Under the Bridges (6 page)

And there was the Bass Rock, as clear as day . . . Far away in the distance on the other
shore
there were small boats moored. And there, yes, there was the ferry, the
Queen Margaret
.

Walter was reassuring.

‘There's the safety nets down below. If a man should fall—well, he might get a few bruises, but he'd be caught in the net. We're proud of these nets. They didn't have any standard to go by, we had to design them right from scratch. And they've proved their worth.'

Wearing hard hats, the three men walked along the steel decking. Walter explained how, just a month ago, the last wires had been carried across the Forth. They watched the welders at work, and gazed admiringly at the spidermen climbing up the rope ladders.

‘You'll maybe feel a slight sway,' Walter said. ‘We can gauge the sway by lining up a guy rope with a house on the shore, and the house often seems to move. But if the wind gets up, that's when all the work comes to a halt.'

He showed them the bothy.

‘Just like on dry land!' He laughed.

There were several men enjoying a break, a glimpse at the newspaper, a smoke or a welcome cup of tea.

‘There a game of cards going too, if there's time,' Walter said.

Out in the sunshine, Joe drew a deep breath. It was magnificent up here. He had stopped feeling nervous and was astonished by the sheer skill and expertise.

Nothing
is left to chance, he thought. It's going to be a wonderful bridge.

* * *

‘I'm glad I work on dry land,' Joe said when they finally came down to ground level again. ‘Well, hardly dry land,' he added.

‘You wouldn't get me working anywhere else.' Walter Logan glanced back at the bridge. ‘Out in the fresh air all the time—even in bad weather, it's the life for me. I couldn't do anything else—like being a miner.' He gave a shudder. ‘Working underground, I'd be scared stiff.'

‘Those spidermen—' William said. ‘I've always had a head for heights, but I wouldn't like to be doing their job.'

‘They never give it a thought,' Walter assured him. ‘Plenty of them have been at it for years, and often it runs in the family. And of course, safety's the first consideration. You can't rely on shouting instructions—the crane man has always got to see the signal we're giving him.'

‘Tell you what,' Joe said to Walter. ‘Why don't you come over on the ferry one day? Then you can see how the bridge is progressing from down below.'

The foreman nodded.

‘I've not been on the ferry for a while. It'll be interesting to take a look up at the bridge.'

‘I
remember the ferries going from Aberdour,' Grandpa recalled. ‘That was a long time ago, though. Back in nineteen-hundred.'

Walter turned to the old man.

‘You've a lot of memories.'

‘Aye, that I have.' Grandpa nodded. ‘And I'm proud to think that's two bridges I've seen going up . . . I never saw the old Tay Bridge, but I mind my father speaking of that terrible night when the bridge went down.'

There was a pause.

‘Well, I'll be glad to take you up on your offer of a boat trip,' Walter said cheerfully to Joe.

‘Your first half-day,' Joe promised. ‘Now I see the athletics from Belgrade are on the telly tonight. Want to watch it?'

‘Yes, sure.'

‘What about you, Grandpa?'

The old man shook his head.

‘I'm away to Inverkeithing, to the whist club. I'll have a lot to tell them tonight!'

* * *

It was a pleasant September day for the ferry crossing. As they neared the middle of the Forth, Walter looked up at the giant cranes at the end of each section of steelwork. He tried to imagine what it would look like when the gap in the middle was closed. There was a while to go yet, though, maybe another year
before
the north and south sections met.

My, but it looked so different from down below!

There was plenty to see as the ferry chugged across the river. He looked up at the rail bridge. It looked different from the river, even higher. Though he'd often crossed it by train, he hadn't appreciated the height of the spans. And there was no modern technology back in 1890, he marvelled.

It was a pity that the ferries had to go, though, he told himself, seeing Joe's pride in his craft.

It was a fine, smooth crossing as the ferry steadily ploughed through the waters of the Forth. He leaned on the rail, deep in thought. What a lot of changes in a lifetime! There was William, remembering the building of the rail bridge. And young Roy—well, crossing by rail and ferry was a part of everyday life.

