The Weeping Tree

by Audrey Reimann

  'I must. I must take one, my child,' Nanny said. 'I'll take this little one. The bigger baby will be able to stand the long journey to Canada.'

  'Nanny ... ?'

  'Yes?'

  'You will love him? When he's old enough - tell him I loved him, too.'

  Tears were streaming down Nanny's face as, still cradling the baby in her arms, she leaned over and kissed Flora's troubled brow. 'I'll be the next best thing to a mother to him. But we must never tell anyone there were two. Nobody must know. Only you and me.'

  Flora was drifting off to sleep, her baby tucked up in bed beside her and Nanny's voice a soothing background. She was saying she would drive her to North Berwick in two days' time to register the baby -what would Flora call him?

  'Alexander Andrew,' Flora managed to say. 'Rest now,' Nanny said. 'I will have to get you out of here in two days' time.’

  'Nanny -you come too. We could all go to Canada ... ' but Flora's eyes were closing in deep, relaxing sleep. She woke again for only a few moments to see Nanny tenderly wrapping her first-born son in a fine wool shawl and placing the sleeping baby into the padded Moses basket. Nanny put her finger to her lips and whispered, 'Get some sleep. I'll be back.'

  Flora thought about the knife under her pillow. She had no need of it. There was nothing she could do. It would be hard to flee with one baby; with two impossible. She kissed the head of the dark-haired infant beside her, who slept on peacefully. 'Forgive me, son,' she said. 'I hope you find your brother one day.'

  Chapter Ten

  The approach to their home port, Greenock, was along one of the fairest sea gateways in the world, and after seventeen days at sea Andrew felt a great weight lifting from them as they rounded the Mull of Kintyre and sailed past the gaunt rock of Ailsa Craig. His second trip as temporary probationer sub-lieutenant on Atlantic convoy escort was over.

  Four hours ago he'd come, sodden wet, off watch and gone down to the mean slit of a two-berth cabin that three officers shared. It was June and hot on land, but out there, even in summer, Atlantic gales sent waves crashing over the bridge, soaking the top layer of clothing of the watch-keeper. On night watches he wore two of everything; oilskins, gloves, clumping sea boots, balaclavas and still the water found its way everywhere, filling the boots, pouring down the neck of his jerseys.

  Along with such miserable discomfort, of course, was the ever-present danger from V-boats. In five days' time they would be back at sea and he would be pulling men aboard burnt men from blazing oil tankers who would not live; maimed and half-drowned sailors from the merchant ships that were the V-boats' targets.

  His officer training course had taken only six weeks and his posting to the Iris had begun on 14 May. Only two days earlier, after the British debacle in Norway and Hitler's invasion of the Low Countries, Mr Chamberlain had lost the vote of confidence and resigned and Winston Churchill, the First Lord of the Admiralty, had become Prime Minister. Andrew heard their new leader's broadcast: 'I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.' All who listened breathed a sigh of relief, and Andrew echoed in his heart the Prime Minister's confident certainty of victory. Churchill's unshakeable faith in himself was a beacon in a frightened world.

  Now, standing at the rails with the comforting scents of land and home assailing him, Andrew watched the navy-blue bow waves break in frills of white as they set course for the Great and Little Cumbraes, Rothesay and the passage northwards along the spectacular Clyde coastline under a golden sun and a high drift of misty white clouds. Cloud shadows raced across the hills and banks of the pastureland and darkened the patches of pine and birch and oaks that towered over little ferry jetties and tiny stone cottages. It was peaceful along this stretch of safe water and hard to believe that four hundred miles south-east of here thousands of British fighting men were under fire as they were brought home by an armada of small boats from the shores of Dunkirk.

  From his aft station Lieutenant Sergeant Verne called out to him, 'We're going in. We'll have a few days ashore.'

  Andrew grinned. 'Good,' he said. He needed leave. It was those few precious hours of normality that they all lived for - for wives, girlfriends and family. They would be going alongside in a couple of hours, for their anchorage was a mile offshore at the Tail of the Bank. On previous trips they had waited there, swinging on the anchor cable, served by supply boats and taken off for only a few hours' leave by liberty boats. He was longing to get home to Edinburgh, hoping against hope to find a letter from Flora waiting for him at Greenock.

