Under the Bridges

by Anne Forsyth

  ‘Well, one of you do it.’ Agnes returned to the kitchenette. ‘Your dad will be in soon.’

  ‘I’m going out tonight,’ Pete said. ‘I’ll just away and get washed.’

  Lana brightened up.

  ‘Oh, he’s got a date. Who is she, Pete? Go on, tell us her name.’

  But Pete had vanished.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ Agnes said placidly.’ He gets no peace with you two.’

  Tommy put his head round the door.

  ‘That smells good.’

  ‘It’ll soon be ready.’

  * * *

  ‘My word, he looks smart tonight.’ Irene gazed at Pete, as they took their places round the table. ‘He’s going on a date.’

  Lana stopped, her fork halfway to her mouth.

  ‘I bet it’s Edna Smith’

  ‘Oooh,’ Irene said, ‘she’s stuck-up! Just because she’s a typist. I wouldn’t mind being a typist. I’m good at the till, too.’

  ‘It won’t be her,’ Lana said firmly. ‘She wouldn’t look at our Pete. I bet it’s Gracie—you know, she works in the Co-op.’

  ‘You’ll be all right for the dividend then, Pete,’ Irene grinned. ‘You stick to her.’

  Pete was incensed.

  ‘That’s enough. It’s none of your business.’

  ‘That’s right, lad, you tell them.’

  Agnes cleared the plates and stacked them neatly.

  She began dishing up the stewed apples and custard.

  ‘You’ll need to sort out who’s doing the washing-up,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m off to work soon.’

  She paused and put a hand on Pete’s arm.

  ‘See and have a good time, son.’

  When she had gone, Lana and Irene began arguing about who would wash and who would dry. Tommy sat down by the fire with a newspaper.

  ‘I’m away for the bus then,’ Pete said, reaching for his jacket.

  ‘Oh . . .’ Lana turned to her sister. ‘I’ve got it. She’s a clippie. He’s never off the bus to Dunfermline. She must be a clippie.’

  Pete shook his head, then went out, slamming the door.

  A moment later he opened it again and put his head round.

  ‘You’re wrong. She’s not a clippie. So there.’

  Lana flung a wet dishcloth at him, but missed.

  As he waited at the bus stop, Pete’s thoughts were a jumble. Lorna was a lovely girl, pretty and lively too, fun to be with. But he remembered the scene he had just left. How would she fit into No. 5 the Braes? Would she find their home too plain? A bit old-fashioned? And his sisters, constantly squabbling, chattering—wouldn’t she find them a pain?

  ‘Don’t go that far ahead,’ Pete told himself firmly. ‘It’s only a date. You’re not going to marry the girl!’

  * * *

  Lorna had taken a lot of trouble with her appearance, too. She knew she looked her best, and her cheeks were flushed with excitement. Pete gave her an admiring glance and took her arm.

  ‘You look nice,’ he said approvingly.

  ‘You too.’ She smiled up at him.

  He grimaced.

  ‘You should hear the remarks my sisters make when I’m going out. Twenty questions! “Why are you dressed up?” “Who are you meeting?” It drives me mad.’

  ‘You’ve got a couple of sisters?’

  ‘Worse luck. Oh, I suppose they’re not too bad really. What about you?’

  ‘Two brothers. Matt’s older—he’s OK. Roy—well, he’s nine and a pain.’

  ‘Maybe we could do a swap.’

  Lorna laughed at that, and he took her hand.

  ‘Would you like to go for a coffee—or to the dancing?’

  ‘No . . . a coffee would be fine. Let’s go in here . . .’

  It was as if she had known him for years, Lorna thought. Of course, he was very handsome, quite like a film star really, but it wasn’t just that. He knew how to listen, especially when she told him all about her troubles at home, as they sat in the milk bar.

  ‘Dad still treats me just like a kid. And Mum won’t stand up for me. It’s a wonder they let me go out at all,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘I’m glad they do let you go out—or you wouldn’t be here with me.’ He grinned.

  ‘What about Saturday?’ he said at the end of the evening. ‘It’s a half-day so we could meet early, have a bite to eat?’

  Lorna’s eyes shone.

  ‘I’d love that.’

  ‘Till Saturday, then.’

