Poor Queenie, Neil mused. He had treated her very shabbily and he was glad that she’d found somebody else. He had once told her that she would always have a place in his heart and it was true. He still felt a deep affection for her which in no way detracted from the great sorrow he felt for Freda. He groaned aloud. Why hadn’t Alf let him take that message to headquarters? As long as he’d got there and given them the company’s position, it wouldn’t have mattered whether or not he got back. Had Alf got through? Alf, always so bright and cheery, always ready for a lark, always there when his pal needed him . . . it would be terrible if he were killed.
When a fresh outburst of shelling began, Neil contemplated walking outside and letting the Jerries finish him off, but his legs refused to move. Was he a coward then, as well as being bitter and self-centred? No, by God! He wasn’t a ruddy coward, and if Alf came back, he would show him that he had stopped feeling sorry for himself. He was still young, only twenty-two . . . he must have been in Holland on his birthday, though he hadn’t remembered about it. Not like his twenty-first, when Freda had baked a cake and . . . but he should stop thinking about Freda. He should concentrate on the present – and the future, if he had one – not dwell on the past.
It was during another quiet spell when Alf strolled in as if he had just been out for a walk, his tin helmet perched cockily on the side of his head. ‘Mission accomplished,’ he crowed. ‘Has anything much been happening here?’
‘A fat lot you care,’ Neil grinned. ‘You couldn’t get away fast enough.’
The sound of gunfire made them look warily at each other, but in another five minutes, McIvor appeared. ‘We’re getting’ support at last, thanks to you, Melville. Anti-tank guns, so that’ll put the wind up the Jerry bastards.’ That afternoon, at his headquarters, the Brigadier expounded his plan for the 46th Brigade’s attack next day through the RSFs bridgehead. This battle, unfortunately, would prove to be long and costly, but one soldier at least, out of the hundreds involved, felt happier than he had done for months. Neil Ferris had passed the crisis of the malady which had affected him for so long. He wanted to go on living.
Chapter Twenty-six
Although Ellie McKenzie had believed that she was prepared for anything, she had never dreamt that the reality of war could be so horrifyingly fearsome. Isa Green, her ex-cleaner and now co-driver in the Church of Scotland mobile canteen in Edinburgh, was determined to get as near the fighting as possible so they had found themselves practically in the firing line at times. On such occasions, they fought back the fear of being blown to bits and kept their hands steady as they poured out cups of tea. The men they served – English, Welsh, Canadians and Americans, as well as Scots – were always cheery and it wouldn’t do to let them down.
They had followed the 15th Scottish Division determinedly through France, Belgium and Holland, longing to stop for the long lines of refugees, but knowing that it would be futile. How could they hope to refresh so many desperate people? It would only cause pandemonium among them and, possibly, even the destruction of their van. They had hardened their hearts and carried on, coming eventually to Tilburg and, like the men involved in this long battle, they had been glad to rest when it was all over. The townsfolk fêted the troops who had liberated them, and there had been a lighthearted carnival atmosphere for fourteen days, until the time came to move on . . . into Germany itself.
It was the last week of March when the two women crossed the Rhine behind the soldiers. The air was softer, the trees still standing had a touch of green on their branches. Here and there, cattle were grazing in the fields and sometimes it was so peaceful that, if they closed their eyes to the evidence of war – the shellholes, the ruined buildings, the burned-out barns – it seemed impossible that they could be in enemy territory, but an instant later, all hell would be let loose again.
Isa had drawn off the road one afternoon to go to a small farm for more water, and Ellie was in the van by herself. One large tea urn was still full, enough until the others were filled. There was no sign of soldiers at the minute but they often appeared from behind hedges or trees, and it was as well to be prepared. When Isa came back, they would be moving on to look for the odd, isolated platoon.
It was quite pleasant here, Ellie mused, filling her lungs with fresh air. She would never have believed, even a year ago, that she would one day be in Germany, sitting outside Mehr – she hadn’t even heard of it then – waiting to serve tea. She smiled at the last two words. Serve tea. But not in the way she had done at home in Edinburgh, with a cloth on the table and bone china cups and saucers, plates of home-made cakes and biscuits. The troops had no time to appreciate niceties like that . . . and disposable cups saved on washing up. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was five minutes to six. Allowing for the time difference, her two sisters would likely be preparing supper in Aberdeen about now; Gracie for Joe and Patsy if she was not on duty – Jake Corbierre was on this side of the Channel, too – and Hetty for Martin, because there were only the two of them left at Rubislaw Den. Ellie heaved a sigh. Would she ever see any of them again? Would she ever see her own two daughters again?