  Downstream from them as they neared Greenock was a vast pool of convoy shipping. The ships, the liners and merchant vessels which were all under the Royal Navy's control now, would be there one night, gone the next morning and replenished with scarcely a day's delay as sea traffic ebbed and flowed. Andrew's heart went out to the mothers, teachers and children - the Bundles from Britain - who had to run the gauntlet of V-boats and torpedoes before they reached the welcome of their hosts in Canada and America.

  From the window of the flat she had found in his absence, Ma was looking out for him as Andrew strode across The Meadows in the heart of the city. He waved and she came down the stairs to meet him at the main door, wearing a blue linen costume. The new way of life and her improved status obviously suited her.

  She was thrilled to see him and to show off their new home. 'Eh! I'm fair away wi' myself,' she said as he kissed her and wrapped an arm about her. 'You look braw in your uniform. I'm that proud of ye!

  He lifted her off her feet. 'I'm proud too, Ma! Proud to be an officer.' He smiled, put her down and said, 'I don't know much more than before, but I've learned how to handle men who I once saw as my mates, how to salute and how a naval officer responds to the loyal toast.'

  'How long have you got?' Ma asked as he followed her up the stone staircase of the close.

  ‘Three days. Then I have to be back in Greenock to join the corvette.'

  She laughed. 'A corvette? What kind of boat is that?'

  'They are broad-beamed, low in the water - built like the old whalers,' he said. 'But they are Clyde-built and as sound as a bell.'

  'How big? How many of a crew?' She opened the door of the second-floor flat and stood back to let him go first into their new home.

  'She's two hundred and three feet long, nine hundred tons. A crew of eighty men. It's crowded and cramped, wet and noisy and ...' he was grinning from ear to ear as he looked around him, '... she pitches and rolls and swings in the least breeze.' He was astonished at the size of the flat he was paying for.

  Ma proudly showed him the bathroom. He marvelled at that to please her while she said, 'You are in charge of this boat?'

  'No, Ma. I'm the lowest commissioned rank. I do normal duties during the day and at night I keep watch.'

  He followed her to the big square kitchen where a range gleamed from Ma's vigorous applications of black lead. Curtains billowed in the little breeze wafting through the great sash window that overlooked greens and, beyond, the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. He would not tell Ma that night station watch keeping was an endurance test when he stood for four hours, clamped to a wing of the open bridge, concentrating in the darkness on a blurred image or a beam of light which had to be the ship they were shadowing. There was always the dread that he had lost sight of it, a collision was about to happen and what he was seeing was water on his binoculars.

  He had left his bag in the bedroom that was to be his, and now they stood in the large drawing room. It had a high ceiling with ornate plasterwork and a gas-fired centre light that you lowered on a fancy chain. Ma had done well to find the flat. He was supporting her, sending £12 a month home out of his £24 monthly pay.

  'Where d'you get all this?' he asked, looking in astonishment at the big Axminster carpet, the plush drop-end sofa and the chairs with lacy antimacassars draped over their high backs. 'It's good stuff.'

  'You won't believe me, son,' Ma said, a look of satisfaction on her face. 'Lady Campbell had it sent ov
er on a lorry. She said that it was sitting in storage and I was welcome to it.'

  'And the desk -and the piano,' he said. 'They're from Ingersley. From the servants' hall.'

  Ma busied herself laying the table for supper. The table was the only thing as far as Andrew could see that had come from their old home at the South Lodge. He said, 'She was good to you, then?'

  'She was very good. She's in charge of all the billeting. All those empty cottages are filled with evacuees.'

  'They were damp. Falling down.'

  'Better than nothing for they poor souls who were bombed out.'

  'They were mostly empty,' Andrew reminded her. 'Did she have to furnish them as well?'

  'She'd get an allowance and government stuff was sent to Ingersley for the hospital -beds and drawers, cupboards and tables.'

  'She gave you all this?' said Andrew, grinning. 'She must have had a guilty conscience.'

  'She got me the job at the hospital,' Ma said. 'I'm grateful to her.'

  'You know you don't have to work.'

