‘I did see some when I went on a trip to Kenya, but it was monkeys I didn’t like, Lizzie.’
‘I always imagined monkeys were lovely creatures,’ I said. ‘I have pictures of them in one of my books and they are swinging from trees.’
‘Yes, they do,’ said Miss McMillan, ‘but they can be very quarrelsome and sometimes quite vicious. We were always very wary of them if there were a group of them around the huts.’ She stopped knitting and said, ‘What to you want to be when you grow up, Lizzie?’
There was no hesitation on my part. ‘I want to be a pirate.’
Granny looked at me with her forbidding, steely-eyed gaze. I could see she was not amused. ‘Now don’t be silly, Lizzie, you can’t possibly want to be a pirate.’
‘But I do. I want to travel all over the world on a pirate ship and jump from the rigging with my sword …’
I stopped because she was now glaring at me. I looked at Mum. She had turned her face away and it looked as though she was ready to burst out laughing. Miss McMillan began to cough and said, ‘Excuse me, I think I need a glass of water.’
Granny got up and went to fetch it and when she came back, she said, ‘I think you should train to be a teacher or work in a nice office like your grandfather did.’
I was amazed by the look of horror my mum gave her, but she turned her attention to Mrs Mulholland, who was sitting next to her.
‘How is your sore back? I hope you are feeling better.’
Mum and I both knew that Mrs Mulholland was also a widow but was childless. Granny had said once that she hadn’t been married for long when her husband died. I found it all very sad and I could see from Mum’s expression that she felt the same.
Mrs Mulholland said she was much better now. ‘I was making the bed when I felt the twinge, but thankfully the pain has gone.’
Granny said that was good news, but she still gave me her gimlet-eyed look. She then turned her attention to Miss McKenzie, who was a thin, white-haired woman with a sweet-looking face who had stayed silent all through the tea but had managed to knit a large pile of items.
‘Are you keeping well, Amelia?’
Amelia smiled and said she was fine, thank you.
‘And how is your sister? Is she feeling better now?’
‘Yes she is, the doctor said she could maybe get up next week.’
Granny enlightened us. ‘Amelia’s sister has broken her ankle, but thank goodness she has Amelia to look after her.’
Later on when they had all left, Mum said, ‘I didn’t realise they are all in the same boat as we are.’
I noticed that she was crying as we got ready for bed.
I had overheard Granny mentioning my behaviour. ‘Pirate indeed, what a lot of nonsense.’
I was surprised when Mum answered back. ‘She’s just a child, Mary, let her have a bit of nonsense in her life. After all, the reality of life is so much worse.’
I almost told Mum that it wasn’t nonsense, but I knew she was upset so I stayed silent.
6
ARMISTICE
The town was abuzz with the news that the war would soon be over. Mum was overjoyed that Dad would soon be home and she set off for work with a new spring in her step.
Granny stayed quiet when Mum went on about how everything was now going to get back to normal and, although I wanted to believe Mum, I found Granny’s behaviour out of character and I was suddenly afraid.
When word finally arrived that the Armistice would be signed at 11 a.m. on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, there was rejoicing all over the country. Mum read out the news from the newspapers, but the weather outside was dreich and depressing. Grey skies matched the cold grey pavements and buildings. Perhaps if the sun had been shining it would have been different, but cities, villages and hamlets had all lost their young men in the awful battles and Dundee was no exception. Nearly every family had been touched by the carnage of Loos, Neuve Chapelle, Ypres, the Somme and other battlefronts, and there wasn’t any cause for joyous celebration in the homes to which loved ones would never return.
Oh, there were flags and bunting decorating some of the shops, and people thronged into the High Street on that wet November day in 1918. Men in flat caps and women jostled for space in front of the Town House, or the Pillars as it was better known, to hear the momentous news, but bereaved families went about their daily chores like grey shadows, glad that it was all over but, if the truth be told, it had been all over for them when their loved ones perished in the mud and gore of the trenches.
