Jenny Telfer Chaplin (4 page)

Chapter Ten

The July church wedding and later reception in Ivylea’s conservatory was all and more than Mary had ever dreamed of. Even now as the year headed into the vibrant colours of autumn Mary could still hardly believe how wonderfully her life had changed.

In Ted she had found herself a kind, considerate and loving husband. Her one concern was that Ted was now impatient for them to leave Ivylea and get on with their own lives independent of Miss Patten, but so far he hadn’t made too much of a fuss about the matter.

Miss Patten, however, soon sensed that there was some problem, that all was not well with the newlyweds. True to form, rather than beat about the bush she tackled the issue head on.

“Mary, would you please bring a tray of tea things to the drawing room – and join me there for tea. There are some matters I wish to discuss with you while Ted is at work.”

As soon as they were settled – Mary a little nervous at having her morning ‘cuppa’ in the drawing room rather than as usual by herself in the kitchen – Miss Patten said: “Now then, Mary, what is the problem? And please don’t tell me to mind my own business. To me now you are almost the daughter I would love to have had if I had been fortunate enough to marry. So, what is wrong?”

Shocked almost as much by the revelation that she was now regarded as the adopted daughter of the house as she was by the bald question, Mary was on the point of tears.

“Wrong? Why ... nothing, nothing at all.”

Miss Patten fixed Mary with a steady gaze. “Mary!”

Mary looked down at her hands and fiddled with her wedding ring before she finally said: “Well ... It’s Ted. He does know how lucky we are. Me, still working for you and us having those two lovely rooms upstairs ... but ... but ...”

“Yes, I thought as much.” Miss Patten nodded. “He’s a man! He feels he should be more independent and not beholden to an old maid like me – a mere woman.”

Mary put out a restraining hand but Miss Patten was not to be put off.

“Ted feels you should both be off somewhere tackling life’s issues as an independent married couple rather than tied to my apron strings. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Tears coursing down her cheeks, Mary nodded dumbly. Then after dabbing at her eyes she said: “Yes ... and of all places he wants us to go to Glasgow.”

“Glasgow?
Why there, Mary?”

“He says there is money to be made there in the shipyards, the manufactories, the carpet mills. He is determined to go. Ah can’t bear the thought of leaving you, of never seeing Ivylea or Argyll again.”

“Now, Mary. Glasgow is not the end of the earth. With all the ferries and people coming here for holidays, it is no distance at all.”

This did little to settle Mary’s nerves as she feared that if Ted, as her legally-wed husband and master, made up his mind on the proposed move there would be nothing she could do to dissuade him.

“Mary, I might have an idea,” Miss Patten said. “This evening when Ted finishes work I’ll have a word with him. The stable down by the old carriage entrance is a sound stone building. I’m sure Ted could easily convert it to a grand wee cottage for the pair of you. Then he’d not be living under the roof of an interfering old maid. What do you think of that?”

When Ted returned from seeing Miss Patten that evening, Mary after one look at his face clapped her hands then laid a hand on his arm. “Oh, Ted, that’s marvellous! I can see from your face you’re pleased with your meeting. Won’t a lovely wee cottage be–”

Ted scowled. “Aye, the meeting pleased me. Ah took ma stand with that spaewife. She’s no the only one tae deliver messages.
Ah soon telt her her fortune.”

The colour drained from Mary’s face. “Oh, Ted. Ah don’t understand. Ah hope ye weren’t rude to Miss Patten. It’s not everybody that would offer ye a wee cottage for free and also guarantee to keep me on in paid employment even after the baby comes.”

“Ah just told her Ah was tired o livin on her charity. Ah’ll not be beholden tae any rich auld maid. Ah’m big enough and ugly enough tae provide bed and board for ma wife and the comin bairn.”

“Ye surely didn’t say all that to Miss Patten? She’s been so kind to us.”

“Ah said that and more. Ah telt her that if she really was in cahoots with all yon spirit folk she is aye on about, then she would hae known what ma answer would be. That Ah’d want no part o Ivyleaf Cottage. So why the hell did she bother asking me?”

Mary collapsed onto the nearest chair. “This gets worse and worse. What did Miss Patten say when ye questioned her psychic power in that way?”

