by Todd, Ian
“If Ah wis tae say that ye’re sounding like a paranoid opposition candidate, who won’t acknowledge the reality ae her situation and admit defeat, whit wid ye say?”
“Ah’d say ye’ve probably goat a point, bit then again, it wid mean there wur an awful lot ae paranoid and confused people up here in Springburn who ur no necessarily the kind ae people who’d endorse somewan like me.”
“Fur example?”
“Ah’ve goat staunch blue-nosed Tories who’ve turned their noses up and their backs oan their ain candidate because they believe that an injustice is aboot tae occur up here in Springburn...and irrespective ae party politics, fairness and decency should be a principle that everywan should at least aspire tae.”
“Bit, wid the scenario Ah jist put tae ye no apply tae them equally and that maybe they see ye getting a better result than somewan who lives in a castle? Maybe they’re realists.”
“Maybe. Ye’d need tae put that tae them yersel. Ah’m no in a position tae vouch fur their motives other than tae repeat whit they’ve said tae me.”
“So, whit makes Helen Taylor different fae the other candidates then?”
“Well, some people say Ah’m honest tae a fault, fur wan thing. Ah don’t hiv any political affiliations and Ah’m staunin as a community candidate. Efter ma experience, alang wae thousands ae other families, ae being cleared oot ae the Toonheid by JP and his cronies, Ah feel Springburn is the place tae make a staun, so it is. We’ll be better prepared this time. Ah hear that there’s plans tae put an expressway through the heart ae this community, although JP denies this. If the Inner Ring Road that destroyed the Toonheid is anything tae go by, that’ll mean displacing people and scattering them tae the four winds, intae concrete jungles wae nae sense ae community. They’ll be promised better hoosing wae inside toilets and central heating that they cannae afford tae run, bit it’ll fracture and eventually destroy whit makes this such a good place tae live in and wance it’s gone, it’ll be too late. People who live here hiv an identity and an affinity tae each other. Ah’m no saying it’s perfect, bit wae a wee bit ae investment and imagination, the community kin continue tae thrive. If Ah’m elected, Ah’d be pushing fur the decision makers, whoever they ur, tae get oot fae that big monolith doon in George’s Square and get them tae get their arses up here intae the heart ae the community tae ask local people whit they want...so they kin influence the decisions that affect them and their families oan a daily basis and tae try and see if there’s a way forward that is inclusive fur everywan...no jist fur the few, like JP, who his a track record ae selling people doon the water fur a few measly sheckles.”
Mary hidnae realised the time. She’d sat fur nearly five hours, maistly listening tae Helen Taylor talk aboot her family, her thoughts and beliefs and, if gied the chance, how she believed that the people living in the community, any community, could become mair involved in decisions that affected them. She believed that the people in the community wur an untapped resource and tae ignore them, particularly oan whit they hid tae offer, wis ludicrous and short-sighted. It hid only been efter Susan hid asked if she could come in and get access tae the cooker tae feed Donald before his evening service began, that she’d realised the time. She thought she knew Helen Taylor before she arrived, and there wur facets tae her that Mary recognised, hivving grown up in Dennistoun amongst equally strong wummin and matriarchs, bit she wis different, much different, tae whit she’d been used tae. Mary couldnae remember hivving laughed...and cried...so much in the wan day. Helen’s dry humour wis infectiously funny and desperately sad at the same time. Wan minute Mary hid been aboot peeing hersel laughing when Helen telt her aboot aw the local wummin getting done up like Bombay moneylenders in aw their finest tae attend a warrant sale in John Street in the sixties that led tae the noo infamous riot because they’d heard a photographer fae The Echo wis coming tae cover the demonstration. Within minutes, she’d then hid Mary in floods ae tears as she spoke aboot aw the poor souls she’d come across while oan remand in Gateside Wummin’s Prison in Greenock, who couldnae read or write and who, therefore, hid nae way ae being able tae keep their relationships oan the ootside wae their families thegither. Helen hid attempted, alang wae some other prisoners, tae set up some sort ae letter writing support group, despite opposition fae the governor, and she hoped that the initiative hid carried oan efter she’d left. The shared frustration and tears ae the baith ae them, sitting at Susan’s table, talking aboot the plight ae wummin in this day and age, hid been genuine.
