Sandra Cochrane
Just a wee taste of what it was like in oor stair in Market Street., but she was the only one that made it miserable.
Mrs. Cessford. She was a real piece of work, that one. I don't think she ever took that headscarf off, I think she wore it to keep her wig on (I'm sure she wore a wig). Well here goes.
As if it wasn't bad enough going into that dark entry at night - what with young lovers, rats and God knows
what else around that wee corner as you started up the stairs. There was Mrs. Cessford!!!!
I remember coming home from Brownies in the winter, when the days were shorter and having to come all the
way from Great Junction St, past a men`s misssion, down the 'back o the vouts', and then have to tackle our entry (this was when I must have been about 8 - can you imagine doing that nowadays?
When I would be a bit scared I'd yell up to my Mum to come doon and get me - but did she ever? No. She'd tell me that she'd look over the railing and keep the door open - that was encouraging! As if the entry wasn't bad enough I'd have Mrs. Cessford shaking her fist at me from her window on the first flat (we lived on the top flat) - and I'd have to pass her door!!!! I think I used to try and get past her door as fast as I could. I think I would rather have starved to death than yell up for a 'piece', which I didn't do very often - one reason being Mrs. Cessford at the window shaking her fist, the other being that my Mum & Dad thought that was awful - eating a 'piece' outside. My Dad never did like eating outside - had to be at the table.
Well, after a while I got a little tired of her giving me the evil eye so I decided to get back at her. Do you
remember how she used to be always polishing her brass name plate? Well in my childish wisdom I thought
I knew how to get her. For about a week, every time I came home for dinner I'd pass her door and wet my
fingers and smudge her nice clean name plate - don't know where I got the nerve.
Wouldn't you know - one day she had her door opened a crack and started yelling at me. I think I outrun her - thought she didn't see me - must not have run as fast as I thought. It's a bit of a blur what happened next - all I remember was there was quite a kefuffle and my Mum went down to see what it was all about. Well, Mrs. Cessford used to store her potatoes behind her door, when she saw my Mum at her door apparently she grabbed one and threw it at my Mum (giving her a black eye), then ran down that long lobby with my Mum in hot persuit, and locked herself in her kitchen. Of course I admitted nothing!!! Later the police came to sort it out and needless to say I was petrified, still can't remember if I admitted it even then, thought I'd get sent away.
Don't know what happened after that but a few weeks later my Dad was leaving for work on the night shift at the Fire Station and passed her door. Her man, Peter, (don't know if they were married) was puting out the milk bottles as my Dad nodded and passed, and when my Dad's back was turned he hit my Dad over the head with the milk bottle, splitting his head open for a few stitches. Apparently my Dad got stitched up and went on to work that night. Don't know what happened after that, all I remember my Mum saying was that some days later when she was working in the Pawn shop, Yorkie (do you remember him?) came in to the shop and asked my Mum if she wanted Mrs. Cessford 'done in'!!!!! We were never really friendly with Yorkie but everyone knew him, and obviously nothing got past him! Of course, my Mum said 'no'.
Even after my Dad emigrated to Canada (6 months before my Mum & me) she was still at it. Every day the
postie used to stop in her place for a cup o tea (supposedly). What they were actually doing was steaming
open the mail. My Dad used to send a wee bit of money to my Mum from time to time, but there were times
she never got it and it was pretty obvious that the letter had been steamed open but my Mum never pursued it. I think she'd had enough of that old witch!
Anyway, Fran, glad to hear I wasn't the only one that she had it in for.
Now you know ' the rest of the story' hope your Mum & Dad enjoy reading it.
Addition
When I saw 'tinny' it reminded me of the Doakers' picnic. I shouldn't have really been there as my Dad wasn't a docker, but somehow my Granda managed to get me a ticket. I went with my 'auntie', Mary Love (9 mos. older than me) and it was great. We used to get new white rubbers (canvas shoes with rubber soles), I think my MUm used to call them 'plimsoles', and a tinny, which had white tape attached to it, that we wore slung over our shoulder - we recycled before it was fashionable. I remember lining up in the Kirkgate and then getting a train, crossing the Forth Bridge and throwing pennies over the bridge, (does anyone know where that custom came from?). We would head for destinations unknown but it was a great time. I felt really fortunate to be able to go on those few occasions, if you didn't get to go you really felt left out of being a Leither.
And another
Sometime in the early 50's my Dad decided that he was going to go in with another man and buy a wee boat.
Being that he was a Shetlander I think he missed getting out on the water so one day he said he had found
'just the one'.
At that time our house was a 'home away from home' for some of the young Shetland men who were working on
the weekly boats that ran from Rotterdam to Leith. There were two brothers - Harry & Dennis Ritch, cousins of mine, some of you may remember them. At one time Harry went with a 'wee' lassie, Jean Sim/Sims from somewhere over the bridge at the Shore.
Anyway, I digress. The Friday night arrived that my Dad, Dennis and me, of course, (they weren't going to leave me at home), were going to take the boat for a test run - what excitement! We marched off doon to the shore and there she was - a nice wee boat with a teeny cabin - heaven, I thought. Started up the engine and off we went, right out to the sea, well wouldn't you know it - the motor conked out, right then & there.
No life jackets, no oars - oh dear. Don't know how they got it going again, all I know is that I was sent down into the cabin (I hate being closed in in a boat - makes me sea sick) as it was getting pretty cold. Somehow we managed to get back to the Shore but it was too late to make it to the ladder - the tide had gone out!!!!!
What to do? Well, not to be daunted my Dad decided to take up some of the floor boards - two, (three maybe) in fact. What on earth did he think that was going to do with them - can you guess? He threw one of the boards over the side and it landed in the 'glaur' , then he handed Dennis the other one and told him to step on the first one, then throw the next one down, then get on that one, THEN my Dad handed me over the side and put me on the first board - was I 'feart' - thought the 'glaur' was sinking sand and I'd be done 'fur', not to mention those bloody swans, nice to look at but never wanted to get that close to them.
Well, putting the boards one after the other, and Dennis lifting me onto each one we managed to make it to the ladder - it was getting dark by now - and then I had to run 'hame' and tell my Mum what had happened. Dennis decided he'd go back and spend the night on the wee boat with my Dad. What a night they must have had - not even a wee dram on board. Next morning, after the tide came back in, my Dad & Dennis came home to a nice cup o' tea but, needless to say , thoughts of that wee boat were forgotten.
Just another day in a Leither's life.
Hope you enjoyed this one.
Sandra Cochrane, Canada
