Voices in the Street

by Maureen Reynolds

  The station was now deserted and the only sound was the strange echoing from the departed train and the rustle of discarded wrappers and cigarette packets. A score of cigarette stubs lay scattered on the stone platform, ground under the heels of army boots and bearing sole witness to the military presence a few moments ago. The wind caught the golden fragments and added them to its haul of debris. My lone footsteps resounded in the cathedral-like cavern and I walked slowly towards the entrance with a pile of rubbish following me along the platform.

  The pub on the corner of Union Street was brightly lit and I heard the noisy babble of voices drifting out through steamed-up windows that had been opened to allow the chill autumn air into the smoke-filled interior. How strange, I thought, how everyone’s life seemed to be going on while mine appeared to be in limbo.

  Because I half-expected Aggie to be at the house, I decided to walk along the deserted Esplanade. The water lapped gently against the stone wall, just as it had done all the years before when Mum and I and George had walked along it on summer days.

  The lights of Newport and Wormit flickered across the watery expanse of the river, glittering on the surface like falling stars that had suddenly found a friendly planet. There was no moon that night and the darkness closed around me like a warm, comforting quilt. I was grateful for the black anonymity of it.

  The rain, that had hung over the city like a grey tantrum all day, finally started to fall in a thin drizzle, casting circled rainbows around the gas street lamps of Perth Road. Like some peeping Tom I gazed through the windows into the cosy scenes of domestic family life. People moved around their living rooms, secure in the knowledge of the warmth of their own four walls.

  A man walked towards me, his overcoat buttoned tightly at the neck and a newspaper tucked under one arm. He glanced at me for a few seconds before opening the gate of a house with golden lights. The click of the gate was followed by the thud of a door and then all was quiet again. The circles around the lamps grew more intense and although I blamed the raindrops I knew it was unshed tears.

  I caught a tramcar in Tay Street and by the time I reached home, the rain was falling in sheets that literally bounced off the pavements. Mum looked up as I entered and if she had shown a sympathetic face then I think I would have burst into tears. Instead, she made a great fuss about my wet clothes and went to make some tea. ‘Eh’m waiting for a film to come on the television,’ she said, appearing with the teapot and a pile of buttered toast. ‘It’s called The Reluctant Heroes and it’s a comedy with Brian Rix.’

  This film turned out to be a comic version of your everyday National Servicemen and it was so funny that by the end of it we both had tears in our eyes.

  I got a postcard a few days later from Malta. Ally was en route for Cyprus, Episkopi in fact, and he was joining the 99th Field Bakery. At the end of October, British and French troops landed in the Suez Canal area and seized it back in a military coup. This didn’t last long when the Americans protested. Very soon it was handed back to Egypt and Colonel Nasser.

  A few days later, we witnessed the Hungarian Uprising on the television and all the brave people standing up to their Russian overlords. Sadly, it was cruelly crushed when the tanks arrived and Mum and I followed the story every night as it unfolded. Bella said there was going to be another war and I could well believe it. Ally and all the young National Service conscripts would be once again in the middle of it.

  CHAPTER 27

  I just knew that 1957 was going to be a bad year almost before it was a week old. Ally still had 500 days to go in the army while Mum, who had never got around to seeing the dentist after her painful abscess, was now suffering toothache on a daily basis.

  Dr Jacob wasn’t sympathetic. ‘What did I tell you last April when your abscess cleared up?’ he said, giving her a severe look over the top of his glasses. ‘Do you remember I told you to go to the dentist?’

  Mum looked abashed. ‘Well, Eh was going to go, Doctor, but Eh’ve got this awfy fear of dentists. Eh mean, it’s no just an ordinary fear but more a terrified feeling.’

  ‘Right then, I’ll write a prescription for one tablet and I want you to take it before going to the dentist. It will calm your fears,’ he said, writing on the prescription pad. His illegible handwriting resembled a spider that had somehow fallen into an ink pot before strolling over a pristine sheet of paper. ‘Now remember what I’ve said. Make an appointment with a dentist right away.’ He gave her a reproving look and his terrified patient got out of her chair.

