Voices in the Street Read online

  Working out this order took the mathematical genius of Einstein and, often, I would mix up the order, almost causing World War III. ‘Oh look, the wifie’s given us the wrong plates!’

  It was comical to see the stushie this simple accident caused as plates and cups would be bandied around the table, sometimes ending in disaster and tears. ‘Och, Bella, you’ve dropped your sair haid. Get the wifie to exchange it for another one.’

  It was a standing joke with the staff that our customers nearly always had a sair haid after a Wallace’s bridie or pie.

  One pleasure was the arrival of some of the musicians from the big bands and there was always competition amongst the staff to serve them. Perhaps we all thought the odd talent scout would be with them and we would be whisked from obscurity to instant fame. In my daydreams, I would be instantly recognised as a new star of stage and screen but then that’s what dreams are: total rubbish.

  Marian was no longer with us as she was now married and expecting her first baby but Margaret and Nan were still there. Both were very popular with the customers, Nan because of her bubbly personality and Margaret because of her blonde hair and pretty face with its well-applied make-up. Her cosmetics, was how she referred to her bag of tricks with its various pots and tubes.

  Pat, who worked in the office but took over the cash desk to let Chris away for her breaks, was a friend and we regularly chatted if time allowed. One day we were raving on about Ken Mackintosh and his wonderful band when one of the musicians overheard.

  He came up to us and handed over some forms. ‘I’m running the fan club for the band,’ he said, ever so politely. ‘Perhaps you two girls would like to join – and any of your friends as well.’

  This was something completely novel for us and we took the forms with a squeal of delight. Later that night I got Ally and Betty to fill one in and we were now official members of our very first fan club. Betty was over the moon with this and within a few weeks we each got a large brown envelope containing a newsheet and details of the band’s progress. We also got an invitation to come to different city venues to hear Ken Mackintosh free of charge.

  The admission may well have been free but it didn’t say how much it would cost to travel to such places as Glasgow, Edinburgh or, even further afield, Liverpool and Manchester. This small triviality was overlooked in the pleasure of the big brown envelope and Ally and I knew we could perhaps see the band again should it return to Dundee.

  Whether Betty would manage was another story because her breathing seemed to be getting worse and her asthmatic attacks seemed to happen more often and last longer.

  CHAPTER 23

  The Butlin’s holiday had been an outstanding success according to Aggie. She sat in the chair, twice as voluble as normal, with a huge pile of photographs in her hand. ‘You’ve no idea what a lot of entertainment that’s put on for the campers. That’s what we were called. There was dancing and shows and competitions. You name it, it was put on.’

  Mum and I sat in silence and looked at Aggie’s black-and-white photographs while she provided the running commentary. ‘That’s me in the singing talent contest.’

  Mum looked surprised.

  ‘Eh bet you didn’t think your pal had any talent but Eh came tenth in the singing contest!’ As if anticipating Mum’s next question, she gushed on regardless, ‘Well, maybe there was just twelve of us in it but Eh didn’t come last, did Eh? Now this one is meh man winning the knobbly knees competition.’

  She passed over a hilarious snapshot of Mr Robb with his trousers rolled up to expose the aforementioned knees, his huge feet encased in a pair of leather sandals that resembled miniature canoes. It took all our self-control to stop the laughter which threatened to explode and Mum had to go to the kitchen on the pretext of putting the kettle on for another cup of tea. She left me alone with Aggie but I could hear the suppressed snuffles of laughter as she ran the cold water tap at full force in an effort to cover them up.

  ‘Now this one, Maureen, is Ron. Taken as soon as he came out of the swimming pool. He looks really cold but it was an outdoor pool and the water was freezing but Ron managed to swim a couple of lengths which was a damn sight more than any of the other campers.’

  This was the first time I had seen Ron the spiv and he looked innocuous enough, standing in a pair of baggy swimming trunks, his hair plastered wetly to his scalp like a skullcap. The goose pimples were clearly visible on his thin hairless arms and he looked so cold that I could almost hear his teeth chattering.

  ‘Our chalet was pretty basic but it was comfy enough,’ said Aggie, getting back to full throttle with her reminiscences. ‘Every morning, the bell would sound for your breakfast and you would go to the dining hall and it was the same with the rest of your meals.’

