Chapter 2, 1979 - 1982
I left college in May 1979 and got my first full time job in August of the same year, working as a Process Camera Operator / Commercial Artist. It was a good job with good workmates. I worked between the darkroom and the art studio, preparing and photographing artwork for print.
I’d often go to Sandra’s house at lunchtime and have my break with her when she wasn’t working. She’d also often come and meet me when I finished. We spent most of our free time together and were with each other every evening and weekend. When she was working her back shift I’d pick her up from the hospital, whichever one she was working at, at whatever time she finished. DRI, Liff, Strathmartine or Ninewells. We’d maybe only see each other for half an hour between picking her up and dropping her home but it kept us happy.
I’d met her dad by then and we had a run in at one point. Sandra and I had gone out one Saturday and caught that last bus home. By the time we got to Sandra’s front door it was around a minute past midnight. Sandra opened the door and stepped into the lobby. He came barging down the stairs in a right rage. ‘No boys in the house after midnight’, he roared. ‘F*** off you B****** I retorted and walked away, Sandra running after me, her dad shouting after me never to come back.
Was going back my first mistake? No, I don’t think it was as Sandra and myself were inseparable.
We eventually got over that incident and, though we were never best of friends, her dad and I got on to an extent, mainly through necessity. I did have my sympathies for him though. He’d been a prisoner of the Japanese during the war which had obviously affected him and taken it’s toll, having been subjected to torture, one of which, Sandra told me, he would use to punish her and her siblings when they got out of hand. He’d make them kneel on marbles or beads, confirmed by one of Sandra’s siblings. I don’t think he was a cruel man but he was understandably bitter and troubled.
Sandra’s mum I got on with ok. None of the family drove so Sandra and myself would drive her mum places in the early days. Every Thursday I would be invited to tea, usually for a Fray Bentos pie and a heap of chocolate biscuits. (I just Googled Fray Bentos and it’s a city in Uruguay - who’d have known?). I enjoyed the Thursday tea but I wish Sandra’s mum would have let me stop at one chocolate biscuit. Her biscuit generosity had no bounds.
Once finished Sandra and myself would nip down to the Spinney, the long gone bar at the Invercarse Hotel and meet up with a few friends. Great days.
Sandra and myself were rarely apart, in fact only when we were working were we not together. We’d be out in the evening and spend the weekend together. Saturdays we would have a wander through town, without fail nipping into John Menzies for a Double Decker (me) and a Bounty (Sandra). I’d then drive Sandra home, we’d have tea, get changed and go out for a drink with Sandra’s school chum and her boyfriend.
The days and months rolled on and we eventually decided to get engaged. I can’t remember exactly when but it may have been late 1980 or early 1981. I remember sitting at the bottom of the stairs in her house when I asked her.
We started to plan a wedding, looking at dates and venues and decided on 19th June, 1982.
Now, with planning weddings comes mini wars, particularly if your future father in law isn’t too keen on you in the first place. He did tell me that Sandra was his favourite though, so I’m sure he wanted to please her. And remember, I wasn’t Catholic, which kept the dislike score under 100%.
We had an engagement party in The Silver Cage lounge in St Mary’s. It was a good night. I can remember Sandra buying a dress for the occasion. Blue and white vertical stripes. Even now, when I see the old Top Of The Pops footage of Blondie singing ‘Sunday Girl’, I’m reminded of how Sandra looked that night.
We planned our wedding for 19th June 1982. The venues, cars and all the other stuff necessary to marry. Although in these days it was customary for the bride’s family to take the brunt of the cost Sandra’s dad made it clear he wouldn’t, which was no big deal. My parents had offered to pay a share anyway and they liked Sandra. In fact my mum had decided she wanted to buy Sandra’s wedding dress and did so. I would argue my parents were the parents Sandra never had.
So with everything planned we plodded on with life, looking forward to the big day and started house hunting. Me being me I was determined to buy a house rather than start off slowly with a wee flat and gradually upscale. There were new builds being constructed out in Inchture by Barratts so we decided to have a look at the showhouse. One of my workmates lived there and gave good reports. In those days getting a mortgage was reasonably simple and we were offered a 100% loan. We picked our plot and over the ensuing months travelled back and forth watching the construction and taking photographs, looking forward to the completion of our new house. Exciting stuff. Nothing ever runs smoothly though and a huge kick in the bollocks was on the horizon.
