Roses of Winter

Roses of Winter

Murdo Morrison

© Murdo Morrison 2011

Available as a free audiobook on ITunes and at

 
http://www.podiobooks.com/title/roses-of-winter/
.

Book website:
http://www.rosesofwinter.com/
.
 

Author website:
http://www.murdomorrison.com

Cover design:
Jean Morrison Phillips

Picture:
Radnor Street, Clydebank 1941, courtesy of
 
Clydebank Library, Clydebank, Scotland

For the people of Glasgow and Clydebank and all who served in the allied merchant navy in World War Two.

Acknowledgements

Thanks are due to a number of people who helped in a variety of ways. For information about Glasgow and the neighborhoods of Maryhill and Scotstoun in World War II. I am indebted to several family members: my mother Ella Morrison, and aunts Betty Campbell and Margaret Burnett. For information about ships and their operation, shipbuilding, my thanks to my brother Charles Morrison. For constant encouragement throughout the writing of the book and advice about getting it published, I thank my friend and colleague William Althoff, and encourage you to seek out and read his excellent books on airship history and arctic exploration.
 

Thanks are also due to two crewmembers from the Zamalek. George Graydon, an officer on the rescue ship Zamalek shared his memories of the ship in Arctic waters and read the convoy portion of the manuscript to ensure accuracy. Graham Robert Trundle who joined the crew at age 17, just in time to sail with the Zamalek in convoy PQ17, shared information about his experiences.
 

My thanks also to Mary Francis of the Clydebank Public Library who provided valuable assistance in finding historic material in the library’s archives.
 
She is justifiably proud of Clydebank’s history and shared her knowledge with great enthusiasm and interest.
 

A special thank you to Susan Morrison whose proof-reading skills greatly improved this book.

Chapter 1

The Burns Family

Maryhill, September 1939

War was certain. In a matter of days, they thought. It was no longer possible to pretend that it couldn’t happen. The news was too bleak. Charlie Burns had spent the last half hour by the fire with the Evening Times, his expression grim. He folded the paper and set it aside.
 
“Well, now that Germany has invaded Poland, it means war all right, there’s nae doubt about that.” He had managed to get a few welcome days at home while his ship was loading. “What did ah tell ye when ah got back from that trip tae Germany? Ah said they were getting ready tae cause trouble, didn’t ah?” he told his wife Mary, who was sitting across from him darning one of his socks.
 

“It’s an awful thing a war, Charlie,” she replied.
 
"Dae ye think they’ll bomb us?”
 

“Mary, when ye see what they’re daeing tae the Poles, dae ye think we’ll get any better?” Mary set her darning on her lap and dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, causing Charlie to regret his outburst. “Ach, maybe they’ll come tae their senses, Mary. Dinna upset yersel’. But Mary, we have tae talk aboot the bairns,” Charlie continued.
 

They had heard on the BBC on Thursday about plans to evacuate children from the cities and the news had caused them to argue. Charlie had been in favor of sending them up to stay with his relatives in Fraserburgh but Mary had baulked at the very idea. “A bairn’s place is wi’ its mother,” she declared and held to her position so strongly that that had been the end of it. “You know mah thoughts on that, Charlie, and I haven’t changed my mind about it,” Mary told him.
 

      
“Ah well," he said, keeping the peace, “it’s early days yet, we’ll jist hae tae wait an’ see what happens.”

Mary turned to another subject that was a sore point between them. “Ah hope ah’ll see ye at the kirk the morn,” she said, in a tone that made clear what she expected his answer to be.
 

Charlie sighed. He had little use for kirks and even less for ministers.
 
“Ach ye know whit ah think aboot aw that mumbo jumbo.”

But Mary was adamant. “If war’s about tae break out at any minute, dae ye no' think the kirk’s the place for ye tae be?”

The following morning Mary, attired in her best dress, tut-tutted when she saw Charlie. “Ye’re no’ gaun tae wear that auld thing?” she complained, looking at Charlie’s cap. “Ye’re only wearing that tae annoy me.”
 

Charlie adjusted his bunnet. “Ah canna believe that God gies a fig whit ah have on mah heid. Whit’s wrang wi’ it? Besides, ah’ll be takin’ it aff afore I go in onyway.”
 

Mary shook her head in exasperation. “Ye’re a thrawn, thrawn man, Charlie Burns, so ye are.” But, realizing she would get no further with him if she had any hope of seeing him in church, she said no more and went to inspect the rest of the family.
 

“Very nice Elspeth, ye’re always that well turned oot,” she observed approvingly. “No’ like some other folks ah could mention,” she said pointedly in Charlie’s direction. But when she came to Alastair her mouth turned down in a frown of disapproval. She grabbed him by the ear and looked at his neck. “Jist as ah thought,” she said. She grabbed Alastair by the collar of his shirt and marched him over to the kitchen sink, where she proceeded to scrub him until his face was red and he yelped in pain. “Come on now, ah don’t have all day. Get yer hair combed an nae mair nonsense oot o’ ye.” Alastair, thinking she couldn’t see, made a face. “An' don’t gie me ony o’ that or ah’ll gie ye such a clip on yer ear ye’ll no' forget it.”

Done with Alastair she looked around. “Where’s Ellen?”
 