  'Everyone has to. There's no getting out of it. The government's passed the Emergency Powers Act. They can send you anywhere -men and women -unless you are the mother of small children.' Her face lit up with pleasure as she added, 'And what do you think? Lady Campbell's had a baby. A boy.'

  'That will please Sir Gordon,' Andrew said, 'though it will probably be talking before he gets home.'

  Ma went on excitedly, 'I went down to the house on my day off to see Bessie. I must have gone the day after the baby was born. He had taken them all by surprise. Lady Campbell only found out she was expecting a few weeks before.' Then the happy smile went from her face as she said, 'But I felt as if I wasn't welcome. I felt as if Lady Campbell had said, "Tell her to go away." I never saw the baby. Bessie came to the door because she couldn't ask me in.'

  'How did that make you feel?' Andrew asked. He felt his gorge rising, imagining his Ma being shown the door, being cold shouldered after all those years of service to the Campbells.

  Ma had taken it in her stride, though. She said, 'Oh. I told Bessie to come and see me when she gets a Sunday off. Then I went to the South Lodge to have a last look.'

  'And?' Ma used to love her little palace. 'They are using it as a store for the hospital.' She smiled. 'Do you know something? I wouldn't want to go back.'

  'I'm glad. Don't talk about Ingersley. It's in the past.' Then, tentatively, for he already knew the answer, 'You've not looked for Flora?'

  Ma looked crestfallen. 'I haven't had time.' She saw disappointment on Andrew's face and asked quickly, 'What about Greg? Did he find out anything?'

  'Not much.' Greg had gone to the munitions factory and asked after Flora there. They'd told him that one day she'd come in limping badly and had made an appointment with the doctor. Greg did not ask to see him; there was no point, for they already knew about the fall on the ice.

  Now he said to Ma, 'I have to find out what happened to her. I'll go to the police tomorrow. Flora wouldn't just stop writing. She'd tell me, whatever it was.'

  'She had done it before, though, son. Run away,' Ma said. 'She ran away from Guthrie's. That's what you told me.'

  'But that was before she .. .' He gave a smile. 'We made promises to one another. We both took them seriously.'

  'I am sorry.'

  'It's all right.' There was no point in going on about it, upsetting Ma. He'd look for a motorbike tomorrow and start searching. His first port of call would be Kelso, to find Mr Davidson.

  The following morning his luck was in. It was hard to come by cars or motorcycles; particularly motorcycles, because of petrol rationing but he found a Norton for sale and paid too much for it. It had a tiny engine with a chain drive and it would be just the thing to leave at the dock - or on the corvette if he were allowed. It would get him back to Edinburgh faster and more cheaply.

  He wouldn't waste any time in the port of Greenock - a dismal, dingy little town. He'd spend his leave searching for Flora. He put the cycle to good use immediately, driving down to Kelso.

  He arrived at 2.15 p.m. and went straight to the town hall, where they gave him Mr Davidson's address. He was living with his sighted brother and family in a pleasant bungalow tucked into the hills, so far from the war that only rationing and the wireless brought the brutal facts home to them. They showed him into a front parlour that bristled with knick- knacks, embroidered crinoline ladies and aspidistras. Tea and scones were served as Andrew faced Mr Davidson over the wooden tea trolley. 'You say a nurse came round?'

  'Yes. An elderly woman.'

  'How would you know?' Andrew asked sharply, by now having lost all sensitivity and oppressed by the sense of time slipping away.

  'Losing one's sight does not mean losing one's faculties, Andrew.'

  'I'm sorry,' Andrew said. Then, 'The following day, another woman came?'

  'Yes. A woman of importance. A WVS woman, I'd say. English.'

  'How d'you know?' He'd done it again; been rude. He had the grace to say, 'I'm sorry.'

  'She was used to giving orders - being obeyed.'

  'Like a hospital almoner? A woman in authority?' Andrew leaned forward on the edge of his chair. 'What did she say?'

  'She said that it would take some time but Flora was being taken care of. She didn't say where. She said Flora would not be back and she took away all her belongings.' Mr Davidson's eyes flicked backwards and forwards as they did when he was agitated. 'But surely you know this, Andrew? You are her brother.'

