Meadow Lane

by Maureen Reynolds

  First published 2016

  by Black & White Publishing Ltd

  29 Ocean Drive, Edinburgh EH6 6JL

  www.blackandwhitepublishing.com

  This electronic edition published in 2016

  ISBN: 978 1 78530 037 0 in EPub format

  ISBN: 978 1 78530 015 8 in paperback format

  Copyright © Maureen Reynolds 2016

  The right of Maureen Reynolds to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Ebook compilation by Iolaire, Newtonmore

  In memory of Alick and George

  Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  Prologue

  Evie couldn’t find her bearings. Everything had changed and there was no sign of Meadow Lane. It was as if it had never been or maybe it lay hidden behind the row of new housing that was so different from what had been there originally. Gone were the seven houses of her childhood while the occupants were now just a poignant memory...

  Instead there were bright new flats with shiny double glazed windows and blue painted security doors at the entrances. There was no sign of the lane’s nameplates that had been attached to each end of the lane, oblong metal sheets with white letters printed on a black background that she had passed hundreds of times without giving them another glance. However she felt a small knot of disappointment that they were gone forever.

  Suddenly one of the doors opened and a young woman appeared. She was pushing a small child in a pram. A pram with three wheels, so small that it hardly seemed big enough to hold the occupant, so different from the Silver Cross prams of Evie’s childhood. Yes, all memories of Meadow Lane had been erased except from her mind and she wondered if the ghosts of the dramatic happenings of 1955 still lingered behind these new facades. Somehow she doubted it and she slowly made her way back to the car that was parked a few hundred yards away.

  1

  Meadow Lane!

  Evie often sat on the old wall by the side of the house and wondered why it got its name. It conjured up visions of a rural idyll instead of a tiny narrow lane that stretched between the busy Hilltown and Caldrum Street, a straggling row of seven houses with scrubby grass at the back and a large patch of derelict ground to the front with not one flower blooming in the muddy earth.

  Today was no exception. It was a cold, damp Sunday in January with the mist settling on the roofs and mingling with the smoke from six chimneys. The seventh house was empty on this winter day. Evie pulled her scarf tighter around her neck as she waited for her next-door neighbour and friend Thomasina to come out of her house.

  Evie sighed loudly. Thomasina was late as usual and at this rate it would be dark before they set off to visit Evie’s granny. This was a weekly visit which never varied and it served two purposes: to check on her granny’s health and to have her tea. Suddenly the noise of a door being banged shut made her look up. Thomasina appeared looking like a refugee from Greenland, her winter coat tightly belted, wide eyes in a small white face peering out from between a woollen hat and a thick scarf covering her mouth.

  Evie rolled her eyes as she stood up. ‘Tommy, I’ve been waiting half an hour for you and now you look like Scott of the Antarctic.’

  Tommy merely pulled her scarf closer but she made no apology for her lateness, which was nothing new. She gazed at her friend. ‘Well, we better get going or it’ll be bedtime before we see your granny.’

  This annoyed Evie as it was Thomasina’s fault for being late. They walked quickly to the end of the lane and onto the Hilltown which was quite busy in spite of the weather and it being a Sunday. Evie’s granny, Mrs Evelyn Williams, was a widow and her house was a small one-bedroomed flat two flights up at number nineteen Ann Street. The close was in darkness when they arrived and their footsteps echoed loudly as they climbed the stairs.

  ‘The tea will be stewed, Tommy, because you’re always late, and I hate strong stewed tea,’ said Evie, already anticipating the tongue-curling taste.

  However, when they went inside, a warm fire was burning in the grate and the table was set for the meal. Mrs Williams was bustling around with a pan in her hand. ‘Take your coats off and sit down. The tea is ready.’ She began to spoon out large mounds of scrambled eggs onto slices of boiled ham lying pink and curled on the plates. Evie was dismayed to see the teapot with its knitted cosy already on the table.