Before long, people would take the road bridge for granted too.

‘I'll miss the ferries,' he overheard one woman say to another. ‘It's a fine, peaceful way of crossing. When we get to the bridge you'll be across in a few minutes.'

Her friend laughed.

‘As long as there's no hold-ups. I can see everyone in Scotland wanting to cross the new bridge.'

‘There's a train . . .' The first woman pointed to the rail bridge. ‘Doesn't it look
small
from down here!'

Her friend gazed across the river.

‘I'm fairly looking forward to the opening.'

‘That'll be a great day. Some time next year, they think.'

If we're lucky, Walter thought. Weather permitting.

As he watched Joe bring the ferry skilfully into the quay, Walter was unaware of the couple standing in front of him, looking out over the river. But as he turned to disembark, he saw that it was Shona and her boyfriend. No use pretending he hadn't noticed them.

He raised his hand.

‘Miss McAllister. Hello. A fine day for crossing the Forth.'

Shona looked a little surprised to see him.

‘Oh, hello, Mr Logan.'

Walter paused, waiting for her to introduce her chap, prepared to make some other comment about the bridge. Everyone wanted to know how much it was costing, how long it would take to build, and so on. He could hardly go into the pub for a quiet beer without someone cornering him and asking questions.

But Shona and her boyfriend seemed disinclined to talk.

‘I'd best be getting on, then,' Walter said at last, a little embarrassed.

As the passengers streamed off the ferry, he could see the man helping Shona into his car.

He wondered where they had been and
what
sort of income could let him afford a motor like that. Then he shook himself. It was none of his business. Miss McAllister seemed fine pleased with him, anyway.

He turned away to have a word with Joe and to thank him for the trip.

But, later on, Walter felt a little uneasy about Shona's boyfriend, and he wondered why. He'd never met the man, never spoken to him. He looked respectable enough, although a bit flash.

There was nothing wrong with him, nothing at all. So why, Walter asked himself, did he get this uneasy feeling about him?

* * *

‘Surely they'll not be working today!'

Nancy paused, dishcloth in hand, to look out of the kitchen window There had been another snowfall overnight, and a glance at the sky showed heavy clouds.

More snow on the way, she thought.

It had been like this for weeks, and now it was the coldest January she could remember. She went through to the living room to bank up the fire.

‘We'll remember nineteen-sixty-three,' she said to herself.

At least they had plenty of coal, unlike some. Every day the papers carried stories of hardship—there was no part of the country, it
seemed,
that had escaped.

But it wasn't just the weather that made Nancy feel down in spirits. She was constantly fretting about the family. Except Roy, she thought with a smile. He was in his element—sledging, snowball fights, building snowmen. She remembered how cross Joe had been when Roy borrowed his favourite pipe to put in the snowman's mouth.

And, of course, best of all from Roy's point of view, school often closed early because of the weather.

No, it was Matt—oh, Joe had told her time and again, and so had Walter—that safety was the prime concern on the bridge. Still . . . she glanced out of the window again. She began peeling and coring apples. Apple pie was Walter's favourite and it was a pleasure to cook for someone so appreciative.

Not just Matt. But Lorna—what had happened to her bright, affectionate daughter? These days she was often surly—snapping at Nancy, and being short-tempered with Matt. Sometimes she flared up over nothing, and there were constant arguments with her father.

* * *

Nancy sighed, wishing Joe wasn't so heavy-handed with her. It was no use laying down the law, not with today's young people!

It wasn't many months since Lorna had
brought
friends home—they would spend hours up in her room, looking at teenage magazines, and trying out make-up. But now she rarely brought anyone home.

‘We don't know who her friends are,' Joe complained one evening.

Nancy felt a wave of sympathy that evening for her daughter. Of course all young people wanted to be fashionable. It wasn't Lorna's ever-changing hairstyles and make-up that worried Nancy. She'd become secretive.