  Mum, who was a very slow eater, didn’t like this arrangement at all. ‘Oh, Eh wouldn’t like to set my holiday around a bell, Aggie.’

  Her friend pooh-poohed this scurrilous suggestion. ‘Naw, naw, naw, Molly, you’re getting the wrong idea. That was all part of the fun. All us campers together and the Redcoats saying, “Good morning, campers.” Eh think you should consider a holiday there yourself. You can put down a deposit and pay a bittie every week at yon post office in Victoria Road. It’s called Hunts and they’re agents for Butlin’s.’

  She sat back in her chair with her second cup of tea and another ginger nut biscuit. She looked like a steam train that had finally ran out of power, her face taking on a crestfallen look.

  ‘There’s just the one thing that meh man and me are no happy about. Babs and Ron are getting married.’

  Mum looked pleased. ‘But surely that’s good news, Aggie.’

  ‘Well, it would be if they planned to have a big swanky wedding and reception but Ron’s persuaded Babs to have a wee ceremony at the Registrar’s Office and maybe a wee buffet at the prefab.’ She pronounced ‘buffet’ as in buffeted by the wind.

  ‘Ron says, what’s the sense in spending money on a big wedding when there’s more important things to spend your cash on? Well, the wedding’s to be next month so Eh suppose Eh’ll have to get cracking and write to Senga and Marvin. After all, Babs can hardly get married without having Senga as her matron of honour, can she?’

  As Mum said later, there was no way poor Babs could have her special day without the royal presence lording it over the entire scene. No show without Punch.

  Aggie was clearly unhappy about the marriage and she obviously didn’t relish a son-in-law like Ron the spiv. In her opinion, he didn’t measure up to Marvin the magnificent. Because of this unhappy end to the wonderful holiday, Mum almost forgot to produce her own trump card. I kept making faces at her and staring into the far corner of the living room where an object was standing, covered with a tablecloth.

  ‘Oh, Eh almost forgot! Before you go, Aggie,’ said Mum, trying to look innocent, as if she had just this minute stumbled over this mysterious object. ‘Eh’d like you to be the first to see this.’

  She swept the cloth away with a glorious flourish that would have done justice to a magician on a stage, to reveal our very own television set.

  Aggie opened her mouth so wide that her National Health teeth almost fell out and, before she could recover her composure, Mum burst forth with her own financial journey around the new acquisition. ‘As you know, George has left the school and got an apprenticeship with the DECS bakery in Clepington Road, so Maureen and him are going halfers with the seven-and-six weekly payment. We thought we would treat ourselves.’

  Aggie looked quite put out but managed to say, faintly, ‘Well, Eh always told you to get one, didn’t Eh?’

  ‘That’s right, you did, Aggie. And do mind yon accident Eh had with my hand? Well, Eh got some compensation money for that so Eh put down a deposit and, as Eh said, the kids are paying it up for me.’

  Then Mum, the horror that she was, even rubbed some salt in Aggie’s gaping wound by switching the set on. The Amos and Andy Show appeared on screen, complete with g
uffaws of laughter from the audience, which in Aggie’s case, was the last straw. Gathering up her handbag and photographs and calling for her fur coat, she left in a fit of pique which she tried hard to hide but which left a deep and smouldering atmosphere long after she left.

  Mum was immediately contrite. ‘Maybe Eh should have been less cock-a-hoop. Especially with Aggie worried about Babs and Ron. Eh only hope the lassie knows what she’s letting herself in for.’

  George, who had been sitting quietly while all the gossip was going on, got ready for his bed. He had an early morning start at the bakery, a job I suspected was becoming more like my time at Keillor’s. His post may have been advertised as an apprentice baker but the job description should have read ‘Chief Pot-scrubber’ because this was his daily lot.

  Ally, on the other hand, was learning all about the baking trade due to being in a small, family-run bakery in Kirkton. We had been going out together for over a year and it had been a fun-packed time of dancing, going to the pictures or just enjoying each other’s company. He lived with his parents and a younger sister, Ann, who was still at school while two older sisters, Jessie and Betty, were married.

