The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5

by Todd, Ian

  “Don’t ye understaun, Benson, it bloody well is,” she’d wailed like a frustrated nun.

  “Look, I’ll tell you what, Mary. I’ll resign tomorrow. That’ll show them, eh?” Benson, the paper's motoring columnist hid volunteered.

  “Benson, oh ma God, ye jist don’t get it, dae ye? They’ve taken the only job Ah’ve ever wanted and replaced me wae a horrible wee man that goes by the name ae The Rat, so they hiv. A bloody hack that’s in the pocket ae anywan who’s goat mair than two bob tae their name. Why? Why? Whit hiv Ah done tae deserve this? Ah’m no a bad person, so Ah’m no,” she’d howled, feeling real physical pain stabbing away at her ribcage, as it wis wracked by her sobbing.

  “Look, I’m sure there was a perfectly valid reason. Tom Bryce just wouldn’t do that without it being necessary. My family has known Tom for years. Him and my father played rugger together at Allan Glen’s. He’s a good man.”

  “It’s because Ah’m a wummin, so it is.”

  “Oh, Mary...”

  “Aye, and an uppity working class wan at that,” she’d wailed, before dashing intae the bedroom.

  She’d thrown hersel oan tae the bed, screaming the place doon and hid refused point blank tae go oot first-fitting wae Benson.

  Mary smiled bitterly, remembering her antics. Poor Benson hid goat himsel intae a right terrible state, so he hid. It hid been typical ae him tae offer tae resign. That hid been his upbringing talking...a son ae the manse...a rich son ae the manse at that...the daft twat. She’d always been tempted tae ask that faither ae his, a past moderator ae the Church ae Scotland, how he wis gonnae manage tae get that rich Christian arse ae his through the eye ae the needle before that four-legged humphy-backed camel goat in there first, especially when she’d a few drinks in her. She’d been close a few times, bit hid always managed tae bite oan her bottom lip before she made an arse and pariah ae hersel. It hidnae been easy when her and Benson hid first started dating in the mid-sixties. She knew fine well that the parents wur against their son taking up wae somewan fae the smelly classes. She even suspected that they blamed her proximity tae the family fur Benson's wee sister, Fanny, hivving gone and goat hersel put up the duff by some feckless prick while she wis working in an approved school at the tail end ae the sixties. Although Fanny hid always kept the name ae the father tae hersel, Mary hid always believed that it hid been wan ae the wee scallywags that hid managed tae wangle his way intae her knickers. The concern aboot Benson and her getting thegither wisnae aw wan-sided either. It hid taken Mary a while tae come tae terms wae her decision. Benson most definitely widnae hiv been her first choice. Mary hid jist been aboot tae finish her degree at Glesga University. She reckoned that aw that partying must’ve clouded her senses as it hid suddenly dawned oan her wan day that although she’d managed tae shag hauf her year and two-thirds ae her lecturers in the time she’d been there, she wis oan the verge ae departing wae less prospects than when she’d first passed through the hallowed gates. She’d been the badass bitch fae Dennistoun and him, the rich yokel fae Glenochil, oot in Nowheresville, in darkest Clackmannanshire. The hitch-up itsel hid been straight forward enough though. Although he’d been at least five years aulder than her, she’d smiled at him wan night when she wis legless in the students union when he’d tried tae slip her a Tory election flyer. Wan thing hid led tae another and before he knew it, she’d taken him back tae her digs and shagged the baws aff ae him...and that hid been that. Benson hid lost his cherry and she’d gained a couple ae rich plums. It hidnae been long efter they’d left University that his father hid approached their family friend, Tom Bryce, and Benson hid goat a position as the motoring columnist wae The Glesga Echo, due tae his knowledge and ownership ae fast and expensive cars. Six months later, efter failing tae find any job that took her fancy, Mary hid been taken oan as a graduate trainee reporter, covering the district courts and street gang crime scene, clearly oan account ae her obvious working class roots and accent. Maist ae the time, the articles she produced hid been used in the Pat Roller column...Pat Roller being a pseudonym fur Patroller, although hauf the thickos reading the paper in the toon actually believed there wis a journalist called Pat Roller. Fae there, o’er the next six years, she’d burst her baws and a fair few belonging tae other people oan the way, tae advance her career. She’d worked her way up, in a man’s world, tae become the paper’s tap crime journalist...or at least she hid, until The Rat hid reappeared oan the scene fae America and walked back intae his...her...auld job. She closed her eyes and tried an auld yoga breathing trick tae suppress the misery welling up inside her. It wis the loud cough, o’er the sound ae the paper’s printing rollers next door and the traffic ootside, that brought her back tae be confronted wae her current predicament.

