However, on one evening in the late summer of 1900 as the two sisters sat together over a pot of tea, with Nellie’s own children playing round their feet while Becky slept peacefully, Meg wore a worried frown.
Observing this for some time Nellie finally said: “Listen, Meg. For the love o the wee man will ye just stop worryin about nothin? What’ll happen will happen and there’s naethin the likes o us can do about it.”
“Don’t worry! Don’t worry,” Meg snapped. “Hmph. That’s easily said. Do you even know what I’ve been talking about? For heaven’s sake, Nellie, do you pay attention to nothing that’s going on?”
Nellie glowered. “That’s bluidy charmin, I must say, especially comin from the likes o ye. Oh, Ah pey attention aw right … damn sure Ah dae. Ah spend every wakin hour takin care o a houseful of bairns – no forgettin yer ain wee bas– er, yer ain wee precious Becky. And if that disnae fit the bill o payin attention, mibbe yer ladyship wid climb doon aff yer high horse lang enough tae tell me jist whit the hell we’re talking aboot.”
Meg matched stare for stare with her sister before finally saying: “Nellie, can you see nothing beyond the confines of your own pathetic little world? What I am talking about, in fact, what the entire population of Glasgow – with one possible exception – is discussing is the latest outbreak of plague. The whole city is in a panic. And no wonder. Imagine! Eleven cases of bubonic plague and another ninety-three contacts under observation at Belvedere Hospital. Surely even you are concerned about that?”
Nellie pushed back a lock of hair which had escaped the confines of her dust-cap. Once that had been done to her entire satisfaction, only then did she deign to reply. “Oh, that? The plague – is that whit yer gettin aw worked up aboot? Uch, ye cannae believe all them facts and figures yon Sanitary Chambers is aye churnin oot. Keeps aw them pen pushers in cushy jobs, if ye ask me.”
Meg pointed an admonitory finger at her sister. “Well then, I am asking you, aren’t you the least bit concerned? Of course, you are at liberty to believe whatever you wish, but the fact remains bubonic plague is quite definitely a force to be reckoned with. The very thought of it here, rampant in Glasgow, scares me rigid.”
Nellie sighed. “Aye, God help us, ye huvnae changed much. Ye were aye a worrier. A born worrier, so ye are. Even as a wee girl playin in the back court ye jist couldnae bear tae get yer hauns aw mucky. As for rakin through the middens like the rest o us ye’d rather run a mile and tak a runnin jump intae the Clyde.” After a reflective pause Nellie continued: “A great worrier indeed. Jist a damn shame ye hadnae worried yersell aboot the sure-fire consequences when ye done the business wi yon fly-by-nicht so called boyfriend of yers.”
Meg gasped and it was all of a minute before she could trust herself to speak. “Nellie! Please. I beg of you. Please do not start that again. It’s over. Finished and done with.”
Nellie glared back. “Done with ye say? Hmph that’s rich. Listen ye tae me, hen, it’ll niver be done with. No as long as that wee wean’s arsehole looks doon. One wey and another ye’ve got that commitment for life. And don’t ye ever forget it.”
Meg’s lips tightened, but rather than keep a sulky silence she decided to have it out with her sister. “Why is it, Nellie, no matter what topic we start to discuss – be it the price of coal, the minister’s last sermon, or even the bubonic plague – it always comes back to my fall from grace?”
Nellie allowed herself the ghost of a smile and relented. “Aye, ye’re right, hen, deid right. God alone kens how we got frae a killer disease tae ye ain wee bit o bother. Ah suppose it’s because ye’re aye in ma mind – Ah’ll niver understand how an intelligent girl like ye could – uch, tae hell, it disnae bear talkin aboot –”
“Right then, Nellie. Don’t talk about it. That’s all I ask.”
To fill the empty silence between them, Nellie got to her feet and busied herself about the kitchen, finally returning with the peace offering of a fresh pot of tea.
“Onywey, therr’s one thing Ah will say. Ah’m mibbe a hell o a lot better informed aboot the plague than you seem tae think. Fine weel Ah ken aw the details, whit ye might call the nitty-gritty. The plague was first reported in Thistle Street and Rose Street. But ye can tak it frae me, roon aboot here we’ve naethin tae worry aboot.”