Ted frowned and looked puzzled for a moment. “She didnae answer that directly, somethin about ‘many paths’ or some such nonsense about free will.” He paused. “She did say if Ah was determined tae go to Glasgow that ‘where possible Ah should avoid crowds and instead see the daffodils’. A load o bloody rubbish. She must hae seen by ma face that Ah was takin all this spirit stuff with a bit more than a pinch o salt because before Ah left the room she said if Ah wouldn’t take heed o what she was sayin Ah should listen tae ye when the time comes. ‘For Mary too is psychic, although she is perhaps not yet fully aware.’ At least Ah got the last word in. Ah said, even though Ah can’t speak tae spirits Ah know there are crowds at every turn in Glasgow and damn few daffodils.”

Chapter Eleven

In later years Mary wondered at the speed with which events moved once Ted had delivered his ultimatum.

“We are going to Glasgow, Mary. That’s final.
Ah’ve had enough o the snide cracks and the sniggers behind ma back on the street. Ah’ll hae no more o being a shilpit, spineless apology for a man  that lets a spookie spaewife provide for his bed and board. No, like it or lump it, it’s Glasgow for us. That’s the end o the matter.”

Almost it seemed before Mary could draw breath to object yet again to the hated plan they were up and away from her beloved Argyll and settled into a single-end in Govan.

Now, shortly before their first wedding anniversary Mary was sitting in a sawn-off nursing chair with a baby at her bosom and looking down in wonder at the vibrant new life entrusted to her care.

However, her joy with the baby could not stem the thought: So this is what Ah dreamt of; this is what Ah’ve always yearned for ... so-called marital bliss?

Her mind went back to the blazing row she and Ted had had that morning as he set out yet again in search of work – any kind of paid labour. She rued the day she had given up her independence, her cosy settled life at Ivylea House for the squalor of a mouse-infested tenement in Govan.

Of course, she thought, I know why he is so irritable. He is finding it much more difficult to find work than he imagined. In Dunoon he had never had any problem. He was well known to the local builders as a reliable man who could turn his hand to anything – more of a carpenter than a rough joiner – but here in Glasgow with no ‘papers’ and no contacts it seems impossible to break into the ranks of the employed.

When he returned home that evening Ted was in a better frame of mind. He had managed to find work. Not what he was used to, but at least it was paid work.

Mary trying to encourage him said: “That’s good, Ted. With your experience and your skills ye’ll soon get noticed and go on to better things.”

“Ye’ve no idea what ye’r talking about, woman. Ah’ll be a goafer. Fetchin and carryin for other men. Even lower than the ’prentice boys past their first year. Ah won’t be able tae lay hands on any work that would show what Ah can dae with ma hands.”

In the days, weeks and months that followed Ted stuck at his lowly job in the yards. He wasn’t bedevilled with stupid joke ‘jobs’ as first year apprentices were. He was too big, tough and quick tempered to be an easy mark, but he still had to put up with being ordered around by men he considered less skilled than himself but who had those precious ‘papers’. Even having finished an apprenticeship wasn’t always the blessing he at first thought it was.

“Two lads got paid off today,” he told Mary once. “This weekend would see them as fully qualified journeymen – and that meant a bigger pay poke for the yard to pay. They’re gone and there’ll be another couple o first year lads brought in.”

Even so, with a regular pay-packet every Friday night which Ted dutifully emptied out into Mary’s outspread apron there was money enough for rent and food.

With my days filled with cleaning, marketing, cooking and attending to the baby, Mary thought. Ah suppose this is as good as it gets, for the likes o me anyway.

The domestic harmony, such as it was, was shattered one evening when after feeding Ted his favourite meal of stew-n-dumplings Mary thought it safe to bring up the question of the baby’s name.

After a hesitant, almost apologetic cough Mary said: “One thing we need to be considering soon, Ted, is a name for the baby. We can’t keep on calling her ‘the baby’, nor even the ‘wee yin’, can we?”

Still replete from his meal and ensconced comfortably in the master’s chair at the fireside, Ted smiled. “Ye know maybe
ye dae hae the second sight. Ye’ve read ma mind. Ah was just thinking the very same thing and, of course, about her christenin?”

Mary relaxed and was about to announce the name she wanted for her precious bairn. Ted however, got his word in first.

“Ah’ve been thinking. In honour o ma dear-departed parents – God rest their souls – Ah’ve decided the baby will be Euphemia Angusina Drummond.”

