Kezzie at War

by Theresa Breslin

  ‘To us she was an abandoned child,’ said the matron defensively. ‘Lots of children have been sent out over the years. Very few go now, but it gave many a good start in life. We have letters from them telling us how well their new families treat them. We were doing it for the best.’

  ‘If I get a passage right away,’ said Kezzie as she and Grandad walked down the High street, ‘I’ll only be days behind her when she lands and I should catch up with her easily enough over there.’

  ‘It’s a big country,’ said her grandad doubtfully. ‘You can’t go alone.’

  Kezzie turned to face him among the crowds of people which, as always in cities, seemed to be hurrying by.

  ‘Grandad, you know that I have to go. There is no other way to be absolutely sure of bringing her back. She will be terrified and she needs me with her as quickly as possible.’ Kezzie stopped, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘You also know,’ she went on, ‘that it’s best you stay here and keep on your job, for us to have something to come back to.’ They walked on in silence.

  Kezzie pawned everything she had, and gave the tickets to Bella. It didn’t come to much, she thought, as she counted the money into her purse. She would need every penny, not just for her passage, but also for whatever travelling she might have to do in Canada. So, she only hesitated for a second when the pawnbroker, eying her carefully, said, ‘I’ll give you two and six for that silver locket you’re wearing.’

  ‘Three shillings,’ said Kezzie, unfastening it and placing it on the counter.

  The factory had a collection which the manager and Miss Dunlop made up to fifty pounds. Kezzie was speechless.

  ‘I can’t guarantee you the same position when you return,’ said the manager, ‘but you’ll get the first vacancy on the floor.’

  At the dockside her grandad kept wiping his face with his handkerchief as they said goodbye.

  Eventually Kezzie said, ‘Grandad, I’m going aboard now, and I’m going below deck so don’t stay to wave me off.’

  They kissed and hugged each other and as they separated Kezzie saw, striding towards her, the tall dark-haired figure of Michael Donohoe.

  He wrapped his arms around her.

  ‘I went to visit you all, and I met Bella who told me of your misfortune. Kezzie, I wish I was going with you.’

  ‘Why don’t you?’ asked Kezzie. ‘You said you wanted to emigrate.’

  He avoided her gaze for a moment.

  ‘Things did not go as well as I had hoped in London … and, well, I’ve joined up.’

  ‘The army?’ Kezzie was aghast.

  He shrugged. ‘There’s a war coming, and it’s regular pay with meals.’

  The ship’s hooter sounded. Kezzie lifted her case.

  ‘I’ve something for you,’ said Michael quickly. ‘Some sandwiches.’ He pushed a brown paper parcel into her bag. ‘And … I got one of your Colleen Bawn tickets from Bella.’ He opened his fist and in it lay Kezzie’s locket.

  Kezzie drew her breath in.

  ‘Michael,’ she said softly.

  He shifted his feet uncomfortably. ‘Now, you be sure and find her,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I shall find her,’ said Kezzie. ‘I shall cross the sea and travel the land until I do. I shall search all Canada for her. In every town and village I shall look for her. And I will find her,’ she stopped and then went on, ‘and when I have, then I will bring her home.’

  PART TWO

  Canada

  CHAPTER 18

  A game of chess

  LUCY THOUGHT SHE had died and gone to a bad place. She had not been good enough for the angels to take her to Mummy and Daddy in Heaven. She was in a little wooden coffin with a lid which she could reach up above her head and touch, and it kept heaving up and down, up and down. She gripped her dolly desperately. She was going to be sick.

  Kezzie waited until they had left the Tail o’ the Bank before she opened Michael’s brown paper parcel. She should have known, she thought, as she gazed at the money. Ten and five pound notes spilled on to her lap. There was a note laboriously scribed by someone not accustomed to writing letters.

  ‘My Dear Kezzie please take this money to find Lucy and do not be so proud as not to use it. Who knows what might happen on the other side of the water. Money opens doors. I know this and I also know I love you. Your friend Michael.’

