Maybe we should go to the Monkey Parade tonight,” Chrissie suggested. “Let’s see if there’s any ‘talent’ around”

Maisie smiled at her friend’s black and white answer. “So, that’s it,” she said, “just say NO!” “That’s it,” said Chrissie, “and don’t go out the back of dance halls with wandering sailors, either!” Maisie relaxed. Chrissie was right. The choice was hers about ‘how far to go’ with a lad and until she fell in love, she decided, really fell in love, her answer would always be “no”.

She pulled the plate of pie and beans over to her side of the table. “I think I’ve got my appetite back,” she said, picking up her knife and fork, “and Kenny Wilson had better watch out.” Carefree “I’m bored,” announced Maisie to her mother one Sunday. Her mother was busying herself, as usual, in the kitchen. It had been a few weeks now since her encounter with Jack Carter but the memory still played on her mind. Her mother ignored her.

“There’s nothing to do on a Sunday,” she bemoaned sighing deeply, and gazing out of the window at the drying green with its patch of daisy-strewn grass.

Her mother stopped her dish washing and looked at her daughter. Even without make-up and her hair tousled around her face, she was pretty.

Didn’t she realise how lucky she was – carefree and single and not burdened down with a sick husband and a shortage of money.

The young nowadays, she tutted to herself, don’t know they’re born. She turned back to the dishes.

“Away and get out in the fresh air,” she said, dismissively. Her daughter was right, there was nothing to do on Sunday in Dundee, as everything was closed for the “day of rest” with the churches being the only option available and not everyone was drawn to their preaching of “doom and gloom”.

“Or you could clean your room, or cut the grass, or help me with the dishes,” she continued. Maisie covered her ears. “All right,” she said, loudly, not wanting to hear any more of her mother’s suggestions, “I’ll get some fresh air.”

Slipping on her flat shoes and a big “cardie”, she headed off to Chrissie’s. She needed company and cheering up after her recent “man troubles” and maybe her mother was right, a walk in the fresh air might just lift her spirits.

“Go for a walk!” Chrissie exclaimed, rubbing her sleepy eyes when she heard Maisie’s Sunday suggestion. “Walk where?”

Maisie shrugged. “How about the Den o’ Mains?” she suggested. “It’s no’ far and the sun’s shining a bit!”

“Give’s a mo’,” Chrissie replied, reluctantly, nodding her assent and leaving Maisie standing on the doorstep.

A minute later she was back, a pair of “wellies” on her feet and a duffle coat pegged shut across her chest. Maisie tried not to giggle. “You’re not going out like that,” she began, then realised that Chrissie would be going nowhere if she didn’t keep quiet.

“Sorry,” she said, anxiously, indicating her error of judgement, “perfect walking gear.”

The two friends set off, leaving Fintry behind and crossing Forfar Road into the vale that was the Den o’ Mains. Following the stream that ran though the dip between the two steep, grassy slopes either side, they made their way to the ponds that fed the stream and sat down on a bench in the leafy quietness. Peaceful A few dog walkers passed by, nodding “hello” as they went, and a pair of young lads, with fishing nets and jam jars, were trawling the pond for minnows and tadpoles, but apart from that, all was peaceful.

The rays of a weak September sun strengthened and Chrissie untoggled her heavy coat and wished she’d worn her old sandshoes. The “wellies” were making her feet sweat.

“Isn’t it lovely here?” Maisie whispered, feeling the sun and silence soaking into her body.

Chrissie gave her a quizzical look, “It’s the Den o’ Mains,” she said slowly, “not the Costa Brava.”

Maisie shrugged. “I know,” she said, “I just wish I could meet someone really special and get married and everything before I get too old.” “You’re sixteen!” Maisie turned to her friend. “I’ll be seventeen in December,” she reminded her, “and the way things have been going lately, I don’t think I’ll ever meet Mr Right. What if I die an ‘auld maid’?”

Chrissie fell silent. She’d received another letter from Tommy Murphy, posted from Gibraltar, pledging undying love and enclosing a photograph of himself. He’d been at sea a month now and he’d written every week, but she hadn’t yet told Maisie about the correspondence, not wanting to remind her of Jack Carter and what he did.

“Maybe we should go to the Monkey Parade tonight,” Chrissie suggested, trying to lighten Maisie’s introspective mood. “Let’s see if there’s any ‘talent’ around.”

Due to the lack of anything interesting to do on Sunday, the young and single had taken to walking up and down the Murraygate in the early evening, finally ending up at the Palais de Dance Ballroom, where the walking continued.

There was a one shilling entry fee, but no dancing, drinking or “hanky panky” was allowed, just walking round and round the dance floor, eyeing up the talent.

Of course, there was always a chance of seeing someone you ‘fancied’ and that could be followed up at a later date, if you were lucky.

“Mmmmm,” said Maisie, brightening up. “No point in crying over spilt milk I suppose” she added, “and I don’t think my ‘knight in shining armour’ is going to turn up here, is he?” she shrugged, looking dismally around her. Watched But unknown to them, Maisie and Chrissie were being watched. Two young men had been drinking beer amongst the shrubbery on the other side of the pond, and as their alcohol intake rose, so did their courage. “Which one do you fancy, Ronnie?” Ronnie Reid grinned. “Not the one with the wellies,” he replied, smirking. “You can have her. I’m for the other one.”

His brother Johnny sniffed. “Maybe, she’ll no fancy you,” he mumbled. “That’s never going to happen,” said Ronnie, confidently, knocking back the last of his can of beer and brushing the grass from his jeans. “C’mon.”

The two lads broke cover just as Maisie and Chrissie began to make their way back down towards the open valley below.

“Going our way?” Ronnie called to their backs. The girls turned, taking in the two men, leather jackets clinking with chains and black biker boots laced over black jeans.

Maisie nudged Chrissie. “Let’s get moving” she whispered, not liking what she saw and aware that even the two young fishermen had vanished. They were alone. More tomorrow.