The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 (25 page)

  “Well?”

  “Ah’m thinking, Ah’m thinking...ooh...whit wis she called?  Aye, right, Ah’ve goat it, a designer called Vivian Westwood.”

  “Never heard ae her.”

  “Kim Sui said that she’s goat a shoap called Sex, so she his, and she’s gonnae be big.”

  “Look, furget fashion, especially if it’s associated wae pumping.  Ah’ve married intae a family ae Holy Wullies and things ur bad enough withoot me adding tae it, so they ur.  Whit else hiv ye goat?”

  “Well, it’s funny ye should ask, bit Ah wis jist thinking aboot something and wis gonnae mention it tae ye before ye decided tae gie me ma jotters...something that ye’d know mair aboot than Ah ever wid.”

  “Look, Pearl, Ah thought we’d goat o’er that, eh?  Ye’re no wan ae these people who carry a grudge the rest ae yer life, ur ye?  Naw, Ah want tae hiv a go and get back at they sexist wankers up the stairs fur oppressing me because ae ma sex.”

  “Sex?”

  “Being a wummin.”

  “Aw, right.”

  “So, spit it oot, hen.  If it’s shite, Ah’ll say and ye kin dae the same wae any ae ma suggestions ye think ur crap, bit try and keep away fae Vivian Crossword and her sleazy sex shoap.  Let’s try and start afresh...fur at least another spread next week, bit jist remember who’s the boss aboot here, eh?”

  “Right, well, Ah’m no sure if this is a runner, bit ye know that wummin who goat shot, who wis hivving it aff wae that gangster o’er in Possil?”

  “Aye...” Mary said slowly, haudin her breath.

  “Well, wan ae ma pals, Senga Jackson, who’s no long started training tae be a nurse, is attending tae her up at The Royal, so she is.”

  “Ye’re jesting?”

  “No only that, bit the pair ae them get oan like a hoose oan fire, so they dae.”

  “Ur ye gonnae suggest whit Ah’m praying ye’re gonnae suggest, hen?” Mary groaned in delight, squeezing her eyes shut and praying.

  “And whit wid that be, then?” Pearl asked.

  Mary wisnae sure she’d heard right.  Wis Pearl trying tae take the piss oot ae her?  Whit the hell did she think Ah wis thinking ae, Mary gasped tae hersel.

  “Why, access fur me tae interview her...whit dae ye think?  We could get a photographer in there as well.  Christ, Ah’d be back oan the crime desk as quick as a rat being kicked up a drainpipe, so Ah wid,” she exclaimed.

  “Oh right, Ah thought that’s whit ye wur getting at.  So, whit aboot the new column fur wummin then?”

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Pearl, hiv ye no listened tae a thing Ah’ve said?  Who cares aboot the bloody column?  This wid allow me back in at the tap, so it wid.”

  “And that’s whit ye want, is it?”

  “Of course that’s whit Ah want.  It wid show they stags whit a mistake it wis tae throw somewan wae ma talent aside like some used Johnny bag, so it wid.”

  “Well, Ah wis thinking mair aboot the human side ae her situ…”

  “Look, if it’s yersel ye’re worrying aboot, don’t worry…Ah’ll somehow find a place fur ye aboot here.  Ah’ll take ye wae me as ma assistant, or if that isnae allowed, Ah’ll speak tae that man ae mine, Benson, and he’ll try and get ye a start somewhere else, so he will.  He’s good at that...putting in a word, here and there, fur people.  Look at me.  It wis him that goat me ma big break,” Mary beamed.

  “Benson?  Wid that be Benson Flaw, by any chance...the motoring guy?”

  “Aye.  Why?  Hiv ye heard ae him?”

  “It wis him that goat me ma job working wae you in the first place, so it wis.”

  “Benson?  Ma Benson?  Ma Benson goat ye yer job here as ma assistant?” Mary shrieked in disbelief.

