The Fisher Lass

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘And that’s not all.’ His expression was resentful, full of loathing. ‘Jimmy the One on my ship is none other than Mr bloody Robert Hayes-Gorton. Lieutenant Gorton, as he wants to be known now.’

  ‘Jimmy the Who?’ Jeannie asked.

  Tom clicked his tongue against his teeth with exasperation and waved his hand. ‘Oh, it’s the nickname they give to the first lieutenant on board ship. And do you know what I’m to be called? Sparks.’

  ‘Sparks?’ Jeannie repeated and then started to laugh. ‘What on earth does that mean?’

  With a sudden change of mood, Tom puffed out his chest proudly. ‘I took a course to be a wireless operator when I joined the RNVR. And after the war, I could become a sparks aboard a trawler. No more eighteen hours – and longer – on deck guttin’ for me, Jeannie.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Nice cosy little room for me from now on. The most important people on a trawler, is the sparks. A skipper relies on his wireless operator, he does.’

  Jeannie glanced at him and then looked away. He was forgetting she was a fisherman’s daughter and knew that every man aboard a trawler was just as important as the next, from skipper to galley boy. Poor Tom, she thought with sudden sympathy, always trying to prove himself and never quite managing it.

  Aloud, she laughed, wanting to hold on to his sunnier temper. ‘Well, sit down to your dinner, laddie, else there’ll be sparks flying in this hoose if you let this meal go to waste.’

  ‘So, dear boy,’ Francis said languidly, ‘you’re going to play the hero at last, are you? Well, just mind you take care of our ship and don’t let her get blown up by the enemy.’

  Robert grinned. ‘Thanks, Francis, for your concern about my safety.’

  They were all gathered together to dine at Samuel Hayes-Gorton’s home, Louise and her widowed mother being present too.

  ‘I must say, you look awfully handsome in your uniform, darling, doesn’t he, Mummy?’

  Conscious that she was a guest, she smiled politely, but, Robert noticed, the smile never reached her eyes which remained as cold as they had always been when turned upon him.

  ‘We’ll go to London when you come home on leave, darling, and I can show you off to all Madeleine’s friends. Her husband’s joined the RAF and they all make such a fuss about the glamorous boys in blue, but I think the Royal Navy uniform is even smarter.’

  ‘Louise, it won’t be safe in London from now on. You really shouldn’t go there any more.’

  ‘Not go? Not go to London?’ Louise was plainly horrified. ‘Oh Robert, you know I couldn’t stay and stagnate in this place for months on end.’

  ‘She’ll be safe enough,’ Francis said. ‘It’ll not last long and I doubt even Herr Hitler would dare to bomb London . . .’

  Robert and Tom had been going to sea for almost two months, four or five days at a stretch then returning to Havelock for thirty-six hours or so, out of which they were allowed about eight hours ashore. On 13 November, the first bombs were dropped on British soil: the Shetlands. Jeannie read the news with horror, at once imagining part of her beloved homeland to be laid waste. People dead or dying and beginning interminable days and nights of living with constant fear. Later that same month, specially designed enemy U-boats began to lay a devastating new type of mine, the magnetic mine, around the coast of Britain. And so began a game of cat and mouse between the scientists on both sides. The one to invent newer and deadlier mechanisms, the other to find ways of destroying the mines before they blew up the convoy ships.

  Already the war was a devastating reality and the two men were now engaged in trawling the icy waters of the North Sea for a far more deadly fish.

  Thirty

  ‘Why can’t we go and join up like Dad?’ Joe asked mutinously.

  She could not remember ever having seen the two boys so united, standing shoulder to shoulder to argue with her, the common enemy. Though she had to admit that since the time Sammy had found out the circumstances of his birth, he had not allowed Joe to dominate him. The realization that Joe was his cousin, and not his brother, had strengthened the boy’s character rather than weakened it. Sammy’s new stance had for a time resulted in some bloody-nosed battles between the two of them. But Jeannie thought that the best way was to allow them to sort it out between themselves. Now, as they stood before her, she knew she had been right, but, she thought wryly, maybe to her own detriment.