  “Er, whit, eh, whit?” she spluttered, confused, eyes attempting tae focus oan the eager fifteen-year-auld, freckle-faced, redheided school leaver who wis staunin in front ae her desk, pad and pencil in her haun.

  “Ah said, hiv ye goat anything else ye need me tae be daeing fur ye, Miss Marigold?”

  “Eh? Whit th...”

  “Ah said hi...”

  “Pearl, Pearl, let’s get wan thing straight here, okay? Ye don’t creep up oan me, yer so-called boss when Ah'm, er... deep in creative thought, trying tae work oot whit it is that Ah'm supposed tae be writing aboot. Hiv ye goat that, hen?” she growled at little Miss Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep.

  “Oh, right, sorry, Miss Marigold. Ah, er, never meant tae...”

  “And another thing, Pearl...stoap aw that apologising stuff. Ye’re starting tae sound like that man ae mine’s, who never dis anything that requires an apology in the first place.”

  “Oh right, er, sorry...”

  “Look, hen, Ah’ll tell ye whit. Nip oot tae the paper shoap beside the bus stoap, get me twenty Embassy Regals, and get five Park Drives fur yersel fur gaun. Bring me back a Fry’s Cream and a bar ae Five Boys chocolate as well, while ye’re at it. Ma nerves ur in tatters, sitting here in this bunker, so they ur,” Mary grumbled, haunin o’er a ten bob note, as the freckle-faced redheid spun roond and skipped aff towards the door at the far end ae the room as if she wis oan an important mission.

  Mary wis glad tae gie Pearl a task...the second since eight o’clock that Monday morning...her first day back tae work efter the New Year break. She looked up at the clock. It said hauf three. She wondered whit wis gaun oan up oan the fourth flair...the newsroom. She wanted tae pick up the phone...naw...she wanted tae march up they stairs, two at a time, in her good high heels, tae Tom Bryce’s office in the news room and smash his face tae a bloody pulp. Who the hell hid asked fur an assistant, eh? Certainly no her. Wis he oan some sort ae guilt trip, or whit? She never hid an assistant when she wis oot dicing wae death oan the streets, at aw hours ae the night, trying tae sniff oot a good story, tae increase the sales ae the paper, so why noo?

  “Calm down, darling. I’m sure it’s just Tom’s way of saying sorry...trying to be helpful after firing...er...promoting you,” Benson hid purred soothingly, fae his desk oan the third flair when she’d phoned him earlier in a raging, desperate panic.

  “There isnae enough work fur me withoot his majesty plapping an eager-beaver school leaver oan tae me. That’s the last thing Ah need. Christ, Ah’m sinking, Benson. Ma journalistic juices ur drying up underneath ma very fingernails and Ah’m noo expected tae operate way below whit ma brain’s used tae. Ah’ll no last until the end ae the day, so Ah won’t,” she’d whinged in self-pity.

  “Look, if the girl isn’t up to it, then let her go. I’m sure she’ll get another job somewhere else.”

  “Ah don’t know whether she’s up tae it or no, Benson. Ah hivnae goat her tae dae anything other than tae clear a space behind some boxes doon in this corner fur hersel and tae try and make me a bigger space in amongst aw the box files belonging tae the typing pool. Ah hivnae goat a clue whit it is Ah’m supposed tae be daeing.”

  “Look, it’s a new start for you... and the girl. Give it a t
ry, Mary. See how you feel by the end of the week,” he’d said encouragingly before hinging up.

