Authors: Murdo Morrison
Donald’s friends had progressed further than he into the minefield of class and culture. They were exploring in areas not frequented by many of their station. It did not take long for them to discard the notion that they had to like everything they were exposed to. Donnie in particular expressed very strong opinions about art. Donald quite liked the landscapes and seascapes, that Donnie reviled, especially those that had captured the clouds or sea in a very realistic fashion.
It did not take Donald very long to feel worn down by enthusiasms that he did not share. The friends who took him to plays or art galleries seemed so dogmatic about their interests, as though the effort of overcoming stereotypical views about the tastes deemed appropriate to their class required an excess of passion in compensation. The one notable exception was Peter. For him, the dance music he and his band played was a source of pure pleasure that had the advantage of acceptance among his friends and brought him welcome attention.
Donald’s exposure to the arts led him to an idea that, when it came to him, seemed so obvious, he wondered why he had not thought of it before. He did not put his plan into action right away, watching the newspapers carefully for the right listing. A few weeks later Donald found what he was looking for.
His mother was giving her full attention to a steaming pot of soup on the range when he found her later that day. “Do you have any plans for next Saturday evening?” he asked.
Bessie started. “I didn’t hear you come in. What did you say just now?”
“I asked if you had any plans for next Saturday night?” Donald repeated.
He held up two tickets. “Because I was wondering if you would like to go tae a concert with me?” He handed the tickets to her.
“Oh my,” she exclaimed. “These tickets are for the symphony.”
“So they are,” Donald said. “And they’re playing some of your favorites.”
His mother sat down at the table. Donald saw tears in her eyes.
“Ah’m sorry, ah didnae mean tae upset you.”
“You didn’t, Donald,” she told him. “In all the years that I’ve lived here, I never once thought to go myself. I put all of that behind me. Even when you gave me the records, and brought music back into my life, I still never thought of it. It’s a wonderful surprise,” she told him. “Oh,” she said. “What will I wear? And what will your father say?”
“Ah expect he’ll tell ye tae go out and buy a new dress,” Donald said, which caused them both to start laughing.
The wonderful evening of music that Donald shared with his mother had the unexpected consequence of placing a small shard of doubt in his mind. He enjoyed the relationship he now shared with Bessie. Donald experienced a growing feeling of regret about his ambition to place an ocean between them. The pleasure that Bessie had taken in the concert caused the previously ill-formed feelings to rise in intensity. Bessie, despite her support for Donald’s plans, felt a similar growth of regret about her son’s intended departure. Neither said a thing about it to the other.
Chapter 16
Fickle Fortune
A few days before the first New Year after war’s end, Charlie found an opportunity to be alone with Mary. “Did ye decide whit ye want tae do for Hogmanay?” he asked. Mary didn’t answer. “It’ll be the first peaceful one we’ve had in a long time,” Charlie said.
“Aye, Ah suppose we should dae something,” Mary said. She knew that Charlie had really enjoyed the New Year in the time before the war, a time that now seemed so far away to her.
Mary doubted that the holiday would ever be the same. There had been too many Hogmanays with war as a backdrop.
“Mary, the sooner we put the war behind us the better,” Charlie said. “A wee bit o’ fun would be good for us. And it would be good for the bairns.”
“Charlie, they’re no’ bairns any more.”
“Ah know,” Charlie said. “Ah was thinking o’ Alastair and Elspeth growing up wi’ a war going on. But it would be good for Ellen and Betty as well. The best way tae forget the war is tae try tae get things back tae normal.”
Mary relented. “You’re right as usual,” she told him. “We can invite the Gows, and Pearl and her family.”
“And ah’ll invite up a few o’ the single men at work tae be first footers,” Charlie said. “Ye havnae made a dumpling in a while.”
Mary laughed. “Ah’ll make sure we have a dumpling,” she told him. “But it’s your job tae find the sultanas and spices,” she warned him.
