Gracie looked up when her son came in. ‘So that’s all your goodbyes said now, is it?’
‘Yes. Martin gave me a fiver for good luck and Raymond said he’s going to join the army when he’s old enough.’
‘Oh!’ Gracie exclaimed. ‘I hope the war’s over before he’s old enough to fight – he’s only fifteen.’ She hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘Did everything go off all right?’
‘Yes. Martin said he’d thought of offering his services, but I don’t think Hetty was very pleased.’
It was Olive’s reaction that Gracie was interested in, but she didn’t ask. Hetty would tell her the next time they saw each other. ‘Your father went to bed about ten minutes ago, and Patsy and Queenie went about nine. They want to be up in time to see you off at the station.’
Neil pulled a face. ‘I don’t want any of you coming to see me off, Mum, I’d feel a proper twerp if my mother and my young sister and my cousin were . . .’
‘But . . .’ Gracie stopped. Her son would be in uniform soon – a soldier. ‘All right, if that’s how you want it. Now, off to bed with you.’
Breakfast was early the following morning, but no one ate much – Neil was too keyed up, his parents, sister and cousin too sad – but Gracie still had to issue a mother’s caution. ‘Look after yourself, remember, and don’t leave your clothes all over the place like you do here. There won’t be anybody there to pick them up after you.’
‘I know that. I’m not helpless, for God’s sake.’
Patsy, recognising that her brother’s sharpness was due to emotion, not bad temper, tried to help him out. ‘Aren’t you getting excited, Neil? I know I’d be, if it was me.’
Her tactics worked – the antagonism vanished. ‘A wee bit, but I’m looking forward to it. It’s like starting out on an adventure. I don’t know what’s in front of me, and . . .’ The boy’s defences broke. ‘Oh, Mum,’ he gulped, ‘you don’t need to worry about me. I’m old enough to look after myself.’ He drew his hand hastily across his eyes. ‘I’ll have to go now, but I’ll write as soon as I can.’
Disengaging himself from Gracie’s hug, he shook hands with his father. ‘Cheerio, Dad.’
‘Cheerio, son.’ Joe’s voice was gruff, and his grasp had a desperate firmness in it.
‘Cheerio, Neil.’ Wanting to hug him too, Patsy held back. Further demonstrations of affection would embarrass him.
‘Cheerio, little sister.’ He ruffled her hair, aimed a mock punch at Queenie, lifted his suitcase and went out.
The family gathering in King Street on New Year’s Day 1941 was rather too large for comfort. When everyone sat down for the meal, the kitchen-cum-sitting room was crowded with so many chairs round the extended table that it was virtually impossible for anyone to move freely.
‘I wish we were still at the Gallowgate,’ Gracie sighed, squeezing into her seat after dishing up the thick broth. ‘I miss having a dining room.’
Joe held out the plate of bread to Hetty. ‘I’ve told her a dozen times, the place was going to rack and ruin, that’s why it was condemned, but she’ll not listen.’
‘You don’t understand, Joe,’ his wife said, sadly. ‘All my memories are in that rambling old house – my childhood, with my brothers and sisters, Neil and Patsy as babies . . .’
He patted her hand. ‘You can’t keep hankering after what you’ll never have again, lass, and wherever you are, you’ll always have your memories.’
To cheer his sister-in-law, Martin asked, ‘Have you heard from Neil lately?’
She brightened considerably. ‘We’d a letter last week. He says his feet are hardening up now. The boots nearly killed him at first.’
Martin chuckled. ‘I know all about army boots. They’re not the kindest of footwear.’
‘Football boots aren’t so bad,’ Raymond observed, leading the men to their favourite topic. Patsy and Queenie were whispering and giggling together but Olive felt apart from them all. She had been anxious to hear about Neil – what he was doing, not about his feet – and nothing else interested her.
As soon as they were finished one course, the next one was set down and the meal ended with tea and cakes. Laying his cup down, Joe stretched his arms lazily, narrowly missing Martin’s eye with his elbow. ‘I could do with a kip, I’m that full up.’
‘Joe, we’ve got guests,’ Gracie reprimanded him.
