Greyhound for Breakfast

The Small Family

I suppose it is best not to say what the name of the station was but if I mention it was the one that got ‘swallowed’ up then the majority of folk familiar with the old subway system will have a fair idea of the one in question. Although lying underground it was one of those which seemed very close to the surface in a strange sense. Actual daylight always appeared to be entering though from where I don’t know and people somehow assumed the outer layer of corrugated roofing explained everything. I also remember when I was a boy I was absolutely fascinated by the inordinate amount of dripping. Water seemed to come from anywhere and everywhere. As a result, I was ready and willing to believe anything. Especially was I willing to believe that the tunnel beneath the Clyde was full of rotting timbers and set to collapse at any moment. This was the yarn told me by my older brother. I doubt whether the fact that it actually was a yarn fully dawned on me for a further decade.

Those familiar with the station must readily recall its peculiar hallmark, a weird form of illusion; its main ground resembled a large mound or hill and from the bottom of the long flights of stairs intending travellers would find themselves ‘walking up’ a stiffish gradient along the platform. Such a gradient was a physical absurdity of course but this did not stop visiting travellers from experiencing the sensation. I have to confess that I was as guilty as the next regular in the enjoyment I gained from observing the unwary.

Another hallmark of the station, though the term is somewhat inappropriate, was the Small Family. As far as many people are concerned when we speak of the station we are speaking of them, the Small Family, but I am not alone in the belief that had the peculiar ‘mound’ or ‘hill’ not existed then the Small Family would have associated itself with another station. Individually members of the family were not especially small, rather was the phrase applied as a simplified form of reference by the regulars which in the first instance must have derived from the little mother. There was no father, no male parent, and the female — the little mother — was very small indeed, birdlike almost. Yet be that as it may this tiny woman most certainly was a parent who tended her young come hell or high water.

Of the four children in the family group I chiefly recall the eldest, a large boy or young man. He had the appearance of being big and strong but at the same time with a form of ‘lightness’ of the brain, a slightly brutish quality. I once heard a traveller describe his walk as ‘thick’ and this to my mind was very apt indeed. The other children were aged from infancy to pubescence but at this juncture I am unable to recollect their sexes; they would walk to the front of the mother with the large boy bringing up the rear, often carrying a long stick which he let trail on the ground.

When regulars spoke of the Small Family they did so in a wryly amused fashion. In those days an odd camaraderie existed between us. I am of the opinion that this was the case because of the tacit assumption that in stations like ours the queerest occurrences might take place right beneath one’s nose but that in the very act of perception the substance of such an occurrence would have slipped, as it were, ‘round a corner’. I should point out that I am very aware of the pitfalls in nostalgia. But I doubt whether it is necessary to state that the Small Family in itself was never a source of amusement to us. The truth of the matter is that we regulars admired if not marvelled at them. Above all did we esteem the little mother. In conversation with an old friend recently we were discussing this; he made the strong point that simply to have been a parent of the large boy would have tested a man’s resources. This is not, of course, in any sense, to excuse the absence of a male parent; it was intended as a testimony to the character of the tiny woman. In those days things were more tough than they are now and she could not have had an easy time of it. My friend reminded me that the family seemed to earn their living by gathering and that often they were to be seen carrying large bundles of soft goods. It is possible they may have kept a stall in one of the lesser street markets in the area to the south of the Tron.

I told my friend of a dream I used to have in which the large mound or hill in the station had become hollow and was fashioned out as a makeshift home for the Small Family. Inside it the floors were carpeted and the kitchen contained every domestic and labour-saving convenience. The rationale of the dream is fairly obvious but my friend also pointed to an element of reality insofar as the back end of the mound would have afforded a degree of shelter. He also reminded me that any form of shelter was always welcome in the old station because of the tremendous rushes of air. This most definitely was the case and of the more amusing side-effects of the illusion, as experienced by visiting travellers, perhaps the most striking was the sensation that true equilibrium would be achieved only by crawling on all fours.

I had wanted to speak to my friend of an incident that occurred many many years ago. In matters like this it is far better to move straightaway to the core of the subject otherwise we run the risk of losing our way. My desire was basic, to have the subject aired. It is my opinion that to air a subject, to present the question, is to find oneself on the road to solution. I may well be wrong. In itself the incident is of no major significance, neither then or now. But it is one that remains to the forefront of my memory and has done for more than thirty years. It concerns my own children.

I have had five children, the eldest of whom is a daughter. At the time I speak of she was 9 or 10 years old but even then had looks of a striking quality. She also regarded herself as quite grown up, as quite the young lady. I must confess that both myself and my wife regarded the girl in a similar light which is not at all uncommon, she being the eldest of the five.

The day of the incident was a Sunday and my wife was not feeling a hundred percent; she decided to remain home with the youngest two while I set off with the other three on a visit to an elderly relation. All children loved the old subway system and mine were no different. Even yet I can recall their excitement as we tramped downwards, down the long flights of stone steps, thoroughly enjoying the onrush of air, the strange smells and echoing sounds. Once onto the platform we ‘ascended’ the large mound or hill to stand hand in hand, peering into the blackness of the tunnel, awaiting the arrival of the next train.

In our group as a whole I should say there had been close on twenty folk, and by ‘group’ I simply refer to those on the platform who were intending passengers, as opposed to the Small Family. They had appeared suddenly, from nowhere it seemed. I myself travelled but rarely on Sundays and I confess to rather a shock on discovering they were here in the station on that day as though it were any other. The other travellers must have been experiencing an unease similar to my own. Not to put too fine a point on it there most certainly was a general strain, and we stood as though rooted to the spot. But gradually I became aware of a pressure on my hand. It was being caused by the child whose hand I held and she in turn was being affected by the child whose hand he was holding who in turn was being affected by my eldest daughter’s hand. My eldest daughter was very uncomfortable indeed, but not agitated and by no means in any distress. It was the large boy, he was staring at her. He had halted at the rear of his family and was standing stockstill, staring at her in an entirely un-selfconscious manner. It was the most peculiar thing. I see the moment clearly and distinctly and the two figures are in isolation. Beyond that is a blur, until I hear my daughter’s voice:

‘Dad, I want to put her on the mantelpiece!’ and she pointed to someone in their group, either a child or I suppose, perhaps, the tiny woman.

There are many aspects of this incident I regard as worthy of comment, as worthy of discussion. Over the years I have dwelt on the matter periodically but without ever allowing it to become an obsession. I would like, however, to speak of it with my friend. I have wanted to do so for quite some time but the subject I find difficult to approach, that is, the core of the subject for I find it all too easy to discuss topics peripheral to it.

As the years pass I have become close to overwhelmed by an ever-increasing burden of guilt. There is no one cause. I think that if I could isolate different events, the experiences I derived from them, if I could bring these out into the open then perhaps I would be on the road to assuaging such feelings and ridding myself of the burden. I am also aware that the sensation of guilt — even chronic guilt — is part and parcel of the ageing process and in neither case does a cure exist. Ultimately, however, to have said that is to have said very little.