The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 (43 page)

Chapter Seventy

“So, how did it go, Peter?” JP asked.

  “The priest hid nae chance.  The basturts ganged up oan me, so they did,” Peter Dawson, JP’s campaign manager grumbled.

  “So, who’ve we goat?  Don’t tell me that Harry Hoofter goat the nod?” Haddock Broon asked in disgust.

  “Ah tried tae argue yer case, JP, bit that minister’s wife hid them eating oot ae her  haun, so she did.  Ah swear Ah could see the evil dancing aboot in they eyes ae hers.”

  “And her supposed tae be a Christian as well, eh?”

  “Bitch,” Joe The Snake hissed.

  “Look, whit’s done is done.  It disnae put me up nor doon.  Ah’ll still wipe the flair wae them...jist so long as Ah’ve goat the vocal support,” JP said, looking across at Harry Fisher, the butcher, who wis sitting engrossed in picking a bogey oot ae that bulbous nose ae his.

  “Don’t ye worry oan that score, JP.  Ah’ve jist put the word oot through The Journeyman’s Club membership.  Any lip fae that hairy and she’ll be howled doon.  Some ae the boys said they cannae remember the last time they went tae a good heckling session.”

  “Good, good, that’s whit Ah like tae hear.  That’s the kind ae attitude that won us the war, so it wis,” JP said appreciatively.

  “Here’s a good wan fur ye, JP.  Did Ah no clock a couple ae they stupid wummin haunin oot leaflets up at the NAB and The Burroo when Ah wis sitting oan the tap deck ae the bus this morning.  Christ, Ah nearly pished masel laughing where Ah sat, so Ah did,” Weasel spluttered, remembering the sight as everywan joined in laughing.

  “Jeez, they must be bloody desperate if they’re up there, trying tae find somewan tae cast a vote fur them.  Ah actually feel sorry fur the stupid basturts.  Kin we no send a couple ae oor boys across tae gie them a wee haun oan their tactics, JP?” Peter said tae mair laughter.

  “Aye, bit don’t be fooled, she isnae that daft.  She knows fine well that her arse is gonnae get thrashed, bit she’s jist daeing aw this fur show, so she is.  That cow is thinking beyond Friday.  She sees hersel as some sort ae strategist, so she dis.  It’s always been a courtesy tae thank yer opponents during the celebratory speech, bit she’ll get none ae that aff ae me.  She needs tae know her place.  Some people won’t like it, bit fuck them.  Ah’m tired ae dancing tae other people’s tunes, so Ah am.  Fae here oan in, it’s aw aboot me...apart fae wans like yersel, that is,” JP hurriedly, added.

  “So, where’s Peggy the day, Peter?  Ah thought she wis joining us?”

  “She’s decided tae put in a few mair hours oot oan Springburn Road before the daylight goes.  That pair ae cheeky tramps, Sharon Campbell and Soiled Sally, accosted her this morning coming oot ae the Co-op, accusing her ae betraying wumminhood by supporting yersel.  Kin ye believe the cheek ae it?  Peggy wis dying tae get tore intae them, so she wis, bit she knew that Campbell wid’ve put wan oan her if she’d retaliated.  Pure bang oot ae order, so it wis,” Peter growled.

  “That’s why the stupid eejits ur gonnae get a hammering, so it is.  This is nothing tae dae wae whether ye’re a female or no.  People will see through that wan fae forty paces, so they will...especially aw the wummin folk who know their place in the grand scheme ae things.  Naw, Ah wisnae wanting tae go heid-tae-heid wae Taylor, bit if that’s whit she wants, Ah’m only too happy tae oblige the stupid cow.  So, whit time dae we start then, Peter?” JP asked.

  “Seven fur hauf seven.”

  “Right, well, make sure oor people get there bang oan seven.  Ah heard that the balcony is oot ae action because ae repairs.  We’ll take o’er the front ae the hall as well as the back.  We need tae hem in any ae their supporters who turn up tae the middle section tae make sure we’re in control and they’re that intimidated, they won’t open their gubs.  In fact, Ah’m actually looking forward tae this, so Ah am,” JP said, wae a satisfied grunt.

Chapter Seventy One

  “Whit dae ye want me tae dae wae aw these letters, Miss Marigold?” Pearl asked, nodding tae the piles sitting oan tap ae the cardboard boxes surrounding her desk.