“Ah’ll maybe look at daeing a feature oan female prisoners and how it effects their families,” Mary hid promised.
Mary hid indicated left intae Alexandra Parade before she knew whit she wis daeing. She couldnae remember hivving driven doon Springburn Road towards Castle Street and whit wis left ae the Toonheid. She’d drapped Helen aff in Carlisle Street, bit no before sitting fur a few minutes ootside, while Helen nipped up her closemooth and fetched doon her aunt Jeannie’s jotter diary. Mary could remember driving aboot some ae the streets in Springburn, checking oot the posters in the shoap windaes and plastered up oan the walls. Helen hid been right. There wur plenty ae JP’s and some Tory, Liberal and Nationalist wans, bit despite searching, she couldnae find any ae Helen’s, apart fae a solitary poster in a wee Pakistani corner shoap windae up in Kendrick Street. The shoap hid been tucked up the dimly lit street, jist aff Keppochhill Road and although it wis open fur business, it didnae appear tae hiv any customers in it. Mary peered through the swishing wiper blades, as they cleared the rain intermittingly fae the windscreen, tae see if she could dae a U-turn, bit wis forced tae continue oanwards, alang the Parade, towards Dennistoun. She turned right oan tae Craigpark Street and then left intae Onslow Drive before turning right intae Whitehill Street. She parked the Merc oan the corner ae Garthland Drive, jist opposite her auld school beside the playing fields. She sat wae the driver’s windae doon a few inches and lit up a fag. The hoose she wis brought up in oan Garthland Drive wis in darkness. She wondered who lived there noo. She smiled at the memories...happy wans ae skipping across tae school each day and then gaun up oan tae the playing fields tae torment aw the boys playing fitba. It hid been then that she remembered her Auntie Betty...her ma’s sister...who’d lived roond the corner in Armadale Street and who’d brought shame oan the family efter her name hid appeared in the warrant sales section ae The Evening Times. Mary tried tae remember how long ago that hid been. Mary must’ve only been aboot five or six at the time, bit she could still remember how Aunt Betty hid been ostracised by aw the family and hid left the area soon efter. She wis surprised that that episode hid slipped fae her memory when she wis growing up. Mary never heard ae Aunt Betty or her cousins ever again. Aunt Betty’s man, Bill, hid been killed in the war. Mary remembered being telt no tae go roond tae play wae her cousins. Despite racking her brain, Mary couldnae remember their names. She wis surprised tae feel the tears running doon her cheeks. She found it hard tae believe that her ain maw and da, who wur God-fearing church folk, who’d always worked hard fur whit they owned, widnae or couldnae lend a haun. The picture painted by Helen Taylor earlier, ae screaming weans, no knowing whit wis gaun oan, being clutched tae their mother’s breasts, as they wur being evicted oot oan tae the street, noo sprang tae mind. She pushed the tip ae the lit fag through the gap in the windae and turned oan the ignition. The comforting purr ae the 280SL sports engine, as it heided doon Whitehill Street before turning right oan tae Duke Street towards the familiar toon centre, and the West End, reassured her. She noo regretted taking the wrang turning, ending up back in the dump that wis Dennistoun. She wisnae sure whit she wis gonnae write aboot Helen Taylor. The wummin wis persuasive...she’d gie her that...bit Mary still wisnae sure that she wis close tae understaunin whit actually made somewan like Helen Taylor tick and that wis whit she wanted tae try and put across in the column. How could a wee working-class wummin in her mid-forties, who’d left school at fourteen, wae nae qualifications tae her name...a jailbird
...somehow manage tae get auld blue-nosed, blue-rinsed Tories tae cross the dividing line tae help get her elected against their ain class? Even mair amazingly, how the hell hid she managed tae get the blue stocking brigade tae turn up ootside a closemooth tae take part in a warrant sale demonstration in the middle ae winter? Mary jist couldnae fathom it oot. Whose interests wur at stake in this by-election? She knew young Pearl wis easily influenced, as wis her pal, Florence Nightingale, so Mary widnae find the answer through them. Pearl hid been handy at filling in background gaps. The interview wae the country singer hid been helpful, bit Sarah May Todd, under aw the expensive clothes and perfect make-up, still declared hersel tae be wan ae them underneath...whitever that meant. Efter the interview, Mary hid compared her ain position. Despite drilling doon intae her sub-consciousness, she jist couldnae identify or relate tae the drab, dark streets ae Dennistoun where her and her auld school pal and neighbour, Lulu Lawrie, the pop singer, hid grown up. Before she’d left Susan’s, Mary hid arranged tae come back in the morning tae meet a couple ae the auld Tory dames, tae see whit their slant oan Helen Taylor wis, before nipping up tae the unemployment and National Assistance Board offices oan Springburn Road, tae see if wan or two ae the wummin in Helen’s campaign team wid talk tae her. Between noo and then, she’d take the opportunity ae hivving a wee read ae the auld tattered-looking exercise school jotter that wis sitting beside her oan the passenger seat. Perhaps that wid gie her a peek intae the real world ae Helen Taylor and whit made her tick.