  Mum would have liked to ignore this ultimatum but she knew the situation couldn’t go much longer, not with the amount of pain she was suffering every day. In fact, she was forever pushing little wads of cotton wool impregnated with oil of cloves into her tooth.

  Her colleague, Nellie, offered to go with her to the dentist at the top of the Hilltown and that support plus the magical tablet swayed her. However, when I came back from the factory that night, I discovered the dentist had taken all her teeth out and had ordered a set of dentures for her. She looked really ill but it was hard to determine at this point if this was caused by the painful gums or the effect of the gas anaesthetic. Nellie was sitting beside her and she was still dressed in her white works overall and white turban.

  ‘We went to the dentist right after work,’ said Nellie. ‘Your mum said she was feeling fine and she said she felt she was walking on air.’

  Well, she certainly wasn’t walking on air now, I thought. The tranquilliser had now worn off and her face was very sore, just like it was on my wedding day.

  ‘Mum just needed to get the one tooth out, Nellie. Why did the dentist take them all out?’

  ‘He said that it was only a matter of time before they would need to be taken out so your mum said just to go ahead,’ said Nellie, who was obviously upset although it wasn’t her fault.

  It was more the fault of the tablet that had given Mum her Dutch courage. Perhaps if she had been in her usual terrified way, then she may have stuck to the one tooth. By now she was awake and dying for a cup of tea. She looked pleased to see me and said to Nellie, ‘Now, you’re no to worry, Nellie, Eh’ll be fine by the morning. It was just that Eh felt really sick.’

  Nellie looked relieved. ‘Oh that’s fine, Molly. Eh was worried about you but it’s been the effects of the gas.’

  ‘Aye, that’s what it was – the gas,’ Mum said, trying to convince herself that this discomfort was a temporary thing and that come the morning she would be bouncing back to work, albeit minus her teeth.

  As it turned out, it was seven days later before she felt better and able to return to the dairy. Trying to provide a tempting selection of soft cooked food was a trial. Never a big eater at the best of times, she now seemed content to eat a few mouthfuls now and again, interspersed with her cups of tea.

  I made eggs in every form – scrambled, boiled, poached and lightly fried – and fish in milk and ice cream till she was sick of the sight of it all. ‘Don’t make me another egg because Eh’m really scunnered with them, and Eh don’t like fish in milk. Just give it a wee fry but keep it soft and Eh should manage it. Eh really fancy some mince and a doughball as well,’ she said, while gazing at the piece of haddock lying in a pool of white sauce.

  George was now in the second year of his apprenticeship but was still in the land of the pot-scrubbing, a fact that annoyed Mum intensely. ‘What a cheek that bakery has in making a laddie wash pots all day long! You would think now that he’s in his second year he would be getting shown how to do some baking. After all, he’s supposed to be a baker.’ She turned to me. ‘Was Ally washing pots as long as this?’

  ‘No, Mum, he wasn’t but he was in a small family-run bakery and Eh think you learn a lot more there than in a big concern like the Sosh. Also, Ally went to night school in Cleghorn Street.’

  George was also attending this night school but he wasn’t getting the daily training, always being fobbed off with excuses and promises of learning the trade
at a later date. As Mum said, ‘Aye, when he’s sixty.’

  Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Ally had too much to do. The 99th Field Bakery were turning out 25,000 loaves a day, all hand-made in a long trough then fired in diesel ovens that were portable and set on wheels.

  Because of the terrorists, the island was under a strict curfew and the troops had a guideline of no-go areas which had to be adhered to. In order to avoid any ambushes from the EOKA fighters, the bread was delivered to the surrounding camps at night. It was transported to Nicosia and other places by an armed guard.

  Fortunately, the beach wasn’t out of bounds to the soldiers and they spent all their spare time getting a lovely suntan and swimming in the Mediterranean Sea. I now had a lovely collection of postcards and snapshots from the island and it seemed a shame that such a lovely place was at war with itself and the British government.

