Fortunes of the Heart (12 page)

“And apart from the pleasure it will afford the whole
family, there’s something else. We can look on it as a special birthday treat
for wee Isabella. How would that be? Good idea, don’t you think? After all,
we’ll never forget the day of her birth, will we? With that awful launching
tragedy on the Clyde. Still, we’re lucky, we’re together. And the mighty River
Clyde will be our friend, our means to take us doon the
wafter
to the lovely Island of Bute.”

Kate was overcome with joy, as her eyes took in and tried to
comprehend the rare sight of her husband’s face, happy and carefree at last.

She began to hope in her heart perhaps at long last he was
getting over the death of his beloved and sorely-missed, dearly departed Andrew
and Angela.

As she waved her husband off to work, and then cleared away
his breakfast things, before getting the children up, the phrase kept going
round and round in her head.

“Just a wee trip doon the
wafter
.”

Unable to restrain her exuberance, she hiked up her skirts
and did a spirited Irish dance right there and then by the side of the kitchen
sink.

The thought came to her: Honestly. I can hardly wait to tell
the
. children. But, perhaps I’d better wait until
things are definitely arranged. It would never do to disappoint the wee
darlings.

She started re-laying the table in readiness for the
children, then, with hand poised over the table with some spoons, she paused.
Her face lit up with her sudden, bright idea.

That’s it. That’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll go round and
have a word with Big Betty Donavan. Seems to me she went doon the wetter last
year. I’ll find out all about it from her. Then once everything’s settled, all
cut and dried, like, that’s when I’ll tell the children the good news. But not
before.

That point happily settled in her own mind, she bustled
about the kitchen getting both herself and the children ready to face another
day. She smiled and hummed to herself, secure in the knowledge that right at
that moment life was good and even seemed, amazingly, to be getting better all
the time.

Chapter
22

Glasgow Fair Saturday dawned at long, long last. Although by
tradition this great day always fell on a day in mid-July for all the sunshine,
so little light that penetrated Kate’s back kitchen, it might just as well have
been a day in the gloom of November. Small wonder then that Isabella had asked
her about the fiftieth time in as many moments: “Mammy, is it really true? Are
we really going away to the seaside for a holiday?”

Kate nodded happily, already busy in trying to slick down
Hannah’s coarse dark hair in order to make the poor child as presentable as
possible for the great adventure. Despite the gloom of the weather, inside the
overcrowded kitchen even at that early hour, there was already an air of
carnival. In one corner, Daniel was crouched low over a sheet of newspaper as
he blackened and brushed his best Sunday boots. Young Jenny was already
wearing, at a rakish angle, her straw sun bonnet, which although new to her,
had already weathered a lifetime of summers, before finally coming to rest in
Paddy’s Market, from which a bargain-hunting Kate had rescued it in exchange
for handing over to the stall-holder one silver
threepenny
bit. Kate smiled as she recalled how Jenny had carefully climbed on a chair to
place her precious hat on a high shelf well out of the grasping reach of her
younger sister.

Isabella, who had packed and repacked her leather school bag
at least a dozen times, with increasingly disastrous results, was at that very
moment doing her best to stuff back inside the bag an overhanging length of
cotton petticoat and one draw-string navy
knicker
leg. When the latter item, which seemed to have a life of its own, again
cascaded over the edge, she gave a tut of annoyance and threw the bag angrily
into the corner where it just missed the open tin of greasy black shoe polish.
More to divert her Mother’s attention from the near disaster in the corner than
for any other reason, Isabella turned and again asked: “Mammy, is it really
today we’re going on that big boat? Honest and true?”

Kate gave a final pat to Hannah’s hair, secured with a Kirby
grip the child’s favourite tartan ribbon which she had already tied into a
chocolate-box bow, and then turned to face her youngest daughter.

Then, holding her arms wide, she gathered Isabella to her
bosom and gave her a reassuring kiss.

“Yes, my darling. It is indeed true. We are going this very
day. And no mistake. Even if I have to drive the boat myself.”

