Brow of the Gallowgate

by Doris Davidson

  The dismissal came as rather a relief, and he left without saying a word. It wasn’t love he felt for her, and he could return home with a clear conscience.

  There was no opportunity for them to talk at breakfast, with so many farewells being made, and the Smiths detained him to ask for Flo’s address, so they could go to see her when they went home to Waverley. By the time he’d written it out for them, Rose was gone, and his disappointment hit him like a douche of water. He would never see her again, and he hadn’t even said goodbye properly.

  Going down to his cabin to make sure that his luggage was ready for collection, he remembered the problem he’d been struggling with on his first day on board. Should he tell his family how Charlie had died? Or should he keep the truth to himself?

  The sickness that had swept over him in New Zealand, when he found out what had happened, surged up in him again, as it did every time he remembered. Was it fair to place the remainder of his family under that same stress?

  In any case, could he trust himself to speak about it rationally? Could he sit down, when he went home to Aberdeen, and tell his children that Bella Wyness had taken her terrible revenge on the Ogilvies at last?

  Thank God – and God forgive him for even thinking it – that Bathie hadn’t lived to see her prediction coming true.

  He sat on for hours, reliving his whole life once again – the joys, the worries, the sorrows – and Rose Benton was completely forgotten as each chapter unfolded in his mind.

  At last, he stood up, reflecting wryly that spending so much time in the past was usually considered to be a sign of approaching senility. Listlessly, he went up to the promenade deck to watch as Southampton loomed nearer and nearer, and had been gazing out to sea for some ten minutes when he sensed her presence and looked round.

  ‘Oh, Rose, I’m glad we didn’t part in anger.’

  ‘I wasn’t angry, Albert.’ She took his hand and kept her eyes on it. ‘I was ashamed at placing you in such a situation.’

  ‘I went into it willingly,’ he said, quietly.

  ‘We were carried away by the circumstances, and because it was our last night. I’m really very grateful to you for stopping when you did.’

  Releasing his hand, she raised her eyes. ‘What will you be doing when you go home to Aberdeen?’

  ‘I’m going to retire properly.’ Albert laughed now, the cold light of day having made him see how stupid he’d been the previous night. ‘I’ve a grocer’s shop, you see, and I pretended to retire before, but I couldn’t, not altogether. I’ve made up my mind not to interfere whatever Gracie and Joe – that’s my daughter and her husband – want to do to change things. It’s only fair to them, but it’ll be difficult for me.’

  ‘It is difficult to let your family go their own way,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve been through it, so I know. And it’s just as difficult for them if their parents start leading a different life. My sons are learning to let me go my own way now, and your children will, too, however you fill up your time.’

  Albert stroked his moustache. ‘I haven’t made up my mind what I’ll do.’ He screwed up his face. ‘Do you know, I’ve often had a fancy to keep homing pigeons, and there’s nothing to stop me, now. There’s stores in our yard that would convert into pigeon lofts and I’d have something to work for, training them to come back and entering them into competitions.’

  ‘That seems a good idea.’

  ‘But first of all, I was thinking of having electricity put in, and we could get a wireless and a telephone . . .’ He stopped, rather put out by Rose’s obvious amusement. ‘Have I said something funny?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, rather like a child caught doing something wrong, but her eyes were dancing. ‘One minute you were saying you didn’t intend to interfere if your daughter and her husband made changes, and in the next, you’re planning all these changes yourself. Let them make the changes, Albert, electricity if they want, wireless if they want, telephone if they want. Let them decide.’

  ‘Oh.’ His sigh of despair became a chuckle. ‘I forgot. I’ll leave everything to them, and I’ll keep quiet, I promise.’

  ‘You don’t have to promise me anything, just make sure you keep faith with yourself

  ‘Aye, and I can always take myself off to my daughter in Edinburgh if I get frustrated. She told me I could go for a holiday, and my son in London will likely do the same, when he knows I’ve coped so well this time. And I’ve another married daughter in Aberdeen, so I won’t be short of places to go.’

  ‘You are welcome to spend a week or two in Bristol with me, any time you like.’