‘Cup o’ char, please, missus.’
The cheeky Cockney voice brought Ellie out of her reverie and she jumped to her feet. ‘Rightio, coming up.’
‘Bin quiet f’r a while,’ the boy observed as she turned the tap on the urn. ‘Calm before the ruddy storm, eh?’
Pushing the paper cup forward, Ellie shrugged and smiled. ‘No doubt, but we’re ready for anything, aren’t we?’
‘Too right, we’ll beat the buggers yet.’ Remembering that this was a church canteen and the woman probably a staunch churchgoer, he turned beetroot red. ‘I’m sorry, missus, I shouldn’t be swearin’ in front of yer.’
Ellie chuckled, thinking how incongruous it was that this tough young soldier could blush so easily. ‘I’ve heard much worse than that since I’ve been on this job.’
Isa, returning in time to hear this last remark, smilingly agreed. ‘Aye, we’ve had our education finished over here.’
‘We don’t mean nuffink by it – it’s just Gawd bless yer to us. I bin up the line wiv a dispatch, an’ I took the chance of a kip seein’ ev’ryfink was so quiet. Me bike’s be’ind them trees.’
Isa’s eyes widened. ‘You were on a bike?’
‘A motor bike,’ he explained. ‘I’d the bl . . . fright of me life ’arf an ’our ago, though. I goes past the advance, for they were dug in well off the road, an’ when I realises I’d gone too far, I gets off me bike an’ goes be’ind a tree fer a quick Jimmy Riddel before I turns back, an’, s’welp me, I comes face ter face wiv this Jerry wiv a billycan in ’is ’and. I think ’e got as big a fright as me, for he drops ’is can and runs inter the wood, an’ I makes for me bike and comes ’ell for leather back, an’ by good luck, I finds the advance this time, they’re about five mile along the road from ’ere. Jocks, if them’s what yer lookin’ fer. They’ll be glad ter see you, they’ve ’ad a rough time lately.’
Both women had been highly amused by the boy’s story, but now Isa shouted, ‘Thanks!’ and was into the driver’s seat before Ellie had time to pull up the flap of the van. The road was pitted with holes and Isa drove slowly, weaving from side to side to avoid them, but before they’d gone any distance, they were stopped by a small patrol.
‘You’ll have to turn back, ladies,’ ordered the sergeant in charge. ‘Jerry’s not that far off.’
Isa’s derisive snort showed exactly what she thought of the Germans. ‘You wouldna grudge oor lads a wee cup o’ tea, surely? It’s the Seaforths, isn’t it?’
‘Aye.’ A broad smile spread across his face as the other soldiers crowded round, accepting the cups of tea Ellie gave out. ‘You ken’t the badge, did you? Well, since you’re that determined, I’ll no’ force you to go back, but you’d better get off the road – there’s a gap in the trees about quarter o’ a mile along, and our lads are in behind there somewhere. Maybe you’ll find
them without Jerry seein’ you. Good luck to you.’
‘Thanks.’ Isa let off the handbrake, then turned to Ellie, ‘I hope you’re no’ feared?’
‘No’ me,’ Ellie had lived in Edinburgh long enough to have absorbed the dialect. ‘If our lads can face it, so can we.’
If it hadn’t been for Isa’s utter disregard of danger, she thought, she might not have felt so brave, and felt grateful for having such an intrepid partner. Isa Green was the widow of a Leith shipyard worker, and had gone out cleaning and taken in laundry in order to bring up her three sons, while Ellie, her employer in the large house in Morningside, had been well provided for when her doctor husband died.
‘Here’s the gap.’ Isa hung on grimly to the steering wheel as she swung the cumbersome vehicle round to the right, the tea urns rattling as it bumped over the mossy mounds between the trees. ‘Can you see any signs o’ them yet?’ she asked, her own attention concentrated on avoiding boulders, fallen trees and tree stumps.
