Teatime Tales From Dundee

by Maureen Reynolds

  Another woman butted in. ‘You should put your washing in one o yon tumble dryers ower there.’ She pointed in the direction of a large machine that was making whirring noises.

  ‘But that costs mair money and as eh said, this is my third trip this morning. It’s costing me a fortune. Eh could get my washing done at the wash hoose for a couple o bob instead of half a croon a go here.’

  ‘But you would have tae work for it instead of sitting on your bum on this chair and letting the machine dae a the hard work,’ said a young lass who looked as if she had never darkened the door of the wash house.

  Years later when my two sons were sharing a flat in Dundee, they went every Saturday to the launderette at the top of the Hilltown. There had been a spate of burglaries and the focus of the conversation was on the dastardly deeds of the thieves; and as it turned out, not only thieves but picky thieves.

  ‘Apparently they’re no pinching videos. They tak everything else but leave the video ahent.’

  ‘How dae you ken that?’

  ‘Well my neighbour alang the street had a braw video recorder that she got for her silver wedding anniversary and the burglars didnae touch it. They took the telly and the wireless but no the video.’

  ‘That’s queer. Eh wonder why they leave them ahent?’

  ‘Dinnie ken but they do.’

  Perhaps the burglars realised that technology was moving on and DVDs and CDs were the new thing. There wouldn’t be much sense in pinching old technology, would there?

  This launderette was run by two very friendly women who liked to eat Pot Noodles at dinner time. One day a young man came in carrying a gigantic rucksack on his back. He paid for one machine and began to empty his bag. It looked as if he had three months’ washing and he proceeded to push it all into the machine. One sock dropped onto the floor and the two women and my son watched as he tried to push it in as well.

  ‘Eh think you’ll need a shoehorn, son,’ said one woman, busy stirring her Pot Noodle. The man managed to squeeze it in, inch by inch and went to buy some soap powder.

  ‘You’ll need twa packets tae wash a that lot,’ said woman number two. He then sat down and watched his clothes barely moving through the window. While everyone else’s washing was birling merrily around, his was moving in a solid mass.

  When the machine switched off, the lad could hardly unload his as the clothes had fused together in one huge lump which fell on the floor with a thud.

  Everyone watched this drama and the two women nodded in triumph. ‘Eh could hiv telt ye that ye needed three machines for your load, son. One machine wis nivver big enough.’

  The lad however had done his washing and he wasn’t caring if half of it was still unwashed. He packed up and left.

  Two customers had watched all this fiasco and one turned to her companion. ‘Eh thought that machine wis ga’en to explode.’ Her pal nodded. ‘Eh bet he’s broken it and it nivver works again.’

  On hearing this, the two custodians of the launderette scurried over and gave the machine a close inspection. All that was missing was the magnifying glass.

  ‘Och if it ga’es on the blink we’ll jist gie it a dunt and it should be okay.’

  I was on a bus one day, just after a big football match between Dundee and Rangers that Dundee won by three goals to two. Two men were behind me.

  ‘Grand game on Saturday, Bob.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Great goal by Alfie Boyd.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Were you at the match?’

  ‘No.’

  Oh for heaven’s sake, I said to myself. What planet do men come from? It’s certainly not Planet Chit-Chat. If it had been two wee wifies discussing the game, they would have described everything from the footballers’ shorts, boots and haircuts to the state of the pitch and the weather. And they probably would have ripped to shreds any football fans within a ten mile radius, not to mention the hot pies and the lukewarm Bovril.

  But I’ve left the best titbit till last. It wasn’t a conversation, merely a snatch I overheard as I was leaving my bus.

  ‘When she got hame frae her work her man was lying on the floor. What a shock she got.’

  ‘Oh dinnie tell me he was dead.’

  ‘Oh, he was dead all right. Dead drunk.’

  28

  A Family Story

  There have been thousands of words written and films and documentaries made about World War I, or the Great War as it became known, but this is one man’s own personal story.

  I was five years old when my grandad, Charles Dwyer, died but such was the mark of the man that I have such vivid memories of him and I have to say that a lot of his philosophy on life has stayed with me.

  I remember his stories and our trips, but he never mentioned the years that went before my knowing him.

  Born in 1881, his parents died when he was three years old and, along with his brothers and sisters, he was sent to Smyllum Orphanage in Lanarkshire.

  In 1897, he joined the Royal Garrison Artillery (Militia). Pretending he was eighteen years old instead of sixteen, he spent two and a half years with them before joining the Royal Dublin Fusiliers (RDF) with whom he served for thirteen years. I expect after years in an orphanage, the army must have seemed like a good idea to the young, auburn-haired boy, no doubt full of daring do and adventure not to mention the bed and board and uniform.

  However, I am only surmising this reason. Perhaps he had a different agenda that I’ll never know now.

  His brother Andrew and cousin Charles were also with the RDF and two of his sisters went to work in Liff Hospital in 1897 so it looks as if they all left the orphanage around this time.

