merseyside to obtain the documents needed for the fairytale honeymoon to go ahead.
As the evening flight took off from Edinburgh for Spain, Crystal, still clutching her precious passport, began to feel increasingly apprehensive. Not once during the last month had she taken the time to consider if she was doing the right thing. But now, as the plane soared heavenwards, she looked towards Bing, who was seated beside her. Did she really want to spend the rest of her life with him? Was her longing for Sam Campbell well and truly buried? It was Bing asking her if she was as happy as he was that made her resolve that she would do all in her power to make the marriage work and never have Bing regret the step he had just taken.
A week is a long time when someone is as desperately ill as Dinah. She’d been so poorly in the last week that she’d said to Tom, “Look, love, no need to lie any more. We all know that I’m dying.” Tom took her hand in his as she shook her head. “We have to talk – there are things I want to say.” It was quite true that she did have things she wanted to say but morbid fatigue quickly overtook her and she fell sound asleep.
While she slept Tom never moved from her side and when she awoke, quite unaware of having been asleep, Dinah took up from where she’d left off. “Tom, it’s about Joe. I spoke to Crystal and asked whether, if ever anything was to happen to me, she would take him.”
His body stiff with anger, Tom jumped to his feet. “Do you really think that if ever you weren’t here, Joe wouldn’t belong with me? Oh, Dinah! He’s my son! Being someone’s biological parent doesn’t automatically make you their dad. A dad is the man who walks the floor with you when you have the mumps. A dad is the one who worries when you’re out late. A dad is the one who provides for you, feeds you, clothes you … loves you, loves you enough to forgive you anything.” He paused before continuing in a faltering yet determined voice, “Even having been born from another man’s seed!”
Tears were now running down Dinah’s cheeks and when Tom saw them he mellowed. Wiping her eyes, he said, “I love him. Of all our children, he’s the most like you. He has your brilliance – your zest for living – your continual pushing of the boundaries. Losing either of you will break my heart; but I couldn’t go on living if I lost you both.”
Dinah nodded and said, “The only other thing I want to say is this. I know I’m Catholic, and my mother will want me buried in Mount Vernon Cemetery, but I would like this thing that’s killing me – taking me away from all of you, all you folk that I love – I want to have it cremated. Burnt to a cinder and then my ashes thrown to the wind down on Portobello beach!”
“Is that all you want?” enquired a solemn Tom, who was prepared to pull the moon down for her if she asked for it.
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bsp; Dinah thought long and hard before she looked up into his eyes. “Remember when we were young and how we used to walk hand-in-hand from Seafield, along Portobello Prom and on to Joppa?” Tom nodded. “Any chance we could go there again? I’d like to see the shore, watch the crashing waves and see the pictures in the clouds as they hurry by.” Tom didn’t answer. It didn’t seem much but in her condition it was obviously impossible. Dinah plucked at the blanket that covered her. “You know, Tom, I know it’s a lot to ask but I know who would help us do it.”
“You do?” was all Tom could mumble.
“Aye. Andy! Yes, why don’t you ask dear old Mister Chips?”
Dinah always told her children that they should walk along the sunlit shore in Portobello during December if they wanted to be exhilarated and captivated by its beauty. But only if you were lucky enough to be an artist could you capture the moment.
“Try,” she would urge them, “to go when the tide has ebbed and the deep crimson rays of the morning sun lights up the millpond-like sea – making it appear blood-red. Or else go when the tide is so energetic that as it crashes against the sea wall it flies upwards in a foaming torrent – a foaming torrent of spray that quickly bursts and is dragged back protesting over the musical shale. Look up at the clouds, children, as I have done so often, and watch them changing shape as they chase one another over the heavens. See them scurry to help the wind whip the sea into a frenzy which makes it seem like a maelstrom dragging all it can back into its own domain.”
Dinah vividly remembered what she had taught her children when she sat in the wheelchair that Andy had borrowed. She patiently waited for Tom to tuck a blanket over her knees. Then he would push her all the way along to Joppa where Andy would be ready to help get her into the car again and bring her safely home.
As they moved off, Dinah felt her prayers had actually been answered. The December day was cold but bright. The white-crested waves were visible far out to sea and when they came to crash noisily on the shore their strength and magnificence overwhelmed her. How she longed to regain just a few bursts of their undying energy. With that, she would dance along the sand in her bare feet, as she had so often done as a girl. She remembered fondly how she’d often turned round to find Tom chasing her. Tom, who would never even take off his socks and allow the water to run between his toes as he paddled in the sea.
