The Sunday Girls (26 page)

The heat was intense inside my tiny cubicle but I had no option but to get on with the task ahead. Granny helped out by doing small washes every night, drying the things on her kitchen pulley. Big items like the sheets needed to be boiled and the metal boiler stood beside the sinks. Before long, sweat was running down my face in long rivulets, soaking the neck of my thin blouse.

Granny owned a thick apron made from jute hessian which she had used for many years. I was now the owner of this bulky garment which almost reached my ankles but it was perfect for keeping me dry – or reasonably dry at least.

Scores of voices echoed overhead and it was a comforting hum. Now and then, someone would screech loudly before breaking out in a loud laugh. Once more I marvelled at the cheeriness of the women and they enjoyed their gossip in spite of the backbreaking work.

‘My man was a painter in the shipyard before they closed it,’ shouted one anonymous voice, not caring if a dozen people heard her. ‘Then, when it opened again last September, he made straight for the yard and do you know how many men were ahead of him in the queue?’

Someone shouted they didn’t know.

‘Well, there was two hundred ahead of him and another few hundred behind him It’s a bloody disgrace this country has no work for our men.’ She sounded tired and disgruntled and who could blame her?

‘Did he get a job?’ shouted another anonymous voice.

‘Did he hell. There was folk there saying they were painters and they didn’t know one end of a paintbrush from the other, Anyway they only took on a handful of men.’

I thought of Rita and Nellie. Their men were also chasing every job but they were competing with two or three hundred men for each vacancy. I wondered what chance Dad would have and was immediately depressed by the answer.

I dried my hands on the rough apron. It was in a different bracket from Maddie’s home-sewn garments but it was more practical and I was grateful for that.

I let the conversations float over my head as I scrubbed the dirty clothes and then suddenly I heard the name Marlene.

‘I hear she’s hoping to get married again. Is that true?’

A burst of laughter was followed by another voice. ‘How many men has she had?’

The voices drifted away. I rushed out of my cubicle but the aisle was merely populated with tired women pulling their baths of wet washing to the extractors. The trouble with this building was the construction. The chattering women could well be at the faraway end, such was the way the sound carried.

I was becoming obsessed by Marlene. It didn’t have to be Dad’s friend they were discussing – there must be a thousand or more women in the city called Marlene, I thought.

I was still troubled when I arrived home. Granny hung the washing on the pulley and it seemed such a shame to bypass the warm sunshine outside but this house didn’t have a drying green. Some lucky households had the luxury of an outside line that stretched from their window to a communal greenie pole that was situated in the backyard and always looked as if it was bending in the wind.

I thought wistfully of the green meadows I had left behind at the wash-house but with so many women vying for space, drying a washing there always added time to a busy day. And it was time I didn’t have – not if I had to meet Dad.

It was five o’clock when I reached the Hilltown. Rita and Nellie were standing at the entrance to the close, enjoying the sunshine and having a good gossip. They were so drawn, thin and tired looking that I was shocked by their appearance. Even Rita who, last year, had had the added advantage of her plumpness now looked malnourished and, as for Nellie, well, she was just gaunt.

Rita patted the bulge and muttered gloomily, ‘Just another month to go then goodness only knows what we’ll do.’

I mentioned Dad’s coming eviction but to my surprise they sympathised with him. ‘Well, Ann, he’s never going to be happy in that house so maybe it’s for the best that he’s giving it up,’ said Rita while Nellie nodded in agreement.

Then to my immense relief, I saw him heading towards us. All day, I’d had the dreaded notion that this was another venture he would duck out of but we all made our way upstairs while the two women tactfully retired to their own abodes.

We made our way down the dark lobby. Inside, the house was just as I had left it on my last visit. Debris from Dad’s few visits was evident and the same air of neglect and abandonment hung in the airless room. I could have cried but that wouldn’t have helped matters, I thought. Instead, we decided what to do about the contents. We drew up a plan that anything small and portable was to be kept.

‘Do you think Granny has use for some of these ornaments, Ann?’ he said, in a calm flat voice that annoyed me. ‘Or maybe Hattie will like these knick-knacks?’ When I glared at him, he mumbled, ‘She can look after them till you get a place of your own when you’re older.’

