Elsie moves through the empty corridors of the Swimming Baths building with a broom and mop in one hand and a bucket of lavender-scented, steaming, soapy water in the other. There is a buzz of excitement in the hot summer air as the young swimmers finish their final speed class and leave for the night.
The pool’s popularity has been booming lately. It has produced elite athletes who have brought home national and international medals to Lanarkshire. Seven local swimmers and water polo players will have the chance at Olympic glory at the 1948 London Games in a month. The conversations ringing in the corridors have been about nothing else for weeks.
With so many people eager to feel involved, cleaning the baths has become a much bigger task, and so Elsie is glad of the peace and quiet of the pool after hours, even with the intense smell of chlorine. The poolside tiling is slick with a layer of water, which she skates over, reaching the stairs and seating bank with practised ease. She leaves her mop and bucket by the pool, takes her broom in hand and climbs to the top pew. She allows a moment here to take in the view of the whole pool and wipe her brow. The July evening sun is streaming through high glass windows and everything it touches seems to glow. The water has never looked more magnificent.
As she sweeps up, she remembers bringing her own children here for the first time, their squeals of delight as they pretended to be otters catching fish. They would come as a family on Saturdays, and when they were old enough to go to school, she had begun working here as a cleaner.
Back down the steps, she moves quickly through the row of poolside changing cubicles, sweeping up the day’s dirt and dust. In the final cubicle, she comes upon a wallet left behind. It has the initials ‘D.Murray’ embossed on the leather. A memory suddenly rushes back to her, and she has to sit down on the little wooden bench. ‘Donald Murray,’ she thinks in astonishment. “I haven’t thought of him in a long time.”
She had spotted Donald on her very first visit to the baths in 1916, the year they opened. Elsie had been passing through the main doorway of the pools when she spotted a wallet at her feet. She had looked up to see Donald walking out of the building in front of her. Picking up the wallet, she had dashed after him across a frosty lawn. “Excuse me, sir!” she’d called out, “I think you’ve dropped this.” Donald had turned and given her a beaming smile.
For a while they would meet up after their Saturday swim and have tea together. But that hadn’t lasted long. Donald turned 18 and soon after was called up to the Front.
Elsie plunges the mop into the bucket and slaps it across the floor. All that was a long time ago; she had been married to her beloved Charlie for too many years to count now and had borne three beautiful children. She continues her work, mopping with quick strokes and expert precision.
“Excuse me.”
She turns to see a tall, broad young man striding towards her in a hurry - Andrew, one of the water polo Olympic hopefuls.
“Have you seen --” but Elsie pops back into the cubicle before he finishes and produces his wallet. “Elsie, you’re a lifesaver!” he says, squeezing her arm.
“You don’t want to be going down to London without that,” Elsie smiles.
“Well, honestly, I doubt there’ll be much time to spend money. We’ll be going back and forth between training and the hotel the whole time,” Andrew says, his tone betraying a hint of panic.
"There’s a lot of pressure." Elsie sympathises, "You know, you could come last, and the whole of Lanarkshire would still be cheering for you. Andrew, you’re one of us, and you've already made us so proud."
Andrew's expression relaxes. "Thanks, Elsie. But of course, I’ll need my wallet to get a souvenir for you!”
“Oh, don’t be silly.” She waves him away, “I don’t want any expensive London tat. Now come on,” she says, marching him out of the baths, “You’ll need your rest. Off home to bed with you!”
He does as he’s told and jogs off down the corridor. She watches him from the entrance to the pool as he leaves through the main door, shouting, “We couldn’t do it without you, Elsie!”
She looks up at the clock above the baths - 11.15 pm and still plenty to do. The bath master has been keeping the sessions going later than ever before. She makes her way down the corridor into the floral scents of the Laundry to begin folding hundreds of crisp, dry towels. To become champions, they really did need fresh towels and dry floors; maybe Andrew is right, they couldn’t do it without her.
Just before midnight, Elsie puts on her coat and collects her handbag. She takes out a large ring of jangling keys and pulls the front door closed. Tonight she lingers in the entrance for a moment, thinking about herself as a young woman on that first trip to the baths over 30 years ago. Who would have thought so much of her life would play out in this place? She remembers standing on this doorstep meeting a young man who would leave and never come home, and of her and her Charlie blowing bubbles in the water with their girls. And she thinks about the young men and women who achieve greatness through hours and hours in the water. As she turns the key in the lock, she feels an immense sense of pride to be custodian of such a place.
