‘The police,’ she gasped, out of breath with running so quickly upstairs. ‘The police and some military men … In the café—’ Her voice was shaking and she was on the verge of hysteria. She grabbed Kezzie by the front of her dress.
‘Kezzie,’ she sobbed, ‘you have to come at once. They’ve arrested Ricardo and his father!’
CHAPTER 11
1940: Internment
WHEN THE TWO girls reached the café it was shut and in complete darkness. They knocked on the door and rattled the window but no one answered. Kezzie went through the pen at the side and round to the back entrance. She banged on the service door.
‘Signora Casella! Signora Biagi!’ she called loudly. ‘It’s Kezzie and Peg. Let us in!’
Several minutes elapsed and then the door was cautiously pulled open a crack. Such fear on their faces made Kezzie shiver. Alec was squirming in their arms as they clutched him desperately. They had expected men with guns, thought Kezzie, as she followed them upstairs into the house.
The two women were beyond tears.
‘The combattenti,’ Signora Biagi told Kezzie. ‘They took my son away.’ She kept repeating, more to herself than anyone else, ‘We have done nothing wrong. We have done nothing wrong.’
Kezzie and Peg looked at each other helplessly. They sat down round the big circular table. Signora Casella twisted the hem of the embroidered cloth over and over in her fingers. She turned her large brown eyes on Kezzie. ‘My sister and I, we are scared to go out on the street. What can we do? What will happen now?’ she asked.
Kezzie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. First of all we have to find out what is going on.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll go to the police station and see if I can get any information. I’m sure it’s all a terrible mistake.’
Half an hour later Kezzie discovered that it was not.
‘Sending them away?’ She repeated the words the desk sergeant had just said. ‘All the Italian men living in Britain? Where are they being sent?’
The sergeant shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know. They’re setting up camps in different places.’
‘Camps?’ said Kezzie sharply. ‘What kind of camps?’
He hesitated before replying. ‘Like detention camps, sort of,’ he said. ‘They’ll be all right,’ he went on. ‘It’s just a precaution.’
‘You mean camps such as they have in Europe?’ demanded Kezzie. ‘The same as the Nazis have done. Those people that we are fighting against.’ She heard her own voice rising higher and higher. ‘One of the reasons we are at war, in fact?’
The policeman fidgeted under her gaze. ‘Don’t take on so, hen. It’s not as bad as you think. They’ll get treated quite well.’
Kezzie took a deep breath. ‘Where are these places?’ she asked quietly. ‘And where are the Biagis just now?’
The sergeant consulted some papers. ‘I can’t give you exact information,’ he said. ‘They could be on their way to one of the islands. There’s also been talk of shipping them out to Canada or Australia for the duration. Come back tomorrow and ask again.’
As Kezzie hurried back to the café her thoughts were swarming in confusion. The policeman had said ‘the duration’. Did he mean the whole of the war? How long would that be? And what could she tell Signoras Casella and Biagi? Or for that matter Peg, who was completely distraught about Ricardo?
She felt desperately sorry as she gave them her news.
Peg was stunned. ‘I didn’t know they could do things like that in Britain,’ she said.
‘When there is a war, they can do anything they please,’ said Signora Casella.
Despite the restrictions on reporting, the newspapers carried the story over the next days. The entire Italian male population of Britain between the ages of seventeen and sixty had been rounded up. There was a large Italian community in the west of Scotland and many of Signora Casella’s friends and relatives were involved. Eventually they discovered that Ricardo and his father were part of a group who had been kept at Maryhill Barracks and then sent on to the Isle of Man. Their cases would be reviewed in time, meanwhile the family could apply for permission to visit, though it would not be for many weeks.
‘This is awful,’ cried Peg. ‘How can we afford to travel all that way to see them? How can we take the time away from the shop?’
‘The shop,’ said Signora Casella. ‘How are we going to manage the shop? How are we going to survive?’