Nancy sighed as she rubbed the fat into the flour, and added water, then brought the mixture together, wishing, not for the first time, that Joe was more patient with Lorna. Not that he wasn't a good, caring father. He would do anything for his daughter. Look at the trouble he had taken, building a lovely dressing table for her bedroom.

She set the pastry aside and began to chop the apples. They were Bramleys from Grandpa's garden, and they'd kept well, stored in the shed. That reminded her . . . once she'd finished baking, she would put on her boots and go along to see how he was getting on. Oh, he had good neighbours who would see that he had plenty of food, and his daily paper delivered, but it would be like him to try to go out, even in this weather.

‘Anyone in?'

Nancy whirled round, and saw Walter's face appear round the kitchen door.

‘Walter!'
Nancy felt a moment of swift panic. ‘Why . . . I mean you're home early. Is it—is there anything wrong?'

‘Now calm down, Mrs M,' he said kindly. ‘Nothing's wrong—and Matt will be home shortly. You wouldn't expect us to work in this weather, would you?'

‘Of course not.' Nancy felt foolish, but relief swept through her.

‘You've no need to be anxious,' he reassured her. ‘You know we don't work when there's high winds, or danger of icing. We've stopped work early today, and I wondered if there was any chance of a cup of tea.'

‘Just sit yourself down and I'll put the kettle on.'

Walter moved over to the window and stood, gazing out.

‘It's a long time since we had a winter like this. Nineteen forty-seven was the last bad winter—so one of the lads was saying.'

‘I feel for anyone who's working outside,' Nancy shivered. ‘And as for these men on the snow-ploughs—I read in the paper about one crew, stuck in their cab overnight, without food or drink.'

‘Aye, they're doing a grand job,' Walter agreed. ‘Working through the night to clear the roads.'

* * *

‘I
hope the kettle's on.'

Matt was at the door, stamping his feet and swinging his arms. He shook the snow from his duffel coat and pulled off his cap.

Nancy noticed that the melting snow was dripping on to the linoleum as he stood there, blowing on his fingers. Even in the warmth of her kitchen Nancy could imagine how raw and bleak it must be for the men working on the bridge.

‘What about Miss McAllister?' Walter asked, concerned. ‘They'll surely close the school early.'

‘I expect she'll be home soon,' Nancy said as she poured the tea. ‘There's scones,' she added, ‘and honey. And it's your favourite, apple pie for pudding.'

‘We never ate so well before you came here, Walter!' Matt grinned.

‘Cheek!' Nancy pretended to be affronted.

‘Speaking of food,' Matt said, as he stirred his tea. ‘What about Grandpa? Will he be all right? It's going to snow again.'

‘I'm going to pop along if the bus is running, just to see he's all right,' Nancy said. ‘If only he had a phone. It would be useful at times like this.'

‘You don't need to venture out, Mum. I'll go.' Matt was on his feet. ‘Nothing else to do today—no football, everything's closed. And no work tomorrow—isn't that right, Walter?'

‘We'll see. I'll go down to the bridge later
on,
see what's happening. But I doubt it, not with this wind rising.'

‘Oh, thank you, Matt,' Nancy said. ‘I've some groceries put by for Grandpa.' She smiled at her elder son. What a good lad he was!

‘I'd best go now, then,' Matt said, draining his cup. ‘I'll get a lift if the bus isn't running. Expect me back for the apple pie. Oh!' He threw a couple of packets on the table. ‘I promised to get these for Roy.'

‘What are they?'

‘Sweetie cigarettes.' Matt grinned. ‘Popeye and Laurel and Hardy. He wanted them for his collection.'

‘He'll be that pleased.'

Nancy smiled affectionately at her son. He was so thoughtful.

‘I'll be as quick as I can.'

Matt closed the door behind him.

‘Would there be another cup in the pot?' Walter asked, stretching out his hands to the fire. He glanced out of the window.

‘Oh, here's Miss McAllister now—and your daughter.'

‘School's closed early. We've sent the children home,' Shona said, as she pulled off her red woollen cap, and shook her dark curls. With her glowing pink cheeks, she looked very attractive, Nancy thought, noticing that Walter was looking at her with interest.