  Kezzie saw the horizon through a blur of tears. She stayed on deck a long time and watched Scotland growing smaller and the sun setting before going to her cabin.

  The next day was calm and beautiful and people strolled about on deck. Kezzie spoke to no one. She had cried herself to sleep last night, with the thought of Lucy, travelling steerage, frightened and alone. She could not cope with company just now, and was not inclined to make idle chat. She waited until the dining-room was almost empty before taking her meals, and always sought the most isolated part of the ship to sit with her book and read. She was not the only person doing this, she noticed after several days. A young man with sandy hair and the beginnings of a moustache often came last to eat, usually accompanied by an older woman. It wasn’t difficult to also notice that he walked with a limp – an iron calliper clamped his left leg just below the knee of his plus-fours and reached to his ankle. He took to nodding across to Kezzie each day and finally she conceded his presence with a small wave.

  The sea was rougher and the waves higher as the days passed and autumn came with cold rain which lashed the deck and sent most people below. Eventually even Kezzie gave up and entered the small non-smoking lounge with her rain-soaked book in her hand. Her friend from the dining-room was sitting at a table playing himself at chess. The lady was doing some crochet. Kezzie studied his game from her seat a little way off. As he reached to move the white bishop she drew in her breath. He looked up quickly.

  ‘Do you play?’ he asked in surprise.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Kezzie at once.

  ‘Why not indeed?’ he laughed. ‘Would you play me?’

  The woman looked over with a slight frown on her face.

  ‘Sorry, I should have introduced us. This is my mother, Mrs Fitzwilliam, and I am William James Fitzwilliam.’

  Kezzie held out her hand.

  ‘I am Kezzie Munro, from Stonevale,’ she said.

  The older woman hesitated for the smallest second before taking her hand.

  ‘My husband is Sir Gerald Fitzwilliam,’ she said distinctly, ‘from Close Manor near Derby.’

  Lady Fitzwilliam then detached her hand from Kezzie’s and took up her crochet.

  ‘What kind of name is Kezzie, my dear?’ she enquired very politely, after a moment.

  Kezzie felt slightly crushed, as this woman had no doubt intended, she thought. She could feel her face redden and her temper rise.

  ‘It is a Biblical name,’ she replied, equally courteously. ‘Keziah was one of the daughters of Job, if you are familiar with that story.’

  ‘Oh, well played, Kezzie!’ cried William enthusiastically. ‘I knew when I first spotted you that you had a fine spirit. Just ignore Ma,’ he went on, ‘she is a dreadful old snob. I am trying to educate her out of it.’ He patted his mother affectionately on the head and took his place again at the table.

  Kezzie was appalled at such cheek and looked anxiously at Lady Fitzwilliam. To her surprise she was smiling.

  ‘You are an impertinent young man,’ she said fondly to her son. She turned to Kezzie. ‘One has to be very careful these days, especially on Atlantic crossings. All sorts of people travel abroad now.’

  William laughed again.

  ‘See what I mean?’ he said. ‘She probably suspects you of being a “New Woman”. You don’t smoke or drink or drive a car or anything?’

  ‘No,’ said Kezzie.

  ‘Drat!’ said William, snapping his fingers. ‘I’ve been waiting all my life to meet a fast woman.’

  ‘William James!’ cried his mother. ‘Don’t use such language.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ he replied. ‘Now,
’ he said to Kezzie, ‘shall I take a handicap?’

  ‘Whatever for?’ said Kezzie, as she arranged the pieces on the board.

  Three hours later they agreed on a draw. Thank you, Grandad, Kezzie said silently as they went into dinner.

  William was cheerful and kind and as the weather worsened and his mother stayed more in her cabin, the two of them walked the decks together, or played chess in the lounge. She told him of her mission and he explained that they were travelling to America via Canada to seek treatment for his leg which was wasting below the knee.

  Kezzie viewed the heavy iron brace with distaste.

  ‘Do you need that thing on all the time?’ she asked him one day. ‘It must weigh you down and surely prevent development. Perhaps if you removed it from time to time and exercised your muscles, it would help.’

