Lullaby of the Soul

By Alan Addison

When Private Investigator Tod Peterson finds himself incarcerated in Edinburgh Jail he goes looking for answers in the only way he knows how. He goes looking to the past.
He’d heard often enough that the pen is mightier than the sword, and in his case that might make a welcomed change. Being handed that laptop by a fellow inmate meant taking up his weapon of choice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781447880011

Book preview

Copyright

© 2021 Alan Addison

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4478-8001-1.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the people of Leith, some who have lived here for centuries and many who have come from other parts of Scotland, the UK and the world. There have been times of hardship and prosperity but throughout all, the Leith motto remains – PERSEVERE.

Also by Alan Addison

Fiction

Justified Sinner

Treaty of Union

Shaking Hands with a Tarantula

Finding Sophie

Working for Josh

Non-fiction

Using Scots Literacy in Family Literacy Work: An essay in More Powerful Literacies.

MacNib’s Legacy: An article about Albert Mackie in the Scots Magazine October 1996.

When we are young, we know what destiny is; it is the furthest reaches of the possible. At that point everything is in focus, and everything seems within reach. We are not afraid to dream, to use our imagination and to yearn for everything. But as time passes the existence of the impossible comes in. It begins so slowly on the haunting lullaby of birth and grows imperceptibly into the lullaby of our soul.

HM Prison, Edinburgh

4th July 2015

No, it’s not that bad, well, not physically anyway. Jimmy McGuire makes sure of that, as do my other eleven literacy learners. They say their world has opened up since coming to my class. A bit ironic that, considering they’re in prison.

#

It’s my bloody mind that never rests, never lets up. Big Frank, the big quiet father I never really knew still follows me everywhere. Quiet, but still threatening, still scalding, still haunting my sleep. That hard man; an angel to many, a devil to some.

#

‘Penny for your thoughts Mr Peterson.’

‘Oh, it’s you Jimmy.’

‘Whae else wid it be? A’m the only pal ye’ve got.’

‘I was never good at friendships.’

‘No, but you’re a bloody good teacher Tod. You’ve got eleven men in here that had nae hope, suddenly wanting tae look back on their past; wanting tae ken whae they are. It’s not just reading and writing they’re learning fae you, it’s where they come fae and what caused them tae be in here. If ye dinnae watch out ye’ll be getting a Queen’s award for rehabilitation.’

‘I don’t think so. Anyway, thanks for saying all the same.’

‘Have ye ever thought about it yourself?’

‘What?’

‘Looking back.’

‘As a matter of fact, I had that idea years and years ago.’

‘Well here’s yer chance.’ Jimmy put the laptop he’d been carrying onto the table.

‘The lads in the class clubbed together and bought it for you.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘What about get out Jimmy, A’ve a story tae write. After aw Tod, it is Independence Day.

CHAPTER ONE

Moonlight Serenade

Leith, May 1914

Tommy Peterson placed his large hands on his son’s sides and hoisted him onto the tailboard of the coal cart. The bairn sat on the cold edge of the cart, dangled his legs over the side, and swung them back and forward before twisting around to search the wooden floor for locust beans, horse feed for a bairn’s hungry mouth.

‘Wee Frank’s first flitting.’ That was the joke his three older brothers repeated as the cart full of the family’s furniture began its journey from Iona Street along the cobbles to Leith Walk.

‘Leave the bairn alane!’ Tommy couldn’t rise to the humour of his sons’ jibes. The pain of yet another moonlight flit bit too deep.

Wee Frank was growing restless. Only four years old but he wanted to walk with his Dad and brothers and not be up on the cart with his mother and sisters, like a sissy. ‘Ma, can A no walk beside them?’

She didn’t answer. He put that down to the distraction caused by specks of coal dust in her eyes, causing them to water. He took the huff and turned away. The sight of his mother’s strong and broad shoulders told him to say no more. She was almost as broad as the stranger who’d taken his Dad’s money at the foot of the stair. The man who was sitting beside the Peterson females.

Then he changed his mind again. ‘Ma, A want tae walk beside ma brothers, but Dad will no let me.’

She still didn’t answer and merely continued facing forward, staring into the midnight shadows reflected on the damp cobbles. She knew that everyone in the street could hear the clamour, but most would hardly bat an eyelid; they were so used to the regular occurrence of escape before the arrival of the bailiffs. Their immediate neighbours felt it more, the ones who’s pulled their curtains aside, ever so slightly, to wave cheerio.

It was almost a relief when the cart pulled onto Leith Walk and turned right, heading for Tennent Street. Shop windows were in darkness but she could see the reflection easily enough, the one of a whole family piled on a coal cart, paid for by the contents of Frank’s piggy bank, and full to the gunnels with hand-me-down furniture.

He couldn’t wait any longer and landed at his father’s feet. ‘Aw no, A fell off.’ He sidled up and took the man’s rough hand.

#

The flitting was almost under the railway bridge at the corner of Jane Street when Tommy pushed his son forward. ‘Away and see if the stair door’s open for us.’ He threw the keys. ‘Dinnae forget the keys. It’s the top flat.’

‘A remember!’ shouted Frank, the only member of his family to have seen their new abode when he’d gone there with his Dad the day they’d picked up the keys from the landlord. Three hours they’d waited in the Georgian Building at the Foot of the Walk, while the factor, with Sherriff in tow, had gone to collect the keys from Mr and Mrs Wilson.

Frank, though restless, had watched in wonder as people came and went from the office, some crying, some threatening and some begging for a stay of eviction. Not one received as much as an acknowledgement from the secretary behind the heavy glass screen, the barrier between efficiency and hopelessness.

When the factor arrived with the keys, he was flush-faced but had an air of victory about him as he handed them to Tommy. ‘Now mind your rent is due a week on Friday, and you know what happens if it’s not here.’

That was then. Now Frank ran, full-tilt, around the corner into Jane Street and straight into the arms of Police Sergeant Campbell, who pulled him back onto Leith Walk. At the sight of the policeman the drayman pulled tight on the reins, causing the cart to slide and the rear wheel to jam in the tram tracks which lined the road.

The mahogany dressing table which had belonged to Frank’s Granny, tumbled to the ground, sending the mirror cascading in a thousand pieces across the street. The policeman spoke first. ‘Well Peterson, you and your family are up late tonight.’

‘Aye Archie.’

Archie Campbell had seen this type of removal many times before and although never sympathetic had, on most occasions, turned a blind eye. On this occasion the Highlander was in a jovial mood. ‘Have you been stealing under cover of darkness again?’

Tommy didn’t answer. He was tired, tired of running from landlords, from neighbours, from shopkeepers owed too much and from the police. Tired of being a refugee in his own town.

The Sergeant still held Frank by the shoulder as he pointed to the scattered remains of the dresser. ‘You’d better be tidying up that wee