  “Unless there’s two Benson Flaw’s writing the motoring page fur The Glesga Echo, that’ll be him,” Pearl replied, disappointed at her boss’s response tae the mention ae the social worker.

  “Ah cannae bloody believe whit Ah’m hearing...the sneaky basturt never mentioned any ae this tae me, so he didnae,”

  “Aye, ma maw is involved, up in Springburn, in a by-election tae get this amazing wummin, Helen Taylor, wan ae oor neighbours, elected insteid ae some auld corrupt pensioner who’s been aroond since nineteen canteen.  Helen hid mentioned tae Susan Flaw, the local minister’s wife, that Ah hid tae leave school early, insteid ae staying oan tae get qualifications tae get intae university, because we wur skint and oor stuff wis aboot tae be sold aff by the Sheriff officers, so they wur.  According tae ma maw, who’s really embarrassed aboot her situation, by the way, Mrs Flaw spoke tae her man, the minister, who in turn spoke tae his brother, Benson Flaw, the motoring guy, aboot whether he could get me a start...and well, here Ah am,” Pearl said, shrugging they shoulders ae hers, looking across at Mary.

  “Ah jist cannae believe that conniving git.  Wait until Ah see him the night.”

  “Why, whit’s the problem?  Ye’ve goat me...is that such a bad thing then?” Pearl asked her.

  “It’s nothing tae dae wae you, hen.  It’s the fact that Benson his gone behind ma back and tried tae help me oot, like the sleekit shitehoose that he obviously is.  Ah telt him Ah’d get back oan ma ain two feet withoot any help fae him...or any other man, fur that matter.”

  “Ach well, we’re here noo, eh?”

  “Whit?”

  “Ah said we’re here noo, Miss Marigold.”

  “Aye, Ah heard ye the first time.  Look, Pearl, who else hiv ye telt yer wee secret story tae,” Mary demanded, voice drapping ten decibels, as she looked aboot tae see if anywan wis lugging in.

  “Whit story?”

  “Whit Story?  Whit story she asks?” Mary exclaimed, throwing her erms in the air. “The bloody gangster and the social worker story...the story-ae-the-year story.  Christ, Pearl, ur ye sure ye left school voluntarily?”

  “Well, Ah widnae say that.”

  “Right, aye, well, okay, Ah get the picture.  So, let’s get back tae the story in haun.  Ye wur saying yer pal is the best pal ae Mrs whitever her name is…the wan who wis getting pumped by the big gangster...and?”

  “And whit?”

  “And ye’re no jist making this up tae impress me, ur ye?”

  “Why wid Ah dae that?”

  “Ah don’t know...ye could be aw overawed at working wae a famous journalist or something, fur aw Ah know.”

  “Well, Ah’m no.  Ah’m only telling ye whit Ah’ve been telt, and naw, Ah hivnae telt anywan else.”

  “So, when will Ah get tae meet yer pal then?”

  “Hmm, Ah’m no too sure that wid be wise...at this stage anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we aw drink in this lounge where journalists probably widnae be welcome, fur a start, so they widnae.”

  “Whit?  A pub?  A pub that widnae want journalists in it?  Ur ye jesting me, Pearl?  Hauf the pubs in the toon wid gie their eyeteeth tae get a journalist through the door.  Ye should see the booze these greedy basturts in here kin guzzle doon their gullets oan a night.”

  “No in this pub, they couldnae.”

  “Okay, so whit’s so special aboot this pub then?”

  “Nothing, bit it’s a bit ae a closed shoap fur strangers, so it is.  That’s aw Ah kin say, so it is.  It’s difficult tae explain.”

  “Right, well, why don’t Ah meet her wance she finishes her shift then?”

  “Look, Ah’ve only jist thought this wan up tae help ye oot, so Ah hiv.  It’s Thursday...me and ma pals aw get thegither oan a Friday night.  Why don’t ye leave it wae me and Ah’ll mention it tae Senga the morra night and Ah’ll get back tae ye, so Ah will?”