  “Ah don’t know.  Ah’m sure ye’ll come up wae something.  Right, Pearl, ur ye sure ye know whit ye’re daeing noo?” Mary asked her.

  “Aye, Ah’ve compiled a list ae names fur straight efter the election, so Ah hiv.  Ma maw said there widnae be a problem getting volunteers tae speak wae us.”

  “And the doctors’ surgeries?”

  “Yer letter will be posted oot the day, marked urgent, stating the deidline fur the information is next Monday.  Ah’ve trawled through aw the medical journals ye brought in and cut oot anything that looks interesting.  It’s funny, bit the best articles ur in The Readers Digest, so they ur.”

  “Right, Ah’m heiding aff early.  Ah don’t know whit time Ah’ll be in the morra...probably later in the morning...ready fur Dandy tae go o’er the feature,” Mary said, putting oan her coat and lifting her fags and lighter aff the desk.

  “Er, Miss Marigold…Mary?”

  “Whit?”

  “Oh, er, nothing, it disnae matter.”

  “Naw, c’mone.  Whit is it?”

  “Hiv ye awready written yer bit oan Helen?”

  “That’s whit Ah’m away tae dae the noo.  Ah’ll get the bulk ae it done the day and the night, then get up early and go o’er it so Ah kin finish it aff in the morning.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Aye, and in case Ah furget...gie this back tae yer hero, will ye?  Ah meant tae leave it at ma sister-in-law’s this morning,” Mary said, haunin o’er the tatty jotter.

  “Is that the diary everywan’s talking aboot?”

  “Aye, and never ye mind sitting there reading it.  Ah want aw that stuff fur next week’s feature done and dusted, so Ah dae,” Mary warned her, heiding fur the door.

  “Oh, er, Mary...Miss Marigold?”

  “Fur Christ's sakes, Pearl...whit is it this time?”

  “Oh, er, ye’re, er, no gonnae dae the dirty oan Helen, ur ye?” Pearl stammered, face turning crimson.

  “Pearl, hen, Ah’m a professional journalist, so Ah am.  Journalists don’t dae the dirty oan their subjects, despite whit ye may think.  Journalists seek oot the human interest element ae a person’s character and write aboot that.  Sometimes it disnae always come across as complimentary, bit it’s the story that dis the talking, no the journalist.  People...the readers...hiv tae make their ain mind up as tae whether the story is a hatchet job or no.  Fur us, life disnae stoap at the end ae something that’s passed oan tae the print room.  We hiv tae start again...that’s oor job,” Mary lectured.

  Wae that, Mary walked briskly towards the door, before little Miss Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep could haud her back fae arriving oan time fur her interview wae Inspector McPhee up in Springburn Polis Office.

Chapter Seventy Two

  Helen woke up wae a start.  She instinctively put her fingers up tae her temple, bit realised it wisnae the thumping ae a headache that hid wakened her up.  The thumping hid disappeared and the room wis silent again.  She looked aroond her dark bedroom.  Jimmy’s side ae the bed wis empty.  The clock said ten tae seven and then she jumped as the thumping began again.  She swung her legs oot ae the bed and grabbed her dressing gown and fire before heiding fur the lobby.  When she opened her bedroom door, the banging began again, sounding as if her landing door wis aboot tae come aff ae its hinges.

  “Awright, Ah’m coming, Ah’m coming,” she groaned, flicking a wisp ae hair that hid fallen o’er her eyes, as she turned the lock.

  “Christ’s sakes, Helen, ur ye no up?  It’s nearly bloody lunchtime,” Sherbet scowled, brushing past her.

  “Why don’t ye make yersel a cup ae tea,” Helen said sarcastically, yawning.

  Sherbet hid awready plapped his arse doon oan the chair efter switching oan the gas under the teapot.

  “Ur ye jist trying tae be ultra-cool or dae ye really no gie a chapatti?”

  “Sherbet, ye’re gonnae get the flat end ae that soup spoon bounced aff ae yer napper if ye don’t tell me whit ye’re oan aboot,” Helen warned, taking her fags oot ae her dressing gown pocket.

  “The Glesga Echo...yer write up,” he said excitedly, pulling the rolled-up paper oot fae the inside pocket ae his jaicket.

  “Oh, right.  Am Ah in it then?” she asked, wakening up.

