Teatime Tales From Dundee

by Maureen Reynolds

On Sunday we were marched again to the church but I don’t recall visiting any shops in the village, which was just as well as I don’t think anyone had much money. There was a tuck shop on site. It was quite well stocked because sweet rationing had ended the previous year in April 1949.

  The postman delivered letters to the camp and one morning as I was sitting in the classroom, I almost fell off my chair when I was handed two letters. One was from my father, who must have been in one of his erratic contacts with my Mum, and he enclosed a five-shilling postal order. Coincidentally, the other letter from my Auntie Nora and Uncle Charlie also contained a five-shilling postal order. I was rich to the sum of ten shillings but as we didn’t visit a post office, I brought them back home with me.

  Mum must have cashed them and put the money into the household kitty because I don’t recall spending them. However, it was good to have them in my possession for a few days.

  At the end of the holiday, we were all bussed back and we said farewell to Rosebank Primary. After the summer break, we had a brand new school to look forward to. Or maybe not.

  I expect the happy holidaymakers from Butlins all came back with glowing memories of swimming in the freezing cold outdoor pool, the dancing and the shows and all the fun and games organised by the Redcoats.

  We came back with a smattering of nature, country living and red cheeks – in more ways than one – because someone was diagnosed with scarlet fever and we all arrived home clutching a letter warning our parents to look out for the warning signs of the disease. I never caught it and after a few weeks back in the grimy, smoky streets of Dundee, my complexion began to look less rosy.

  Still, I was glad to be back home. There was time to play on the tops of the air raid shelters where gangs of kids would jump from one to the other, sending the people in the surrounding houses into a state of apoplexy. ‘Eh’ve sent for the Bobby and he’ll sort you lot oot,’ said one woman, opening her window and hanging out, while shaking her fist at us.

  Sometime this warning worked and we all skulked off but we were back the following evening, shouting and leaping like demented banshees.

  Then we could also go to the Swannie Ponds to play. These ponds were actually called the Stobsmuir Ponds and during the war they were drained so that the water wouldn’t be reflected in the moonlight, as this might alert the Luftwaffe.

  At one time there had been little paddle boats for hire on the ponds but we never had the money to go on one. So we just ran around the edges of the water and played on the grassy banks.

  On one visit, which I’m ashamed to remember, we all set off with my brother tagging along. As he was much younger than my pals and me, I was a bit miffed. But mum had said I had to take him so I had no choice.

  I could see the accident happening before my eyes as he ran down the grassy slope that surrounded the edges of the ponds. He was running so fast he couldn’t stop and he went straight into the water. Thankfully the water wasn’t deep and he sank up to his waist and he soon scrambled out.

  At that moment we were all having such fun with some game or other so I put him on the homeward-bound tram, soaking wet and cold.

  Well, I got such an earful from Mum when I eventually scampered home. I tried to defend myself. ‘Well eh pit him on the tramcar,’ I said, like a midget version of Mother Teresa, all sweetness, light and sibling-caring. Mum was having none of these excuses. ‘Well if he catches his death o cauld then it’s your fault.’

  Oh, the poor wee soul, to have such a rotten sister. Quite honestly I’m still amazed he still speaks to me.

  As that summer wore on, the memory of Belmont Camp and my brush with country living began to fade, as did my rosy cheeks. Not like Butlins’ Redcoats who went on for years afterwards, going about like chirpy Robin redbreasts, welcoming happy campers.

  Still, I think the outdoor swimming pool at Butlins would have been just as freezing cold as the waters of the Swannie Ponds.

  I must ask my brother how cold it was.

  25

  The Wild West Comes to Dundee

  On 12 August 1904, the Wild West came to Dundee in the shape of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. It arrived at the Magdalen Green Park and set up its attractions. This show had been in Britain for almost two years and had visited 134 cities where it had played to rave revues.

  And no wonder. There were 600 men and 500 horses, plus a stagecoach and real cowboys and genuine Red Indians. There was also horseback riding, shooting and big battles between the Indians and the cowboys.

