Jack Lornie’s death affected the household for weeks; it brought home to every one of them the dangers being faced daily by Charlie, Donnie and Vena, serving their country just as Jack had done.
Shocked as Albert was when he was told about it, he was quite unable to find the proper words to tell his favourite daughter how much his heart ached for her. But he lay in bed at nights cursing the enemy for taking her husband away, and wishing that there was something he could do.
Ellie had been persuaded to stay at the Gallowgate for one night, but, no matter how much her parents tried to coax her, had firmly refused to remain any longer.
‘I’ll have to go home some time,’ she’d said quietly. ‘And the longer I put it off, the worse it’ll be.’
‘Gracie or Hetty could come and sleep with you for a few nights, if you like?’ Bathie suggested, hopefully.
‘No, there’s no need, Mother. I’ll have to get used to being on my own, and I’ve got Kathleen.’
Once they left, it came to Bathie that she’d coped very well herself, under the circumstances. There had been no heart pains, no headaches, just a dull sensation, a void, in the pit of her stomach.
She visited Ellie every day for two weeks, and wasn’t altogether surprised when the young woman put her foot down.
‘There’s no need for you to trail down here every day. It’ll take me a little while to adjust, but Jack’s been away for so long now, anyway, I’m used to doing everything for myself.’
Her voice broke suddenly. ‘It’s just the thought that he’ll never come back that hits me now and then.’
‘I know, my dear,’ Bathie soothed. ‘It must be awful.’
Ellie nodded her head, then said, ‘I don’t suppose you ever realized this, Mother, but Jack and I were intending to carry on from where you left off.’
Puzzled, Bathie said, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You were trying to go through the alphabet with our names, weren’t you?’
Bathie gave a faint smile. ‘That was your father’s idea.’
‘We all knew what you were doing, and you’d got as far as J, though poor little James didn’t live. That’s why Kathleen was called Kathleen, if you see what I mean. K was the next letter, but now . . .’ Ellie blinked a few times.
‘I didn’t realize.’ Bathie gave a little sniff.
‘We thought it would please you.’
‘It does, and I’m sure your father’ll be pleased, too.’
When she told Albert, he said sadly, ‘Kathleen’s not an Ogilvie. She’s a Lornie, and it doesn’t count.’
‘She’s half Ogilvie,’ Bathie reminded him.
‘It’s still not the same, but my dream’ll maybe be carried out some day. There’s Charl . . . Donnie’s children to come yet.’
‘Yes.’ Bathie had noted him correcting himself, and it hurt her as much as Albert to remember that Gavin McKenzie had told them, some time after Vena’s baby died, that she would be unable to have any more.
When at last a letter arrived from Will, Bathie yelled the good news upstairs. All her daughters came running down, and the others placed themselves expectantly round Flo.
She ripped the envelope open, saying, I’ll read it out, to save you all wondering. “My dear Flo, All I want to say is I love you, and I’m sorry I hurt you. Your photograph was enough to make me realize how stupid I was, but I still have several things to sort out in my mind.”’
She raised her eyes suddenly. ‘What things has he got to sort out, for goodness sake?’
‘He’ll have to face up to only having one arm,’ Bathie observed, softly. ‘He probably feels he’s no use for anything, but if he wants you to go out there to marry him after the war, he’ll have to be able to support you. I’m sure he’ll get a job of some kind, though. Somebody must be willing to employ a man who’s been disabled in the war.’
‘What else does he say?’ Albert was worried in case Will Dunbar was going to tell Flo to forget about him.
Flo carried on from where she’d left off. ‘“. . . things to sort out in my mind. I will write again when I get my other feelings under control, but I promise I’ll never try to shut you out of my life again. Your devoted Will.”’
A babble of congratulations broke out, but in the midst of it all, Flo sat down and burst into tears.
‘There’s no need to cry, when he’s told you he still loves you.’ Albert was smiling.
Flo lifted her head. ‘I’ve felt like crying for so long,’ she gulped, ‘it had to come out. I kept up a pretence of being strong, but underneath it all I was terrified he’d be changed by what had happened to him and didn’t love me any more. Now I’m so happy, I don’t really know what to do.’
