In a League of Their Own Read online

  Excitement on the day of the match had reached fever pitch. Sandy was right about the whole of the Edinburgh force being behind the team. Not only had Sir William Morren, the Chief Constable, flown down to attend the game but so also had his very able deputy, Mr Roy.

  The teams took their places on Cambridge City Football Stadium’s perfect pitch. Sam generally used any game of football to relieve his pent-up tensions but today he felt under special pressure to succeed. He knew that Sandy had seen to it that the Edinburgh squad was fully prepared and had personally made sure that every player was fit, disciplined, and trained to such a peak that they could have completed a marathon and still had the breath to run on.

  Once the whistle blew, Sam’s daydreaming stopped abruptly and battle commenced. Within minutes of the first tentative exchanges, Sam realised that the Cambridge City Police Team would prove to be no walk-over. They too were a top-class team, with five ex-professionals in their ranks, and they were hungry, very hungry, for victory. Added to this, they had a support group of at least five and a half thousand to cheer them on from the terracing, whereas Edinburgh City Police had only the Chief with his deputy and six other stalwarts, who had been fully prepared to spend three days of their leave to fill up the few remaining seats on the bus and urge them on to victory.

  Nonetheless, ten minutes into the match, Sam realised that even though Cambridge had the more experienced side they did not play as a fully co-ordinated team, which meant that their front line seldom moved in cohesion and no one among their forwards seemed to know exactly what to do with the ball. The Edinburgh men on the other hand did look as if they knew where they were going but the goals they needed constantly eluded them. The result was that by the interval there had been no scoring in what was a somewhat lacklustre game. Both sides had failed to take advantage of several good chances. The second half began no better and Edinburgh became despondent when Alistair, their centre-forward and most prolific goal-scorer, injured an ankle and was left limping for the rest of the match. Fifteen minutes later, Peter at inside-left hurt his knee; and this succession of mishaps gave rise to a feeling of hopelessness and a growing realisation that all they could do was to struggle on with nine fit men. They could merely play a wholly defensive game, with the aim of limiting the extent of what seemed an inevitable defeat. Miracles do sometimes happen, however, and hopes rose when Jimmy, at outside-right, scored the first goal of the match after a brilliant right-wing manoeuvre down the by-line. The Edinburgh team were now one up in the sixty-fifth minute! Two minutes later, expectations went sky-high when the ball landed at the feet of the injured Alistair, who promptly dummied the opposing centre-half by letting the ball run between his legs. Cleverly anticipating the move, Sam ran on to the ball and prodded it neatly past the goalkeeper as the pair collided. Lying spread-eagled on the ground, both men turned their heads to watch the ball trickle with agonising slowness across the goal line. The handicapped Edinburgh team now had simply to defend their two-goal cushion and this they did admirably until the final eight minutes when Tommy, the centre-half, who was determined to foil a fierce late rally by Cambridge, grew so excited that he headed the ball into his own goal, thus giving Cambridge the belief that they might still win. Johnny at right-half, unable to believe what had happened, fell down and lay seemingly comatose. When the trainer ran on to the field to ask what was wrong he wearily replied, “I just couldn’t believe it so I thought I’d hae a wee rest.”

  Despite the constant pressure of the final minutes, Edinburgh held on valiantly to achieve a great victory. The moment the final whistle went, Sandy led the small Scottish supporting contingent on to the field to join in the wild jubilation of the team players – oblivious to the fact that a week’s wages of loose change was cascading merrily from his un-flapped jacket pockets. The jumping, whooping and back-slapping only drew to a close once the Edinburgh captain, Jock Fyfe, had been summoned amidst thunderous applause to receive the cup.

  The Edinburgh squad and supporters who sluggishly boarded the bus the following morning looked as if they had lost the match. Sleep deprivation, over-indulgence in alcohol and the desire to be contortionists on the dance floor had all taken their toll. Sam had even broken his pledge of abstinence, as he simply couldn’t refuse to drink some champagne from the trophy cup. He even went on to have a pint of shandy, which, to his amazement, he found very refreshing!

