honoured that he trusted me with his secrets.”
Remembering that day, Maggie’s memories were rather different from the rose-tinted hues of those held by Euphemia Weir.
Maggie gave a wintry smile. “Ah don’t know so much about high ranking, more like a hunted Radical, that’s Fergus, but certainly a born Radical to his fingertips.”
Her would-be home helper nodded. “And a gentleman, he helped my Davie; helped him tae see how he could better himself, think for himself and not allow any bosses tae grind him underfoot intae the dust of Scotland. But listen, all that aside, one thing Ah must say tae ye, lass... As Ah’m sure ye’re weel aware, Ah’m as fond of a juicy titbit of gossip as the next one, but see me, these days Ah’ll not hear a word said against ye or yer guid man. So whatever ploy he’s up to... and Ah repeat it’s nane of my business... but chances are it’s all in the Radical Cause, the Radical Cause that was aye dear tae my Davie... so we’ll say nae mair.”
She smiled across at Maggie. “But here’s another wee secret atween you and me that we’ll no be tellin tae naebody... Ah’ve sneaked a noggin of the watter of life oota my man’s medicinal bottle, so a splash of the craitur in oor cups of tea, eh no? It’ll dae us baith guid and help seal oor new understanding and friendship, what dae ye say? It’ll be oor secret, twa women haein a wee bit tipple at this time of day... disgraceful is it no, and the stuff of local gossip, if only they knew.”
Chapter 12
1821
Daily reports of the latest shipping disasters were a common feature of newspapers, but unaware of the name of which particular coffin ship was carrying Fergus, Sheena and her children, each time that Maggie read such a list she was filled with dread. Any one of these ships which had gone down in the Atlantic dragging hundreds of hopeful would-be emigrants to a watery grave, might indeed be the very one in which her husband had been sailing.
But as the long days became weeks and the weeks passed, and still she’d heard nothing, neither good nor bad, gradually Maggie began to relax.
No news is good news, so hold that, my girl and chances are they’ve all made it safely to Canada. Not that it matters when all’s said and done, it would be a miracle if ever I were to get a call to join Fergus over there in the new world. Ah well, so much for my dreams, best get on with that pile of dirty washing still awaiting my kind attention for Mrs Steven ... that’s what brings in the sillar these days. Humph, and all a far cry from when I was an upstairs maid in that swanky house, mind you, for all the good that ever did me.
1825
It was now four years since that memorable day when Sheena’s bairns, having been saved from a watery grave, came knocking at Maggie’s door with their pitiful tale of woe.
Maggie could never forget how Rory, Sheena’s eldest boy had told her in the most graphic detail.
“That’s right, Auntie Maggie, the ship caught fire in mid-Atlantic, all the men and women on board – they were all drowned – but somehow we children were saved. And here we are, back again in Glasgow.”
As Rory’s tale had unfolded, it turned out the survivors had been returned to the dockside in Greenock. The orphans amongst them summarily dispatched to the nearest Workhouse, and those with relatives - blood-related or not - but those with extended family in Glasgow had been transported to the City to deliver themselves as so much flotsam to their unsuspecting relatives.
In a reflective mood and with that day’s piles of washing now blowing in a stiff breeze out in the kailyard, Maggie allowed herself the luxury of an extra cup of tea without the need again to plunge her arms into yet another tub of soapy water.
Aye, she thought, a lot has happened these past years... Mrs Weir has gone to her maker; Jess Johnson has been a rock in helping me so often and so willingly with my extended family
Remembering that day, Maggie’s memories were rather different from the rose-tinted hues of those held by Euphemia Weir.
Maggie gave a wintry smile. “Ah don’t know so much about high ranking, more like a hunted Radical, that’s Fergus, but certainly a born Radical to his fingertips.”
Her would-be home helper nodded. “And a gentleman, he helped my Davie; helped him tae see how he could better himself, think for himself and not allow any bosses tae grind him underfoot intae the dust of Scotland. But listen, all that aside, one thing Ah must say tae ye, lass... As Ah’m sure ye’re weel aware, Ah’m as fond of a juicy titbit of gossip as the next one, but see me, these days Ah’ll not hear a word said against ye or yer guid man. So whatever ploy he’s up to... and Ah repeat it’s nane of my business... but chances are it’s all in the Radical Cause, the Radical Cause that was aye dear tae my Davie... so we’ll say nae mair.”
She smiled across at Maggie. “But here’s another wee secret atween you and me that we’ll no be tellin tae naebody... Ah’ve sneaked a noggin of the watter of life oota my man’s medicinal bottle, so a splash of the craitur in oor cups of tea, eh no? It’ll dae us baith guid and help seal oor new understanding and friendship, what dae ye say? It’ll be oor secret, twa women haein a wee bit tipple at this time of day... disgraceful is it no, and the stuff of local gossip, if only they knew.”
Chapter 12
1821
Daily reports of the latest shipping disasters were a common feature of newspapers, but unaware of the name of which particular coffin ship was carrying Fergus, Sheena and her children, each time that Maggie read such a list she was filled with dread. Any one of these ships which had gone down in the Atlantic dragging hundreds of hopeful would-be emigrants to a watery grave, might indeed be the very one in which her husband had been sailing.
But as the long days became weeks and the weeks passed, and still she’d heard nothing, neither good nor bad, gradually Maggie began to relax.
No news is good news, so hold that, my girl and chances are they’ve all made it safely to Canada. Not that it matters when all’s said and done, it would be a miracle if ever I were to get a call to join Fergus over there in the new world. Ah well, so much for my dreams, best get on with that pile of dirty washing still awaiting my kind attention for Mrs Steven ... that’s what brings in the sillar these days. Humph, and all a far cry from when I was an upstairs maid in that swanky house, mind you, for all the good that ever did me.
1825
It was now four years since that memorable day when Sheena’s bairns, having been saved from a watery grave, came knocking at Maggie’s door with their pitiful tale of woe.
Maggie could never forget how Rory, Sheena’s eldest boy had told her in the most graphic detail.
“That’s right, Auntie Maggie, the ship caught fire in mid-Atlantic, all the men and women on board – they were all drowned – but somehow we children were saved. And here we are, back again in Glasgow.”
As Rory’s tale had unfolded, it turned out the survivors had been returned to the dockside in Greenock. The orphans amongst them summarily dispatched to the nearest Workhouse, and those with relatives - blood-related or not - but those with extended family in Glasgow had been transported to the City to deliver themselves as so much flotsam to their unsuspecting relatives.
In a reflective mood and with that day’s piles of washing now blowing in a stiff breeze out in the kailyard, Maggie allowed herself the luxury of an extra cup of tea without the need again to plunge her arms into yet another tub of soapy water.
Aye, she thought, a lot has happened these past years... Mrs Weir has gone to her maker; Jess Johnson has been a rock in helping me so often and so willingly with my extended family
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