Nine-year-old Ishbel remarked, rather disdainfully, ‘You shouldn’t be crying if you’re happy, though. That’s stupid.’
Her father ruffled her red hair. ‘People sometimes cry when they’re happy, as well as when they’re sad. You won’t understand about it till you’re older.’
‘That’s what everybody’s been telling me for as long as I can remember.’ Ishbel pulled a rueful face. ‘How old do I have to be before I can understand things, for goodness’ sake? A hundred?’
Chapter Twenty-eight
Donnie’s letter threw Bathie into such a turmoil that she ran through to the bedroom to show it to Albert.
After he’d read it, he remarked, kindly, ‘It’s just a passing phase, my love. I’m sure there’s hundreds of wounded soldiers all falling in love with their nurses.’
‘Donnie’s never been one for the girls,’ she protested, but left her husband to finish dressing.
Over the war’s three years, there had been so many lives lost that Bathie had almost felt glad when Donnie was wounded – it had taken him out of the battlefield for a while.
She sat down at the kitchen table to read this latest letter once again, the letter which had agitated her so much.
‘Dear Mother and Father, My leg is healing up very well. I’ll be fit to join my unit in another two weeks at the most. I’m not looking forward to going back to the trenches, but “say la gerr” as the Frenchies put it.
‘Now for the best news. At twenty-seven, I’ve fallen in love. She’s a nurse, and her name is Helene Lowell. Her father is a grocer in Croydon, so that’s a coincidence, isn’t it? I haven’t said anything to her yet, but I’ll have to pluck up my courage very soon, before I leave the hospital, so wish me luck. Your ever loving son, Donnie.’
Bathie folded the thin sheets of paper carefully and slid them into the envelope. Maybe Albert was right. Nearly all soldiers fell in love – or thought it was love – with the girl who nursed them, and Donnie hadn’t told this Helene how he felt yet. She might just laugh at him, for it must have happened to her lots of times before.
Sighing, Bathie laid the letter on the dresser, to let the rest of the family read it when they had the chance. She knew the girls would be interested, if Albert wasn’t.
Ellie would be pleased for Donnie, she’d always been closer to him than to Charlie. She was still in Schoolhill with Kathleen, of course, but visited quite a lot. Hetty, at seventeen, was making munitions now and having the time of her life with the men who were either too young or not fit enough to be in the forces, but she’d be delighted about this.
Gracie, too, would be happy for her brother; she always asked what he and Charlie had written. She was rather serious and quiet, and, as well as serving in the shop, had taken over most of the heavy cleaning in the house since her mother’s serious illness, almost two years ago.
Remembering those eight weeks in the infirmary, Bathie thanked God again for sparing her life. Albert had spent hours sitting at her bedside, willing her to pull through. He’d given up his council work and had been so contrite about what he’d done to her that she’d forgiven him completely.
Gavin McKenzie had been gone before she came home from hospital, but he wrote, now and then, from some unspecified medical field station,
short friendly scrawls in which he asked after her health, and that of all her family, but telling them little about himself.
The slam of the outside door broke into her reverie, but she assumed that it was Ishbel home for dinner.
‘You’re a bit early,’ she said, without looking round.
‘I thought I was a few years late, myself.’
The deep voice made her spin round and jump to her feet. ‘Oh, Donnie, Donnie.’
She ran to her son, then realized that he hadn’t come in alone. A black-haired girl was standing shyly in the doorway, her large eyes slightly apprehensive.
Donnie held out his hand to pull her forward. ‘Mother, I’d like you to meet Helene – my wife.’
‘Your wife?’ Her breath almost taken away, Bathie stared at him in amazement. ‘But I only got your letter this morning, saying you hadn’t told her how you felt.’
‘That was written about three weeks ago. I told her just after that, and she said she loved me, too. We asked the padre to marry us, and as from two days ago, she is now Mrs Donald Ogilvie.’ His shining eyes looked lovingly at his young bride.
The girl held out her hand. ‘It must be a shock, having it sprung on you like this, Mrs Ogilvie.’
