The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 Page 13

  When Helen wis younger, growing up in the Toonheid, a few ae the local politicos hid approached her tae help oot in the local and big national elections, bit she’d always refused because that Maw ae hers hated politics.

  “There’s been enough grief in ma family caused through that kind ae stuff withoot you adding tae it. Ah’ll say nae mair oan it, bit Ah expect ye tae show me and yer father a bit ae respect oan this wan,” her ma hid warned her when Helen wis in her teens.

  It hid probably been a smart move when she thought aboot it. Aw they local cooncillors used tae run a mile or cross the road when they saw her coming wance she’d goat married and took up the fight against their warrant sales policy.

  “Christ, Ah’m even starting tae sound like wan noo,” Helen said oot loud, as she lit up another fag.

  Helen stood up and went through tae Johnboy’s bedroom. The box wisnae where she thought it wid be. She thought she’d put it oan tap ae the wardrobe bit she couldnae see it. She wis surprised that the wardrobe wis still staunin. Everything seemed tae hiv been jammed up oan tap ae it. Jimmy wis right…she’d need tae spend a bit ae time and start tae sling oot maist ae the contents. She opened the cupboard door and managed tae stoap hauf the stuff spilling oot oan tae the flair. She bent doon and looked under the bed. She saw whit she wis efter and reached oot and pulled the auld cardboard box towards hersel. Efter humphing it through tae the kitchen table, she opened the flap at the tap. It wis crammed full ae papers. Helen sifted through the piles, lifting up haunfuls at a time. There wis letters sent back fae Spain, assortments ae pictures ae Jeannie, posing in front ae an auld fashioned ambulance wae a few other nurses and soldiers. Auld Charlie Mann’s young face, wae a big grin splashed across it, smiled up at her. There’s wis wan wae Auld John McGuigan and Bob Henderson staunin in front ae the ambulance wae the bonnet up. Bob hid been a mechanic, so she assumed he wid’ve been fixing it. There wis other pictures wae Jeannie and Charlie in them and some wae jist the scenery. She’d turned the scenery wans o’er, bit there wisnae any names ae who’d taken the photo except fur faded pencil scrawls saying, Jarama Valley, Fuentos de Ebro, the Aragon Front, Brunete, where she assumed they wur probably taken. Helen smiled when she came across wan ae hersel staunin oan some corner, haunin oot pamphlets tae passers-by. The pavement and road in front ae them wis covered in chalk where her and Aunt Jeannie hid graffitied the messages asking fur everywan tae vote fur her. She couldnae remember when or where it hid been taken, bit she must’ve only been aboot eight or nine at the time. She smiled when she noticed the sandals she wis wearing. Ye couldnae tell by the photo, bit they wur red and hid been her prized possessions. She came across whit she wis looking fur. It wis the picture ae Jeannie, staunin smiling and waving, alang wae some other nurses, ootside Central Station, before leaving fur Spain. Tae the side ae them, a group ae men held up a Scottish Ambulance Unit For Spain banner. There wis another picture underneath, wae Jeannie up oan whit looked like a wee square platform, talking tae a group ae men in the rain, aw wearing bunnets oan their heids. She smiled again. Beside the platform, between the legs ae the men, she could jist see the pram wheels. She wondered if she wis aboot somewhere, haunin oot leaflets tae people. She used tae help Aunt Jeannie cart the fold-up homemade platform aw o’er the place. Wance they’d arrived at the right spot, it only took a couple ae seconds tae assemble it. Helen hid come across an auld pram that hid been lying in bits oan the street. A Territorial Army lorry hid ran o’er the tap ae it. It hid lain at the side ae Parly Road fur maist ae the day. She’d dragged it roond tae their hoose oan Murray Street and her da hid reassembled it intae a bogey so that Helen and Jeannie didnae hiv tae carry the heavy platform aboot. It hid been a godsend, hivving that. The rest ae the stuff wis maistly aw pamphlets fae the twenties and thirties, tae dae wae direct action, health fur wummin and weans, better hoosing fur families and decent wages fur the low-waged. Despite whit The Reverend and his wife said, the issues, as far as she could tell, wur still the same as those highlighted in that wummin Dolan’s election pamphlet fae the twenties and Jeannie’s stuff in the thirties. Helen hid mentioned tae Jimmy the night before, in the passing, the conversation she’d hid wae the minister and his wife.

  “You? A cooncillor?” Jimmy hid laughed.

  “Aye, me. Whit’s so funny aboot that then?”

  “Ur ye sure they hivnae goat ye mixed up wae somewan else, hen?”

  “Naw, Ah don’t think so. So, ye don’t think Ah could dae it?”

