Authors: Jenny Telfer Chaplin
Love & Sorrow (10 page)
Penitent and rather embarrassed, Becky slowly made her
way back to where Ewan was still standing alone.
“Ewan, I’m sorry I spoke as I did –”
Blushing a furious red, Ewan interrupted her. “No … no,
I’m sorry … it was me … I’m very clumsy. It wasn’t right the way I said it.”
Becky smiled at him. “What say we just pretend it
didn’t happen and start again? You were right, the best man and the bridesmaid
should have a least one dance together. Shall we?”
Certainly not a conversationalist, Ewan went through
the whole dance in silence and Becky wondered how with his disadvantage about
speaking to girls he managed to become such a practiced dancer. After thanking
him for the dance, Becky asked him if would get her a drink and later, sipping
the drink, to break the awkward silence, she said: “You’re really a very good
dancer, Ewan. Where did you learn?”
“You’ll laugh,” he said.
“No, I won’t, I promise.”
Ewan shifted from foot to foot. “My older sister taught
me. Our folks wouldn’t allow her to go to dances on her own, so when I was
fifteen she had me go with her. A lot of her pals used to be at the dances and
if they didn’t have a partner with them they danced with me.”
Becky burst out laughing. At the hurt expression on
Ewan’s face she tried to convert the laugh into a pretend choke on her drink.
“I knew you’d laugh.”
“Honest, Ewan, I’m not laughing at you.” Becky giggled.
“Oh, yes I am. You must admit it’s funny. You get tongue-tied talking to girls,
asking a girl for a dance, but from fifteen you get girls to dance with without
you asking.”
“They were all older than me, like my sister, and I
only got to dance with them if nobody else asked them.”
“You do realise, Ewan, you’ve said several whole
sentences without a stutter or stammer?”
Ewan grinned. “So I have. Maybe we should dance again.”
“Not the most elegant invitation,” Becky said, “but
certainly better than the last.”
Blushing again Ewan said: “Sorry, I–”
“I’m joking, Ewan. Let’s dance.”
Determined this time not to circle the floor in
silence, Becky said: “You don’t talk like the others.”
Ewan missed a step, then recovered. “Neither do you.”
“I was brought up by an Aunt who made me learn to speak
like this. What about you?”
Again Ewan almost tripped. “My folks were from
Inverness originally –”
Becky said: “Oh, yes, I’ve head that almost everyone
there talks what they call posh here.”
Ewan lurched again. “Look, I don’t think I can dance
and talk. Do you think we can wait to talk till the dance is over?”
Becky laughed. “Is that an invitation?” Ewan stumbled
once more. “Okay, Ewan, you promise to get me another drink after this and
talk, and I’ll not say another word this dance.”
By the time it was announced the newlyweds were
leaving, Becky and Ewan had danced together several times and when Becky danced
with someone else, Ewan had stood talking with other men.
They were standing together when Caz and Declan turned
back to face the guests. Caz, with a grin, threw the small bouquet she was
holding straight at Becky who caught it just before any of the other girls got
to it. Over her shoulder Caz shouted: “Remember, Ah get tae dance at yer
weddin.”
When the festivities were breaking up Ewan cleared his
throat nervously. “Can I walk you home, Becky?”
“It’s not all that far, Ewan. We’re just on Main
Street. Where do you have to go?”
“Govan.”
“That’s quite a long way.”
“I’ll get a late tram or I’ll walk. I’ve done that
before when I visited my Granny in Bridgeton.”
As they left the Co-op Hall, Becky linked arms with
Ewan.
With a giggle Becky said: “Can you walk and talk, or is
just talking and dancing that’s a problem?”
Ewan laughed. “I think I can do both with you. Can I
see you again, Becky? There’s to be a soirée at our church in Govan, Saturday
week. Would you go with me?”
***
Becky did go to the soirée and was relieved to find
that Ewan was Protestant like her and not Catholic like Caz. Not that she would
have minded, but she felt that Aunt Meg and Uncle Jack might have some
reservations about her marrying outside her church. Mammy, Mrs Bryden, probably
would have objected, but Becky no longer cared what Mammy would think.
Ewan was fun to be with and he and Becky began to meet
regularly once a week. On one occasion when Ewan was walking Becky home they
encountered a belligerent, drunken Erchie who blocked their way.
“Excuse us,” Ewan said, as he attempted to sidestep
Erchie.
“Am Ah no guid enough to meet yer freen?” Erchie said,
swaying before them.
Becky shuddered. “Ewan, this is my brother Erchie.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Ewan said and held out his hand.
“God save us,” Erchie said. “Anither bool-in-the-mooth
eejit. Could ye no find a proper man tae shack up wi?”
“Don’t talk to Becky like that.”
“Oh, aye. And who’s tae stop me?”
“Just let us past, please.”
Erchie made a grab at Becky’s arm and Ewan pushed him
back.