Bathie took the proffered hand, and laid her other hand on Helene’s shoulder as she kissed her cheek. ‘It has been a shock, my dear, but a very pleasant one, and I hope you’ll both be very, very happy.’ Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ she begged. ‘I’m just a silly old woman and it’s all been so sudden, and seeing Donnie again. I’m overcome with happiness.’
The outside door banged again, and Gracie came running up the stairs. ‘Father says he won’t be long, he’s . . .’ She stopped. ‘Donnie? Mother didn’t tell us you were coming home.’
‘I didn’t know.’ Bathie wiped her eyes. ‘Gracie, this is Helene. They were married two days ago.’
‘Married? Donnie?’ Gracie stood for a moment, flustered by the presence of the stranger, then ran to her brother and pumped his hand. ‘Congratulations, Donnie, and you, Helene.’ The second handshake was just as vigorous.
Bathie had recovered her equilibrium. ‘Gracie, would you go back and tell your father that I want him to come up right now. Tell him nothing’s wrong, but don’t say anything else.’
When Albert came up, his perplexed face broke out in a huge grin on seeing his son. ‘Donnie! Gracie never said . . .’ He crossed the room, and was thumping his son’s back when he spotted the girl. ‘Oh! I didn’t notice . . .’
Donnie grinned. ‘Meet my wife, Father. Helene, as you’ll have gathered, this is the head of the family.’
Like Bathie, Albert had no reservations about welcoming this new member, and in the hubbub of all the explanations and congratulations, Bathie’s legs gave way. She held on to the table for a minute, then sank down on a chair, her face grey, her heart pounding and an uncontrollable agony spreading right across her chest and down her arm.
Helene noticed first. ‘Is something wrong, Mrs Ogilvie?’
As her new daughter-in-law moved across anxiously, Bathie whispered, ‘It’s . . . here.’ She pointed to her chest.
Helene felt her pulse, then laid a cool hand on her brow. ‘You should be in bed, and you must get a doctor at once.’
Her voice was crisp and authoritative, and Albert said, ‘I’ll go for him.’
Helene helped Bathie into bed, and by the time old Dr Proctor arrived, in the car he’d taken over from Gavin McKenzie along with the practice, she was feeling slightly easier.
‘It’s her heart, Doctor,’ Helene told him.
He examined Bathie thoroughly, and agreed with the girl’s diagnosis. ‘I’ll leave a prescription for tablets, so make sure she takes one every four hours for the rest of today, then two a day for the next two days, then maybe she could stop. But keep them handy in case she has another attack.’
When Albert went out to the street with him, the doctor said, ‘Your wife’s heart is not in very good condition, Mr Ogilvie, and she’ll have to avoid any exertion or excitement.’
‘That’s what’s done it, then.’ Albert explained about his son arriving unexpectedly with a wife.
The old man nodded sadly. ‘That’s certainly what did it, so try to cushion her from shocks in future, if you can.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Having to swing the starting handle several times before the engine coughed into action, the doctor muttered, ‘This damned car needs to be retired, the same as me.’
Helene made Bathie stay in bed, although she protested that she was feeling perfectly well again, but after Gracie removed her dinner tray, she lay back exhausted, admitting that she did need to rest, after all.
She knew herself that it was all the excitement of seeing Donnie with a wife which had affected her, and thought, with wry amusement, that it was a good thing she wasn’t presented with an unexpected daughter-in-law every day of the week.
She’d taken to Helene straight away, not like when she met Vena. But her first impressions had been wrong there, and Bathie loved her now like she loved her own daughters. It had been the girl’s background that had been at fault. For the umpteenth time, Bathie prayed that Vena would come through the war unscathed, also Charlie, Donnie and his new wife. Thank goodness she only had two sons, and it was a blessing that Ellie had Kathleen, otherwise she’d have wanted to go to France as a nurse, like Vena, as she’d once said.
As it was, she seemed quite content to remain at home to look after her daughter. It would have been much better for her to have come home to the Gallowgate to live after Jack Lornie was killed, but Ellie was independent, like Albert.
