Rhanna at War

by Christine Marion Fraser

  ‘Ach, c’mon now, mo ghaoil! Is it any wonder the poor soul skedaddled like a fart in front of a turd? You never gave her a chance! Criticized everything she did . . . in front o’ her patients too. I mind her saying to me, “I am not able even to give an enema but that old bitch is peering over my shoulder to see am I putting the tube in the right passage”. Near to tears she was telling me that, and myself knowing she was good at it, too, for she gave me one thon time I was laid up wi’ my back.’

  Todd had been mending the handle of a goffering iron with what appeared to be single-minded intent but when he looked up, the smile on his craggy face showed otherwise. ‘It will not be a man causing a mistake like that,’ he observed with an avidness that was out of keeping with his supposedly delicate condition. The profundity of the statement seemed to surprise even himself and thoughtfully he spat on the peats from the conveniently placed sofa, and then watched the results with every sign of enjoyment.

  For a few moments the sizzling of roasting saliva filled the kitchen until Biddy said with slow deliberation, ‘It is well you are not yet knowing what we had to sew up last night, Todd McDonald. Ay me, the Lord giveth and the nurse taketh away . . .’

  Kate spluttered into her tea, Todd’s guileless blue eyes glazed over and Mollie, coming back with a bowl of cold water from the rain barrel for Biddy’s ankle, stood in the doorway, her loosely-hinged jaw once more falling to its lowest extent.

  ‘Ay, ay,’ Biddy continued wisely. ‘It can happen! These scalpels is sharp things and your belly that round a wee slip’s no’ an easy thing to avoid – but, ach – don’t worry, Todd, at your age it won’t be mattering too much and it will never be noticed! Lachlan is a great hand wi’ the embroidery and I am having a fine wee keepsake o’ yourself to be remembering you by. It’s fine for an old body like myself that never was having a man to occupy me, as you have told me yourself on more than one occasion.’ She sighed regretfully. ‘I can be lookin’ at it and thinkin’ “Ay, poor auld Todd, he was aye generous wi’ himself right enough”.’ She fixed him with a fond gaze. ‘Just think, you will go down in posterior like that other chiel . . . Napoleon I think it was. There was always a rumour they preserved his in a wee boxie.’ She stirred her third cup of tea with a great show of calculated sorrow. Todd’s face had grown bright red and he was glaring at Biddy with malevolence.

  ‘It is no’ an assistant you are needin’, Biddy McMillan! It is a replacement! I am going to write to the Medical Board and ask for one to be sent right away!’

  Kate threw herself back on the sofa in a fit of laughter and Todd yelled in pain as her weight pinned his legs. ‘Ach, but you should see your face, Todd,’ she screeched. ‘It is yourself will be needin’ the replacement and maybe Mollie another husband, for who would be wantin’ a man that’s nothing more than a castrated ram!’

  Mollie’s mouth quivered but she managed to scold sternly, ‘It’s your tongue should be cut out, Kate McKinnon! Todd is all the man I need. Poor soul, he is no’ able to take any more shocks, he had enough last night to last him for a whily.’ She turned to Biddy. ‘Now then, Biddy, Kate and myself will see to that ankle o’ yours.’

  ‘It’s broke I tell you,’ Biddy protested, but Mollie quelled her with a stern eye and Biddy allowed her shoe and one of her black woollen stockings to be removed.

  Mollie’s lifetime of administering to a slightly hypochondriac husband had hardened her sympathies and she was inclined to think that everyone exaggerated their ills. ‘Ay, you’ve only twisted it,’ she asserted with a nod.

  ‘I tell you it’s broke,’ Biddy said faintly although she knew by experience that her ankle was only badly strained.

  Todd’s post-operative pallor took on a distinctly rosy glow during the removal of Biddy’s stocking. It was one thing for a Gael to make jokes about the female form but quite another to have a feminine leg exposed to his vision, even though the limb in question resembled a badly warped spurtle. ‘Here,’ he protested, ‘this is no place for a woman to be doing such things.’

  Kate got to her feet with a mischievous grin. ‘Ach, the poor bodach is right enough! Him bein’ a virgin mannie now won’t be having the thrill of a woman’s leg any more. He’ll be celebrite like thon monks in the monkeries!’