  ‘I’ve made scrambled eggs and boiled ham, I hope you like it.’

  Tommy made a face at Evie as if to say the explanation wasn’t needed as the food was laid out for all to see but she said, ‘That’s smashing as I’m starving.’

  Mrs Williams beamed at her. ‘That’s what I like to hear, Thomasina. You’re a girl with a good appetite. Not like Evie who eats like a sparrow.’

  Tommy smirked at her friend and Evie gave her a quick dig with her elbow. The tea was as strong as she had feared it would be but with sugar and lots of milk she managed to drink it. After they had eaten they sat around the fire.

  ‘How’s your dad, Evie? Your mum was telling me he’s been very busy. I was hoping he could come and fix my dripping water tap. It’s driving me crazy.’ She pointed to the small sink by the window and the girls could hear the steady sound as the water dripped into the enamel basin.

  ‘Yes, he is very busy. In fact he was called out today and he wasn’t home when I left.’

  ‘That’s the problem with being a plumber. It’s all these burst pipes.’ She turned to Tommy. ‘And how are your parents, Thomasina?’

  ‘Dad always has a lazy day on a Sunday as the pub is closed, and Mum is fine.’ She didn’t add that her father had been snoring in a chair when she left and her mother had been moaning that all the work was left to her and not that lazy so-and-so sleeping in the chair. Tommy’s dad was a barman in the Windmill Bar and her mum had a part-time job in Burnett’s bakery shop.

  ‘Did you have a good tenth birthday, Evie?’ asked Granny. ‘I hope you liked the new pyjamas and the birthday cake.’

  Evie, who was very fond of her granny, got up and gave her a hug. ‘Thank you. I loved my presents.’

  Not to be outdone, Tommy said, ‘I’ll be ten in March, Mrs Williams.’

  Evelyn Williams smiled. ‘In that case we’ll have a cake for you as well, Thomasina.’

  The clock on the sideboard chimed six and it was time to leave. The girls put on their coats as Mrs Williams fussed around them. ‘Now, mind and go straight
home. No lingering about in the dark.’

  They promised her they wouldn’t. For one thing it was too cold, and it was also now pouring with rain, so they hurried up towards Meadow Lane, anxious to get back into the warmth.

  Tommy linked her arm with Evie as they hurried up the wet pavement. ‘I like your granny, Evie. I don’t have any grandparents although I’ve got some aunties and uncles in Ireland but I’ve never met any of them.’ She sounded so sad that Evie suddenly felt sorry for her.

  When they reached the lane, the one gas lamp that was situated outside Eliza and Martha Potter’s house at number five barely lit the path but Evie was pleased to see her father’s van parked on the spare ground in front of her house. Tommy followed her into the small living room. Bill Gow was sitting in front of the fire reading the Sunday Post while her mum Grace was listening to the wireless. They both looked up as the two girls plonked themselves down on the settee.

  ‘I hope you enjoyed your tea,’ said Grace. ‘What did you have?’

  ‘Yes, Mum, we did. We had scrambled egg and boiled ham.’

  Bill muttered behind his paper, ‘I see it was the same as always.’

  Grace was annoyed. ‘My mother does her best, Bill.’

  Bill, who didn’t want to ruffle his wife’s feathers, said, ‘Sorry, I know she does.’

  Tommy said, ‘It was a smashing tea. I really enjoyed it. She said I had a great appetite but Evie eats like a sparrow.’

  Evie, annoyed by her friend’s remark, glared at her. ‘Granny has a dripping water tap, Dad, and she’s hoping you can fix it this week.’

  Bill looked at Evie over the edge of his paper and said he would try and go tomorrow to sort it out.

  Tommy, unaware of the previous glare, said, ‘She’ll be pleased about that as she kept saying the dripping sound was like a Chinese water torture, didn’t she, Evie?’