  It had been a wasted afternoon. He was no nearer finding her. The following day he went to Portobello police station but they paid scant attention to him. He stood his ground, made them take a description of Flora, and finally they passed him on to an ageing sergeant who said kindly, 'It happens every day, sir. Girls meet someone else -civvies, Canadians. She maybe wanted to let you down lightly. Look in the bars.'

  Andrew bit back an angry reply and said in a controlled voice, 'My girl would not be found in a bar. Now tell me, which hospitals have nurses who work outside the hospital?'

  The sergeant said, 'You are looking for a private nurse?' Andrew shook his head impatiently and the sergeant added, 'I see. The nurse who went to see the blind man? A Red Cross nurse then. They work outside.'

  'So - How do 1 find out? Have you got a list of Red Cross nurses?'

  The sergeant was losing patience. He stood up. 'We have important work to do. Looking for eighteen-year-old girls who have dropped their boyfriends is not our priority.'

  'Don't talk to me as if 1 were any old idiot.' Andrew banged his hand on the desk. It was a foolish gesture and it got him nowhere, but he needed it. He'd had enough of civilians telling those to whom they owed their lives how to behave. He said, 'I won't give up. Damn it!'

  The sergeant sighed. 'We'll add her to the missing persons list. It will be circulated to the hospitals.'

  'Will her details go to every police force in the country?’ and ‘Where will you start the search?' Andrew demanded.

  'We won't search. If she turns up, we'll inform you.'

  Andrew went to the door. 'Make sure you keep her name on the list,' he said before, angry and frustrated, he left the station, promising himself that when the war was over, he would join the police force. He liked service life, uniform and a hierarchy built on endeavour. And he'd have access to information and files and secret lists of missing persons. They would not be able to block his search.

  Tomorrow night he must return to Greenock. All he'd discovered was that a nurse and an Englishwoman of authority knew where Flora was. Edinburgh must be full of nurses fitting that description.

  In the nursery at Ingersley, Nanny removed the teat from the drowsy infant's lips, placed the feeding bottle on a footstool, leaned back in the rocking chair and cradled six-week-old Robert close to her bosom. She gazed down at the dark wavy hair that crowned his tiny head. 'Mummy will be here in a minute, my darling,' she crooned. 'Baby Robert is going to have his first airing. Nanny w
ill get the pram ready and take it down in the lift. Oh! He's a lucky boy.'

  She looked up at the clock. Two o'clock. This was Bessie's afternoon off. Where was Ruth? Surely she had not forgotten that Nanny had maternity and post-natal patients to see this afternoon? That Ruth might forget was the least of Nanny's fears. She could not wipe from her memory the events of the day she had delivered baby Robert to Ruth.

  On the night the twins were born, Nanny left Flora and the stronger baby sleeping at Ivy Lodge then drove through the pitch-black night to Ingersley with the baby snug and warm in his basket. Night driving was dangerous since their headlights wore black cardboard covers that had only narrow slits to let through a small beam. But she made it safely and whisked the baby inside and up the stairs to Ruth, who, she'd have thought, would be pacing the floor in an agony of suspense.

  Ruth was asleep, though it was only an hour past midnight. She shrugged away Nanny's hand on her shoulder. Nanny gave her a few seconds' grace then whispered, 'Look, Ruth! It's a boy -your adopted son is here.'

  Ruth groaned, turned over, opened her eyes slowly and then sat up. She pushed her hair off her face, blinked and said, 'Did you have to wake me?' She looked at the baby, wrinkled her nose in disgust and said, 'My God! What an ugly infant. He's the image of his father.' Then, lying down and turning her back, 'Let me sleep. Everything is ready in the nursery.'

  Nanny settled the infant and gave him his first feed. Her own room, part of the nursery suite, had been made ready and she tried to snatch an hour's sleep before she must return to Flora. She awoke at six, fed the baby again and took him to Ruth.

  This time she was in no mood to put up with Ruth's petulance. 'Wake up, Ruth!' she said. 'You must look after the baby. I am going back to Flora. I will drop in at the cottage, tell Bessie that the baby is born and ask her to come to you.'