Crystal's Song

by Millie Gray

  The dormitories were situated on the third floor and once Senga and Elsie realised they were expected to sleep alone in single beds they both became tearful. It wasn’t that the beds weren’t comfortable or warm – it was just the thought of waking up in the night and not having the comfort of another human being lying next to you.

  To help cope with the solitude, Senga first wrapped her blanket tightly round herself and curled herself into a ball. Then she clasped her hands before imprisoning them between her knees. To her surprise, sleep overtook her very quickly but she woke suddenly around midnight when she felt a tugging at her blanket. Rolling over and disentangling herself from the bedclothes, she was surprised to see Elsie standing by the bed and trembling.

  “Senga, I’m feart. Really feart – and my teddy disnae like it here either. Could we no get intae bed beside you?”

  Senga nodded. Quickly opening up the blanket to let Elsie climb in beside her, the pair were soon snuggled safely together, just as they would have been at home.

  Dinah and her friend Etta inhaled slowly on their second cigarette. “Oh, are these no just sheer heaven, Etta, are they no?”

  “And you got a whole tin o’ them.” Etta picked up the can to inspect it and noted it was navy issue, marked, “Fifty Capstan Navy Strength Cigarettes”. “And how did you come by them?”

  “Got them off a sailor.”

  “Did he come on your bus like?”

  “Naw. Naw. I met him in the servicemen’s canteen up the East End o’ Princes Street.”

  Etta nodded before taking another cigarette from the tin. “Good we’ve got Phyllis bedded down for the night and it’ll be a wee while afore Tess gets back from the pictures.” She paused and gave a slight cough as the smoke haze surrounded the two women. “But, ken something? I find it awfy quiet without aw the others.”

  “Aye, oor blessed Saint Patsy, saviour of my bairns as she sees herself, should be back ony time now from Linlithgow. Look, afore the auld battleaxe gets in, how about you and me having a bit toasted cheese and a cup of tea wi’ twa sugars!”

  The mention of toasted cheese had a bad effect on Etta and she started to boak. “You still throwing up?” Dinah asked, screwing up her face in disgust. Etta nodded. “Must be something wrang wi’ ye …”

  Etta lifted the poker and began stirring the last embers of the fire back into life. “Dinah,” she said slowly without looking up. “The one good point your mammy says you have is …” Etta hesitated before whispering, “… is that you can keep a secret.”

  “Oh, Etta, ye’re … no? But here ye are. I mean are ye really saying … you’re on the road?” stammered Dinah as she bent over and rubbed Etta’s knee.

  Etta nodded.

  “You mean you’ve actually missed? How long?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “Och, is that no just wonderful? And it’s what you’ve always wanted. See when you get over the morning sickness you’ll feel just great.”

  Etta continued to poke the fire while sighing deeply.

  “And how does Harry feel about it? Bet he’s cock-a-hoop?”

  Etta stopped annoying the fire and just sat staring into space as big silent tears ran down her face.

  “I ken ye’re getting on a fair bit for your first bairn – but you’ll be fine,” Dinah said reassuringly. However, when Etta slumped even further down in the chair, Dinah realised there was something far wrong. It was not as simple as Etta being worried about becoming an older mother. It was something that Dinah should be seeing. But something she wasn’t seeing. Then it slowly dawned on her that she’d never seen Harry, not once, in the last six months! “Wh – wh – when was Harry last home on leave?” she spiered.

  Etta shook her head, “That’s the trouble … he’s no been home.”

  “Oh,” was all Dinah could mutter.

  “Aye. Oh.”

  “Are you sure you’re away then?”

  Etta nodded. “Aye, and Harry’s no going to be pleased because – he’s – well he’s no …”

  “Don’t mean to pry but, well – who is to blame then?”

  “The Germans,” blurted out Etta as sobs racked her body.

  Dinah shook her head. “But we’ve no been invaded by the Germans. Do you no mean they randy Poles that are squatting down in the Craigentinny Army Camp?”

  “No. The Germans are to blame. All four hundred of them!”