  In 1914, my grandfather was still in the army but was now married to my grandmother, Fanny, and they had two children, Charlie and Molly. Being a widow before marrying grandad, she also had three children from her first marriage, Saunders, Jemima and Frances, who all lived with Fanny’s parents. Sadly Jemima died in 1912 aged ten and Saunders died in 1920, aged twenty-one. Frances went on to marry and emigrated to Philadelphia. Fanny died in 1914 aged thirty-three. It must have been a huge tragedy in the family.

  What a terrible time for grandad. He was now a widower with two small children, two stepchildren and a war was looming on the horizon.

  When war broke out, the RDF, who were now part of the 10th brigade, 4th division, which then became part of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF), went to France almost immediately. The BEF were professional soldiers from the regular army and were known as the ‘Old Contemptibles’ or in the case of the 2nd Battalion Dublin Fusiliers ‘The Old Toughs’.

  During the retreat from Mons, which was their first battle, they delayed the German Army’s march to Paris. They caused such heavy casualties that the Germans thought they were facing a barrage of machine guns when in fact each battalion had only two machine guns. It was the riflemen who provided this rapid-fire cover.

  Then it was on to the second battle of Ypres, or Wipers as the soldiers called it. The 2nd Dublins took part in all but one of the battles that took place between 22 April and 24 May 1915.

  The first day of the battle on 22 April was marked by the first use of chlorine gas by the German Army and on 23 April, the 2nd Battalion was rushed forward to stem the German breakthrough. In the mud and gore of the trenches at the battle of St Julien they suffered hundreds of casualties. On 24 April the Germans released a second cloud of chlorine gas. Directly in line with the spread of the deadly gas were Canadian soldiers stationed to the west of the village of St Julien. On seeing the gas approach the trenches, word went round for the troops to urinate on their handkerchiefs and place them over their mouths and noses. This was an ineffective measure and the Germans pushed through the lines to capture the village.

  Grandad survived these battles. The following two battles at Frezenberg and Bellewaarde would see further carnage and on 24 May they were sent into line at Mouse Trap Farm where they faced a major gas attack. Out of a total of
668 men, 647 became casualties of gas poisoning.

  During the period 25 April to 25 May, 127 men were killed and 1,094 were posted as missing.

  The war was over for grandad and most of his comrades. He was shipped home on the hospital ship Valdivia and was treated at the Bagthorpe Hospital in Nottinghamshire.

  Although he didn’t know it then, his health would never be the same again. His damaged lungs would never heal and he died in 1943 aged sixty-three.

  However, that was all in the future and in 1916 he re-enlisted in the Royal Garrison Artillery, then in 1918 joined the Royal Engineers until finally being discharged from the army at Chatham in 1919.

  No words can describe the horrors and deprivation of trench warfare and the horrendous number of young men’s deaths; some of them still in their teens.

  At the start of the war, thousands of men rushed to join up in a fervour of patriotism and Dundee was no exception. Lord Kitchener had devised the idea of the ‘New Armies’ but the men weren’t fully trained. The city raised its own battalion, which was affectionately known as ‘Dundee’s Ain’.

  During the battles of Neuve Chapelle and Loos it was said that every second home in Dundee received a telegram from the War Office with news of the death of a loved one. And in some cases more than one because sometimes brothers were killed, either together or in separate battles. As were groups of pals who had all joined up together.

  It must have been a terrible time of mourning in the city. I can’t even begin to comprehend the destruction to entire families with the grief and loss.

  On 16 May 1925, the dedication of the new war memorial on top of the Law Hill took place. The memorial was unveiled by General Sir Ian Hamilton who paid testament to the 4,050 men who were killed in battle in an eloquent speech.

  The luminous mass of Cornish granite breaks free from the Imperial colours in which it was swathed and stands four-square upon the Law Hill where there is no reason why it should not endure till the scientists who invented poison gas carry out their principles to a logical conclusion and explode their own planet.

  He then paid tribute to the fallen, saying:

  Off they went singing ‘And it’s Ho! for the West Port and let us gae free.’ And westwards they went and down went ‘the bonnets o Bonnie Dundee.’

  That wonderful legend of theirs will ever be linked to the fame of the Black Watch. This regiment of high renown. With valiant fighters suffering for that fame. Pushed time after time, wounds still bleeding, into the forefront of the hottest battles.

  Sir Ian went on to express his dismay at the distress faced by the families of the soldiers who had died and the men who had returned from war:

  Many of the comrades of the dead still exist more dead than alive on the dole and it is the duty of the State to think of the stomachs as well as the souls of its old soldiers and to start work of national importance.

  Sentries stood at each corner of the base resting on reversed arms. They were selected from units of the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve (RNVR), 4th/5th Black Watch, 76th (Highland) Field Brigade RA and 237th Field Company Royal Engineers.

  Representatives from the services were lined up along with limbless soldiers and the aged and infirm members of the families of the fallen men. The Guard of Honour was the 4th/5th Black Watch under the command of Captain Douglas Urquhart. In front of the guard stood Lieutenant Kirkcaldy bearing the colour of the regiment. The RNVR brass band and the 4th/5th Black Watch pipe band stood close to the memorial.