  Her invitation unsettled him again, and he looked at her seriously. ‘Thank you, but I don’t think I should.’

  Her silvery laugh rang out. ‘I have no designs on you, Albert, but perhaps you’re wise. If we leave things as they are, we will always have happy memories of this voyage.’

  A sudden surging forward among the other passengers told them that the liner was docking. ‘Goodbye, then, Albert.’

  ‘Goodbye, Rose.’

  Her fingers touched her own lips then rested briefly on his before she walked quickly away.

  He turned towards the rail again, looking down on the smiling faces of those who had come to welcome the travellers. Not that there would be anybody to welcome him. He was going to have to depend on some stranger to show him how to get to the station, but Donnie should be waiting at Waterloo to see him on to the Aberdeen train at King’s Cross.

  Idly, he let his eyes travel over the sea of hands below until an insistent waving, which seemed to be directed at him, made him half close his eyes to concentrate on that part of the crowd. He could almost have sworn it was Donnie, but he laughed off the idea. Donnie couldn’t leave his shop for so long on a Saturday. He lost sight of the man for a time, then spotted him again, and this time he was sure. It was Donnie. His bright head was bobbing up and down now, in his efforts to attract his father’s attention, so Albert gave an excited wave in return. He turned round and joined the moving line of passengers making their way to disembark, his step lighter because his heart was lighter. His only surviving son had cared enough to come and meet him.

  It struck Albert, then, like a kick in the stomach, that he had fathered eight children, although poor wee James hadn’t lived long, but not one of his grandchildren was an Ogilvie. There were Potters, Ferrises, McKenzies, a Dunbar . . . No, he was wrong. There was one Ogilvie among them, but Donnie’s Queenie would become Mrs Something-Else when she was older, and his male line would be lost for ever.

  The discordant hooting of the ship’s sirens caused him to frown a little, but he was being swept along by the surging crowd around him, most of them anxious to set foot on the soil of their homeland again.

  The message on one of the many plaques which had hung in his mother’s kitchen came into his head. It had been similar to the one Bathie had chosen when his mother died, but all it said was, ‘East, west, name’s best.’

  He’d never understood its meaning when he was a boy, and had forgotten about it – probably a willing forget, because he’d been the one who had accidentally broken it – but it was true, he knew that now, and he couldn’t wait to hear the broad Aberdeen tongue again, once he was home properly.

  Stumbling as his foot met the gangway, he caught hold of the rope to steady himself. The sudden physical movement made him come to an equally sudden decision. He wouldn’t tell his son and daughters anything. Let them carry on thinking that Charlie had died a natural death. There was no need to put them through any more distress.

  His final decision made, he lifted his head, squared his shoulders and walked firmly downwards to where Donnie was waiting to welcome him back.

  1939

  The funeral tea was over. The young Ferrises (Neil and Patsy), Potters (Olive and Raymond), McKenzies (Kathleen and Morag), Lawrences (Ishbel’s Simon, Thomas and Ursula), Queenie Ogilvie and Leonard Dunbar had all gone off to the pictures.


  This had been Will Dunbar’s suggestion, to get them out of the way, and the rest of the family were looking at him now, wondering why he seemed so nervous.

  Clearing his throat, he said, ‘I’ve decided to tell you something you should all have known years ago.’

  Most of the faces remained blank, only Martin Potter frowned. If it’s what I think it is, I don’t think you should . . .’

  ‘They should be told,’ Will said firmly. ‘It happened a long time ago, and . . .’ He stopped for a moment, then launched into the story he’d kept to himself, with one exception, for sixteen years.

  They listened, their faces reflecting disbelief, sorrow, pain, horror, as the facts, both before and after Charlie’s death, were disclosed. When Will came to an end, there was a stunned silence.

  Gracie, with Joe’s hand over hers, was the first to break it. ‘Did Father know?’

  Will nodded. ‘Before he left Wanganui in 1925, he asked me to tell him everything, and I did.’

