by Todd, Ian
“It’ll gie people something tae dae before the show begins and no make them feel uncomfortable,” Charlie hid advised.
Helen looked aboot. It wis the same room that young Joe’s funeral service hid been held in oan Hogmanay. Every row hid at least two or three people sitting in it, except fur the front two rows. Everywan seemed tae be avoiding sitting up front. She looked beyond Elaine and Mary, tae the sound ae laughter at the door. She’d telt Betty and Sharon tae get people in and settled, insteid ae staunin chewing the cud wae everywan who appeared. As usual, it hid been like talking tae a brick wall. Even she couldnae change the habits ae a lifetime, or could she? If she wis gonnae hiv any chances ae toppling JP, then that’s exactly whit she wis gonnae hiv tae dae. She knew that auld friends like Sherbet and Harry wished her well, bit they widnae vote fur her. At least they’d been honest. Since Charlie Mann hid gone and announced tae everywan and their dug in The Journeyman’s Club that Helen wis staunin against JP, people in the street who knew her hid been coming up tae her, wishing her well and promising tae vote fur her. If whit they’d been saying wis true, Helen reckoned she’d romp it wae three lengths in the clear. She’d nae reason tae disbelieve anywan. It hid been Charlie who’d put her right a few days earlier when she bumped intae him oan Springburn Road. She’d been oan her way back fae the manse, hivving worked oot the wording ae her election leaflet wae Susan.
“Congrats, Helen. Ah cannae wait tae vote fur ye, so Ah cannae,” Isobel Jones hid shouted tae her, coming oot The City Bakeries, beside the lights opposite Salty Tony’s.
“Lying git, so she is. Ah wis staunin in the bar ae the club the other night there when she said the exact thing, word fur word, tae JP and that crowd ae his,” Charlie hid said.
“Well done, hen. Ye kin coont oan ma vote, so ye kin,” Babs Rooney hid shouted while trying tae escape fae a Corporation bus that wis bearing doon oan her.
“Aw, ta, hen,” Helen hid beamed, heart missing a beat, as Babs managed tae make it tae the other side ae the road, lifting up two fingers and laughing in triumph at the disappointed face ae the bus driver.
“Another lying toe-rag. Babs and that man ae hers hiv agreed tae cover aw the doors up the closes in Vulcan, Palermo and Flemington Streets, leafleting fur JP, so they hiv.”
“Babs and Tam Rooney? Ur ye sure, Charlie? Christ, Ah helped them oot wae a warrant sale aboot eight months ago. Somehow, Ah don’t think she’d say that if she didnae mean it, ” Helen hid retorted, following Babs’s back alang the street wae her eyes.
“Helen, listen tae ye...aw self-righteousness and aw that. Don’t take these things tae heart. If somewan tells ye that their gieing ye their vote, jist keep daeing whit ye’re daeing by smiling and thanking them, bit don’t believe a word they’re saying.”
“Is that no a wee bit cynical, even fur somewan like you, Charlie?”
“Look, Ah’ve been here before...many a time. Elections urnae won oan promises, bit action. People kin say whit they want and dae the opposite when they think nowan is watching, like casting a vote. Ye jist cannae take anything fur granted. Ye kin bet yer bottom dollar that JP disnae. He’ll lick and kiss arses between noo and two seconds efter the polls close. Ye’ll hiv tae dae the same. Ye need tae take oan a mantra...nod, smile and move oan, nod, smile and move oan, nod, smile and well, ye get ma drift,” he’d urged, a wee smile appearing oan his face. “Each night ye hiv tae set time aside tae take stock. Who did ye talk tae that day, who did ye upset...intentionally or otherwise. Where ur ye in comparison tae yer nearest rival...in your case, that’ll be JP. And another thing...ye’re gonnae hiv tae work oot whit yer response is gonnae be when they come fur ye.”
“Who?”
“JP’s camp. And then there’s the Tories, Liberals and the Nationalists. They’ll aw be queuing up if they think fur wan minute that ye’re taking a vote fae them.”
“So, whit kind ae stuff ur we talking aboot then?”
“Look, Ah won’t scare ye at this stage ae the campaign. Ah’ll make up a list and run it by ye later,” he’d replied, ominously.
“And ma responses?”
