Roses of Winter (5 page)

“Ye don’t have tae dae anything wi’ me,” she said indignantly. “Ah’m no’ some wee lassie that has tae be telt whit tae dae. Ah’m going tae find mah daughter is whit ah’m going tae dae.”

The brief lull in the bombing that had allowed this conversation came to an abrupt end when several large explosions shook the building. The bombs continued to fall, the crash of each coming closer and closer together until the noise was almost continuous and the policeman had to bring his mouth close to Ella’s ear to be heard. “Listen, are ye aff yer heid? Can ye no’ hear that? That’s the bloody German air force bombing us, no’ some kids chucking squibs! Ah canny let ye gae back oot in this.”

“And who’s going tae stop me?” she yelled back.
 

“Ah will, sae help me, if ah have tae put the cuffs on ye!
 
Now will ye see sense an’ gie it up? Ye’ll no’ be daein’ yer daughter any good if ye get blown tae smithereens.” Just then further conversation became impossible as several concussions shook the close so hard that it brought plaster down from the wall. Ella sagged against the close wall. She knew he was right. Her stubbornness waned as she assessed her growing reluctance to leave the close. Ella weighed her fear for her daughter with the good sense spoken by the policeman. And there was the guilt that lingered over her relief when he had blocked her from returning to the streets

Back in the close a door creaked open and a tentative voice called out “Who’s there?”
 

“It’s all right,” the policeman said in an official sounding voice. “It’s police constable McNab, Clydebank Police.” He went towards the voice and found an elderly woman looking around her door, ready to slam it shut. When she saw his uniform she relaxed a little.
 

“Whit’s aw the commotion? Is that wumman all right?”
 

PC McNab looked back at Ella and then at the old woman. “Aye, she’ll be fine, she’s just had a nasty fright wi’ some Gerry bombs.” The old woman was trembling and close to breaking down completely. He thought a moment, looking at the nameplate on the door. “Mrs. McPherson is it? Could she come in and stay wi’ you until the raid is bye?”
 

“Oh ah don’t know,” Mrs. McPherson said, taking a step back.
 

But McNab persisted, seeing behind the women’s reserve to her real needs. “Now, Mrs. McPherson, she looks like a very respectable wumman and ye wid be daein’ a great service tae me the night, knowing she was with you.”

 
“Well, if ye pit it like that, ah suppose it widnae dae ony herm just for a while. Ah could use the company right enough, so ah could.”

PC McNab beckoned to Ella. “Ye can stay here until the raid’s over. Ah cannae tell ye that ye’ll be safe - ah fear there’s nae safe place in Clydebank the night. But ye’ll be aff the street at any rate.” He waited a moment to make sure Ella was going to stay then turned back down the close. “Now make sure ye stay there,” he said over his shoulder. He stopped and went back to the door. “Good luck wi’ yer daughter,” he said quietly and then was gone.

Ella followed Mrs. McPherson down the lobby into the kitchen. “Come away in and warm yersel’ by the fire. Ah’ll make us a nice cup o’ tea.” A look at the grate told Ella that the fire was meager and not likely to provide much comfort. The old lady’s hand shook, Ella noticed, as she picked up the kettle. Ella sat down and looked around a room lit only by the fire and a gas mantle set at so low a peep it seemed barely lit.
 

The arrangement of the kitchen was identical to that of Ella’s and countless others in the tenements. To the left of the range was a window, in front of which sat a boxed in sink with a swan neck pipe that curved over the basin. The heavy range with its coal fire provided the only heat and also fired the oven and hot plates for cooking.

Opposite the fire was a bed set into an alcove in the wall. The bed’s cover, though well worn, was neatly made up and the bed was framed with curtains that could be drawn over to keep out the cold or hide it when company came to call.

A heavy table and chairs filled the center of the room, and a kitchen cabinet sat near the sink. On its counter sat a large enameled metal box with a lid and the word Bread on the front in dark blue letters. What little comfort there was in the room was provided by the armchair on which Ella sat. It was well worn from years of hard use.

