dad’s not ill, Ann. It’s just his way of coping with your mum’s death. He blames himself but, if he could get a job, then it would help with his problems. But maybe now that you’ve got the chance of a job then the extra money will perk him up. At least I hope so.’
I explained about the two days off every week and she promised to leave all the heavy work till then – jobs like humping the weekly washing basket to the wash-house. Also, Danny had offered to deliver her messages or take Lily’s pram down the stairs for Grandad – jobs that, up till then, had been my responsibility.
A couple of days later I was on my way to Broughty Ferry. Still dressed in my frumpish trench coat, I caught the bus. Sitting nervously on the hard seat, I gazed out of the window as the bus made its way past tall, dismal and crowded tenements and streets full of noisy children.
Within a short distance, the scenery changed to a more prosperous landscape as we headed towards my destination. I couldn’t help thinking that our poverty-stricken streets seemed to be encircled by wealth – this Broughty Ferry Road, for instance, to the east and Perth Road to the west.
I gazed once more at the diagram given to me by Hattie. Mrs Barrie lived on the edge of the town, on the Monifieth road, and I had asked the conductor to let me know when the bus reached the stop nearest to her house, Whitegate Lodge.
He had rubbed his chin and rattled his moneybag at my request. ‘Whitegate Lodge … now let me think a minute.’ His minute was barely twenty seconds. ‘That’s the big house just past the last stop at the Ferry. Right, lass, I’ll give you a shout when we reach it.’
The bus was very quiet and he sat down on the empty seat opposite me. ‘You ken something?’ he said. ‘This was a far better run in the days of the tramcar but they took them off this route and replaced them with buses. Damn disgrace if you ask me but that’s progress, I suppose.’
Actually I hadn’t asked him but he seemed eager to have a chat. As I said, the bus was almost empty. Apart from me, there were only two more passengers – two young women who were very fashionably dressed in similar smart woollen suits with fur necklines and elegant cloche hats. I had noticed earlier that the conductor had tried to make conversation with them but they had merely held out the fare of a few coppers with identical snooty and disdainful expressions. This was probably the reason I had his full attention and he chattered on about tramcar tales remembered.
I would rather have had the opportunity to sit and view the unfamiliar scenery. In spite of it being intensely cold, the sun shone from a clear blue sky. The elegant houses all had gardens with their winter mantle of stark trees and dark, frosty flowerbeds. Still, I was willing to bet they all looked splendid and beautiful in the summer.
The two women stood up and waited patiently as the bus shuddered to a halt, stepping down with a panache that matched their fashionable clothes.
The conductor snorted. ‘Acting like they’re blooming ladies or something instead of being housemaids in that big house across the road. Come on the bus every week with their snooty faces as if they owned the blinking Ferry and the bus company as well.’
I was taken aback. Housemaids dressed in the height of fashion and with money to spend as well? The parcels clutched in their gloved hands hadn’t gone unnoticed by me – parcels wrapped in paper from D. M. Brown’s and Smith Brothers department stores. My mood cheered up considerably and, before long, my stop was in sight.
‘Here you are, then,’ said the conductor, looking morose at the thought of being alone. ‘This is the stop nearest to Whitegate Lodge. It’s that house over there. You can see its roof.’
I thanked him and made my way nervously towards two stone pillars holding a large forbidding gate made from thick iron bars. Beyond the gate lay a curved gravel path that
I explained about the two days off every week and she promised to leave all the heavy work till then – jobs like humping the weekly washing basket to the wash-house. Also, Danny had offered to deliver her messages or take Lily’s pram down the stairs for Grandad – jobs that, up till then, had been my responsibility.
A couple of days later I was on my way to Broughty Ferry. Still dressed in my frumpish trench coat, I caught the bus. Sitting nervously on the hard seat, I gazed out of the window as the bus made its way past tall, dismal and crowded tenements and streets full of noisy children.
Within a short distance, the scenery changed to a more prosperous landscape as we headed towards my destination. I couldn’t help thinking that our poverty-stricken streets seemed to be encircled by wealth – this Broughty Ferry Road, for instance, to the east and Perth Road to the west.
I gazed once more at the diagram given to me by Hattie. Mrs Barrie lived on the edge of the town, on the Monifieth road, and I had asked the conductor to let me know when the bus reached the stop nearest to her house, Whitegate Lodge.
He had rubbed his chin and rattled his moneybag at my request. ‘Whitegate Lodge … now let me think a minute.’ His minute was barely twenty seconds. ‘That’s the big house just past the last stop at the Ferry. Right, lass, I’ll give you a shout when we reach it.’
The bus was very quiet and he sat down on the empty seat opposite me. ‘You ken something?’ he said. ‘This was a far better run in the days of the tramcar but they took them off this route and replaced them with buses. Damn disgrace if you ask me but that’s progress, I suppose.’
Actually I hadn’t asked him but he seemed eager to have a chat. As I said, the bus was almost empty. Apart from me, there were only two more passengers – two young women who were very fashionably dressed in similar smart woollen suits with fur necklines and elegant cloche hats. I had noticed earlier that the conductor had tried to make conversation with them but they had merely held out the fare of a few coppers with identical snooty and disdainful expressions. This was probably the reason I had his full attention and he chattered on about tramcar tales remembered.
I would rather have had the opportunity to sit and view the unfamiliar scenery. In spite of it being intensely cold, the sun shone from a clear blue sky. The elegant houses all had gardens with their winter mantle of stark trees and dark, frosty flowerbeds. Still, I was willing to bet they all looked splendid and beautiful in the summer.
The two women stood up and waited patiently as the bus shuddered to a halt, stepping down with a panache that matched their fashionable clothes.
The conductor snorted. ‘Acting like they’re blooming ladies or something instead of being housemaids in that big house across the road. Come on the bus every week with their snooty faces as if they owned the blinking Ferry and the bus company as well.’
I was taken aback. Housemaids dressed in the height of fashion and with money to spend as well? The parcels clutched in their gloved hands hadn’t gone unnoticed by me – parcels wrapped in paper from D. M. Brown’s and Smith Brothers department stores. My mood cheered up considerably and, before long, my stop was in sight.
‘Here you are, then,’ said the conductor, looking morose at the thought of being alone. ‘This is the stop nearest to Whitegate Lodge. It’s that house over there. You can see its roof.’
I thanked him and made my way nervously towards two stone pillars holding a large forbidding gate made from thick iron bars. Beyond the gate lay a curved gravel path that
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