  “Right, well, Ah’ll gie ye a phone first thing oan Saturday morning.”

  “Me?  A phone?  We don’t hiv a phone at hame,” Pearl scoffed, laughing.

  “Right, well, Ah’ll nip up tae see ye then.”

  “Naw, Ah don’t think that’ll be a good idea either.”

  “Pearl, listen tae me, hen…Ah need tae hiv ma column aw ready tae go by Tuesday efternoon.  If this is a non-starter, Ah’ll need tae hiv something tae haun o’er or Ah’m...we’re...in Shite Street.  Kin ye appreciate that, hen?”

  “Oh, Ah widnae worry too much, Miss Marigold, Ah’m sure Senga will help ye oot, so she will.”

  “Pearl, kin ye furget aw this Miss Marigold guff, and start calling me Mary...like everywan else aboot here dis?  Okay?”

Chapter Forty Five

  The Stalker looked at the clock oan the wall above the door opposite his desk.  It said twenty past wan.  He looked at his wrist watch, which said twenty-five past.  He sat brooding fur a full minute and eventually decided that it wis the wall clock that wis disturbing his thought processes.  He reached o’er tae the baton that wis sitting, leather wrist grip drooping o’er the edge ae the shelf tae his right, and lifted it up by its shiny grooved haundle.  Withoot shifting his back aff ae the back ae the chair, he pulled his erm backwards behind his shoulder and let fly.  The baton flew like a clumsy boomerang and smacked the plastic covered clock face deid centre.  Before it scattered and landed in twenty odd pieces across his flair, it hid awready disintegrated wae the force ae the baton scudding it.  A face appeared roond his door.

  “Everything awright, Paddy?” Happy Harry, the desk sergeant asked him, looking fae him tae the baton and debris oan the flair.

  “Er, aye, Happy.  Ah don’t know whit happened there...loose screw or something.  The thing jist jumped aff oan its ain accord, so it did.”

  “Aye, well, as long as ye’re happy, Paddy, that’s aw that matters, eh?” Happy said, turning tae leave.

  “How’s oor mad flasher?”

  “Tucked up in a cell...although we might hiv tae get a doctor in tae hiv a look at they hee-haws ae his.  They’re the size ae leaking pomegranates, so they ur.  The cheeky fucker says he wants tae press charges, so he dis.”

  “Aye, well, tell him we’ve investigated his complaint and he disnae hiv a hard-on’s chance ae making anything stick, so he disnae.”

  “Right, boss,” Happy smiled, shutting the door behind him.

  The Stalker lifted the buff-coloured folder oot ae the drawer ae his desk and placed it in front ae him.  While it wisnae exactly up there in phone book thickness terms, he wis surprised at how thick it wis fur somewan who he thought hidnae much form.  He’d wanted tae hiv a wee squint ae it earlier, bit hid goat caught up in the commotion at the front desk, efter arriving back fae Central an hour earlier.  Everything hid been straightforward enough.  He’d phoned doon tae the records section and asked if he could get his hauns oan the file ae a Mrs Helen Taylor, nee Ferguson, Carlisle Street, Springburn, and naw, he didnae hiv her close number, bit previous addresses included Murray and Montrose Streets in the Toonheid.

  “Whit ur ye wanting it fur?” a cheeky auld hag hid asked him.

  “Because Ah’m investigating her, that’s whit fur,” he’d said, snarling doon the phone.

  “Is that a previous conviction record or an intelligence file?”

  “Er, previous record...naw, intelligence.”

  “Make up yer mind.  Whit is it?”

  “Ah’ve jist telt ye...intelligence.”

  “Well, ye’ll need tae come doon here, so ye will.  Ye’re no allowed tae take files oot ae the main building, so ye’re no.  Springburn, ye said?”

  “Aye, Springburn.”

  “When ur ye wanting it?”

  “Ah’ll be doon in the next fifteen minutes.”

  “Ah’ll need a coonter signature.”