Helene made sure that her mother-in-law spent the next few days in bed, in spite of her protests, and while Donnie and his wife were there, it was as though new life had been pumped into the whole household. The place rang with laughter again, and it did Bathie good to hear them all teasing each other. If only it could be like this all the time, she thought, but that day would come.
Too soon, for all of them, it was time for the young couple to leave.
‘Look after yourself, Mother Ogilvie,’ Helene said. ‘I don’t want to hear of any more turns.’
‘I’ll make sure she looks after herself,’ Albert declared. ‘I can look after myself,’ Bathie said, rather tearfully, because she was going to miss them.
‘The house feels empty now,’ she told Albert next day.
‘There’s still six of us here, isn’t that enough for you? When they all come back, there won’t be room for everybody’
‘When they all come back,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Albert, it’ll be absolute heaven to have them all home again, supposing the two of us have to sleep on the kitchen floor.’
Chapter Twenty-nine
In the spring of 1918, another unexpected visitor turned up on the brow of the Gallowgate one afternoon.
Bathie was resting in the parlour when Hetty brought in a tall, dark-haired young man, with a New Zealand flash on his arm. Her first thought was that he must be Jeannie Wyness’s son, but Hetty’s introduction disproved that.
‘Mother, this is Martin Potter, and he’s from Wanganui, the same as Will. I’ll go and make us a cup of tea.’
Bathie smiled a welcome, presuming him to be one of Will Dunbar’s friends. ‘Sit down, Martin. Please excuse me for not getting up, but I’m supposed to rest a while every day.’
‘I’m sorry if I have disturbed you, Mrs Ogilvie, but my mother made me promise to call on you if ever I had the chance to come to Aberdeen.’
Racking her brain, she tried to place him. He couldn’t be Jeannie’s son if his name was Potter, so whose son was he?
‘Your mother?’ she began, uncertainly, then a horrifying sickness clutched at the pit of her stomach. Potter? Surely he couldn’t be . . . ?
‘I believe she worked for you for a time, before she went to New Zealand.’ The young man smiled engagingly. ‘She told me to ask if you reme
mbered Bella Wyness?’
Bathie tried to still her thumping heart. How could she ever forget Bella Wyness? That slut? That insolent, filthy, perverted slut? ‘Yes, I remember your mother,’ she managed to get out.
‘Thank goodness!’ Martin grinned as he leaned back in the couch. ‘It would have been awkward for me if you hadn’t.’
A tightness started in her chest. ‘How is she?’ It went against the grain having to ask, but it was only polite.
‘She’s very well, thank you, but my father died last year. You wouldn’t have known him, of course.’
‘No, but I’m sorry to hear of his death.’ Keep speaking, she told herself. Don’t let this cause another heart attack.
‘Mother often used to tell me how happy she was here.’
‘I’m glad.’ Her voice faltered.
‘Are you all right?’ Martin stood up in alarm. ‘You look very pale. Can I get you anything?’
‘My tablets,’ she gasped. ‘Top . . . drawer . . . kitch . . .’ She was unable to finish, her breath being cut off by the agonizing, excruciating pains shooting in all directions in her chest.
Martin rushed out, and almost immediately, Hetty came in, a round pillbox in one hand, a glass of water in the other. The boy hovered behind her.
‘Will I get Father to come upstairs?’ the girl asked with deep concern, when she saw her mother’s grey face.
Bathie nodded, swilled down a tablet with a mouthful of water, and leaned back to wait until it took effect.
Left alone with her, Martin looked at her apprehensively, obviously hoping that she wouldn’t get any worse.
When Albert came in, he strode straight across the room to his wife, scarcely noticing the stranger. ‘Is it the same pain, my love? Have you taken a tablet?’
She nodded once more, and waited a few minutes before she took a small, cautious breath and sat up. ‘I’m easier now, it was just a little turn. Albert, this is Martin Potter, Bella Wyness’s son.’ She lay back, glad to leave him to deal with the visitor. It wasn’t the boy’s fault he had Bella Wyness for a mother, but was she to be plagued by that trollop for the rest of her days?
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