Charlie’s idea was met with general approval and Mary was soon glad that she had agreed to it.
“Ah think it’s a grand idea,” Ida told her the next morning. “It’s just what everybody needs.”
They planned the event together, pooling their resources. “Ah would like you tae make the dumpling,”
Mary told Elspeth.
“Don’t you worry,” her mother told the shocked girl. “Ah know you can do it. Ah’ll watch you if you like and help wi’ lifting it in and oot o’ the pot. But it’s time for you tae learn how tae do it for yersel’.”
Charlie’s work on the tugs meant he was home at the end of most days. Mary had been happy to see Ellen’s response. She was sure that his presence had a lot to do with the improvement in her daughter’s mood. The first weeks after their return from London had been difficult. Ellen had been withdrawn and quiet. After a while, Charlie would have none of it and had sought ways to draw her out. In those long ago days before the war, Mary had resented this talent of his to bring some order to Ellen’s waywardness.
But all they had endured together had helped forge a new relationship between Ellen and her mother.
There would be times when Ellen seemed to feel the need to be close to Mary even if not much was said between them. But it was Charlie who still had the knack of getting Ellen to rejoin the world.
Mary remembered with gratitude a particular Friday evening. She had just sat down by the fire after clearing up the kitchen.
“Ellen seemed a bit better the night,” she said to the Evening Times that concealed her spouse.
“Aye, she said she was going tae the pictures,” Charlie replied, putting down the paper.
Ellen came in, with her coat and handbag. “Ah’m going down tae the Star wi’ some pals from work,” she said. “Don’t worry, ah won’t be too late,” she told them, heading out the door.
Mary looked at Charlie. “Are ye going tae tell me how you managed that?”
“Ach, ah just gave the lass some money for the pictures.”
“There must have been more tae it than that,” Mary said.
“Ah just telt her it would be good tae get oot o’ the hoose once in a while,” Charlie said.
“Charlie, thank you,” Mary said.
“Ach it was nothing,” Charlie said and returned to his paper.
That Hogmanay turned out to be one of the best Mary could remember. Betty and Harry came up from Inveraray.
Ellen asked if she could invite some of her friends from work. Pearl and Jimmie brought Patrick and his grandmother. The Gows came down early and stayed late. A few self-conscious bachelors from Charlie’s tugs stopped in as first foots and flirted with Ellen and her friends to little effect. And there were those surprise guests invited by Charlie, elderly, lonely, or without means, neighbor or stranger, who would otherwise have spent a cheerless evening.
The dumpling was the focus of widespread admiration and the source of enthusiastic cries of acclamation for Elspeth, its creator. Charlie, as usual, had managed to get his hands on all sorts of viands and liquids commonly thought to be nearly impossible to acquire. They had shortbread, only worth eating as now, when made with real butter, and Dundee cake to accompany the whiskey, port and sherry. The Gows had managed to find some cold meats and cheeses, and Jimmie and Pearl brought some of Jimmie’s scones and pastries that she was forced to take credit for.
Close to midnight, Charlie cracked open the kitchen window. “Tae let the auld year oot and the new year in,” he told Mary.
“Ah know,” she replied. “Ye’ve telt me that every New Year since ah’ve known ye.”
“It’s an auld tradition ah like tae keep goin’,” he said. “Besides, ah like tae hear the boats tell us the New Year’s here.”
“Ye’ll no’ have long tae wait,” Mary said. “It’s almost that now.”
“Ah hope some good luck blows in through that window,” Mary said.
“There’s plenty that’s had worse luck than us,” Charlie replied.
“Ah know that, Charlie. But ah worry about what kind of future we’re looking at. We’ve been through long hard years of war and ah just want tae have things get a bit easier. You see the state the country’s in. It could be years before it gets back tae where we were. If we ever do,” she added. Mary realized that she was spoiling Charlie’s enjoyment of the moment. “But there’s no point in worrying about that the noo,” she said. “You’re right as usual Charlie. We have a lot tae be thankful for.”