  Once aboard the bus he again settled down in an inside seat. Within minutes Billy dropped down beside him and Sam was surprised to hear him remark, “That’s twice in a month I’ve seen ye excel yourself.”

  “What d’ye mean?”

  “Well,” explained Billy, “ye just did dandy yesterday and a month ago was it no you that was a real swank giving your sister away?”

  Sam nudged him playfully. “Aye that was some wedding, right enough.” His thoughts turned back to all that had happened on that memorable day when Carrie was married. He knew there were so many things about it that he would never forget. One was how innocent and angelic Carrie had looked in her hand-made dress. And, as she’d taken his arm and proceeded down the central aisle of Pilrig-Dalmeny Church, he felt that her prayer book with its satin ribbon adorned with two artificial yellow roses added a special touch to the picture. He honestly believed that a large bouquet would somehow have looked out of place. He’d remember also how Alice, beautiful Alice, had looked in her flowing lilac dress and how she’d tossed her head disdainfully, as if declaring that the lack of a posy to carry had cheapened the whole effect. Sam smiled to himself as he recalled her making a dolly bag out of the scraps of material left over from her dress and how handy it had come in for holding Carrie’s spectacles – specs that were needed not only for Carrie to sign the register but also to see where to put her name! But, as he watched the countryside of Cambridge flying past, Sam acknowledged it wasn’t his sisters who had been the main focus of his attention in the church. It had been his mother, Rachel, who in Sam’s opinion had stolen the show when she’d walked down the aisle dressed in a light-brown suit, complemented by an elegant fox fur. Sam thought she looked more imposing even than Princess Marina. He’d always marvelled at the grace and dress-sense of his mother: she had that je ne sais quoi that made him so proud of her.

  Thankfully the whole wedding service had gone without a single hitch. It was when they were outside that the first problem arose. There appeared to be two photographers present, both clicking away like mad. This wouldn’t have mattered if the unofficial one hadn’t pitched up at the reception and begun taking orders from the assembled guests at six shillings a time, a shilling less than the official photographer would be charging. Fortunately, Sam’s Auntie Bella accosted the impostor and demanded, “You asking me to pay you for a photo I haven’t seen?”

  “No problem, madam,” the man had suavely responded. “You’ll have the choice of ten and if you don’t like any of them you’ll get a full refund.”

  Thereupon the oily character found himself being roughly dragged backwards by his jacket collar and, skewing his head round to protest, found himself face to face with Sam.

  “Well, well, if it’s no Tricky Dickie. Now, just empty out your pockets and gie all the money back. And,” added Sam, with a snort, “I’ve already sent for the Gayfield polis.”

  As the money was grudgingly being tossed on the table, Sam loosened his grip on the man’s collar so that he could check the amount. Seizing his chance, Tricky Dickie jumped nimbly to his feet and scampered out of the hall.

  “Ye ken him?” Auntie Bella asked.

  “Oh aye,” said Sam with a grin. “He tries that swiz all the time. Nae spool in the camera and gullible folk faw for it every time. Then he just runs away with their dosh.”

  The reception, however, was a great success, with everybody enjoying their steak pie and trifle; and when the ceilidh band started up, the whole company was ready for a knees-up. It was while Sam was partnering his mother in an Eightsome Reel that he glanced over to the doo
r and was surprised to see Emma Stuart standing there. He’d met her down in Charlotte Street two days before and had suggested she come along to the reception. As soon as the reel was finished, Sam dashed to the door to greet Emma and introduce her to all the family. Paul simply drooled in ecstasy when he was introduced to her and, with a Strip the Willow just starting up, he grabbed her hand and hauled her on to the dance floor. Sam could only stare in amazement when Emma, like all the other lady dancers, took off her shoes so that she too could safely birl her way through the tumultuous dance.

  All too soon the time came for Will and Carrie to leave. Now smartly dressed in a new grey twill coat with matching hat, Carrie stood halfway down the stairs waving to everyone and wholly unable to hide her joy and excitement.

  Their taxi drew up in Queen Street just outside the Kintore Rooms and the driver impatiently sounded his horn. With a final wave to her mother and siblings, Carrie sedately stepped in, followed by Will.

