The Girl with the Creel (52 page)

Slipping the letter back into the envelope, Dan felt grateful that his sister was taking an interest in the girl he loved. She would be able to persuade Lizann to marry him, if anyone could. As for waiting, he would wait a whole year if he thought she would say yes at the end of it.

From the time she arrived, Lizann had felt quite at home in the Reiths' house in Great Western Road. It was part of a lovely stretch of tall, well-built granite houses on this long west end street which ran out of the city towards Deeside. There was only a small garden at the front, but a large one at the rear, which Ella's husband John had lovingly tended for the ten years they had been there. Since the outbreak of war, of course, he'd had to trim down the size of his lawn – now just enough to hold his wife's four clothes poles – and convert all his flower beds into vegetable patches, as instructed by the Min. of Ag. and Fish, as he scathingly called this special Ministry.

From the street the house looked smaller than the farmhouse at Easter Duncairn. But, having more depth than width, there were almost as many rooms, although they were perhaps not quite so big. Downstairs there were the usual dining-room, living-room and sitting-room (for visitors), plus what Lizann thought at first was a library, but Ella called ‘John's den', which was lined with books of all descriptions. Being a teacher of English, John Reith had collected hundreds of classics from Ancient Rome right down to those of the early twentieth century, as well as novels by popular modern writers and even some which he laughingly admitted were lurid romances. ‘I may look an old fuddy-duddy,' he told Lizann, ‘but I still like a little light relief from the daily grind.' The kitchen was also on the ground floor, a well-equipped, airy room which the Reiths had obviously converted to their liking bit by bit.

The bathroom was upstairs. ‘Still late Victorian,' Ella had laughed, when she first showed her lodger round. ‘We'll get round to changing it when we can afford it. The bath's too big and though we're always being told just to use five inches of water, it takes ages to run. Don't be alarmed at the noise the lavatory makes when you flush it. You'll get used to it … in fact, I'm quite fond of it myself.'

There were three bedrooms on the same floor, two facing the street and the third, like the bathroom, at the back. ‘I hope you don't mind me putting you in here,' Ella said. ‘It is actually quieter than the other two, even if it is next door to the lav.'

‘I don't mind where I am,' Lizann murmured. ‘I'm really grateful to you for taking me in.'

She would have been happy to stay there but for one thing: she was afraid that Dan might come to see how she was getting on. She suspected that Ella and John knew she had turned him down, and they might not be so friendly towards her if she refused him again under their roof.

Deciding that finding somewhere else to live was her first priority, she did nothing about looking for a job and devoured the Accommodation Vacant column in the
Evening Express
every day. Most of them stipulated ‘men sharing', and she had been in Aberdeen ten days before she saw an item offering, ‘Room suitable for one or two women, non-smokers', with an address in Rosemount Place. After looking it up in a street map, she set out to walk there the next morning, hoping it was a decent district. She found that Rosemount Place was another long street of sparkling granite buildings – not private houses like Great Western Road, but shops at ground level and tenements above. That was the only difference, because it was every bit as clean and tidy.

When she came to the number she was looking for, she went up to the first floor to ask about the room. The landlady was a small, stoutish woman with hair which looked as if it might have been red at one time but had faded to a sandy-grey. She introduced herself as Mrs Melville and took Lizann into a back room looking down on a long narrow stretch of grass. The rest of the view was constricted to the rears of other tenements, with their drying greens back to back with Mrs Melville's, and it all looked very peaceful.

On learning that the rent was thirty shillings a week with breakfast and an evening meal, she explained to Mrs Melville that she was out of work meantime, but hoped to find a job in one of the fish houses. ‘Will the smell of fish bother you?' she asked, warily.

The woman smiled. ‘Not me. My father was a trawlerman.'

After arranging to take up residence the next day, Lizann paid a week in advance, and returned to Great Western Road to tell Ella Reith that she would be leaving.

‘I'm sorry to hear that. Dan did say you might be looking for digs, but I thought you were happy here.'

‘I am, but … I'm trying to get work in the fish, and you wouldn't like the smell.'

Astonished that such a lovely young woman would want to work amongst fish, Ella sighed. ‘I don't think I would. Well, I'm glad you've found somewhere to your liking. Where will you be?'

Afraid that Ella might pass her new address to Dan, Lizann said, ‘In a tenement, and the landlady seems really nice.'

She packed her clothes in the evening – still those which had belonged to Adam Laing's daughter Margaret, but which she hoped to supplement from her wages when she found a job. Next morning she had a glance at the newspaper and saw that a firm in Sinclair Road was looking for experienced fish workers. Not wanting to ask Ella, she waited until she went to her new lodgings, and Mrs Melville gave her detailed directions. ‘We used to have buses and trams both coming down past here – the buses went to the Bay of Nigg and would have taken you almost to the door – but after the war started the Corporation Transport just made them do a shuttle service to Mile End, so we've only trams now, and they just go to the Castlegate. You'll have to come off in Union Street, opposite Woollies, walk down Market Street and carry on past the harbour till you come to Victoria Bridge. That takes you over the Dee into Torry, and I think Sinclair Road's first on the left.'