The end of 1981 came and went, we had a good Christmas and new year and moved into 1982, looking forward to the coming months and our impending wedding. Then February came and that big foot caught me right between the legs. Redundancy! Four months to go to our big day, our house almost finished, we have a mortgage and I have no job. Fortunately we’d taken out mortgage protection insurance. Phew!
Time to start looking for work. It wasn’t as easy this time. I’d walked into work a couple of years earlier but not this time so I got a wee part time job driving a van, delivering film and photographs. Driving a van, by the way, is a job I would do a few times later in life when things got tough.
We took life as it was and plodded along, preparing for our wedding. Things, though, got a wee bit stressed and there were signs of friction, probably understandably, considering my redundancy. I did start to wonder though, following a wee incident.
About a week prior to our wedding I’d gone to pick Sandra up at her home, as I always did. I knocked on the front door and one of her siblings answered, I can’t remember who. Sandra and her mum were having a right old argument between the kitchen and lobby. I’ve never forgotten this. Sandra’s mum turned to me and said ‘Watch her Gregor, she’s a born liar’. Sandra had been caught taking money from her mum’s purse. I realised then that, over the past year or so Sandra, on a few occasions when I went to collect her, would get into the car telling me her mum had lent her money. That was a worrying incident but it was only a week or so from our wedding. I was to find out though, once a thief, always a thief.
Eventually our wedding day came and we, well, got married. It was a great day, best wedding I’ve been to. We had our reception at The Taypark Hotel on Broughty Ferry Road, sadly now long gone to make way for houses. It was a great night, though Sandra’s dad did approach my parents at the end of the night to say it wouldn’t last, probably something he expected, given he brought up a household of divorcees. I doubt he expected it would end due to his daughter’s indiscretions though.
We didn’t have a honeymoon unfortunately but did drive to The Lake District to camp for a few nights before driving to Sheffield to stay with one of Sandra’s old school friends and her husband, a friendship that was to last the twenty years we were married.
We moved into our house, had it carpeted and furnished and I carried on with the van job, albeit only a few days a week. Mortgage protection was a great relief. I carried on applying and searching for jobs. I remember our early days in Inchture well. We met new friends but, apart from a couple of neighbours we clicked with we generally stuck with our own company.
I had a couple of interviews for Graphic Artist jobs but there were very few compatible positions in Dundee so I started applying for whatever was out there. One job in particular took my eye, working as a Fingerprint Technician with Tayside Police. I might as well apply, though I had absolutely no experience or knowledge of the job. To my surprise I was invited for an interview, which I attended at Bell Street Police Headquarters. It was a good interview, I left happy and confident I’d done myself justice. But every interview I’ve attended I’ve felt the same.
A couple of weeks later I finished my day of deliveries and went home to collect Sandra to go to Lochee. She was all excited as she’d received a phone call from the Detective Inspector of the Identification Branch offering me the job. This was great news and I started the job in October 1982. Fantastic.
That was us settled, both working, though not on the greatest of pay but manageable.
Now that we both had a wage coming in we decided to open a joint current account that both salaries would be paid into. That way all our funds would be in the same place, the monthly bills would come off and we’d know what we were left with to spend, whether for leisure, shopping or household. That should work brilliantly and it did for a week or so. Oh Dear.
I was paid fortnightly, midnight on a Thursday. I would go to the bank in Lochee at lunchtime or after work and take an amount of money out to last the two weeks. The first of my wages that entered the joint account was no different and I went to the bank at lunchtime to take out some cash. This was before ATMs remember. The teller told me there was nothing in the account. Hmmm, must have been an issue with my wages! Nope, Sandra had visited the bank in the morning and emptied the account. Fair enough, I’ll get some cash from her when I get home. Nope, she’d spent it all. That was when I realised she just could not be trusted. The following day I revisited the bank, closed the account and opened another in my own name. Sandra would have to do the same. She wasn’t happy at all but she’d proven she, at best, was reckless. Not only could she not be trusted, she was arrogant with it. She had every right to do as she wanted with no consultation. Every right to take what she felt she needed or wanted. Just like she did with her mum’s purse and just like I was to find out years later. And it wasn’t just money she targeted.
I don’t think either of us ever got over that experience. Sandra was unhappy at my reaction and I was unhappy I couldn’t trust her. My trust in her was gone, which was a great shame.
