At seventeen, Chrissie was the oldest daughter and she read a lot. Her mother was always complaining about that. ‘She’s like a walkin’ encyclopedia, that one. All her spare time’s spent down in Springburn Library.’
Both Jimmy Stoddart and his wife Aggie were fervent members of the local Orange Lodge. Madge and Alec and their brood were friendly enough to the family, as they were to all their neighbours, but they didn’t go along with the Stoddarts’ extreme anti-Catholic views.
After all, as Alec said, ‘The O’Donnels are regular chapel goers and they’re as good neighbours as the Stoddarts – better even. Anyway, everybody’s entitled to their own thing.’
‘Except you,’ Madge said. ‘We all know what your thing is.’
Alec rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘I’m talking about religion and religious bigotry, Madge.’
‘Aye, well. Just you watch it.’
He’d enjoyed chatting up and flirting with his women clients when he’d been an insurance man. He’d loved the work. He had been his own boss, out and about, on the move all the time, swaggering through the Glasgow streets, always ready with a cheery word or a wink that set women of all ages giggling.
After the war, like thousands of other ex-servicetnen, he couldn’t get any job at all and, as a result, soon got into arrears with his rent and was kicked out. It was then that he and his family had been hounded from pillar to post, sometimes having to walk the streets with nowhere to go. It had been terrible for them all but particularly humiliating and degrading for him. For one thing, he’d always been a natty dresser, but he’d become shabbier and shabbier, dirty too, because in some of the places where they’d been forced to live, there had been no hot water or any kind of decent sanitary conditions.
To make things worse, Madge had never stopped nagging at him since she’d found out about his bit of nonsense with Catriona McNair, not to mention Ruth Hunter. And he’d never touched Ruth. OK, he would have, if he’d got the chance, but he didn’t. He’d had the occasional bit of fun with a couple of others over the years, but all that had meant nothing. He’d always stuck by Madge and the weans, despite Madge’s constant nagging. Sometimes, she went too far and he’d burst out with, ‘You’ll be blaming me for the bloody war next, Madge.’
He used to be so miserable, he was tempted to leave the lot of them. He could have hitch-hiked down to England and tried for a job there. He’d have managed fine on his own. Somehow, he could never do it, though. He knew Madge loved him despite the nasty way she sometimes carried on. Now she was going through ‘the change’, which didn’t help.
‘At least you’ll no’ be able to lumber me wi’ any more weans,’ she’d say, as if she wished he hadn’t ‘lumbered’ her with any in the first place. Nothing was further from the truth, of course.
She had loved him and he had loved her, and they had loved all their cheeky wee sods of weans. He supposed he still loved Madge, although she had long since changed from the easygoing, happy-go-lucky girl she’d once been. Freckle-faced, big-hipped, melon-breasted Madge with her long, sturdy legs, toothy grin and candid stare had gone. At least now she was clean and passably decent in her dress – unlike when they used to wander out from the unsanitary camp of Nissen huts where they’d been existing and Madge would admire the posh villas along Great Western Road. These occasions were purgatory for him. Madge would keep crying out to the children, ‘Oh, Sadie, look at this one, hen. Look at its lovely big windows. How many rooms do you think this one’ll have, eh?’ Or, ‘Agnes, would you just look at that. Oh, isn’t that just lovely, hen?’
In the silent gardens and streets where no children played, Madge’s voice, booming out with such excruciating loudness, made him cringe, even now, remembering. Not that they had needed Madge’s voice to draw attention to themselves. Nine of them crowding along the pavement was more than enough. He remembered being acutely conscious of his own seedy appearance and of Madge’s down-at-heel shoes and dirty ankles, and the children’s motley mixture of ill-fitting clothes, the girls’ skimpy coats, with dingy dresses drooping underneath, and the boys’ knobbly wrists protruding from their jackets. Worst of all, he remembered Charlie, his mouth plugged with a dummy teat, his nose running and his dirty nappy dropping down at his ankles. He was especially fond of Charlie. During the war, the other children had grown away from him and resented him as a symbol of authority.
