The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5

by Todd, Ian

  Helen cocked her ears as the eerie sounds ae Mark Dinning’s ‘Teen Angel’ began tae waft through the place.

  “Ah don’t want tae appear cheeky, hen, bit is it no kind ae creepy listening tae that kind ae stuff in a place like this?” Helen asked the receptionist, shivering.

  “Oh, dae ye think so? Ah must say, Ah like it masel. It seems so, so appropriate, so it dis.”

  “Ach, well, everywan tae their ain, Ah suppose,” Helen tutted, turning tae see where Issie hid disappeared tae and relieved tae see her plapping her arse doon oan tae an auld rickety chair, clearly upset at the sound ae the music.

  “McPhee, Innes, Martin, O’Conner, Conner, Halston, McGinchy…McManus! There ye go, hen. Joseph McManus, male, born 8th November 1953, Glasgow. Admitted oan December the 18th, 1971. Died as a result ae multiple stab wounds, blah, blah, blah and aw that. Is that him?” Miss Subtle enquired, as ‘Deid Man’s Curve’ by Jan and Dean started up and Issie fled through the doors intae the street.

  “Aye, that wid be him,” Helen snarled, feeling upset hersel, bit haudin it thegither tae stoap hersel fae punching the stroppy cow oan that over-made-up face ae hers.

  “Sign here then, hen.”

  “Whereaboots?”

  “Here, then here, then there,” Miss Pan Stick Heid drawled, pointing wae a red nail-varnished finger, that looked as if a hungry rat hid chewed it doon tae the wick, as Helen scrawled her name.

  “Is that it?” Helen asked her.

  “Aye, the undertaker will take it fae there wance he sees the certificate. Look, Ah really shouldnae be saying this…” the receptionist said, looking aboot and lowering her voice tae a whisper.

  “Aye, Ah know, go tae Clydeside Funeral Directors across in Tradeston because they’re the cheapest,” Helen said, drily.

  “Oh, and by the way? Ah’m sorry fur yer loss, hen,” the lying cow hid the cheek tae say, as Helen rushed through the doors in search ae Issie.

  “Issie, Issie, ur ye awright, hen? My God, that wis terrible, so it wis. Imagine playing aw that creepy music in a place like that, eh?”

  “Ah wisnae too bothered aboot the music playing, Helen….bit Ah jist cannae bloody staun that pair ae jessies, Jan and Dean. Their stuff is crap, so it is,” Issie declared, as they held oan tae each other, heiding towards The Albert Bridge, tae take them across the Clyde tae Tradeston and the undertaker’s.

  Chapter Nine

  Helen wondered if looking like an undertaker wis aw part ae the training. Her initial comparison ae the two pinstripe-troosered crows, staunin in front ae her and Issie, wis wae Laurel and Hardy. The fat wan, who wis daeing aw the talking, looked and sounded as if he’d gone tae The School Fur Second-haun Car Salesmen, while the other wee skinny runt jist kept gulping and nodding his heid up and doon, tae confirm that everything Fatty wis saying wis straight oot ae the gospels. Helen wis conscious ae how much stress and sadness aw this wis causing Issie, so, oot ae respect, decided she’d let Issie haundle the situation, while she’d jist staun back and enjoy the show. She’d always hid a saft spot fur fly-men, due tae the fact that they always worked hard tae improve oan their performance, so insteid ae urging caution oan Issie, she’d made the mistake ae letting them get oan wae it…by haudin that tongue ae hers.

  “And it’s a burial ye’ve decided upon, is it, Mrs McManus?”

  “Aye, Ah widnae feel right gaun fur a cremation. Hellfire and damnation and aw that,” Issie replied apologetically.

  Issie wis staunin, being held up by Helen, oan a white painted line at wan end ae a row ae upturned, empty coffins, which wur displayed in the middle ae the room.

  “Look, hen, we aw know how much ae a sad occasion this is, and him being so young tae boot, so getting the best wan tae fit the occasion is hauf the battle, so it is. Wance the next-ae-kin decide oan the appropriate funeral and casket, everything else usually jist draps intae place, so it dis.”

  “Aye, it dis that, hen,” Stan Laurel soothed, confirming whit Oliver Hardy hid jist stated wis the God’s honest truth.

  “So, if ye’d like tae look alang this line here. This is the Apollo range…aw haunmade in oor ain factory. We’ll start fae the, er, cheaper end ae the catalogue, and work oor way up tae the crème-de-la-crème end. Noo, listen, hen, it’s important that ye don’t feel under any pressure whitsoever and ur no ashamed aboot no gaun fur the ‘Absolute’ at the end ae the line. That wan is usually used for burying Bishops, High Court judges, big car dealers, gangsters and local Corporation cooncillors, so ye’re no under any pressure, so ye’re no. Is that okay? Will we jist start, hen?”

