The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 (26 page)

  ‘Without the combined assistance of the local constabulary, churches, with Father O’Malley in particular,
The Protestant League’s secretary, David Campbell and key officials from within The Corporation, Donnelly would have suffered a humiliating defeat and Ferguson would have taken the seat.  All finances are now to be redirected to Crossbow.  18b not activated.  Report concluded.  Location HO36/36274'

  The Stalker turned the pages backwards and forward, bit couldnae figure oot whit the fuck Crossbow, 18b or HO36/36274 stood fur.  Whit hid been crystal clear fur those pulling the strings behind the scenes though, wis that Jeannie Smullen
wisnae gonnae be getting her fanny warm while sitting lounging oan a seat in The Corporation in 1935.  The Stalker turned the page.  The last bit oan Jeannie Smullen
stated that in the March ae
1937, she, alang wae a haunful ae other nurses hid left Glesga Central Station, tae great fanfare, tae go tae nurse in Spain, oan the same day as other nurses, aw men, fae the Scottish Ambulance Unit, drove south.  Oan the 18
th
March the following year, Jeannie Smullen, a nurse attached tae the International Brigades, wis killed, alang wae two other Commonwealth nurses, during the two-day bombing ae Barcelona by nationalist forces, under Franco.  Despite enquiries and a petition fae her twin sister, Margo, Helen’s maw, tae the Secretary ae State fur Scotland,  her body wis never returned back tae her native Scotland.

  There wisnae much oan Helen’s schooling in the file, other than tae say that Helen Taylor wis an above-average pupil, who’d attended Toonheid primary and secondary schools.  Fae jist efter she wis born until she wis nine or ten, she’d lived wae her auntie Jeannie during the week, while her maw worked long shifts in service.  Her da took o’er the responsibility at the weekends or when Jeannie wis oan nightshift up at The Royal.  The school board hid expressed concern that the auntie hid Helen trooping aroond aw sorts ae demonstrations and it hid been noted that she’d been aff school fur nearly two weeks when she wis eight, efter getting hit by a missile, thrown during some demonstration in Dundas Street.  Helen Taylor hid left school, aged fourteen, wae nae academic qualifications, despite showing academic promise.  The reason gied at the time hid been the need fur her tae get oot tae work and bring in an income tae support the family. 

  The Stalker started flicking quickly through the pages again until a well-known name caught his eye.  He felt his sphincter expanding tae twice its normal size and managed tae clamp the cheeks ae his arse thegither before he shat himsel.  He felt the sweat appearing oan his brow and a sinking feeling welling up in the pit ae his stomach. 

  “Noo, why the fuck wid somewan like Pat Molloy be mentioned in the file ae somewan like Helen Taylor?” he murmured, puzzled.

   Efter composing they bowels ae his by carefully letting aff a few wee surreptitious squeaky heraldic farts, he read oan.  According tae the polis report, Helen Taylor and Pat Molloy...also known as The Big Man in the city, hid no only went oot thegither fur o’er five years between 1940 and 1945, bit they’d actually been engaged tae be married.  The Stalker fumbled tae open the drawer ae his desk, before lifting oot the blue McEwen’s bar towel...the bar towel that Helen Taylor hid gied him at wan ae the recent warrant sales demos, tae help staunch the blood fae dribbling doon his chin, the day the dentist hid butchered they gums ae his.  He hesitated slightly, and then used it tae wipe the sweat fae his brow. 

  “That dirty, evil, fucking basturt...goat in there first,” The Stalker groaned, feeling his bowels start tae churn again.

   He knew fine well that it wis ludicrous, bit The Stalker felt a stab ae jealousy.      “Whit the fuck is it wae these gangster basturts?” he asked his reflection in the big, black and white photo frame ae the Queen, stuck oan the wall opposite his desk, feeling miserable.