Martin smiled. ‘I feel the same, but how about walking it off? The ladies can join us, if they like?’
Hetty jumped to her feet, but Gracie looked doubtful. ‘Go on, Mum,’ Patsy smiled. ‘Don’t worry about the clearing up, we’ll do it. I’ll wash the dishes and Queenie and Olive can dry.’ She knew quite well that Olive wouldn’t help – she never had before.
The adults could not have reached the foot of the stairs when the argument began. ‘If nobody else wants it,’ Raymond said, politely, ‘I’ll have that last bit of black bun.’
‘I’m oldest, so I should have it.’ Olive’s hand shot out an instant before her brother’s.
He drew back, muttering, ‘You always have to get your own way, haven’t you?’
Patsy acted as mediator. ‘You’ve had more than your share already, Olive. I’m sure Neil wouldn’t let you off with that if he was here.’
Olive’s eyes flashed. ‘Neil would never say anything nasty to me.’
Her haughty tone riled her normally even-tempered cousin. ‘Yes, he would. He doesn’t like you any more than I do.’
‘He does like me! You and Queenie are both jealous of me, I know that. You can have the rotten old black bun, Raymond. I don’t want it now.’
Beaming, Raymond picked it up and took a bite before she could change her mind. ‘Neil doesn’t like you,’ he declared, his mouth still full. ‘I’ve told you that as well.’
Assuming a dignity she did not feel, his sister said, ‘The trouble with you lot is you’re too young to understand about things like that. Some boys are too shy to show how they feel about a girl, but I can tell Neil likes me by the way he looks at me when nobody’s watching, like the hero in a film before he plucks up courage to tell the heroine he loves her.’
Raymond and Patsy burst out laughing, and a crimson-faced Olive was more annoyed still when she noticed that while she’d been arguing, Queenie had taken the last, small triangle of shortbread from the cake stand. ‘You greedy little pig!’ she shouted. ‘I wanted that.’
Undismayed, Queenie popped it into her mouth whole, and Patsy, ashamed at what she had said before, smiled at Olive. ‘Mum baked a whole lot of shortbread, so there’s more in a tin, if you want?’
‘No, thank you.’ Olive bit off each word separately, as if she were spitting it out. ‘You’ll laugh on the other side of your face, Patsy Ferris, when I’m your sister-in-law.’
This made Raymond and Queenie splutter with mirth, but it wiped the gentle smile off Patsy’s face. If Olive had set her mind on marrying Neil, nothing and nobody could stop her . . . not even Neil himself.
Chapter Four
When Neil came home on his first leave, his family listened with interest as he regaled them with tales of his infantry training, going into great detail about the rifle drill and the marching. ‘They were strong on discipline and tidiness, as well,’ he laughed. ‘A button not fastened properly was like a red rag to a bull to the sergeant, and everything had to be perfect when he came round on kit inspections.’
‘It hasn’t done you any harm,’ Gracie said. ‘It was time you learned to look after your things properly. You were an untidy monkey before.’
‘Well, you should see me now. I can box my blankets with the best of them.’
‘Box your blankets?’
‘We’ve to fold them up every morning, and set them at the foot of our beds,’ he explained. ‘It’s what they call boxing them, and if they’re not done properly, we’ve to open them out and do them all over again. Alf Melville – that’s a lad from Elgin that I’ve palled up with – well, he fell foul of the sarge
the first day, and he’s been in hot water ever since. I got a bawling out sometimes as well so thank God we won’t have to put up with him any more. Four of us are going to a technical college in London when we go back. We were the only Ordnance Corps lot, so Alf and me’ll still be together.’
As he chatted on, Gracie took stock of him. She had been prepared to see a change in him, but she hadn’t expected the broadening out, the maturity. In six weeks, he’d become a man, and her heart ached for the boy who was gone for ever. When Neil’s stories came to an end, she said, ‘You’ll have to go to Rubislaw Den tomorrow. I told Hetty you were coming home today.’
‘Must I? I never answered any of Olive’s letters and I bet she goes to town on me.’
‘Oh, Neil, you should have written to her.’
‘What could I have said? “Wish you were here?”’