Her complaint was echoed in a thousand other households. The internment had struck a blow into the very hearts of the Italian families. Worse was to follow.
One of the ships transporting some of the men to detention in Canada was torpedoed and sunk. Only hours after its departure from Liverpool the Arandora Star was attacked by a German U-Boat and over four hundred Italian men were drowned.
A great gloom settled over the shop. No cooking was done or food prepared. Kezzie found that she missed the smells of the frying oil and the baking dough, the constant flow of the Italian conversation. She and Peg stacked the café chairs and tables to one side, and only sold the grocery goods. Custom began to fall off. It was a sad place to be, and even Lucy, coming in from school, swinging her legs from one of the high bar stools commented on it.
‘There’s no happy noises in this café any more.’
Kezzie realised it was true. The wireless was only switched on for the news bulletins, and Peg and herself hardly spoke as they served behind the counter in the deli. Occasionally Kezzie could hear one or other of the older women breaking out in a heart-rending lamentation. Peg wasn’t much better, wandering around listlessly, beginning a task and not completing it. Baby Alec quickly picked up the mood of the place and became grizzly and fractious. Their supplies were running low. Kezzie saw that if they didn’t reorder soon the shop would have to close. She called them all together one morning and told them that she had made a decision.
‘We are reopening the café tomorrow,’ she announced.
Signora Biagi shook her head sadly. ‘Not without the men,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Kezzie, ‘we can. Lots of other women are doing it, working in factories and on the land while their men are away. They can manage, so can we. Also I hear that there are tribunals we can appeal to. There is a very good chance that they might be released early, particularly Ricardo. His citizenship papers were almost cleared.’
‘I cannot cope with it any more,’ said Signora Casella.
‘Do you want your own son to come home from the war to no business?’ demanded Kezzie. ‘If we don’t begin our sandwiches and lunchtime snacks again soon then we will lose all our customers.’ She appealed to Peg for help. ‘We can run the front, can’t we?’ she asked.
‘Yes, probably,’ said Peg. ‘I suppose we owe it to them to keep going.’
‘We’ve got to try, at least,’ said Kezzie. ‘It’s not doing us any good moping every day. Look at you,’ she spoke to Signora Biagi. ‘You were always so neatly dressed, with your hair so beautifully arranged. What a welcome for your husband should he return just at this moment.’
Signora Biagi glanced in the mirror hanging on the wall. She sighed and fixed one or two hair grips in place.
‘Kezzie is right,’ she said. ‘We must at least try.’
‘So.’ Kezzie rubbed her hands together. ‘Tonight you will make some pasta. We will share our ration coupons and make some chocolate cake and pies. And then we will begin again.’
CHAPTER 12
Kezzie learns to drive
TO BEGIN WITH it was really Lucy and the baby who kept them going. Alec was teething and demanded constant attention. With the shortage of teachers Lucy was attending school only in the mornings and spent most of the afternoon in the café helping out, alternately petted or scolded, depending on the prevailing mood in the kitchen. She was becoming an expert in pasta making, mixing and beating the flour and egg and water, rolling it out and cutting and folding the special shapes. Her favourite was ravioli, and Signora Biagi had tak
en much time to demonstrate exactly how to press and flute the ends together.
Kezzie watched her sister working so seriously, looking up every so often to check with Signora Biagi that what she was doing was correct.
‘Is this enough?’ Lucy would ask, her hand holding the flour shaker above the pastry board. She would wait until one of the signoras nodded their head before continuing.
And Kezzie noticed that she didn’t shirk the unpleasant or difficult tasks. Lucy would wait until the dishes were done or the surfaces scrubbed before untying her apron and saying, ‘I think it’s time for some tea.’ Everyone laughed on the first occasion Lucy came out with this expression. But now, despite her youth, she was rapidly becoming one of the work team in the kitchen.