Just at that moment, Pearce came in from the hallway, and,
catching the last of Kate’s words, he gave a hearty laugh.

“You drive the boat, did you say, Kate? Humph. And a grand
job you would make of it too. Like as not, we’d all end up in the nearest
tenement close, and not a very salubrious one at that, I’ll be bound, probably
round the corner from Govan Wharf.

The children all laughed uproariously at this. Then as their
laughter died away, Pearce, as if again back to his usual strict manner,
frowned.

“Well now, children, it’s high time we were all ready. If we
fritter away the morning like this, I’m sorry to tell you that there’s only one
thing we’ll catch. And it won’t be the Marquis of Bute at that.”

Daniel looked up from where he was engaged in clearing away
the boot cleaning materials.

“But Dadda, if we don’t catch the big boat, what will we
catch?”

Pearce gave them all a wicked grin, with the nearest thing
to a twinkle in his eye.

“The only thing we’re likely to catch, son, is a head cold.”

With the exception of Daniel, who blushed scarlet and felt
that he had been made a fool of, the rest of the family roared with laughter.

Half an hour later, amid a welter of bags, cane-baskets,
hampers, children, buckets and spades, and the ever present go-chair for
Hannah, the Kinnon clan finally emerged from their close and headed in
procession along Argyle Street towards their first port of call at the
Broomielaw
.

As they marched along, the first thing that Kate noticed was
that the normally busy streets were, much to her surprise, strangely deserted.
In fact, instead of the usual noises of the City, the pounding of horses’ hooves,
the screech of tramcars, the cries of the street traders and all the other
ever-present sounds now so familiar to her, today there was nothing. Whatever
distant sounds there were, the barking of a dog, the screaming of a child, all
seemed strangely muted.

Never the less despite the somewhat eerie atmosphere, their
family procession kept steadfastly on its way with, as usual, Pearce striding
on at its head, walking-stick in one hand, holiday hamper in the other, the
children, also encumbered with various items of luggage, following in Indian
file, with Kate bringing up the rear with Hannah in her ancient go-chair packed
with parcels, sun-hats, stretched woollen cardigans, and even an umbrella and a
brightly-painted parasol with which to cover all eventualities. It was when
they were walking under the Highlanders’ Umbrella further along Argyle Street
that Kate realised what a difference the absence of its usual traffic, people,
noise, and bustle made. In this covered space under the railway bridge, the screech
of Hannah’s rickety go-chair echoed all around them, as did the clank of the
older children’s tin buckets and spades as they from time to time clattered
against the enamel mugs which each child wore on a neck-string, almost as a
badge of office.

Kate had a quiet smile to herself when she thought of the
name, Highlanders’ Umbrella. Many people thought it had gained its name on
account of the many immigrants from the Highlands of Scotland being mean with
what little money they had and sheltering from the rain under the covered area,
rather than go to the expense of buying an umbrella.

But thanks to the knowledgeable Granny
Gorbals
,
Kate knew different. The reason for the name had nothing whatever to do with
the supposed thriftiness of the Highlanders. No, it was quite a different
reason. Over time it had become a meeting place for the hundreds of young men
and women, homesick for their beloved glens, braes, and Highland crofts left
far behind them, who had, of necessity, come to the City of Glasgow to seek work.
On their one free day, the Sabbath, they would congregate under the
Highlanders’ Umbrella, there to meet with other homesick exiles and speak their
own beloved, lilting Gaelic language.

Kate had never seen the Sabbath meetings, but again
according to Granny
Gorbals
any Sunday afternoon or
evening, in front of every closed shop, there would be little groups of people
from Mull,
Mallaig
,
Inverary
,
or any other part of the Scottish Highlands one cared to mention.

Kate was shaken out of her reverie when there was an
explosive sneeze from Hannah. At once, Kate ground the go-chair to a halt,
withdrew a rag from under the sleeve of her best navy serge dress, and prepared
for battle.