‘Don’t get cheeky, my lad. You’re not too old for me to give you a scud on the lug.’
Both Patsy and Queenie giggled at this, and Neil held up his hands in submission. ‘OK, then. You can phone Hetty and tell her I’ll see them tomorrow.’
When Hetty answered her door the following afternoon, she exclaimed at the sight of the khaki figure. ‘Aren’t you the handsome one?’
‘It’s just the uniform,’ Neil said, delighted but trying to appear modest. ‘The minute you put it on, you’re different. It makes you . . . I can’t explain it, but it makes . . .’
‘Makes you feel like a man?’
‘I suppose so. You’re proud to be in the British Army, to be fighting fit, to know you’re needed. It’s better to think you’ve done it off your own bat, though they order you about the same as if you’d been conscripted, but you don’t resent it . . . there has to be discipline, or nobody would care.’ He stopped, embarrassed at having been so frank.
His aunt smiled encouragingly. ‘You like the army?’
‘I wouldn’t say like, exactly. There’s times when you hate the bloody sergeant, and the corporal, and all the officers. Sometimes you even hate the man in the next bed for sleeping when you’re lying wide awake with throbbing feet, but when the square-bashing’s finished, you’ve a satisfaction in you. You made it. You didn’t break down. You’re as good as any of them. D’you see what I mean?’
‘Yes, I can understand. What about making friends?’
‘Just one, really. Alf’s from Elgin and we’re the only two Scotsmen in our platoon. That’s why we got pally, but he’s a good mate and we’ve had some great laughs.’
Neil enjoyed his aunt’s attention, and Raymond’s, when he came in, but Olive’s entrance spoiled it. He never knew what she might say. At first, it wasn’t too bad, even if she went on at him as if he’d to account to her for every minute he’d been away and he felt like telling her that what he did was none of her business, but then came the moment he had been dreading.
‘I was disappointed that you never answered my letters . . . but maybe you didn’t have time?’
‘No, I didn’t. When we weren’t drilling, we were so tired we fell asleep.’ It wasn’t exactly true, but near enough to sound honest.
‘Oh, my poor Neil.’ She laid her hand sympathetically on his arm for a moment. ‘Never mind, you won’t be so busy when you go back.’
Neil gritted his teeth. He would never feel like writing to her, whether he was busy or not. It was a great relief to him when Martin appeared and he could turn away from her.
‘Olive’s like a tiger waiting to pounce,’ he told Gracie when he went home. ‘One false move, and she’d eat me up.’
His mother’s laugh was a trifle brittle. ‘She’s not as bad as that. She’s just interested in what you do, that’s all.’
‘Well, I wish she’d interest herself in somebody else and leave me alone.’
After her son went to bed, Gracie turned to Joe. ‘I hope Olive’s not serious about Neil. They’re first cousins, and inbreeding causes imbeciles. You’ve only to think about the kings and queens of long ago to prove that.’
‘What a woman you are for worrying,’ her husband laughed. ‘You know as well as I do that Olive’s the last girl in the world Neil would think of marrying.’
‘Maybe, but it’s her that worries me. She never rests till she gets her own way and if she wants Neil . . .’
‘Ach, she doesn’t want Neil, not in that way. She likes to be made a fuss of, that’s all.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ Mainly to show Joe that she had stopped worrying, Gracie made Neil pay another visit to his aunt before his leave was up, and he was pleased that Olive wasn’t so overpowering as before. Maybe she had seen how annoyed he had been or maybe her mother had said something to her, but whatever it was he could cope with her like this. He did feel guilty now for not answering her letters, but he really hadn’t had anything to say, so what would have been the point of writing?
January ended with bad storms, and ten days into February, Aberdeen had the worst snow storm of the winter. Six inches fell in two hours, and the Corporation Transport Department had difficulty in keeping tram lines cleared. ‘Lorries can’t get through from anywhere with supplies,’ Joe sighed. ‘If it keeps up for long, God knows what I’ll do.’
‘You’re always complaining,’ his wife said, tartly. ‘If it was you that had to eke out the rations I get for four of us you’d have something to complain about.’