  “Here, Ah’ll let ye read it yersel...it’s oan page thirty seven, so it is,” he said, lifting doon a couple ae cups fae the shelf.

  Helen flattened the newspaper oan the table and started turning the pages.

  “Here, gie it tae me.  Ye kin dae the honours wae the milk and sugar,” Sherbet said, grabbing the paper and flicking o’er a few pages at a time.  “There ye go.”

  Helen haunded Sherbet his tea.  She felt her stomach churning.  She wis scared tae look at the page.  She took a sip ae the boiling liquid and a puff ae her fag.

  “Right, well, c’mone.  Whit’s the matter wae ye?  Get oan wae it...and make sure ye read it oot loud.”

  Helen glanced at the page fae where she wis staunin.  She recognised the smiling face beside the banner that said, ‘Mary Marigold, Scotland’s foremost wummin’s journalist, writing fur wummin, aboot wummin.’  Helen caught her breath.  Underneath it, in bold black print, it shouted, ‘Tales Ae A Broken Winged Dove Who’s Noo Flying High.’   No only that, bit there wur four photos.  The main photo oan the tap left haun side ae the page wis the wan that wis snapped oan the night ae her election launch.  This time they’d included her shoulders and her chest in it.  Oan the right haun side ae the page there wis wan ae her aunt Jeannie, taken in her nurse’s uniform, jist before she left Central Station tae go tae Spain tae help oot The International Brigades and beneath that, a photo ae her aunt Jeannie’s auld jotter.  When she peered at the fourth photo, placed oan the bottom left haun side ae the page, she recognised a younger JP Donnelly, staunin oan whit looked like an election platform.  She glanced across at Sherbet, who gied her a big, white-toothed grin in return.  Helen sat doon, her heid spinning and folded the paper in hauf tae make it easier tae haud in her hauns.

