Authors: Jenny Telfer Chaplin
Love & Sorrow (9 page)
It had been a long hard day in the heat, noise, and
frenetic activity of the weaving shed. Now that Becky, having risen from the
lowly ranks of being at everyone’s beck and call, was now training for the
skilled job of tenter the work was becoming daily more arduous and even more
physically and mentally exhausting.
Climbing the stairs to her tenement home she was looking
forward to a seat at the fireside, a welcoming cup of tea and the promise of a
substantial helping of her mammy’s mouth-watering stovies to follow. While it
was true that despite Becky’s ongoing entreaties Mammy still didn’t indulge in
either the fancy table settings or even the more imaginative varied menus so
beloved of Aunt Meg, never-the-less the good plain cooking more than adequately
filled the bill.
Yes, she thought, and especially coming in to my
evening meal already cooked and waiting for me. I’m certainly a lot luckier
than Caz. She has to turn to and prepare and cook the evening meal herself for
her idle, lay-about brothers.
Becky was still mentally counting her blessings as she
entered the flat. She was surprised to hear from the kitchen her Aunt Meg’s
voice. Although Becky visited Meg and Jack’s home in the Parliamentary Road
weekly, she smiled at the unexpected treat of meeting her at her mother’s home.
In her haste to hang up her shawl Meg missed not only the hook but the entire
rack of hooks and the shawl slithered to the floor. As Becky bent to pick the
garment up she froze in mid-motion. Instead of the comfortable drone of polite
conversation, what had stopped her was the harsh sound of raised, angry voices
issuing from the kitchen.
“Meg, that’s enough! Ah’ll no hear anither word. Ye and
me, we ken fine weel whit we went through. Aye, we baith suffered, so we did.
Especially efter yon Hannah Adair telt us you and me could baith end up in
bluidy jail if she iver chose tae spill the beans.”
Meg’s reply, though angry was still ladylike in
delivery. “Nellie, I’ll thank you to watch your language. I know you’re upset
by what I’ve suggested, but even so–”
“Even so, be damned! Becky stays here and let that be
the end o it.”
Becky, hearing her own name being bandied about, still
clutching the shawl drew closer to the closed door.
“Ah suppose it’s her bluidy paypoke ye’re efter. Ah
cannae imagine it’s the doubtful pleasure o Becky’s company, is it noo?”
A scandalised shout was quickly followed by Aunt Meg’s
shocked tones. “That’s a terrible thing to say, Nellie. Surely you know–”
“Whit a dae ken is this: surely tae heaven Ah’m
entitled tae some kind o reward in ma auld age for haen kept up the pretence aw
this wheen o years? No much tae ask that, noo is it? For helpin ye tae … for
protecting yer guid name.”
There seemed to be no reply to this from Meg. Becky
pressed her ear even harder against the panel of the door.
“Damnit aw tae hell, Meg, let’s face it. If is wisnae
for me still keepin ma mooth shut … if Ah wis tae tell the world whit Ah ken
there’s wan thing sure … if Ah wis tae spill the beans tae yer guid man Jack
and aw the rest o the folk roon aboot, ye’d damn sure be drummed oot o aw yon
fancy flower-arrangin and ither such ladylike falderals. Aye, yer minister and
yon toffee-nosed wife o his, they widnae think ye such a prissy wee goody two
shoes then, noo wid they? You a fallen woman wi a bastard child … God Almighty,
but the minute they found oot aboot yer daughter Becky–”
At these words, together with an angry shout, there was
the sound of a chair being scraped back across the linoleum floor. Realising
immediately what this implied, Becky decided to take flight. She flung the
shawl she still had in her hand around her shoulders, with trembling fingers
turned the brass knob of the hall’s outer door, and ran out on the landing
pulling the door closed behind her.
She then re-entered the flat noisily, slamming the door
behind her and shouting: “Yoo hoo, Mammy, it’s only me.”
Almost immediately she was face-to-face in the lobby
with Aunt Meg as she emerged from the kitchen. Affecting what she fervently
hoped was an expression of surprise and pleasure at this unexpected meeting,
Becky said: “What a surprise, Aunt Meg, to see you again so soon.”
After a quizzical glance at Becky, Meg gave her a
perfunctory peck on the cheek and in a voice Becky realised was choked with
tears said: “Becky! Sorry I can’t stop, dear. I stopped in for a minute to see
you’re … er … to see my sister. I must rush off now, Jack’s expecting me back.”
And with that she was off.
This time Becky took her time to hang up her shawl very
carefully before she turned towards the kitchen. With her hand on the door
handle she wondered if her mammy – How on earth should she address the woman
now? Would her ‘mammy’ make any reference to what had just passed between
herself and her genteel sister?
