In a Class of Their Own (13 page)

It was, as he explained, his “Johnny-aw-thing” stall. Goods that folk didn’t know they had lost could be found there. In October you could buy tatties there – the excess that the family didn’t need. His special customers, for a couple of bawbees more, could even buy a recipe card which read: “Ten ither things ye didnae ken ye could dae wi’ a forpet of tatties”.

However the tattie-selling came to an abrupt end when Sam discovered that, if he was on the harbour at Granton when the trawlers pulled in on a Friday afternoon, he could get one of the trawlermen to exchange a pauchle of fish for a bundle of kindling wood. And it didn’t take much persuasion for Sam to get Rachel to make scrumptious fish cakes out of the family’s leftovers. Every Saturday morning, Sam could be heard shouting, “Fish cakes! Secret recipe! Made by the best fish-cake maker in the world! Buy a half dozen for the price of six!”

The fish cakes were such a success that Sam soon had regular clients and the cakes were often sold before they were made. However, the tatties were soon used up, and as Rachel had to find full-time employment again she simply hadn’t the time to help Sam with his money-making schemes.

School had just finished for the Easter holidays and Sam and Chalky were both busy in the stairwell fixing Sam’s guider when Chalky remarked, “Soon be my birthday, Sam.”

“Nae soon. It’s only April and ye were born in May,” Sam answered, without looking up from the guider wheels he was furiously scrubbing.

“I ken that. But see hoo yer sister Carrie is ayeways dreaming o gettin’ things? Well, so do I.”

“If it’s a birthday present ye’re anglin’ for, we dinnae hae birthdays in oor hoose. Naw. Naw. Nae presents. Nae cards. Ye just get a year aulder.”

“Naw, I’m no expectin’ a present from ye. I was just wantin’ to say – I dream o haein’ a guider like yours, yin day.”

“Dinnae dream aboot it! Just get your finger oot and knock yin up,” advised Sam tersely as he finished polishing the spokes of the wheels.

“I’d dae just that, but I’m no handy like ye and yer faimily. I ken ye aw could mak soup oot o auld claes,” said Chalky, waving his ham fists under Sam’s nose.

Sam blew out his lips before replying. “Weel, we’ve made soup oot of maist things but I cannae mind of us ever takin’ aff oor claes and firin’ them in the pot.”

Both boys giggled and then a silence fell between them which gave Sam time to look intently at his friend. Life had been even worse for Chalky, Sam thought. Not only had he no Dad; he hadn’t even a Mam as good as Sam had. Finally he shrugged and said, “Tell ye what. We’ll gang ower the road to Walker’s timber yaird and get some wuid. Then we’ll rake aroond Johanson’s junk yaird, doon in Salamander Street, for some wee pram wheels.”

“Great,” gurgled Chalky. “And yince we’ve got aw them things, will ye help me bang a guider thegether?”

Sam nodded his assent.

It took Sam and Chalky a whole week to find or borrow the materials they needed to bang the guider together. And because Chalky was all thumbs, it took another week for Sam to assemble it. They had barely finished when Chalky said, “Thanks, pal. Wish you were goin’ with me on the Puir Bairns’ Holiday Treat.”

“The Puir Bairns’ Holiday Treat? What the devil’s that?”

“Och, Sam, dinnae tell me ye dinnae ken that the do-gooders doon at the Leith Rotary hae raised money to send really puir bairns, like me, awa to Rothesay for a holiday?”

“Rothesay? Doon the watter in the West?”

“Aye. They’re sending us there seein’ the winter was so bad.”

“Here, I was bluidy cauld an aw last winter and I could dae wi’ a holiday tae. Never had yin, so I hivnae,” Sam retorted. “Only ever got a wee dauner, wi’ a juice bottle filled wi’ water and a couple o jammy pieces, doon tae Portobello beach when the sun was shining,” Sam sniffed pessimistically. “And maist times, by the time I got there the bluidy sun had taen the huff and went back in again.”

“Weel, in that case why d’ye no go doon and ask they blokes that are dishing oot the trips to Rothesay if
ye
can have yin an aw?”

“Think I just micht dae that.”

“Great. So aw ye hae to dae is gang doon to the Methodist Church Hall on Friday nicht and mak them believe ye’re as puir as me.”

Rachel managed to persuade the hotel manager to give her a job back in the Queen’s Hotel but he would only give her constant late shift. That meant starting at four in the afternoon and sometimes she wouldn’t be home again until two in the morning.