  “Aye, right, Mr, oh, er, Ah’m sorry, Ah’ve forgotten yer name again.”

  “Depardieu. It’s French, so it is. Ma maw and da arrived here jist efter the war and never went back, so they didnae.”

  “Aye, well, Mr Departure, Ah’m no sure we’ll be journeying far alang this line here, given that it’ll be a NAB funeral,” Issie admitted, clearly feeling ashamed and avoiding they sly eyes ae The Jackal, while gripping Helen’s erm tight against her thin body.

  “Don’t ye worry aboot a thing, Mrs McManus. Ah totally understaun where ye’re coming fae. There’s nae shame tae that in here. Jist look upon it that, at least it’s no yersel that’ll hiv tae pick up the tab, eh? That’s whit's so wonderful aboot the caring society we live in nooadays, so it is. We’re aw entitled tae a wee haun noo and again, so we ur. Thank God fur the welfare state, that’s aw Ah kin say.”

  “Er, aye, Ah suppose, when ye put it like that.”

  “So, here we ur then. This first wan is The Apollo Tontine, which is yer normal standard, laminated cardboard, made tae look like mahogany wood. It’s goat a nice pink nylon imitation Shanghai petal silk interior, although it disnae come wae padding or haundles. The training oan lifting it in and oot ae the car and chapel fur family members and friends is included in the price. This wan is maistly used fur cremations.”

  “Ooh, Ah don’t like the sound ae that. Don’t get me wrang, it still looks nice, though,” Issie said apologetically, running her haun doon the nylon interior and catching the faint sound ae static crackling under her fingertips.

  “The second wan, The Tontine Two, is much the same as the first, although the crimpolene lining in this wan is shaped tae gie ye the illusion that it’s padded. It’s the matching pink buttons embedded throughoot the imitation Shanghai petal silk interior that enhances the lines ae the crimpolene fur effect. This wan dis include haundles. Wance again, we throw in lifting training as part ae the deal. Ye widnae believe the amount ae people, maistly they big labourers or coalmen, who jist grab haud ae the haundles and gie them a wrench when trying tae pick the coffin up. We kin usually cope wae wan or two, bit when aw the haundles come aff at the same time, it kin be a wee bit distressing fur the family, especially seeing their beloved being manhaundled up oan tae the shoulders ae pallbearers who ur usually aw different shapes and sizes,” Oliver said, wae a straight face, as Stan tut-tutted behind him, clearly picturing the last time this catastrophe hid happened.

  “And this wan?” Helen asked, clearly furgetting she wis there tae keep her trap shut.

  “Ah, noo this wan...this wan is The Apollo Launch. It comes in teak laminate as well as mahogany and includes baith haundles and real padding. Similar construction tae the Tontines, bit a lot mair sturdy. If ye compare the thickness ae this wan and The Tontine Two ye’ve jist looked at, ye’ll see that we’re talking aboot a good quarter ae an inch thicker oan the body, so we ur. This wan is quite popular wae the aulder generation, so it is… especially wae the wives.”

  “Really?” Issie asked, looking fae wan tae the other.

  “Oh aye, it’s usually the auld wummin who choose this wan fur their other hauf. Looks the part, bit is as cheap as a poke ae chips. Good seller, so it is.”

  “He’s only eighteen,” Issie murmured, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “Aye, it’s a liberty, so it is, Mrs McManus. Dae ye want me tae get Mr Morrell here tae get ye a
wee cup ae tea tae sip, as we heid tae the next wan in the line?” Hardy asked, as Stan Laurel, looking as eager as a gluttonous monkey, stood facing Helen and Issie, while blocking the path tae the chairs that they’d been sitting oan before inspecting the coffin parade.

  “Er, naw, Ah’ll…Ah’ll be okay, Mr Departure, bit…er, thanks fur the offer. That’s very kind ae ye,” Issie said appreciatively.

  Helen wis noo kicking hersel. This two wur in a league ae their ain and Issie wis diving fae the tap board, heid first, towards ‘The Absolute’ at the far end ae the line.

  “So, whit kind ae cost ur we talking aboot here?” Helen asked, trying tae sound impartial.

  “Oh, we’d need tae look at the overall costs, alang wae the rest ae the associated requirements and take everything intae consideration,” Oliver Hardy crowed wae that forked tongue ae his.

