Nellie and the Mormons

James Sullivan

I was looking forward to Nellie arriving and taking her place. I had only read about her, she was new on the scene but I knew she would be perfect. In her photographs her name badge was red but the rest of her body was bright blue. Nellie was a Tri-ang train engine, a shunter, an addition to my train set. It was Christmas Eve 1960, and snow was forecast. My mother had to make a last minute trip to the toy shop on Main Street where I first got to know about Nellie, strange I thought, on the night when the big fella would be stuffing sacks of toys, including Nellie, down the ten inch diameter chimney, not to mention himself. I was still a believer at that point, well, holding on

I was made stand on my own at the bus stop at Woolworth's as my mother had to 'see to something', a few doors along. It was about half past five, dark, cold, and starting to snow. My first time on my own so late in a busy street. I tried to look cool and calm, a wee man. Coatbridge Main Street looked to me then like the street in "It's a Wonderful Life". Baillie's Building and Loan would have been right at home. I stood gazing up at the clear sky and twinkling stars, forcing my breath to steam in the cold, just for the fun of it. As I kept a look out for the bus, people seemed to whirl by in all their last minute missions, but what would I do if it came, I couldn't run to tell my mother as I was denying this niggling suspicion of what she could be doing. To banish that thought I contemplated saying something 'big person-ish' to my fellow queue members, like 'It's cold eh". Panic, the bus's diesel engine rattled suddenly beside me, I had been mind wandering on my watch. An agitated 'Come on!' from my mother and a wheech on the duffle coat landed me on the platform of the double decker. I rubbed the bus windows to peer out and everything seemed to be in black and white. To stop me looking at the shopping bags I thought of dinner. "Oh please let it be mince, peas and mashed potatoes".

A possibility even more exciting than being 'up the street' late, was discussed after the mince and tatties. St. James's, a brand new church was being built up the lane from our house, it wasn't quite ready but they were holding a Midnight Service. "Did we all want to go?" The whole family! This was mind blowing stuff. Out after midnight on Christmas, I'd never even been awake at midnight. I remember tucking my mouth and chin into my wee scarf as we all plodded up the snowy lane, it was just too cold for breathing. They seemed to be still finishing the church; I could smell paint and varnish. There were no pews yet, just loads of loose chairs, an impromptu affair. What if we see Santa as we go back down the lane, do you still get presents if you make eye contact, "oh please I want to believe" I sat thinking, as people wandered in. It wasn't officially opened yet, so the congregation was sparse, I was absorbing the atmosphere, it seemed like an aircraft hanger to me, a wondrous echoey place. Two voices a few rows back from me caught my attention. They were not whispering, though lowered respectfully, but it was the accents. I'd never heard it before other than on the telly. Americans. My God, here in Coatbridge. I just had to look. I did. Two young men, looking as though they had just been steam pressed and ironed whilst still managing to find themselves homeless, were gazing around in wonder the way I had been. This was overload for a wee guy. Like being wrenched from the confines of childhood as a west coast whelk is from it's shell. Main Street on Christmas Eve, out after midnight in the snow, seeing people from across the Atlantic when you were out after midnight in the snow. What next.

They were not of our parish, as the saying goes. The two men, teenagers really, probably missing their wee Mammies somewhere in Utah, seemed very glad to be among a body of people celebrating Christmas, even if our Saints were much older than theirs. Any port in a storm, all Jock Tamson's bairns. This concept of being so far away from home was new to me, it troubled me. I thought I had it tough being 'up the street' late. I remember feeling so sorry for them.

By the time we left the church at nearly one in the morning, the temperature seemed to have dropped by about 5 degrees. "Whose idea was this anyway' said my Dad. 'Yours' we all replied. I found myself in my excitement, first to the top of the lane. It hit me then. I stood there waiting for the others under a street lamp, the large snow drops illuminated as they formed an unforgettable frame like a spotlight, under which realisations also gently fluttered down. It's where I first experienced the notion of 'precious'. I had only ever thought of them all as constants, the gang, but I was aware now that I was waiting for my precious family. In that few minutes in the snow, all the excitements and the pains, the rewards and disappointments, the scatterings and the losses, made little presentations to me from distant times to come, thoughtful whispers to be ready, to be brave, to understand. Were these feelings being sent back to me or was I looking towards them, it was almost intangible, but it was getting through. There was seven of us then, and it was magnificent, and we were going back down the lane to that constant place.

Today was Christmas, even though I had still to go to bed, and we would celebrate, it was still our precious time. I would have Nellie to send on burls round the tracks, little imagined safe journeys. The big journeys would just have to wait for me.