  “Fur Christ’s sakes, this isnae the Kremlin by any chance, is it?”

  “Nae coonter signature, nae file.”

    He’d hid tae phone Billy Liar.  Thankfully, Billy hidnae asked any questions, bit jist telt him that he could pick it up fae the desk. 

  “Bit, some auld fascist hairy telt me Ah couldnae take it oot ae the building,” he’d said.

  “Aye, well, Ah’ll sort that oot.  It’ll be oan the front desk by the time ye get here…bit mind and sign the docket,” he’d reminded him, and wae that, hid hung up.

  Billy clearly hid other things oan his mind wae the screaming front-page heidline in that morning's Echo, the low-lives that they wur.  By the time he’d arrived back, pandemonium hid erupted at the front doors ae the station.  A flasher hid been oan the loose in the area since November.  His favourite flashing times hid been first thing in the mornings when aw the local sales assistants wur opening up jist before nine o’clock.  Since maist ae the wans opening up the shoaps fur the day's business wur usually wummin, he’d been daeing the roonds.  Some mornings he’d be flashing up at the Hawthorn Street end ae Springburn Road, while at other times, he’d be doon as far as Petershill Road.  His dress mode never seemed tae change.  Broon slip-on shoes, two trooser legs tied below each knee wae whit hid been reported tae be broon shoelaces.  Fae the knees up tae his waist, he wis bare-arsed, then above that, a striped shirt and broon tie.  O’er aw this, hiding his shame when he wis incognito, he wore a long broon gabardine coat.  By aw accounts, he’d a tadger that resembled an elephant’s trunk, or as wan ae his victims, wee Nettie MacKay reported, “It’s the kind ae thing that keeps ye awake at night, jist thinking aboot it, so it is.  Wance seen, never furgoatten.”

  The only time Brownie hid slipped up hid been when wan ae the local wummin hid come oot ae Sherbet’s shoap wan foggy morning, up in Kendrick’s Street, jist before Christmas.

  “Merry Christmas, darling,” he’d shouted, swinging his hips, groovy style, as he exposed that big swinging walloper ae his, wae his coat held wide open.

  Unfortunately, fur him, she hidnae been oan her lonesome and hid set her big Alsatian dug oan tae him.  He’d tried tae make a dash fur it, bit Attila hid been efter him in a flash.  Because ae the foggy morning, she’d jist heard his screams and the shredding ae the coat being ripped aff ae that back ae his, in amongst the mist at the tap ae the street.  The Stalker’s previous inspector, Chic Thompson, hid put oot teams, strategically placed throughoot the area, hoping tae nab him.  That plan hid been scuppered when a group ae wummin in the area hid set up vigilante groups who’d been touring the streets in the mornings, tooled up wae rolling pins, frying pans and pots, looking fur any poor basturt that happened tae be heiding tae their work wearing a coat.  There hid been a few close shaves and the boys fae the station hid hid tae jump in and rescue a few innocents.  Since the New Year, because ae the vigilantes, the flasher hid changed his modus operandi fae the mornings and hid started tae pop up, or should that be pop oot, at different times ae the day.  This hid made the pavement pounders’ job ae catching him even harder.  His grand finale hid been at quarter past eleven that morning ootside a fruit shoap, across fae Sellyn’s, oan Springburn Road.  No only hid he been clocked enticing Mary Lennon tae come and hiv a swatch ae his big boy, bit he’d also been spotted at the same time by Glesga’s answer tae the Rough Riders.  Efter gieing chase, they’d managed tae corner him at the far end ae Kay street.  He’d tried tae heid fur the entrance ae the public baths, bit the wummin inside, serving behind the kiosk, who must’ve been an aff duty Rough Rider, hid clocked whit wis happening and hid nipped oot and slammed the door shut in his face.  As Kay Street wis a deid end, he’d been well and truly goosed.  The screaming banshees hid ladled intae him wae everything bit the kitchen sink.  Hope and Glory, alang wae Bumper, hid nearly goat themsels killed trying tae rescue him, bit hid eventually goat him intae the back ae a Black Maria, before speeding aff tae the sound ae pots and pans thumping aff the side ae it.  Insteid ae taking him straight doon tae Central or across tae The Marine in Partick, the stupid basturts hid taken him roond the corner tae the polis station.  By the time The Stalker hid arrived oan the scene, everywan in the station hid been oot in the reception wae batons drawn and the fire hose at the ready.  It hid taken him a full hauf hour tae calm the situation doon and tae get rid ae the hairy vigilantes.  Wance inside, the flasher hid been checked o’er fur any lasting damage.  The Stalker hidnae seen it fur himsel, bit by aw accounts, the wummin wurnae lying.