  Dinah was speechless at first but when she finally managed to utter some words all she could say was, “Etta, are you saying that the fact you’re expecting is down to four hundred Germans taking advantage o’ you?”

  “No. They didn’t take advantage of me. Frightened the living daylights out of me, so they did.”

  “They frightened you? But getting a fright doesn’t …” Dinah didn’t continue as Etta went on to explain.

  “Remember last month – the thirteenth and fourteenth of March – when all these German bombers flew over us on their way to blitz poor Clydebank to smithereens?” Dinah nodded. “Aye, well, on the first night I was asleep when the siren went and Jacob Simpson woke me up telling me to go with him to the shelter. But I heard all the din, saw all the flashes of the searchlights.” Etta put her hands over her ears. “Those guns. Oh, Dinah! I was so scared that I told Jacob I just couldn’t go outside and run for the shelter. So he just patted my head and said not to worry and that we’d just go back to bed …”

  Dinah’s eyes were now like saucers and her breath was coming in short pants. “You mean? No … you just can’t …!” Etta made no reply but only nodded her head. “Oh. You do? Now let’s get this straight. The father of your baby is – your father-in-law, Jacob?”

  Etta’s head had sunk so low that her chin was being pushed into her neck.

  “But that’s unbelievable,” gasped Dinah. “Jacob was married for years and there were no children so he and his wife adopted Harry. You and Harry have been married for years and you never fell. You jump once into bed with Jacob and …”

  “Because I was that scared,” Etta retaliated fiercely, lifting her head in defiance. Then her head dropped again before she continued in a tearful and more conciliatory tone. “And I’ve been scared ever since!”

  Dinah, who had risen to her feet, now sank down into the chair opposite Etta. Could she really believe what she was being told? Here was comfortable, untidy Etta, who always looked like a shaggy dog only wanting to be loved and needed, having an affair with her ageing father-in-law. And to add to Dinah’s astonishment was the fact that Jacob, who was the chief accountant in Gibson’s Shipping Company, was so stooped that he couldn’t even lift his head and was devoutly religious. Her thoughts were interrupted though by Etta asking, “Dinah, what can I do? You’re so good at getting out of pickles.”

  Dinah shook her head. “But this is more than a pickle. It could be grounds for divorce – maybe even justifiable murder!” She did concede however that Etta was not the only one to blame here – if her husband Harry had shown her only a little love and attention she wouldn’t have had to seek it elsewhere. She knew this was true because that was surely the reason why her friend spent so much time looking after Phyllis.

  A few minutes passed while Dinah pondered and Etta just sobbed. Eventually Dinah asked, “Are you sure you’re only three weeks late?”

  “Aye. Jacob’s lonely, too, so we’ve been comforting each other ever since the nights of the Clydebank raids.”

  “Aye, well. Here was me thinking the Jerries were only trying to bomb Clydebank into submission and here’s you been …” Dinah paused. Something truly drastic had to be done. Etta would never cope with the gossip, the sniggering and, most importantly, the cold-shouldering from the holier-than-thou scandal-mongers that would undoubtedly creep out of the woodwork. Once or twice Dinah was about to speak because she thought she had an answer – then would close her mouth and shake her head. That was, until the perfect solution struck her and she smiled triumphantly before announcing: “Look, here’s what we
do. You and I will go to Pitreavie tomorrow.”

  “Oh no, I just couldn’t face Harry. Well, not right now.”

  “But you’re gonnae do more than face him. You’re gonnae tell him your mother invited us over to South Queensferry for the day and with you being only a ferry boat’s sail away and you missing him so very, very much, you just had to look him up.”

  “And?”

  “Och, do I have to spell it out for you? Somehow – and anywhere at all – you get him to some quiet spot and … well, you ken …”

  Etta shook her head. “I just couldn’t. I mean how could you ask me to degrade myself outside in the open air?”

  “Look here,” exploded Dinah, “just you imagine there are four hundred German planes flyin’ right above you. That should put enough fear into you to get things sorted.”