  “Where to?” asked the taxi driver.

  “Oh, blow it!” exclaimed Will. “I completely forgot to book somewhere. Can you suggest a hotel?”

  “Money no object?”

  “We-ell,” Will said uncertainly, “I couldn’t quite stretch to the Caley, the Waverley or the George – but I want something better than a doss-house.”

  “And as far as I’m concerned,” croaked a tearful Carrie, “it has to have a cold, a really cold floor.”

  The taxi driver opened his mouth to ask why but, thinking better of it, switched on the engine and headed for the Old Town. After a ten-minute drive, he deposited Will and Carrie at the entrance to the Cockburn Hotel. “Think you’ll find the floor and everywhere else in this hotel is well below zero.”

  Some time later, Will proved to be at a complete loss to understand why, after they had made love, Carrie jumped out of bed and stood for five whole minutes on the cold floor while drinking a glass of cold water. One outcome of this bizarre behaviour, however, was that when Carrie got back into bed she was shivering so much that Will obviously had to warm his bride up – an action which naturally resulted in Carrie having to jump out of bed once more to stand on the chilly floor. Being by now enthusiastically encouraged by Will, the whole performance was repeated four times!

  The following morning, Will and Carrie skipped breakfast but did manage to catch the train for Perth where they were going to spend their three-day honeymoon at the Station Hotel. Being waited on hand and foot by Will and the hotel staff suited Carrie admirably and helped bring true her dream of what a honeymoon should be like. Indeed, she was so deeply in love that she readily agreed to Will’s proposal that they should go to Dundee for the afternoon to catch the football match. He rewarded her by taking her to tea in Keiller’s tearoom where she gorged herself on toasted muffins and marmalade.

  Before they knew it, the dream was over. Wednesday morning arrived and they were on their way back to Edinburgh. As soon as they reached Will’s home, his mother produced a telegram for him. “Came this morning,” she said smugly.

  Will grimaced as he tore open the envelope and his face fell. “Says I’m to join a ship in Manchester by Thursday.”

  “But that means you’ll have to leave tonight,” wailed Carrie.

  “So he will,” his mum chipped in, “thanks to having you to keep and a mortgage, not to mention having a house to furnish.”

  Carrie wanted to say that she could keep herself, as she always had done, but stayed silent, realising that there was a plus in everything. At least she wouldn’t have to spend a nuptial night under Mrs Fraser’s roof!

  It was past ten o’clock when Carrie arrived at her own mother’s house. She did try to open the door with her key but as the snib was down she had to knock. The door was opened by Rachel who was amazed to see her daughter standing there on her own.

  “No Will?” her mother asked, craning her neck to peer further into the stairwell. Carrie shook her head and tears began to cascade down her cheeks.

  “You’ve not left him already?”

  “No,” sobbed Carrie. “He left me!”

  “He what?” exclaimed Rachel.

  “Oh, Mum, he had to catch the nine o’clock train for Manchester.”

  Rachel relaxed when it dawned on her that Will had left to join a ship. “Never you mind. I’ve got some good news for you.” Carrie stopped sniffing and looked enquiringly at her mother.

  “Aye. Know how you gave up your wee job in the picture house?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, Sam happened to be passing there today when the manager came out and asked him to tell you that you could go back even if you wanted to do just two week-nights and Saturday.”

  Carrie shook her head sadly. She had hoped that once she became Mrs Fraser she wouldn’t need to hold down two jobs but, with so much needed for the house in Cornhill Terrace, she would simply have to go back to that. After all, she hadn’t really got what she wanted in the way of wedding presents: no Acme wringer, no iron; not even an ironing board. Just eight yellow dusters, ten pairs of towels and sixteen pairs of white sheets that she confided to Auntie Bella wasn’t what she actually wanted. Auntie Bella, being the woman she was, had replied tartly that Carrie should be very grateful – especially because, provided she left them in their wrappings, she could always pawn them when she was hard up.