  Hetty turned to Martin now. ‘If that’s what you thought Will was going to tell us, how did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t know the whole story, but I wrote to Will at the time and told him I’d guessed what had happened.’

  ‘I didn’t even know the whole story.’ Flo sounded most annoyed. ‘Will, why didn’t you . . . ?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell you, Flo, not then, and I only told your father because he demanded to know the truth. But today, even as I was watching his coffin being lowered into the grave, I had the feeling that Albert was standing beside me, urging me to let you all know how your brother died.’

  They discussed it for the next few hours, and although they were shocked, no one condemned Charlie, even if what had happened wasn’t an accident. None of them had much sleep that night, each couple going over and over every detail in bed.

  Gracie turned round as Joe came through for breakfast. He had filled out over the years; he was not fat, exactly, but wearing that way, and his hair was receding at the temples, but she still felt her heart stir each time she looked at him, and still loved every firm inch of him.

  ‘I’ll have to go back to the shop today,’ he said, looking apologetic. ‘That’s three days I’ve been off, and everything’s settled now, anyway, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I knew you’d have to go in today.’ She ladled out some porridge for him, to keep out the February chill, then sat down at the other side of the kitchen table.

  ‘I can hardly believe it’s twenty years since we saw Flo.’

  Joe lifted a spoonful to his mouth and blew on it. ‘Aye, the years fly past when you grow older.’

  ‘You maybe feel old,’ Gracie said sharply, ‘but I don’t.’ She jumped up when she heard the postman pushing a letter through the door, and added, as she went out, ‘Just sometimes, when Neil and Patsy start arguing.’

  Her face was puzzled when she came back, turning a large envelope over in her hands. ‘It’s addressed to Father, and it’s from the Council. What on earth . . . ?’

  ‘Open it and see,’ Joe said, dryly. ‘It can’t be anything very important, and you’re the one that attends to everything.’

  He watched her sliding her thumb carefully along the flap, then slipping a sheet of paper out and unfolding it.

  ‘Oh, my God, Joe,’ she whispered suddenly. ‘Read that.’

  ‘I’ve been half expecting this,’ he said, when he laid it down beside his plate. ‘The last time the Health Inspector came round, he said he wouldn’t be surprised if the property was condemned, but I never thought it would come so quick.’

  ‘You never said anything about it to me.’

  ‘I did tell your father that the place needed a lot of work done to it to keep it safe, I’ve been telling him for years, but he was always too taken up with his damned pigeons to pay any attention.’

  ‘They kept him occupied, Joe, and he hadn’t thought it was as bad as this, but they’re pulling it down to make way for improvements to the Gallowgate. They can’t do that. We’ll have to fight it.’

  He shook his head. ‘We haven’t a leg to stand on. God knows how long these buildings had been up before your father bought this property in 1890, nearly fifty years ago. But if you like, I’ll ask if anybody else has got the same letter.’

  The Council’s communication was just as upsetting for the other members of the family when they learned about it.

  Ellie looked angry. ‘This would have broken Father’s heart if it had come a week earlier.’

  He’d have died from the shock of that instead of from the pneumonia, Gracie thought, slightly hysterically.

  Hetty was still holding the Council’s letter, frowning in concentration, but now she glanced enquiringly at Gracie. ‘Should we let Flo and Donnie and Ellie take what they want before they have to go back? You don’t have to be out until July, that’s five months yet, so Ishbel and you and I can wait a while before we take ours.’

  Flo looked indignant. ‘I don’t want anything. We can’t start splitting up things . . . it doesn’t seem proper, with Father not cold in his grave.’

  Donnie stepped in, as the senior member of the family. ‘I think Hetty’s right. I don’t mean we should divide things out, but I think we should all take something small as a keepsake, and let it stop there. Gracie’s been the backbone of this family for years now, and she’s looked after Father ever since Mother died, so she should have everything else.’

  This proposal being agreed, they each picked a memento before Donnie and Helene left to catch the London train, his eyes moist because he was leaving the Gallowgate for ever.

  Hetty and Martin went home shortly afterwards, also Ishbel and Peter Lawrence, the solicitor she’d met at Hetty’s house when Albert was in New Zealand.