‘No’ yet.’ Ellie was peering steadily ahead and, in the next minute, she exclaimed, ‘Aye, there’s something there.’
Her eyes darting to where Ellie’s finger was pointing, Isa gave a satisfied grunt. ‘Oh aye, I see it.’
When they drew closer, they discovered that it was a field medical station and Isa stopped when she saw a khaki-clad figure coming out of a tent. ‘How much farther have we to go to get the Seaforths?’ she yelled.
‘You can’t go any farther. They’ve been under fire, that’s why we’re here.’
‘That’s why we’re here, an’ all,’ Isa snapped, letting off the brake again.
‘Wait!’ Opening the door of the van, Ellie jumped out and ran towards the tent crying, ‘I thought at first you were a man, then I recognised your voice. I never expected to see you here.’
Olive Potter stepped back in amazement. ‘I never expected to see you here, either.’
Ellie had never liked Olive, but the strange circumstances of their meeting overrode anything personal and she flung her arms round her niece. ‘It’s good to see you.’
The wariness left the tired face. ‘It’s good to see you, too, Ellie. We’ve been so busy since we came over, I haven’t had time to think about home, but now . . .’ She wiped her eyes with her hand.
Ellie was shocked by the change in Olive, who had always been so fastidious about her appearance. Her fair hair was dragged severely back but some strands had worked loose; her face was grey and haggard, with dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep; her battledress blouse and trousers were crumpled and stained; she was thinner than she used to be – far too thin. It was hard to believe it was the same girl. ‘How are you, Olive?’ she asked compassionately. ‘This is a right hell hole you’re in, and no mistake.’
‘I don’t regret joining the Medical Corps.’ Olive was on the defensive now. ‘I enjoy it.’
‘Good for you. I don’t regret volunteering for the canteen either, though I sometimes think I must have been mad at my age. I’d better go now or Isa’ll think I’m deserting.’
When she joined her partner, Ellie said, ‘What a surprise! Olive’s my sister’s daughter and she used to be a real pain in the neck and so supercilious you would hardly credit she could stick it out here. She’s changed, though.’
‘She doesna look happy,’ Isa observed, taking a glance at the girl, who was waiting for them to leave. ‘I suppose we could stop for a while, if you want to find out what’s wrong wi’ her. Maybe ten minutes, would that do?’
Remembering how worried about her daughter Hetty had been the last time she saw her, Ellie was glad to have a chance to talk properly to Olive. Running back, she said, ‘Can we chat somewhere for a few minutes?’
Obviously apprehensive now, Olive said, ‘My quarters,’ and led the way to a group of small tents behind the large one.
Brevity was essential, so Ellie was blunt. ‘I’m not trying to find out why you left home but if there’s anything you want to tell me . . .?’ She stopped as the girl shook her head, then went on, ‘If you think your mother’s angry with you, I can tell you she’s not. She’s worried sick about you, and I think you should write to her.’
‘There’s nothing to write.’
‘Oh, come on, now. Just a little scribble to let her know you’re OK, that’s all it needs.’
‘I’d rather not.’
Ellie lost patience then. ‘Good God, Olive, you could be killed any time. Surely you want to patch things up with her before you die?’
The obstinacy fading from her face, Olive said, ‘I didn’t have a row with Mum, it was something I did . . . something that she wouldn’t have forgiven me for . . . I had to leave.’
‘Look, Olive,’ Ellie said gently, ‘I don’t know what you did, and I don’t want to know, but you can’t punish your mum for something that was nothing to do with her.’
The girl hung her head for a moment, then straightened up. ‘I’ll think about writing home.’
‘You just need to apologise for not writing sooner and it would put her mind at rest.’ Standing up, Ellie straightened her skirt. ‘I’ll have to go now, but I hope we run into each other again some time.’
‘I hope we do. Thanks for not condemning me, Ellie, and . . . if you write to Gracie, please don’t say you saw me. I don’t want her telling Mum what I’m doing . . . not until . . . yes, I’ll definitely write home, when I get a chance.’
‘You won’t regret it, Olive.’
‘Everything OK?’ Isa asked, when her partner returned.
‘I think so . . . now. She’d had a bit of trouble, but I think she’s seeing sense about it.’