  His mum was lovely and homely, forever cooking large meals for her family and baking huge mounds of pancakes and scones. His dad, Alick, was a police sergeant in the Dundee force and in the beginning I was a bit afraid of him. It all stemmed from my initial meeting with him. We had been at a late-night dance and were meandering along the High Street on our way home when this huge, burly looking policeman approached and literally towered over me. I thought he was as broad as he was tall.

  ‘It’s time you were home, lad. Get your skates on,’ he said and, for a brief moment, I thought we were about to be arrested.

  But Ally took it all calmly. ‘Aye, Eh’m just on my way.’ As we walked away, he said, ‘That was my father.’

  I almost fainted. ‘You’re joking!’ But he wasn’t.

  Later on, when I got to know the family, he wasn’t really frightening. In fact, he was a bit of a practical joker. One story he loved to tell concerned a tramp who would not stay away from the city coup at Riverside. He would regularly sleep in an old shed in the midst of all the rotting rubbish, which was not only dangerous to himself but was a serious health hazard. In spite of repeated warnings from the police and the council, the tramp wouldn’t move away until Ally’s dad gave it a try. Chipperfield’s Circus was in town and the Big Top was erected at Riverside. One night, while the two policemen were patrolling the area, Ally’s dad called out in a loud voice, ‘My lion, my lion! Has anybody seen the escaped lion?’

  Whereupon, the poor tramp leapt out of the shed and was last seen running towards Invergowrie. He obviously found a safer place to bunk down and everyone was happy.

  Meanwhile, Mum was looking for a wedding gift for Babs and Ron. Now that rationing was well and truly over, it was proving to be a lot easier than during the wartime shortages. She decided on a pair of towels, marked with ‘His’ and ‘Hers’ on the borders. The assistant in McGill’s store said they were the best-selling line that year.

  Mum asked me to go with her to the Blackshade prefab and we set off a week before the wedding. Aggie had regained her good humour, mainly because Senga and Marvin were home. They were all in the house when we arrived, apart from the bridegroom, who was on one of his rounds, said Aggie. ‘He’s a commercial traveller as Eh told you in one of my letters, Senga, and his round takes him all over the place from Dundee to Aberdeen.’

  Babs accepted the present with great pleasure and grace and set it beside a pile of other presents which were placed in her tiny bedroom. She lifted each card as she showed us the gifts and Mum made all the suitable noises that one makes on these occasions.

  ‘Eh didn’t know what to get you, Babs, but Eh aye say you can never have enough towels,’ explained Mum as we admired the collection of toast racks, tea towels, ornaments and clocks, sheets and blankets and a beautiful dinner service which was the gift choice from her sister.

  ‘Oh Babs, what a lovely looking dinner service!’ said Mum, quite overcome with the grandeur of the gift which stood like a sore thumb amongst the more mundane items. ‘You’ll have to watch you don’t break any of it.’

  Back in the living room, Aggie was telling the assembled audience about the intended buffet. ‘We’re having a platter of boiled ham with lettuce, tomatoes and hard-boiled eggs, boiled tatties and peas. Then for pudding we’re having trifle. Eh’ve also ordered a wee one-tier wedding cake from Rough and Fraser’s bakery and some wee sausage rolls. That was Senga’s suggestion. Then Eh thought at night, if folk were still hungry, Eh could make fish and chips and have a high tea with scones and bread and butter.’

  ‘Over in the States, we call chips French fries,’ said Senga, in a queer mixture of Dundee dialect and a transatlantic drawl. ‘When people come around, we have a barbecue on the lawn. Isn’t that so, Marvin?’

  Marvin and Mr Robb were sitting together, discussing something masculine and were obviously fed up with all this talk of weddings and boiled ham platters. He looked up, surprised at hearing his name. ‘Yes, honey, that’s right,’ he said, coming out with his standard phrase which clearly covered every situation. To everything Senga said, that was his stock reply, ‘Yes honey, no honey, three pots full of honey, honey.’

  Meanwhile, the bride-to-be sat quietly beside her father as if she didn’t belong in this wedding scene, almost as if she were some outsider on the fringe of this important occasion.

  Mum decided to bring her into the conversation. ‘Have you got your wedding dress, Babs?’