Total silence greeted his pronouncement shortly followed by a flood of tears from Mary.

“Ah can see ye’re really moved at ma choice o names. Aye, it is a grand-sounding strong name for our first born. Ah’m glad ye like it as much as Ah dae. For once we’re o the same mind – even if the surprise o it fair knocked the breath out o ye.”

Mary dabbed a handkerchief at her eyes. “No, Ah don’t like it. Ah hate it! It couldn’t be any further from the name Ah had in mind for the wee darling.”

“Oh, and what might that be?”

“Well, Ted. Ye must admit she is a real bonnie wee baby. Ah think she deserves a pretty name.
So Ah thought o calling her ... Elenora.”

“Elenora?
Elenora! Where in God’s name did ye find such a swanky, bool-in-the-mouth name as that?”

Ted seemed more amused than annoyed at Mary’s rejection of his choice and her, to him, absurd suggestion, until she gave her reason for the name.

“It’s Miss Patten’s given name, and a very suitable one.”

“Oh, aye, Ah see it now. It’s that bloody woman at every turn o our lives. No child o mine is going tae be named after any spaewife. Anyway, she’d be the butt o all the bullies and eejit Glesca keelies burdened with a fancy, uppercrust, dandified name like that.”

Mary started to cry and sobbed as though her heart would break.

Ted stood it for as long as he could then he finally said in a coaxing tone: “Oh, Mary, if it means that much tae ye ... what about a wee bit of compromise? What about Elenor?
That disnae sound ower fancy. Ah mean, after all, ye really couldnae hae thought of me callin out in the streets o Govan, ‘Elenora’. Folk would hae thought me a real nutcase with delusions o grandeur. They’d start cryin me the Laird o Govan like they dae with anybody that gets a bit above themselves. What about Elenor then?”

Mary smiled through her tears. “Yes, Ted. That’s a lovely idea. Yes, the name Elenor would suit me just fine.”

Chapter Twelve

Spring 1902

With the three children running round her feet, Elenor three, Callum two and Iain one, Mary Drummond never now had a moment to call her own. With the advent of spring – not that ye’d know anything of such a season here in Govan, if it wasn’t for the daffodils in Elder Park – Mary was feeling even more restless than was usual even for her.

As she stood at the barred window of her ground-floor, single-end home, mentally she shut out the noise of baby Iain crying lustily, the squabbling of the other two, and the usual noises of teeming tenement life all round her. Mary lost count of time for she was looking out, not at the back court middens, but at a glorious vista of spring in Argyll visible only in her mind. She was brought back to reality as her husband strode into the room from his morning visit to the communal lavatory on the first floor landing of the close, and, seeing her standing stock-still while chaos was erupting round her, shouted: “Och, Mary! For the love o God, no again.”

Mary turned her head but made no move to resume housewifely duties. She stared blankly, dreamily, into space.

“Mary! Ah’m speakin tae ye. Have ye gone deaf or daft? Away in one o yer dwams again about yer damned bonnie Argyll and yon sainted, dried-up auld prune Miss Patten and her accursed Ivylea ... tae say nothing about the stable cottage ye could hae had.”

“But, Ted–”

‘But, Ted nothing. Many a woman would think herself lucky tae hae all the advantages ye’ve got. Three lovely weans, a roof over her head, and a husband that brings all his wages home on a Friday night with never a sidestep intae a pub.”

“Advantages!
Advantages, ye call this? This hell on earth? When Ah think what we could have had at Ivylea. Our own lovely wee cottage, a good life ...”

Purple in the face, Ted raised a bunched fist and for a moment it looked as if he would hit her as his own anger, frustration and misery boiled to the surface. Then, he lowered his arm and in a low voice almost growled: “Listen, Mary. Listen well for Ah’ll only say this, this one last time. Ah forbid ye ever tae mention again the name Ivylea. As the head o this house Ah
made the decision tae quit Argyll. Ah’ve worked damn hard here tae make a life for us here in Govan. There the matter ends.”

Mary stared at him. “Ye forbid me, do ye? And to think Ah aye longed for the married state. Ye call this mouse infested single-end a home? Some
home, more like a prison. When Ah think of–”

“Don’t say it, lass. Don’t ever mention that damned place again or God help me Ah’ll no be responsible for ma actions.”