   Everything Molloy touched became tarnished and tainted.  He looked at the sheet.  Pat Molloy, the only son ae local businessman, Bill Molloy, wis a well-known ducker and diver and
as a teenager hid awready started tae make a name fur himsel, dealing oan the black market in the city.  The da wis as crooked as the son.  Baith the father and son hid been intae hijacking lorries and horse and carts, stealing coal and reselling it, despite rationing and the war effort.  Anything worth mair than a penny, whether it wis stockings, make-up, meat, booze or fags, passed through the Molloys’ hauns.  Despite their best efforts, the civilian and military polis hidnae managed tae get the da or his son oan anything.  Pat hid operated under the cover ae his da’s many businesses, which hid included hauf ae the stables that hired oot horses and carts in the city.  The boy...The Big Man...hid managed tae dodge being drafted intae military service because his da’s business hid been classed as being essential tae the war effort.  He looked doon at the file.  It never said why the engagement wis broken aff.  In 1948, Helen Taylor hid come tae the notice ae the local polis and The Corporation efter being accused ae punching a Sheriff officer during a warrant sale skirmish in Stanhope Street in the Toonheid.  He wisnae surprised tae read that the recipient ae the sale hid been an Ann Jackson, noo residing doon oan Keppochhill Road.  Somewan telt him recently that Jackson’s youngest wis noo a nurse or something.  Helen’s witnesses hid ootnumbered the opposition by ten tae wan.  Efter that, Helen Taylor’s file read jist like her auntie Jeannie’s, bit withoot her being associated wae any political party or organisation.  She’d been the leading light and chief motivator fur a bunch ae hairys who’d terrorised Corporation officials and the local constabulary fur the next twenty-odd years.  She’d hid umpteen fines fur threatening behaviour, resisting arrest and obstructing public officials while they went aboot their business.  She’d also spent a week in Gateside Wummins nick oan remand, bit hid been released efter her trial collapsed.  The file didnae say why.  She wis the mother ae three lassies and two boys.  The boys hid turned oot tae be wee neds, although it hid been acknowledged that the eldest wan, Charlie, seemed tae hiv been rehabilitated.  The youngest, John, or Johnboy, wis reported as being easily-led, bit noo a fully-fledged recidivist and wis marked doon as a no-hoper, unlike his elder brother.  The Stalker smiled a grim smile when he turned o’er and looked at the previous convictions sheet fur Johnboy.  He’d been a bloody walking crime wave since the age ae ten.

  The Stalker looked at his watch.  Twenty tae two.  He hidnae realised the time.  He closed the folder and stood up.  He hid tae get doon tae St Teresa’s fur two o’clock.  Father John wid be wanting tae get his grubby mitts oan the file.  The Stalker picked up his hat and the file and heided fur the door.  His heid wis still spinning.  He still couldnae get o’er that somewan like Helen Taylor, the dirty cow that she wis, wid’ve been intae a psychopathic madman like Pat Molloy.

Chapter Forty Six

  Helen glanced across the table at Susan and then peered beyond her shoulder, oot ae the kitchen windae, tae the shed that she could see ootlined at the bottom ae the manse garden.  Susan looked tired.  Usually when Helen appeared aroond at the manse, Susan wid be oot in the shed welding, putting thegither the metal feathers oan her owl that wis part ae the exhibition she wis supposed tae be putting oan in some fancy gallery doon in London.  Helen missed seeing the blue flashes shooting oot ae the shed windaes fae the welding gear, lighting up hauf the garden, like some distant electric storm.  Because ae Helen staunin in the by-election, Susan hid cancelled the exhibition tae take oan the role ae her election manager.  Despite the demands placed oan her by being the minister’s wife in a busy parish, Susan hid been oot oan the streets, encouraging everywan tae keep gaun, despite the atrocious weather.  She’d also intervened in acrimonious shouting matches between Helen’s supporters and the opposition’s hauf a dozen times in the past week.  Even mair embarrassingly, Susan hid hid tae jump in and stoap Sharon Campbell and Soiled Sally fae killing each other efter they squared up tae wan another oan Keppochhill Road while the opposition stood laughing and jeering.  Seemingly, Sharon hid telt Sally tae fuck aff efter refusing tae haun o’er some leaflets tae save Sally hivving tae troop aw the way back up tae Helen’s hoose in Carlisle Street tae get some mair.  Some nameless bugger hid stolen the box ae leaflets they’d left at the bottom ae a closemooth while they wur up the stairs putting leaflets through the doors.  Tae try and resolve a re-run ae the O.K. Corral happening again, they’d decided tae store the leaflets and posters up at the manse, even though it hid previously been decided tae keep the church well away fae the campaign.  The beauty ae using the manse wis that it wis mair central fur everywan tae get access tae.  JP hid awready been protesting loudly aboot the Reverend Flaw’s biased position in the election because ae Susan’s involvement.