  ‘You are a very clever girl,’ he replied, ‘and if you promise not to tell Ma I’ll let you into a secret.’ He showed her the top of the calliper. ‘I got the village blacksmith to fit this like so,’ and with a little tap the brace fell apart. ‘Now, I have been doing exercises to build up my strength, but Ma would have a fit. She thinks I would collapse completely if this contraption was removed.’

  It was the sort of thing that would have intrigued Grandad, thought Kezzie, as William put the parts together again. Anything requiring skill in metalwork interested him. Grandad … he seemed so far away, Scotland and Stonevale, and Bella and the rest.

  A week passed and Kezzie was grateful for William’s company. He seemed to sense when she needed time by herself to think, and when she was low his bright conversations cheered her immensely.

  One morning she was awakened early by the sound of the ship’s foghorn. She dressed warmly and went on deck. A dense white fog surrounded the ship. The foghorn sounded again mournfully, as the ship moved forward.

  ‘We’re nearing Newfoundland,’ said William appearing beside her, rubbing his hands together.

  The fog swirled eerily obscuring sea and sky and deadening sound.

  ‘Look!’ said Kezzie.

  A massive shape half-hidden in the mist loomed beside the ship.

  ‘An iceberg!’ said William.

  They heard the sailors call immediately, and the foghorn sounded once more. They continued their slow progress as the iceberg made its stately departure off the starboard bow. It was a magnificent sight and the sense of danger seemed to thrill William. Kezzie fretted all day, aware of the time she was losing.

  At last they entered the Gulf of St Lawrence and she calmed herself. Now she could actually see Canada. They would sail up the St Lawrence River tomorrow, and then her search would really begin.

  CHAPTER 19

  Lucy arrives in Canada

  THE SHIP LUCY was in had fared much worse in the crossing. It had pitched and rolled and Lucy had retched so much that she didn’t care any more about being made to go to sleep in a coffin. On the few occasions she had been taken on deck she had been very frightened. Why was there water all around? Where was the beach, with sand and the donkeys? Far out at sea the movement of the boat on the surface of the ocean was unlike anything Lucy had ever experienced before. These were not the gentle waters that had lapped around her ankles when she had splashed on the shoreline on the summer outing. The water was grey and roaring and angry. It slid past the rails and heaved the deck about so that she could scarcely keep her balance as the ship tilted and dipped.

  The lady who was in charge of them was seasick for most of the journey, and the older children, who were supposed to look after Lucy, teased and made fun of her. One boy, in particular, pushed into her at mealtimes and stole her food.

  She was frightened of the sailors who tried to be kind to her. They spoke with words she did not know and they had strange red and blue drawings on their arms.

  As they neared the coast the ship was trapped in pack ice for several days, moving forward slowly by degrees as the crew tried to keep the propellors free. The bitter cold was something she was not used to. Her clothes were thin and inadequate and she shivered hopelessly. It was a distressed sick little girl who disembarked from the ship in Canada.

  As they filed into the Immigration shed Lucy was aware of only one thing. Although she had no idea where in the world she was, she knew she was very far away from her grandad, Kezzie and their snug caravan.

  Alexander Dalgleish had been processing immigrants for many years now. As he surveyed the long shambling queue of people it seemed to him that on some days every nation on earth filed past him. He rubbed the back of his neck and eased his aching muscles. It would soon be the weekend. He would get away out of the crowded city to his cabin deep in the pine woods. A little fishing and a trek in the forest under the stars and he would feel better. It must be in the blood, he thought. His grandfather had been one of the original Nor’Westers, who had opened up the vast track of the Canadian Shield. Forced to quit Scotland, he had arrived in the unknown continent and become one of the fur traders that had paddled and portaged their way up rivers and across lakes to map out the Canadian interior. Explorers, whose adventuring spirit had chartered waterfalls and mountains and left as their legacy their names on maps for ever. He felt that this inheritance was what had made Canada the way it was. A vibrant nation, a people more at ease outdoors, dynamic and friendly.

