Complete New Tales of Para Handy (38 page)

“Ah, Captain MacFarlane,” he said jovially when he saw who his customer was. “ Pleased to see you as always. What may we do for you today?”

“No' much to be worth your trouble, Mr MacGrory,” said Para Handy. “But I am after a new woollen comforter. I lost my auld wan overboard yestreen, what wi' the wund, and it no' properly tucked in, and it's a cauld spell o' weather to be withoot.”

The draper pulled down a glass-fronted drawer from the wall of such drawers behind the counter and in a matter of moments Para Handy had selected a bright red scarf and wrapped it securely round his neck.

“There iss no need to be makin' a parcel of it. I will chust wear it straight aff”, he said, and bringing a handful of coins from his pocket he paid for his purchase and moved towards the door.

“Before you go, Peter,” called MacGrory, “could I ask a favour of you? I hear you're off to Glasgow tomorrow morning with a load of whisky and then straight back in a couple of days with a cargo of barley. Is that right?”

“Chust so,” said the Captain.

“Well,” said MacGrory. “It's like this…”

His tale was soon told.

Campbeltown, standing in splendid isolation at the foot of the Kintyre peninsula a hundred miles or so from Glasgow, has too small a population to make possible the provision within the town of all the services which modern life expects. Thus it is that the MacGrory brothers, though
purveyors
of umbrellas, are unable to offer a repair service for broken ribs or torn panels from their own resources.

Umbrellas brought in for repair are kept within the premises and then at regular intervals conveyed to Glasgow to the workshops of the reputed wholesale house of Messrs Campbell and MacDonald, courtesy of their representative Mr James Swan, when he visits Campbeltown on one of his regular journeys in the West. They are returned, once repaired, courtesy of that same gentleman, who sees this service as being the very least he can do for one of the most valued and valuable customers on his entire circuit.

“Mr Swan was here just three weeks ago, Peter, and took a stack of umbrellas to Glasgow with him. I've now had a telegram from Campbell and MacDonald to tell me they are repaired and ready for my customers, but Mr Swan has broke a leg wi' a fall on icy cobbles, and won't be back to Campbeltown for at least another month.

“I was wondering if you would be good enough to collect them for me when you're in Glasgow and fetch them back doon later this week…?”

The
Vital Spark
edged in to the private quay at the distiller's Partick bottling plant late the following afternoon and for the next three hours the puffer's steam-winch spluttered and coughed as the precious cargo of finest Campbeltown Malt Whisky was swung ashore under the watchful scrutiny of the plant's own security men, a pair of bleak-eyed Customs Officers — and Para Handy and his frustrated crew.

“Chust imagine,” said the Captain with some rancour later the same evening as he grudgingly slapped his six-pence onto the bar counter at the nearby Auld Toll Vaults and picked up the glass containing his diminutive dram, “chust imagine here and we've been and delivered enough whusky to keep the whole o' Partick in drams for a twelvemonth and we are expected to pay for chust the wan wee taste o' the cratur.

“There's nae justice at aal in this world.”

Dougie, Sunny Jim and MacPhail could only shake their heads sadly in silent, sympathetic agreement.

Next morning the puffer made the short crossing over to the southern shores of the river and tied up at the jetty serving a Govan grain-merchant's yard. Once the loading process was under way with MacPhail on the winch, and Sunny Jim — and a couple of the merchant's warehouse-men — ready to stack the sacks as they came juddering down into the hold in netting bags, Captain and Mate headed ashore.

“Dougie and I will away into the town and collect Mr MacGrory's umburellas, boys,” said Para Handy as he scrambled up the iron ladder bolted to the quayside: “and we'll see that you have a share of the bottle the man has promised us for the favour.”

And the two set out to walk to Govan Cross Subway Station from whence one of the much-admired new underground trains would whisk them, in just a matter of minutes, to St Enoch Square and the warehouse of Messrs Campbell and MacDonald.

They had only walked a couple of hundred yards, however, when there was a sudden flash of lightning followed by a crashing peal of thunder, and in a matter of seconds raindrops the size of pan-drops were bouncing violently off the cobbled street. In even fewer seconds Captain and Mate instinctively searched for, identified, and raced towards, the nearest public house.

“My Chove, Dougie,” said the Captain as they supped a glass of pale ale in the snug bar. “That iss some cloudburst to be sure. We will chust sit here and let it aal roll by before we go any further. Indeed we could be doing with having Mr McGrory's umburellas with us right now, for here we are without so much ass a coat or a kep between us.”

However, the rainstorm showed no sign of moving on. An hour later it was as heavy as ever, and Para Handy pulled his watch out to check the time.

“The boys will be wondering what has become of us, Dougie,” he said. “We should have been there and back before this and I do not want them to be thinking we iss malingering on them or that we have maybe bumped into Hurricane Jeck and gone off on a spree and forgotten them. I am thinking we must chust face the rain and make a dash for it to Govan Cross. What do you think yourself, Dougie?”

