A Question of Love (19 page)

THREE

Despite
dark
mutterings
from
older
people
on
all
sides
about
‘the
daft
cantrips
of
young
folk’,
there
was
still
something
of
a
carnival
air
in
the
crowded
Greenock
streets
as
barefoot,
snotty-nosed
wee
lads,
and
daft-wi-freedom,
newly-released-from-work
mill-girls
marched
towards
the
sound
of
drums.
However,
them
aside,
the
main
crowds
were
of
sullenly
hostile
people
and
Etta
noticed
that
every
small
shop
she
passed
was
firmly
closed,
shuttered
and
in
some
cases
even
boarded
up.

Perhaps ma father was right after all
.
Mibbe Ah should hae taken the longer way hame and kept clear o the town centre streets
.
At
this
thought
and
about
to
change
her
mind
and
dart
down
a
side
street
to
head
towards
the
seafront
Etta
found
herself
caught
up
in
a
crowd
which
swept
her
almost
to
the
gates
of
Bridewell
Prison
itself.

Marching
away
from
the
Bridewell
was
the
eighty-strong
company
of
militia
having
delivered
their
five
political
prisoners
into
the
bowels
of
Greenock
prison.
As
they
attempted
to
move
through
the
now
heaving
streets
of
Greenock,
verbal
abuse
increased
in
volume
and
stones,
sticks,
and
even
iron
bars
were
thrown
at
them.

Now
thoroughly
frightened,
Etta
and
Aggie
were
borne
along
like
so
much
flotsam
and
jetsam
by
the
crowd
which
was
now
trying
to
block
the
street
in
front
of
the
militia.

A
command
was
shouted
over
the
hubbub:
“Fire!
Fire
over
the
heads
of
the
crowd.”

In
horror
Etta
saw
rifles
pointed
not
into
the
air
but
level
with
the
ground
and
saw
the
muzzle
flash
and
heard
the
sound
of
the
volley.

All
round
Etta
men
and
women
dropped
like
stones.
A
boy
of
about
eight
fell
wounded
onto
the
already
blood-stained
cobbles.

Etta
grabbed
hold
of
Aggie
and
in
a
blind
panic
they
sought
some
means
of
escape.
But
hemmed
in
as
they
were
there
was
no
immediate
path
open
to
them.
At
a
second
volley
of
rifle
fire
Aggie
lurched
free
of
Etta’s
grasp
and
fell.

“Oh,
Etta!
It’s
ma
legs,
Ah
cannae
move
them!”

Aggie
screamed
and
Etta
looking
round
for
someone,
anyone,
to
help
her
was
aware
that
the
crowd
which
only
minutes
before
had
been
a
dense,
closely-packed
mass
of
humanity
had
thinned
dramatically
as
those
still
physically
able
had
fled
the
scene
after
the
second
round
of
gunfire.

Feebly
trying
to
drag
Aggie
along
the
street,
Etta
felt
a
tug
at
her
elbow.

“
Listen,
if
Ah
carry
yer
friend
can
ye
manage
to
get
yerself
safely
round
to
the
next
street
and
away
from
this
bloody
scene?”

Etta
nodded
at
the
young
workman.
In
shock,
she
almost
giggled
at
the
thought
that
the
swear
word
bloody
was
for
the
first
time
ever
in
her
hearing
being
used
in
exactly
the
correct
way.
Aggie’s
legs
were
covered
in
blood
and
she
had
touched
the
wounds
then
trailed
her
fingers
over
her
face
so
that
this
too
was
smeared
with
blood.

“Come
on,
woman!
The
mob’s
going
to
try
to
storm
the
gaol.
They
might
get
the
political
prisoners
out,
but
God
only
kens
what
other
rogues
and
rapists
might
get
free
in
the
stramash.
Let’s
not
waste
any
more
time.
We’ve
got
to
get
the
hell
out
of
here.”

He
lifted
Aggie
and
over
the
top
of
her
tousled
hair
said:
“Ma
name’s
Hector
–
God
knows
why
ma
mother
called
me
that
–
but
ma
friends
call
me
Torrie.”

Etta
stumbled
her
way
along
the
cobbled
street
after
their
saviour
to
a
carter’s
yard.
There
Torrie
placed
Aggie
on
a
handcart.

“This
is
ma
place,”
Torrie
said.
“We
can
wheel
yer
friend
home
once
the
streets
round
here
quieten
down.”