They both glowered at each other then a burst of frantic screaming distracted them.

“See tae yer duties, wife.
There’s three children needin yer attention.”

“Ye’re their father,” Mary yelled. “Ye see to them.”

Ted ignored this outburst, then as though determined to have the last word, said: “Aye, Mary, ye’ve managed tae ruin a perfectly good day. Ah had it in mind – a wee surprise for Elenor’s birthday like – for us all tae gae over tae Elder Park tae see the daffodils ye’re aye on about. Ah know fine they’re yer favourite flowers. But, now? Ach, tae hell with it ...”

“This is the first Ah’ve heard about any family outing. So, it’s me that’s ruined the day. It’s me that’ll be left with
the weans while you team up with some cronies in the nearest pub.”

“That’s no fair, Mary. Ye know fine Ah’m no a drinkin man. But Ah will meet ma pals. There’s a Scotland versus England match at Ibrox today. One o ma mates had a ticket he said Ah could have, and now Ah’ve a mind tae go.
It’s bound tae be an exciting game”

Mary’s mind went back to Miss Patten’s words to Ted before they left Argyll for Glasgow that, ‘where possible he should avoid crowds and instead see the daffodils’. She felt the colour drain from her face as she sat down.

“Ted, I know we’ve had our differences, but please, I beg of ye don’t go to that football match today. If ye can’t do that for me, at least stay away from Ibrox for the sake of the children.”

“What in God’s name do
the weans have tae dae with whether Ah go tae a football match or not. Woman, ye’re away with the fairies.”

“Ted, Ah must tell
ye ... Ah’m getting a real bad feeling about today’s match. It’s like when Miss Patten used to predict things ... maybe Ah’m psychic just like her–”

“Ye’re still at it!
Mentionin that damned woman’s name again. That does it! Ye can predict the end o the world for all Ah care. Ibrox, here Ah come. Apart from Scotland losing the match, and that would be bad enough, what possible harm could come tae me?”

As the door slammed shut behind Ted, Mary was left to wait and wonder.

The day of Ted’s funeral was a sunny spring day bursting with the promise of the long lazy months of summer to
come. Mary left the children with an elderly neighbour, who aged or not had all her wits about her. Nothing that ever happened in the tenement, especially in the common close, but that she was privy to every nuance of the situation. With the old lady’s single-end being wall-to-wall with the Drummond’s, Mary was convinced she must have heard every word of the row on the day of the match.

This was confirmed when in the evening after the funeral Granny Mutch settling herself beside Mary’s fire said: “Oh, Mary lass, if only yer man had listened to yer warning. It seems to me that it’s the second sight ye have. Ah really believe in it. Just a shame yer poor departed man didn’t. To think of it ... not only did ye warn him of something bad, ye begged him not to go.”

Mary gave a weary nod. She was tired of going over, again and again in her mind, the events leading up to the horrific accident and didn’t want to talk about it now or ever.

“It’s over now, Granny. We shouldn’t forget the other sore hearts all over Glasgow this night.”

“Aye, ye’re right, Mary. When yon wooden stand gave way, twenty-three other men fell to their death with yer man. Aye, aye, a sad day for Scotland. And they say there were about six hundred other fellas badly injured.”

Mary rose to make a fresh pot of tea since it looked as if Granny Mutch was there for the evening.

“So,” Granny Mutch went on, “what are ye going to do now, Mary? Head back down the Clyde to that Ivylea place ye keep going on about. To stay with the spaewife?”

Waiting for the kettle to boil Mary frowned.

“My friend Miss Patten? Much as Ah’d like to do that and much as Ah think she’d welcome me and my family with open arms Ah couldn’t make use o her like that. Especially after Ted was so rude to her about her offer of a wee cottage for us to live in, and with her saying Ah could stay on as cook-housekeeper after the baby was born. No, it would be an abuse o friendship to backtrack now.”

“Aye, that’s all very well. A noble gesture as they say, but it’ll not put bread or porridge into the mouths o three hungry weans. What are ye going to do?”

Mary sighed. “Ah’ll let my spirit friends guide me.”

Employment of any kind for a single mother was virtually non-existent beyond washing tenement stairs in the better off areas of the town or taking in laundry to be washed at the ‘steamie’ and Mary was finding herself hard pressed to feed her children and afford Granny Mutch her pittance for baby-sitting the children.