  * * *

  ‘They’re still guesing who I’m going out with,’ he said when he met her at the bus station on Saturday.

  ‘Me, too. I just say I’m out with the girls. It’s easier.’

  ‘You’re not ashamed of telling them about me?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Lorna said hotly.

  ‘Maybe they wouldn’t like you going out with a miner . . .’

  ‘Why shouldn’t they?’

  Pete shook his head.

  ‘Some people are like that. They look down on us.’ He shrugged. ‘Things aren’t easy for the miners at the moment. They want some of us from Lochore to relocate to another pit, and for lower wages. And the men who are moving won’t get the same work, not right away. There’s to be a march in November, in Edinburgh. But some folk see us as troublemakers.’

  ‘You’re quite right to protest,’ Lorna said firmly, though she really didn’t know what he was talking about. She’d never gone out with a miner before. All she knew was their work was difficult and dangerous. You often heard about pit accidents, even with all the safety precautions.

  She shivered. And then she paused, wondering why she hadn’t told her parents about Pete.

  ‘Anyway,’ Pete said cheerfully, ‘forget about other people. Come on, let’s hurry—we’ll go to that café in the High Street. And maybe we’ll miss the crowd leaving the match.’

  ‘The match?’ Lorna pretended she didn’t know what he was talking about. As if Roy hadn’t bored everyone for days—who would be in the team, who was going to win, where he and Matt would be standing.

  ‘The Pars playing at home,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘I did hear something about it.’

  Pete held her hand as they made their way up the street. But the first crowds were leaving the football ground and trailing down the street towards the bus station.

  ‘Hello, Lorna. Well, look who’s here!’

  Lorna was about to hurry past, looking pointedly in the other direction.

  ‘Lorna!’

  ‘Someone you know?’ Pete stopped.

  ‘Come on, we’d better hurry,’ she said.

  ‘Lorna, hello!’ Matt and Roy stood firmly in her path. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

  ‘You should have come to the match with us.’ Roy, twirling his black and white scarf round his head, was still hopping up and down with excitement. ‘We won—Dunfermline four, Airdrieonians one. Two late goals!’

  Lorna glared at them.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ she said casually, and was about to move on, when Pete let go of her hand.

  ‘Well, come on, introduce us.’

  ‘My brothers,’ Lorna said reluctantly. ‘Matt and Roy.’

  ‘Hi, I’m Pete.’

  Lorna stood back while Roy gabbled on about the match.

  ‘So, do you support the Pars?’

  ‘Most weeks,’ Pete assured him. ‘But this week—’ he glanced at Lorna, ‘—I was busy.’

  ‘Come on, time for a quick milk shake at the milk bar before we catch the bus,’ Matt said.

  ‘I’d sooner have a Zoom lolly,’ Roy protested.

  ‘Well, hurry up or we won’t have time for anything.’ Matt pulled him away.

  ‘Matt? Lorna called after him, but they’d gone out of earshot.

  ‘What were you going to say?’ Pete said. ‘I know, “Don’t tell Mum and Dad.”’

  ‘Of course not,’ Lorna said crossly. ‘They’re awful my brothers, you’ve no idea. I bet th
ey’ll go and blab to Mum—and to Dad. Especially Roy, that would be just like him.’

  ‘Well, so what? You’ll have to take me home some time, you know. Especially if we’re going to get to know each other better.’

  ‘Are we?’ Lorna’s eyes sparkled.

  Pete held her hand all the way to the bus stop. Lorna was the nicest girl he had met for ages.

  ‘I think you’d like my mum. Would you come and meet them all next Saturday?’

  Before she could answer, his arms were around her and he was kissing her . . .

  * * *

  ‘It won’t be long before the ferries are history,’ Joe sighed. ‘I can’t picture what it’ll be like without them. And to have a road bridge crossing the Forth.’

  ‘Not just the Forth,’ Walter said. ‘They’re planning a road bridge across the Tay now. They did test borings last year.’

  ‘So they’ll be doing away with the ferries over the Tay, too. I like the old Fifies—the Scotscraig, the Abercraig.’ Joe sighed again. ‘Progress, I suppose.’

