Tales from the Tent (36 page)

When her father asked her why she had to go, she said, ‘to find the fairy and plead with her to forgive my sisters.’

Her father told her not to go near the ugly fairy, because it would put an even worse curse on her, but she went anyway.

She searched for days before she found the ugly little fairy that gave her sisters the body parts of a donkey. When she saw just how awful the fairy was to the eye she could see why her sisters
threw rocks at it. ‘Please help me, tinker girl,’ it said, ‘I’ve been stuck here for years.’

‘I certainly don’t want to become a donkey,’ she thought, so leaned down and set the fairy free, then pleaded that she break the spell on her sisters. ‘Your sisters were
devilish to me, but you were kind. For this act I will present you with a gift. Your sisters were beautiful, but you will be the most lovely of them all, so be on your way.’ As soon as this
was said, Bridget’s dark hair turned golden yellow and shone like the brightest sun.

Next day she came across another ugly fairy in a gin trap. She released this one also, which in turn gifted her with skin as white as milk.

Next day the same happened, with this fairy gifting Bridget with beautiful, slender, flawless legs. The next gave her perfect breasts, and the next sea-blue eyes.

So in all she’d saved the lives of five fairies who were forever grateful.

Next day, as she skipped happily along, she came upon a sixth fairy. This one however had horns and red jaggy teeth. Its face glowed fiery red, and Bridget was very afraid. She thought,
‘she is far too ugly to let out, I’ll hurry past and ignore her.’

The fairy was hopping mad within the gin trap; so hard did she jump her leg became very sore, and she screamed at Bridget, ‘for not releasing me you will surely die!’

Bridget ran off, frightened and in tears. She didn’t see another tiny fairy in a gin trap until she’d tripped over her. ‘Oh, forgive me, little fairy, I was running away from a
nasty fairy who cursed me with death.’

‘That’s my sister, and she has a powerful magic, but although I can’t lift her spell I’ll change death to sleep. You’ll sleep for a hundred years. Go home, and
there it shall come to pass.’ So Bridget went home, went into her tent and fell fast asleep. At the same time her father and donkey sisters froze solid in ice, and they all stayed that way
for a hundred years.

One day, after the time had elapsed, an ugly, long-legged, three-nosed, four-eyed man came down the road and saw the small tent all rotted and rain-leaking. When he looked inside he saw Bridget,
and thinking her dead he leaned down and kissed her. Immediately she opened her eyes, and he covered his ugly face in case she was afraid to look upon him. ‘Oh thank you,’ she said.
‘You have released me from a terrible spell.’

He turned and left the tent, only to meet the nice seventh little fairy, who thereupon changed him into a handsome tinker lad with a sharpening stone and bag of good tools. Bridget and he
married, while the rest of the good fairies changed the scraggy tent into a grand house. As for the donkey sisters, well, it was thought they’d learned their lesson and they were made proper
again, not into beautiful girls but into strong-backed donkeys. Bridget gave them away one by one to weary travellers who came by in need of an animal to carry their bundles.

I remember when at school, a teacher told the story of ‘Sleeping Beauty.’

I defiantly told my teacher it wasn’t called that, but rather, ‘Bridget and the Seven Fairies’.

39

THE PROMISE KEPT

T
wo months passed and we moved down to join my parents in Arnbro. Davey continued to work out his apprenticeship with a local firm called
Dodd’s. However his skin began to react to sawdust, leaving him with a severe skin condition. On his doctor’s advice he was forced to give up his job. This was quite a blow, because
he’d only a year left to serve before qualifying as a joiner. I too had to stop work, on account of my pregnancy, and money was scarce. So scarce that our instalments on the caravan
couldn’t be met.

Now, far be it from me to encourage gambling, but one night Mammy asked me to go bingo-ing. I only had a ten bob note to my name. With it I bought one book.

One hundred and seventy pounds had been accumulating over several weeks, ‘a jackpot’ folks called it. I smiled, watching all the wives biting their nails as the caller called out
number upon number. Suddenly I was waiting on a seven, my tiny baby was turning somersaults in my abdomen as I sweated, then it happened—‘beautiful seven’. It meant the end of the
caravan payments—I had won the jackpot on my first time there! Those ladies with five and six books were not amused, I can tell you, but when they saw my pregnant state and knew how young and
hard up I was, they smiled and wished me well with applause. So I went off to Arbroath with one hundred and ten pounds, and the caravan was ours. I had enough money left to buy a pram for the wee
junior he or she, and a second-hand car. One of Davey’s pals sold us a 1954 green Standard Eight car, which had a 1964 souped up Triumph Herald engine, for twenty pounds. It went like a
rocket, however with me having such a monstrous lump Davey drove, even though I was the one with the driving licence.

One morning in April I rose feeling awfy sorry for myself. Davey said, ‘what you need is a wee drive around Loch Earn, that’ll pick ye up, ma lassie.’

When I had finally eased myself into the small passenger seat we headed up to take in the touristy delights of our countryside. I even packed a picnic basket. And I must say, by the time we were
on our way home my earlier feelings of despondency had drifted off, but as we approached the north side of the loch we met an almighty ‘gowk storm.’ Now for those of you who have never
felt the fury of mother nature’s spring blizzards then you’ll not be aware of their ferocity, but for those who have, then imagine what I now share with you, reader. Our window wipers
refused to budge! Torrents of thick heavy snow blasted our view, it was horrendous. ‘What will we do?’ I asked.

