by Dee Yates
*
It seemed that nobody was enthusiastic about celebrating Christmas and the New Year. A general gloom had pervaded the nation. In the last months of 1940, London had been bombed time and time again. To those living hundreds of miles away, it seemed impossible that any of the capital could remain. Many other great cities of England and Wales – Coventry, Manchester, Bristol, Sheffield, Southampton, Swansea – were suffering similar treatment. Apart from minor raids to damage ships in Scapa Flow and Rosyth and one on Montrose airfield, Scotland had remained mercifully untouched.
*
Jeannie had cooked as fine a dinner as she was able, given the rationing now imposed on the land. They sat together in the small room – Jeannie, Tam and Douglas – the heat from the stove making them all sleepy. They were not expecting company, so were surprised out of their drowsiness by an insistent excited hammering at the door.
Tam pulled himself out of his seat and hurried to open it, anxious that some accident had occurred and they were being called upon to help. There stood Ian and Malcolm and behind them Rob Cunningham.
‘Excuse our imposing on you, but the boys have brought you something.’
‘Come away in, all of yous. It’s good to see you.’
‘You go and sit down, Tam, and we’ll bring in the present,’ Ian said.
‘Presents, you mean,’ corrected Malcolm.
‘Yes, presents.’
There was a pause and the next minute Ian and Rob struggled in with the cradle, sanded and varnished and polished, and with its full complement of cot covers. They set it down in front of Jeannie.
‘It’s for the baby,’ Ian explained unnecessarily.
‘Did you make this?’ she said in wonderment.
‘All the big boys at school did, and the girls made the sheets and blankets.’
‘It’s beautiful. What a wonderful present – and it’s just what I need for the baby. I was thinking I would have to buy one after Christmas.’
Malcolm appeared now, carrying a wooden box. ‘And this is my present,’ he said proudly. ‘Me and Alec made it together – well, I made it and he helped me!’
Jeannie lifted the lid and there was a Noah’s ark, made out of wood. Inside were an assortment of animals.
‘We didn’t make the animals,’ Malcolm explained. ‘They belonged to Alec when he was a lad, and he said I could have them to put in the ark.’
‘So, is this what you were making that day in the forest?’ Tam asked Malcolm.
‘Aye. I wasn’t allowed to help the big boys making the cradle and I wanted to do something too.’
‘It’s beautiful. They’re both beautiful,’ Jeannie said, ‘Even if it nearly cost some fingers to make it!’
Malcolm held up his newly healed hand, across the palm of which ran a ridge of pink skin. ‘I’ll show the baby what I did,’ he laughed. ‘I’ll call it my war wound.’
38. Bitter Times
February 1941
A bitter wind scythed between the hills. The ground was hard, the grass yellow and devoid of goodness. Water froze in pipes and buckets. Sheep grew thin; some died. Those brought to market for selling were in poor condition and prices were low. Tam worked from morning till night, aided as much as he was able by his father. Jeannie, despite her pregnancy, put all her effort into making the lives of the two men as comfortable as possible.
Apart from the uncertainty that was a constant companion to those living in a country at war, Jeannie was happy in her pregnant state. She felt well and was able to contribute to the smooth running of the farm. Moreover, the expected baby was an excitement that she and Tam could share and she hoped it was drawing them closer together.
The New Year brought a recurrence of the snowy conditions of the previous year. Towards the end of January and again in February huge drifts made farming difficult and the death of many animals inevitable. The one good bit of news was the monthly letters that now came from Alan, addressed to Douglas but read avidly by them all. For now, he was safe. Letters came too from Glasgow, the last one the most worrying.
Laird’s House
Dumbarton Road
Partick
Saturday 15th February 1941
Dear Jeannie,
Thank you for your letter. I hope you are continuing to keep well in the current freezing conditions. Do look after yourself and get plenty of rest.
I do not have good news to give you. The effect of the cold weather on your uncle has been noticeable. Not only has he been unable to get out, but he is breathless even when resting and his legs are very swollen.
Your father has been to visit us, but he is unable to take much time off from caring for his parishioners. Uncle Cameron thinks of you as a daughter and would very much like to see you. He feels he has not long for this world. I believe that you too share a special bond with him and would feel bereft should he die without you saying goodbye.
Come at any time, as soon as the weather in your part of the country makes it possible.
Your loving aunt,
Christine.
When Tam entered the kitchen, coming in out of the darkness and stamping snow off his boots, Jeannie was sitting at the kitchen table with her head resting on her arms. She looked up and he saw the wretchedness in her face.
‘What’s the matter, sweetheart? Are you feeling unwell?’
‘It’s my uncle. He’s dying. See this letter.’
Tam scanned the letter, then glanced at his wife. ‘Well, you can’t go in this weather. And we don’t know how long this bad spell will last. By the time the snow has gone you will only have a few weeks to go before the baby arrives.’
‘I must go and see him. He’s been more like a dad to me than my own father. As soon as things improve, I’m going.’