Ella could feel the now more distant vibrations from the bombing come up through the linoleum. Some other poor souls were getting it, she thought, glad for the temporary respite. She hoped the lull would last, but felt guilty to be relieved at some one else’s expense. “Dae ye live here by yersel’, Mrs. McPherson’?”
 

“You can call me Anne,” the old woman replied. “Aye, ah used tae live here wi’ mah man, Sandy, but he up an’ deed on me.” She broke off and dabbed her eyes with the end of her apron.
 

“Ah’m awfy sorry tae hear that, Anne,” Ella said kindly. “How lang ago wis that?”
 

“Three days afore the New Year, and ah’ve been all on ma lee lane ever since.”
 

Anne set the kettle on the range to heat up. “That wis his chair ye’re sittin’ on and ah swear there have been times when ah’ve thought ah saw him sittin’ there looking at me.” Ella shifted uneasily at the thought she might be sharing the chair with a ghost. Anne sighed. “Aye, they want me tae move me out tae a single end, but ah keep telling them we brought up the weans here. This is oor hoose and ah dinnae want tae leave it now.”
 

Ella nodded sympathetically. “Ye’re quite right!”
 

She had looked around the room with a housewife’s eye and could see its deficiencies. The linoleum was cracked and worn, the rug by the fire threadbare. The room had the air and appearance common in the flats of the elderly who no longer were able to keep up the appearances they had strived to maintain in their prime. Still, this was the old woman’s home, full of memories and heavy with her husband’s presence. His pipes remained on the mantle where he had kept them. It would be cruel to put her out of the home that had been the center and anchor of her life.
But what the hell did factors care about that?
Ella thought.

“Ah’m that glad tae see ye. Ah wis hiding in my bed thinking mah last moment had come when ah heard ye out there.”
 

“Dae ye no’ have any neighbors tae keep ye company?”
 
Ella asked. In Ella’s close they would all congregate in Betty Gillies’ place and share tea and maybe some scones and wait out the sirens that way. Except for Bessie McIntyre that is.
 

Anne shrugged. “Ach, they’re aw young yins up this stair, an they canna be bothered wi’ an auld body like me. Ah had a guid friend, Mrs. McLachlan that lived upstairs but she moved away. When the sirens started they aw wid gae doon tae the shelter in the back court, but naethin’ ever happened until now, so then they went back to stayin’ in their hooses. Ah’ll bet the hale jing bang o’ them are oot there the noo efter this though. But they’re nae safer oot there than ah am in ma ain hoose here.”
 

“Ah think ye’re right about that,” Ella agreed. “Ah canna see anything standing up tae wan of thae things if it’s got yer number on it.”
 

“Whit were ye daeing oot and aboot in aw that?” Anne asked. Ella explained about her trip to see her grandson and how it had come to such an abrupt end. Anne’s eyes moistened again. “Oh, ah hope they’re all right. Never mind, ye’ll feel a lot better efter ye’ve had a cup o’ tea.”
 

As she started to pour the tea a huge explosion shook the tenement. The window shattered and blew inward. Only the heavy blackout curtain kept the shards from striking them. The teapot leapt from Anne’s hand as she fell screaming to her knees. Ella grabbed hold of her and dragged her under the table.
 

Another huge blast crashed around them followed by several more, the last enough to make the heavy table jump from the floor. Now they were both screaming in that mindless panic that grips people in the face of enormous forces they cannot control. The ceiling cracked apart showering the room with plaster, heavy pieces thudding down on the table above their heads. All of the ornaments on the mantle flew across the room and smashed on the floor. The mementos and memories of a lifetime were destroyed in that moment.

A heavy silence followed. Dust drifted slowly down to coat the room. The sharp smell of coal gas reached Ella’s nostrils. She looked at the gas light where the pressure from the blasts had crushed the fragile mantle, extinguishing the flame and leaving only the meager light from the fire. Ella darted out from their improvised shelter and rushed to the gas pipe on the wall, the few seconds seeming endless. Her legs shook so badly she couldn’t trust them to keep her up. Quickly she turned off the gas and hurried back under the table.
 
It was a sanctuary she knew would be crushed if a direct hit brought down the building.