“That’s the New Year started,” Charlie said. From far off came the wailing of steam whistles. They followed one upon the other until it seemed the Clyde itself was screaming out a welcome to the coming year. They joined the others, shaking their hands and exchanging kisses and hugs. Charlie filled a glass with whiskey and came into their midst. He raised the glass and the group fell silent. “A Happy New Year tae each and every one o’ us,” he said.
There was a murmur of approving responses. “It was a long hard war,” Charlie continued. “Ah doubt that the years tae come will be easy ones either,” he said, looking at Mary. “But that’s no’ what matters. We have our life and we have our friends and family around us. There’s a lot tae be thankful for the night. So here’s tae us!”
They joined hands and sang Auld Lang Syne. A friend of Jimmie’s chimed in with his accordion. At the end of the tune he started up a waltz. One of the unattached young men, who had kept his eyes on Ellen all night, took her hand and led her into a dance before she had time to think. Hughie Gow bowed ostentatiously to Ida before whisking her on to the crowded floor of the Burns’ kitchen. Ida let herself be led but looked closely at her husband.
“How many have you had?” she asked, amused rather than annoyed.
“Enough,” he said, winking at her, “tae get the job done.”
❅❅❅❅❅
Donald’s surprise gift of concert tickets had reawakened Bessie’s interest in going to hear orchestral music. She enjoyed the records that Donald bought for her but the short, hollow sounding recordings compared unfavorably with music played live in a concert hall. Bessie began to attend concerts regularly. If the program suited his taste, Donald would accompany her. He had developed a liking for the lighter classical pieces. Bessie treasured their evenings together. She was deeply grateful to her son, whose gifts had brought music back into her life. It made the thought of his departure hard to bear.
Bessie confessed her feelings to Ella.
“Have you talked to him about it?” Ella asked.
“ I can’t,” Bessie told her. “It would be very unfair of me to place anything that might be an obstacle in his way. There are times when one must set one’s own feelings aside.”
“It’s an easy thing tae say,” Ella said.
“I know,” Bessie replied. “Donald believes that he will have a better life in America. I think he is right. I don’t want to make him feel guilty about leaving.”
“He will anyway,” Ella observed. “I’ve seen how thick you two have become. Did you never think that maybe he’s having second thoughts himself?
It wouldnae surprise me if he decided tae stay.” Bessie considered this.
“I have to confess that I hadn’t really considered that possibility,” she said.
❅❅❅❅❅
“It’s a shame you don’t play an instrument,” Peter told Donald. “It’s no’ easy tae kid you is it?” Peter said in response to the puzzled look on Donald’s face. “What ah’m trying tae say is, if all you do at the dances is sit and listen tae the band, we could use an extra player. You better watch yourself. Mah sister said she doesn’t think you like lassies.”
Donald’s face flushed.
“Ah know it’s no’ true,” Peter told him, “but it is what she said.”
Peter’s comment had mortified Donald. The offhand quip bore a sharp edge that lodged it in Donald’s mind. He stayed away from the next Saturday night dance. Peter sought him out at work.
“We missed you the other night,” Peter said. “Ah wis wondering if you had taken offence at what mah sister said.”
Donald did not reply.
“Ach, ye shouldnae mind what she says,” Peter told him. “She was just annoyed because ye didnae pay any attention tae her. Ah wish now that ah had kept mah mouth shut. We’re playing at a dance at the Masonic Hall in Partick this Saturday. Why don’t you come down tae hear us.”
Donald was experiencing one of his frequent crises of confidence. Peter’s report of his sister’s thoughtless comments was only the latest in a lifetime’s litany of personal hurts. Donald’s personality lacked the resiliency to shrug off these moments that came to everyone. He replayed each slight, real or imagined, great or small, over and over in his mind until it became a relentless, merciless obsession that poisoned his life.