  Grace’s mother was still the drama queen, thought Bill, but he sensibly stayed silent and turned the pages of his paper to read about the antics of the Broons and Oor Wullie.

  Tommy stood up. ‘I suppose I better get off home. It’s school tomorrow and Mum likes me to be in bed by nine o’clock.’

  Evie walked with her to the lane. ‘Now remember and not be late tomorrow because if you are then I’m leaving without you, Tommy.’

  Tommy laughed. ‘Oh you’re a right nark for being early, Evie. My mum always says there’s no hurry in Ireland.’

  ‘Well you don’t live in Ireland now, do you?’

  ‘I know we don’t. We live in this place where nothing exciting ever happens.’

  Tommy waved a final goodbye as she opened her door. Anna Cassidy’s voice called out, ‘Close the door, Thomasina, you’re letting the cold draught in.’

  Later, as Evie got ready for bed, she glanced in her mirror. She didn’t think she looked like a sparrow. Her fair hair was cut short and although her face was thin and pale, her arms and legs weren’t that skinny. But she knew she wasn’t as pretty as Tommy who had dark curly hair and hazel eyes that always seemed full of mischief.

  She propped herself up in her bed with her favourite book and surveyed her room. It was very small but she loved it. Her parents had the bigger bedroom that was off the kitchen, but it wasn’t as nice as this one which faced the front of the house and Evie liked being able to hear people walk along the lane.

  At nine-thirty, Grace popped her head around the door but Evie was sound asleep.

  2

  Anna Cassidy wasn’t a happy woman. She had just had a row with her daughter Thomasina who had slept in for school and then rushed out of the house with her coat unbuttoned and a slice of toast and jam in her hand.

  ‘I didn’t see Evie waiting for her so she’ll be in a strop all day but it’s her own fault.’ Anna pulled the bright pink quilted housecoat around her slim waist and joined her husband at the table.

  ‘If Thomasina stopped reading in her bed and went to sleep then she wouldn’t keep sleeping in,’ she said, reaching for the teapot to refill her cup.

  Thomas Cassidy sat reading the Courier newspaper and didn’t look up. ‘That lass will be late for her own funeral,’ he said, lighting up a cigarette and blowing smoke across the table.

  Anna’s face twisted in a fury when she saw that the teapot was empty. ‘Do you never think to make more tea when you know you’ve had the last cup?’ she shouted across at her errant husband who merely blew more smoke in her face. She reached for the cigarette packet and, finding it empty, her fury erupted.

  ‘You’ve pinched the last fag. You’re just so selfish.’ Picking up the cups, she placed them in the basin with such a resounding clatter that Thomas put his paper down.

  ‘For God’s sake, Anna, you can go out to the shop for more. It’s not as if we live at the back of beyond.’

  Anna flounced around the kitchen, her annoyance unabated. Thomas could be such a selfish man. She thought about Bill next door who had built the outside toilet at the back door into a small extension with a large white sink and hot water geyser. They didn’t have to run out in the cold and rain every time they needed a pee, but she held her tongue because she and Thomas had rowed about this quite often and he had merely shrugged his thin shoulders. ‘Well, he is a plumber after all,’ he had said.

  Rising from the table, he came over to the sink and put his arm around his wife’s waist. ‘Sorry about the ciggie, love, I’ll bring some more home this afternoon after the pub closes.’

  Appeased by this show of caring, she nodded. ‘Okay then but make sure you don’t smoke them all when you come in.’ The kettle was boiling so she made more tea. ‘Do you want another cup?’

  He said, ‘No, I need a clean white shirt ironed, can you do it now, love?’

  For one brief moment Anna almost threw the cup at him before common sense took over. Thomas would never change, never in a hundred years, she thought with a sigh.