“Ah’ll leave them oot, jist tae see whit ye come up wae yersel. Anything contrived and the punters up here in Springburn that dae vote will smell it a mile away. Ye hiv tae get a balance. People will want ye tae cuddle weans and make a fuss ae ignoring their snottery noses. That’s whit they see oan the telly and that’s whit they expect. Ye need tae find that balance between whit people expect and them thinking ‘who the fuck is she kidding?’ Naw, Ah think ye’re gonnae hiv tae be a wee bit different...a bit mair unconventional...tae dae well and staun oot fae the pack,” Charlie hid advised, before gaun oan his merry way.
“Are you ready, Helen?” Susan, who wis sitting at the tap table beside her asked, breaking intae her thoughts.
Helen looked up, feeling startled, hivving been engrossed in thinking aboot the tasks aheid that she knew wid take o’er and dominate her life fur the next wee while. Betty and Sharon hid awready shut the doors o’er and hid grabbed a seat beside auld Mary and Elaine at the back. The buzz fae the thirty five people ae aw ages in the room hid started tae die doon and everywan wis looking at the tap table expectantly.
“Go, fur it, hen,” Helen whispered tae Susan.
“Good day to all of you who have turned up on this cold and blustery Monday afternoon, right next to the beautiful old Springburn Public Halls, to witness the start of the winds of change in Glasgow’s male dominated political landscape. Today, sitting before you, is a face well-known to all of us up here in Springburn. And it’s not only to us, but to generations of the weak and vulnerable in this, the second city of the empire, who have benefited from the selfless actions of this amazing woman and her loyal bunch of supporters. In challenging and confronting those who should know better, from evicting untold numbers of families, men, women and children from ending up on the streets, Helen has been a torch bearer for the rest of us who want to do our bit too. Just before I hand over to Helen to say a few words, I would like to take this opportunity to publicly thank her and the rest of the women for all the hard work they do, in giving of their time, in all weathers, to help those who, for a variety of reasons, are unable to protect themselves and their families from a law that is so destructive to the wellbeing of our community that it should have been outlawed in another century. Now, over the years, politicians have come and gone, yet families are still being forced onto the streets...our streets...all because they cannot afford the extortionate rents of The Corporation or the tariffs imposed on them by the utility companies. Attempts to stand up and fight this injustice have had limited success due to broken promises and cynical behaviour by those who were mandated to effect change for those less able to defend themselves. Helen has agreed to stand up, to cross the divide and take on these well-known cynics and interlopers in what they believe is their own patch, who have promised much, but delivered little to the people they were elected to protect. May I welcome and introduce, our friend and future elected councillor for Keppochhill, Helen Taylor,” Susan announced, beaming and leading the applause.
Susan stepped aside as Helen goat tae her feet.
“Thanks, Susan, and thanks tae everywan who’s turned up here the day tae show me their support. Ah’ve jist noticed that we’ve goat a famous journalist in oor midst in the form ae Mr Bradley McLeod, The Glesga Echo’s political pundit, whose claim tae fame is that he’s never lost a bet when predicting which candidate will be elected tae office. Let’s hope his presence here the day is because he knows a winner when he sees wan, eh?” Helen said, getting a laugh fae everywan and a wee nod fae the wee fat dumpy bloke who’d slid intae the front row while Susan wis daeing her introduction.
“Ask me that in two weeks’ time when Ah’ll hiv a clearer view ae the field, hen,” Bradley replied, looking aboot wae his wee pink, shifty piggy eyes.