Mum mentioned this scene to us because some of the shop staff looked out of the windows in the department store that overlooked the street. As she was telling us the story, she sounded happy.
‘I was telling Milly, my friend in the shop, that I hope it won’t be long before Peter comes home. I wish now that I hadn’t said it because I thought she was going to cry. Her brother and her fiancé were both killed at Loos. They were both in the Black Watch. And I feel very sorry for her. I’m lucky that Peter will be home soon and we’ll be a family again.’
She made it sound like paradise, but once again Granny said very little and the fear in my heart grew stronger.
On the Sunday afternoon, the four ladies appeared again, bustling around as they took off coats, hats and gloves. I had the job of putting everything away into our bedroom, and by the time I got back, Mum was telling them that her husband would soon be coming home.
Miss McKenzie looked confused. ‘But Mary said …’ She stopped and went bright red when Mum looked at her. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m talking about.’
Mum said, ‘You probably heard that Peter is dead, but the telegram said he was missing in action so that can only mean he’s still alive.’
Miss McKenzie said that she had got the story all wrong. ‘I always get mixed up with stories, Beth, you must excuse me.’
Mum said she understood. ‘I just like to put things right. After all, there’s no sense in having wild rumours, is there?’
The women all nodded at the same time. It was like a synchronised nodding competition and it would have been so funny if it wasn’t so worrying.
Granny said, ‘Well, we won’t have to knit for the war effort now that it’s over, but we will still have our babies and families in need to cater for, so that means we can still keep busy with our knitting needles.’
Afterwards, when the ladies were busy getting into their coats, ready to face the rainy evening, I heard Miss McKenzie apologising to Granny.
‘I’m so sorry, Mary, for coming out with the wrong thing to Beth. I hope I haven’t upset her.’
Granny said it was all right, but as they passed me to go to the front door, Miss McKenzie was dabbing her eyes with a small white lace-edged handkerchief.
Almost right up till Christmastime, Mum kept writing to the War Office for news of Dad. She got one letter back that said there were hundreds of casualties in military hospitals but so far no Private Peter Flint was on the lists. However, they promised to keep checking and to keep in touch with us.
Mum had to work on Christmas Day, but Granny had decorated the house with paper chains. Her little decorative fairies and elves and a bunch of holly in a vase on the mantelpiece made it festive. I got three books: Treasure Island, Little Women and the Big Book of Heroines, which told the true stories of famous and courageous women. I also got a jigsaw in the form of a map of the world, which I loved. Now I could look at all the countries and see the places Aunt Margaret and her husband Gerald had visited with the British Diplomatic Service.
Mum had stayed positive ever since Armistice Day and I was so pleased to see her looking reasonably happy.
Aunt Margaret sent us a lovely Christmas card and a long letter. Mum opened it, eager to hear all the news from abroad. She read out snatches of it to me. ‘They hope to be leaving Rio and coming to a posting in Europe. If that happens, then Margaret will be coming to visit us.’ Mum looked so pleased.
‘When are they coming?�
� I asked, thrilled to bits that Aunt Margaret was coming to see us.
Mum read the letter to the end before answering. ‘She doesn’t say, but it’ll be wonderful to see her again. Maybe she’ll be here when Peter gets home.’
Granny, who had been reading a book, gave Mum an odd look that alarmed me, but Mum was oblivious to it. She was too busy reading the letter again and dreaming of the reunion with Dad and her stepsister.
As I lay in my bed that night, I couldn’t forget that strange look, and I felt cold and frightened but didn’t understand what was wrong. Mum was adamant that Dad was coming home soon and I believed her, and I couldn’t understand why Granny didn’t share the same thought …
7
ANDY BAXTER
October 29th was Granny’s birthday and it was a stormy day. The rain was bouncing off the playground as we all emerged from school, and by the time I got home I was soaking wet. Granny dried my hair with a rough towel and made me change into my flannelette nightdress.
She placed my school clothes on the airer, which hung from the ceiling in the scullery. ‘I hope everything gets dry before tomorrow,’ she said, fussing around and placing newspaper inside my wet shoes. ‘You can set the table for the tea, Lizzie.’
