Love & Sorrow

by Chaplin, Jenny Telfer

  They giggled like a pair of schoolgirls. Seated by the kitchen fire Meg said: “You know, I’ve always said that January was my most hated month, but this February with this downpour … words fail me.”

  “You know you’re more than welcome, of course, any time, but what on earth possessed you to come out on such a day?”

  Meg gave a sheepish grin. “Apart from avoiding some household chores, I wanted to see you and in any case the weather wasn’t too bad when I set out.”

  As if on cue there was a blattering of rain against the window.

  Anna grinned. “At least you’re home and dry for the moment. Now then, what’s new since I last saw you?”

  Meg shrugged. “Nothing much but …” She nodded at the very obvious bulge under Anna’s pinny. “… it looks to me as if you’ve got something exciting that I haven’t heard about yet.”

  The rest of the afternoon was spent in pleasant chit-chat and fond reminiscences of their tried and tested friendship dating from the days when in trying to establish her image of respectability Meg had joined Anna in the church flower rota.

  Battling her way against the driving rain and splashing through the puddles on her way home Meg felt an inner glow of happiness.

  I’m so pleased for Anna, she’s going to be a mother at last. Poor soul, I think she’d almost given up all hope of ever achieving that dream.

  Next day when Jack arrived home for his mid-day meal he flourished his morning paper. “Looks like you were lucky to get safely home yesterday from your visit to Rutherglen. The paper’s full of it. Seems yesterday’s rainstorms were the worst in living memory. The whole of Scotland was affected … flooding everywhere, livestock swept away … as for Glasgow itself–”

  Jack paused for breath and Meg said: “I know I got well and truly soaked, but apart from that–”

  Jack smiled as his meal was placed before him. “Here, dear, read all about it for yourself – seems that every river in Glasgow bust its banks: the Clyde, the Cart, and the Kelvin. You were lucky to get home safely without too much upset. Never mind, you had a good heart-to-heart blether with Anna. I know you’ve missed her since she moved to that church nearer her new home.”

  ***

  Chapter 17

  October 1903

  Approaching their first anniversary, Meg and Jack appeared to all as a settled, albeit rather staid, couple. As yet there were still no signs of any addition to their family except for a very bad- tempered canary rejoicing in the name Pretty Boy. The bird was as spoiled as any doted-upon, longed-for child and ruled the roost in the Dunn household. Not only did he have his likes and dislikes but he had a positive aversion to the sound of anything sizzling in the frying pan. Meg was cooking Jack’s ritual Sunday morning fry-up and Pretty Boy was hopping to and fro in his version of a childish tantrum when Jack entered the kitchen.

  “Still up to his tricks, I see,” Jack said and planted a chaste kiss on Meg’s cheek.

  “If anyone had told me there was such a thing as a bad-tempered canary I’d have told them to pull the other leg.”

  Jack laughed. “You’re right, dear. If ever we should hear the patter of tiny feet, Pretty Boy’s beak would surely be out of joint. Mad with jealousy he’d be.”

  After church, when the minister had given the pulpit rail its weekly hammering, on their way home Jack said: “Meg, are you quite sure you don’t want to come with me this afternoon?”

  “I’ll leave it for this week, if you don’t mind, dear. After all, it isn’t even as if you mother knows who I am. You’ve said it yourself – there are times when she scarcely recognises even you.”

  “That’s true enough I suppose. You know, no matter how I wrack my brains, I’ll just never understand what brought on mother’s stroke. I always took such good care of her. Not a worry in the world, did she have, not a single worry.”

  Meg made no reply. Although there was plenty she could have said to throw light on the matter, her lips were sealed.

  When the silence was growing uncomfortable Meg squeezed Jack’s arm and said: “No, best that you go on your own today. I’ll give you some of those wee sponge fingers to take along. Even on her bad days she always likes them. Soft on the gums, aren’t they?”

  Having seen Jack safely off on his duty visit Meg was settling down at the fireside with a welcome cup of tea when the doorbell interrupted her solitude. When she opened the door to admit Nellie, she pushed her way past Meg in the narrow hallway and marched straight into the kitchen.