With a roar Erchie took a wild swing at Ewan who pushed
Becky back out of the way, easily avoided Erchie’s attempted punch, and then
landed two solid punches of his own. The first to Erchie’s midriff made him
gasp and bend forward, the second on the point of Erchie’s chin rocked him back
staggering to bang his head on the wall.
Calmly, Ewan took Becky’s arm. “Sorry I pushed you, but
I thought you might get hurt.”
Becky looked at Erchie slumped against the wall,
mumbling incoherently.
“Where did you learn to do that, Ewan? That was great.”
Ewan laughed. “I was brought up in Govan. Need I say
more? Anyway, working at the shipyard I can’t afford to take any guff from
anyone. Will you be all right? I mean, he won’t try anything when he gets
home?”
“No, I’ll be fine. The last time he thought he could
come the big man I hit him with the frying pan.”
“I’ll need to keep that in mind in future.” Ewan grinned.
He walked her up the stairs to her door. “I’ll see you next week?”
“Be careful, Ewan, when you go out of the close. Don’t
turn your back on Erchie. He’s got a nasty temper.”
“Maybe I should borrow the frying pan? Don’t worry, I
can look after myself.”
Two weeks after Ewan’s confrontation with Erchie, Mrs
Bryden said to Becky: “Before ye gae oot the nicht just sit yersel doon. We
have some talkin tae dae.”
Becky sat at the table opposite Mrs Bryden. “Could this
not wait till later? I’m going to meet Ewan.”
“That’s whit we hae tae talk aboot. Erchie telt me
aboot how Ewan attacked him for nae reason.”
“Oh, that’s rubbish, Mammy. Erchie was falling down
drunk, as usual, and he was going to hit me before Ewan stopped him.”
“Aye, mibbe, but Ah had Erchie find oot something aboot
that Ewan. He’s frae Govan – a real rough lot there–”
Becky laughed. “And Erchie’s pals are all angels?”
“I don’t want ye mixin wi the wrang crowd.”
“You should have thought of that before you had me
working at Templeton’s.”
“Ah’ll have hae nane o that cheek, missie. Ah’m jist
thinkin o yer ain guid. Onywey, Ah’ll no hae ye thinkin ye can run aff and get
married. If Erchie gaes ye’ll need tae be here tae look efter yer Mammy and yer
Paw – ye owe us that.”
Becky stared at Mrs Bryden in disbelief. “You can’t
stop me getting married.”
Mrs Bryden. “Weel, mibbe no directly, but there’s some
things ye dinnae ken.”
“I know you’re not my mother. Aunt Meg is. I’ve gone on
pretending I didn’t know so as not to embarrass Aunt Meg, but you can’t keep me
here against my will.”
Mrs Bryden gave a sly smile. “Ah did wonder if ye’d
overheard Meg and me that day, but when ye didnae let on, Ah thought it best
tae leave weel enough alain. Onywey Ah ken yer Ewan’s folk are guid church
gaein people, even if they dae live in Govan. Whit dae ye think they’ll hae tae
say if they learn yer a bastard? Think yer Ewan will be sae keen then?”
Becky felt the colour drain from her face. “You would
do that to your own sister?”
Grimly, Mrs Bryden said: “Aye, if Ah need tae. Ye can
go on seein the lad if ye like, but any hint of ye gettin married and Ah’ll put
the kibosh on it.”
***
In February of 1916 just after the Conscription Act was
passed on January 27th Becky and Ewan had been courting for some five months.
Becky was afraid that Ewan would be called up for the army but he assured her
that as an apprentice draughtsman in a shipyard busy with Admiralty orders he
was quite safe unless he volunteered. For Erchie, however, his employment as
coal-carrier wasn’t considered to be essential to the war effort and by Becky’s
seventeenth birthday in July he was in uniform. For a few months that followed,
Mrs Bryden referred to Ewan as Becky’s coward, but Becky refused to rise to the
bait and the uneasy truce that had been established between them after the
confrontation about Becky’s parentage resumed.
The courtship of Becky and Ewan continued sedately.
Becky had introduced him to Aunt Meg and Uncle Jack, who had both been suitably
impressed, Aunt Meg being particularly pleased with Ewan’s lack of a ‘coarse
Glasgow accent’. Uncle Jack thought Ewan’s job in the shipyard drawing office
would ‘keep his hands clean’ and ensure good steady work. The two year gap in
their ages was ‘just right’.
In May of 1918 a strange new influenza appeared in
Glasgow – the Spanish Flu that had been affecting troops at the front in France
since early spring – and there were reports of many people taking ill. As had
been the case with the plague outbreak in 1900, Meg was very concerned and
talked at length to Becky about precautions she should take. However, it was
Rab who was struck down and by June was dead. Ewan was puzzled and a little
concerned at how calmly Becky took the sad news of the death of her father.
Caz, at one of Becky’s visits, quizzed Becky about
Ewan. “Ye’ve been courtin for mair than two years now. Is it no time he popped
the question? Yer no gettin ony younger. Yer, whit, nineteen noo?”
