Cyber Seance 15

[Moonwatcher]

Cyber Séance 15. 8 May 2005

The Tenement
Part Three

By the early part of the 20th Century, the stonework of 168 Millburn Street had adopted the familiar grey-black appearance of all Glasgow tenements. Stone erosion, rising damp, wood rot, dry rot and general decay was already well advanced by the time Mary Bulloch looked out from her first storey ‘Room and Kitchen’ window on to the cobbled street below. Millburn Street was quiet today, it wasn’t a school day and the school across the road was empty of screaming, laughing children playing in the playground. The construction of Rosemount School was one of the better things that had happened in the area. It was good to see the weans get a proper education these days. The first local authority school in Glasgow, she’d heard them say. Things were certainly changing. She’d even heard that electricty might be getting installed in the houses, but she’d believe that when she actually saw it! She heard the sound of a motor engine further down the street, breaking the peace and quiet, and craned her head to try and catch a glimpse of it. Although motor cars were very common now, competing with the horses and carts in the streets, she still found them scary, yet strangely fascinating. One thing was sure, they were here to stay. Even the horse drawn trams were being converted to motor power, with their operators proudly declaring themselves ‘tramway motormen’. She smiled. Typical men, she thought. But the smile faded as she thought of the tram she’d seen trundling along Garngad Road yesterday. It wasn’t just the fact that it had been driven by a woman - an increasingly common sight these days which would have been unthinkable until very recently. No it wasn’t that. It was the advertisement along the side of the tram, campaigning for volunteers for the ‘Front’. The thought of her husband James going off to war made her shiver and she held back the tears as the thought invaded her mind and threatened to overcome her. That’s why the women were taking over jobs previously done by the menfolk. She knew the recruitment folk were trawling through the tram depots and factories, filling the men’s heads with thoughts of valour and adventure. She also knew that for many of the young men ‘the call’ was seen as an opportunity to get away from drab, repetitive tenement life and back breaking work of the mills. There was even talk of recruitment being carried out among the local Boys Brigade companies!

Mary and James would be celebrating their sixth wedding anniversary this year. Thinking back, she’d have liked a big fancy church wedding, like any young bride, but it was out of the question. Instead they’d settled for a ‘Declaration’ with a Warrant from the Sheriff. At 27, Mary looked forward to this bright new world that was evolving around her. Her job in the cotton mill didn’t pay a fortune but, with James’s job at the steelworks, they had a reasonable standard of living. If only this damn war hadn’t come along, she cursed to herself.

A knock on the door made her jump.

‘Any chance of borrowing some mulk Mary? Mine’s jist went aff an ah hivnae hid a chance tae get doon tae the derry yit.’ It was Maggie Brogan from next door.
‘Of course Maggie come away in an ah’ll fetch ye some.’
Running out of fresh milk was a regular occurance especially in the summer. Mary looked forward to the day when every house had an icebox to keep the milk fresh – she chided herself. There I go again, she thought, dreamin as usual.
‘Here you go,’ she said cheerily, taking a white, pint, glass bottle from a pan of cold water sitting near the sink and removing the foil cap by pressing her thumb down on it. She poured out a cupful of creamy milk for her neighbour.
‘Thanks Mary, ah’ll pay ye back when ah get tae the derry.’
The two women moved out onto the landing as they chatted about the threat of war and their fears. This soon degenerated into local gossip as the minutes ticked past. As she stood, only half listening, Mary’s thoughts strayed as she absently gazed at the door next to hers. Maggie’s man was a Hammerman and worked in the same steelworks as James. Brabby’s was a rough place to work, in fact it had the reputation of having the worst working conditions in Glasgow. But it was a major source of employment in this area and that’s what really mattered. Mary felt sorry for Maggie and her family living in the cramped confines of that single-end flat, and was glad of her own two-roomed flat. The metal nameplate on Maggie’s door said simply ‘Brogan’. It had obviously replaced a previous one, the marks of the old one still visible. As Maggie chattered on, Mary wondered how many folk had lived there since the building had been built. She thought of the number of families who had passed through that one single-end flat, or indeed, the whole close at 168. When Maggie finally went back inside with her cup of milk and closed the door behind her, Mary caught sight of a faded patch of writing, scratched out on the wall beside the Brogan’s door, that she hadn’t noticed before. Peering closely, she could just make out a name. Mc… something. McNa… McNaught. Well, she thought, there’s one family that passed through. Mary, for a moment, wondered what became of the McNaughts. Then thoughts of war returned and she walked back into her own house as the familiar feeling of dread returned.

The coal cart clattered over the cobbles and stopped outside the close of 168. The coalman, dressed in dirty black clothes with face to match, jumped off and made his way around the side. The cart was only half full now, neat piles of folded sackcloth bags stacked in the empty area previously occupied by one hundredweight sacks of coal. Above his head, faces appeared at windows, shouting down to him the number of bags required by that household. Although it was summer, and warm, coal was still needed to fuel the iron stoves in the houses, providing hot water and cooking facilties for the families within. One of the voices from above was Mary’s.
‘Two bags please’ she shouted down.
The coalman raised his hand in acknowledgement and went about the task of getting the coal upstairs. He wore a leather waistcoat with a thick, tough, black back to it. He pulled a bag to the edge of the cart and turned his back to it. Raising his hands above his head and shoulders, he gripped the two top corners of the sack and bent forward, heaving the bag onto his upper back, grunting as he did so. Before he moved off he took a couple of seconds to adjust the load on his back by bouncing the sack up and down slightly. Satisfied that he had a good grip and the weight, all hundredweight of it, was stable and comfortable, he stooped forward and walked towards the close. The horse stood obediently, allowing a group of children to stroke and talk to it, while the coalman plodded through the close and made his way up the stair, following the right hand spiral to the first landing. He had to be careful of his footing because the stairs were becoming more and more worn and uneven in the tenements now and the last thing he needed was to go over on his ankle with a full sack of coal on his back. As he reached the first landing he saw Mary, straight ahead of him, holding the door open. He walked straight in and turned sharp left to where the bunker sat in the corner, it’s lid open ready for him. With a maneouvre developed over many years, he skillfully twisted his body to the side, while flicking the huge bulk of the sack over his shoulder, toppling it top first into the bunker. Catching the bottom corners of the sack, he pulled hard, emptying the contents into bunker in a loud, rumbling roar. He stood up, retrieving his sack and turning to Mary.
‘Ah hope this loats no full ah dross iss time!’ she said, only half joking.
‘Cheek!’ says the coalman ‘Ye’ll no find any dross in iss coal. Best quality stuff iss iz.’ He laughs.
‘Aye right,’ says Mary.
‘Any merr eh yir cheek hen, an ye kin kerry eh nixt bag up yersell!”
They both laugh, but they both know that she’ll be checking to see how much coal dust she’s paying for before he’s out of the street.
‘Right ah better get yer ither bag.’ He makes his way back down the stairs, folding his empty sack as he goes. Mary wonders how many tons of coal he carries in a day and to what total height.

The coalman is barely gone, before James arrives home. As he washes his hands and face at the sink he talks about the war. He talks of the recruitment going on at the steelworks and of the expectation for men to serve their country.

Mary Bulloch knows it wont be long before she’s alone.

[AndrewP]

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