***
In the days that followed, Becky found she could not
get that overheard conversation out of her head. Should she confront her mammy
or her Aunt Meg or perhaps better still both of them? That would require
confessing that she had deliberately eavesdropped on their conversation. If the
conversation did indeed mean she was the daughter of Aunt Meg should she admit
that from the depths of her being she would much rather be the natural,
illegitimate daughter of her beloved Aunt Meg than the legally born-in-wedlock
daughter of a woman with whom she had nothing in common?
After days of mental anguish Becky was no nearer to
making a decision.
A week later walking home from work with Caz, Becky
said: “Caz, I need to talk to you – the thing is … my worst nightmare … there’s
something troubling me.”
A look of consternation clouded Caz’s face. “Oh, naw,
for God’s sake, naw! Don’t tell me ye’re the next tae get caught – like ma
sister Lizzy. Ye didnae let that bampot Colin gae aw the wa wi ye efter the
last dance?”
Becky felt hot colour rush to her face and was glad the
street’s dim gas light would help hide her embarrassment from her friend. When
she could trust herself to speak Becky said: “Caz! Can you think of nothing
else these days? Honestly surely there’s more to life than that.”
Caz stopped and turned to face Becky. “Nae call for ye
tae get aw uppity wi me. It’s the way o the world. Frae yon randy foreman
that’s aye chasin efter us lassies tae ivery eejit that thinks he’s in wi a
fightin chance if he buys us a bag o chips as he walks us hame frae the soirée.
See men! Aw the same so they are. Only efter the wan thing.”
With a shrug Caz started to walk on, then she stopped
again. “Becky, therr is wan thing. Best freens or no if ye’ve been daft enough
tae get caught, ye’d better get a weddin ring on yer finger pretty damn quick
for Ah’m no aboot tae help ye wi yer problem. It’s agin ma religion.”
Becky, now on the verge of a fit of giggles at the turn
the conversation had taken, said: “You mean you wouldn’t lift a finger to help?
Not even with a bottle of cheap gin?”
“Oh Ah’ll help ye aw right. Ah’ll be yer bridesmaid.
Ah’ll dance at yer weddin in the Co-op Hall. But onythin mair than that forget
it. Efter aw, ye widnae be the first sixteen-year-old bride aw done up in white
wi a bairn awready in her belly.”
At these words Becky could contain her mirth no longer
and as her laughter rang out she held on to the nearest lamppost for support. A
passing elderly lady gave her a sour look muttering something about the ‘evils
of drink’. This ill-considered, judgemental comment only added to Becky’s
hysterical mirth. When finally her fit of giggles had subsided and she
explained to Caz that far from seeking advice regarding an unwanted pregnancy
all she wanted were Caz’s views about a family row, Caz too laughed.
“Oh, Becky, a family barney. Is that aw? Forget it,
hen. Ma advice is tae leave weel enough alain – jist get on wi yer ain life.
But mind ye haud tight tae yer knickers’ elastic, yer best freen – at least
until yer safely married. And don’t forget Ah’m promised for tae be yer
bridesmaid.”
***
In the few months since Becky’s discovery about her
parenthood and her decision to follow Caz’s advice, “to leave well enough
alone,” a degree of uneasy peace had descended on the Bryden household. Not
that there was any greater feeling, far less any outward display of affection
between Becky and her mother and brother but at least they could get through
most days without screaming rows.
One morning just as Becky was about to leave for work
Nellie said: “Two of yer sisters will be here when ye get hame the nicht –
Augustina and Sarah. Ye wouldnae know their weans, of course, ye’ve niver met
them livin away frae Glesga as they dae but they’re yer nieces and nephews so
ye should get tae know them.”
Becky didn’t have good memories of any of her four
older sisters and the one four years younger than her, Elspeth, who had died
quite young of diphtheria. After she gone to live with Aunt Meg, visits to
Mammy had been a bit of a nightmare. Erchie and the older sisters had made no
secret of their jealousy of Becky’s better clothes and openly scornful of her,
to them, affected speech and manners. However, if she had to meet any of them
again Augustina and Sarah were probably the least obnoxious.
After a hard day’s work which had included a difficult
run-in with one of the new, recently promoted, highly officious gaffers Becky
felt tired and out of sorts and wanted nothing more than to get to the flat,
have a reviving cup of tea, and soak her feet in a basin of hot water. As she
attempted to enter her own close-mouth several children who were having a
riotous game of kick-the-can, to the detriment of any passing pedestrians,
obstructed her way. Becky weaved first one way then another, but outnumbered as
she was could make no progress. When the rusty old can came hurtling towards
her shin, in a white heat of anger she lifted her booted foot and dealt the can
a hefty kick. This had the effect of scattering the children, allowing her
clear passage, but the can found a target in the leg of one of the children. In
the ensuing shouted obscenities which followed her, Becky resolutely went on
climbing the stairs muttering under her breath: “Perhaps they’ll go and play at
their own close now and give us a bit of peace and quiet.”
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.”
***
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.”
***
