Where There is Evil Read Online Free PDF

suspension bridges. This was our playground, and we thrived on danger. It was all the mothers could do to drag
us in after hours of play, especially in the long daylight of Scottish summer evenings. For me, surrender to my mother’s yells to come in preceded a thorough scrub at our kitchen sink, but
many others were just thrown into a shared bed with two or three other siblings, all equally filthy. Perhaps given a jam ‘piece’ or sandwich if they were lucky, they had old coats or
sacking over them instead of a quilt. These circumstances were quite normal and caused no raised eyebrows in a neighbourhood where no one had a bath or an inside toilet, but instead shared communal
outdoor ‘cludgies’ to which each family had a key.
    Despite my bravado in front of the boys I played with, I was terrified to venture to that outside toilet at night. I was petrified by the spiders that scuttled along the white-washed step when
you were sitting there, frozen to the spot by the draught blasting under the door and round your bare legs.
    In our special playground, a troop of us played hide ’n’ seek, kick the can, dodgie ball (a variation on rounders) or devised gang huts of whatever we could find lying around. Long
grass and purple-coloured weeds helped with the camouflage needed for games like Tarzan, and also discouraged adults from hunting for us. Sometimes we went on the scrounge for discarded Tizer and
Irn-Bru bottles left by workmen from their lunch. We were cute enough to take them to the corner shop for the deposit pennies, which would buy us liquorice or sherbet in a small bag. When we were
really feeling adventurous, we went further into the railway yards in the Meadows, where rows and rows of wagons had been shunted on to railway sidings to await goods for transport all over
Britain. We would scramble over pyramids of coal in the wagons or slide open their doors to gaze fearfully into gloomy, mysterious interiors, but the real frisson of excitement came from the
knowledge that at any moment we could be caught by the railway police for trespassing. As five- and six-year-olds, we didn’t know what this word meant, but everyone ran for their lives as
soon as an adult was spotted in the distance.
    In the street behind our house, I manoeuvred Cherry Blossom boot-polish tins round hopscotch squares, because cars were few and far between. The milk was delivered by horse and cart and the
Co-op man had to be given yellow tokens in exchange for the two daily pints of milk. My father’s delivery van was one of the rare vehicles parked by the kerb. The only other I remember
belonged to the baker, who came a few times a week and to whom I was sometimes sent for bread, scones and pancakes. In the post-war years, women still regarded it as shaming not to produce their
own home baking of Victoria sponges, fairy cakes and Scottish shortbread for guests, and it was unusual to eat bought cakes. I saw it as a treat to be sent for cakes from the van.
    Children were not given regular pocket money so if someone was getting married, we hung round the entrance to their close or gate. When the bride emerged, we knew her dad would throw a shower of
coppers for luck. With no heed for danger we would all yell, ‘Scramble!’ and launch ourselves almost under the taxi’s back wheels to compete for the spoils. If you met a family
taking a baby to its christening, you might have the good fortune to be given a christening ‘piece’, which was something like a home-baked biscuit with a glinting threepenny bit hidden
inside. Granny Katie hid coins in her famous clootie dumplings at Christmas, but as she had twenty grandchildren and not much money, it was a real stroke of luck to get one. ‘Finder’s
keepers!’ we would yell triumphantly.
    Soap was my mother’s solution for everything in an environment where hygiene was poor. It was not uncommon to see a ‘rats’ flitting’, or mass evacuation of the rodents
who would