‘Hattie’s not getting Mum’s knick-knacks as you call them, Dad. I’ll take them to Granny.’ I removed the few treasured ornaments from the mantelpiece. They had been Mum’s pride and joy, all these little decorations.

I glanced around, looking for a discarded newspaper to wrap them in. We used to put papers under the chair cushion so I lifted it up and found an old yellowed newspaper there. But, when I lifted it up, I stopped dead. Underneath was a small half-knitted matinee jacket with a ball of wool pushed firmly through the two knitting needles.

Dad’s gaze landed on it when I cried out. Suddenly we both burst into a flood of tears. As we held each other, a year’s grief spilled out like a well overflowing and the tears streamed down our faces.

I tried to take a breath but my throat felt constricted and a pain shot across my ribs as a result of the racking sobs that arose from somewhere deep inside my body.

Rita appeared in the doorway, looking apprehensive. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing the crying. Look, Johnny and Ann, let Nellie and me clear the house out for you.’

Dad wiped tears from his eyes and his voice was rough with emotion. It was no longer the calm flat tones that had irritated me earlier. ‘No thanks, Rita. You see this is something we have to do but if we need any help we’ll give you a shout.’

Rita’s eyes landed on the small garment. She went white. ‘Oh no, we must have missed it when we cleaned up afterwards. I’m so sorry that it’s brought you all this grief.’

She looked miserable but Dad stepped over to her and placed his arm around her shoulder. ‘No, Rita, we’re glad we found it. It’s something belonging to her mum that Ann can keep – a memento of happier times that she can treasure all her life.’

I hadn’t viewed it like that and my earlier mortification turned now to tender memories of Mum sitting in that chair, her hands forever busy. It was such a happy memory and so strong in my mind that I almost felt her presence in the room along with us – almost as if she was watching over us. With this comforting feeling in my mind, I carefully wrapped the scrap of knitting in a clean pillowcase and placed it in my bag along with the paper-wrapped ornaments.

Dad reappeared after seeing Rita to her door but his face was still streaked with tears. He glanced around the room as if seeing it for the first time. ‘We came to live here, your mum and me, just after we got married. You were born in this room, Ann, and the only help your poor mum had was from Granny and Bunty Grey, the midwife. I was fighting in the war, wasn’t I? Fighting in the Great War that they said was the war to end all wars. I was at the battle of Neuve Chapelle when half of the 4th Battalion Black Watch were killed.’ His face clouded over. ‘After that battle, there wasn’t one house in Dundee that didn’t get bad news about a loved one. That’s what they say.’

He turned towards the small window, still talking, but it seemed as if he was speaking to himself. ‘But I survived somehow and we had such a happy life here in spite of having no work. When I think of all the politicians, I could cheerfully choke the lot of them. Maybe they thought we would all be killed in the war and that would have suited them, no doubt – a lot less people to cater for.’

This was the first time I had heard this story and a wave of realisation swept over me and I suddenly knew how he felt. All the frustration and grief was enough to throw even the strongest man.

‘Mum wouldn’t want you to live like this, Dad – all this drinking and neglecting yourself. She would want you to be the person she loved and knew.’

He placed his hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m trying but it’s very hard without her.’

‘Mum would want you to be strong for Lily’s sake.’

He sighed. ‘It’ll just take time, Ann. Your granny is right when she says that it’s in the lap of the gods when you recover from grief.’

‘Has John Pringle no word about a job yet?’ Although I asked the question, I knew what the answer would be.

‘No but, when that old employee leaves, then the job is seemingly mine.’ His voice matched the despair on his face.

‘I was hearing the other day that the waiting list for jobs at the Transport Department, two thousand names, have been taken off the list because the ex-employees of the Broughty Ferry tramway company have now got first call on any vacancies. What a pity the Ferry trams were taken over by Dundee Corporation.’

I sympathised with him and wished I could wave a magic wand over all the unemployment in the city. ‘Has the means test man been back here? I met him once in Rita’s house.’

‘Don’t mention that,’ he said. ‘I’ve always got to hide when he comes to see Marlene. She’s an out-of-work jute weaver but, if they knew she had a lodger, her dole would be cut off.’