Anne was lying on her side, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her hands covered her face. Ella placed her hand on the old woman’s shoulder. “Anne,” she said gently, but receive no response. “Anne,” she called, louder this time. Anne uncovered her face and turned to look at Ella with an expression that Ella might have expected to see on a mad woman. “Are ye hurt?”
 

Anne composed herself a little and shook her head. “Naw, ah don’t think so.” She looked around and spotted her teapot lying smashed on the floor. “Wid ye look at mah bonny china. Mah man gave me that teapot.”
 

“It’s a right shame so it is,” agreed Ella. “But think on it wumman, we’re lucky tae be alive.” A sound like heavy thunder rumbled through the air. “Ye wid think thae bloody Germans wid be fed up wi’ us by now, wouldn’t ye,” said Ella. “Dae they no’ have hames o’ their ane tae go tae?” But the rumbling got louder. “Get back under here and never mind aboot yer china, ye silly besom!” Anne crawled back in to join Ella.
 

      
As the night wore on, though the bombing kept up, it seemed that it was other parts of Clydebank that were getting the brunt of it. Finally, they climbed into the bed and, in spite of their anxiety, exhaustion drove them to a fitful sleep.
 

When Ella awoke, thin beams of morning light streamed through the holes torn in the black out curtain that had somehow remained in place. The air was crisp and cold. Ella rubbed the chill from her face. She stirred and looked around in dismay at the wreckage of Anne’s modest but once snug little home. She turned back towards the wall where Anne lay motionless. Something about her stillness made Ella uneasy. She reached out a hand towards Anne and laid the back of it on her forehead. Ella brought her hand back quickly, recoiling from the deep, marble-like cold of the old woman’s skin.
You poor auld soul
, she thought. The shock of the bombing and the destruction of her home had been too much for her. Despite the few short hours of their acquaintance, the tragedy of the old woman’s loss of home and life in one terrible night made Ella grieve sorely for her.
 

Ella rose to her feet thinking she should let someone know about Anne’s death. She picked her way carefully through the debris on the floor and down the lobby to the front door. At the close mouth she had to clamber over the remnants of the baffle wall and the stone debris and timbers that had been thrown around it.
 
This required so much of her attention that she did not look up until she reached the pavement.

Ella stopped to take in the awful scene that stretched before her. The tenements that had only last night stood across the street no longer existed, their place occupied by an enormous pile of rubble. Of the next block only one towering island of wall remained, as though a giant knife had sliced away the remainder. Ella stared at a column of fireplaces, once cheery hearths that had warmed a body’s feet of an evening, perched now as though on the face of a cliff. On what had been the top floor, a kettle sat on the cold range where it’s now dead owner had placed it the night before.

Ella looked up and down the street. Buildings stood intact among piles of rubble as if a giant had stamped his way through Clydebank, missing here and stepping there. Down the street the shell of a tramcar smoldered, the gray smoke drifting up into the frosty morning air. On the horizon great plumes of dense black smoke rose, signaling a great conflagration. Her gaze shifted closer, taking in the many pillars of smoke that rose over the town.

A great wave of fear ran through her. May and Tam and their son were somewhere in this hellish scene of destruction. She set off to find their street through a landscape so utterly changed that she had to look carefully to find landmarks. She flinched as a siren started to sound, until she recognized the steady tone of the all clear.

Other people were appearing in the streets. Men from an ambulance crew were approaching them, inquiring about their condition. A fire engine sat in front of a tenement, its ladder up against the wall while a fireman helped a young woman down.

Passing a mound of stones and timbers interspersed with the remains of a shattered household, she spied what at first she mistook for a bundle of rags. Then the boots caught Ella’s eye and she realized it was a person, the upper half buried in the pile. She hurried over and tore at the pile, heaving objects to right and left but coming to an abrupt halt when she uncovered the face. “Aw naw,” she cried, “no’ you.” The sightless eyes of PC McNab stared at the sky. The right side of his face was torn away and a gaping hole had replaced his right arm. Shrapnel lay all around and from his chest protruded a long shard of metal.