  “Aye...like the hearse and the lead car...whether Mrs McManus will need additional cars...then there’s the priest and the plot...“

  “There will be nae priest at ma boy’s funeral!” Issie hissed bitterly, deflecting Helen’s intervention, as the pair ae crows shot daggers at her wae they eyes ae theirs, fur trying tae interfere wae their well-rehearsed flair-show.

  Efter Issie hid goat the news aboot Joe, she’d expected Father John tae appear at her door, tae offer her and Tam a wee bit ae comfort, even though she hidnae been tae confession fur a while. Oan the Saturday…two days efter the stabbing…wan ae the local ministers hid turned up at her door, asking if there wis anything he could dae fur her. Issie hid thanked him, peering o’er his shoulders, oot intae the empty stairheid landing, and hid said that she wis expecting Father John at any minute. Oan the Monday past, the minister, a Reverend Flaw, hid turned up again…this time, wae a bag ae groceries and an envelope wae a fiver in it fae his congregation. He widnae stay fur a cup ae tea, bit hid telt Issie tae gie him a shout if she needed anything else. He’d left efter saying that him and his congregation wid pray fur young Joe and the family. Tam, Issie’s man, hid been gaun oan aboot him fur days, aboot how good he’d been tae them, considering they wur Papists…and how handy the fiver wid be, seeing as Auld England sherry cost twelve and a tanner a bottle. Father John hid still no darkened Issie’s door, as far as Helen knew.

  “Look, why don’t we go and hiv a wee seat wae a cup ae tea, Issie, eh? It'll gie ye time tae get yer breath back,” Helen pleaded, tae the dismay ae Laurel and Hardy.

  “Naw, naw, Helen, we’ll need tae watch oor time. Ah want tae get back up the road before Wee Mary gets hame fae school. Ye wur jist saying, Mr Departure?” Issie said, eyeing up the next coffin.

  “This next wan is The Apollo Swift. As ye kin see fur yersel, Mrs McManus, it’s aw fully padded wae brushed cotton, which comes in a choice ae three interior colours including a wee green shamrock flower pattern. The screws, haundles and lid plate ur aw pure brass, so they ur, and as well as coming in teak and mahogany, this wan comes in Ye Auld Oak style…as preferred by Royalty. Whit distinguishes this fae the Tontines and The Launch is that it’s made ae real Melamine,” Oliver announced, beaming, as he gied the side ae the coffin a few raps wae they knuckles ae his, tae prove the sturdiness ae it.

  “Oh my, this is beautiful, so it is,” Issie sighed, beaming at Helen.

  “So, whit’s Melamine then?” Helen asked Stan and Ollie.

  “It’s the new wood nooadays and it’s cheaper tae boot, seeing as it’s manufactured here, in oor ain factory. Aw caskets will be made ae this in the next few years, including the smeltered wans.”

  “Aye, bit whit is it?” Helen continued.

  “Ah’m no meaning tae sound technical here, hen, bit if ye kin imagine taking a pile ae sawdust and mixing it wae special glue before rolling it intae big thin sheets, then laminating it...that’s sticking it thegither tae you and me...wae the type ae wood effect ye want. That then forms the basis ae the construction material, so it dis. Ah wid defy anywan tae tell me the difference between wan ae them and a solid wooden casket, so Ah wid.”

  “So, insteid ae being paper-mache, like the wans we saw first, these wans ur...er...technically speaking...sawdust then?” Helen asked.

  “Aye, er, well, the cost implications tae the bereaved ur much lower than this next wan,” Oliver said, guiding Issie forward subtly and smoothly, before Helen could come back at him.

  “Oh, Helen, Joe wid absolutely love this wan, so he wid,” Issie sobbed loudly, knees starting tae wobble as she clasped her hauns o’er her mooth.

  “Aye, ye’d need tae go a long way tae pick up a better example ae the finest craftsmanship than The Apollo Maple, Mrs McManus, so ye wid.”

  “Whit? It’s real Maple?” Issie asked him in wonder.

  “Er, naw, no quite maple, bit jist as solid. This is yer finest white pine, aw the way fae Canada where maple comes fae. It’s goat everything ye’d want in a casket and mair. Real horse hair stuffing in the padding, bleached Shanghai brushed white cotton tae ensure there ur nae imperfections before being dyed in a choice ae nine different colours, split lid fur showing while lying at rest and bush brass fixtures wae deidlock hinges oan the tap end tae stoap any accidents, should family and friends get too emotional and start tae lean intae the coffin in distress. It wid surprise ye how many people hiv ended up wae the back ae their heids cracked open when the tap hauf ae the split lid his crashed doon oan tap ae them.

  Issie hid that dangerously impressed look oan her face that wis aw too familiar tae Helen and which hid wreaked havoc fur maist ae the wummin in Glesga throughoot their married lives. The bug wis the scourge ae everywan she knew, and usually led tae a warrant sale and the debtors’ court.