  “Fuck, it’s the size ae a lumberjack’s erm, so it is,” Bumper hid exclaimed, jealous as fuck.

  When asked where he’d goat aw the bite marks tae his arse and back, the bampot hid claimed they wur love bites.  Happy Harry hid been in the process ae booking him fur indecent exposure by the time The Stalker hid, at last, been able tae return tae his office, tae read Helen Taylor’s intelligence file.  He swithered whether tae pick up the smashed pieces ae the clock, bit couldnae be arsed getting up oot ae his chair.  He picked up the mug ae tea that he’d left tae cool doon.  He blew the steam fae the tap ae it before taking a sip. 

  “Arrgghhh, lovely,” he sighed in satisfaction, as he flipped open the folder. 

  He started fae the beginning, and casually flipped through the sheaths ae paper, stoapping every noo and again when something caught his interest.  Helen Taylor, an only child, hid been born a Catholic oan the 12
th
ae July, 1926, up a close at number 8 Murray Street, Toonheid.  That wid be jist opposite Rattray’s the bike factory, The Stalker remembered, hivving pounded the pavements ae the Toonheid oan many a cauld night.  Her maw hid been in service tae Sir Frank and Lady Owen, newspaper proprietors, o’er in Queen Margaret Drive in the West End ae the city and her da hid been a drayman fur Barr’s, the ginger people.

  “So, that wid make ye forty four noo, Helen,” The Stalker mused oot loud.