  How thrilling it must have been for the spectators to witness a real taste of the Wild West without leaving their hometown. Crowds turned out in their hundreds to see a real Indian Chief attack the stagecoach, and I bet it was pretty scary.

  Buffalo Bill, always the showman, was also quite a character, dressed in the fashion of the frontier towns of America. It must have taken a lot of hard work and meticulous planning to bring this spectacle to Britain, especially as they toured all over the country. Transporting the people would have been not so difficult but I can’t imagine how they managed to transport 500 horses and all the props like the stagecoach.

  Remember this was away back in 1904 when there weren’t the wide roads like today. The railways could have accommodated the people but did the horses also go by rail? And where did they put the Deadwood Stage?

  Whatever, it was still a wonderful show that thrilled its audiences and I’m sure children must have been mesmerised by it all.

  The era of the cowboy and Indian films lay in the future but the citizens of Dundee didn’t need them. They had seen the real thing.

  And before I’m pulled up for referring to the Native Americans as Red Indians, well that was what we always called them, before we knew any better, and were always yelling for the cavalry or the cowboys to beat them in battle. That was before we learned the history of these brave and noble people and how persecuted they were. Losing their lands to white settlers who didn’t nurture the land like they did or protect the large herds of buffalo.

  Yes, that’s what we called them, away back in the dark days of yore.

  When we didn’t know any better.

  26

  Credit Crunch

  Our street was divided down the middle about the thorny question of paying for goods. Quite a few of the households were proud of the fact that they never had any debt, always saving up diligently for any items needed in the house. My mother belonged to the other half that had to rely on getting essentials on tick. As she said, ‘If we had tae save up for it, we wid never get it.’

  The savers would say that by the time the items were paid for, it was time to get some more credit and therein lay the crunch. Still, being the sole breadwinner, Mum had no choice. The two main credit stores were McGills, at the top of the Wellgate steps, and the Star Stores in Constitution Road.

  However, there was a third and better option, namely the ‘Provie cheque’. Issued by the Provident Company, these cheques had the added benefit of being redeemable in various shops and the shoppers weren’t restricted to one store.

  Along with your cheque, you got a list of shops that dealt with the company and the three I remember on the Hilltown were Sutherlands, L. S. Chalmers and a drapery and fancy goods shop on the corner of Alexander Street.

  Mum always got the Provie man to issue a cheque at Christmas and maybe another two throughout the year. The problem was, although she had no qualms about getting them, she had an aversion to going out and spending them. ‘Fowk will ken eh’m getting things on tick,’ she would say, in the same tone she would use as if she had suddenly been discovered with her hand in the church poor box.

  Personally, I couldn’t have cared less what folk thought. We were paying for our goods just like everyone else, but it just took a wee bit longer. That was the main reason I was always sent with a list with the sizes and descriptions of things needed.

  When clothes were on the ration, clothing coupons had to be produced with the cheque. When ration
ing was abolished, the shops were suddenly full of goods; food as well as clothing and domestic items. The customer now produced the cheque minus coupons and the only restriction was money. With a £2 or £3 cheque we had to watch the cost of things, whereas under rationing we were also restricted by how many coupons we had.

  My favourite shop was L. S. Chalmers, which was a bright, modern shop with a couple of long counters with glass fronts. Behind this glass was a selection of nightdresses, pyjamas, socks, vests etc. It couldn’t be compared to the supermarkets and stores of today with their thousands of stock items, but after the wartime austerity, the choices seemed enormous.

  However, I had a sneaky liking for the shop on the corner of Alexander Street owned by Mr Rosen. It was an old-fashioned type of shop and I loved all the dark nooks and crannies, and the smell of varnished wood vying with the indefinable aroma of wool and new clothes.

  On most of my excursions to the shops, I had to stand in a queue and wait to be served. Nothing was ever hurried. Drawers were pulled out and boxes opened while the customer made his or her choices but oh the delight when it was my turn to be served.