  Mrs Mack was the chief usherette and in charge of the main medium-priced seating at the Palace Picture House. She and Carrie had become good friends over the several years they’d worked together – so much so that whenever Carrie came on duty Mrs Mack would install Carrie in their cubbyhole where she always had a flask of hot tea and some fish paste sandwiches ready for her.

  On the Monday night when Carrie arrived to resume her duties, Mrs Mack was obviously in a high state of excitement. Could it be, wondered Carrie, that it was all down to her return? But it turned out to be more than that. While pouring out the tea, Mrs Mack announced that this was a special week with all the films having Jennifer Jones in the starring role.

  “You mean we’re having her latest – Love Is a Many-Splendoured Thing?” squealed Carrie, unable to keep her enthusiasm in check.

  Mrs Mack nodded. “Aye, from Thursday. But for three days, starting the night, we’re re-showing The Song of Bernadette!”

  Carrie wanted to groan but instead she took a deep breath. Two years ago they’d featured, at Mrs Mack’s insistence, a re-run of that film. And the problem was that Mrs Mack was a devout Catholic. First of all, she had refused to allow the courting couples to sit in the chummy seats as there was to be no impropriety whilst such a holy film was being shown. Then she had opened the back door and sneaked in any of the priests or nuns from the local church – St Mary’s Star of the Sea – who wanted to see the film. And when the final scenes appeared, featuring the agonising and prolonged death of Bernadette, she’d knelt down in the main aisle at every showing and joined the stars on screen in their prayers and rosaries! Carrie would then have to assist Mrs Mack to her feet when she’d been knocked down by the stampede of people rushing to catch their bus home. “Oh, Carrie!” she’d wail. “See all the suffering and agonies that lassie endured? No wonder they made her a saint!” After the first showing Carrie felt she too knew what suffering was all about!

  Carrie wondered whether she should suggest that Mrs Mack might kneel down at the foot of the aisle and so avoid being knocked over. But would she listen? Being carried away by religious films was not Mrs Mack’s only eccentricity. She was positively obsessed with keeping out the two well-known child molesters who frequented the picture houses in Leith. Those two small, seedy-looking men were banned from all the local cinemas but somehow always seemed to find their way in. In the Palace’s case, it was because one-eyed Andra Scullen, who was in charge of the cheapest seats, never seemed to recognise them. While Carrie was on her honeymoon, Mrs Mack had spied one of the pair slinking into her part of the auditorium, and had followed her usual routine. First she banged him smartly on t
he shoulder with her rubber torch and then, hauling him out of his seat by the scruff of his neck, bundled him towards the back door and kicked him unceremoniously out into Duke Street. Unfortunately, when landing on the pavement he had collided with a hawker pushing his barrow. The police were called to deal with the resulting fracas and the child molester duly made a counter-complaint against Mrs Mack for assault. Sam had been asked to deal with the matter and, on questioning Mrs Mack, she had replied, “Look here, Sam Campbell. Every time I ask you to deal with they two weirdoes you tell me you need corroborating evidence. The bairns can’t give us that, ’cause they’re too scared to testify. So what corroborating evidence have you against me? My torch cannae talk?”

  Carrie had no need to worry about the film that night. Only twenty people turned up to see it so Carrie was able to stretch out on the chummy seats and doze off. She was just so tired these days! Cleaning up the Cornhill Terrace house, for which she now had the keys, was just so utterly exhausting.

  The cubby-hole that Mrs Mack and Carrie used for their breaks was just a large walk-in cupboard with a wooden recess housing a bench that two people could just squeeze on to. Mrs Mack had made the recess comfortable by providing cushions, a crocheted knee blanket and a small occasional table that sat in front of the bench.

  On Easter Saturday, Carrie had been first to take her break but when she didn’t return to the auditorium within twenty minutes Mrs Mack went looking for her. The first place she investigated was naturally the cubby-hole and, on opening the door, she was surprised to find Carrie fast asleep, her head slumped upon the bench and the blanket tucked in over her knees. However, it was only when she saw that Carrie hadn’t drunk any of her tea nor eaten her sandwiches that she became really concerned. Walking over, she gently tapped the sleeping Carrie. “C’mon, lassie,” she coaxed. “Whit’s wrang wi ye?”