  There wisnae much mair oan the maw and da, bit the file did detail the activities ae the auntie, Jeannie Smullen, the maw’s twin sister.  He picked up the auld yellowing Special Branch sheet, dated November 1938.  It informed him that Jeannie hid been a street agitator fae an early age and a member ae the Independent Labour Party, as well as The Communist Party ae Great Britain.  She’d been an early and active member ae the Glesga Wummin’s Hoosing Association, under the influence ae some other like-minded wummin, and wan in particular...a Mary Barbour.  The report went oan tae detail the activities ae the hoosing association and the springing up ae similar associations aw o’er the city.  The associations wur influential in fanning the flames ae discontent amongst tenants, that hid eventually led tae the famous Glesga Rent Strike.  The Stalker vaguely remembered hearing aboot the strike when he wis a snapper.  He continued reading.  The strike hid been aboot challenging the private landlords who wur bumping up the rents tae cash in oan the influx ae the munitions workers, who wur arriving in Glesga in droves at the start ae the first world war.  The Stalker noted that the Barbour wummin hid eventually gone oan tae become the first female labour cooncillor in the city.  Jeannie Smullen hid been arrested twice in 1915 during rent strikes in Glesga, fur harassing Sheriff officers gaun aboot their business.  The file stated that she’d been fined wan bob and two shillings respectively fur throwing paper bags full ae flour at Toon Council officials up closemooths across in Govan, despite no hivving a residential address in the district.  It also stated that she wis active in setting up the Socialist Sunday School movement.  In July 1916, when she’d been training tae be a nurse up at The Royal, she’d been wan ae the first tae join up as a member ae the Women’s Peace Crusade that hid been established a month earlier by an Agnes Dollan and a Helen Crawfurd.  According tae the file, Jeannie and Agnes Dollan hid been amongst the first ae the WPC movement’s members tae take the anti-war message oot intae the slum districts in the city.  They’d hopped between Springburn and Maryhill, where they’d started stirring up aw the local wummin, getting them tae question, then demonstrate, aboot local families being evicted fur no paying their rent, when their men hid been sent aff tae fight in the battlefields ae France fur their King and Country.  The Stalker wis interested tae note that maist ae these mad wummin who wur involved in anti-social causes in the city hid developed a technique ae working within local communities, specifically targeting the wummin who wur at hame during the day when their weans wur at school or whose men wur aff fighting.  The authorities hid become alarmed at the sudden rise ae activism amongst the female working class.  Baith Jeannie and Agnes Dollan hid awready honed this technique tae good effect during the rent strikes in 1915 and soon there wur anti-war demonstrations every other week up in Springburn and Maryhill.  Five years later, in 1920, Jeannie hid goat hersel charged again, hivving knocked a helmet aff ae a polis sergeant called Bigamy.  According tae Jeannie, she’d spotted the sergeant spitting oan the back ae the heid ae wan ae the main organisers ae a big demonstration oan Glesga Green.  The Stalker wisnae surprised tae read that the organiser and recipient ae the greaser hid been none other than Helen Crawfurd, who’d set up the Women’s Peace Crusade five years earlier.  Jeannie’s fine that time hid been upped tae two pounds which wis a lot ae money in those days.  Her criminal career hid continued and her next run-in wae the polis hid come oan the 4
th
May 1926, when she’d been part ae a mob who’d overturned a bus in the central district ae Glesga, jist shortly before the start ae the General Strike kicked aff.  The file didnae mention the street name, bit it wid’ve probably been Cathedral Street or Parly Road, he thought tae himsel.  Jeannie and nine other rioters hid goat huckled.  Fur that wee carry oan, she’d goat fined five pounds or five days in Duke Street Prison.  Somewan hid paid her fine that same day and she’d been released.  The Stalker looked, bit couldnae find oot who’d put up the money, bit he did come across another name he recognised...auld Charlie Mann.  Charlie hid goat the same sentence as Jeannie, bit hid ended up in the jail fur a few days.  Somewan hid eventually put up three pounds and he’d been released two days later.  The Stalker noted that Mrs Agnes Dollan hid coughed up the dosh that time.  The next time Jeannie hid been lifted hid been oan the 1
st
October 1931.  Wance again, she’d been back oan Glesga Green...obviously wan ae her favourite battlegrounds.  She’d been wrestled tae the ground by a PC Fletcher, kicking and screaming, while she wis trying tae free some violent arsehole called McShane, who’d been resisting arrest, efter he’d been hauncuffed by the bizzies during a riot.  Seemingly, McShane hid been at the heid ae a charging mob who’d been attacking the boys in blue.  Jeannie hid managed tae wriggle her way oot ae that wan, claiming she’d been attending tae Mr McShane’s injuries as he lay oan the ground efter being clubbed by the polis.  Her luck hid been in that day and she’d been found not guilty.  The Stalker picked up his mug and took a slurp.  He smiled.  This explained a lot.  He now knew where Helen goat her taste fur fighting wae Sheriff officers and bizzies in the street fae.  Christ, it obviously ran in the family.  There wisnae much else said aboot Jeannie being arrested again.  The rest ae the information detailed the different anti-authority groups she’d been involved in.  The Stalker wis impressed.  Young Jeannie Smullen hid obviously seen hersel as some sort ae spokesman fur the masses.  When the Stalker turned the page, he jist aboot choked whilst taking a slurp ae his cauld tea.  There, in front ae him, in faded type, it said that Jeannie Smullen hid stood as a cooncillor in 1935 in the Toonheid.  No only that, bit that she’d lost tae none other than JP Donnelly.  The Stalker couldnae believe the very last paragraph oan the last page, bit it explained a lot aboot the request he’d goat fur haunin o’er intelligence tae Father John.