  Before she could answer, Aggie butted in. ‘Aye, she has but what a job that was getting something to suit her colouring. It’s no every colour that suits her,’ said her mother, repeating herself in case Babs hadn’t got the message about her difficult colouring.

  When we arrived home, Mum commented on the evening. ‘Eh think Aggie’s getting worse! Eh just hope Babs is no getting married to get away from her mother.’

  Then, two days before the wedding, the news broke and took us all by surprise. Aggie and Senga arrived at the door. Aggie looked terrible, her face all puffy and blotchy as if she had been crying, and Senga, in spite of her Californian sophistication, didn’t look much better. Poor Babs had been jilted – or perhaps scuttled was a better description.

  ‘Do you mind me telling you at the time that we wondered if he was married?’ Aggie sobbed, wiping her eyes on a large handkerchief. ‘Eh said that, didn’t Eh, Molly?’

  Mum, who wasn’t sure what was going on, looked at Senga. ‘What on earth’s happened?’

  Senga, who was upset but not so distraught as her mother, explained. ‘Oh it was awfy. We were in the house last night when this stranger came to the door. A woman who had come all the way from Glasgow cornered Babs and told her she was stealing her husband. He wasn’t divorced and now here he was, planning to get married again. And it was all Babs’s fault. Of course, Ron was out but when he came in, he almost fainted. Eh’m telling you she fair wiped the smarmy smile off his face.’

  I was agog at this news and fascinated by Senga’s accent which seemed to keep slipping back to her Dundee roots the more upset she became.

  Mum was really upset as well. ‘Where is Babs now?’

  ‘Dad and Marvin have taken her to my auntie’s house in Strathmartine Road.’

  Aggie was still sobbing and rubbing the hankie viciously over her eyes.

  ‘Aye, this woman from Glasgow said that Ron stayed at her house every month when he finished his rounds. The rest of the time she thought he was staying in hotels or guest houses. Mind you, the only good thing about this whole stramash is the fact that it was to be a quiet wedding so hardly anybody knows about it, thank goodness! Then there’s poor Senga.’ She stopped to view her daughter with a fond look. ‘Well, Senga brought over a bonny frock from California to wear as matron of honour. A lovely coffee and cream, flocked nylon one with a ballerina skirt and a dinkie
wee hat to match. It must have cost a bomb, Senga, and now it’s wasted!’

  There was a fresh burst of tears. Senga was genuinely fond of her sister and she waved this expense away with a wry smile. ‘That’s the least of our worries. We have to think about Babs now.’

  I noticed the transatlantic drawl was back. Aggie then began to harp on about the wasted food and wasted expense. ‘Eh’ve no idea what Eh’ll do with my boiled ham and twa dozen sausage rolls and a one-tier wedding cake. If Eh had my way Eh’d push Ron’s face into the ruddy icing, smarmy wee toerag that he is!’

  ‘Well, Aggie, Senga, Eh don’t really know what to say,’ said Mum sympathetically.

  Aggie produced a brown-paper parcel from her voluminous message bag and handed it to Mum. ‘Eh’ve brought your present back, Molly. Now that the wedding is off, Babs said to give everybody their gifts back and say a big thank you as well.’

  Mum was puzzled. ‘Eh wonder how Ron’s wife found out about the wedding. Still, Eh expect you’ll never find out.’

  ‘Oh, we know how,’ said Senga. ‘Seemingly, one of his contacts has a shop in Aberdeen. One day a customer was in this shop and overheard the owner congratulating Ron on his forthcoming wedding. He must have mentioned it to her and it seems this customer was a neighbour of Ron’s wife’s cousin and she thought she recognised him. It’s a long story.’

  Aggie and Senga stood up to leave and, at the door, Aggie turned to Mum. ‘Eh always said he was a spiv.’

  ‘At least the wedding was stopped in time,’ said Senga. ‘If it had gone ahead it would have been bigamy.’

  Aggie was dumbfounded. ‘Eh never thought of that. It was just that Eh was looking forward to the wedding. Meh man offered to buy me a new fur coat but thank heavens he only put a wee deposit down and the shop has offered to cancel the deal. He might lose his deposit of course.’