  “Here ye go, Miss Marigold,” Pearl panted, haunin o’er the fags and the chocolate bars.

  “Did ye get some fags fur yersel, hen?”

  “Oh, aye, Ah did. Thanks fur that, Miss Marigold,” the girl replied, staunin, waiting fur an instruction.

  “Look, Pearl, grab a box and plap that wee arse ae yers doon oan tae it fur a second, hen. Ah’m no gonnae go intae aw the gory details, because it’s a long and painful story aboot the all-male management practices against aw us poor wummin in here, bit Ah’ve seemingly been promoted tae become a features sub-editor, whitever that is. Noo, masel...we...us...need tae work oot whit the hell that is, because until we dae, Ah’m no in a position tae put pen tae paper, or should Ah say, copy tae typewriter. Nae writing means nae output, which in turn, means, nothing tae dae. So, ur ye wae me so far, hen?”

  “Er, well, naw, no really, Miss Marigold.”

  “Right, well, as ma assistant, ye’ll be assisting me tae come up wae ideas tae write aboot. Noo, the ideas will need tae be researched and logged. Anything that requires getting oot ae this jail, er, office, will be taken care ae by me. That includes fancy lunches and evening meals wae possible article subjects. Anything that requires reading and sifting through research articles by oor competitors back here in the dungeon is your department. Hiv ye goat that noo or dae Ah need tae spell it oot?”

  “Er, aye, Ah think Ah’m getting there, so Ah am.”

  “Any questions then?”

  “Er, so, whit will ye be writing aboot then?” Pearl asked enthusiastically, pencil and pad paused above her knee, ready tae dive intae a bit ae research.

  “Well, that’s the problem...Ah don't know. Efter writing aboot crooks and gangsters fur the past six plus years, Ah don’t really know much aboot anything else.”

  “Bit, did ye no say that as a feature sub-editor ye kin write any auld shite that ye want tae?”

  “Er, well, Ah suppose Ah did…in so many words.”

  “Then, why don’t ye shout oot whitever comes intae yer heid and Ah’ll write it aw doon oan ma good pad that Ah bought fae doon the Barras oan Saturday fur starting ma new job the day. In fact, if ye get stuck, Ah’ll join in wae ye, if ye want? Ma teachers always telt me that Ah wis blessed wae a vivid imagination, so they did,” Pearl exclaimed excitedly, pencil at the ready.

  “Right, in that case...ye kin start the baw rolling then, hen. Whit Ah need ye tae dae is tae grab that wee pencil and new pad ae yers, and go and sit doon o’er there behind that big pile ae boxes where they’ve dumped yer desk,” Mary said tae her. Wance Tweety Bird disappeared, Mary sat contemplating whether she should type her ain letter ae resignation or dictate it tae little Miss Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep, fur her tae write doon and type up, tae gie her something worthwhile tae dae oan her first and only day employed by The Glesga Echo.

  Chapter Forty Two

  The madness ae the New Year hid started tae recede intae the distant past, which wis fur the best, The Stalker thought tae himsel, plapping that arse ae his doon oan tae the cauld, shiny, wooden pew in St Teresa’s. He wis fair chuffed wae his new sergeant, Fitzgerald Kennedy, or King Bushwhacker, as he wis referred tae behind his back by aw the wee neds in the toon. Fitz hid a history that went back years wae Tony Gucci’s manky mob, which meant that even if The Stalker goat distracted by the demands ae his new promotion, Fitz could be trusted tae keep the pressure oan the thieving toads. The Stalker smiled, thinking aboot Fitz’s first night oan the job in Springburn. Unfortunately, Fitz hid managed tae get his nose broken oan Hogmanay, bang oan the third chime ae the bells at midnight. He’d started his very first shift at ten p.m. efter being informed by Central that he hid tae report fur duty at the Springburn polis office that very night. The Stalker hid been fair chuffed wae the appointment. Fitz wis wan ae the biggest basturts ye could ever meet...even bigger than Bumper, and that wis saying something. He wisnae anywan’s mug, took nae shite fae anywan and could staun his ground as and when required. Jist before the bells, him and another couple ae pavement pounders, Hope and Glory, hid arrived up at the Balgrayhill flats tae try tae calm doon a domestic situation before it goat oot ae haun and spread like wild-fire. There hid been at least a dozen domestic incidents up in Balgrayhill every week since the mid- sixties, when the flats hid been built tae hoose aw the folk that wur being cleared oot ae the slums in the Toonheid, Coocaddens and Maryhill. Within seconds ae the arrival ae Glesga’s finest, it hid become clear tae them that it wis gonnae be difficult tae work oot who the real hooseholders wur and who wur the guests. Their initial quandary hid been due tae the fact that battles wur taking place in the parking bays at the front ae the building, up and doon the stairwells and oan the six sets ae landings that ran horizontally alang the side ae the buildings.