  “Oh, I think I see what you’re getting at, Dinah,” murmured Etta, after having taken a good few minutes to consider the proposal. “But you’re forgetting that my baby is due in December, no in February.”

  “So you’ll just be like yon Carol Stone who last week had a ten pound, four month premature weakling!”

  Dinah vigorously massaged the sides of her buttocks as she exclaimed, “Oh, this rickety auld bus. My poor backside.”

  “No bothering me,” replied Patsy, looking somewhat askance at her daughter.

  “Aye, and if I was as well padded as you I wouldnae be moaning either.”

  Patsy ignored the insult. “No be long till we’re there. I’m just starving for the bairns.”

  “That right? And whose idea was it to send them to the God-forsaken place where the first thing they did was to volunteer for slavery?”

  Patsy smiled as she recalled the three letters they’d received from the children since they had been evacuated six weeks ago.

  The first letter had been from Johnny who said what a great place the Craigs was and how he had been sailing on a pond in an old tin bath. Because it was holed you had to keep bailing out and, as Elsie was just useless at that, they had nearly sunk. But even if they had gone under there was no need to worry, as the depth of the pond was not over his head – only Elsie’s!

  Letter number two came as a big surprise since it was from Senga. She had bragged that she was no longer a duffer because Mrs Carruthers spent time every evening helping with her reading and writing. She had learned so fast that she was now able to write – not joined-up writing yet (that would take a few days more) – but here was her first attempt at writing a note home. The letter went on to say that Johnny had gone down the back road of the estate to the farm where he’d got talking to the farmer and explained that he knew a lot about rearing pigs as he had spent one whole month in Lasswade tending the animals there and could he get a paid job looking after the farmer’s pigs after school? Senga went on to say that the farmer, who didn’t think a month of training with pigs was adequate, had taken quite a bit of persuasion but he did give in and Johnny was really enjoying the chore. What she couldn’t put in the letter (because Mrs Carruthers was helping her with the composition of it) was that Johnny was saving up the money he earned in case they had to get home quickly if Daddy was found or whatever and that in another two weeks he should have earned enough for the bus fares home for them all! Senga went on to explain that she was now helping the land-girl, Dorothy. Dorothy had been called up to the Land Army, and even although she was kitted out in the uniform and looked the part, she didn’t know everything she should about collecting eggs and Senga had offered to put her right. Senga herself wasn’t being paid in money, like Johnny, but Dorothy had promised that when Granny Patsy came to visit she would be given the afternoon lay and sometimes that could be as much as ten eggs! The letter ended by saying, if there was any word of where Daddy was, could she have the address as she could then write to him. The third letter was again from Johnny. It contained a ten-shilling note with the request that a football be bought and also some sweets if there was any change left, and could it please come this Sunday.

  Looking out of the bus window, Patsy smiled peacefully – but suddenly remembered that she wanted to quiz Dinah, so gave her daughter a vigorous dig in the ribs. “Here, Dinah,” she said, “did you know that Etta is …” Patsy paused, looking warily around the bus to make sure she was not overheard before whispering, “on the road?”

  “Is she? Now fancy that! And when will she be better?” Dinah replied, turning to look out of the window since she didn’t want her mother to see her satisfied smile.

  “Late January or early February, so she says.” Patsy waited for a reaction from Dinah but as none was forthcoming, she continued, with a knowing cock of her head. “Seems Harry can’t believe it either but he’s coming home on his days off now. Know something?” Patsy leant forward so she could see if there would now be an obvious response from Dinah before continuing, “I think that day you got me to watch Phyllis so you and Etta could go over to South Queensferry … well I guess that mousy Etta had good reason to go a fair bit further.”

  Dinah smiled but made no reply: she knew just how far Etta had gone that day.

  “Here. We’re here,” Patsy exclaimed as the bus shuddered to a halt. “And look! The bairns have come to the road-end to meet us.”

  6

  Dinah was lovingly stroking one of the precious nylons that she had carefully laid upon her left hand.