Switching on the engine, Isa said, ‘Poor lassie.’
Ellie couldn’t help agreeing with this, even if Olive had brought her troubles on herself. Oh, damn! She should have told her about Neil’s wife; she wouldn’t know that Freda had been killed in an accident.
Ellie’s thoughts were interrupted. ‘There’s some men up there,’ Isa told her. ‘Can you see, just through this next clump of trees?’
Over the next hour, the two Scotswomen were almost swamped by the avalanche of Seaforth Highlanders who surged towards them when they stopped the van. All the men were delighted to see them and astonished that they’d had the temerity to venture so near the enemy lines.
One scrawny private even said, ‘Are youse no’ feared?’
‘No, are youse?’ Isa retorted, her eyes twinkling.
‘Naw!’ he grinned, ‘but we cannae move till we’re tell’t, an’ youse could easy be some place else. Naebody would ken.’
‘We’d ken.’ Her defiant stare dared him to argue.
‘See this twa?’ he demanded of the next soldier. ‘They’re the bloody bees’ knees, that’s whit they are. Right up to the front line, an’ them jist a couple o’ auld weemen.’
‘No’ so much o’ the auld,’ Ellie smiled.
‘You’re aulder than my maw.’ The boy stretched up, pulled her head down and kissed her. ‘Ye’re the only weemen we’ve seen for months, an’ ye’re a sicht for sair een.’
A great roar of laughter rose up, and Ellie felt her heart swell with the pride of lightening a few moments for these brave boys. When the orders came for the soldiers to move, one officer came back to the van. ‘We will be putting up a fresh barrage shortly and Jerry’ll be retaliating, so you’d be safer to pull back, ladies. Thank you for coming, you’ve bucked us all up.’ Saluting gravely, he left them.
‘We’ve done no’ bad for one day,’ Isa said, as they packed up. ‘I think we’d better get back to base.’
‘I’ll drive this time.’ Ellie sat behind the wheel, hoping that they would be out of range before the shooting started. To save time, she went out on the road as soon as she saw an opening, and sped back the way they had come. They were well past the area of the Medical Station before they heard the gunfire but by then they were safely out of harm’s way. As Isa had said, they had ‘done no’ bad’ for that day – in more wa
ys than one – and Ellie considered that they deserved all the rest they could get.
Olive returned to her quarters pensively, wondering now if she should have confessed everything to Ellie; it might have eased her burden of guilt. Her aunt would never have guessed who had been the father of the child whose existence she had terminated so barbarically, but her mother would have made the connection with Neil straight away. It was better that no one should know of the hour she had spent in the shabby tenement flat with the woman who poked inside her with a spoon-shaped instrument and then told her it might take some time for the abortion to work; of the night Polly had sat with her waiting until it did; of the gnawing emptiness she had felt when the thick clots of blood started to come away. It had all been so shaming, so sordid, that she would never feel clean again.
Polly had let her stay on in her room until she recovered sufficiently to go to Glasgow, where she’d lived in a girls’ hostel until she came into the Medical Corps. Not having qualified as a doctor, she was accepted as a nurse, and had gone to the Cambridge Military Hospital in Aldershot for the months until her detachment was sent to France, just after D Day. They had been meant to set up a medical field station at Caen, but the Germans had still been holding the town and they’d had to work alongside some Queen Alexandra nurses near St Lo until they were allowed to go forward themselves.
After days of working round the clock, Olive recalled, of patching up men who would then be sent back down the line to a less transitory, better equipped hospital, she hardly knew whether or not she was still on her feet. When she had done all she could for one casualty, another was waiting for attention – it never seemed to end. She had been a nurse for over a year now, but she would never become inured to the terrible injuries she saw. Even yet, she felt sick at seeing a severed limb, a gaping wound, a shattered or burned face, but she carried on taking and transfusing blood, suturing, clamping, acting as doctor or surgeon if the need arose, her movements automatic. The silent suffering of her patients tugged at her heartstrings, compelling her to treat them to the best of her ability, and they responded by placing their trust in her. When, in spite of all she did, one of them died, she felt a bitter disgust at herself and wondered if there had been something else she could have done for him.
Cousins at War Page 28