‘And, if I’m the father of this baby, I’m saying that he or she should be your first consideration.’
Jeannie jumped from her chair, her eyes flaming. ‘What do you mean, “if I’m the father”? Of course you’re the father. And I’m the mother and I’m telling you I’m going. The baby will be fine,’ she declared and stormed from the room.
That evening she wrote a short note to her aunt.
Shieldburn
Wednesday 20th February
Dear Auntie Christine,
I’m coming to see you as soon as the weather improves. I do hope Uncle Cameron is a bit better.
Tam says I mustn’t go, but he’s not going to stop me. I wish he and I got on as well as you and Uncle have always done.
With much love to you both,
Jeannie. xx
There was a note from her aunt the following week.
Laird’s House
Dunbarton Road
Partick
Sunday
Your uncle is getting worse. Do come as soon as you are able.
Maybe you will tell me more about what is wrong when we meet. You know I would do anything to help. xx
*
Over the following days, the atmosphere inside the cottage was as frosty as the wintry conditions outside. Nothing more was said about the proposed visit. Tam was sure that his wife would not go ahead against his wishes, but her defiance had angered him and he was not going to apologise for what he had said.
*
A slight improvement in the weather raised everyone’s spirits. Into the second week of March, no new snow having fallen and there being signs of a thaw, Tam decided to bring some of the pregnant ewes down to the farm so that he could feed them the extra that they would require for a successful lambing. He and his border collie Sam were away most of the day. Tired and hungry, he entered the kitchen late in the afternoon. The fire was out and there was no sign of food. His father sat at the table, a sheet of paper in front of him.
‘What’s going on?’ Tam asked, frowning at his father. ‘Where’s Jeannie?’
‘She’s gone. Look.’ He passed the piece of paper to Tam with a shaking hand.
Now that the weather has improved, I am takin
g the opportunity to visit my aunt and uncle. I know this goes against your wishes and I am sorry you don’t understand the need for me to go. I will be perfectly safe. There is no need for you to worry.
Tam’s face contorted with rage and he screwed up the paper and threw it fiercely from him. It hit the edge of a chair and came to rest beneath the table. ‘I told her that she should stay at home, being so near her time. How dare she disobey me like this!’
‘Well, son, you can’t say you weren’t warned. What did your brother say at your wedding? She is headstrong and has a mind of her own. I would say she’s been pretty docile up till now and she’s just wanting a bit of her own way.’
The mention of his brother was too much for Tam. He turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him. It was ten o’clock before he returned. His father must have gone to bed, but he had lit the fire, which was blazing brightly in the stove. Tam placed the kettle on the hob and while it came to the boil he sat staring into the fire till his eyes watered.
How had she even made the journey? For someone fit and healthy it was a long way to walk to the station, and for one in her condition surely impossible. And why had she disobeyed him? Was it because the child was not his but his brother’s? He had wondered as much for months. He had suspected even before they were married that she preferred his brother to him.
Very well then, he would let her be. He wouldn’t go after her and plead with her to return. He had that much self-respect. If she didn’t return, he would know he was right.
39. Past Hope
2000
The window is open. A breeze billows the bedroom curtains and caresses their naked bodies. He is stretched out on his back, staring at the ceiling. She is on her side, curled away from him but close, their bodies touching. She is watching him in the mirror of the wardrobe.
‘I’m not leaving her.’
The unadorned statement comes as a hammer blow. Something deep inside dies with the words. It is hope. Hope, sustained for years with twilight phrases open to interpretation, dies in that terse sentence.
Her eyes fill with scalding tears. They dry in a red-hot wave of hurt that flows up her body encircling her heart in a vice-like grip. Sitting up slowly, she swings her legs off the bed. Silently she dresses. He lies there still. He doesn’t look at her. It is not until she goes down to the kitchen that she hears him moving around.
Over lunch, he chats, as though this day is no different from any other. He has left intimacy at the top of the stairs. She says nothing. She tries to eat, but the food sticks in her throat. When he leaves, he plants the usual kiss on her cheek.
But the day is not usual. She knows now what she has to do.
*
It has been her sanctuary for twelve years.
She has heard the early intercity train as it skated up the line, shaking the walls of the cottage and rattling the ornaments on her dressing table. Light is filtering in between the curtains now and she draws them back before returning to her bed with a mug of tea. The clouds over the railway line are pink with sunrise, the dawn chorus growing in volume, assorted birds adding to the blackbird’s wake-up call. She looks round the room slowly, remembering how she teetered on the top step of the ladder to paint the ceiling, how she had to get help to hang the mirrored doors of the wardrobe that she had brought from the family home, how, that first day, she had craned her neck out of the window to marvel at the length of the trains screaming their welcome as they passed.