  “Bit, er, Issie, wid we no be better looking at the other wans again, jist tae make sure ye’re getting whit you and Tam kin afford?” Helen choked, panic rising in her voice.

  “Oh, we hid a stoating wee deal that jist finished last week, bit seeing as it’s Christmas, Ah think we’d get away wae extending it tae yersel, hen, jist this wance. This wid include oor special Lift Aff range ae favourable payment plan options, tae ease the pain ae yer loss,” Ollie Hardy cooed as Stan’s Adam’s apple shot up and doon that neck ae his like a tennis baw oan heat.

  “Ah’ll take it!” Issie beamed.

  Chapter Ten

  Helen wis kicking hersel as she sat oan the bus wae Issie, heiding back up the road. How could she hiv been so bloody stupid? Why the hell hid she no jist butted in, before they’d goat tae the expensive coffins. Poor Issie.

  “Oh, Helen, Ah only wish Joe could be here tae see that lovely coffin we goat him.”

  “Aye, it's a beauty, so it is, bit Ah’m worried aboot how the hell you and Tam ur gonnae be able tae pay fur it, Issie,” Helen said gently.

  “Ach, the NAB will help, so they will.”

  “Issie, the NAB will only gie ye a hunner and twenty quid towards the costs ae the funeral, so they will. Yer total bill fur everything is o’er three hunner and that’s no including the minister. Ur ye sure ye want a minister and no a priest?”

  “Aye, Ah’m finished wae they bloody priests. Ah’ll ask that nice minister who’s been up at the door. Ah’m sure he’ll help us oot.”

  “So, whit aboot the service then? Don’t get me wrang, Ah’m no really intae aw that guff aboot hivving a mass. The main thing is that he’s been baptised. Will anywan know the songs? It’s gonnae be embarrassing, hivving a Proddy funeral, if there isnae anywan there who knows the tunes.”

  “Ach, we kin jist hum alang tae them, Helen. Ah’m sure God wullnae get his knickers in a twist because a couple ae Catholics don’t know the words tae some ae they orange tunes. Yer Jimmy and Betty’s Stan ur blue noses, so we’ll get them tae gie it big laldy in the church, eh?”

  “Aye, Ah suppose.”

  “That nice wan wis saying it’ll probably be next Wednesday, so he wis.”

  “Whit nice wan?”

  “Fatty. The wan that looked like Oliver Hardy.”

  “Ah’m telling ye, Issie, ho
w Ah never stuck the heid oan that baw-face ae his, Ah’ll never know. The patter flying oot ae him and that wee pogo-stick ae a pal ae his, wid’ve melted the inside ae an iron lung, so it wid’ve.”

  “Dae ye think so? Ah thought they wur dead nice, especially Fatty Arbuckle. And remember, they didnae hiv tae gie us that good deal that ended last week. Ye cannae deny them that, so ye cannae.”

  “Oh, Issie,” Helen said, feeling the tears well up in her eyes, as she took Issie’s hauns in hers.

  Chapter Eleven

  Helen opened her eyes. She’d been awake fur a while, bit hid lain, luxuriating in the stillness ae the moment, under the warmth ae the blankets and coats that wur piled up oan tap ae her. It wis still dark ootside, bit the wee gap between the curtains let in the orange glow fae the street light and hauf lit up the bedroom. Jimmy must’ve opened the curtains earlier when he’d goat up fur his work, tae see if it hid been snowing in the night, she thought tae hersel. She didnae know whit time it wis, bit she could hear the sound ae the engines ae the buses and lorries, heiding up and doon Keppochhill Road, at the bottom end ae the street. She wis lying wae her hauns clasped thegither between her knees, curled up in a ball. She could feel the cauldness ae the room oan the tip ae her nose which made her sink even deeper intae the warmth ae the mattress. She smiled tae hersel in the semi-darkness, thinking aboot aw the times o’er the past few weeks that she’d tried tae convince Jimmy tae make up a fire through in the living room in the morning fur her, before he left fur work. The two-bar electric fire wis oan the blink and wis lying through in Johnboy’s bedroom. Jimmy widnae throw it oot because he thought he could fix it. She couldnae remember when the tap bar hid gone oan it, bit it hid been o’er a month since the bottom wan hid gied up the ghost.

  “Whit? Ye want me tae make up the fire at hauf five in the morning? Ur ye bloody insane or whit? Ah know Ah come across as a hauf-wit maist ae the time, bit believe you me, Ah’m no as stupid as you or aw they mad pals ae yers take me fur,” he’d growled.