  “Oh, Ah’m sure ye could dae it if they made sure ye wur always wrapped up in a straight jaicket and ye hid a gag oan that mooth at yers at aw times.”

  “Jimmy, whit ur ye oan aboot?”

  “Ah’m oan aboot you, darling. Ye’re violent, abusive and that tongue ae yers wid get an innocent man hung, so it wid. Kid-oan politicians, like cooncillors, don’t ask their opponents ootside fur a square-go in the street jist because they don’t like whit they hear. How you and that rent-a-gaggle hivnae ended up daeing mair time is a mystery tae me, so it is. Look, dae yersel a favour, hen...don’t start getting illusions ae grandeur above yer station. It’ll aw end up in tears, so it will. Noo, am Ah making ma ain tea or whit?” Jimmy hid asked, heiding through tae the sink fur a wash.

  He’d been right. She knew that, bit hearing him say it hid made her feel really angry.

  “Look, if it makes ye feel any better, Ah’d vote fur ye,” he’d said, in between moothfuls ae mince and totties as they sat eating their tea.

  Helen looked aboot the kitchen. It wis time tae get up aff ae her arse. She usually squared the hoose up every Friday, before the weekend, bit because ae young Joe’s funeral the following day and gieing Issie a haun, she’d decided tae clean the place up a day earlier. As she wis packing the papers and pictures back intae the box, she noticed an auld exercise jotter sticking oot ae the bottom ae the pile. She lifted it oot and opened it. It looked like some sort ae diary ae her auntie Jeannie’s. She wis surprised that she could still recognise that scrawl efter aw these years. She flicked through the pages. It wis Jeannie's election diary fae nineteen thirty five. She read wan ae the entries.

  ‘Attacked by a group of thugs belonging to Father O’Malley’s congregation on Parly Road today. That’s twice in the past week. Poor Charlie suffered a cut to the head and I ended up with bruises on the tops of my thighs. If I win, I’ll need to start a campaign against wearing hob-nailed boots during ward elections. Thank God for the nursing training. Had to put three stitches into Charlie’s scalp up at mother’s. I’ll need to see about getting more protection,’ it read.

  Helen supposed Charlie wis auld Charlie Mann, the leader ae The Three Comrades, as everywan in Springburn called them. She could remember that auld git, Father O’Malley, who saw communists and the Antichrist oan every street corner. Helen thought he wis the wan that hid tried tae get Jeannie excommunicated fur campaigning fur better birth control fur wummin during her election. The auld basturt hid goat hauf the Catholics in the Toonheid up in erms against her.

  “Oh well, this place isnae gonnae tidy itself up,” Helen said suddenly, drapping the jotter back intae the box, before tackling the kitchen sink.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Hogmanay: Friday 31st December 1971

  7.AM

  Helen reached Issie’s closemooth jist before seven in the morning, at the same time as Sharon, Cathy, Sandra and Betty.

  “Shite day fur it, eh?” Sharon said, looking up at the dark, grey sky.

  “Right, listen up, girls, this isnae gonnae be easy. It’s up tae us tae make sure Issie and Tam get through this, so it is. We need tae keep oorsels thegither and dae whitever Issie and Tam want fae us. Noo, Issie his made it clear that there’ll be nae booze oan the go, so we’ll hiv tae respect that. Wance it’s aw o’er and done wae, ye kin aw come roond tae mine and hiv a wee Babycham,” Helen said, as they aw piled up the stairs.

  9.05 A.M.

  Helen took her seat, haudin Wee Mary’s haun, while Tam, sob
er as a judge, sat wae his erm roond Issie oan the other side. Helen looked roond. People hid started arriving in force noo, including aw the young lassies and Joe’s pals, dressed in the usual black and quietly taking their seats. She gied auld Mary Flint and Elaine Hinky a wee comforting smile as they sat doon oan the aisle opposite her. The baith ae them hid witnessed Joe’s murder at the doors ae the foyer roond in The Princes Bingo Hall oan Gourlay Street. Whit a horrible thing tae hiv witnessed at their age, Helen thought tae hersel. Helen wis glad tae see that there hid only been a hearse sitting ootside as Wee Mary hid managed tae convince Laurel and Hardy, that pair ae undertaking chancers, that her ma and da couldnae afford anything mair and that they’d nae chance ae being paid if they insisted oan turning up wae the fleet ae limousines that Issie hid originally signed up fur. Helen thought that it wis a pity that she couldnae also hiv convinced them aboot the fancy Apollo Maple coffin that wis sitting in front ae them oan fancy undertaker’s brass stilts, containing poor Joe’s lifeless body. Mind you, it did look lovely, Helen hid tae admit tae hersel, as The Reverend Flaw coughed tae let people know that the service wis aboot tae begin.