  “What brings you out on such a day, Nellie? Look at you; you’re drenched to the skin. Here, give me your shawl. I’ll hang it up on the pulley.”

  Divested of her shawl and seated at the fire with a cup of tea and a buttered pancake on a plate beside her, Nellie seemed a little more at ease. Even so, she looked round then in a stage whisper asked: “Is his lordship ben the room wi his books?”

  Meg shook her head. “No, he’s gone to visit his mother.”

  Nellie snorted in disgust. “Oh, her! Don’t tell me she’s still hingin on in that church home for the aged and infirm. She’s the very one that’ll cling tae life tae the bitter end – especially if, in the process, she can make everyone else’s life a misery, if no an actual livin hell.”

  Meg gave a wintry smile. “Oh, I think you’re perhaps exaggerating a little, Nellie. The poor old woman. She can’t help being ill and landing up in that home.”

  “Puir auld woman, ma fit! And don’t ye gae changin yer tune. Who was it telt me it wis the shock o her darlin son haein the temerity tae git merit that gave her the stroke in the first place? The very thought o her wee boy lyin wi a woman damned near killed her.”

  Meg felt herself pale. “Nellie! I told you that in confidence.”

  “Aye, aye, keep yer shirt on. Ah didnae come here the day tae talk aboot auld Dragon Dunn. Ah’ve got mair important things on ma mind than yon selfish auld bitch.”

  Meg bridled. “I’ll thank you not to use such language in my house, Nellie. It’s well seen that you don’t go to church.”

  Nellie banged down her plate on the wee creepie stool with such force that the half-eaten pancake almost fell off onto the rag rug before the hearth.

  She glared at Meg. “That’s right, hae a go at me noo because Ah don’t sit every Sunday under the Reverend C Semple Armstrong. Weel, if the truth be telt, Ah’m far tae busy bringin up ma squad o weans, no tae mention wipin the bum and moppin up the sick o yer ain wee bastard – far tae busy daein aw that for tae waste time listenin tae yon high-falutin meenister dronin on week efter week.”

  Having delivered herself of this diatribe Nellie sat back and again glared at her sister as if now issuing an unspoken but very real challenge.

  Meg, still mentally reeling from her sister’s outburst, felt a reply of some sort was now expected of her. She cleared her throat twice before saying: “I must say you’re in a very strange mood today, Nellie. Even so, I can’t believe you braved the downpour to trail round here to the Parliamentary Road with the sole purpose of shouting such abuse at me.”

  Nellie banged her clenched fist on the arm of the chair. “Damned right! Aye there was somethin Ah had tae tell ye, but we’ll let that flea stick tae the wall for noo. Ah’ll come tae that later. In the meantime, ye can collect yer bastard ony time ye like and bring her here to live with yer beloved Jack.”

  Meg was stunned with this bolt from the blue, but Nellie went on: “Aye, that’s the ploy. Ye can explain it onywey ye like tae yer darlin man.”

  By now, with her mind and emotions in a turmoil, Meg could feel the fabric of her settled married life collapse around her. No matter how she pleaded with Nellie her sister was adamant. Even the offer of an extra half-crown a week didn’t sway her; she’d had more than enough of looking after Becky.

  “But why? Why now, Nellie? What on earth am I to tell Jack? How can I possibly explain away Becky?”

  “Ye can tell him ony damn thing ye like, hen. Ah don’t mind if ye tell him th
e truth aboot how ma ain situation has changed – it’ll be plain tae see soon enough.”

  “Changed? In what way are things now so different? Just tell me that.”

  “Oh, Ah’ll tell ye aw right. Noo that Rab’s hame mair often he’s at it every five minutes, isn’t he? Ah’ve fallen again, haven’t Ah? Wi naethin happenin the last couple o years Ah thocht Ah wis past it. But naw, trust ma luck, Ah’m the one tae be haein a change-o-life baby!”

  “A baby! At your age?”

  “Meg, wid ye please stoap repeatin everythin efter me. Ye’re beginnin tae sound like that daft budgie ye both dote on. Aye, Ah’m carryin in ma belly a change-o-life baby and wance it’s born Ah’ll hae enough on ma plate without fleein daft efter a toddler as weel.”