Chapter Sixty Nine
“And Ah jist telt her, ‘Hoi...aye you, ya skinny cow. Don’t come up here and disturb us while we’re trying tae get these poverty-stricken lost souls tae haun o’er their votes this coming Friday. We’ve goat enough tae dae withoot trying tae make somewan like you sound as if ye know whit the hell ye’re talking aboot. We might be poor, bit we’re happy, so piss right aff and take that fancy sports car wae ye,’” Christine Bailey harrumphed, putting oan her best stern expression which resembled Daffy Duck wae a squint.
“Oh Christ, Christine, please, please, tell me ye’re hivving me oan?” Helen groaned, mortified.
“Aye, Ah’m only kidding. Naw, she wis actually okay...fur a rich, skinny, well-dressed, well-fed dolly-bird fae Dennistoun. Ah wis dying tae know where she’d picked up that accent, bit didnae want tae antagonise her any mair than ma presence wis awready daeing...if ye know whit Ah mean? Ah did warn her that she wid be mad tae leave her wee fancy car parked there, bit she said it wis okay, as it wis her man’s,” Christine said and aw the wummin, including Helen, laughed wae relief.
“So, whit did she ask youse, Jemima?” Helen asked.
“Ach, how we knew ye, whit wis good aboot ye, whit wis bad, whit we thought oor chances wur in the election, how did we feel when the priests spewed their shite fae the pulpit, why did we think ye attract aw the wummin while JP and the other parties attract the men.”
“She then disappeared intae The Burroo and then next door tae the NAB tae talk tae people. She wis only in the NAB aboot five minutes before she wis escorted aff the premises by that wee lassie wae the specs who thinks she owns the place. Good oan her fur talking tae people other than us though,” Christine added.
“Right, o’er tae yersel, Susan,” Helen said, nodding.
“The reason I asked everyone to meet here in the Springburn Halls is because I just heard about half an hour ago that JP has agreed to a debate in here on Wednesday evening. He said the only stipulation is that all the four main contenders have to agree,” Susan said, as everywan turned tae Helen.
“Whit dae ye think, Helen?” Soiled Sally asked oan behauf ae everywan.
Helen looked aboot the huge, cavernous, main hall, and then back tae the thirty odd wummin who wur wandering aboot hivving a nosey. Christine Bailey and Sharon Campbell wur baith waltzing across the stage.
“Ye don’t mean they’re thinking ae hivving it in here, dae ye, Susan?” Helen asked her.
“I’ve booked the small hall as well as having the option of having it in here, should people turn up in numbers.”
“Oh, Ah don’t know. And whit aboot poor Daft Dave and his Fair Wage Fur Everywan Party? Whit’s he gonnae say when he’s excluded?” Helen mused, taking a haud ae wan ae the curtains and gieing it a sniff.
“He won’t be saying anything. He goat himsel a fancy job and is moving up tae Perth in his new company car,” Geraldine volunteered.
“What’s the worst that could happen, Helen?” Susan asked, voice echoing in the hall.
“That Ah freeze when Ah’m up there, oan that big stage, or Ah cannae answer a question and Ah end up looking like a blethering idiot.”
“Away ye go, Helen. Ye’ll be great, so ye will,” Nan said, sniffing the curtains oan another windae.
“Oh, Ah don’t know,” Helen said doubtfully, biting her bottom lip.
“Whit hiv we tae lose by no daeing it, Susan?” Betty asked.
“Well, we would be letting JP off the hook. The only reason he’s agreed, is because the other candidates are making a big deal out of it. I suspect that he thinks Helen will refuse.”
