The following morning Cormac did not go to the harbour, but went instead to the railway station where he caught a train to Ayr. Sitting in the train watching the sea coming and going behind the headlands, his thoughts were full of guilt.

What’ll I do? That poor lassie. I’ve ruined her for some nice man. How’ll she ever get a good husband now? My mother taught me better than this. How could I have let myself take advantage of her, forcing myself on her like that? I should go back and make an honest woman of her. Her father will murder me. I can’t go back. How could I face her again after what I did?

At Ayr he was faced with a choice of destinations. Glasgow, he had been told, was an unpleasant place. Kilmarnock sounded harsh. He had never heard of Dumfries. Winton caught his fancy.

"A pint of stout is it? I don’t think so. You have to be eighteen to get served beer in this public house.

"Beth, give the man his pint. He might be wee but he’s old enough and able enough to put you over his knee if he was to put his mind to it."

The banter from the rest of the customers in the bar of the Winton Arms Hotel was good-natured. Nevertheless Cormac flushed as much in embarrassment as in annoyance at the comments about his lack of height.

Ian Rankin, the landlord, hearing the commotion, came through from the sitting-room. Recognising Cormac, he nodded to Beth that she should pour him his pint.

"How are you, Cormac? Don’t mind Beth. She’ll never make a barmaid. No judge of a man. God help the man that marries her. He’ll have his hands full."

The laughter this time was on Beth, and it was her turn to blush. She pulled the pint slowly for she was not the regular barmaid. Agnes had the cold. Beth was the live-in maid who had been put behind the bar to fill in.

Cormac took his pint, paid for it, and moved up to the end of the bar where it was quiet.

"Sorry about that," Beth came up to stand opposite him.

"Don’t be daft. I get it all the time. It doesn’t bother me. Haven’t been refused a pint in a pub before though."

"Mr. Rankin’s been on at me all day because I served a couple of boys this afternoon. He’s been going on and on about him losing his licence and it being all my fault."

She moved off to serve other customers. Cormac finished his beer and walked home to the attic-room he rented from the Reids in Canal Street.

Cormac had noticed Beth several times at St. Mary’s church in Seabank.

"You’re wasting your time there pal," he was informed. "She’ll not be interested in you. Her faither’s an engine-driver on the Caledonian Railway. They’ll not let you near her. His wife’s like a bloody mother superior, keeping the lads away from them lassies. Too damned good for the likes of us."

Winton, where he had settled, had no parish church of its own. He walked the three miles to Mass in Seabank each Sunday. It had taken him but two Sundays to find out her name from the other young men attending mass. When he heard she was the live-in maid at the Winton Arms in his own town, he went there several times a week for a pint of beer in the evening. At the week-ends he frequented a less reputable bar, where he could get drunk without compromising his good reputation in the Winton Arms.

*****

On a bright Sunday as autumn was gathering pace, Cormac took his courage in both hands and approached Beth outside the church.

"Good morning Miss Connor. Could I have the honour of walking you home?"

Ten o’clock Mass was finished and the congregation was socialising in the street before going home. The leaves on the plane trees before the church were starting to colour with the autumn nip in the air.

Beth was standing with her parents and two sisters, Meggie and Sophie. Beth’s red hair was set off by her green bonnet which matched her wide-set eyes, her best feature. While no classic beauty, she was a very attractive young woman. At five feet six and a half inches, she was half an inch taller than Cormac.

Cormac, in his best trousers, clean shirt and a new jacket stood Jimmy Connor’s scrutiny.

"Beth, I don’t think we’ve met your gentleman friend."

Jimmy Connor, a tall, well-built man, took his pocket-watch from his waistcoat pocket. A fine gold chain attached it to a button-hole of his blue suit of fine worsted material. His Adam’s apple wobbled above his starched wing-collar. He checked the time and replaced the watch.

"Cormac Sleanagh, sir," he said quickly, guessing that Beth did not know his surname.

"Well Cormac Sleanagh. Where do you come from?"

"I’m a Carlingford man, sir."

"And what did you do in Carlingford?"

"My father has a farm there, sir."

"A farm indeed. And why are you not in Carlingford working on your father’s farm?"

"I’m not a farmer, sir"

"Indeed, are you not? What are you then?"

"I’m a labourer in the shipyard sir. I’m on the gang building the new slipway."