  In the silence that followed Nellie rose to her feet. “Noo, if ye’ll jist get ma shawl doon aff yer pulley Ah’ll be on ma wey. Rab’s hame for a couple o days and daein his nut aboot another baby. Between him and the weans runnin wild the place will be in an uproar.”

  Meg handed Nellie the still damp shawl and Nellie said in a more kindly tone: “Mibbe things’ll workout for the best. Onywey, when Ah’ve gone just sit yersell doon and get clear in yer mind whit ye’ll be tellin Jack. Weel, cheerio, hen. Sorry if Ah’ve disturbed the peace of yer Sunday efternoon.”

  ***

  Chapter 18

  For the remainder of that memorable afternoon Meg agonised over her quandary. There was simply no way she could announce the facts to her husband. If she did, her comfortable marriage to the steady, reliable, if somewhat boring, Jack would be well and truly consigned to the scrapheap of life.

  What in God’s name was she expected to do or say?

  Determined to keep focussed and busy, Meg bustled round the house dusting this, re-arranging that, and generally creating work and chaos where previously none had existed.

  So it was when Jack came home he returned to a scene of domestic bliss where, for some strange reason, not only had the furniture been re-positioned, but every item from brass candlesticks to decorative soup tureens, to china ornaments had been cleaned and polished for dear life. A roaring fire whose flames licked up the chimney warmed the room and his wife, pristine as the china crinoline ladies in the display cabinet sat meekly by the fireside diligently working on a piece of crochet.

  Meg raised her head and smiled. “Your tea’s nearly ready, dear. It’s your favourite – toad-in-the-hole. But first, how was your mother? Any improvement in her condition?”

  Jack sighed. “Improvement did you say? Hmph! If anything she was even worse today. She moaned about everything, nothing pleased her, decided she hated sponge fingers. And just would not listen to reason on any subject. But worst of all–” Jack paused as if to gather the moral strength to continue with his tale of woe. “You’ll never believe it, Meg, but worst of all it was really bizarre, she actually thought I was her long dead brother, Ross! That’s right, the black sheep of the family, a man whose guts she hated. A gambler, a womaniser and by all accounts no better than he should be. A man she couldn’t stand and could never get along with.”

  Meg gave a sympathetic shake of her head.

  “Yes,” Jack went on, “I can honestly say that this afternoon’s fiasco was without doubt the worst visit I’ve ever had with my mother. I tell you, Meg, and I wouldn’t dream of breathing a word of this to another living soul … but the moment the bell went for the end of visiting time, it came as a blessed relief. That’s the God’s honest truth. I felt like an escaping prisoner.”

  Meg chewed at her lip, fully aware that now was definitely not the moment to spring on Jack her own dramatic news.

  Later, with the tea things cleared away, and Meg and Jack sitting companionably on either side of the fire, Meg tentatively started to broach the subject which was uppermost in her mind. Feeling as if she was walking on eggs, Meg tiptoed her way round until she could no longer avoid the dénouement. Even then she knew she had to put forward her startling proposal in such a way as to make Jack think that any suggestion as to a possible solution to the problem had come from him.

  Having laid some of the groundwork and given him time to mull it over she heard Jack say: “So, one way and another it hasn’t exactly been the best of afternoons for either of us, has it, dear?”

  With what she hoped was a brave smile Meg said: “Well, I have to admit, hearing all of my sister’s worries certainly didn’t make for cheery listening.”

  “Poor Nellie, she’s really going to have her hands full isn’t she? With her squad of children, Rab under her feet more often than not, and toddler Becky running around and into everything the last thing she needs is another baby. From what you say Nellie is feeling out of sorts and bitterly resenting her fate of becoming an old mother. Not a happy prospect, is it, my dear?”

  Meg nodded. “If only there was some way we could help her, Jack, lighten her burden, at least in some small measure. After all as good churchgoers we are only too aware that the minister is forever telling us to help our neighbours. Surely when it comes to family it is even more our Christian duty, don’t you agree?”

