Love & Sorrow

by Chaplin, Jenny Telfer

  Approaching her own door Becky recognised the tempting aroma of clootie dumpling. Ever since she could remember, this Scottish delicacy with its mouth-watering blend of fruits and spices had been Becky’s favourite sweet bite. Even so it had been many a long day since she had the good fortune to be the recipient of a large slice.

  Somebody’s in for a treat, she thought. Just a pity it won’t be the Bryden household. Every Scottish housewife regularly turns out a perfect clootie dumpling – but not my mammy.

  However, the moment she entered the flat she was amazed to find that not only was the dumpling to be the pièce de résistance after all but that the kitchen table was packed to capacity with other goodies.

  Becky was beginning to enjoy being re-acquainted with her older sisters and was beginning to feel that, yes, perhaps it might be pleasant to be part of a large family group when the door bust open to admit a horde of noisy children to disturb the previously quiet domestic scene. One child whose knee dripped blood, took one look at Becky and screamed: “Mammy, that’s her! That’s the woman that kicked an auld tin can at me. Mammy, ma knee – Ah’m dyin. She’s a bad woman.”

  ***

  Chapter 9

  In the end it was not Becky who had to have recourse to a hastily arranged marriage. Despite all her warnings and helpful advice on the subject, Caz was the one to find to her utter panic and consternation that she had fallen. In almost less time than it took to tell, Mrs Cassidy, even without a shotgun, had made Declan, the reluctant bridegroom, aware of his imminent, and as far as she was concerned inescapable responsibilities. She had also seen to the wedding details and had obtained from a stall in Paddy’s Market a well-used wedding gown which the businesslike dealer had agreed to buy back at a reduced cost the day after it had served its purpose.

  At the reception with real sighs of relief from the Cassidy clan there was an air of rejoicing on all sides. In the middle of the hilarity Becky turned to find the best man Ewan at her side.

  He smiled down at her and said: “Er … I suppose … I suppose it’s traditional … so before Mrs Cassidy tells me off … I’d better ask you since I’m the best man and you’re the only bridesmaid … What I mean is … I’d better ask you to have a dance with me.”

  Becky felt she’d had more gracious invitations to take to the dance floor. Even the more common, but robustly honest, traditional, “Ur ye dancing?” would have been infinitely more acceptable than this hesitant, stuttered, but above all sullen surrender to a hated duty. She frowned and peered through the haze of tobacco smoke at the lanky young man.

  “Oh, you poor soul. I’m sorry you’ve been lumbered with me and such an onerous duty.”

  Ewan’s face flushed and Becky felt a glow of satisfaction that her reply had obviously hit home.

  The young man fidgeted with his tie. “I could maybe have put it a wee bit better. But what do you think? Do you fancy tripping the light fantastic with me?”

  Becky drew herself to her full height and even then had to look up at him. “Listen, Ewan, or whatever your name is, I wouldn’t dance with you even if you were the last man on earth.”

  With that she strode across the hall to join the newlyweds.

  Caz turned to greet her friend. “You’re lookin very pleased wi yersel, Becky. And nae wonder. Ah see ye’ve made a hit wi the best man. A real catch he’d be. He’s got a steady job at Fairfields Yard – a draughtsman no less – and they say he’s weel connected. His granny owns a couple o wee single ends in Govan.”

  Becky’s scowled. “Caz, just because you’re safely wed, don’t think you can start lining me up a possible husband and certainly not that ill-mannered lout.”

  “Becky, surely marriage tae ony decent wage-earnin man wid be better than slavin yer guts oot for the rest o yer life in the carpet mill.”

  “Decent man did you say? Well, if that’s what you call decent and mannerly – if it’s all the same to you – I’ll take my chances on being left on the shelf and slaving away at Templeton’s.”

  Becky started to turn away to join another group of wedding guests, but Caz grabbed her arm. “Hae it yer own wey. Ah jist hope ye wernae rude tae Ewan. If ye must know, the poor fella is desperate shy. He can hardly look at a woman, far less speak tae her withoot blushin and stammerin.”