"I see. And what will you do when the slipway is finished?"

"I’m not afraid of work, sir. I won’t be long without work."

Jimmy turned to Beth. "Should I let this Carlingford man walk you home Beth?"

"I think I would like this Carlingford man to walk me home Daddy."

"I see. Well, Cormac Sleanagh, we’ll all walk home together. You and Beth walk on in front and Mrs. Connor and me and the girls will follow on behind you."

He put on his bowler hat, tapped it down firmly, offered his arm to his wife, and said, "Shall we, ladies?"

"Thank you sir. Shall we walk Miss Connor?"

She took his offered arm and they all walked off towards the Connors’ home in Quay Street.

"And then what happened?" Beth was a bit sceptical about the whole story.

"I went back to the fishing out of Girvan. Got asked by an owner after I left Rourke’s boat. Did that till the summer. Needed to earn my keep somehow. I didn’t like it, so when the good weather set in, in June, I came up here and got started in the shipyard."

They became sweethearts.

*****

On Saturday morning, in early April, the rumour went round the gang of labourers working on the slipway.

"We’re getting our books today."

"Who told you that?"

"They’re all talking about it."

"Away ye go. There’s enough work for a good couple of weeks yet."

At one o’clock that afternoon, all but six of the gang were indeed paid off. Cormac was one of those retained for the final rounding off and tidying up.

"Mr Connor, the gang’s been paid off. I’ll be going as well soon. Is there any work to be had on the Caley?" Cormac asked Beth’s father after Mass the following day.

"I’ll ask around Cormac. I’ll tell you if I hear something."

Two weeks later Jimmy Connor told Cormac to go to the Caledonian Railway engine-sheds in Winton the following day and ask for Mr. Breckenridge. They needed engine cleaners. Jimmy had started as a cleaner. It was the first step to becoming an engine-driver. Cleaner, fireman, engine-driver; that’s how it worked, though the process took more than ten years.

Cormac explained to Mr. Russell, his foreman, and was allowed time off to go to the sheds. That evening he was invited into the Connor kitchen, where he told them he could start on the following Monday.

"Thanks very much Mr. Connor. It was real kind of you."

"Not at all son. Just you stick in and we’ll have you on the footplate in no time."

Later that evening in the Winton Arms, Cormac sat in the kitchen of the family apartments drinking tea with Beth. Elated, they sat on opposite sides of the big kitchen table.

"Your daddy said that I’d be on the footplate in no time. That’s good wages. We could get married on a fireman’s wages." He stopped in confusion at what he had just blurted out.

"I mean, ….I meant, …I just, …. What I was going to, .."

She looked at him. "Aye, and just what did you mean. Am I not good enough to get married to?"

"No, …..I mean, yes. Aye you’re fine. I just meant, …"

"Aye, and what did you mean? Are you proposing or not?"

Totally confused now, he stuttered, "No. I mean I don’t know. I mean I want to but didn’t mean to….. Dammit, I’m away into the bar to get a pint."

"Cormac." She ran after him. "I’m sorry. I was teasing you, and it wasn’t nice of me. It wasn’t fair." She stood in front of him, holding him by the arms.

"I will."

"You will what?"

"Marry you, you great daft lump." She kissed him on the lips, an intimacy she had never permitted before.

"D’you mean it?" he asked, his elation rising another whole register.

"Of course I do. I’ve been waiting for you to ask for weeks."

He grabbed at her, as he had done with Maisie Wilson in Girvan. As he did so, he saw the alarm flicker in her eyes and managed to change the enclosing motion of his arms to one where he threw them up and across his chest in a gesture of surrender to her, at the same time dropping to one knee.

Taking her hands in his, he said, "Darling Beth, will you marry me?"

"I will," she said. "Now kiss me please."

As they embraced, Mrs. Rankin came in from the passage.

"I’ll thank you to leave my kitchen at once young man."

"Sorry Mrs. Rankin. We’ve just got engaged. Cormac just asked me and I said yes."

"Weel, I’m very happy for the pair of you. But I’ll have no hanky-panky in my kitchen. Off you go young man."

"Yes Mrs. Rankin. I’m very sorry," said Cormac heading off to the bar.

"Have you finished the washing-up?"

"Aye, long since, Mrs. Rankin. Everything’s put away in the press."