‘You’ll get nothing at all in a week or two if the weather doesn’t clear up.’
Fortunately for all Aberdonians, and people elsewhere who were in the same dire position, the weather did clear before stocks of food ran out.
Gracie was making the girls’ bed when she heard the postman pushing something through the door. She’d been worried that Helene’s letter hadn’t come yesterday, but Joe had told her the mail had probably been held up, and she had pushed her fears aside. He’d been right, she thought, as she picked the letter off the mat. It was only a day late.
Her heart came into her mouth when she saw that it was not Helene’s rounded, backhand writing after all. It was a much older hand, an angular hand, and the envelope was addressed to her, not Queenie. She was shaking all over as she took it into the kitchen, unwilling to open it. Telling herself not to be silly, she ran her thumb along the flap, but her worst fears were to be realised. Thankfully, the letter was direct and not over-sympathetic.
Dear Mrs Ferris,
I am afraid I have very bad news to give you, and I think I had better not beat about the bush. Your brother and his wife were both killed last night when their house got a direct hit. Sadly, George Lowell (Helene’s father) died two nights before as a result of the bombing, and Ivy is still on the danger list. She has been a good friend of mine for many years, and she asked me to let you know about Helene and Donnie. I cannot begin to tell you how sorry we all are, they were a very nice couple. My husband has arranged for the funerals, George Lowell’s too, and nothing is left of the house and shop, so there is no need for you to come. You will have enough to do looking after Queenie as well as your own family. Ivy says she is glad that Helene got the poor girl away, and asks that you break it to her gently.
I know you will be upset, too, but take comfort from the fact that they could not have felt anything and try not to show your sorrow in front of young Queenie. It will be difficult for you, but, remember, God will be with you. That will make it easier to bear.
Yours truly, Dorothy Bertram
PS I have just come back from the hospital, and they told me Ivy passed away early this afternoon. Perhaps it is for the best. She would never have got over this.
The letter fluttered from Gracie’s nerveless fingers down to the table. Her heart felt frozen, her whole body felt frozen and she couldn’t even weep. If this was what it did to her, what would it do to poor Queenie? She had no one to go home to when the war ended, no parents, no grandparents. If only Helene hadn’t been so determined to go back to Donnie . . .
After several minutes, Gracie dragged herself to her feet. She
couldn’t sit there all day, but how was she going to tell Queenie? While she carried on mechanically with her housework, she toyed with a few simple sentences, words which would take the sting out of what she had to say, words to help the girl to understand how quickly it had happened. As she prepared vegetables, set pans on the cooker, laid the table – tasks needing no conscious thought – phrases whirled round in her brain, but how could anybody break such bad news gently?
Joe was first to appear at lunchtime and had just read the letter when Queenie came running in, followed immediately by Patsy, who had recently been promoted to typist. ‘Miss Watt said this morning that my typing had improved,’ she said, a little boastfully. ‘I know I wasn’t very good at first. She used to hold up whatever I’d typed to the light, to see if I’d scraped out any mistypes and I usually had but I can rattle things out now without any mistakes . . . hardly any.’
Queenie smiled at this, then turned hopefully to her aunt. ‘Did Mum’s letter come today?’
Joe’s hand shot out to cover Gracie’s as she leaned weakly on the table. ‘Queenie,’ he murmured, ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to be very brave. Your mum and dad . . .’
Before he could go any further, she whispered, ‘You don’t have to tell me, Uncle Joe. They’ve been . . . killed, haven’t they? I . . . knew it would happen. I just knew it.’ She turned blindly towards the door, her hands up to her mouth.
‘Oh, God!’ Gracie followed the girl, and Joe stretched out a restraining arm to his daughter who had made to go after them. ‘No, Patsy, leave it to your mum.’
Gracie sat down on the edge of the bed to take Queenie in her arms. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. Your house got a direct hit, and your mum and dad . . .’ She had to swallow before carrying on. ‘They wouldn’t have known anything. They didn’t suffer at all. Take comfort from that, if you can. I was trying to think how to tell you and maybe you think Joe was cruel . . .’
Cousins at War Page 5