Madge kept shouting at them, ‘I’ll tell Daddy on you, ye rotten wee midden!’ Or ‘Daddy’ll throttle you, I’m warning you.’
The older children became sulky and resentful. But the youngest, Charlie, just used to put out his arms to him. He was eight now and still a loving and lovable wee chap.
Each time they returned to the camp after one of these walks, he felt especially diminished. The grand houses all around emphasised the fact that he was no use as a provider. All he could manage for his family was a dark, corrugated-iron cave.
He’d thanked God, and Sammy Hunter, many times over the years for getting him out of there. Once he’d got a job, it became easier to get a house. One way and another, he’d eventually managed to get the Corporation flat which, in comparison with the iron Nissen hut, was sheer heaven. Oh, the bliss of a bath and clean clothes! Some of his self-confidence had returned and with it, his bonhomie and even a hint of his old jaunty walk.
He could easily have graduated from the storeroom to the office by now. He’d been offered a move upstairs more than once over the years he’d worked for McHendry’s. He was eager to jump at the chance, but Madge would have none of it. In the storeroom, he would only work with two other storemen. In the office there were girls.
‘No way are you going back to being the smart Alec you were before, and fuckin’ every girl you work with.’
It never failed to shock him when Madge resorted to using the ‘f’ word. It never seemed so bad when men used it, although it wasn’t a swear word he was in the habit of using himself. But it didn’t seem right coming from a woman’s mouth, especially his wife and the mother of his children. He’d once said that to Madge and she’d retaliated with ‘You know what you are – a fuckin’ mealy-mouthed hypocrite!’
Whatever else he was, he was not that. All right, he was no angel, but he’d done his best for Madge and the weans. Madge could have got a lot worse than him. He knew men who regularly battered their wives. What about guys who regularly stole, burgled or mugged folk to get cash? Others drank and gambled their wages away. He only took the odd pint of beer with his mates and went with them to watch football matches. Madge would have stopped him going to the football if she could have managed it. Once, she’d even threatened to go with him. That was just laughable. A woman at a football match?
‘Don’t be ridiculous, hen,’ he’d told her. Eventually she’d compromised by demanding that he took Hector or Willie along with him.
‘It’s not really a place for weans either, Madge.’
He had seen some family men at Partick Thistle matches with their sons, but even that kind of dad would surely have agreed that Rangers and Celtic games were far too dangerous for a twelve-year-old and an eleven-year-old. At Ibrox Park, a vast sea of men in coats, mufflers, bunnets and soft hats were packed in like sardines. If someone passed out in the crush, a white hanky was waved until the Red Cross men pushed through to rescue him. Vicious fights could, quite literally, turn the place into a bloody battlefield.
But even at a big event like an ‘Old Firm’ game, as the Rangers and Celtic matches were called, Madge insisted that either Hector or Willie, or both, accompanied Alec. It was to keep an eye on him, of course – not to see if he was going into a pub, only to see if he’d hooked on to another woman. Madge didn’t care about anything except that.
He’d got used to Catriona now. After all, she had suffered and was still suffering as much from Melvin as he did from Madge. But not for the same reason. Only Madge and, perhaps, Julie knew about the mistake he and Catriona had made donkey’s years ago. Melvin had never found out. Wha
t Alec could never understand was why Madge had taken Catriona’s side and ever since had been like a big sister to her. OK, Catriona had been like a stupid wee wean at the time and, OK, maybe he had taken advantage of that, but all the same …
Madge could be stupid and almost as naive as Catriona at times – she even thought Melvin was marvellous. Oh yes, Catriona’s husband had suffered during the war but not her own. According to Madge, Alec had enjoyed the war – a girl in every port and all that. That was one thing that made him feel really bitter. Madge hadn’t a clue what he’d gone through during the war. By God, he had suffered. No way would he ever join up again.