One evening, having put the children to bed, Mary was sitting almost asleep after a hard day when the door opened and with her usual: “Hello, it’s just me,” Granny Mutch walked in.

“Ah’ve been talking to Lizzie on the first floor. Ye know that new Elder Cottage Hospital that has just opened? Well, Lizzie says they’re looking for workers. Get yerself round there first thing tomorrow. Who knows ye might get a job. Ah’ll come through bright and early for the weans.”

Next morning at seven sharp, Mary was at the Matron’s office. There were two younger women – girls really, Mary thought – there ahead of her.

The first girl was in the office only minutes and when she came out, Mary said: “Did ye get the job?”

“Aye, Ah’ll start this very day–”

Before she could say anything else.
A tall, formidable-looking woman appeared at the door.

“Don’t stand there blethering, girl. Get along to the kitchen.
Sharp now. There’s a mountain of dishes waiting for you. Who’s next?”

The other girl was in for a much longer time before she appeared with a smile on her face.

“Matron says ye’ve just to go in.”

Obviously those two had got jobs. How many jobs were there?
Surely not all that many, Mary thought. But there must still be at least one, or maybe two, or she wouldn’t even bother to see me and the others still here.

Matron looked Mary up and down as she stood before her.

“You’re a bit older than most girls who apply for this kind of work–”

“Yes, but Ah’m not afraid o hard work–”

“That was not a question. It would be best if you waited to be asked a question before you answer.”

“Sorry.”

“I’ve been hiring girls for general skivvy work, cleaning, laundry and so on–.”

“Ah can do all that–.”

“Again that was not a question.”

Mary decided silence was the best tactic.

“However, I do need a slightly more responsible person to look after my apartment in the hospital. Have you any experience in that?”

Mary hesitated.

“Speak, woman. That was a question.”

“Yes. Ma’am, Ah was a cook-housekeeper for a maiden lady before Ah married.”

“Oh, you’re married.”

“
Ah’m a widow, Ma’am. My husband died in the Ibrox disaster.”

“But you have children?”

“Yes, but Ah have someone who can look after them while Ah’m at work.”

“Mmm.
You’d have long hours.”

Mary decided that wasn’t a question and said nothing.

“Do you have references?”

Mary felt excited for a moment then her heart sank – references?

“No, Ma’am, but Ah’m sure if you wrote to Miss Patten–”

“Your previous employer?”

“Yes, Miss Elenora Patten at Ivylea House in Dunoon, Argyll.”

Matron sat at her desk looking at Mary and saying nothing for what seemed to Mary a very long time and Mary tried desperately not to fidget.

“Very well, I really need someone now. I’ll give you a trial. Report here tomorrow morning at seven and be prepared to stay until six pm. I’ll explain your duties then. I can afford five shillings a week.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. Ah’ll be here.”

“Send in the next girl waiting, please.”

Mary found herself as maid-of-all-work cum-housekeeper to the Matron for six days of the week with a half day off on Wednesday and it became for her a very happy workplace. Although Matron was demanding and expected perfection Mary was not afraid of hard work and gave satisfaction.

Arriving home from the short walk just after seven one evening Mary arrived to find a scene of domestic bliss.
The two older children already in bed and asleep in the wall bed and Granny Mutch nursing the baby on her lap by the side of the fire.

“My, Granny ye’ve done well this night.”

Granny grinned. “It’s maybe just as well Matron kept ye a bit late today and ye weren’t here an hour ago, bedlam, then it was. Elenor and Callum were at loggerheads, fighting over a bag o coloured marbles and the baby was gey fractious as well.”

Mary laughed. “It’s maybe just as well ye’re a wee shade deaf, Granny.”

She relieved Granny of the sleeping baby, put him in his drawer-cot and ushered the old woman out of the door.

As she sat back in the chair recently vacated by Granny Mutch, the comforting warmth of the fire almost made her drift off to sleep but a thought – something Granny had said before she left – jarred her back to wakefulness.

Granny said both Callum and the baby were a bit out of sorts – a bit hot. Oh, God! Please, God, no. Ah haven’t brought anything infectious back from the hospital.

Despite Mary’s fears and a gut feeling of impending doom, apart from the usual sniffs, coughs and colds of a Scottish winter no one in the house fell ill.