That day, after scouring the house and preparing the children’s tea, she lay curled up on the settee having forty winks, dozing peacefully in that part of sleep where you’re neither sound asleep nor fully awake yet in a comfortable snug haze, with the troubles of life far behind. Suddenly a sharp tapping at the window jolted her into reality. “Where am I? What’s that?” she cried out. The tapping at the window continued so she rose, went over and cautiously lifted the window.

“Have you heard the latest?” whispered Grace Stoddard, her neighbour, as she looked all around to make sure she wasn’t overhead. “Bunty up the stair is awa again.”

Carrie, who’d been warned by Rachel to keep quiet so that her mother could have her nap, had been quietly reading a book but now pricked up her ears. “Bunty’s away again?” she said to herself. Then she thought, “What a load of rubbish. I saw her just an hour ago.”

The next thing Carrie overheard was her mother asking, “When d’you think she’ll be better?”

“Well,” said Grace, looking furtively about again. “I think she’s at least two months gone.”

“Again?” Carrie thought. “Rubbish! If she’s two months gone who was it I saw just an hour ago?” She couldn’t hold back any longer. “Mam,” she cried, “I saw Bunty Green just … ”

Rachel drew her head back inside. “See you, Carrie?” she snapped. “You’re too fond of talking about things that shouldn’t be talked about. Now, just haud your wheesht.” Rachel’s head disappeared out of the window again. This time the gossip was about Aggie Glass having a throw-back black bairn. One she wished to hell that
she
could have thrown back – with people saying it was more than a coincidence that she had just finished befriending a homesick black GI.

Finally, Grace went on to speak to Rachel about what she had really come for. “Rachel,” she wheedled, “my Susan has a wee bit put by. Saw a nice skirt in the store windae, she did. But she’s used up aw her clothing coupons. You wouldnae hae ony spare, would ye?”

“Och, I’m really awfae sorry, Grace,” Rachel responded, “but mine are aw used up too.” She hesitated and then went on. “But here. Hold on a minute. I think I ken where I could get you some.”

“But will they no be pricey?”

“No, just one and sixpence each.”

“One and six each?” Grace gasped. “But the last yins ye got for me were only one and three.”

“Aye but as you know, Grace, everything is aye going up,” laughed Rachel – but the smile died on her face when she looked beyond Grace and saw her father, Gabby, staggering along the road.

He was blethering as usual, to anyone daft enough to listen. Right then, Gabby was spouting about how it was a pity Hitler had lost the war before he’d sorted bloody Rachel out.

The next thing to upset Rachel was Gabby doing a sort of double somersault over the hedge and into the garden. Luckily, at that very instant, Sam appeared round the corner on his guider. His first action was to park it carefully, then he peered with interest over the hedge at his grandfather lying prostrate among the daffodils. Sam was strongly tempted to leave him there to rot, but Rachel gestured to bring him indoors. The commotion and Rachel’s slamming down of the window alerted Carrie, who rushed into the garden in time to help Sam with their grandfather.

“Just ye help me get him on tae the guider,” Sam ordered. “Then haud him there while I pull him up the path.”

Once laid firmly on the guider, Gabby continued his tirade about Hitler and the Gestapo sorting Rachel out. “And what maks ye think bluidy Hitler and his henchmen could hae sorted my Mammy oot?” Sam demanded sternly.

Before Gabby could speak he half fell off the guider, but was hauled roughly back again by Carrie. Then he spluttered, “Weel, him and ten Panzer divisions just micht hae put the bluidy wind up her.”

Carrie was never quite sure what happened next. All she did know for certain was that Gabby was catapulted off the guider and into the entry. Then there came a loud crack as his head came into contact with a concrete step. “Aw dearie dear,” was all Sam said. “We’ve no even been invaded by yer pals and here’s you endin’ up a bleedin’ casualty.”

Once they had Gabby back on his feet and inside the house, Sam judged this would be a good time to ask his mother about the holiday. Rachel, still fuming about the showing-up Gabby had given her in front of Grace, only muttered, “Holiday, what holiday, Sam?”

“The yin they’re sendin’ aw the puir bairns awa on. Chalky’s goin’ and I thocht I’d ask if I could gang wi’ him.”

“Right enough,” Rachel conceded, “Chalky’s a poor soul so you’d better go with him or we might never see him again.”

Before Sam could thank her, Gabby interrupted drunkenly, “Holiday? I’ve never been on a bluidy holiday.”