It was one of the things he had in common with Sammy. Sometimes they’d talk about the war over a pint in the Boundary Bar. He hated it as much as Sammy now although maybe without quite so much fire. It was a kind of resentful bitterness with him, while Sammy burned with fury. It took a few pints more, and a change of subject (usually to football), to calm Sammy down and get him in a good humour again. Then, as often as not, Sammy would come home with him to Balornock for his tea. Sammy was one friend that Madge approved of and he was always made welcome. He supposed it was his Quaker credentials.
At times, he’d even been tempted (and what a laugh that would cause Madge) to go along with Sammy to one of his Quaker meetings. He never could – secretly he believed that he wasn’t good enough. Sammy was a great guy, a tough guy, but there was a basic goodness about him that Alec knew he could never match. He’d met some of Sammy’s Quaker friends and felt the same about them. A bit eccentric, some of them. They didn’t seem to care about material things all that much. He’d certainly never spotted any fashion models among them. He didn’t feel clever enough either. Quite a few of them were academics – although Sammy wasn’t, right enough. Some of the things he heard about them really amused him. Like the woman in Bearsden (Bearsden of all places!) who helped to rehabilitate ex-cons. One of the things she did was to wash their clothes. He had to laugh. He could just imagine what that woman’s posh church-going Bearsden neighbours thought of her and said about her. He bet none of it was complimentary or Christian.
Sammy often went to matches with Alec although, as a companion in that situation, Sammy could be embarrassing or even downright dangerous. Not at the local Partick Thistle matches – they got on fine there. But Ibrox or Hampden or Celtic Park was a different story. If it was an Old Firm game, there would be chanting and insults bawled at the Celtic players, or Celtic fans, from the Rangers side. If the perpetrator happened to be standing near Sammy, Sammy would accuse him of being a mindless bigot and say that he ought to be ashamed of himself and no wonder there were wars in the world. Or he’d come out with something even worse. Alec had to desperately nudge Sammy and tell him to shut up or he was liable to start a war right there and then.
The folk doing the bigoted bawling had so far always been gobsmacked into silence at Sammy’s nerve, but then, obviously deciding he must be a nutcase, they’d soon abruptly restart their bawling and chanting.
Much as he admired Sammy for his nerve and for everything else, and much as he treasured him as his best friend, Alec would rather go with Hector or Willie to an Ibrox match. He never liked saying so to Sammy, of course, and, as often as not, they did go together. Afterwards, he had to make sure they didn’t end up either in a Rangers pub or a Celtic one. The Loudon in Duke Street was a Rangers pub and there was always the danger, if he and Sammy went there, that someone would start chanting or shouting obscenities about Celtic or Catholics. Sammy would, at the very least, tell them to shut up. This was the same as asking to be kicked in the head. If Sammy opened his big mouth and told someone what he thought of them in the Crown bar in Duke Street, which was a bar always packed with Celtic supporters, and especially if he didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was a Rangers supporter, extreme violence – even murder – would be a distinct possibility.
Sammy scared the shit out of Alec at times. Admittedly, not everyone was a bigot. In somewhere like The Titwood, it would be safe enough. There were just photos of the Queen’s Park team there. But Alec was developing muscles he never knew he had from continually dragging Sammy away from potentially dangerous situations.
Madge always said, ‘At least you’ll never get into any trouble if Sammy’s with you.’
He had to laugh!
5
Maybe it was Madge’s twins’ birthday party and Madge ordering such a fancy cake that had reminded her. There was hardly enough room for all the icing on the top, never mind the candles. She’d even asked for the year – 1957 – in pink icing, as well as both the twins’ names and ages, and fancy scrolls all round. Julie, no doubt, would never need any reminder.
‘What age would she be now?’ Madge asked Julie.
Catriona hastily intervened. ‘Maybe Julie would rather not talk about it, Madge.’
Madge shrugged. ‘It was her that started it. She said it would be her wean’s birthday today.’