  “If he’s that shy, why on earth did Declan have him for his best man? Let’s face it, he didn’t sound shy or lacking in confidence when he gave his speech.”

  Caz grinned. “Oh, aye, his best man’s speech wis fine. It seems he learnt it aff by hert oot a book in the library. It’s jist aroon wimen that he seems tae get aw tongue-tied. Apart frae that he’s no at his most sociable the noo, his ither granny – his Brigton granny – died last week. Aye, it says a lot for him that he didnae let us doon at the last minute. Ah hope ye didnae gie the poor chap the benefit o yer high-falutin, hoity-toity lady o the manner shenanigans. He’d be fair terrified o ye, so he would.”

  ***

  Chapter 10

  Penitent and rather embarrassed, Becky slowly made her way back to where Ewan was still standing alone.

  “Ewan, I’m sorry I spoke as I did –”

  Blushing a furious red, Ewan interrupted her. “No … no, I’m sorry … it was me … I’m very clumsy. It wasn’t right the way I said it.”

  Becky smiled at him. “What say we just pretend it didn’t happen and start again? You were right, the best man and the bridesmaid should have a least one dance together. Shall we?”

  Certainly not a conversationalist, Ewan went through the whole dance in silence and Becky wondered how with his disadvantage about speaking to girls he managed to become such a practiced dancer. After thanking him for the dance, Becky asked him if would get her a drink and later, sipping the drink, to break the awkward silence, she said: “You’re really a very good dancer, Ewan. Where did you learn?”

  “You’ll laugh,” he said.

  “No, I won’t, I promise.”

  Ewan shifted from foot to foot. “My older sister taught me. Our folks wouldn’t allow her to go to dances on her own, so when I was fifteen she had me go with her. A lot of her pals used to be at the dances and if they didn’t have a partner with them they danced with me.”

  Becky burst out laughing. At the hurt expression on Ewan’s face she tried to convert the laugh into a pretend choke on her drink.

  “I knew you’d laugh.”

  “Honest, Ewan, I’m not laughing at you.” Becky giggled. “Oh, yes I am. You must admit it’s funny. You get tongue-tied talking to girls, asking a girl for a dance, but from fifteen you get girls to dance with without you asking.”

  “They were all older than me, like my sister, and I only got to dance with them if nobody else asked them.”

  “You do realise, Ewan, you’ve said several whole sentences without a stutter or stammer?”

  Ewan grinned. “So I have. Maybe we should dance again.”

  “Not the most elegant invitation,” Becky said, “but certainly better than the last.”

  Blushing again Ewan said: “Sorry, I–”

  “I’m joking, Ewan. Let’s dance.”

  Determined this time not to circle the floor in silence, Becky said: “You don’t talk like the others.”

  Ewan missed a step, then recovered. “Neither do you.”

  “I was brought up by an Aunt who made me learn to speak like this. What about you?”

  Again Ewan almost tripped. “My folks were from Inverness originally –”

  Becky said: “Oh, yes, I’ve head that almost everyone there talks what they call posh here.”

  Ewan lurched again. “Look, I don’t think I can dance and talk. Do you think we can wait to talk till the dance is over?”

  Becky laughed. “Is that an invitation?” Ewan stumbled once more. “Okay, Ewan, you promise to get me another drink after this and talk, and I’ll not say another word this dance.”

  By the time it was announced the newlyweds were leaving, Becky and Ewan had
danced together several times and when Becky danced with someone else, Ewan had stood talking with other men.

  They were standing together when Caz and Declan turned back to face the guests. Caz, with a grin, threw the small bouquet she was holding straight at Becky who caught it just before any of the other girls got to it. Over her shoulder Caz shouted: “Remember, Ah get tae dance at yer weddin.”

  When the festivities were breaking up Ewan cleared his throat nervously. “Can I walk you home, Becky?”

  “It’s not all that far, Ewan. We’re just on Main Street. Where do you have to go?”

  “Govan.”

  “That’s quite a long way.”