Becky sighed. “We’re fine as we are. Apart from Erchie
and he’s as much use as a sore head, Mammy has no one to bring any money into
the house now that my father’s dead.”
“As far as Ah could make oot yer faither didnae bring
anythin but booze intae the hoose while he was alive.”
“Ewan understands. We’ll just have to wait a while.
Maybe when Erchie comes back from the war he’ll be more sensible …”
“Aye, and then he’ll get himself hitched and ye’ll
still be left the spinster sister tae look efter auld maw. Ah tell ye. Ah ken.
That’s how it is wi ma younger sister.”
“Just drop it, Caz. Let’s talk about something else.”
Caz’s repeated comments began to irritate Becky and she
stopped visiting her, but Caz’s reference to Becky ending up a
spinster-of-the-Parish rankled and her resentment against Mammy built steadily.
One day at work when the machines were down for a spell
Becky overheard two of the girls talking. One was explaining to the other that
since she was marrying a Catholic and having to convert, the priest wanted to
see her birth certificate.
“Well,” she said, “wouldn’t ye know but ma certificate
got lost in one of oor moonlights.”
The other laughed. “Aye, a flittin jist steps ahead o
the bailiffs can be a bit rushed. Easy tae lose things. But ye can get a copy o
yer certificate frae the Registrar’s Office. It’ll cost ye though.”
The machines started up again and Becky spent the
afternoon thinking about the conversation she’d just heard.
Two weeks later, after the evening meal Becky turned to
her mammy.
“Would you still tell everyone about me being Aunt
Meg’s daughter and not yours if I decided to get married?”
“Ah don’t think Ah’ll hae tae tell, will Ah? Ah wid bet
ye’d dae onythin no tae upset yer precious Aunt Meg.” Mrs Bryden sat back with
a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
“You’ve bet on the wrong horse, this time, Mammy. Last
week I managed to get time off from the mill–”
“That’s the week yer paypoke wis some hours short! Ye
lyin wee bisom! Ye telt me some machine broke doon and ye were aw short.”
“Right. I went to the Registrar’s Office. Did you know
you can get a copy of your birth certificate? I’ve got one. It says quite
clearly: ‘Becky Bryden, Daughter of Rab Bryden and Nellie Bryden’, and it’s
signed by Nellie Bryden. If you try to tell anyone anything else without some
witness to the contrary, you’ll just be a crazy old woman. If the Registrar did
believe you, who would be in bother for signing an official document to a lie?
As for trying anything else to keep me at home to look after you – slavery was
abolished years ago, Mammy. Now, I’m going out to meet Ewan.”
On Becky’s twenty-fifth birthday Ewan’s proposal was
finally accepted and on St Valentine’s Day, 1925 they were married. Ewan’s
Govan granny gave one of her single ends – just vacated – rent free as a
wedding present. Mrs Bryden reluctantly attended the wedding and the reception
in the Co-op Hall, which was paid for by Aunt Meg and Uncle Jack. Caz did get
to dance at Becky’s wedding, albeit somewhat awkwardly being heavy with her
fourth child.
In December 1928, following an entire day and night of
hideous pain during which Becky prayed for the release of an early death, baby
Val finally came into the world. Ewan and the assortment of relatives and
friends who came to gaze at and admire the couple’s first baby all marvelled at
the fact that the baby had been born on the shortest day of the year. Becky
felt she could well have taken issue with this, for as far as she was
concerned, far from being the shortest day it had been the longest, dreariest,
most ghastly day of her entire life to date. She also silently vowed – never
again!
How other women of her acquaintance could produce a
child every year of marriage and still come smiling though life, Becky thought,
is a complete mystery to me. I’ll certainly steer clear of becoming such a baby
factory.
How she would achieve such a miracle was not entirely
clear. However, now that the baby was safely born Becky felt her world was
complete. She had her own good man, a husband who, unlike many in Govan,
brought home to her, unopened, a weekly pay-packet from the yard. Now she had a
bonnie baby to love, to care for, and to dress-up like a wee doll.
Yes, Becky thought, it’s all a far cry from living with
Mammy’s perpetual complaints about me not doing enough for her and her
lay-about Rab who would neither work nor want. She smiled. It’s even further
from the stress, hellish noise and frenetic activity of the carpet factory.
As she looked round her home from the comfort of her
chair, almost as if taking stock for the first time, she saw the centre of her
world in the polished-for-dear-life black range with its overhanging gas
mantle, the mantle with her wally dugs, brass candlesticks, tea caddy, and the
mantle clock.
Her gaze fell on the recessed wall-bed with its
patchwork quilt, the marital bed in which baby Val had been joyfully conceived
and later brought into the world. As she cradled the baby in her arms, Becky
vowed she would bring up her child to become a decent citizen and far removed
from the appearance, manners, and slovenly speech of the archetypical Glesga
Keelie.
To this end, Becky, rather than relying on any innate
maternal instincts took to spending hours on end in the nearby Elder Park
Library perusing volumes on childrearing.
***