“This morning Ah wis supposed tae be demonstrating wae some ae youse ootside a closemooth o’er in Adamswell
Street against a warrant sale taking place. Even though the family hid awready goat their electricity cut aff nine weeks ago, which meant that they’d tae sit in candle light o’er the Christmas period, the electricity board successfully applied fur a sale ae hoosehold goods tae recover seventeen pounds in unpaid bills. Oan tap ae this electric bill, there’s another bill waiting its turn in the mix somewhere, tae be resurrected by the hoosing department within The Corporation. The family hiv been telt tae expect tae hear next week that there will be another warrant sale coming their way in the no too distant future. Noo, wance the electricity board sells aff everything the family kin call their ain, like bedding, beds and the chairs they use tae sit oan, there will be nothing left fur the family tae pay aff the arrears in rent that they owe The Corporation...oor Corporation. The rent arrears ae twenty two measly pounds will be the catalyst fur throwing another family oot oan tae the streets tae fend fur themsels. Noo, Ah’m no wan fur encouraging people no tae pay whit they owe, bit fur the life ae me, Ah jist cannae get ma heid roond the question ae how, by throwing this family oot oan tae the street, The Corporation...oor Corporation, think that they’ll get their money back. Back in 1916, there wis uproar in this fine city when a fighting soldier’s wife and weans wur evicted fur no being able tae pay her rent while her man wis aff fighting in Flanders. In 1921, Agnes Dolan, oor fine local cooncillor fur Springburn, goat a guarantee fae the then Toon Cooncil that nae family suffering as a result ae unemployment would ever be evicted. It’s noo 1972 and Ah kin tell ye aw here the day, that the man ae that hoose across in Adamswell Street lost an eye, a haun and his left leg when the lorry he wis travelling in, alang wae other members ae The Black Watch, wis hit by a shell in the last days ae the Korean War. Despite struggling tae find work due tae his disabilities, that man, alang wae his wife and daughter, will be made homeless. Noo, if it’s no this week, then it’ll certainly be within the next few weeks. Surely that cannae be right in anywan’s book? When Ah spoke tae his nine-year-auld daughter this morning, efter she’d ran aw the way across Springburn tae ma hoose in Carlisle Street tae tell me that the sale hid unexpectedly been cancelled, dae ye know whit her parting shot wis? ‘Ah’m glad ma stuff is still gonnae be there when Ah get hame fae school, Helen.’ Kin ye imagine how that poor wean must’ve been feeling this morning? This by-election is no aboot the Tories, Liberals, Labour or Nationalists and whit they aw staun fur. It’s no even about left or right. This election in Springburn is aboot whit is right and whit is wrang. It’s aboot daeing the decent thing. It’s aboot trying tae work oot a solution fur aw the families in Springburn who ur sitting freezing, in the dark, wondering whit’s gonnae happen tae them next. This election is aboot trying tae comprehend whit's gaun oan wae the people within The Corporation...oor Corporation, who seem tae be sitting scheming, in oor name, aboot how tae inflict mair misery oan tae people who hiv nothing bit the clothes they’re staunin up in, insteid ae trying tae help people oot ae the circumstances they find themsels in. Ah’m staunin as an independent community candidate because that’s whit Ah believe is required. Ah’ll hiv nae truck wae anywan who isnae willing tae fight fur the poorest and maist vulnerable in oor community. Ah want tae take the fight tae the wans who seem tae hiv an unhealthy fixation oan making life even mair miserable fur the poorest in oor community and who claim that it’s nothing tae dae wae them when instigating warrant sales and evictions oan a weekly and daily basis. Ah want tae challenge the people who’ll use a nine-year-auld tae impress school inspectors oan how well they’re being taught, bit who don’t question whit happens tae that wean wance the bell goes aff at the end ae the day. Even a blind man wid’ve known that if this morning’s sale hid gone aheid, that wean wid’ve been heiding hame tae sleep oan bare flairboards and wid’ve been eating cauld soup passed oan by a concerned neighbour who disnae hiv two pennies tae rub thegither hersel. We’re no talking aboot bad parenting here. We’re talking aboot people who ur struggling tae keep their heids above the water. Ah’m staunin in this election tae try and find oot why we hiv a fine Public Hall building like the wan next door that’s locked up at night while aw the local weans play in the street. Ah’m staunin in this election so Ah kin use a cooncillor’s influence tae try and find oot whit happens tae aw that rent money that hisnae been used tae repair the rotten windaes in the hooses ae The Corporation's tenants. How many hooses wae families and auld people still hiv toilets oot oan the stairheid landings? Why in this day and age ur we, in Springburn, still being subjected tae avoiding where we walk due tae sewage breaks in the pipes underneath oor pavements? It’s no the nineteen twenties anymair. This is the nineteen seventies. People should be encouraged