“And he’d be right,” Helen said, slowly climbing the steps tae the stage.
“Christ, this is a first, so it is,” Issie said.
“And the last, by the looks ae it,” Christine chipped in, making aw the lassies laugh.
“No me and ma tap dancing, ya eejit, ye. Ah’m talking aboot Helen knocking back an opportunity tae bend the ear ae a captive audience. Ah think it’s the change ae life, the menopause, so Ah dae. Kin ye imagine a few years ago? Christ, she wid’ve needed tae hiv been arrested tae stoap her fae getting up here and gieing an audience laldy, so she wid’ve.”
“Aye, Ah kin remember when the change happened tae me, so Ah kin. Ah turned intae a sex maniac, so Ah did. Poor Wilf didnae know whit hit him. Sex withoot getting put up the duff? Bloody luxury, so it wis. It’s a pity he left me fur another wummin soon efter, the dirty basturt,” auld Elaine Hinky sighed, straight-faced, as everywan cracked up again.
“Aye, youse kin aw laugh. Ah’m telling ye, Helen, there ur benefits efter ye get through aw they hot flushes at aw hours ae the day and night, so there is.”
“So, how wid it work, Susan?” Sharon asked.
“The candidates would probably get a minute or two to put forward their case as to why they think people should vote for them. After that, the audience would probably be invited to ask the candidates questions. I’ve been invited to a meeting this afternoon with the other campaign managers, hence the need for us all to come together at such short notice.”
“Ah think it wid be a right auld rammy, so it wid. JP wid make sure it wis aw his squad putting forward the questions which he’d know the answers tae. Ah agree wae Helen. It wid be a fix, so it wid,” Brenda declared, getting supportive nods fae hauf the wummin.
“Christ, dae they never wash these curtains? They’re reeking ae nicotine, so they ur,” Sandra McClellan griped, screwing up her nose.
“Aye, so ye’ll feel right at hame, sitting in here then, Sandra?” Soiled Sally commented fae the stage.
“We could insist that the questions are written out on small pieces of paper as people enter the hall and then we could collect them and put them into a box and lift them out blindly. That would make it fairer,” Susan volunteered.
“Whit aboot the people who don’t know how tae write then? How ur they gonnae get their questions answered?” Helen asked.
Silence.
“So, ye’re saying that if we kin get that sorted oot, ye’ll dae it, Helen?” Betty asked.
“Ah’m sure everywan will know how tae write oot a wee question. Christ, everywan isnae daft, so they’re no,” Mary Malone said.
“Mary, it’s nothing tae dae wae being daft. It wid surprise ye how many people there ur oot there who cannae read or write, so it wid. Why should they be excluded?” Helen challenged.
“The wans that dogged school, ye mean,” Mary said drily.
“Naw, the wans who turned up tae school, bit who left, no hivving learned the basics. It disnae mean they’re thick...it means the bloody teachers couldnae be arsed, if ye ask me,” Helen retorted, thinking back tae her time in Gateside Wummin’s Prison.
“Aye, it wid surprise ye, Mary,” Issie said, drapping her eyes.
“There wid need tae be somewan tae chair it tae stoap JP manipulating it,” Helen mused, looking oot intae the body ae the hall nervously.
“JP has, er, suggested, Father John, as someone who is impartial,” Susan said, no being surprised as hauf the wummin screeched in outrage and the other hauf burst oot laughing.
“And whit ur the other candidates saying tae that, Susan?” Helen asked.
“Sir Bob Barking’s people seemed fine with it, but Spicer Barr-Owen rejected it out of hand. I think his exact words were that ‘There will be no Popery here.’"
“That’s typical ae they Liberals, agreeing tae Father John. They twisted numpties wid dae anything tae ingratiate themsels wae anywan who they think wid hiv them,” Sharon said disgustedly.
“And us? Who hiv we put forward, Susan?” Ann asked.
“I’ve suggested Harry Bertram, the hairdresser.”
“Whit, The Bouffant? Ah thought he wis a Tory?” Betty demanded, looking aboot at everywan.
“He is, but he lives and works in Springburn and is active amongst the small business community. He knows all of you and even did Helen’s hair for free when he learned that she was standing. If his business is to survive, he would need to be impartial...plus, think who his customer base is.”