  ‘Damt women!’ Todd exploded, while Kate, with a great show of solemnity, fixed a blanket between the sofas so that it formed a screen.

  Into this unexpectedly merry gathering came Shona who looked at the scene with some surprise. ‘I was told to expect a house full of invalids and here you all are looking as though you are having some sort of concert party.’

  ‘Ach, it was poor auld Todd,’ Kate said placidly. ‘He was feart the sight of Biddy’s ankle would set his passions leapin’ so I fixed up the blanket to keep him from doin’ himself a mischief!’

  ‘Well, I’ve been sent over to see to the pair of them. Lachlan is busy operating on the bomber commander but he will be over to see to you both later,’ Shona imparted, hiding a smile at sight of Biddy’s outraged expression.

  ‘Hmph!’ Biddy snorted. ‘No doubt I’ll keep yet for a whily. I’ve survived this long after lyin’ half-dead all night while the doctor attends to Germans,’ she ended with an air of blatant martyrdom.

  ‘Ach, c’mon you silly cailleach, let me see your ankle,’ Shona said affectionately. The swelling had subsided slightly, thanks to Mollie’s administrations and Shona praised the act.

  ‘Just as well she did something,’ Biddy grunted, ‘for when her and that Kate found me they just stood looking at me like a couple of spare farts! It’s a wonder I didn’t die before they got me in the damt house!’

  Shona began to strap up the ankle and Biddy noticed the dark circles under the girl’s eyes and the dispirited droop of her shoulders. ‘My bonny wee lassie,’ she murmured tenderly. ‘Here is me rampin’ on like a bull wi’ the skitters and your poor hert breakin’. I can tell something is ailing you.’

  ‘Niall is ailing me that’s what, Biddy. The Germans bombed Clydebank last night – and – and I have no way of knowing if he’s dead or alive.’

  ‘Ach, my bairnie,’ the old midwife drew Shona’s head down to her scraggy old bosom. ‘Greet now my wee one, it will help the pain.’ And cry Shona did, softly and helplessly, while Biddy stroked her hair and crooned loving words. Behind the curtain Todd gave a small forlorn sigh.

  ‘What ails you now, Todd? Is it a hangover you are having?’ Kate dimpled mischievously.

  ‘Indeed I am not!’ he protested with dignity. ‘It’s my stitches too tight and myself wishing the doctor could be here to see am I all right.’

  ‘They’ll be tight for a whily,’ Biddy told him, ‘but no tighter than you were yourself last night so it serves you right if you are uncomfortable. The disgrace of it! But never mind, Shona won’t mind taking a wee look at them I’m sure.’

  Todd was aghast at the idea of a young girl ‘looking at his condition’. ‘Indeed she will not!’ he asserted quickly. ‘I will not have a bairn like Shona looking at my belly and if I have to die waiting for the doctor to do it . . . then die I will.’

  In spite of herself Shona smiled. ‘Ach, away, Todd. My friend, Babbie, is a trained nurse. I’m sure she won’t mind helping Lachlan for a wee while.’

  ‘Oh, but it will have to be done through the authorities,’ Biddy imparted dourly. ‘They’ll have to send a spare nurse . . . just till I’m back on my feets,’ she added hastily.

  ‘We’ll see.’ Shona wiped her tears away impatiently and went back to her ministrations on Biddy’s ankle.

  Chapter Nine

  In the little guest room at Slochmhor, Anton Büttger lay like one who had already passed through the Valley of the Shadow. It was now evening and the soft lamplight shone on his fair curls crisping out from the layer of bandages encasing his head; his thick eyelashes lay on high cheekbones; and a fine little stubble of hair shadowed the hollows of his cheeks, making his face look thinner than it was. A faint dew of sweat glea
med on his upper lip and Babbie stooped to wipe it gently away. Despite his fever his hands were still clammily cold and again she put them under the blankets, stopping for a moment to check the bandages that swathed his middle. Shona plumped the pillows on the shake-down bed set in a corner of the room, and tried to dispel the numbness that surrounded her thoughts like a cloying shroud. She had listened to the tea-time news about the raids over Clydebank and Glasgow. It was a depressing account of devastation, of a chaos from which no order could yet emerge. A lot of people had died, a lot more had been injured, and there was simply no way of knowing if Niall was among the living or the dead. More raids were expected that night – tonight . . .