Turning to look out of the window at the darkening sky and heavy rain, she said, ‘I hope your mum has the sense to catch a tramcar instead of walking home in this weather.’
I felt it was a bit of an adventure being dressed in my nightgown at four thirty in the afternoon and I went over to the window to look out as well. People were hurrying along the pavement, which was awash with deep puddles, and the tramcars sent sprays of water over the unfortunate pedestrians passing at that moment.
At six o’clock, Mum arrived, and even although she had caught the tramcar, she’d still managed to get soaked before reaching the close. However, she refused to take off her clothes as Granny suggested, though she did remove her shoes and stockings.
‘The shop was really quiet today,’ she told us as we sat down to our tea. ‘I suppose people didn’t fancy coming out in the rain to buy a hat and I don’t blame them.’ She looked worried. ‘We’ve been quiet for some days now and I hope we pick up soon.’
Granny said. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much, Beth. I always think women need to buy a new hat.’
Mum wasn’t reassured. ‘I don’t know, Mary. Money and jobs are difficult to find these days and a lot of people are having a hard time making ends meet.’
I was too busy eyeing up the sugary buns from the baker’s shop across the road that Granny had bought to celebrate her birthday. As a result I wasn’t paying too much attention to all this talk about the state of the country, but I knew Mum was worried about money. She had her wage from DM Brown’s, but I knew she didn’t like relying on Granny to subsidise us.
After we had our tea, Granny opened her birthday present from us. It was a box of three rose-scented soaps, which we knew she liked. She thanked us profusely. ‘It’s just what I wanted, thank you.’ She gave me a kiss on my cheek and I felt her thin, dry lips against my skin.
‘I chose them, Granny,’ I said proudly. ‘We got them from the chemist’s shop down the road.’ Actually, I had wanted to get her the blue lacy wool cardigan I had seen in DM Brown’s window, but Mum said it was too expensive and didn’t I know that Granny liked to knit her own cardigans along with the children’s clothes she knitted for the church.
At seven o’clock we were sitting by the fire when the doorbell rang. Mum looked surprised. ‘Are you expecting anyone, Mary?’ Granny shook her head, but before either of them could get up, I was in the lobby and opening the door. I got such a shock when I saw the man standing on the landing. Dressed in a long army coat, he had a black eyepatch over his left eye. My first thought was that he was a pirate.
By now Mum had arrived beside me and she gave me a telling-off for running to the door. She then saw the man and almost slammed the door in his face.
‘Mrs Flint, I’m Andy Baxter.’
Mum gasped and peered at him, her face turning a bright red. ‘Oh Andy, I didn’t recognise you. Come in.’
He hesitated. ‘I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy.’
Mum had recovered from the surprise and said, ‘No, come in. We’re not busy.’
I was mesmerised by this man with his eyepatch and followed him into the living room, wondering who he was. Granny looked up as we entered and she was also surprised.
Mum said, ‘This is Andy, he was a member of the swimming club that Peter used to go to.’
As he sat down, Granny said, ‘I remember you, Andy. Weren’t you the youngest member of the club?’
He looked uncomfortable sitting in the chair, but he nodded. ‘Yes, I joined when I was fourteen and I loved the swimming and the competitions we used to go to.’
‘Let me take your coat, Andy.’ Mum stood beside him and took his coat into the lobby.
That was when I saw he had no left hand. He saw me looking and pulled the sleeve of his jumper down over the red-looking stub.
Mum offered him a cup of tea, but he said he didn’t want anything.
‘I just wanted to come and see you, Missus Flint. I wasn’t sure of your new address, but Mrs Whyte told me where you lived.
Granny also saw the missing hand. ‘Were you in the army, Andy?’
He nodded again. ‘Aye, I was called up when I was eighteen and I’ve been in France.’ He turned and looked at Mum. ‘That’s why I’m here. In 1917 I was in the same trench as your husband, Peter, and he saved my life.’