  “Well,” asked Etta, as she picked up the bottle of leg make-up and shook it vigorously. “Are you going to wear them tonight or am I going to plaster your legs with this?”

  “It’s not the make-up I mind. It’s getting the line straight. You know, no matter how hard you try to keep yon eye-brow pencils going in a straight line they just go zigzagging.” Etta nodded. “So the choice is: do I go out with pencilled-on seams that look as if they’ve had one too many – not to mention the cold turning my flesh blue – or should I risk wearing my very first pair of precious nylons, the ones I got from that nice Canadian airman?”

  “The choice is yours. But don’t forget the other problem is that you’ll need to jump up on the table for me to do my artistry on your pins because I just can’t …” Etta stopped and patted her swollen belly. “No. There’s no way I could bend down on the floor to help you.”

  “Suppose it’s the pencil job then,” sighed Dinah, jumping up on the table, “because I’m no wanton hussy, I simply can’t go out bare-legged.”

  Etta had started to smooth the fake tan make-up over Dinah’s legs when there came a sharp knock at the door. Both women looked at each other. Etta shook her head and held up her cream-covered hands. They looked towards Phyllis but since she obviously couldn’t move there was nothing else for it but for Dinah to jump down and answer the summons.

  Opening the door, she was confronted by a telegraph boy holding out an envelope.

  “No,” she cried. “I don’t want it.”

  “But, missus, aren’t you Mrs Thomas Glass?” Dinah nodded. “Then you have to take it,” insisted the boy, thrusting the telegram into Dinah’s hand.

  “Bad news?” enquired Etta who was just emerging from the kitchen where she had gone to wash her hands.

  Dinah grimaced. “Suppose it is. Suppose it’s what we’ve all been dreading.”

  Etta went over to Phyllis, lifted her hand and began stroking it. “Well, open it, Dinah, and let’s hear the worst.”

  Slowly Dinah pushed her thumb under the flap of the envelope and then withdrew the telegram. As she began to read, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

  “So Tam’s dead?” sniffed Etta.

  Dinah shook her head. “No. He’s alive. Alive, thank God! But he’s a prisoner of war!”

  Christmas Eve at the Craigs had an air of magic about it. A large decorated fir tree took up one corner of the schoolroom and the desks had all been pushed against a wall so that the centre of the room was bare and ready for the party to begin. Johnny was sitting on a chair with a smile on his face that would have melted an
iceberg.

  “You like Christmas, Johnny?” Mrs Carruthers asked. “But then you probably got some nice Christmas cards in the post today.”

  Johnny cackled. “Naw, Miss, we dinnae send cards.”

  “So you’re happy because Santa Claus will be coming tonight?”

  “Santa Claus? Don’t you ken he’s a Tory, Miss? He only gies to them that has lots and lots – never to us poor folk.”

  “So why are you so happy?”

  Johnny took a letter addressed to himself that had arrived in the morning post. He thrust it into Mrs Carruthers’ hand and she began to read from it. “Oh, this is truly good news. Your Daddy’s been found in a prisoner of war camp! Oh, Johnny, that is indeed the best Christmas present you and your family could get!”

  However, before Johnny could reply, a distraught Senga burst into the room and declared, “I’m no eating any Christmas dinner because I know now why we were asked to feed up Tom, Dick and Harry!”

  “You can’t mean they’re our …” protested Johnny.

  “They are, and not only that, but once the cook had throttled them and hauled the feathers off them, she threw them in a big witch’s cauldron with some carrots, leeks and barley.” Senga was now sobbing uncontrollably. “And then she said to us: ‘Bet your sweet life you’ll never have tasted such wonderful cock-a-leekie soup like we’re going to make!”’

  It fell to Etta to inform Patsy, yet again, that Dinah was away out with fake-tanned legs and possibly celebrating by drinking and dancing the night away.

  “Och,” was the disgusted reply from Patsy. “Do you mean to say she’s just been told her man’s still alive and yet she’s gone out on the randan?”

  Etta nodded. “But, Patsy, I think Dinah going AWOL again is the least of our worries.”