I almost let the cat out of the bag by looking surprised. I said, ‘Oh, she works, does she?’ I didn’t mention that Bella and Hattie were under the misapprehension that Marlene lived well on the insurance profits from three dead husbands.

Dad looked equally surprised, no doubt by the tone of my voice. ‘Well, she used to – in the days when the jute mills were busy. Still, she has a few bob tucked under her bed has our Marlene.’ He laughed and winked at me.

I mentally awarded Bella and Co. ten out of ten for perception.

‘I’ll make a cup of tea, Ann.’ said Dad, fishing in his pockets for some loose change. ‘Nip down to the baker and get two hot pies. We’ll have our last meal in this house.’ He grew sad again and his eyes misted over.

The baker’s shop had a small oven in the back store so the pies were piping hot as I carried them carefully up the stairs. Dad had made a pot of strong black tea – none of your weak Russian tea here, I thought – and we sat and discussed the best way to deal with the furniture. Most of it was large and I knew there was no room at the Overgate for anything. As for Hattie, well, I couldn’t see her welcoming any of our slightly tatty items in her house.

We agreed to offer it to Rita and Nellie and if they didn’t want it then perhaps the second-hand shop across the road would buy it. Rita looked relieved to see our happier faces but she sadly had to decline our offer. Nellie was the same. They just didn’t have the room in their cramped little houses. They did however offer the services of their husbands to help carry the heavier items downstairs.

‘Just give us a shout, Johnny, and the men will help you carry them to the shop,’ said Rita, as we finished the last scraps of our pies and drank the dregs from the old teapot.

Dad dismantled the bed using a special key that loosened the screws in the two metal bars that held the wooden ends together. We then gingerly lifted the spring base from the metal supports and placed it on its side, where it lay in all its dust-ingrained glory.

I went in search of a duster but Dad said, ‘Just leave it. It’ll soon get dustier lying about the shop.’

I didn’t like the shop owner to think we were a slovenly family but further thoughts on this subject were dispelled by the arrival of the man. He was a tiny thin man and almost bald with a face like an undertaker – very serious looking as if viewing a body instead of old furniture. He had small round spectacles perched on his nose and exceptionally large hands which showed deep blue raised veins.

He viewed the furniture with a calculating and cynical eye. He peered into the sideboard drawers and cupboards before finally doing a disappearing act behind the wooden press. Sharp tapping noises emerged from this direction and Dad gave me a quizzical look which almost made me burst out laughing. The man popped back in view. ‘It’s in quite good condition although a bit old-fashioned, if you don’t mind me saying so, but it’s not bad. No, not bad at all.’

‘What will you give us for the furniture?’ asked Dad, trying hard not to sound too eager.

The man hummed and hawed for a bit before disappearing behind the press again. He then peered into the drawers for a second view. ‘It’s like this – with most folk out of work, I’m lucky if I can sell anything. I’ve had to slash my prices dramatically this year.’ He scratched his bald head and looked at the ceiling. ‘Well, then, let me see. I can let you have five shillings for the bed but I’ll need the bedclothes as well.’

He stopped when I gasped. I had been hoping to take all the bedclothes with me to the Overgate.

The little man looked at us, his shrewd eyes summing up the situation. ‘I’m sorry, lassie, but it’s almost impossible to sell a bed without its covers. Some sheets and blankets come as a wee bit extra and it makes all the difference between a sale or not. Aye, it’s hard times we’re living in and no doubt about it.’

Dad said nothing but I saw the silent appeal in his eyes. I shrugged my shoulders. To a casual onlooker, I probably looked quite unruffled but, inside, I was fumming. This little pile of bedclothes would have been a boon – perhaps making my weekly trip to the wash-house a fortnightly one. Also, with a couple of pairs of extra sheets and some towels in her cupboard, Granny would have had a small surplus instead of the bare minimum.

We turned our attention to the rest of the items. ‘The press is a bit bashed looking so I can only offer three shillings for that but the sideboard is not too bad. It’s been well looked after.’

He could say that, I thought bitterly. Mum had spent ages every week polishing it with her rag and small tin of Mansion polish. It had been her pride and joy and now it was being appraised with an eye for resale. I wondered if everything in life came down to the simple arithmetic of pounds, shillings and pence – the common denominator for the working classes without the work.