  I studied my list. It was usually items of clothing for my brother and myself. ‘Twa pairs of grey knee-length stockings, twa vests and one grey school shirt,’ I said, rattling off the proper sizes and inspecting the goods that were laid out on the counter for my appraisal.

  Once my purchases were made, the assistant would add up the cost, take the cheque and deduct the amount. The great thing about this credit facility was the fact that you could shop in any of the designated businesses until the full amount had been used up. I think Mum usually took out the sum of two pounds on a cheque.

  One Christmas, I remember being sent off with my list. Mum had been a wee bit embarassed the previous Christmas when two of her pals had given us all a small present each. This year, Mum had added two gifts and my instructions were to buy something suitable. ‘Eh’ll leave it up to you tae get a wee thing for Nellie and Nan.’

  I could barely wait to get into the shop. The elderly assistant brought out suitable gifts: embroidered handkerchiefs in small boxes of three; tea aprons; tea towels and crocheted doilies for the dressing table, which were also in sets of three. I was spoiled for choice and I can still recall the delicious indecision as I tried to make my mind up.

  I settled for a flowery tea apron for Nellie and the hankies for Nan. Mum had also said to get a pair of school trousers for George for his Christmas and something for myself.

  Before I set off, she warned me to make sure it was something sensible like another vest, but who wanted a boring old vest?

  I decided to go to L. S. Chalmers for my gift. The entire shop was decked out for Christmas with stacks of perfumed coffrets with talcum powder, soap and wee bottles of scent. I immediately fell in love with one such coffret. It was the name that attracted me to it. It was called ‘Attar of Roses’. I had no idea what ‘attar’ meant but it sounded exotic and held all the images of the inscrutable orient.

  My wee box had talc and two bath cubes and smelled wonderful. Mum was pleased with most of the purchases but not with the Attar of Roses. ‘Whaur are you ga’en tae use the bath cubes? In the kitchen sink?’

  Oh, but I had no intention of using them. I wanted to keep the box in a drawer, only taking it out every so often to smell the perfume.

  I had that box for years and it was only when we moved to our new house that I used the bath cubes. However, by then they were almost as fine as dust and the smell of roses had long vanished.

  Over the years, I regularly did the ‘Provie cheque shopping’. The items varied from year to year but I would choose something for Nan and Nellie every Christmas. They always looked delighted when opening their present. ‘Och it’s jist whit eh wanted Molly’. they would say. They never knew that Molly had no hand in buying the gifts.

  Maybe they were being polite and really hated their gift but I somehow don’t think so as their eyes always lit up. A sure sign of pleasure.

  Nowadays, Christmas is a far grander time with expensive gifts and huge amounts of money being spent.

  Like the credit cards of today, it all had to be paid back over the next few months but I’ll never forget the joys of shopping with the Provident Company. Unlike a credit card, however, you could only spend your designated amount of money and this had to be paid back before another cheque was issued, which meant Mum could keep a strict eye on her spending.

  One small thing. I never found another Attar of Roses box with talc and two bath cubes. Or a flowery tea apron. I know because I’ve looked. Not that I want to give them as a Christmas present to anyone. Except maybe myself.

  27

  Travels on a Tramcar

  There were two pleasures when travelling on a tram. One was the actual journey and the second was the conversations overheard during the journey. I must admit that I loved listening to women chatting as they went into such intimate details.

  ‘Do you mind o Ina wha used tae bide beside me? She was the sister of Bella wha used tae work in the Eagle Jute Mill. Well Ina took bad the other day and eh had tae send oot tae the chemist for a bottle of medicine.’

  ‘Oh, eh mind o her. Did she used tae wear a wig?’

  ‘No, you’re thinking o Isa. She wore a wig for years because her hair fell oot on V. E. Day. It was seemingly the stress o the war thit did it. The doctor said she had alopecia or something like that.’

  ‘Oh that must hiv been awfy, losing your hair like that. Did it ever grow back in again?’

  ‘Eh’ve nae idea, eh hivnae seen her for donkey’s years. No, this is Ina wha used tae gae to the same school as me. She’s the big stoot wifie thit merried yon big lad, Bert. He wis ower six feet tall and she wis just a wee bauchle. But bonny wi it. Oh aye she wis a real bonnie lassie in her day.’