Meg frowned. “Nothing! You say there’s nothing to worry about? How on earth do you come to that conclusion?”
Puffed up with her own importance at her superior knowledge on the subject, Nellie obviously savoured the moment before saying: “Ah’m no arrivin nowheres, hen but Ah kin tell ye this … Ah hae it on guid authority it’s aw been cleaned up – done and dusted. Aye, Swept away.”
Nellie paused for dramatic effect, but before she could continue Meg said: “For heaven’s sake, Nellie. No one on God’s earth can simply sweep away the dreaded bubonic plague as if it were the Saturday night detritus in the common close.”
Nellie gave a mirthless laugh. “Ah’m buggart if Ah ken whit yer talkin aboot noo. Meg. The fact remains – Ah ken it for God’s truth – no only hae the Sanitary men disinfected the hooses in yon twa streets, but they’ve even cleaned oot the very middens, and wid ye believe it. They’ve whitewashed the landins, the stairs and the closes. Aye, whitewashed them! Wid ye credit that? So Ah’m sure, in fact Ah’m deid certain, we can noo kiss guid-bye to ony mair threat of bubonic plague here in Glesga. So ye can jist stoap frettin. The bairns will be fine.”
***
Chapter 8
January 1901
Ever since the scare about the bubonic plague, which in their case, thankfully, had come to nothing, each time Nellie had made noises about the lack of money somehow or other Meg had managed to stretch her wages to go that little bit further. However, although Nellie had never again actually demanded money for her ministrations the unspoken but very real intention was there and the matter was a constant source of worry to Meg.
Yes, Meg thought as she hurried to work on that late January morning. It’s never-ending. Will there come a time when I can’t afford to pay the necessary amount?
As always, what made things even harder to bear, the impossibility of ever having the luxury of being able to discuss her problems with another living soul meant the questions and worries all kept swirling around unanswered in her head.
And, thought Meg, as if January isn’t already my most hated month of the year it’s even gloomier this year with the whole city draped in hideous black crêpe for the Old Queen’s mourning. No wonder I feel so down, out of sorts, and utterly depressed. What would I give for even the tiniest ray of sunshine?
On her entry into the haberdashery she was greeted by a sombre Miss Martin. Not only was Petronella dressed in black from head to toe, the shop was festooned in black crêpe. Every available surface from the shop’s counter to the heavy brass cash-till was covered. Even the elegant chairs set out for the comfort and convenience of the customers were shrouded. As if this display was insufficient to show Miss Martin’s due and proper respect for the newly-deceased Queen Victoria, on the counter itself was an artistically arranged selection of tippets of black fur, black leather gloves, and lace-edged mourning handkerchiefs. As a pièce de résistance at the end of the counter farthest from the door lay black mourning arm bands and a scattering of black felt diamonds ready to be stitched onto the jackets and coats of a grieving public.
Feeling some obligation to comment on this impressive if slightly ghoulish and overdone presentation, Meg blurted out: “My word, Miss Martin … er … I should say, Petronella, you have been busy. Never in my life have I seen … such a … well! I suppose the word I am seeking is such an outstanding display. I’m sure our customers too will be very impressed.”
Miss Martin gave a wintry smile and a regal nod of her head. “Thank you, Meg, although I am bound to say I did not create this artistic setting with the sole intention of impressing anyone. No. No! I feel it is the least I can do to show respect for our wonderful, compassionate, dear-depart
ed Queen.”
While privately wondering what precisely the Good Queen, who was reputed to have hated her Second City of the Empire, had ever done for the starving multitudes in the rat-ridden Glasgow hovels, Meg thought it best to keep her own counsel. She merely nodded somewhat absently as she set to work.
Well, Meg thought, staunch dyed-in-the-wool disloyal, anti-monarchist or not, the way I’m feeling right now with my own raft of problems, at least my face will give the impression of deepest misery. If any one of our customers – or Petronella herself – chooses to equate my mournful expression with deep sadness at the passing of our late, lamented, revered, and over-indulged Britannic Majesty then jolly good luck to them.