"Well, away you go then. It’s a lovely night for a walk along the front. But be back before ten." Jenny Rankin smiled. "Away ye go before I change my mind."

"Thanks Mrs. Rankin."

And Beth was gone.

*****

"Are you not finished there yet, Sleanagh?"

"Not yet Mr. Breckenridge. I’ll be another quarter of an hour at least."

"You should have had it ready at ten o’clock. It’s due to take the half past ten to Glasgow."

"I know, Mr. Breckenridge, but it never got back from the overnight goods run to the steelworks till half past eight. I started on number 738 while I was waiting on it coming in."

"I don’t give a damn. It should be ready now. You should have worked faster."

"I worked as fast as I could, but it’s just in, and it’s red hot. I’ve burned myself on it twice. And if I’d not have done it right, you’d have given me a row for that."

"None of your damned cheek. Get on with it, and get it done before half past, so that it gets out on time. I’m watching you Sleanagh."

"Arsehole," muttered Cormac under his breath.

Later that evening, Cormac was sitting in the Connor’s kitchen drinking tea with Jimmy.

"Charley’s all right Cormac. He just doesn’t want them to think he’s giving you an easy time because of me being your father-in-law. Well nearly then," Jimmy laughed. "When are the pair of you going to set a date?"

"It’ll be a while yet. We’ve got nearly thirty pounds saved already.

*****

"Cormac, put me down. You’re in no state to carry anybody over any thresholds."

It was ten o’clock in the evening of Saturday the tenth of June, 1893. They had been brought home from their wedding party in the church hall by Derry McGillivrey in his pony and trap. Mr. and Mrs. Reid stood anxiously at the bottom of the attic stairs. At the top, Cormac tried manfully to lift Beth in his arms. He managed to totter the four or five steps through the door to the bed, where they both fell on top of each other. Cormac retrieved his bowler hat from the floor and closed the door.

The Reids retired to their own bedroom. To their relief, Cormac was too drunk to perform any heroics on his wedding night. The young couple played out their bashful ballet and consummated their marriage. The deed was done with the paraffin lamp out, under the blankets and with Beth’s night-dress on. Cormac was asleep before eleven o’clock.

"When do you think I should tell Mrs. Rankin I’m handing in my notice?"

The newly-weds were having their first breakfast together. The Reids had stayed in bed to give them the kitchen to themselves.

"Why would you want to give your notice in?"

"Now I’m a married woman, I’ll be staying at home, keeping house."

"We’ve no house to keep. And anyway, we’ll be needing your wages if we want to save up to get our own place."

"But I always thought that when we got married, you would be the bread-winner, and I’d stay at home."

"That’s right, so I will. But till the first baby comes, you’ll be able to help put something by for our own house."

"I hate working in that pub. You know that Cormac. I thought I’d be able to stop as soon as we got married."

He took a swallow of the strong tea. "Well, that was never my intention. And we certainly never said we were going to do that. We never discussed it at all." He forked more fried bread and bacon into his mouth.

"I always took it for granted that I’d stop when we got married."

"When the baby comes, Beth. We’re both hoping to have a big family. It won’t be long before you’re pregnant."

"I want to stop working in that pub. I hate it. I’m going to tell Mrs. Rankin tomorrow that I’m stopping at the end of the month."

"Don’t do that. Stick it out for another couple of months. We’re both young and healthy. You’ll be pregnant next month. I’ll see to it personally."

"Well, if last night was anything to go by, it’ll take you months to get me in the family way."

"It was our wedding," he said. "I had drunk far too much whisky. Can a man not get drunk at his own wedding?"

"Och, I was only kidding you on. I was dead tired as well. What do you say? I’ll tell her tomorrow."

"I don’t want you to stop working just yet. As I said, there’s nothing for you to do here in the house. It’s just one wee room, and Mrs. Reid looks after the rest of the house. What would you do all day?"

"I’m a married woman now. Married women don’t work. What would people think?"

"I don’t care what people think. It makes no sense. There’s nothing for you to do here at home. There’s no weans to look after. Mrs. Reid does all the cooking. There’s no point to it, and we can use the money."

"Let me stop working, please. I hate that pub."

"Look. I don’t want to have a row on our first day married. But ... I’m the head of this house, and you’re my wife. You will do what I say and that’s an end to it."

"You said it yourself. If there’s no house to keep, then there’s no house to be the head of either."