  Aggie put in an appearance during the week of Mum’s illness. Our front door, as I have mentioned earlier, had a bell that was worked by twisting the handle. This action sent shrill squeaks into the rooms but for some unknown reason the sound was different under Aggie’s hand. Perhaps she twisted it too hard, but it always sounded like a cat being half-strangled and in the final throes of its ninth life. Anyway, Mum said weakly when she heard it, ‘Heavens! It’s Aggie and here’s me with no teeth yet.’

  ‘Could we no pretend to be out?’ I suggested, more in hope than anything. I wasn’t in the mood for Aggie’s chatter this night because I had just received a letter from Cyprus describing the dangerous night convoys and I was worried.

  Mum was mortified. ‘She’ll know we’re in because she’ll have heard the television. No, you better let her in.’

  By the time I reached the lobby, the half-strangled sound echoed loudly. As I hung up the musquash coat, the new version, I warned her, ‘Mum’s no feeling awfy well. She’s off her work.’

  This was a mistake. I had forgotten that Aggie loved a good illness to chew over. Putting on her serious po-face, her ‘coffin expression’, as Mum called it, she approached the living room. ‘Oh, Molly, Eh’ve just heard you’re no well …’ She suddenly stopped, with her mouth open, ‘Heavens! Where’s your teeth?’

  Mum was annoyed. ‘Where do you think they are? Eh got them out at the dentist’s, didn’t Eh?’

  ‘Oh, you don’t look well and you’ve got a right yellow look! Almost as if you’ve got the jaundice,’ said Aggie in her usual tactful manner.

  ‘That’s probably because of all the eggs Eh’ve had. Eh’m getting fed up with them. Forty different ways of cooking them as well and that’s enough to make anyone yellow.’

  Aggie, who caught the exasperation in Mum’s voice, turned to me. ‘Well, how’s married life treating you?’

  I almost said that since the April of the previous year, I had seen my husband for a total of thirty days and he was now away to a spot where mean-looking, gun-shooting Dead-eye Dicks and terrorists seemed to lurking under every bush; that servicemen were being shot in the street and death lurked around every corner. But I didn’t. Instead, I just smiled and said, ‘It’s fine, Aggie.’

  I caught Mum’s eye and she was about to say something about my innocuous reply but I glared at her. ‘How’s your family, Aggie?’ she said instead.

  Every time Aggie was on the point of boasting, she always gave a deep sigh and visibly swelled, her entire body filling with maternal pride. ‘Wait till Eh tell you my news!’ she said, glancing at us both, her head swivelling with each glance. ‘Babs has met a man!’

  ‘What do you mean, “met a man”? Surely they have around sixty million men in America, give or take a million or two, and most of them will be staying in California. You’ve said so yourself Aggie,’ said Mum.

  ‘Naw, naw, Molly, Eh mean met a man!’ she emphasised, stressing the last three words.

  ‘Oh, Eh see. She’s met one romantically?’

  ‘Aye, that’s what Eh do mean and no only has she met him but he’s asked her out for a date.’

  She sat back in her chair, looking really pleased with herself. I caught Mum’s eye once more. I could have been wrong but I was sure she was about to say something about a palm tree and dates. I gave her another warning look and she blew her nose to cover up her expression.

  Aggie asked if she had a cold. ‘You have to be very careful of getting a cold, especially when you get your teeth out. It can affect your nerves and give you terrible pains in the head.’ She stopped briefly and looked a bit confused. ‘Now where was Eh? Oh aye, Babs has been asked out by the wonderful man who works beside her in the same company. Marvin also works for this company. Well, he asked her out for a date. That’s an American term for going out to the movies or to a dance.’

  When she stopped for breath, I almost added that it wasn’t only the cold that gave you a pain in the head. There was a certain person who had the same effect and she owned a musquash coat.

  ‘Now, Maureen,’ she said, taking me completely by surprise, ‘when do you think your man will get his next leave?’

  ‘He’ll no get one, Aggie. The next time Eh see him will be when his National Service is finished.’

  She looked flabbergasted. ‘What? Do you mean in May 1958? In over fifteen months’ time?’