  ‘You’re no’ old enough,’ she said firmly. ‘You have to be eighteen at least.’ She wasn’t sure if that was exactly right but she was relying upon them not knowing either. ‘You’re only just sixteen.’

  ‘We could sign on as cabin boys, couldn’t we?’ Sammy stood beside Joe. ‘We’re old enough for that, aren’t we?’

  She glanced at each of them in turn, deliberately making sure that her glance did not rest longer upon Sammy than it did upon her own son. Why was it, she thought, that fight it though she did, she could never stop feeling more for the boy that was not flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone, than she did for the one who was? Just the same, her conscience pricked her, as she worried more about Robert Hayes-Gorton than she did about her own husband.

  ‘Well, I’m signing no papers to let you go anywhere. Either of you.’

  ‘But we look old enough.’ It was Sammy who was persisting.

  They did. She had to admit that. They both had fair hair and blue eyes, but there the similarity ended. Joe was the taller; he was going to be a big man like both his grandfathers as he matured and broadened out. Even now, his shoulders were muscular and his slim hips belied his strength. Already he had been at sea for a year as a deckie on one of the few battered old trawlers that still ventured into the mine-ridden waters of the North Sea. Sammy, too, was a deck-hand on a Gorton-Hathersage ship that was too old and dilapidated to be of interest to the authorities.

  ‘Dad’ll clear the channels for us,’ he’d say jokingly, but Jeannie knew he was only trying to reassure her. ‘He’ll know where we’re going.’

  For the most part Joe was jovial and outgoing. The life and soul of the party, Jeannie heard him described by his pals in the Fisherman’s. But his temperament was volatile; he could switch from laughter to rage in a second. And, to Jeannie’s disappointment, though he was more of a born fisherman than Tom, he seemed to have inherited his father’s streak of jealousy and resentment. Throughout their childhood it had always been Joe who had started the fights with Sammy, rather than, as one might have expected, the other way about.

  Sammy was smaller, but stockily built. He was the quieter of the two with a placidity that belied his strength of character. He would never begin a quarrel, but once challenged he would defend himself ferociously and usually, to everyone’s surprise, emerge the victor. A deep thinker, Jeannie judged him, who would weigh up the pros and cons of a situation before making his decision. Yet once that decision was made, he would not waver, despite whatever pressures were put upon him.

  Jeannie suspected that this trait was inherited from his natural father. She was thankful, though, that whilst the boy vaguely resembled Francis Hayes-Gorton in looks, she was sure he had none of the man’s cold, ruthless streak. When Sammy smiled, his eyes twinkled with warmth and merriment and his face creased disarmingly. A fact that had not escaped the notice of the young girls in the neighbourhood.

  So she still found herself turning towards Sammy, for she knew instinctively that whereas Joe would be caught up in the glamour of being a hero, Sammy would have been the one to think it out carefully.

  ‘We won’t be in that much more danger than we are now, Mam,’ he said quietly and she knew he could read the anxiety in her face.

  Jeannie sighed inwardly and tried another tack. ‘How would I manage Grandma without your help? At least you’re home fairly regularly now.’

  Nell needed constant supervision, for though she was physically well, her mind wandered so badly now that she scarcely seemed to know where she was, what time of day it was or even that there was a war going on all a
round them. Getting her to the Anderson shelter which the boys had constructed in the back-yard was as big a battle as any fought in the front line and without Sammy’s patient coaxing and wheedling the old lady when he was home, Jeannie thought, she’d never get Tom’s mother to safety.

  The boys said nothing now but exchanged a glance that spoke more than words could. ‘And dinna you go planning to run away to sea together . . .’ Jeannie began and as they both glanced at her with the same guilty look, she knew she had been shrewd in her guess.

  But they went anyway. Four days later she found a note on the kitchen table saying that they had done just that.

  ‘We’re sorry, Mam,’ the note said in Joe’s untidy scrawl, ‘but me and Sam have got to go.’ And in Sammy’s neat handwriting were the words, ‘Take care of yourself and Gran. Please don’t be cross. Love Sammy.’