If there was one thing which Hannah, normally fairly
biddable, really hated, it was having her nose wiped. She would squirm her body
away, toss her head from side to side, and then retch loudly when her Mammy’s
rag finally made contact with the dribbling green slime. Pearce had also
stopped and with his walking-stick was indicating that they should hurry along.
Then, in case his wife had still not got the message, he cupped a hand to his
moustached and bearded mouth and yelled.

“Kate. For heaven’s sake, do get a move on. The Marquis of
Bute won’t wait for ever, you know, and certainly not on our convenience. Hurry
up.”

Kate took a wild swipe at Hannah’s face, and much to the
latter’s displeasure, scored a bull’s eye. That done, she went hurrying on to
meet up with her husband before he could get a chance to berate her further for
her tardiness.

“I was just thinking back there,” she said, “how lucky the
Highlanders are with their own meeting-place. Must be grand that, when you’re
feeling homesick. ’Tis a pity we don’t have an Irishman’s Umbrella. Now
wouldn’t that be something?”

Pearce, intent on making sure that he got his brood to the
Broomielaw
dockside with all possible speed, without even
slackening his pace, turned his head and looked at his wife as if she had taken
leave of her senses.

“What? What’s that? Oh yes, I see what you’re on about now.
But you’re forgetting surely. The Irish in Glasgow do have a meeting place. Of
course they do.”

It was Kate’s turn to look puzzled. Then her face cleared
and she smiled.

“You’re right, Pearce. How could I have forgotten Paddy’s
Market especially since every stitch the children and ourselves wear comes from
its stalls. Paddy’s Market, yes, you’re right.”

Pearce’s only reply was a dismissive shake of his head, as
if in this way, he could wave aside her words. He frowned at her.

“No. That’s not the meeting place I meant. I was referring,
of course, to the Ship Bank Tavern, a pub which has long been the unofficial
headquarters of the Irish in Glasgow.”

Kate frowned.

“Oh, can’t say I ever heard of it.”

Pearce allowed himself the luxury of a superior smile.
Looking down at her from his great height, he replied:

“Well, naturally, my dear. After all, a public house is no
place for a respectable matron like yourself. But of course, I personally have
always been aware of its existence. They do say that if you come from Donegal,
Cork,
Ballygally
, or any place in Ireland for that
matter, all you have to do is go along to the Ship Bank Tavern in the
Briggait
, and within minutes, you’ll be given the address
of, and I daresay a helping hand from, another immigrant from your own area. No
problem at all.”

Kate stopped so abruptly that with the judder of the
go-chair, Hannah’s uncoordinated fingers loosed their hold on her rag doll,
which jerked out of her hands and fell down on to the pavement, just missing a
puddle by inches. As she stooped to retrieve poor
Raggie
-Aggie,
Kate fought hard to keep the anger she felt out of her face and her voice. Her
common sense told her to let the matter rest there, but even so, she could not
resist one short barb.

“Pearce, do you mean to say you knew about that pub when we
arrived, poor, lost souls, that awful day at the
Broomielaw
?
You knew there was help readily available? You mean we need never have gone
through that demeaning scene with the high and mighty lady whatsit? Oh, Pearce,
Pearce.”

His lips twisted in a sneer of scorn.

“Look, the past is over and done with. But if you must know,
yes, I was fully aware of the existence and of the actual location of that
Irish pub in the
Briggait
.”

Kate opened her mouth but so great was her white-faced shock
that no sound issued from her lips.

“Yes, Kate, of course I knew. A rough fellow on the boat
across from Ireland gave me full directions as to how to find the place, and
also a contact name to ask for. But let’s face it, my dear, I also knew,
without ever seeing the Tavern, that it would not have been my sort of place.
And you could hardly have expected me to mix with a rabble: common Irish
peasants straight from the bogs, all penniless and looking for a hand-out, now
could you?”

Kate’s answer was lost, for at that moment, they rounded the
corner and found themselves at the
Broomielaw
Wharf.
What first struck them was the appalling noise.

Pearce, blissfully unaware of the seething emotions still
boiling in Kate at his recent revelations, turned to his wife.