  And now? The Old World and the New World merged before him. New hopefuls arriving on every ship, with talent to offer and a prospect of a chance to use it.

  He frowned as he caught sight of the group of children. The Great Depression had lessened the welcoming attitude to immigrants as people were afraid there would not be so much for native-born Canadians. Also, Canadian law had been tightened up over the last few years, with different regulations being passed in order to protect the welfare of child immigrants. Still, it might be a better life here for some of the poor waifs he had seen. Some sun and good farm feeding would give them a new start in life.

  When the children cleared Immigration they joined up with another group who had come in on a Liverpool ship. There was a quick conference between the two women who were escorting the children.

  ‘They have to be regrouped and sent to different places,’ said the Liverpool escort.

  ‘I must spend the night here and then go to Carrville at the Lakes,’ said the woman who had been with Lucy’s group. ‘And I am heartily glad, I can tell you. I was ill, absolutely ill, on that dreadful boat.’

  The other woman consulted her papers. ‘I don’t believe it! All the way to British Columbia, and the train’s due to leave.’ She looked around her crossly. ‘Where are they? Right, gather up your belongings,’ she snapped at the children.

  The women sorted out the certificates and papers.

  ‘Hurry UP,’ commanded the woman who was now Lucy’s escort, ‘or we’ll miss the train.’

  A train? Lucy thought she would only get more lost if she went on a train. She knew that she was being taken further and further away from where she belonged. Crowds of people moved all about her and made her dizzy and more confused. If only she could think for a minute and decide what to do. She sat down on her little cardboard suitcase and put her doll beside her. She would stay here and wait. That was it! If she stayed still in one place for a while she would stop being lost. It might take a little time, but Kezzie and Grandad would find her.

  ‘Get up,’ said an angry voice.

  Lucy shook her head. Kezzie MUST be looking for her, she had been lost a long time. If she could remain in one place then it would make it easy for Kezzie to come and collect her.

  The next moment Lucy was slapped on the side of the head so hard that she was knocked across her suitcase and onto the ground. Never in her life before had she been treated like this. Even when she had been very naughty she had only been smacked on the hand.

  ‘When I tell you to do something, you do it.’

  Lucy got slowly to her feet, utterly stunned. She put her hands to her ringing head. The woman grabbed her arm and
shook her.

  ‘Is there something the matter with you?’

  Lucy stared at her, unseeing.

  ‘Is this child dumb or what?’ the woman asked of no one in particular.

  ‘Yeh,’ said the boy who had taken Lucy’s food on the ship, ‘she’s real dumb.’

  ‘Why do I always get the worst ones?’ moaned the woman. She picked up Lucy’s case and as she did so, the rag doll fell unnoticed to the ground. She took Lucy roughly by the hand. ‘Follow me, all of you,’ she ordered, ‘and stay together.’

  Alexander Dalgleish stared after them. He had seen many sights in his years in the Immigration sheds but for callous cruelty that one took some beating. He shook his head and, as he moved forward to deal with the next person in line, he noticed something lying on the stone floor. He gazed for a moment at the small crumpled object with its tangled woollen hair which lay with one arm outstretched. He turned away. Then he glanced back again.

  He hesitated for a second, then he vaulted the bench, scooped up Lucy’s doll and ran after the forlorn little group.

  CHAPTER 20

  William’s accident

  KEZZIE COULD SEE the Canadian Red Ensign fluttering beside the Union Jack on the top of the biggest building in the harbour. She and William were right forward on the ship watching the sailors unloading from the hold. Her first impressions of the country were the huge scale of everything, and the amount of people moving about the dockside. There seemed to be a vast amount of ships of every nationality loading and unloading.

  ‘Hold on,’ said William, ‘I’m going to take your picture.’ He ducked under the barrier and walked backwards with his Box Brownie camera in his hand.

  ‘Don’t go too far up there, William,’ called his mother who was standing a little way behind Kezzie.

  ‘Don’t fuss, Ma,’ he called back. ‘I’m miles away from the hold.’

  He indicated the open hatch several feet away from him, and bent his head to look in the viewfinder.