  At ten-thirty, with his white shirt newly ironed, Thomas left for work while Anna got dressed. She didn’t start work until twelve o’clock but there were dishes to wash and some housework to tackle. As she gazed at her reflection in the dressing table mirror, she saw a woman with dark curly hair framing a pretty face. She puckered her lips as she spread scarlet lipstick over her mouth while thinking that life hadn’t quite gone to plan. As a young girl in Belfast she had dreamed of becoming a teacher but now those dreams lay dead. Meeting Thomas and getting married at seventeen then becoming a mother nine months later had scuppered her chances. She frowned at the mirror in annoyance until she saw tiny wrinkles forming around her eyes and tried to smooth them out with her fingers. She looked around to see if there was a spare cigarette lurking somewhere but she was out of luck. Muttering to herself, she said angrily, ‘Trust that selfish son of a bitch to make sure he smoked the last one.’

  She put on her coat and headscarf. It had started to rain again but she needed her shot of nicotine before starting the chores which meant she had no choice but to go to the newsagent’s at the end of the lane to buy some more.

  Hurrying out into the lane with her head down she almost collided with her next-door neighbour, Maryanne Roberts. ‘Lord I’m sorry, Maryanne, I didn’t see you. I’m rushing out to the paper shop.’

  Maryanne was well wrapped up in a brown raincoat with a hood pulled low down over her face. Anna walked along beside her but the woman stopped. ‘I can’t hurry, Anna, so just you go ahead.’

  Anna gave her neighbour a quick glance and was dismayed to see that she didn’t look well. ‘Are you feeling all right, Maryanne?’

  Maryanne nodded. ‘Aye, I’m fine.’

  Although not really reassured, Anna hurried along the lane. If Maryanne didn’t want to chat, then that was all right with her. The paper shop was empty when she entered so she got her packet of ten Woodbines and made her way home again. She decided to make another cup of tea to go with her cigarette as there was plenty of time to do the housework. Because Thomasina stayed at school for her midday dinner, unlike Ev
ie who came home, Anna knew she didn’t have to cook a meal before setting off for her job. She sometimes wished she was a good housewife like Grace who didn’t work but spent most days cooking, baking and keeping her house immaculate. Feeling guilty with this thought she got to her feet and cleared the table then noticed the dust on the sideboard and mantelpiece. She made a note to polish the furniture after tea when no doubt Thomasina would be next door and Thomas would be back at work for his evening shift in the bar.

  She gazed out of the window at the rain which was now heavy and turning the spare patch of ground into a sea of mud. God, how I hate the winter here and January in particular, she thought. Back in Belfast the weather wasn’t better but she would have the company of her three sisters and two brothers and their children. She stopped washing the dishes and sighed as she remembered the rows that had led her to come here to Dundee. She made a conscious effort not to think about that time as she put on her coat and headed out to work.

  Thomas had been glad to escape from the house. He was busy changing the barrel of beer when his neighbour Albert Scott appeared at the bar counter.

  ‘My usual please, Hopalong,’ he said, fishing his money from a small leather purse. Thomas smiled at the old man. Sometimes it annoyed him when people called him by his nickname but he didn’t mind it from Albert. He put the pint of beer on the bar and rang up the money on the till.

  ‘And how are you today, Albert?’ he asked.

  Albert frowned. ‘Fed up with all this awful rain. I didn’t feel like coming out in it but I hate being cooped up in the house. I’ll get my messages afterwards so I’ll be paying a visit to your good wife in Burnett’s.’

  ‘Well I hope she’s in a better mood than she was this morning,’ said Thomas.

  Albert laughed. ‘Oh I think she’s a lovely woman. You’re a lucky man to have such a good-looking wife like her.’

  Thomas muttered, ‘I suppose I am.’ He didn’t feel lucky at that moment as his leg was giving him gyp. It was this wet rainy weather that made his limp worse and sometimes he felt quite bitter about the accident that had shattered his leg and gave him his nickname, as in Hopalong Cassidy, the cowboy star of the movies. He muttered again under his breath, ‘I wouldn’t mind having his fame and fortune.’