Mum put a hand over her mouth. ‘You were with Peter.’
‘Aye, I was. I was hit by shrapnel and I was lying in the mud when Peter ran out into no-man’s-land and picked me up. I was taken to a hospital in France before being transferred back to Blighty. I lost my eye and my hand, but I’m one of the lucky ones.’
Andy stopped talking and wiped his face with his right hand.
‘Was Peter injured as well?’ Mum’s eyes were bright with tears. ‘It’s just that he hasn’t been sent home yet and we’ve had no word from the War Office.’
‘When Peter carried me back to the trench, he heard another poor injured soldier crying out and he went back to save him.’ Andy wiped his face again with a white handkerchief and it was a moment before he resumed his story. ‘There was a bomb blast, Missus Flint, and when someone went out to look there was just a huge crater. No one could have survived that.’
Mum cried out. ‘No, no, no, it isn’t true. I know he survived and he’ll be back home again soon.’
Granny tried to change the subject. ‘Do you still live in Alexander Street, Andy?’
‘Yes, I do. My father died when I was in France and Mum has gone back to work in Halley’s jute mill.’ He sounded bitter when he mentioned his father. ‘I wish I could have said goodbye to him.’
Granny nodded. ‘You’ve been through such a traumatic time, Andy, but your mother will be happy to have you home.’
Andy said that was true. ‘I just wish I could find a job, but what job could I do? Anything manual is out of the question and I have to take one day at a time.’
Mum cried out again, ‘I know Peter is alive, he is a survivor and he survived that bomb blast.’ Her face was red as she realised she was repeating herself, while I stood in shocked silence.
Andy was distressed and looked at Granny. ‘Well, maybe he did. Miracles do happen.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll get off now, but I did want to see you and tell you that your husband was a hero.’
Granny got his coat and stood at the door speaking to him before we heard the door close and the key being turned in the lock.
When she came back into the room, Mum and I were crying. Granny looked shocked but, gathering up her courage, she said perhaps we should all go to bed.
‘He’s not dead, Mary. I don’t believe it,’ said Mum. She looked pale and her eyes were rimmed red with her tears.
Granny said maybe things would look better in the
morning.
I thought Mum was going to protest, but she let Granny gently lead her to our bedroom. She waited until she was in bed. I lay awake to the sound of the rain on the window and Mum’s crying.
After what seemed like hours, Mum eventually fell asleep while I was still awake. I could hear Granny moving about, so I quietly got up and went into the living room.
Granny was looking at a photo album, and she looked up in surprise when she saw me.
‘I couldn’t sleep, Granny,’ I said. ‘Do you think Daddy is dead?’
She didn’t answer my question but said, ‘I’m just looking at all the photos of your dad. Come and sit beside me and we’ll look at them together.’
I curled up on the sofa beside her and gazed at the photos all neatly arranged in the album. There was one of the swimming club, and I felt tears in my eyes when I saw how young Dad looked as he held up a silver trophy from a swimming contest. He stood looking so proud and I was able to see the droplets of water from his hair. Standing behind him were the other members. They were all smiling with pleasure and I was shocked to see a very youthful-looking Andy Baxter. He had the world at his feet and couldn’t have known what lay ahead of him. Nor could the rest of the team, Dad included. Now Andy was a broken young man with his terrible injuries and I felt so angry about this awful war.
‘I think it’s time for bed,’ said Granny, standing up and putting the album back in the sideboard drawer. She still hadn’t answered my question, but I went back to bed and lay awake for ages until tiredness took over.
I thought Granny was very courageous in her attitude to Andy’s story. However, I noticed a change in her behaviour when she got ready for church on the Sunday morning. She always wore a black hat, but every week she would pin either a small bunch of artificial cherries or a small posy of silk flowers close to the brim, but on that Sunday and every Sunday afterwards she wore the black hat unadorned.
I knew it was he r sign of mourning for a son, a husband and a father.
8
Dragon Land Page 4