  Or 460 days, I thought, which made it seem less. ‘That’s right. Cyprus is packed with troops now and the bakers have to make all this bread to feed them. Nobody seems to know what the position is.’

  ‘Well, Eh really thought we were going to have another war when Suez was invaded but it seems to have fizzled out now. Then there’s that awfy carry-on in Hungary. The Russians are a mean-looking lot. Did you see the massacres on the television news? It fair makes you shudder,’ she said, shaking her head at the thought of the black-and-white, grainy images on the television. ‘Meh man was saying that a young chap who works beside him is dead keen to go out to Hungary to fight with the freedom fighters. But the Red Army have tanks and machine guns and bombs and everything, so how can a wee chap who drives a tramcar help over there?’

  It was certainly a worrying time. One girl I worked beside in the factory was, like me, waiting patiently for the return of her National Serviceman husband. His service was over but he still hadn’t been discharged. With every extra day that passed, she convinced herself that something was wrong, almost as if the big Western powers had something up their sleeve.

  By now I had a headache and I shuddered to think how Mum was feeling but Aggie was still in full flow. ‘Senga and Marvin have got another car and it’s a Cadillac. It’s about as long as this room and it does ten miles to the gallon.’

  Mum wasn’t going to let her off with this elaboration. ‘You can’t have a car as long as that. Heavens! The roads wouldn’t be wide enough for them all.’

  ‘Eh’m telling you, Senga says it’s as long as her lounge and her lounge is about the same size as this room,’ She glanced around the walls as if mentally measuring them. ‘But Senga’s house is differently decorated. Of course, she’s younger than you, Molly, so her tastes are far more modern and up to date.’

  As usual she was on her feet a good ten minutes before she asked for her coat, her hand on the door handle. ‘Well, Eh better be hitting the road or meh man will wonder where Eh am. He’s aye telling me no to leave him on his own but Eh tell him no to be so daft.’

  After she had gone, Mum said wearily that Mr Robb must be nuts not to treasure this short time on his own, spent in peaceful contemplation. I felt a vague feeling of dissatisfaction, one that I had been experiencing over the past few months. Perhaps it was something to do with the amount of days Ally still had to do in the army. Or maybe it was my job. There was nothing I could do about the army but maybe I could change my job. That at least was an option.

  Then I found out that how strange life can be at times. Sometimes a decision is made for you overnight and so it was over the Vidor factory job. There had been a rumour going around the factory floor over the past few weeks but these whisp
erings now turned into a deafening roar. A big pay-off was expected, due to the same old hoary story of a thwarted export order. It was also rumoured that the company ran a policy in regard to their workforce of ‘last in, first out’. If this was true then my particular role in the complex lay at the end of the line.

  Because of this situation, I decided to look for another job and this turned out to be as a waitress in the restaurant of Draffen’s department store. The vacancy was in the Cottage Room, which lay right under the eaves and was decorated in a mock-Tudor style with brown Windsor chairs and dark wooden tables. This restaurant catered for shoppers and business trade and offered a table d’hôte menu which I think was priced about three and sixpence for a three-course meal. On the floor below us were three other restaurants, the Blue Room, the Dining Room and the Coffee Lounge, which catered for all tastes and purses.

  Mum couldn’t understand why I hadn’t asked for my old job back in Wallace’s but I had been in a few times and most of the old faces had moved on to pastures new and strangers had filled the gap. Anyway, I never liked returning to a job, feeling it was a backward step. I liked meeting new faces and had already become friendly with Hannah, Pat and a few others in Draffen’s.

  Getting to work every morning was a problem because of the four flights of stairs which rose like Everest from the staff side entrance. One morning, to avoid this trek, I made my way to the lift which was situated at the back of the ground floor of the store. Unfortunately, the man who operated the lift got wise to my antics. The next morning, he barred my way. ‘Eh ken you. You work upstairs and workers are no allowed to use the lifts,’ said the operator, who was disabled. The rumour was that he had been shell-shocked during the war, which was terrible if it was true.