‘It’s OK,’ Julie said. ‘She’d be twelve.’
Madge took a big slurp of tea and a bite of her biscuit. ‘Ever wonder where she is or how she’s getting on, hen?’
‘Every day. Every single day.’
‘Och, you regret it. I thought you would, hen. I go on something awful about my weans. I mean, they drive me nearly demented at times, but I wouldn’t be without them. I could never have given one of my weans away.’
‘Madge!’ Catriona hissed. ‘For pity’s sake!’
Julie lit a cigarette. ‘You were in a different situation to me, Madge. I’d just lost my man. I was devastated and I got stupid drunk on VE night.’
‘But you said …’
‘I know what I said at the time.’ She gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘A married man who adored me, but he couldn’t leave his wife. Or was it that I couldn’t split up his marriage? Something like that. I was just saving face, Madge. The truth is I just got bloody drunk. I’ve no idea who the father is, never did know.’
‘I wish,’ Catriona said gently, ‘you’d have tried to manage. We’d have helped you, Julie. I told you at the time that you’d always regret giving up your wee girl.’
‘Oh yes,’ Julie said bitterly. ‘Go on, enjoy the “I told you so’s”.’
‘I’m not enjoying any such thing. I’m sorry I said that. It was thoughtless of me. I just wish things could have been different for you, that’s all.’
‘Aye, OK.’ Julie sucked at her Woodbine, then blew a quick puff of smoke towards the ceiling.
Madge said, ‘Have you thought about trying to find her?’
‘Oh, I’ve thought about it. But how would I work that miracle? Do you think anyone’s likely to tell me where she is? No chance, pal.’
Catriona nibbled worriedly at her lip. ‘There’d be no harm in trying, I suppose.’
Julie took a deep breath. ‘I said it at the time and I’ll say it again: it’s the child I’ve got to think about. It’s what’s best for her that mattered to me then, and I feel the same now. I’m a single working woman living in a wee room and kitchen in the Gorbals. What kind of life could I give a twelve-year-old girl? I bet she’s living the life of Riley just now with some posh couple in a big villa in Bearsden. Or maybe even up north someplace and going to a posh private school. Good luck to her, wherever she is.’
‘Nobody could give her a mother’s love like you,’ Catriona said.
‘Oh, aye, in between working all day to make enough money to pay the rent and feed us, you mean?’
‘We would help, wouldn’t we, Madge?’
‘Sure we would, hen. Nae bother.’
‘No bother!’ Julie laughed again. ‘That’s all you need with your seven kids, and Catriona with her big house and two boys and her helping out in her man’s business as well. Oh, aye, no bother at all!’
‘She’s OK.’ Madge jerked a head in Catriona’s direction. ‘Talk about living the life of Riley? She’s got a man that dotes on her and gives her everything she wants and more. Wh
at about that television set? She had that long before anybody else, and it was bought for cash as well. We had to get ours on tick. She’s even got a bloody washing machine – and a telephone. A telephone!’
A hint of bitterness crept into Catriona’s voice then. ‘You’ve always thought I was lucky, haven’t you, Madge?’
‘You’re damn right I have, hen. If you’d had the life I’ve had to suffer, especially with that big, two-timing midden I’m married to, you’d know exactly why I think you’re damned lucky.’
‘For God’s sake!’ Julie stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Don’t let’s start a fight. We’re supposed to be best pals, remember?’
Madge’s big frame suddenly shook and bounced with laughter. ‘Here, the pair of you would know all about it if I started a fight. I’d flatten you both before you could say Jack Robinson.’
‘Or Alec Jackson?’ Julie grinned.
‘Watch it, you!’ Madge warned, but still with bouncing good humour. ‘You’re a cheeky wee sod, so you are!’
They surfed away on the swell of Madge’s laughter to speak about other things. How great it was that sweetie rationing had stopped, for instance. They kidded Madge on about how she used to pinch some of Alec and the children’s sweetie coupons.
The New Breadmakers Page 3