  “Fur fuck’s sake, how the hell ur we supposed tae sort this oot?” Bob Hope hid exclaimed, looking at his partner, Spencer Tracy Glory.

  “Er, should we no be shouting fur a wee bit ae back up here, Fitz?” Glory hid asked.

  “Ach, it’s the New Year, boys. It’s only a wee bit ae boisterousness that’s goat oot ae haun. Wance the bells start, they’ll aw start hugging the fuck oot ae each other,” Fitz hid said confidently, jist as the bells started tae chime, announcing midnight and the start ae a new year.

  “Duck!” Hope hid screamed.

  Glory hid jist managed tae get that neck ae his doon intae his collar as a McEwen’s Pale Ale screw-tap bottle whizzed by his hat like a Polaris missile. Fitz wisnae as fortunate as he swung his heid roond tae see whit it wis he wis supposed tae be ducking oot ae the way ae. When the base ae the thick green glass bottle landed smack oan that beak ae his, Fitz hid hit the ground as quickly and as loudly as a sack ae shite being slung oot ae the tap flair windae ae a multi-storey flat. By the time Hope and Glory hid managed tae cart him aff back tae the car and up tae Stobhill Hospital, the celebrations ae the Families At War hid fizzled oot. There hid been nae witnesses, of course. Two hours efter Fitz's unfortunate introduction tae life in sunny Springburn, Bumper hid gone and goat himsel stabbed in the arse wae a screwdriver efter ladling intae a gang ae wee neds who wur battling amongst themsels in front ae the fire station oan the corner ae Keppochhill Road, jist opposite Jonah’s Lounge. Froggie Shearer, Bumper’s partner, hid suffered a few cracked ribs in the same fracas. Earlier oan in the evening, well before the bells, Biscuit Smith, The Stalker's auld partner, hid goat kicked fuck oot ae by a bunch ae hairys, fur trying tae lift wan ae their husbands or boyfriends, fur flashing his tadger at a couple ae Sally Army virgins who wur oot collecting money fur the poor weans in Africa. Normally, Biscuit widnae hiv bothered, bit the mad flasher hid hid his troosers roond aboot his ankles and hid been scurrying efter the shrieking vestals wae a hard-on that resembled a pickaxe haundle…an offensive weapon in anywan’s book. Despite verbal warnings fae Biscuit that he wis committing a breach ae the peace, the mad chopper-wielding ignoramus hid jist continued tae terrorise the vestals. When Biscuit hid withdrawn his baton fae his pocket and whacked the swinging wan-eyed monk wae his big stick, the wummin who’d been wae the flasher, hid pounced. Fur a week efter the New Year, people hid kept saying tae Biscuit that they hidnae been aware that he suffered fae severe alopecia. The madness hidnae calmed doon until aboot the fourth ae January when everywan’s booze and money hid run oot. By that time, hauf the wummin in Springburn hid been walking aboot wae black eyes and the men folk wur sporting bald patches oan tap ae their heids where the doctors up at Stobhill hid hid tae shave their nappers before inserting stitches. Christ, even Happy Harry, the desk sergeant back at the station, hidnae escaped being assaulted while he wis at work. The Stalker sighed, shaking his heid in disgust. Wan ae the female trapeze artists, who wis a wee midget, who’d been entertaining the masses across in the Kelvin Hall o’er the Christmas period, hid goat arrested. She’d swung between the two lights that hung fae the ceiling in the station rec
eption and hid gied Happy a swift kick in the gub when he’d refused tae let her man, a Polish fire-eater, oot efter being lifted fur being drunk and disorderly. The Polish consul hid eventually turned up oan New Year’s day, claiming diplomatic immunity fur the fire-eater and hid managed tae get him oot, so the show could go oan, bit no before The Stalker hid made sure Cannonball Kate hid copped it good and hard. The flying flea hid goat remanded tae Gateside wummin’s nick, protesting her innocence, despite hivving been caught, bang tae rights, in mid-air, oan camera by Slipper, the photographer fae The Glesga Echo, who jist happened tae be in, enquiring if there wis anything worth photographing.