For answer, Dougie tugged on Para Handy's sleeve and pointed surreptitiously in the direction of the outer door of the snug bar. Beside it, there stood a battered umbrella-stand which had seen better days. Resting within it, however, was one solitary umbrella — shinily new, neatly rolled up, and quite bone-dry. A quick glance round the other occupants of the bar revealed nobody who looked even remotely like the possible owner of such a fine and expensive accoutrement.

“Some toff must have set it there and forgotten aboot it days ago, Peter,” whispered the Mate. “For sure and it has not been out in the rain today. Aal I am suggesting is that we
borrow
it. We wull can put it back on our way back to the shup…”

Para Handy again looked round the company. Nobody was looking in their direction. The other occupants were variously grouped in animated conversation. The landlord had his back to them as he reached up to a high shelf for a bottle of port.

As the two sailors reached the door Para Handy casually reached across and quickly — too quickly — tried to scoop the umbrella out of the stand. It was bad enough that it rattled on the side of the stand: much worse that it caught on it, tipped it over, and sent it crashing to the floor.

“Hoy! You pair! Where the blazes d'ye think ye're aff to wi' my best brolly?”

Para Handy, the umbrella clutched guiltily in his hand, turned to see the landlord leaning halfway across the mahogany counter of the bar, gesticulating furiously with the bottle of port and being restrained with some difficulty (by two of his customers) from hurling it in the Captain's direction.

“My mistake, my mistake,” gabbled Para Handy. “I thought it wass my own umburella, for it iss the very spit of it, but you are right, I completely forgot that I left mine on the shup.”

“A likely story,” howled the landlord. “Thieves! That's whit ye are! And me wi' a funeral to go to up in toon this afternoon. A richt clown I'd ha'e looked wi'oot my brolly! Get oot, the pair o' ye. And never let me see either wan o' ye in this pub ever again. This is an honest hoose!”

It was a shamefaced pair who, all thoughts of the promise to the MacGrory emporium temporarily forgotten, scuttled through the teeming rain to the nearby quayside — and the comparative haven of the
Vital Spark
.

“We will wait on board, Dougie,” said Para Handy, “and go up to the toon when the rain is past.”

It was almost four o'clock before the downpour finally fizzled out as suddenly as it had begun, and the chastened mariners headed again for the Govan Cross Subway. This time they reached it without incident.

Less than half-an-hour later they emerged from Campbell and MacDonald's capacious St Enoch's Square premises, each of them clutching, with both arms in front of their chests, the awkward burden of a substantial bundle of umbrellas of every size and description, ladies' and gentlemen's alike, secured with a couple of rope ties.

At the ticket office Para Handy fumbled in his pocket with some difficulty to extract the coppers for their fares, and the two clattered down the stone steps onto the subway platform.

In a minute or so the two bright red carriages of the train came looming out of the tunnel mouth and into the station with a distinctive whoosh of disturbed air — and an unmistakable but indescribable, warm smell: an aroma of mystery and of quite unfathomable depths which — when once first encountered — would never be forgotten by succeeding generations of patrons of the Glasgow Underground.

Para Handy and Dougie took their seats on one of the slatted wooden banquettes which ran down each side of the carriage.

Opposite them, someone was hidden behind an opened copy of the
Evening Times
and Para Handy leaned forward curiously to read the day's headlines.

As he did so, the paper was lowered — and the Captain found himself looking into the eyes of the landlord of the Govan pub, dressed now in a dark suit, wearing a black tie, a mourning band on his arm, and with his rolled-up umbrella across his knees. The two men stared at each other for some moments in silence. Finally the landlord, having glanced several times in bewildered disbelief from the strangely-assorted bundle on Para Handy's knee to that on Dougie's and back again, leaned forward and said with heavy sarcasm and in a penetrating stage-whisper:

“Well, I'm glad to see that you've had a good day…”

F
ACTNOTE

The MacGrory Brothers, as well as owning Campbeltown's leading drapers at the turn of the century, were enthusiastic amateur photographers and the illustrations in this book are taken from the substantial archive of their original glass plate negatives which is now in the safe hands of Argyll and Bute Libraries.

Campbeltown was probably the most prosperous community on the outer edges of the Firth at the time, and certainly one which had founded its wealth on industry rather than tourism.

As well as a substantial fishing fleet, with its ancillary boat building yards, net and rope factories and — of course — curing stations, the town had a rich agricultural hinterland. Within the burgh there were more than twenty whisky distilleries and other industrial activity included coal-mining, salt-pans, shipyards, cooperages and shipping companies.

Glasgow's underground railway is a 6-mile circular route with clockwise and anti-clockwise tracks sharing a common, central platform at each of 15 stations. The line twice passes under the Clyde, linking the city centre north and south. First cable-driven, it opened in 1896: and ran virtually unchanged for 80 years, though it was electrified in the mid-1930s. Some of the original rolling stock was still in use when the system closed down in 1977 for a three-year modernisation programme from which it emerged with the scarlet Victorian passenger carriages replaced by equipment of a gaudier hue, which quickly earned the facility its new sobriquet of
The Clockwork Orange
.