She loves this cottage – its proximity to the railway, its sense of history, the quirkiness of its design, the welcome abundance of its garden. She has made it her own. She never imagined that she would become so attached to a house, for she has never done so before. It has always been the people in the house that matter, not the bricks and mortar. But, on reflection, it is no different now because David and this cottage are inseparable. It is he who drew the village to her attention. She would never have heard of it had it not been for his dropping it into the conversation. And here, apart from a few notable occasions, is the only place they meet.
*
The decision to sell is one of the most difficult she has had to make. She has made it alone. She has known that any opinion she may seek will be biased.
When she puts the cottage on the market, she doesn’t tell him. She will choose her moment.
But that choice is snatched from her.
They are sitting opposite one another at the summer school. Nobody there knows of their friendship, at least not the extent of it. It is one of her friends who drops the bombshell.
‘Who have you put your house on the market with, Liz?’
In an instant, all the blood is squeezed out of her heart. From the corner of her eye, she can see his stillness. She dare not look at him. There is a long silence. They are waiting for her to speak, wondering why she doesn’t.
‘Er… Halifax,’ she says eventually.
*
‘I was going to tell you this week.’ She is sitting on the side of the bed, watching him undress.
‘It’s OK. It doesn’t matter. You had said you might.’
‘It won’t be for a while. There’s no interest at the moment.’ Why, she wonders, is she trying to soften the blow, when he is the one whose behaviour has brought about this decision.
‘I told you to think about it.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why don’t you think about going to live in Scotland?’ he said. ‘You’ve always loved going on holiday there.’
‘Is that what you want me to do?’ she asked.
‘If that’s what you would like to do…’
Irritation washed over her with the repetition of this roundabout tactic… the one in which he turns round the question aimed at him, so he never has to answer it.
Why has he suggested she go? She did not ask him because she cannot face what he might say. In any case, she is unlikely to get a straight answer. It may be that he has her best interests at heart, that his motives are entirely selfless – if so, it would be the first time. It could be that he sees it as the only way of escape from the morass into which he has fallen. This is more likely. There is of course the third option – that he no longer loves her. She has asked him that more than once. ‘Then why do you think I keep coming to see you?’ is the reply. The familiar evasion of the question.
*
‘Have you got a moving date?’ He is ringing one morning, once he is alone in his house.
‘Tomorrow.’
There is silence down the phone.
‘You know how these things are,’ she says into the hiatus. ‘Always last minute.’ He doesn’t actually know how these things are. He’s rarely had to do it.
‘Can I come over?’
There are a million and one jobs still to be done. ‘Of course,’ she replies.
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
The handset clatters into the receiver. She replaces her phone thoughtfully. How many times has she wanted him to come over, suggested he might like to? Not begged though – never that. Always he has been too busy, his visits dwindling to twice a month, monthly even. And always at his convenience. ‘I’ve got a lot on over the next two weeks,’ he would say. ‘After that it’s not too bad.’ She has never ruled out the possibility that the busyness is a disguise for more pleasurable pastimes – and those not alone. She has become accustomed to translating ‘I’ into ‘we’. ‘I’m having a few days’ break in London’ is rarely that.
He stays an hour. It is a torment. She says little, he says less. They choke over a meal of bread and cheese. When he goes, they cling together crying. She watches his familiar walk down the garden path. He doesn’t look back.
40. Glasgow
March 1941
It was late afternoon by the time Jeannie walked up the garden path and knocked on the door of her aunt’s house. Glasgow looked even greyer than on her last visit and Central Station the greyest of all. Streets still held the remains of
dirty snow and slush. The tram crawled westward from the centre of the city. Even the usual cheeriness of the locals seemed dampened.
‘Jeannie! How marvellous to see you. Come in out of the cold. My word, you’ve changed a bit since we last saw you,’ her aunt said as she took Jeannie’s coat. ‘Not long to go now, eh?’
‘No, not long.’ Jeannie looked at her aunt. She too was changing – older-looking and careworn.
‘How’s Uncle?’
‘Come and see for yourself. He’s through in the room.’
Jeannie’s Uncle Cameron was sitting close to the fire. His face, highly coloured but with a sickly bluish tinge, creased in a smile. ‘Jeannie, I’m so glad you could come.’
She went over and kissed her uncle’s forehead, then sat down next to him, holding his hand.
‘How are you, Uncle?’
‘All the better for seeing you. It’s the old heart that’s playing up. Not too much they can do to help, it seems. Still, tell me about yourself. Look at you, about to have a wee one. Have you been keeping well?’
‘Yes, very well. It’s been hard this winter, though, with the cold and the snow – much like last year. We’ve lost more sheep this time because they were already in poor condition from the winter before.’
Christine came in with a tray of tea and cake. ‘This will keep us going till I get something cooked. Your uncle’s not eating so much at night, so this will do him nicely.’
Jeannie sat quietly relishing the comfort and the warmth of the fire while her aunt poured tea and handed it round. Her uncle took his with a shaking hand and put it on a small table at his side. He was encouraged to take a piece of cake but ate little of it.