  ‘It’s a grand sight by night, the new bridge,’ William said, as he filled his pipe. He puffed contentedly.

  ‘Aye,’ Walter agreed. ‘They’ve got lights all along the catwalks. We’re only halfway there, though. There’s a year at least before the two parts of the steelwork will meet at the middle.’

  ‘I remember the day the rail bridge opened.’ The old man’s eyes sparkled. ‘And some pals of mine—they’d been down to the bridge a day or two before it opened, and walked across it.’ I’d have liked to have been with them. And I’d like fine to go up on the new bridge, just to see it.’

  Joe, listening to the conversation, chimed in.

  ‘What beats me is why the wires sag between the towers.’

  Walter grinned.

  ‘A lot of people ask that. It’s because the cables aren’t fully stiffened yet. You wait—it’ll be all right.’

  ‘All the same, it must be cold up there,’ Grandpa said.

  ‘It’s worse when there are high winds,’ the foreman said. ‘We can’t work those days. Like earlier this month. As soon as the wind gets up, that’s it. Work stops.’

  Joe nodded.

  ‘It was bad enough down on the ground. All that flooding out Halbeath Road. And it’s not looking too good for the harvest with all the stooks sodden.’

  Nancy, listening to the conversation, shivered.

  ‘It makes me go all cold just to think of you up there. Are you never frightened?’

  ‘You wouldn’t do the job if you were scared.’ Walter laughed. ‘No, you get used to it. I’ve worked all over—Sydney, Auckland, Africa—but the Forth beats them all for weather. I’ve never seen anything like it! Still, we’re making progress. If we can get on like this in bad weather, just think what we could have done in fine weather. The bridge would have been finished in no time at all.’

  * * *

  Nancy shook out the tablecloth and folded it. ‘Well, I think you’re all really brave. Now, what would you like for breakfast? Same as usual?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Walter smiled at her ‘That’s another thing that keeps us going. Good, warming food. Porridge, bacon and sausages—keeps the cold out. And your mince and potatoes—smashing! So you see, it’s thanks to you that the bridge is getting built.’

  ‘Oh, go on with you!’

  Nancy smiled with real affection at her lodger.

  ‘Here, let me carry that tray.’

  He followed her into the kitchen and set it down on the work top.

  ‘Mrs Mackay . . .’ He paused. ‘Your father-in-law, he’s a grand chap.

  ‘What he was saying just now, about going up on the bridge. Well, maybe I could arrange it—for him and Joe. But I thought I’d best ask you first.’

  ‘Well,’ Nancy hesitated. ‘He’s not young . . . and isn’t it dangerous?’

  ‘Mrs Mackay, I know how anxious you are for young Matt. And you think it might be too much for your father-in-law. But it’s as safe as we can make it. You’ve seen the huge safety nets?’

  Nancy nodded.

  ‘Do you get a lot of visitors?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, officials, government ministers—we even had the King of Norway.

  ‘I’d take very good care of your menfolk. You know that.’

  * * *

  It was a day that Joe and his father would never forget. ‘This is better than being at the opening,’ William grinned.

  Joe wouldn’t admit it, then or later, but he wondered if he could take the height. Going up in the lift, Walter joked, ‘It’s like the nose cone of a rocket at Cape Canaveral.’

  Joe began to feel a little apprehensive. How often had he looked up from the wheelhouse of the ferry at the giant structure above . . . and grinned at the height of it.

  Once on the steel decking he followed Walter and William, chuckling wryly to himself as he saw William waving and pointing things out. For a moment he had a sudden panic and wanted to close his eyes. Or better still, to turn round and go back.

  But pride wouldn’t allow him to.

  ‘Go on,’ he told himself. ‘You’ve a head for heights, you know you have. Look how you climbed the roof last year to replace a broken gutter.’

  But that was different. Still, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes wide.

  And suddenly he was so fascinated by all he saw that he forgot to feel nervous. There along the coast of Fife, Burntisland, Aberdour, and on to Kirkcaldy—he could see the chimney stacks.

  And there was the Bass Rock, as clear as day . . . Far away in the distance on the other shore there were small boats moored. And there, yes, there was the ferry, the Queen Margaret.

  Walter was reassuring.