  ‘Eh mind when Isa’s wig blew aff.’

  ‘Oh dinnie tell me. She must have been black affrontit wi the shame.’

  ‘Oh aye, she was. We were pushing oor prams up tae the wash hoose one day and this muckle wind blew her hair tae one side. Eh tried no tae laugh but it wisnae easy.’

  Sadly, this fascinating conversation came to an abrupt end when one of the women reached the end of her journey.

  ‘Well here’s my stop. It was nice seeing you again. Tell yer man, Tom, eh’m asking for him.’

  After she disembarked, the other woman turned to another passenger behind her. ‘My man’s name’s no Tom. Eh think she’s getting me mixed up wi somebody else.’

  Honestly, I tried also not to laugh but it wasn’t easy.

  Another bit of chit-chat happened soon after. Two old women who looked about eighty years old were having a great gossip about a wedding. The first woman was the narrator and she was dissecting the event, segment by segment.

  ‘We wir at a wedding on Saturday. It was my man’s cousin’s sister-in-law’s niece.’ (At least I think that was the relationship but I could have remembered it wrong. It may have been her man’s niece’s sister-inlaw’s cousin but life’s too short to work it out.)

  ‘We didnae ken the couple and it was just a wee affair. It wasnae a white wedding.’ (At this statement there was a pregnant pause while I imagined the two women shared a look.) ‘The bride was dressed in a grey frock.’

  ‘My mother always said, “Get merried in grey, you’ll rue the day,” ‘ said her companion.

  ‘Oh, eh’ve never heard that afore. Anyway it was a good day although it was pouring wi rain frae start tae finish. Then we went tae this wee hall up a pend for the reception. The meal was all right but the soup was a bit cauld, the biled ham was curled up at the edges and the pudding was jist a couple o mouthfuls o ice cream wi a wee daud o jelly.’

  ‘That’s a shame. It fair maks the wedding when you get a decent, substantial dinner.’

  ‘The cup o tea wis nice and hot but the wedding cake was a bit stale eh thought.’

  At this point I almost turned round and said that a great time was
obviously had by all and I felt sorry for the poor bride in her ‘rue the day’ grey frock. However, the tale wasn’t over.

  ‘Did she get any wedding presents?’

  ‘Dinnie mention that. We gave them a cruet set and whit dae you think? Did they no go and get another nine cruet sets. Still she also got five tea towels and three His and Her pillowslips.’

  ‘Heavens, she was lucky.’

  My sympathy for the bride increased tenfold – to match the ten cruet sets. Quite honestly I was annoyed when my stop came into view as it meant leaving behind all this wonderful insight into people’s lives and I was tempted to stay on the tram, especially when the wedding saga was finished and she started on about her neighbour.

  ‘Her doon the stairs frae me is a right auld nark. She keeps chapping up on her ceiling wi a brush if eh have the wireless on. The cheeky besom.’

  He pal gave a loud snort of sympathy. ‘Eh widnae put up wi that. Eh would gae doon tae her door and hammer on it then run back up the stairs again.’

  Run back up the stairs? This couple were about eighty and here they were, acting like five year olds.

  In the 1950s when launderettes were first established, these warm, soapy smelling places were also hotbeds of wonderful stories. Not only were they a blessing for households before washing machines became the norm, but the fact that the machine did all the hard work meant we all had time to laze around and gaze with fascination at the washing swirling around and listen to the latest gossip.

  ‘Eh’m fair washed oot,’ said one red-faced woman to her neighbour on the seat next to her.

  The woman laughed. ‘Oh that’s a great joke. Fair washed oot in the launderette. Ha Ha Ha.’

  ‘No, whit eh mean is this is my third visit here this morning. At this rate eh’ll no have any mair room on my washing line and it’ll mean eh’ve tae dry my claes in front o the fire and my man gets so annoyed when he has tae compete wi the wet washing tae get near the heat.’