Ricardo and his father wrote frequently. Their letters were amusing and light-hearted. Kezzie was sure that they guessed how anxious Signora Casella and Signora Biagi would be and deliberately filled the pages with remarks about their seaside vacation and the wonderful bed and breakfasts which they enjoyed. Many passages were blocked out by the censor but they’d been held at a temporary camp in Wales before being sent on to the Isle of Man. There they were put in what had been holiday hotels, and the accommodation, although cramped, was bearable. They’d fared much better than some of the others who were sent to Canada and Australia, and kept in what were no more than prisoner-of-war camps.
At home there was a frightened tenseness in conversations with neighbours and friends which Kezzie had never been aware of before. The bravado and old-style jingoism disappeared. People kissed and embraced each other more obviously when parting even for a short time, and what was more unusual, they did so in public.
The new Home Guard trained and drilled regularly. At first the butt of jokes with their ludicrous and out-of-date equipment, more and more people realised that these men might have to make the last stand before the enemy. Many veterans of the First World War had enlisted, men older than her grandfather.
‘If they do land, they’ll find it harder to beat us than they expect,’ said one old man, sipping his weak tea in the café. ‘We’ll fight to the bitter end.’
It was a mood which seemed to prevail through the whole country. Listening to a recording of the Prime Minister’s speech one evening on the radio gave Kezzie an eerie feeling. The slow drawl, the hesitant slur of the words coming from the squat wooden box set on its shelf in the corner of the counter. Churchill’s voice giving hope to millions of people.
‘We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills: we shall never surrender.’
In the café they kept the business going, and drafted Mary Price in to help wash dishes and mind the children.
‘It’s giving me something to take my mind off worrying about Robert,’ she told Kezzie, ‘and I love playing with the wee ones.’
She’d had some news from her husband. In the retreat his battalion had reached Cherbourg, and were finally safely evacuated to England. There was talk of the rescued troops being sent to open up a new front in the East or in Africa. Or were they in fact preparing to fight on British soil?
Mary was an energetic worker and a cheerful soul. She tuned the radio station to Music While You Work and sang along with the current hits. She taught Lucy all the words. Their favourites at the moment were the songs from the Disney version of Snow White. They sang together, to the amusement of the customers, while Mary danced around the kitchen with the baby on one arm and Lucy holding on to the other.
She’s like a child herself, thought Kezzie. And even though Mary was older than her and married, Kezzie felt that in some ways she was more mature. The days of the summer of 1940 slipped away, each one told off like beads on a prayer circlet. Counted out singly, every sunset and sunrise a bonus of peace as the country braced itself for the expected invasion. Special buses and trains took the children away from the south coast of England far inland. Some of them had been evacuated previously from the larger cities. And above their heads in the long hot summer the RAF fought a desperate battle for control of the skies over Britain.
Carefully worded letters from William James made Kezzie realise that he was part of it. His mother now also wrote to Kezzie. Her letters showed how proud she was of him, yet her anxiety and worry lifted off the very page as Kezzie read them. She tried to reply to each one as best she could.
Day by day the invasion seemed imminent. By August over a thousand enemy planes were sent on sorties daily into Britain. How long could the RAF keep them at bay?
Then on the seventh of September the Luftwaffe broke through the defences of Fighter Command and set London ablaze.
Kezzie’s grandad scanned the papers. ‘They’re not telling us the half of it,’ he said.
Night after night they kept coming. The Londoners fled to the underground stations, carrying bedding, children, food and water. It was a city under siege from the sky. And in the mornings the Londoners came out of the darkness and looked upon the devastation of their homes.
Lady Fitzwilliam wrote to her.
Kezzie, the bombing continues. They will not stop, neither will they go away. Our boys will fight until they die, each and every one of them, yet the safety of our children concerns me deeply. I sense and know that you would not like to lose sight of Lucy, nor she of you, for even a short time. I suggest that you both come and stay with me. I am far out in the country and it would be as safe here as anywhere else. Please give the matter some thought. I already have some children billeted here, so it would be no trouble to me. Also, I would appreciate your company, as would William, that is if he ever does get any leave.