***
Chapter 9
Spring 1902
Meg hummed quietly to herself as she went about her usual chores in preparing the shop for the business of the day ahead.
An involuntary smile rose to her lips as she thought: For once life seems to be much better. Not only is old Mrs Martin in a better frame of mind and slightly more amenable to my helpful suggestions these days, but also the new arrangement allowing me to meet up with Nellie and Becky on Glasgow Green on my half days, weather permitting, seems to be working smoothly, so far at least.
Petronella interrupted Meg’s thoughts with: “Is it a private matter or may I join in, Meg?”
Meg roused herself sufficiently to reply: “Sorry. What was that? I didn’t quite catch your meaning.”
Petronella laughed. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You were miles away, grinning all over your face. So, what’s the joke? Surely it can’t just be this lovely April day that has so lifted your spirits.”
Meg laid down the duster she had in her hand on the counter. “Well, it goes without saying, Spring is my favourite season of the year, but yes, you’re quite right, there is something else … a couple of things actually.”
Petronella stood head cocked to one side as she waited to hear Meg’s announcement, while Meg mentally debated just how much of her news she should reveal.
At last Meg gave a quick nervous cough. “First of all and uppermost in my mind is the fact that your mother and I do seem to be getting on a great deal better of late.”
“Yes,” Petronella nodded, “I have noticed a big improvement. Mother now seems more at ease with herself and not nearly so quick to take offence or fly into temper tantrums. I would be the first to admit that that’s all thanks to you, Meg.”
Meg demurred graciously at the compliment and Petronella went on: “But I interrupted you. You said there were two things.”
Meg gave a mischievous grin. “If we’re doing a stocktaking of the good things in my life right now, actually I should have said three not two.”
“Now you’ve really got me intrigued. Do tell.”
“If you’re sure you can stand the excitement … This coming Saturday, Jack Dunn, you remember we mentioned him before? We’ve been meeting each other at almost all church social functions this last year and a bit – and not by accident! Well, he’s invited me out for tea at Miss Cranston’s. He’s arranged to meet me in town after he’s been to the football at Ibrox and later on we plan to go to a church soirée.”
“At last! I knew things would brighten up when you started to take the advice I gave you long ago, even before you moved in with us. Splendid! Just one thing – I hope you won’t be rushing into a whirlwind marriage or any such elopement to Gretna Green too soon. Mother and I would miss you.”
Meg gave a hearty laugh. “It’s early days yet, Petronella, so no need to worry on that score. Now, I’d better get back to work. You’re not paying me good money just to stand about here chatting.”
Petronella put out a detaining hand. “Not so fast, young lady. I’ve still to hear about your third item of good news.”
Meg frowned suddenly aware of how close she’d come to disclosing details of Wee Becky’s domestic arrangement.
On the instant, she decided to fob off her employer with harmless trivia about the new dress she had bought for Saturday’s big event. However, as she started speaking the ping of the shop bell disturbed them.
Petronella gave a rueful smile. “I’ll hear about your new outfit later, Meg. For now it’s back to work for both of us.”
***
Chapter 10
Saturday came at last and in honour of the great occasion Petronella even allowed Meg an extra half-day off to get her hair done and perhaps have time for a spot of window shopping in town before meeting up with Jack.
As Meg walked the length of Sauchiehall Street, despite knowing it to be the height of vanity, she could not resist admiring her newly-coiffeured image in the many shop windows lining the world-famous thoroughfare. On all sides were fur-coated matrons, who, judging by their self-satisfied airs and the number of expensive carrier bags they carried, had obviously done rather more than the expense-free window shopping Meg had indulged in. As she looked with interest at the scene around her she was struck by the fact that although the centre was busy, women, fur-coated or otherwise, were certainly in the majority. Apart from the occasional, obviously henpecked husband being trailed along on his wife’s manic shopping spree there was scarcely a man, eligible or otherwise, to be seen anywhere.
Enjoying to the full the luxury of the unexpected hours of freedom from work Meg decided to do the entire traditional Glasgow outing of ‘Up Sauchie and doon Buchie’. As she left Sauchiehall Street and strolled down the equally prestigious Buchanan Street she played her own private, harmless game of looking for further examples of henpecked husbands to add to her growing list. Halfway down Buchanan Street, having had her fill of window shopping and wishing to rest her tired feet, she decided to treat herself to afternoon tea.