“She say’s she’s no’ coming,” Elspeth said, a hint of satisfaction in her voice.”
 

“What?” Mary’s face turned a beetroot red and she stormed off. A loud argument erupted in the other room. Charlie shook his head. The commotion was cut short with a yelp from Ellen. Mary pushed her daughter into the kitchen. “Wid ye talk tae this daughter of yours? Ah canna dae a thing with her.”
 

Charlie was getting annoyed. “Ach, wid ye jist leave the girl alane. If she disnae want tae go tae church whit’s the odds? They’ll only fill her heid up wi’ aw kinds o' nonsense.”
 

Mary glared at him. “See you, ah canna get a bit o’ support from you wi’ them. It’s bad enough when ye’re aff at sea for weeks on end an’ ah'm left here on mah lane tae run the hoose.”
 

Charlie changed his line of attack. “Ah thought you were the wan that was always going on aboot whit the neighbors will think. Whit dae ye think they’ll make oot o’ this rammy then?”

Mary bit her tongue. The cheek of the man to provoke her so and cast up to her about trying to keep up appearances.
And it didn’t help
, she thought,
that he’s absolutely right
.
She had lost her temper. But how could you not with a family like this?
 

Mary led the family down Maryhill Road turning now and then to urge them on. “Alastair, pick up yer feet. Elspeth, straighten yer hat.” She looked at Ellen who brought up the rear. “Wipe that look aff yer face right now, lady,” Mary ordered, “or ah’ll gie you a good reason tae look like that.” Charlie sighed and looked heavenward.
Thank God ah’ll be back at the ship on Tuesday
, he thought.

At the door of the church Mary brought them up short. “Now, ah’m warning you.
 
You better be on yer best behavior. An’ you,” she said, looking at Alastair, “nae mair o’ your tricks, dae ye hear?” Two weeks before, he had smuggled in a peashooter. When nobody was looking, he had fired barley at the back of the beadle’s neck. “Ah wis black affronted so ah wis,” Mary told Charlie, who had irked her the more by laughing.

As they filed into their pew, Mary looked around to see who was watching them. Charlie sat down and fished in his pocket. “Wid ye like a mint imperial?” he whispered loudly to Mary who instantly shushed him.
 

“No ah would not,” she whispered directly in his ear. Charlie put his pinky in his ear and worked it around. “Now whit are ye daeing. Wid ye jist sit still an’ behave yersel’.”

The beadle appeared holding the bible out in front of him with both hands. Walking slowly, with an obvious sense of his own importance, he proceeded up the stairs to the pulpit. With exaggerated solemnity he placed the book carefully on the lectern and opened it. Satisfied that it was at the right place he turned and headed back down the stairs, his arms at his sides, and exited through a side door. Moments later he reappeared, leading the Rev. David McKenzie. At the foot of the stairs he turned aside as the minister climbed to the pulpit and sat down. Immediately McKenzie bowed his head and, placing his right hand on his forehead, subsided into silent prayer.
Whit a palaver
, Charlie thought. Finally, after an appropriate length of time, the minister ostentatiously rose and came to the lectern.

Charlie fidgeted through the opening hymn, a prayer, and a long reading in which he began to doze off, until it was time for the sermon. He reached in his pocket for a mint but, at the first rustle of the bag, looked at Mary and thought better of it. As the minister read the verse that would be the theme for his sermon, the beadle came to the foot of the stairs and looked up at him, attempting to catch his eye.
Whit’s the matter wi’ auld McAllister?
Charlie wondered.
 

Mr. McAllister coughed discreetly until he got the minister’s attention. The Reverend McKenzie looked questioningly at the beadle who beckoned to him. Looking annoyed at this serious breach of protocol, the minister came down the stairs. The two men held an urgent whispered conversation. Mary looked at Charlie who shrugged. Around them people were looking at each other and the church filled with the buzz of quiet conversation.

With a grim expression on his face, the minister returned to the pulpit. “I’m afraid I have some very serious news to relate to you. This morning, just a short time ago, the Prime Minister announced that Great Britain is at war with Germany.” Loud gasps and expressions of shock arose from the congregation. The minister held up his hand for silence. “Although this news is not entirely unexpected I know that it is still a shocking turn of events and I trust you will want to be home with your loved ones.” Charlie looked at Mary. After a short prayer the minister led them in the National Anthem and they all went out to a world at war.
 

They walked in silence up Maryhill Road, Mary dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, Charlie looking at the ground. Elspeth tugged at her father’s sleeve. “Daddy, whit’s a war?”
 

He looked down at her, his face stricken, not knowing what to say. “It’s something ah hoped ah wid never see again lass,” he said at last.
 

A bright flash lit the sky, followed a few seconds later by a loud peal of thunder that rolled on and reverberated through the tenements. Mary held her hand to her heart. “Oh my God, Charlie, that made me jump.” Then she laughed, embarrassed at the thought of being surprised by a thunderstorm. “Here we are, the war no’ five minutes old an’ mah heart is in mah mooth already.”
 
Alistair and Elspeth started laughing then screamed, half in fear and half in delight, when another thunderclap roared above their heads. Rain began to splatter on the pavement as they ran the last few feet to their close.