  She crumpled the note. She wasn’t cross, she thought as she bit her lip to try to stop the tears from flooding her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.

  Just so terribly alone.

  ‘I wouldn’t have believed it possible,’ Tom was still complaining. ‘After two years sweeping the bloody North Sea, we’re still on the same ship. I thought at least when that mine blew our ship up we might get drafted to different ships then. But no, here we are still the same happy little band. We even got into the same lifeboat.’ His voice dropped to a low growl. ‘Given half a chance, I’d have let the bugger drown.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Jeannie was exasperated now and only half-listening. Nell had wandered out in the street and had gone missing and all Tom could do was rant on about how badly life was treating him.

  ‘Mr flaming Robert Hayes-Gorton. That’s who I’m talking about. Only he’s a bloody lieutenant now, ain’t he? I’m still taking orders from him.’ He punched one fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘If there’d been any justice in the world, I’d have been over him. Bloody trawler owners! Reckon they rule the bloody world.’

  Calmly Jeannie said, ‘I expect it’s because he joined the RNR sometime before the war started.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Tom rounded on her and, at once, Jeannie realized her mistake. Luckily she remembered how she had come by the information.

  ‘You told me.’

  ‘Oh. Did I?’ Tom was fazed for a moment and muttered, ‘Mebbe I did, but I still think he’s done it on purpose.’ He glowered at Jeannie as if the whole thing were her fault. ‘Mebbe he’s going to pick his moment when no one’s looking and toss me overboard.’

  ‘Never mind all that just now and do stop swearing. Help me find your mother. If she gets into the town, we’ll never find her.’

  ‘Then you should look after her better. You’ve nowt else to do all day now me and the boys have gone.’

  ‘I’m doing a bit of war work like all the other women round here.’

  Tom gave a humourless laugh. ‘Oh aye. I’ve heard that one before. Supplying comforts for the troops. Aye . . .’ His face darkened. ‘Comforts for the troops billeted in the town, I don’t doubt. Setting up in opposition to Aggie Turnbull, are ya?’

  Her hand flew threw the air of its own volition and her palm met the side of his face with a loud smack. He gripped her wrists and for a moment they stood glaring at each other, breathing heavily, their faces only inches apart.

  ‘What the hell did you do that for?’

  ‘I’m sick of your snide remarks, Tom Lawrence. I havena done anything – you hear me – anything to deserve them.’

  He stared at her and then his face seemed to crumple and he flung his arms about her and pulled her to him in a fierce embrace that was more like a child clinging to its mother than the embrace of a husband for his wife. His cheek was against her hair. ‘Jeannie, oh Jeannie. I’m sorry. It’s just . . .’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I’m so bloody scared, that’s all.’

  Jeannie did not answer him but just held him tightly. Knowing what he must be feeling, she tried to comfort him, tried to give him strength and courage. But who was there to comfort her? Who was there to help her cope alone with Nell and the worry of the men of her family who were in the front line of the war.

  And then there was her secret worry. Always, in a special corner of her heart, there was Robert.

  It was more than eleven years since he had last stood on this doorstep. And now he felt like a nervous schoolboy, or a young bashful cadet instead of a lieutenant in the smart uniform with the wavy rings around his sleeves. He found he was holding his breath as she opened the door.

  At once he could see the changes. There were a few strands of white amongst the still thick and luxuriant hair. Though there were tiny lines around her eyes and dark shadows of strain and tiredness beneath them, they were still bright and sharp as they widened at the sight of him. She was as slim and lithe as ever and the smile that Robert had so longed to see for him alone was on her mouth. And now, after all this time, it was for him.

  ‘Robert . . .’ She said the name by which she always thought of him before she could stop herself. Swiftly, she said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Robert . . .’

  He was smiling down at her, saying softly in the deep voice she remembered so well, ‘I prefer it without the Mr.’

  Her smile faded and anxiety clouded her eyes. Her joy at seeing him – private joy though that must be – was obliterated by the thought that he was the bearer of bad news.

  ‘What is it? Is it Tom?’ It dawned on her, swiftly now, that whilst Robert was obviously on leave, Tom had not arrived home at the same time. ‘Has something happened to him?’