  Albert had been delighted that she’d insisted on carrying on his tradition. ‘Ursula,’ he’d crowed, when her youngest child was born. ‘I might see the end of the alphabet yet.’

  The McKenzies had packed all their luggage in the car before they left Hetty’s, and weren’t leaving until later.

  Gracie could see that Ellie’s husband had been affected very badly by the funeral and by what Will had said. His face was grey, his eyes, when he did look up, were full of pain, and he’d been slumped back in one of the armchairs in the parlour since Donnie and Helene left.

  ‘You shouldn’t have let Gavin come,’ she told her sister, when they were in the kitchen making another pot of tea. ‘He doesn’t look a bit well.’

  Ellie grimaced. ‘That’s why I wouldn’t let him drive, but I couldn’t keep him away. He was determined to attend Father’s funeral, even though I pretended to scold him by saying that it would be his turn next if he did.’

  Gracie looked shocked. ‘Oh, Ellie, how could you? That wasn’t a very nice thing to say.’

  ‘I’m not sure it isn’t true, though. He looks really ghastly, and I’d better go through to see if he’s all right. Flo and Will have gone upstairs to write to Mary, to let her know how the funeral went, and he’s through there by himself

  In the parlour, Gavin McKenzie lifted his white, balding head and smiled faintly to his wife, so she went across to him, and took his blue-veined hand in hers.

  ‘Gavin, dear, I think you should have a rest for a while, before we set off. It’s all been too much for you.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘I’m afraid it has, Ellie, but I had to come. Your father was a very good friend, and I loved him like a brother. And your mother . . . ’ He faltered, then looked up at her. ‘You’ve always known how much I cared for Bathie, my dear, and my love for you was different. It was a husband’s love for his wife, and what I felt for her was . . . oh, I don’t know how to describe it, for it wasn’t physical.’

  ‘I know that, dear.’

  ‘I was quite happy to know that it was Albert she loved, but now they’re both gone, this house will soon be gone and I’ll soon be gone myself.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Gavin.’ Ellie felt a stab of appreh
ension shoot through her.

  ‘I’m nearly seventy-three, Ellie – an old man, with an old man’s memories.’

  ‘You’re just tired. Lie down for an hour or two.’ She helped him up and steered him into her father’s bedroom.

  Noticing that he took a look around him, she said, ‘Gracie changed the bedding, so there’s no need . . .’

  ‘I remember this room,’ he mused. ‘It’s here I delivered all Bathie’s babies.’

  Ellie pushed him gently on to the bed and knelt down to remove his shoes. ‘Yes, I know, Gavin.’

  He giggled suddenly. ‘I delivered you, Ellie, and a bonnie scrap of a thing you were, even then. Little did I think, when I held you up to smack the breath into you, that I’d fall in love with you one day and marry you.’ He allowed her to lift his legs up, then lay back against the pillows, his mind still on the past. ‘My first wife was still alive, and I should have had no thoughts of anything except making sure the infant was sound in wind and limb, but I felt attracted to Bathie. I couldn’t help myself.’

  Ellie let him ramble on. She couldn’t do anything else.

  ‘It was after Margaret died that I let myself fall in love with her, but it wasn’t until Hetty was born . . . or maybe it was Ishbel? I can’t remember, but that’s when I told her. She wasn’t fully conscious at the time, but it must have penetrated somehow. It was a few weeks afterwards, though, before I knew she’d heard me, and I told her straight out then, but I let her know I was quite happy to leave things the way they were.’

  He fell silent, and in a moment his even breathing told her that he was asleep, but she stayed on for a little while, reflecting that it felt strange to hear her husband talking about attending at her birth. It was even stranger that he’d spoken about his love for her mother, for he’d never mentioned that once since they were married.

  At last, she tiptoed out, closing the door softly behind her, and returned to the kitchen, where Flo and Will were now sitting with Gracie.

  ‘Is Gavin all right?’ Gracie was quite concerned.

  ‘He’s sleeping in Father’s bed.’