  Shona shuddered and looked from the window to the moon breaking through the mist. It was 10.30. At that very moment the German bombers might be sweeping over Glasgow, crushing out the lives of innocent people, wrecking the lives of those that were left. She imagined Niall then: tall and handsome with his sun-tanned limbs and boyish smile, his corn-coloured curls glinting in the sun, his firm lips close to her own . . . She could feel them brushing her face . . .

  She started and pulled away the net curtain that had blown softly against her cheek. The keen air from the moor whispered in through the slightly opened sash, laden with the sharp clean smell of the frost-rimed bracken on the hill. She turned and looked back at the room – at the bed occupied by the young German airman – and her memory took her back over the years to when, as a little girl, she had lain in the same bed. It was during the time that Mirabelle had died, and Hamish, too, the big laughing Highlander who had been grieve at Laigmhor, and whom she had loved. He had given her Tot, her dear little spaniel. The pup had been a present for her fifth birthday. Hamish had died on the treacherous rocks of the Sgor Creags in the same sea that had crushed her father’s arm to pulp. It had all happened at once and she had spent her nights at Slochmhor, a frightened little girl unable to sleep. Niall had come to her then, an awkward boy of twelve, his thin arms enclosing her with his boyish comfort. ‘I’m just through the wall from you – we can tap out messages to each other.’ His words tossed back at her over the years and a sob caught in her throat.

  Babbie looked up quickly. ‘Are you all right, Shona?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She composed herself quickly and added, ‘How is he? Will he pull through, do you think?’

  Babbie shook her bright head. ‘Only time will tell that. He’s young – strong – the doctor did a wonderful job. You’re lucky to have such a man on the island.’

  ‘Yes, I know, he puts up with a lot but seldom complains.’

  ‘Some would say he was wasted here.’

  ‘Wasted! He probably does more healing in this wee island than many doctors do with all the modern aids of the big hospitals.’ She looked at Babbie quizzically. ‘Can you really see Lachlan swallowed up in a big city practice? Here he is somebody, he stands out . . . do you think that’s as daft as it sounds?’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Babbie said softly. ‘He’s special. I watched him today, Phebie too, working like Trojans to save a German even though they are worried to death about their son.’

  ‘You worked pretty well yourself – though – I got the strangest feeling it went against your grain – working to try and save the life of a German.’

  Babbie glanced at Anton but her face betrayed nothing. She gave a small shrug. ‘It’s as Lachlan says; he is a patient like the hundreds of other patients I’ve had to see to in my time.’

  ‘Ay, but this one is a German and the idea of it affected you, Babbie, deny it how you will. You helped to undress him, you saw the Iron Cross. Young he may be, but he has killed, Babbie, and somehow you can’t forgive him for it . . . Och, I hate this war! It does things to nice people, makes them all bitter – and – and horribly irrational in their thinking!’

  Babbie left the bed and went over to Shona, her eyes dark with sympathy. ‘You have a soft heart, Shona McKenzie. Despite all your tempers you’re softer than butter. I wish I was a bit like you – you get it all out of your system and things heal up quicker inside you. I keep it all inside and it’s as well folks can’t see what’s in my heart at times, times like today when I looked at Anton Büttger and for quite a few sick moments I wanted him to die! But you! You worked like a wee fury though you had just heard that Germans . . . like him . . .’ she inclined her head towards the bed, ‘had just killed and injured a lot of people and your Niall was right in the thick of it all. I admire you, Shona . . . but I don’t understand you!’

  Shona took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t want to think. I’ve discovered that’s the worst punishment of all. It’s the not knowing that’s worst. It’s like being in a dark tunnel, never knowing whether you’re crawling towards the light – or going back into the darkness.’

  ‘Yes, I know, it’s the most terrifying feeling on earth . . . yet – somehow – in some strange way, one gets used to the dark.’ Babbie spoke almost to herself. She sounded so strange that Shona looked at her sharply.

  ‘What a queer thing to say, Babbie.’ She forced a laugh. ‘If the old islanders could hear you they’d be getting the shivers and saying you were a spook wandered from the tombs at Dunuaigh.’