  “How are your headaches, Helen?” Susan asked her, interrupting her thoughts while pouring Helen a cup ae tea.

  “Trying tae ootdo they sore feet ae mine.  Ah jist cannae believe the amount ae excruciating pain that shoots up yer legs at the end ae the day efter trooping aboot the pavements fae morning tae night, so Ah cannae.”

  “Have you thought about going to the doctor?”

  “Fur ma feet?”

  “Your headaches?”

  “Whit’s he gonnae dae aboot it?  The last time Ah went tae the doctor wis when the weans wur wee tots.  He tried tae palm me aff wae they little mother’s helpers, so he did.  When Ah refused them, he stated quite bluntly that there jist wisnae anything else that he could gie a mother ae five weans, who wis clearly depressed.  And anyway, the heidaches hiv only appeared back again since Ah’ve been oot and aboot, trying tae convince people that Ah’m their man oan The Corporation.  Ah’ve hid them oan and aff fur years efter a big glaikit sergeant called Liam Thompson knocked me oot doon at Central oan the day me and aw the local wummin goat lifted during a warrant sale back in the sixties.”

  “Yes, I must admit, I was actually quite shocked when I discovered the amount of women who are prescribed pills up here in Glasgow.  I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but I don’t think that I’ve come across one single woman under the age of fifty who isn’t on some sort of uppers or downers.”

  “Me?”

  “You’ll be the exception, believe me, Helen.  Surely all the women in Springburn can’t be in need of tranquilisers?”

  “It wid surprise ye, so it wid.  Take aw ma pals, fur instance.  Every single wan ae them hiv goat wee cabinets and drawers overflowing wae hauf empty bottles ae this or that.  Ah remember a few years ago, jist before we wur cleared oot ae the Toonheid, Betty, who lived next door tae us at the time, decided that she’d hid enough and she wisnae gonnae take any mair ae them.  The daft twat flushed whit she hid doon the toilet.  Efter two days ae climbing the walls, she went fur that man ae hers, Stan, wae a breid knife.  How she’s no in the jail, daeing life fur murder, Ah’ll never know.”

  “So, what happened to Stan?”

  “Tae Stan The Man?  Ach, he jist disarmed her in two moves flat and then proceeded tae tie her tae the bed wae his spare trooser belts.  He then nipped roond tae Sharon Campbell’s hoose tae borrow enough ae her pills tae feed Betty until she could make an appointment tae see her doctor and get a big batch ae her ain.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Aye, well, there ye go.  Since Betty goat her prescription, her and Stan hiv lived happily efter ever, so they hiv.  Betty laughs aboot her kinky session wae Stan noo, bit at the time, it wisnae any laughing matter.  He said she’d turned demonic o’er night.  Stan confessed tae me that he’d never goat such a fright in his life.  ‘If that’s whit she’s like withoot her pills then thank fuc...er, God fur the good doctor, that’s aw Ah kin say.  Gie me Zombieville insteid ae Psycho, any day ae the week,’ Ah kin remember him saying that tae me, straight-faced.”