“That so?” Rachel spat vehemently at him. “Well, if you haven’t, it’s your own bloomin’ fault. Cos you sure have gambled and drunk enough, not only to have paid for a cruise on the
Queen Mary
, but to buy the whole bleeding Cunard Shipping Line as well.”

Sam and his guider whizzed down Restalrig Brae. Faster and faster they went. Faster than they’d ever gone before. Sam squealed with delight and flung his legs high in the air as the guider wheels swooshed and spun their way down the long brae. He just couldn’t believe that Rachel was letting him go on holiday with Chalky. All he needed to do now, to get on that holiday, was to convince a committee of three men that he was really poor enough. To make the right impression Sam had taken great care over his appearance. First he scrubbed himself spotlessly clean and then he attired himself appropriately from the rag bag. His final trick was to kick off his new plimsolls and to fish out a pair of his old well-holed shoes.

Once arrived at the Methodist Church Hall in Great Junction Street, Sam decided he should park his guider discreetly out of sight. Lifting it upright, he carefully concealed it behind the imposing entrance door. To be doubly sure that someone else didn’t think they had a better right to it, he removed the steering ropes and stowed them prudently in his pockets.

Satisfied that he had done all he could to secure his Rolls-Royce of guiders, Sam began to climb the stone-flagged stairs to the meeting room. He was only halfway up when he stopped to smooth down his ragged jumper and truculent curls.

Opening the door at the top of the stairs, Sam was surprised to find himself in a hall so big that everything echoed. The voices of the men on the committee at the far end of the room – and even the hushed whispers from the queue of hopeful children – all resonated around him.

Waiting patiently, he watched the large clock on the wall tick away a whole hour. He was beginning to wonder if his turn would ever come when at last he was summoned forward. Taking a deep breath, he strode confidently through the room to stand to attention in front of the table.

There he immediately rehearsed his battle plan. He intuitively knew that he had to figure out which of the benefactors he should make eye contact with. That strategy had always worked well in the past – for Sam was a master at making direct eye contact and then using his quick wit and ready smile to cajole anything out of anybody.

However, the three men seated there were impassive. One in particular, a small hunched man with steely grey eyes, a true Holy Willie, made Sam feel like squirming.

“Name?” this little man demanded just as Sam was deciding that the chairman was the man he had to court.

“Samuel Campbell, sir,” Sam answered demurely, and the man dipped his pen into an inkwell and scratched the name down on a piece of paper which he meticulously blotted.

“Where do you reside?” was the man’s next question.

“Reside?” Sam queried dubiously.

The man sighed. “Live.”

“16 Learig Close, sir.”

“Am I hearing right? Did you say 16 Learig Close?”

Sam nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The small man then leaned towards his two colleagues and they began whispering amongst themselves.

Sam shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and the clock ticked loudly. From time to time the men would scrutinise Sam as if he were some sort of alien – perhaps a creature just landed from the moon.

“Now, Samuel. As I understand it, Learig Close is a very affluent street. All privately-owned homes,” the chairman of the group eventually said gravely.

“Naw, naw, sir,” Sam replied, reverting to his mother tongue. “Just on yin side. The ither side, the far side, belangs to the Corporation. I bide in a Corporation hoose. Same stair as my pal, Chalky White, whae ye’ve already gien a holiday tae.”

The small man leant over and picked up a pile of papers. Leaf by leaf he checked through them until he came to Chalky’s application. Again Sam shifted from foot to foot and the clock ticked loudly as the three men huddled together to scan the form.

Once the form was laid back in the pile, the chairman asked, “Now son, tell me this. How many reside, I mean live, in your house?”

“Mammy, me, my wee brother and my three sisters.”

“Your father?” the mean man asked.

Sam shrugged his shoulders.

“No doubt killed in the war – like your friend’s father?” the chairman suggested.

“Naw. He was a conchie.”

“A conchie?” the Chairman asked looking for guidance from his two colleagues. “What’s a conchie?”

The small mean-looking man seemed only too happy to inform the chairman that a conchie was a conscientious objector.

“Ah,” the Chairman said, “That means he’s in prison.”

“Naw. He’s no in prison,” Sam interrupted. “He just went oot to find hissel yin day and never cam back.”

Now it was the mean man’s turn to say, “Ah!” and then continued, “You mean he has deserted you?” He lowered his voice before muttering, “And I’m beginning to understand why.”