  “In 1915, twenty five thousand slum hoosing tenants in Glesga withheld their rents in protest against Glesga Toon Cooncil and private factor landlords.  The protest wis in response tae The Cooncil and private landlords' decision tae raise rents and take advantage ae incoming workers who’d arrived in the city tae work in the armaments and munitions factories.  The Toon Cooncil, at that time, and it’s male dominated elected members, alang wae the private landlords, wur eventually sent packing, tae think again.  Spearheiding the opposition tae the increases wur wummin such as Mary Crawfurd, Agnes Dollan, Jeannie Smullen, Mary Barbour and Jessie Stevens, amongst others.  It wis the activism and sheer determination ae these pioneering, though noo furgoatten wummin, that eventually resulted in wummin being gied the franchise by the government ae the day, which allowed wummin the vote fur the first time.  It could hardly hiv come as a surprise then, when these same wummin fae the original ‘Hoosewives’ movement put themsels forward as candidates fur election tae represent the communities where they lived, brought up families and died in.  It will likewise come as nae surprise tae the female readers ae this column that wummin still struggle tae hiv their voices heard in these days ae so-called wummin’s liberation.  Whilst some ae they early pioneering wummin wur the first tae successfully take their fight fur equality inside the city chambers in George Square, unfortunately, the winds ae change that blew through the corridors ae male power in the city didnae sweep away aw the cobwebs.  In 1921, wan ae the city’s finest daughters, Agnes Dolan, stood in a by-election in Springburn.  Today, jist o’er fifty years later, a direct product ae those original hoosewife activists his thrown her hat intae the political ring and is challenging wan ae the maist successful, and some wid say, controversial, politicians in the city’s history, tae be elected tae represent the people in Keppochhill, Springburn.  In 1935, Jeannie Smullen (pictured right), a forty-year-auld nurse and leading member ae the Wummin’s International League, the Wummin’s Peace Crusade and an active member ae the Independent Labour Party, stood as a candidate in the city’s Toonheid Ward election.  Her main opponent wis a local man, JP Donnelly.  The election, although almost furgoatten aboot today, thirty six years later, wis wan ae the bloodiest campaign struggles the city hid ever witnessed up tae that point in its history ae political activism.  At the end ae the long six-week campaign, only wan winner, JP Donnelly, (pictured bottom left, campaigning in 1935) wis left staunin.  Although there wur accusations ae political skulduggery levelled against the Toon Council authorities, the Catholic church, the polis and the media by Jeannie
Smullen’s supporters, nothing untoward wis ever proved.  Whilst the loser ae that election went aff tae die during the nationalist bombing ae Barcelona, efter she’d volunteered tae nurse The International Brigades and the sick and the dying ae that devastated city, as a member ae the Scottish Ambulance Unit, the winner went oan tae represent the Toonheid ward fur the next thirty five years until the area and its residents wur cleared tae make room fur the city’s inner ring road motorway.  Today, that same cooncillor, standing as an independent ‘Labour Born and Bred’ candidate, Mr JP Donnelly, is hoping tae revive his interrupted political career, by being the people’s choice in the Keppochhill by-election when the polls close at ten pm oan Friday night.  The reason fur the by-election is the death ae its recently elected cooncillor, Mr Dick Mulholland, who died last month ae cancer.  At the last ward election in 1970, Mr Mulholland beat his nearest rivals by almost ten tae wan.  His campaign manager at the time wis none other than Mr JP Donnelly.  When the date ae the current by-election wis announced, it came as nae surprise tae anywan when Mr Donnelly threw his hat intae the ring.  Until recently, everywan, including those card-carrying members ae the Liberal, Nationalist and Tory parties, who hiv also put forward candidates, hid accepted that they hiv an almost impossible task ae beating Mr Donnelly.  A spokesman fur the Labour Party refused tae comment oan the reason they hivnae put forward a candidate ae their ain, although it’s a widely-held belief in political circles that nowan will be able tae stoap Mr Donnelly fae returning tae the seat ae power that he believes is his God given right.  The exception tae that widely-held belief is another independent candidate, forty-six-year-auld mother ae five grown-up children, Helen Taylor.  Tae meet Helen Taylor, ye could be deceived intae thinking that she goat aff the bus at the wrang stoap.  She stauns barely five feet six in her stocking soles, and although attractive, widnae staun oot in a crowd.  She lists her hobbies as ‘making ends meet until the end ae the week, when that man ae mine, Jimmy, picks up his wages oan a Friday.’  As a ten-year-auld schoolgirl, Helen Taylor lived wae her aunt, Jeannie Smullen, whilst her mother worked in service wae none other than the family ae the current owner ae The Glesga Echo, Lord Frank Owen.  The young Mrs Taylor campaigned alangside her aunt, pushing a homemade platform, made oot ae Barr's Irn-Bru boxes and pram wheels, in that fateful ward election that led her aunt tae Spain and her date wae destiny, whilst a glittering political career beckoned oan Mr Donnelly.  Barely two weeks ago, pollsters and political pundits placed Mr Donnelly wae seventy five per cent ae the vote, whilst the other three main political parties shared three percent between them.  Depending oan who wan listened tae, Mrs Taylor fluctuated between fifteen and twenty per cent ae the vote.  Incredibly, those same pollsters noo hiv Mrs Taylor breathing doon Mr Donnelly’s neck.  Wan pollster his been quoted as saying, ‘It is nothing short ae a miracle,’ and that she hisnae seen anything like it in her thirty two years as a political pundit.  So, whit’s changed so radically fur this hoosewife in the intervening weeks?  