  “I blame the GPs.  It seems to me to be an easy option.  I wonder how many men are prescribed the same medication when they visit the surgery?”

  “Ach, well, the way Ah’m feeling, Ah could dae wae a wee pick-me-up masel, so Ah could.  Ah thought there wis nae flies oan me, bit the dirty tricks that JP Donnelly and his crowd ur hitting us wae, makes me look a right amateur.  Did Ann Jackson tell ye the latest when ye spoke tae her last night?”

  “No, she only said ‘hello’ in the passing.  Why, what’s happened?”

  “Well, get this wan.  Ye know how we’ve been distributing aw oor leaflets roond the doors?   Well, Ann telt me that her grandson and aw his pals fae Gourlay Street Primary School wur sent roond aw the doors up and doon Gourlay Street, Morrin Street, Kendrick Street and Keppochhill Road, asking people if they hid any election leaflets lying aboot as they wur daeing a school project.  Needless tae say, everywan and their dug haunded o’er the leaflets that wur lying aboot their lobbies that they hidnae tossed in the bin.  Wance everywan’s leaflets wur collected, the same wee buggers wur then sent back oot tae distribute aw JP’s mug-shot wanted-poster leaflets back roond the same doors the very next day.  Kin ye believe that?”

  “Never!”

  “Oh, it gets better.  Ye know how you and aw the rest ae the lassies telt me no tae be bothered wae that article that that bald-heided bawheid, Bradley McLeod, fae The Echo, wrote efter the launch?  Well, Ah’ve lost five ae the wummin who wur helping us oot oan the campaigning because ae it.”

  “Oh, no, Helen,” Susan cried, reaching across and taking Helen’s hauns in hers.

  “It widnae be so bad, bit wan ae them wis wee Nan McWhirter, Squinty Alex, the gravedigger’s wife.  Ah’ve known Nan fur donkey’s years,” Helen croaked, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “But, why?”

  “Ah’ve been roond tae her hoose, bit there wis nae answer when Ah rattled the letterbox.  She telt Issie that Alex, her man, hid telt her that his job wis oan the line if Ah goat elected, so she did.  Even though Issie telt her that the article wis a lot ae shi..., er, guff, she widnae listen.  ‘We cannae afford ma Alex tae be laid aff wae the debt we’ve goat, aw because Helen hates The Corporation,’ she’d said tae Issie.”

  “Oh, Helen, I’m so sorry.  I know this won’t make you feel better, but that’s just the newspapers for you, especially if someone is standing in an election.  When I worked on Tony Benn’s campaign, you wouldn’t believe the things they said and accused him of.  I’m afraid you just have to ignore it and get on with it...that’s politics, I’m afraid.”

  “So, how did he deal wae it then?”

  “He just ignored it and got on with the business of winning the election.”

  “Well, seeing as we’re oan the subject ae trying tae win an election and bad news comes in threes, we’re in dire need ae mair leaflets.”

  “Oh?  I thought we were still okay, or we seemed to be, when I handed over some to the girls this morning.”

  “It’s Friday and we’ve still goat o’er a week ae campaigning left.  Ah reckon we’ve goat a few days worth and that’s it.  Remember, we’ve goat aw the churches and chapels tae dae this Sunday.  That’ll take up a good whack ae oor stock, so it will.”

  “What are the girls saying?”

  “Oh, they’re happy tae dae their wee spiel ae ‘Save oor Community, keep JP oot,’ bit they’ll need a leaflet tae back that up, ootlining whit oor list ae issues ur, so they will.”

  “Look, you shouldn’t be worrying about that...that’s my job.  I’ll discuss the situation with Issie and Sally later on when I meet them at two o’clock.  Don’t worry, Helen, I’m quite sure we’ll come up with something.  You just get out there and keep smiling, eh?” Susan said, haunin o’er a paper Handy Andy fae her apron.