tae feel that they could hiv a say and a stake in whit's gaun oan in the community they wur born and brought up in. People should be actively encouraged tae make their voices heard so that the deaf and dumb faceless bureaucrats, sitting oan their arses doon in George’s Square, cannae ignore them, the way they’ve been daeing fur generations. We need tae unhinge these people, who fur so long, hiv been sitting in the honey-pot that is the city chambers and get them oot tae sit doon in a fine building in the locality, jist like the wan next door, tae engage and tae listen tae whit the real needs ur fur the community who live and die in a place like Springburn. Noo, Ah’ve heard rumours that whit his happened and continues tae be happening tae The Toonheid is being planned fur Springburn. Who in this room or this community his ever been asked whit they want or whit they think wid be good fur this community by these so-called city planners? Who ur these people that hiv been responsible fur wiping oot whole communities under the cloak ae ‘progress and decent hoosing fur everywan.’ Who ur they accountable tae? The cooncillors in The Corporation, who Ah’ve spoken tae, pass the buck oan tae these so-called planners, who use fancy words like progress. Progress? Fur who? That’s whit Ah want tae know. How dae they know that oor priorities ur progress? Who asked us? The record ae accomplishment ae these faceless people, who don’t seem tae be accountable tae us or anywan else, is dispersal ae communities in tae multi-storey ghettos in the sky where yer nearest neighbour is five hunner feet above or below ye. Ah’m staunin in this election because Ah believe we need tae protect the community ae Springburn, because if we don’t, the heart will be torn oot ae it...the same as whit his happened and is still happening tae The Toonheid and other communities jist a few miles fae here. O’er the next few weeks, we’ll hiv tae staun up tae some nasty mud being slung at us, bit aw Ah kin say is, let’s show them that they’re messing wae the wrang community this time. Springburn is worth fighting fur because if we lose, we’ll never get it back wance it’s gone and forever is a long time. Thank ye aw fur coming and lending me yer support.”
Chapter Forty One
Mary Marigold, newly appointed features sub-editor, in her newly created position, looked aboot her desk, bit no matter which way she turned, there seemed tae be nae escape fae her surroundings. The postage stamp flair space allocated tae her and her desk at the far end ae the room oan the second flair said it aw. She tentatively touched the wall wae her manicured fingertips and immediately felt the thrum that instantly took her back tae when she wis a wee wean, sitting oan tap ae the hydraulic compressor that hid been parked ootside her closemooth when The Corporation workmen hid been digging up her street in Dennistoun. Back then, the tingling oan her and her pals’ arses hid been hilariously funny. Noo, aw she wanted tae dae wis puke up intae her wastepaper basket, tae try and get rid ae the sea-sick feeling that wis lurking in the pit ae her stomach. Here she sat, oan day wan, the cheeks ae her arse awready moulded intae her cheap office chair, oan the other side ae the wall fae the noisy printing presses, doon near the street level, in amongst the honking, growling noise ae the traffic oan Hope Street. Her recent promotion shouted oot tae everywan in the large room, who she noticed wur sitting at their desks, oblivious tae her distress, whit her new status wis in the grand scheme ae things at The Glesga Echo. She wis still in a state ae shock, and despite hivving tried tae rationalise
the decision fae aw different angles, she still couldnae figure oot whit it wis that she’d done wrang in the eyes ae the management. It hid been exactly ten days since Hogmanay, when she’d been aw set tae tear up the road tae Possil, or rather, Hillend Road in High Possil, as fast as her long, slim legs could carry her. She’d been assigned tae cover the shooting ae Tam Simpson, the notorious gangster and his lover, Alison Crawford, the social worker and wife ae an Assistant Governor at Polmont Borstal, oot near Falkirk. It wis the kind ae assignment that any crime reporter worth their salt wid’ve committed murder tae be gied. In the six years she’d sucked, fucked, ducked and dived tae get tae where she wis, or rather, where she’d been before the thirty first ae December...nothing as juicy as this hid ever showed its gruesome splattered heid. Even worse, she still couldnae figure oot the exact steps in the process tae where she’d suddenly and unexpectedly found hersel sitting across the desk fae Tom Bryce, who wis the crime desk editor and her boss at that time. Even though Mary noo hated her ex-boss wae venom, she could nonetheless appreciate Bryce’s pathetic attempt at trying tae soften the blow and humiliation ae her removal fae her job as the first ever senior female crime reporter in the history ae the paper and her replacement wae a well-known shifty hack that everywan referred tae as The Rat.
“There, there, darling...calm down...it’s not the end of the world,” Benson Flaw, her man hid cooed, following her fae room tae room in their West End Toonhoose in Kirklee Terrace.