According tae Mrs Taylor and her supporters, it’s because people kin see fur themsels the methodical dirty tricks that hiv been used against her, as well as the fact that she represents nae political party and happens tae be a local hoosewife.  When challenged tae prove these allegations against Mr Donnelly, Mrs Taylor his produced a diary (pictured bottom right), which wis written by none other than Mrs Taylor’s aunt, Jeannie Smullen, during the 1935 Toonheid Ward election.  Mrs Taylor points oot striking similarities between the tactics used against her aunt by her then main opponent, Mr Donnelly, in the 1935 campaign and the undermining ae Mrs Taylor and her supporters in Springburn in recent weeks.  Hivving hid an opportunity tae view the contents ae the diary, and heard Mrs Taylor and her supporters’ allegations regarding underhaun tricks used against them, the diary makes persuasive reading.  Some examples, according tae the diary in 1935, wur that school children wur used tae collect electioneering propaganda fae the local hooses that hid previously been distributed by aw candidates, oan the pretence that they were tae be used fur school projects.  The diary alleges that the following day, Mr Donnelly’s supporters redistributed his ain campaign literature.  Mrs Taylor claims that this happened in Springburn twice since the start ae the current election.  In 1935, Jeannie
Smullen wis accused by the Catholic church ae encouraging birth control amongst the mainly Catholic wummin in the overcrowded tenement slums.  Oan Sunday past, aw the priests in Springburn and the surrounding chapels, called oan worshippers tae oppose any candidate in favour ae birth control.  The priests went further by naming Mrs Taylor and accused her ae being an active abortion supporter.   Mrs Taylor refutes this claim.  When challenged oan whit her stance oan the issue is, Mrs Taylor stated that she believes that it is the right ae every wummin tae choose whit is best fur her, depending oan her circumstances.  Mrs Taylor, a baptised Roman Catholic, claims that somewan within the Catholic church his gained access tae her family’s medical records and his used them tae smear her.  When challenged fur other examples, Mrs Taylor points tae persistent harassment by the local constabulary against her aunt in 1935.  Mrs Taylor claims that she his been accosted and abused in the street by the local polis, in front ae witnesses, whilst oot campaigning.  This his been denied by local polis Inspector Paddy McPhee.  Mrs Taylor claims that the polis hiv besmirched her reputation by disclosing, no only her ain polis record, bit those ae her two sons, convicted as teenagers fur crimes that she describes as ‘misdemeanours.’  Mrs Taylor his disclosed that fur the past twenty five years, she, alang wae other local wummin, baith in the Toonheid and in Springburn, his clashed wae Glesga Corporation officials and Sheriff officers, while peacefully demonstrating at closemooths, against the forceful removal ae families and their furniture fae cooncil homes during warrant sales.  Mrs Taylor admits that she wis remanded tae prison fur seven days during the 1960’s fur assaulting a polis sergeant, bit wis subsequently found not guilty.  It is interesting tae note that Mr Donnelly wis the sitting Justice ae the Peace conducting her trial, bit sensationally and immediately suspended proceedings mid-way through the trial, finding that Mrs Taylor hid nae cause tae answer, efter her lawyer passed oan damning evidence in the middle ae the trial that proved that the protesters, at the time ae the alleged assault, hid been set-up by local polis officers, and Mr Donnelly in particular.  Other examples ae misinformation used tae smear Mrs Taylor include her main opponent printing allegations in his campaigning literature that she wants tae decimate the staffing ae Corporation employees in The Corporation headquarters oan George Square.  Some local wummin, who ur Corporation employees, hiv come tae Mrs Taylor’s defence, confirming that she his been campaigning fur years fur better working conditions fur aw Corporation workers, including a rise in their hourly rate.  Mrs Taylor his stated that the only people tae fear fae her entrance intae the lions den doon in George Square ur the faceless bureaucrats, aw men, who’ve decimated communities, wummin and children in particular, across the city since before her aunt Jeannie’s time, back in the thirties.  Oan a lighter note, Mrs Taylor also claims that she his beaten her aunt Jeannie’s record fur the length ae time wan ae her election posters his remained up efter being pasted up oan a wall, before being torn doon by her opposition.  Her aunt Jeannie’s record wis fifteen minutes, whilst Mrs Taylor his beaten that by five minutes.  Mrs Taylor states that, if elected oan Friday, she will represent aw sections ae the community, fae supporting small businesses tae welcoming corporate investment, particularly in the waste land that wis the Cowlairs and Atlas engineering works.  She his claimed that if Mr Donnelly gets elected, then those maist at risk, namely the low-waged, wummin, children and the elderly, will be the hardest hit.  She says that JP Donnelly’s past track record ae supporting the selling ae hoosehold goods and the evictions ae the poor who cannae afford tae pay Corporation rents, will hiv the maist vulnerable shivering in their beds in fear this winter.  Mrs Taylor claims tae be an authority oan the subject, hivving been the victim ae warrant sales oan numerous occasions hersel fur defaulting oan paying extortionate rent and rates, despite her man hivving never been oot ae work since he left school at fourteen.  Mrs Taylor claims that gender is an issue in this by-election.  She points oot that none ae the other candidates, who ur aw men, has, as far as she kin ascertain, been subjected tae the kind ae dirty tricks that her aunt Jeannie suffered in the 1930s and whit she hersel his suffered recently.  Efter this Friday, this may be a tale ae a broken winged dove who’s noo flying high.  The electorate, and in particular, the wummin ae Springburn, will no hiv long tae wait tae find oot.”