shipyards. Surely you want a better life than …’ They had now reached the East Cromwell Street entrance to the tenement where Sandra and her family were housed. Johnny lowered his tone and indicated with a jab of his thumb to the condemned housing before adding, ‘Than this.’
‘You’re just a snob, Johnny Anderson,’ Sandra indignantly mocked. ‘So you’ve got an inside lavvy to sit your stupid backside on – so what?’ She snorted. ‘That doesn’t make you better than me.’ Sandra then turned abruptly from him and bolted into her stair entrance.
Johnny had made to run after her but her dad was hanging out of the first-floor window and he indicated, in no uncertain manner, that Johnny had best be going. Johnny hesitated. He did so want to run after Sandra but when a pail of ice-cold water cascaded down on him, he decided it would be best to make for his own home in Ferrier Street.
The union meeting always broke up about nine o’clock on a Monday night. The older men, those who were allowed to drink alcohol, would then adjourn to the Volunteer Arms over in Leith Walk and continue with their arguments there as they swilled pints. The young lads would then make for Costa’s chippie.
On the Monday night following Johnny’s clumsy attempt to woo Sandra, he was the last to leave the union meeting. He was just about to run after the lads who were going to the chip shop when out of the adjacent doorway emerged Sandra.
Johnny, still seething about being doused with icy water, growled, ‘And what do you want?’
‘Just to say sorry about what my dad did to you,’ was Sandra’s contrite reply.
‘Huh,’ was all Johnny answered, digging his hands deep into his trouser pockets.
‘Well, if that’s how you feel I’d best be going.’
‘Wait. Would you like to share a poke of chips with me? I’d make sure they were doused in plenty of muck sauce,’ the immature Johnny wheedled.
Sandra nodded and smiled as she thought to herself, Now why did I not realise that the dashing Johnny would think a big dollop of cheap chippie brown sauce was what he should woo me with!
From that Monday night on they had courted and, as he matured, Johnny became more and more involved in the union – so much so that he was nicknamed ‘Red Johnny’. His mission in life was to get a fairer share of the country’s wealth down to the hard-pressed masses of the working class. These people, his people, laboured like slaves to create the profits – profits that were then creamed off and enjoyed by the select few in the upper class. ‘Bridging the gap’ was his dream and slogan.
Years later, when she was nineteen, Sandra’s dad died suddenly, which brought forward Johnny and Sandra’s wedding plans. Just after the funeral Johnny had taken Sandra’s hand in his and said, ‘Look, sweetheart, for the next couple of years or so your brothers will need you to keep looking after them. You also need a main breadwinner – a man’s wage coming in. So let’s solve these problems by us marrying right now and me, now a qualified plater, moving in with you.’
This news was not music to the ears of Johnny’s mother, Jenny. Indeed she was striving with the help of her husband, Donald, and daughter Kate, to save enough to buy a house in a good district in Leith. Oh yes, Jenny prayed every Sunday that God would allow her to amass enough money so she could leave Ferrier Street behind. And now what was she hearing from Johnny? Surely he was aware that she had high hopes for him and that she wished for him to go up in the world. But here he was saying that he had decided to take what she deemed to be a very backward step.
Johnny always gave his mother credit for the brave face she put on when, at the altar in South Leith church, Sandra and he pledged themselves to each other. She had even lain on a lavish family celebration tea in Ferrier Street.
As the years passed, Johnny and Sandra were blessed with children and Sandra’s
‘You’re just a snob, Johnny Anderson,’ Sandra indignantly mocked. ‘So you’ve got an inside lavvy to sit your stupid backside on – so what?’ She snorted. ‘That doesn’t make you better than me.’ Sandra then turned abruptly from him and bolted into her stair entrance.
Johnny had made to run after her but her dad was hanging out of the first-floor window and he indicated, in no uncertain manner, that Johnny had best be going. Johnny hesitated. He did so want to run after Sandra but when a pail of ice-cold water cascaded down on him, he decided it would be best to make for his own home in Ferrier Street.
The union meeting always broke up about nine o’clock on a Monday night. The older men, those who were allowed to drink alcohol, would then adjourn to the Volunteer Arms over in Leith Walk and continue with their arguments there as they swilled pints. The young lads would then make for Costa’s chippie.
On the Monday night following Johnny’s clumsy attempt to woo Sandra, he was the last to leave the union meeting. He was just about to run after the lads who were going to the chip shop when out of the adjacent doorway emerged Sandra.
Johnny, still seething about being doused with icy water, growled, ‘And what do you want?’
‘Just to say sorry about what my dad did to you,’ was Sandra’s contrite reply.
‘Huh,’ was all Johnny answered, digging his hands deep into his trouser pockets.
‘Well, if that’s how you feel I’d best be going.’
‘Wait. Would you like to share a poke of chips with me? I’d make sure they were doused in plenty of muck sauce,’ the immature Johnny wheedled.
Sandra nodded and smiled as she thought to herself, Now why did I not realise that the dashing Johnny would think a big dollop of cheap chippie brown sauce was what he should woo me with!
From that Monday night on they had courted and, as he matured, Johnny became more and more involved in the union – so much so that he was nicknamed ‘Red Johnny’. His mission in life was to get a fairer share of the country’s wealth down to the hard-pressed masses of the working class. These people, his people, laboured like slaves to create the profits – profits that were then creamed off and enjoyed by the select few in the upper class. ‘Bridging the gap’ was his dream and slogan.
Years later, when she was nineteen, Sandra’s dad died suddenly, which brought forward Johnny and Sandra’s wedding plans. Just after the funeral Johnny had taken Sandra’s hand in his and said, ‘Look, sweetheart, for the next couple of years or so your brothers will need you to keep looking after them. You also need a main breadwinner – a man’s wage coming in. So let’s solve these problems by us marrying right now and me, now a qualified plater, moving in with you.’
This news was not music to the ears of Johnny’s mother, Jenny. Indeed she was striving with the help of her husband, Donald, and daughter Kate, to save enough to buy a house in a good district in Leith. Oh yes, Jenny prayed every Sunday that God would allow her to amass enough money so she could leave Ferrier Street behind. And now what was she hearing from Johnny? Surely he was aware that she had high hopes for him and that she wished for him to go up in the world. But here he was saying that he had decided to take what she deemed to be a very backward step.
Johnny always gave his mother credit for the brave face she put on when, at the altar in South Leith church, Sandra and he pledged themselves to each other. She had even lain on a lavish family celebration tea in Ferrier Street.
As the years passed, Johnny and Sandra were blessed with children and Sandra’s
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