  ‘No, no,’ Robert said quickly, suddenly realizing what she must be thinking. ‘He’s fine. I’ve been granted compassionate leave because my father’s ill. He’s dying, Jeannie.’

  ‘Och, I’m sorry. Please, won’t you come in.’ She opened the door wider.

  In the front parlour, he perched awkwardly on the old couch.

  ‘Can I get you anything? A drink or . . .?’ she began, but he shook his head.

  ‘No, no, thank you.’ He cleared his throat in embarrassment. ‘Jeannie, this is very difficult, but I’ve come to ask a favour of you. At least, if it’s possible.’

  She said nothing but her gaze was on his face and he was having trouble remaining in his seat, when what he really wanted to do was to take her in his arms and tell her just what he felt about her. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Does Sammy know the truth? About his birth and – and who his father is?’

  ‘Aye,’ she nodded. ‘He found out when he was about thirteen.’ Her tone hardened slightly. ‘Joe told him.’

  ‘Really? But he’s never – I mean – doesn’t he want to meet us? His family. I mean, the other side of his family?’ he amended swiftly.

  Jeannie shook her head. ‘No. He’s adamant he wants nothing to do with the Hayes-Gortons.’

  ‘Oh,’ Robert said and his tone was flat with disappointment.

  ‘Why, does it matter?’ she asked and then allowed herself a wry smile. ‘I’d have thought you’d’ve all been quite relieved that you weren’t facing a paternity suit or that he was trying to lay claim to the Hayes-Gorton millions.’

  Now Robert smiled too. ‘Scarcely millions. But in fairness, he ought to have a share in the company. If only Francis would acknowledge him.’ He sighed heavily.

  ‘I dinna think he ever will,’ Jeannie said bitterly.

  ‘But young Samuel’s his all right. Oh, you haven’t known, Jeannie, but even though I had to stop coming here, I’ve still watched the boy grow up. I used to make some excuse to visit the school where he was, just so that I could see him. He never knew,’ he added hastily. ‘I’d make a point of talking to all the children so that it never looked as if I was singling out Samuel – Sammy you call him, don’t you?’

  He even knew that, she thought, as she nodded in answer.

  ‘I never wanted to be the cause of him learning the truth.’

  There was silence between them for a moment as they sat gaz
ing at each other. Only a few feet lay between them and yet the gulf that separated them was as wide and as deep as the Humber and the currents were as treacherous as those of the river.

  ‘So why,’ she said softly at last, breaking the spell their silence was casting around them, ‘are you here?’

  ‘My father always wanted a grandson. More than anything he wanted to know that there was another generation for his company to pass on to.’ Robert sighed. ‘He doesn’t see that perhaps at the end of this war there might be precious little company left for anyone to inherit.’

  Surprised, Jeannie asked, ‘Do you mean he knows about Sammy?’

  Robert nodded. ‘Over the years he’s heard rumours that the boy you’re bringing up as your own could be his grandson.’

  There was a tense silence before Jeannie said, ‘And?’

  ‘He’s asked to see him.’

  Now her mouth dropped open in a gasp of surprise. ‘You’re not serious?’

  Solemnly, he nodded. ‘Very.’

  Bluntly, she said, ‘I don’t think Sammy’ll agree. Besides, he’s not here. They’re at sea. Both of them.’

  ‘I know. Their ship docks in Hull the day after tomorrow and I could arrange for Sammy to be granted compassionate leave.’

  ‘Is there anything you don’t know about this family?’ she asked tartly.

  ‘Not much,’ he admitted and grinned with such disarming boyishness that Jeannie found herself smiling too.

  ‘Well, you can try,’ she said slowly, but the doubt was evident in her tone. ‘Just so long as you make sure he knows straightaway that his compassionate leave has nothing to do with this family. You see,’ she added, glancing towards the ceiling indicating the bedroom above where they were sitting, ‘Mrs Lawrence is not well now and he would immediately think . . .’

  Robert stood up. ‘Of course. I’ll go myself to meet him off the ship and I’ll mind I’m the one to explain everything to him.’