Davey, being in charge of the vehicle, said, ‘If you run alongside the car, I’ll drive real slow while you wipe the snow off the window so I can see where I’m going.’

I bet you’re thinking, ‘what a thoughtless young man, and his poor wife pregnant too.’

Yes, no doubting that, but hey, do you know what I did?

I got out and ran alongside the car, wiping the snow off so he could see.

We arrived home and I slept for two solid days.

At long last, on 25 May 1967, I was rushed into Perth Maternity, where doctors discovered my pelvic area was unable to allow a natural birth (I don’t know the medical
terminology). By early evening our tiny infant was being strangled by its own cord, so the only thing to do was a Caesarian section. So there I was—Jess, who had planned to flood the world
with enough bairns to side a football team—being told that all my births, if I had any more, would have to be sections. Poor Davey, was my last thought as I drifted under the anaesthetic, he
so wanted a big family.

Poor Davey indeed, there was I giving him a seven-pound, seven-ounce son, and he was across the road in a pub listening to Celtic win the European Cup.

I slept for the next three days, hardly aware of the stream of grandparents and relatives who came and went. It was after day three I was able to fully take in my beautiful son. We decided on
calling him Johnnie, after my father’s friend who saved his life during the war. Mammy always said if she had a boy that would be his name. I had the boy and gave him the name.

Davey, unlike me, had no sisters but he did have two brothers. His youngest brother was called Alex, who had the brain of a genius, always studying. Sadly, though, his older brother whom he
idolised was killed in Germany while serving with the Remies. He and several lads who were heading back to barracks took a short-cut over a railway line. No one knows the details, but their army
vehicle got stuck and was hit by an express train. I always felt heart-sorry for his parents, because they never got over losing their eldest son. Still, to have our grandson put some happiness
back into their hearts made me feel good in a small way.

Daddy was chuffed to have another boy in the family (Chrissie had two, Shirley one and Mona also had one). When he peeped into the tiny mite’s cot, he smiled and assured me
‘he’s the look of a soldier about him.’ The strange thing was that Johnnie, by the age of sixteen, was a member of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces.

Before I leave the maternity ward, let me share this last bit with you, reader. It was on my fourth day when the metal clips and stitches were tightening their grip on my abdomen and I felt like
screaming with pain. A nurse brought me mail, a wee letter from Mammy to cheer me up, lovely. However, when the smiling nurse pointed out the address I nearly fell from the bed. Instead of writing
PERTH ROYAL INFIRMARY, my sweet, innocent mother wrote ‘Jess Smith, R. I. P.’ (Royal Infirmary Perth). It caused hilarious laughter through the Matty that day, I can tell you, folks. I
saved that envelope as a keepsake.

A terrible thing happened after that. It was July, and Janey and her family came to Arnbro for a few weeks holiday. She had three lovely wee girls and was six months pregnant. Across from where
our caravan was stanced, her man parked theirs. Between us was the access road. Wee Irene was their youngest, just starting to walk. She was with me when her mother called her over. None of us saw
the car. Baby Irene was killed outright.

That was when as a family we cracked. My parents and two remaining sisters went far away up to Macduff on the Banffshire coast to retire, living in a house for the first time in many a year.
Mary married and moved to England. Janey had another girl whom she called Angela, she said she’d lost an angel and now had another one.

Within no time my youngest sisters met and married fine northern lads, leaving Mammy and Daddy, oh, and wee Tiny, all alone.

For a time Davey wandered about the country with me being a true traveller. I was fine, but unknown to me my man hadn’t the stomach for a lifestyle alien to him. And to rub salt on his
wounds, the skin condition which robbed him of the chance of being a joiner dug deep. Poor lad, although I tried to treat his weeping sores, it became apparent he needed to see a skin specialist. I
remember the doctor saying only daily emulsifying baths would help. There was nothing else for it but to find a house.

He also began drinking heavily, so we headed back to Crieff. I thought if he were on home ground then he’d pull up his socks and we’d make a go of it. We moved into a flat in
Gallowhill. In times gone by this was where sheep stealers and murderers hung for days. Our wee ground floor flat looked out onto the very place.

Soon Davey found work in a pallet factory along the Broich. I was pregnant again and not very well. For a start all my relatives had moved away, I had no one to turn to, while Davey drank more
of his wages than paid bills.

It was between Christmas and New Year. You know, the time when a lot of Scots lads don’t need an excuse to down the ‘cratur.’ My husband included.

If our marriage had chances, then they were thinning rapidly. I decided to have one last go at healing the cracks. This is what I did.

A thick frost was covering everything; even my washing hung stiff on the line. I stared out through the kitchen window and felt the tiny feet inside my belly kick hard against my ribs. ‘I
think you’re another wee laddie,’ I told the unborn child, running my hand gently across my swollen belly.

Johnnie was only eighteen months and looking up at me with sleepy eyes for his ‘sooky’, a piece of flannel he took to bed to suck on. I pulled it down off the pulley where it hung
still damp, and gave it to him. I’d done all my housework and it had gone two p.m., so I thought I’d take a nap with my toddling boy. Davey had gone ‘for a pint’ earlier,
and I didn’t expect to see him until five, teatime. When Johnnie and I cuddled in, time seemed to slip by, and soon he was prodding me to get his tea. I got up, heated him soup, and by eight
o’ clock he was bathed and ready for bed once more. The house was very quiet, and as I had bought some cocoa powder I made a chocolate sponge.