  There were also representatives from the Girl Guides, the Girls Guildry, the Scouts and The Boys Brigade. Two schoolchildren, Alex Smith and Bella Old, laid a wreath on behalf of the city’s schoolchildren.

  After the service of dedication was over, the members of the public were then lined up and they made their way to the top of the hill to pay their respects to the dead. The majority of them would have been parents, wives, sweethearts, brothers and sisters who wanted to commemorate the sad occasion in their own way.

  I’ve no idea if my grandad was one of those mourners but knowing him as I do, I’m almost certain he would have been in that line, to pay homage to his fallen comrades who never made it home.

  If it is said quickly, 4,050 doesn’t sound a lot and we can never fully comprehend the scale. It is just a number, but for anyone wanting to realise the true carnage of war then go to the local library and read the People’s Journal dated 16 and 25 May 1925 to see the photos of all the young men who died. Look into their eyes and weep.

  The war went on for another three years after grandad was repatriated and there were many more horrendous battles like the Somme, Passchendaele and Gallipoli and thousands more deaths.

  The Somme (Don’t Think)

  The officer shouted, ‘Over the top.’

  Pick up your heels, run till you drop.

  Don’t think about your loving wife,

  Or the children who are the light of your life.

  Forget the girl who kissed you goodbye,

  Who vowed to be true as time went by.

  Never mind that your life has been in vain,

  That you’ll never see your home again.

  Don’t think about the tears and pain,

  Or lying dead in the pouring rain.

  Another shameful part of the war was the dawn executions of soldiers who were deemed to have deserted. Young lads, who suffered from shell shock or from the stress of all the death and gore, were given no measure and were shot at dawn as deserters. Their families never knew what happened to their sons, husbands or fathers as their deaths were simply stated as missing, believed dead.

  Dawn Execution

  The shell exploded with a terrible noise,

  Hurting his eyes and shattering his ears.

  His comrades lay dead, they were only boys,

  While he survived with a heart full of fear.

  Lying in the putrid mud,

  Surrounded by a dreadful stench

  Of broken men who spilled their blood

  In this God-forsaken trench,

  His thoughts went back to a peaceful life

  With his loving wife and baby sons.

  Then the whistle blew, it was time for strife,

  To run into the battle and the blasting guns.

  The officers wouldn’t accept his plea.

  Although his spirit was willing, his legs had gone

  So they lined him up against a tree

  And shot him in the grey light of dawn.

  After the war, grandad and thousands like him faced another battle, namely unemployment as the Great Depression took hold.

  In General Hamilton’s speech he said not to forget the sacrifice of the old soldiers and that the State should make sure they were properly housed, fed and employed.

  Of course the State did no such thing. The men who had fought and sacrificed themselves for King and Country were now embarrassments. The government let men languish on the dole. Entire families were starving and rioting took place on the streets of Dundee.

  It was a terrible first quarter of the new century.

  As for the rest of the speech, well it did come true and the world still has its wars and people blowing other human beings to bits and other such horrors as poison gas in one form or another. Maybe now called a different name but still as lethal. In Britain, brave soldiers are dying in places like Iraq and Afghanistan and it seems like nothing changes.

  I was lucky. Grandad survived until 1943, just long enough for me to get to know him. If it wasn’t for my cousins, Carolyn and Pam, in particular, who have researched the family tree, I would never have known about his life before I knew him and what a life he led. A true soldier who never mentioned any of his exploits. Nor did he become bitter about life.

  Grandad had seven grandchildren and as the oldest I am the only one who remembers him. I recall he was a quiet, gentle man, a true peacemaker who loved to knit and was a good cook. I am truly grateful to have had this insight into his early life, thanks
to the painstaking work done by the Dwyer family. They have has brought him to life. A life we knew nothing about till now.

  One thing did change however.The Great War was the last conflict where young men and women went into battle with a romanticised feeling of adventure and patriotism. It was all going to be over by Christmas they were told.

  For thousands of men, it was.

  Ypres

  It must have been a terrible day:

  The mud and rain, the cries of pain;

  The mustard yellow chlorine gas that would ooze and seep

  Into men’s lungs and eyes,

  To make them weep

  At Wipers.

  It must have been a hellish sight

  For the Dubliners,

  And Charles Dwyer who went to fight

  For King and Country,

  To set things right

  at Wipers.

  This former placid grassy plain

  Was turned into a bloody chaotic place,

  For thousands of men

  Who perished

  In the mud and rain

  At Wipers.

  Although Charles Dwyer survived the fight,

  Only God knows why

  He lived to see another night.

  But when he died in 1943

  His body merely joined his spirit left behind at the site of Wipers.

  29

  Calling a Spade a Spade

  The world is now obsessed with political correctness. No more calling a chairman by that gender or a cleaner by that lowly name. Now it’s some high faluting title like ‘Hygiene Operative’.

  I know that a lot of derogatory words are now consigned to history’s bin and quite rightly so, but things have gone a bit over the top these days.

  I sometimes wonder how my mum would have coped with all the new rules. Not that she would ever be rude to anyone, or racist, but her sense of humour, I think, would have got her into trouble with the heid yins.