  Jack frowned in concentration then rose to the bait. His words came out in a rush. “My sentiments exactly, Meg. Now I don’t know how you, or Nellie either for that matter, would take to this … but it seems to me that the older children won’t pose as much of a problem as an active toddler who needs eyes in the back of the head attention, right?”

  Meg nodded, already daring to hope for the impossible as the she waited for her husband to go on.

  “Meg, you may not be aware of it, but I’ve seen the doting way you look at that lovely wee Becky any time she’s been with us. A real wee charmer she is, and since as yet we’ve no children of our own and no sign of any immediate happy event how would it be if …”

  Meg sagged with relief as she listened to Jack’s master plan. Yet again her secret was safe.

  Panic over. Thank God. Nellie is sure to jump at Jack’s kind offer and keep her own counsel as to Becky’s true parentage. Thank you, thank you, God. It’s a dream come true. I can have my own darling wee Becky at home to bring up properly.

  ***

  Chapter 19

  Even in the short time Becky had been with them, life had taken on a rosy hue of happiness in the Dunn household. Becky, doted on by her Uncle Jack and her Aunt Meg, was the centre of their universe. She was now approaching a milestone in her young life – her first day at the local primary school.

  In preparation for starting school, Meg had taken Becky to the old teacher she had lived with when her parents died and who had ensured that Meg had grown up speaking ‘properly’.

  Miss Euphemia Edgar looked Becky over. “So this is the young lady for whom you gave up a promising career in teaching?”

  For a moment Meg thought she had made a mistake in bringing Becky to meet Miss Edgar and that she had guessed Meg’s secret.

  However, Miss Edgar went on: “It was very noble and unselfish of you to give up your training to help your sister when she needed you. And now once again you are coming to her aid by taking care of her daughter. I suppose it was all for the best. You’ve married well to a young man with a promising future in the bank, and you certainly couldn’t have continued teaching once you’d married.”

  She turned to Becky. “Now, young lady, your Aunt Meg tells me you are about to start school. You and I have some work to do on your speech before that great day.”

  Meg hoped that with this start and the example of Jack and herself, Becky would lose the coarse accent she had naturally acquired living with Nellie. Perhaps, Meg hoped, Becky would thus escape the fate of many pupils of being punished with the dreaded Lochgelly for not knowing they were expected to be bilingual and not to resort to the common language of the streets and their homes despite many of the words being perfectly respectable old Scottish words.

  As far as Meg and Jack were concerned, as long as it was in their power to do so, Becky Bryden would have the best of ever
ything life had to offer.

  ***

  Chapter 20

  Becky, fast approaching her seventh birthday, seemed to be growing in grace and beauty with each passing day … so ran Meg’s thoughts as she brushed out Becky’s long ringlets. And now thanks to Miss Edgar’s friend Abigail Andrews, my old elocution teacher, Becky speaks clearly and well. Meg felt a glow of pride at the way Becky Bryden was turning out.

  Yes, thought Meg, everything has ended up much better than either Nellie or I could ever have envisaged.

  Meg gave an involuntary shiver as she recalled that terrible morning of Becky’s birth … the pain, the secrecy, the utter sordidness of it all even without the subterfuge and lies of the nine weary, long months preceding the birth itself.

  Now she had a contented family life, mistress of her own home, with a husband who not only loved her but was also devoted to Becky. In the eyes of the world and their church-going friends they were doing their Samaritan best in helping out a poor overburdened relative.

  Still in a rosy glow of happiness Meg allowed her thoughts to drift, to envisage an even brighter future in which Becky would fulfil Meg’s lost dreams of becoming a teacher. A fully qualified, successful teacher …

  ***

  Part 2

  Chapter 1

  1 January 1914

  The day started as no other Becky Bryden had ever before experienced in her short life. When she opened her eyes at six o’clock, instead of the ritual cup of tea that her Aunt Meg had always handed in to her in the wall bed in their flat on the Parliamentary Road, she awoke to the feeling of a rough hand shaking her shoulder, the cold of a strange, unfamiliar room, and a voice shouting: “Right, Becky, get oota that scratcher. Therr’s nae call for ye tae lie in yer bed all day. Ye’re no an idle schoolgirl noo, and Ah’m no yer saft Aunt Meg.”