  ‘Sorry, I have a habit of saying silly things. The nurses at the home told me I gave them the creeps and now I’m doing it to you.’ She was herself again, apologizing in characteristic fashion, the radiance of her smile lighting her weary face.

  ‘It’s bed you need,’ Shona said firmly. ‘I hope you manage to get some sleep, you look exhausted.’

  ‘Don’t we all? It’s been a long day. Don’t worry about me, you know what I’m like once I get into bed.’

  Shona laughed. ‘I’ll be sorry for the man you marry, you’ll never get up on time to see him off in the morning.’

  A shadow flitted over Babbie’s face but she forced a rueful smile. ‘Ach well, I’d better stay the way I am, I’m heading for the shelf now – twenty-three and no man to warm the sheets of my bed.’

  ‘A real grannie,’ Shona giggled, feeling oddly cheered by the older girl’s careless good humour, too careless in that moment for it to be really genuine, but Shona sensed the barriers were up once more and didn’t pursue the conversation.

  Babbie turned to her small suitcase and began to look out nightwear. She had been adamant about moving over to Slochmhor to be immediately at hand. Lachlan had protested even while he had desperately wanted to accept help. He had been exhausted after a night with little sleep and a day spent battling to keep the Angel of Death from taking the young German. With Biddy laid up, things were even more complicated, so after a lot of persuasion on Babbie’s part he had given in and Shona had helped her move her things from Laigmhor.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for,’ Lachlan had warned. ‘Even though the lad can barely lift a finger the island will have you labelled as a lassie with loose morals. Ay, and a hundred times looser because the lad is a German.’

  Babbie had laughed gaily. ‘But Biddy would have done the same thing surely?’

  ‘Ay, but there’s a queer difference between you and Biddy! At her age she’s not likely to do much damage, now is she?’ They had both laughed, Babbie indifferently because in her compassion for the sick she cared little for the wagging tongues of the healthy.

  Lifting a green nightdress from her case she looked at it in disgust. ‘I suppose I’ll have to wear it under the circumstances. I like to sleep in the raw but I can hardly do that here. The gossips would set their tongues afire if they heard about it.’

  Footsteps crunched on the path under the window, plainly heard because the rest of the household slept and everything was very quiet. Shona looked from the window and saw a dark figure coming through the gate. ‘It’s one of the Commandos,’ she reported. ‘The one who helped in surgery today.’

  ‘Yes, he was good, wasn’t he? I suppose he feels personally involved. Go down, Shona, before he wakens the house. I can’t be bothered
with anyone just now. Tell him the usual things . . . Mr Büttger is holding his own, etcetera.’

  Shona was back in a few minutes. ‘He wanted to come up and see Anton but I told him you were getting ready for bed. They were hoping to be off tomorrow but it seems they haven’t found the escaped German yet and I have the oddest feeling that Anderson at any rate isn’t too worried. I gather he just happened to pass Tam’s house on the way over here and I think our young surgeon is a little bit merry. He put his arm round me and tried to kiss me . . . the cheeky bugger! He’s waiting now to escort me up the glen just in case I come face to face with the wandering German!’ With a weary little laugh she turned again to the door. ‘I’d better away now or Father will be out looking for me. It’s daft, I suppose, but he still thinks I’m a wee girl yet.’

  ‘At eighteen – you are,’ Babbie murmured.

  Shona’s blue eyes widened in surprise. ‘How old you sound, Babbie, and how can I still be a bairn after all the things I told you about myself?’

  ‘Because at eighteen you haven’t really grown up. You think you’ve had all the experiences but there’s so much more for you, Shona. You still have a bit of growing up to do.’

  ‘You sound as if you’ve known me all my days.’ Shona tried to sound light-hearted but the look in Babbie’s eyes made her shiver, a look in which she glimpsed the wisdom that lurked in the faraway eyes of the very old.

  ‘You’re a witch,’ she said lightly. ‘Niall would call you Caillich Ruadh which means red witch. It’s what he calls me to get me angry. Maybe there’s a bit of the witch in us all. With Father I often know what he’s thinking, and he seems always to know what I’m feeling. We’re tuned in I suppose. Maybe that’s why he likes to keep me in sight, though often he hardly says a word when I’m with him. I can just feel him caring.’