"Beth," he tried to contain his irritation. "Please don’t make an argument out of this. It really makes no sense. You’ll only be sitting at home here gossiping to Mrs. Reid or to some of the young mothers in the street. If there was a house to keep clean, weans to look after, washing and ironing to be done, meals to be cooked, aye. I’d be telling you to stop working in the damned, old pub. But there’s not. Now, it’ll not be for long. Stick it out for a wee while longer, there’s a good lassie."

Beth said nothing more. She put her knife and fork down and watched the grease congealing on the bacon and the yellow yolk hardening as it cooled.

*****

The two women sat close to the fire. There was at least a foot of snow outside and the house was full of draughts. The Reids’ tortoiseshell cat was curled up contentedly at their feet on the scrap of carpet that was the hearth-rug. All were oblivious to the sulphurous smell of the cheap coal.

"It’s a grand fire, Mrs. Reid."

"Aye lassie. It’s good coal. That last lot Tam Wilson brought was nothing but stones. I’m glad he didnae bring bad coal with this weather."

"I like a good fire. I can’t be bothered with folk that keep their fire at a peep, backed up with dross. I don’t see the point of not having a good fire. If you’re going to have a fire, I say, then have a good one."

"Aye you’re right there Beth. But I wish it would throw out more heat. It’s always the same. Your knees are getting blisters and your backside’s freezing. Most of the heat goes up the lum."

"Maybe we should have two fires; one for our knees and one for our backsides."

Mrs. Reid laughed. "Now there’s an idea. But who could pay for two lots of coal?" They moved closer to the fire as the wind howled through the crack under the door, making the window rattle in its frame.

"Mrs. Reid, can you keep a secret?"

"I’ve been keeping it for a month already."

"How d’you mean?"

"Lassie, you’ve been glowing now for nearly two months. At first I just thought you were happy, but after a couple of weeks, I knew."

"Oh." There was a pause as Beth let this sink in.

"I only realised it at the weekend when nothing happened. That was twice and I’m usually as good as the town clock. And I’ve been sick a lot when I get up. I’ve missed it an odd time, but it’s never been twice. I don’t know what to do."

"There’s nothing more to be done lassie. You’ve done it already." Mrs. Reid laughed at her own wit. "You stay there and I’ll put the kettle on."

Cormac and Beth had been married for nearly six months. Against her will, Beth had kept her job as housemaid at the Winton Arms. They had plans to find their own house, but the places available were not to their liking.

"Too fussy," said Jean Reid to Willie, her husband.

"Ah weel, they’re good payers. You never have to ask them for their rent. It’s on the dresser there every week, without the asking. If they were to find a place that suited them, God knows what kind of folk we might get in their place. It suits me just fine for them not to find someplace," opined Willie pragmatically.

The rented room at the Reid’s was cramped enough for a young couple, but for a young family, it was unsuitable.

"Willie, I know you said at the beginning, that the room was only for a single man. You and Mrs. Reid have been awful good to me and Beth, letting us stay after we got married. Now we’ve a bairn on the way, you have my word, we’ll find somewhere else before it arrives."

"Cormac, take your time. Me and the wife are awful fond of you and Beth. You’ve been good tenants; never late with the rent and never any bother with the drink or noise. Don’t feel that you’re being chased out. We’ll be sorry to see youse go, but it’ll be just too much for us with a bairn and all. We’re not getting any younger."

"I know Willie. You have my word; before the baby’s born."

*****

"Mrs. Reid, Willie, I’ve just been told that I can have one of the railway cottages here in Winton, beside the sheds in Robertson Street."

"That’s grand Cormac. We’re that pleased for you."

Cormac and a heavily pregnant Beth moved to number seven, Robertson Street, Winton in August 1894.

Young Cormac, or Mack as he came to be known, came roaring into the world ten days later. A lusty baby, he needed no slap on the backside from the midwife. She handed him to Beth after washing him.

"You’re going to have your hands full with this one."

"Aye, well Mrs. Fagan, he’ll not be any worse than his daddy." Beth put him to her breast, where he began to feed.

The house consisted of a small living-room, with an even smaller bed-room. There was a scullery and they shared a lavatory in the yard with the other five families in the row. It was not luxury, but they had their own front-door. Most young couples, rented a room or lived-in with her parents.

Cormac and Beth felt very independent.

*****

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