Kezzie didn’t show the letter to anyone. She knew that at the moment she was needed in the café. It was taking her full attention and, as the days passed, the finances became more grave. By not delivering the large orders which they’d done before, they were starting to lose money. One day Kezzie asked Ricardo’s aunt for the keys of the delivery van and went out to the wooden lean-to where the van was garaged.
‘It can’t be so difficult,’ she said, assuming a great air of confidence. She took the keys quickly from Signora Casella’s hand. ‘I’ve watched Ricardo lots of times when he was driving.’
She sat in the van and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared and the van leapt forwards and smacked against the wooden wall of the garage.
‘Ooops,’ said Kezzie.
‘There’s something about gears,’ she told Peg when she returned to the café later. ‘I think that bit of it is important. If I could just get someone to explain it to me, I’m sure I could pick it up fairly quickly.’
She tried to coax one of the apprentice boys to give her a lesson.
‘Nae chance.’ He shook his head. ‘Women can’t drive. They’re not built for it.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Kezzie. ‘I think you’re scared,’ she said, attempting to goad him.
He grinned at her. ‘Aye, ye’re right there, hen,’ he said. ‘I’d rather face the Jerries than get behind a wheel wi’ you.’
Kezzie put her hands on her hips. ‘There must be some way I can persuade you,’ she said. She stared at him boldly. ‘Something I could give you, perhaps?’
‘Aye …’ he said slowly. He looked her up and down. ‘I’ll tell ye what ye could gie me …’ He broke off.
Kezzie snapped her fingers. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘My sugar ration!’
‘Yes,’ said Peg from the other end of the counter. ‘You can have mine too. And my butter as well.’
‘And mine,’ volunteered Lucy, who had come through from the kitchen without anyone realising it.
‘I … I …’ the boy stuttered. ‘I didnae mean that.’
‘And what did you mean, exactly?’ asked Kezzie, hands on her hips again.
‘Oh nothin’,’ he mumbled.
And so his fate was sealed. Kezzie’s first lesson was
the very next afternoon.
‘How do I stop it?’ she asked, after a few minutes, turning round in her seat.
‘Put yer foot on the brake!’ he yelled. He made a grab for the steering wheel. ‘And keep yer eyes on the road!’
‘You didn’t show me the brake to begin with,’ said Kezzie later when they returned to the café.
The apprentice boy sat down in the nearest chair, took his cap off and, pulling a hanky from his pocket, he wiped his face.
‘How was your driving?’ asked Peg.
‘It’s quite easy actually,’ said Kezzie. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about. The Government is thinking of introducing tests and examinations before you can get a certificate. I can’t imagine why. A child could do it.’
‘Give me a coffee,’ said her instructor. ‘An’ make it black and strong,’ he added.
The bombing of London continued. By the end of September over seven thousand civilians had been killed by enemy action.
‘They won’t stop coming, will they?’ Kezzie asked her grandad one night after listening to the latest broadcast. ‘And there’s not much we can do about it, is there?’
‘If our night fighters can’t keep holding them off … then we’re defenceless,’ said Grandad.
‘You think they’ll come north?’ she asked him.
He raised his head and Kezzie saw that his eyes were shadowed. She realised that he didn’t want to cause her distress, but he thought that she needed to know the truth.
‘Aye, lass,’ he said. ‘They’ll come. And soon.’
CHAPTER 13
Lucy runs away
GRANDAD’S WORDS WERE on Kezzie’s mind that night. She knew that if she gave the matter any thought at all, then it was obvious that this part of Britain would be a target. Clydebank was a shipbuilding town, known all over the world. John Brown’s yards were famed for boatbuilding, both commercial and naval. Warships and troop transportations were slipping in and out of the Clyde ports all the time. Ships from some of the other navies belonging to their allies, such as Poland and Belgium, were repaired or refitted here.
Kezzie at War Page 19