  “I’ll get a late tram or I’ll walk. I’ve done that before when I visited my Granny in Bridgeton.”

  As they left the Co-op Hall, Becky linked arms with Ewan.

  With a giggle Becky said: “Can you walk and talk, or is just talking and dancing that’s a problem?”

  Ewan laughed. “I think I can do both with you. Can I see you again, Becky? There’s to be a soirée at our church in Govan, Saturday week. Would you go with me?”

  ***

  Chapter 11

  Becky did go to the soirée and was relieved to find that Ewan was Protestant like her and not Catholic like Caz. Not that she would have minded, but she felt that Aunt Meg and Uncle Jack might have some reservations about her marrying outside her church. Mammy, Mrs Bryden, probably would have objected, but Becky no longer cared what Mammy would think.

  Ewan was fun to be with and he and Becky began to meet regularly once a week. On one occasion when Ewan was walking Becky home they encountered a belligerent, drunken Erchie who blocked their way.

  “Excuse us,” Ewan said, as he attempted to sidestep Erchie.

  “Am Ah no guid enough to meet yer freen?” Erchie said, swaying before them.

  Becky shuddered. “Ewan, this is my brother Erchie.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Ewan said and held out his hand.

  “God save us,” Erchie said. “Anither bool-in-the-mooth eejit. Could ye no find a proper man tae shack up wi?”

  “Don’t talk to Becky like that.”

  “Oh, aye. And who’s tae stop me?”

  “Just let us past, please.”

  Erchie made a grab at Becky’s arm and Ewan pushed him back.

  With a roar Erchie took a wild swing at Ewan who pushed Becky back out of the way, easily avoided Erchie’s attempted punch, and then landed two solid punches of his own. The first to Erchie’s midriff made him gasp and bend forward, the second on the point of Erchie’s chin rocked him back staggering to bang his head on the wall.

  Calmly, Ewan took Becky’s arm. “Sorry I pushed you, but I thought you might get hurt.”

  Becky looked at Erchie slumped against the wall, mumbling incoherently.

  “Where did you learn to do that, Ewan? That was great.”

  Ewan laughed. “I was brought up in Govan. Need I say more? Anyway, working at the shipyard I can’t afford to take any guff from anyone. Will you be all right? I mean, he won’t try anything when he gets home?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. The last time he thought he could come the big man I hit him with the frying pan.”

  “I’ll need to keep that in mind in future.” Ewan grinned. He walked her up the stairs to her door. “I’ll see you next week?”

  “Be careful, Ewan, when you go out of the close. Don’t turn your back on Erchie. He’s got a nasty temper.”

  “Maybe I should borrow the frying pan? Don’t worry, I can look after myself.”

  Two weeks after Ewan’s confrontation with Erchie, Mrs Bryden said to Becky: “Before ye gae oot the nicht just sit yersel doon. We have some talkin tae dae.”

  Becky sat at the table opposite Mrs Bryden. “Could this not wait till later? I’m going to meet Ewan.”

  “That’s whit we hae tae talk aboot. Erchie telt me aboot how Ewan attacked him for nae reason.”

  “Oh, that’s rubbish, Mammy. Erchie was falling down drunk, as usual, and he was going to hit me before Ewan stopped him.”

  “Aye, mibbe, but Ah had Erchie find oot something aboot that Ewan. He’s frae Govan – a real rough lot there–”

  Becky laughed. “And Erchie’s pals are all angels?”

  “I don’t want ye mixin wi the wrang crowd.”

  “You should have thought of that before you had me working at Templeton’s.”

  “Ah’ll have hae nane o that cheek, missie. Ah’m jist thinkin o yer ain guid. Onywey, Ah’ll no hae ye thinkin ye can run aff and get married. If Erchie gaes ye’ll need tae be here tae look efter yer Mammy and yer Paw – ye owe us that.”

  Becky stared at Mrs Bryden in disbelief. “You can’t stop me getting married.”

  Mrs Bryden. “Weel, mibbe no directly, but there’s some things ye dinnae ken.”