  Before Springburn, Fitz hid pounded the pavements in some ae the biggest middens in the city, hivving started as a constable in the early sixties across in the Gorbals, before moving oan tae Bridgeton, Possil and then back across the Clyde tae Govan and Kinning Park as a sergeant. Fitz hid goat his nickname efter spending nine months in the car-blagging squad that hid been set up in the late sixties, tae monitor aw the car parks in and aroond the city centre. This hid involved bizzies sitting oan tap ae the colleges and university buildings in the blagging triangle ae Cathedral Street, Cunningham Street and John Street, checking oot whit wis happening at street level through high-powered binoculars. Every day, thousands ae cars converged oan the surrounding streets and parked up fur the day. It also attracted aw the car thieves and blaggers fae aw o’er the city, who saw the unattended cars as easy pickings. When a known or suspected car-blagger wis spotted, the boys oan the roofs radioed doon tae the team oan the ground who then swung intae action. The car-blaggers themsels hid started talking aboot how they’d been bushwhacked by the plain-clothes boys and then the emphasis hid shifted tae Fitz as King Bushwhacker. Efter that, the name hid stuck and hid followed him wherever he went. Within six months ae the car-blagging squad being set-up, car thefts and car break-ins in and aroond the car parks and streets ae the toon centre hid plummeted tae an all-time low. While this hid been heralded, at the time, as evidence that the bizzies wur tough oan crime, the blagging squad hidnae completely wiped oot the problem. In fact, the day efter Harold Sliver hid done a feature oan the squad in The Evening Citizen, Tony Gucci’s manky mob hid decided this wis jist too much ae a challenge tae ignore. Sliver’s article hid included a panoramic double spread picture ae aw the cars, parked wae their noses intae the pavement, oan baith sides ae North Fredrick Street, between Parly Road and George’s Square, taken fae the Stow College Building oan Cathedral Street. There hid also been a cracking photo ae a couple ae the squad, lying stretched oot oan the roof, wearing balaclavas, binoculars up tae their eyes and trained oan the streets below. Jack Tipple, the newly-appointed Assistant Chief Constable at that time, hid come doon tae the squad room tae commend Fitz and the boys fur daeing such a wonderful job and hid goat his photo taken shaking Fitz’s haun, wae The Evening Citizen’s panoramic photo blown up as a backdrop. The photo hid eventually been published in the Polis Gazette. Because ae aw the shite that hid been flying aboot wae the big corruption investigation gaun oan, everywan hid been desperate fur a good news story, as moral within the force hid been lower than a black adder's fanny at the time. Sliver’s article hid appeared in the Monday evening’s edition. Oan the Tuesday, seven radios hid goat ripped oot ae cars that hid been sitting, parked up oan Grafton Square, five radios and five cameras hid been blagged fae John Street, which ran aff ae Grafton Square and oan North Fredrick Street, it hid been even worse...seventeen cars hid been targeted. Their contents, including radios, cameras, tartan rugs and other odds and sods hid been taken. The icing oan the cake though, hid been the three cars that hid goat blagged, especially the wan that belonged tae the guy who played James Bond in the 007 films. Tae make matters even worse, aw the pillaging hid happened right under the noses ae the squad up oan the roof. Grafton Square, John Street and North Fredrick Street hid been the three closest streets tae the Stow College building. Fitz hid gaun ballistic.