  10.10 A.M

  Helen hid been wondering whether Johnboy wid make it tae Joe’s funeral oan time, so she wis right glad tae see him arrive in a car at the cemetery wae Tony Gucci, Pat McCabe, who’d been driving, and that quiet pal ae his they called Silent. Johnboy wis staunin between Senga Jackson and Pearl Campbell, comforting them as they clung oan tae his erms, greeting. Helen thought that that wis fair enough. She knew she wisnae his first priority and hidnae been fur a long time. It wis a pity they couldnae hiv provided him wae a black tie though, she thought. At least he’d turned up wearing a smart black Crombie coat, which wis something. She caught his eye and he gied her a wee smile. He looked pale, bit fine, despite hivving being locked up fur the past year. She looked at Issie, Tam and Wee Mary, huddled by the graveside, as the pallbearers, wae Squinty Alex and another grave digger in attendance, took the strain and lowered poor Joe intae the ground. It hid been a lovely wee service...nothing too fancy...bit no too understated either. The Reverend Flaw widnae hiv needed tae try hard, if he’d wanted tae convert anywan away fae St Teresa’s, as aw Helen’s Catholic pals hid gone weak at the knees in his presence. He wis a good man and his wife Susan wis a right darling. Helen jist couldnae get her heid roond aw this staunin fur election stuff. At the end ae the service, as she’d stood ootside the wee hall hivving a fag, auld Charlie Mann hid come across and asked her if she’d spoken tae The Reverend yet.

  “Whit aboot?” she’d asked the fly auld git, playing him at his ain game.

  “Er, ye know.”

  “Ah know whit?”

  “Er, aboot staunin fur Dick Mulholland’s seat.”

  “So, who’ve ye been talking tae, Charlie, as if Ah couldnae guess?”

  “Ach, masel, Bob and John wur jist saying that somewan like you wid gie JP a good run fur his money, so ye wid.”

  Helen hid felt as if somewan hid kicked her in the stomach at the mention ae that auld fox’s name. He wis like a bad smell in her life that refused tae be flushed away.

  “Look, Charlie, Ah don’t know if it’s auld age affecting they brains ae yours and they pals ae yours or ye’ve jist goat too much time oan yer hauns, bit Ah’m jist no interested. Ah’m here fur ma pal’s boy’s funeral and Ah’d appreciate it if ye showed a bit mair respect tae Issie and Tam at this sad time, so Ah wid,” she’d snapped at him.

  “Look, Helen, don’t get me wrang. Ye’re right, there’s probably a time and place fur whit Ah’ve jist asked ye, bit JP’s declared his intentions and is pinning people doon fur their support. Noo, if ye’re saying that ye’re definitely no gonnae go fur it, fine. Bit if ye urnae saying that, then we need tae get in there quick and let people know that there’s a better alternative candidate, so we dae. We could probably take hauf The Journeyman’s Club members wae us...if we hid the right candidate, that is.”

  “Charlie, ye clearly didnae hear whit Ah’ve jist said. Look, we need tae go. The hearse is jist aboot tae leave,” she’d snapped, drapping her fag end oan the pavement and staunin oan it, before moving across tae join Issie, Tam and Wee Mary at the heid ae the procession.

  Helen wid be kidding hersel if she said she wisnae flattered tae be asked. She looked at the faces aw aroond the grave, especially at the aulder wans. There wis plenty ae sorrow and grief fur poor Joe oan view, bit there wis also sorrow and grief carved intae faces who’d hid tae put up wae false promises fae local cooncillors fur generations...cooncillors who’d been in a position tae ease their burden. How many ae them hid come and gone, who could’ve taken the sting oot ae the barb and who could’ve done something aboot the misery in people’s lives in the city? Wae only a wee bit ae honest integrity, they could’ve been able tae sleep better at night in their beds if they’d actually fought fur whit they said they’d dae before they goat elected tae that great big honey-pot they called The Corporation doon oan George Square. Charlie wis right...Springburn people did need an alternative...somewan who’d fight tooth and nail tae ensure the community’s interests wur being well-served...bit it wisnae her. She’d her ain battles tae fight and it wisnae gonnae be in smoke-filled rooms, battling wae the likes ae JP Donnelly.