Seated in the cosy tearoom and having already decided how many of the mouth-watering delicacies she could afford from the three-tiered cake-stand, she remarked to the waitress: “Not too many men indulging in afternoon tea, are there? It rather looks as if we’ve got it all our own way today.”
The frilly lace cap quivered on top of the grey-haired bun as the waitress chortled: “Aye, yer deid right therr, hen. They’ll all be ower yonder at Ibrox, like a lot o daft wee boys, shoutin their lungs oot for tae cheer on the Scotland team, so they will.”
Meg nodded, light dawning at last. “Oh, of course. I knew there was a match on but I’d forgotten it was such a big match – Scotland versus England!”
“Weel, hen, if you’ve forgotten aboot it, ye must be the only one in the whole country. One wey and another, they reckon there’ll be mair than 70,000 fans at Ibrox this day. But listen, Ah’d better scoot aff and get yer wee pot o tea or ma boss’ll be checkin me again for talkin ower much tae customers. See her! She’s aye sayin: ‘Now then, Euphemia, less talk, more walk.’”
On the point of turning away, the waitress bent over and whispered in Meg’s ear: “Listen, hen, when ye’re pickin yer dainty bites frae the cake-stand, tak ma advice and steer clear o them pineapple tarts. Rotten, so they are. Been sittin there since last Monday. See me, Ah widnae put tooth intae them, so Ah widnae.”
With these words of warning, a wink, and a wicked gleam in her eye – her duty done to a fellow worker on life’s journey – the waitress scooted off.
***
Chapter 11
Meg’s head was still buzzing with scraps of overheard conversational titbits from her fellow diners in the tearoom as she had a final aimless wander through the overheated and heavily perfumed shops at the bottom of Buchanan Street. Then at last it was time. Time to go along to the pre-arranged spot in bustling Argyle Street where she was to meet up with Jack Dunn. Rounding the corner she was not surprised to find that Glasgow’s favourite rendezvous was already crowded with young women. Situated near the famous Hielanman’s Umbrella, the designated meeting place, like a magnet, drew to itself couples who were already walking out or were about to embark hopefully on the courting circuit as the first stage on the sea of matrimony. In the usual, lo
ng established, but universally misunderstood, Glasgow camaraderie of talking in confidence to complete strangers it was no surprise that within minutes Meg found herself deep in conversation with two of the other women.
After exchanging the usual pleasantries regarding the weather, one of Meg’s new-found friends said: “Weel, here’s hoping ma lumber turns up. Ah don’t know him all that weel. Just met him last week at a church soirée that ma Ma dragged me along tae. She’s that desperate tae find me a man and for tae get me aff her hauns.”
General laughter greeted this comment then an auburn-haired girl gave a bitter laugh. “Aye, fine weel dae ah ken whit ye mean on both counts. No only is ma Mammy goin aff her heid in case Ah end up an auld spinster o the parish, but Ah got a real dizzy last Saturday nicht when ma lumber didnae gee hissell aboot turning up tae meet me.”
Another girl joined in. “Uch, listen, hen, if ye got a dizzy yer no the first and Ah’m damn sure ye’ll no be the last. So jist join the rest o the human race and stop girnin aboot it. It happened again tae me a couple o weeks back. No only did the eejit no come that nicht but Ah havenae even saw the bastard since.”
Meg despite her prissy upbringing knew enough of the Glasgow parlance to realise a “lumber” was a boyfriend and that a “dizzy” referred to the acute disappointment when a promised date did not put in an appearance. This was the ultimate social shame for any self-respecting young Glasgow woman. For several minutes the trio discussed this topic before launching into a subject dearer to their hearts – the latest fashions.
The auburn-haired girl peeled herself off the shop window she’d been leaning against. She smoothed down her skirt, titivated her hair and with a look of triumph at her companions laughed. “Looks like Ah’m in luck the nicht. Here comes ma lumber aw decked oot like a fish supper. Cheerio then girls – Ah hope youse’ll be lucky tae.”
Love & Sorrow Page 3