  ‘There’s the safety nets down below. If a man should fall—well, he might get a few bruises, but he’d be caught in the net. We’re proud of these nets. They didn’t have any standard to go by, we had to design them right from scratch. And they’ve proved their worth.’

  Wearing hard hats, the three men walked along the steel decking. Walter explained how, just a month ago, the last wires had been carried across the Forth. They watched the welders at work, and gazed admiringly at the spidermen climbing up the rope ladders.

  ‘You’ll maybe feel a slight sway,’ Walter said. ‘We can gauge the sway by lining up a guy rope with a house on the shore, and the house often seems to move. But if the wind gets up, that’s when all the work comes to a halt.’

  He showed them the bothy.

  ‘Just like on dry land!’ He laughed.

  There were several men enjoying a break, a glimpse at the newspaper, a smoke or a welcome cup of tea.

  ‘There a game of cards going too, if there’s time,’ Walter said.

  Out in the sunshine, Joe drew a deep breath. It was magnificent up here. He had stopped feeling nervous and was astonished by the sheer skill and expertise.

  Nothing is left to chance, he thought. It’s going to be a wonderful bridge.

  * * *

  ‘I’m glad I work on dry land,’ Joe said when they finally came down to ground level again. ‘Well, hardly dry land,’ he added.

  ‘You wouldn’t get me working anywhere else.’ Walter Logan glanced back at the bridge. ‘Out in the fresh air all the time—even in bad weather, it’s the life for me. I couldn’t do anything else—like being a miner.’ He gave a shudder. ‘Working underground, I’d be scared stiff.’

  ‘Those spidermen—’ William said. ‘I’ve always had a head for heights, but I wouldn’t like to be doing their job.’

  ‘They never give it a thought,’ Walter assured him. ‘Plenty of them have been at it for years, and often it runs in the family. And of course, safety’s the first consideration. You can’t rely on shouting instructions—the crane man has always got to see the signal we’re giving him.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ Joe said to Walter. ‘Why don’t you come over on the ferry one day? Then you can see how the bridge is progressing from down below.’


  The foreman nodded.

  ‘I’ve not been on the ferry for a while. It’ll be interesting to take a look up at the bridge.’

  ‘I remember the ferries going from Aberdour,’ Grandpa recalled. ‘That was a long time ago, though. Back in nineteen-hundred.’

  Walter turned to the old man.

  ‘You’ve a lot of memories.’

  ‘Aye, that I have.’ Grandpa nodded. ‘And I’m proud to think that’s two bridges I’ve seen going up . . . I never saw the old Tay Bridge, but I mind my father speaking of that terrible night when the bridge went down.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Well, I’ll be glad to take you up on your offer of a boat trip,’ Walter said cheerfully to Joe.

  ‘Your first half-day,’ Joe promised. ‘Now I see the athletics from Belgrade are on the telly tonight. Want to watch it?’

  ‘Yes, sure.’

  ‘What about you, Grandpa?’

  The old man shook his head.

  ‘I’m away to Inverkeithing, to the whist club. I’ll have a lot to tell them tonight!’

  * * *

  It was a pleasant September day for the ferry crossing. As they neared the middle of the Forth, Walter looked up at the giant cranes at the end of each section of steelwork. He tried to imagine what it would look like when the gap in the middle was closed. There was a while to go yet, though, maybe another year before the north and south sections met.

  My, but it looked so different from down below!

  There was plenty to see as the ferry chugged across the river. He looked up at the rail bridge. It looked different from the river, even higher. Though he’d often crossed it by train, he hadn’t appreciated the height of the spans. And there was no modern technology back in 1890, he marvelled.

  It was a pity that the ferries had to go, though, he told himself, seeing Joe’s pride in his craft.

  It was a fine, smooth crossing as the ferry steadily ploughed through the waters of the Forth. He leaned on the rail, deep in thought. What a lot of changes in a lifetime! There was William, remembering the building of the rail bridge. And young Roy—well, crossing by rail and ferry was a part of everyday life.

  Before long, people would take the road bridge for granted too.

  ‘I’ll miss the ferries,’ he overheard one woman say to another. ‘It’s a fine, peaceful way of crossing. When we get to the bridge you’ll be across in a few minutes.’