  “I know you’re not my mother. Aunt Meg is. I’ve gone on pretending I didn’t know so as not to embarrass Aunt Meg, but you can’t keep me here against my will.”

  Mrs Bryden gave a sly smile. “Ah did wonder if ye’d overheard Meg and me that day, but when ye didnae let on, Ah thought it best tae leave weel enough alain. Onywey Ah ken yer Ewan’s folk are guid church gaein people, even if they dae live in Govan. Whit dae ye think they’ll hae tae say if they learn yer a bastard? Think yer Ewan will be sae keen then?”

  Becky felt the colour drain from her face. “You would do that to your own sister?”

  Grimly, Mrs Bryden said: “Aye, if Ah need tae. Ye can go on seein the lad if ye like, but any hint of ye gettin married and Ah’ll put the kibosh on it.”

  ***

  Chapter 12

  In February of 1916 just after the Conscription Act was passed on January 27th Becky and Ewan had been courting for some five months. Becky was afraid that Ewan would be called up for the army but he assured her that as an apprentice draughtsman in a shipyard busy with Admiralty orders he was quite safe unless he volunteered. For Erchie, however, his employment as coal-carrier wasn’t considered to be essential to the war effort and by Becky’s seventeenth birthday in July he was in uniform. For a few months that followed, Mrs Bryden referred to Ewan as Becky’s coward, but Becky refused to rise to the bait and the uneasy truce that had been established between them after the confrontation about Becky’s parentage resumed.

  The courtship of Becky and Ewan continued sedately. Becky had introduced him to Aunt Meg and Uncle Jack, who had both been suitably impressed, Aunt Meg being particularly pleased with Ewan’s lack of a ‘coarse Glasgow accent’. Uncle Jack thought Ewan’s job in the shipyard drawing office would ‘keep his hands clean’ and ensure good steady work. The two year gap in their ages was ‘just right’.

  In May of 1918 a strange new influenza appeared in Glasgow – the Spanish Flu that had been affecting troops at the front in France since early spring – and there were reports of many people taking ill. As had been the case with the plague outbreak in 1900, Meg was very concerned and talked at length to Becky about precautions she should take. However, it was Rab who was struck down and by June was dead. Ewan was puzzled and a little concerned at how calmly Becky took the sad news of the death of her father.

  Caz, at one of Becky’s visits, quizzed Becky about Ewan. “Ye’ve been courtin for mair than two years now. Is it no time he popped the question? Yer no gettin ony younger. Yer, whit, nineteen noo?”

  Becky sighed. “We’re fine as we are. Apart from Erchie and he’s as much use as a sore head, Mammy has no one to bring any money into the house now that my father’s dead.”

  “As far as Ah could make oot yer faither didnae bring anythin but booze intae the hoose while he was alive.”

  “Ewan understands. We’ll just have to wait a while. Maybe when Erchie comes back from the war he’ll be more sensible …”

  “Aye, and then he’ll get himself hitched and ye’ll still be left the spinster sister tae look efter auld maw. Ah tell ye. Ah ken. That’s how it is wi ma younger sister.”

>   “Just drop it, Caz. Let’s talk about something else.”

  Caz’s repeated comments began to irritate Becky and she stopped visiting her, but Caz’s reference to Becky ending up a spinster-of-the-Parish rankled and her resentment against Mammy built steadily.

  One day at work when the machines were down for a spell Becky overheard two of the girls talking. One was explaining to the other that since she was marrying a Catholic and having to convert, the priest wanted to see her birth certificate.

  “Well,” she said, “wouldn’t ye know but ma certificate got lost in one of oor moonlights.”

  The other laughed. “Aye, a flittin jist steps ahead o the bailiffs can be a bit rushed. Easy tae lose things. But ye can get a copy o yer certificate frae the Registrar’s Office. It’ll cost ye though.”

  The machines started up again and Becky spent the afternoon thinking about the conversation she’d just heard.

  Two weeks later, after the evening meal Becky turned to her mammy.

  “Would you still tell everyone about me being Aunt Meg’s daughter and not yours if I decided to get married?”