In a Class of Their Own by Millie Gray

herself, “was a stoker on the steamships. He’d be awa for years at a time, so he would. He’d leave me an allotment – part of his wages, that is. But he was nae different from ony ither men. Naw, naw, my share was far less than what he kept for his ain pooch. I just couldnae manage, so I took a job in the Roperie to mak ends meet. In the hemp bit I was. Making ropes for the big boats.”
    “It’s an awfy dirty place, that Roperie, Granny. My Mammy says that people who work there are all dirt-common.”
    “Listen, lassie,” Rosie interrupted. “Onybody that gaes oot to work for their livin’ is respectable. And there are some richt guid folk work in that Roperie. Onyway, I was tellin’ ye, while yer grandfaither was at sea I had took a job that seared yer lungs. But I needed it to keep your Auntie and Daddy that were at schuil. Nae to mention wee Paul and the other bairn I was cairrying. Weel, yin day I went into work at eight. I’d put wee Paul into the Tolbooth Wynd Nursery just efter seven and that let me work through till six at nicht.”
    “That was a long working day for you, Granny.”
    “Aye, was it. But at six I cam oot and went to the nursery to pick up the bairn. Just eighteen months auld, Paul was.” Rosie stopped to take out a piece of rag from her pocket to dab her eyes. “Handed him to me, they did. Cauld and stiff.”
    “Oh Granny, are you sayin’ they never came to your work and told you that he was ill?” Carrie gasped, flinging her arms around the old woman.
    “Naw. They didnae bother in they days aboot folks like us. They thocht we’d nae feelings. Factory fodder. That’s aw we were to them. Just like the beasts o the fields.”
    Rosie sighed and Carrie stayed silent.
    “I mind,” Rosie began again, more to herself than to Carrie. “Aye, I mind takkin’ him in my airms. Openin’ my shawl and haudin’ him close to me. Tryin’ I was, to warm him up. Bring life back to him.”
    Rosie stopped and dabbed her eyes again. Carrie gently climbed up on her Granny’s knee and put both arms around her neck.
    “When I got hame to this hoose,” Rosie continued in her distinctive Irish lilt, “my guid sister, yer great-auntie Anna,” that fetched up yer Mammy and looked efter your Auntie Ella and yer Daddy for me – she took wee Paul frae me. Washed him, she did, and got him ready for buryin’ in the paupers.
    “Next week, the bairn I was cairryin’ came early. Lang afore her time she was, that’s for sure. Never breathed. Naw, wee Jeanie never breathed a breath.” Rosie hesitated and shook her head before going on. “Efter that, I just needed somethin’ to blot oot aw the misery. Ye see, oor betters were wrang. We dae hae herts and mine was sair wrung.” Rosie stopped again and clicked her tongue before adding dreamily, “Red Biddy dulled the pain. So, aye, I was a drunken disgrace for a couple o years. Faw doon into the gutter, I would. Glad enough I was, to be in a senseless stupor.”
    “How did you manage to stop drinking, Granny? Our grandad, Gabby, can’t do it. Mammy says he really is a drunken disgrace,” Carrie interjected.
    “Weel, when Faither Kelly came to be priest at Star of the Sea he picked me richt oot o the gutter yin day. Didnae kick me like the nuns yaised tae. Took me to the Chapel Hoose he did and talked things ower. Telt me, he did, that drinkin’ wasnae the wey oot and I should come back to my faith cos Christ was waitin’ for me. An’ he said that Christ gave his blood to forgie me onythin’. An’ somehow, Carrie, the guid Faither got me on the wagon and we made it.”
    “You never touched a drop from then on?”
    “Couldnae exactly say that. Naw. Naw. I did slip aff a couple of times, but Faither Kelly was ayeways there to pull me back on board.”
    Rosie shook her head again before putting Carrie off her knee. Lifting up the poker she vigorously stirred the fire. Flames leapt. Logs crackled.
    “Is that him that’s still in St Mary’s