  1.25. P.M.

  Helen sat oan the edge ae Johnboy’s bed. She’d jist arrived hame fae Issie and Tam’s. Aw the lassies hid been delighted at the announcement oan the news that the gang who stabbed Joe hid been arrested...well, at least, two ae them hid, wae the third oan the run. Although it hid been difficult wae the funeral and aw that, Issie and Tam hid fairly cheered up at the news. Efter the burial, Helen hid managed tae hiv five minutes wae Johnboy. He seemed fine. He’d said that himsel and his pal Silent wur gonnae try tae look fur a flat that day so she widnae see him until later oan. He’d asked who wis coming roond tae the hoose fur the bells and when she’d said aw his sisters and probably some ae the neighbours, he’d surprised her by saying that that wis good, as himsel and Silent wur coming fur their tea and wid hing aboot and see the New Year in wae them. He’d explained that, because ae Joe’s death and the fact that his funeral hid jist taken place, aw his mates hid decided no tae party doon in Jonah’s, bit wur planning tae stay at hame wae their families, keeping a low profile. Fur aw their supposed faults, Johnboy and his pals did hiv a sensitive side and she only wished that other people, especially that Stalker wan and the other sergeant they called Bumper, could see it. Maybe they’d haud back oan harassing them and gie them a break fur a change. Johnboy hid also asked if his pal could crash until they goat something sorted oot oan the flat front. Helen wis no only surprised, bit chuffed that Johnboy wanted tae be wae his family, insteid ae wae his pals. She couldnae remember the last time he’d been wae the family at Christmas or the New Year. Jimmy wid be fair chuffed.

  Helen hid noticed an aulder wummin at the funeral service in the hall and up at the graveside. She’d stood oot because she’d held oan tae a bunch ae flowers in her haun throughoot the burial service and hidnae seemed tae be wae anywan. It wis only efter everywan hid walked back doon oan tae Keppochhill Road that Helen hid noticed that the wummin wis kneeling oan the hard, frosted ground in front ae a gravestane, jist across the path, facing young Joe’s grave. It wis Johnboy who’d recognised her. Johnboy hid telt her that the wummin wis Mrs Simpson, whose daughter hid committed suicide efter poor Joe hid goat beaten up the year before. The flowers hid been fur her daughter who lay buried there. Helen hid been aboot tae go across and say hello and introduce hersel, bit Johnboy hid pulled her away, telling her no tae bother, as she’d enough oan her plate. Helen wondered if she wis related tae the man that hid been shot across in Possil that morning and whose brother the polis wur noo trying tae catch fur Joe’s murder.

  Helen looked roond the bedroom. If Johnboy and his pal, Silent, wur coming tae stay, she’d better get her finger oot and start tae gut it oot. The wardrobe wis still creaking under the weight, the door wisnae shutting b
ecause ae aw the shite in it and the legs ae the bed wur aboot aff the flair wae the amount ae boxes that wur stashed under it.

  2.30. P.M.

  Helen looked aboot. She wis wondering if it hid been a good idea tae start the clean-up in Johnboy’s bedroom. She’d jist tipped Aunty Jeannie’s box ae papers and photos aw o’er the flair, while trying tae lift it up and hid gone and fetched an auld shoapping bag fae her bedroom tae put the stuff in. Sitting oan the flair, she came across the jotter again and began tae flick through it, stoapping tae read bits here and there.

  “Christ, here’s me thinking Ah’m up against it wae the warrant sales,” Helen said oot loud.

  Fae whit she could gather, Jeannie hid hid tae contend wae the priests and the Catholic church oan the wan haun, urging their male parishioners tae physically attack her and oan the other, she’d been targeted by the Scottish Protestant League fur being a Catholic. She’d written aboot her posters being torn doon as soon as they’d been put up and how the hecklers hid followed her fae corner tae corner during the municipal election that she’d stood in. She’d also written aboot the need tae get the newspapers oan side if she wis ever gaun tae win. Helen noticed a reference tae her ma, Jeannie’s sister, as she wis flicking through the pages. She thumbed back the pages until she found whit she wis looking fur. She felt the tears well up in her eyes.

  ‘Feel dreadful. Margo got sacked from her job as a nanny today without any prior notice. Sir Frank Owen wouldn’t give her any due reason other than to say he was cutting back on the domestic front in the house and that someone called Ethel from the kitchen would be replacing her in looking after baby Frank. Margo is beside herself and really distraught as Lady Owen had informed her that they disapproved of her sister’s (me) involvement in politics and that if she wanted to continue working in service in the big houses across in the West End, then she really needed to assert influence on her family and realise what side of the bread her butter was on. Father cross and shouting match ensued, with him taking my side against Margo and Ma. Margo and Ma now not speaking to me. Sir Frank owns The Glasgow Echo and has constantly vilified the ILP throughout this election and in particular me. Where The Echo goes, the other newspapers follow in attacking the ILP.”