Not even stopping to unpack her case, Lizann went out and had only about five minutes to wait for a tramcar. The journey was short and quite pleasant, but when the rails turned into Union Street, she kept her eyes peeled for Woolworth's store. When she got off she crossed over into Market Street, her spirits lifting as her nose picked up a whiff of the sea, which grew stronger as she went down the hill. She was fascinated to see that the harbour was fenced off by high metal railings – to prevent spies getting anywhere near, she supposed – and she carried on along the outside of the barrier, passing coal boats unloading on the quay and having to watch her feet on the goods railway lines. Wondering if she would be safer on the other side of the street where there was a pavement, she decided against it. She would have to cross back again later and the traffic was quite fierce, with horse-drawn carts holding up impatient lorry drivers who put a spurt on once they managed to get past.

The bustle of the Fish Market amazed her, but she would learn that it was much busier in the early mornings. Coming to another of the docks, thronged with trawlers, she saw a bridge ahead and realized that she had not far to go now. There were several fish houses on Sinclair Road, and as she walked along searching for the one she wanted, and trying not to skid on the brine seeping from the wooden boxes piled up outside them, a nostalgic ache started inside her. Most people would turn up their noses at this awful stink, she thought in amusement, but it was like coming home for her.

There were other applicants for the jobs, but when the manager saw how expertly she gutted what he gave as a test, she was amongst those told to start at eight the following Monday morning. ‘It's piece-work,' he explained, ‘so the harder you work, the more wages you'll get.'

Jenny had been at her lowest ebb ever since the delivery of the telegram from the War Office. She had recovered fairly quickly from the deaths of her mother and father, but she'd had Mick to lean on at the time. She had coped with Hannah's death although she had given birth just a few hours before, but again, Mick had been there for her. She had seen Elsie Tait breathe her last, which had been something of an anti-climax after the shock of learning how her mother-in-law had met her end. She had thought Mick would help her to get over that, too, when he came home, but he would never come home again … and who would help her to get over losing him?

The Berrys had done their best. Babsie, close on seventy, had stayed with her night and day for over a week, had fed Georgie and wee Lizann when their mother was too grief-stricken to think about their needs, and had even kept them amused to save them bothering her. Jake had appointed himself as messenger, shopping from the lists his wife wrote out and carefully noting the prices so she wouldn't query the change he brought back. All the neighbours had been good, popping in every day to see if she needed anything, though mainly to check that she was all right.

And she was gradually coming round, Jenny thought, one fine morning. Little pieces of the ice that had imprisoned her heart for so long were beginning to break off. She could actually smile occasionally, speak to people about the war without a spasm of sorrow for her husband making her stop in confused embarrassment. Time
was
a healer, but not long enough had elapsed yet. Her emotions still seized up when Georgie asked when Daddy would be coming, but, thankfully, she could confine her tears to the solitude of the double bed now.

Someone giving a sharp rap on her door, she went to see which of her neighbours had called, and was quite taken aback to see a stranger, a tall elderly man with silver hair and a fresh complexion that told he wasn't a seaman of any kind. His clear blue eyes were looking at her apologetically. ‘Yes?' she asked, wondering what had brought him there.

‘I'm sorry to bother you, but does Willie Alec Jappy still live here?'

This astonished Jenny even more. ‘No, he died years and years ago.'

His face fell. ‘I was hoping to … but I have left it too long. What about Hannah … his wife? Is she still alive?'

‘No, I'm afraid she's dead, too. Did you know them?'

‘I did. I was quite close to them at one time.'

Detecting tears in his eyes, Jenny felt a sudden rush of sympathy for him. ‘You'd better come in, Mr …?'

‘Chapman. Robbie Chapman.' He followed her inside and took the seat she indicated. ‘You are very kind, Mrs …?'

‘Jappy.' She gave a slight smile. ‘I'm Jenny, Mick's wife … his widow. His ship was blown up earlier this year. Did you know him?'

‘He was only about a year old last time I was here, but I'm so sorry, Mrs … um, Jenny. How are you coping? Have you any children?'

Robbie Chapman had the knack of establishing instant rapport and Jenny didn't feel that she was talking to a stranger. ‘Two, a boy and a girl. Lizann, after Mick's young sister – she hadn't been born when you were here before – George after her man. He was lost at sea before the war.'

Robbie nodded. ‘Yes, the sea is a cruel master. Was that how Willie Alec died, too?'

‘No, he'd a heart attack, and Hannah never got over it.'

‘Did she have a heart attack, as well?'

Jenny hesitated then said quietly, ‘Yes, her heart stopped suddenly.' It was the only thing she could say, and it wasn't a lie. ‘I'll make a pot of tea, Mr Chapman. You look like you need cheering up.'

He raised grateful eyes. ‘Thank you, my dear, it's been quite a shock. I was so looking forward to seeing …' Pausing briefly, he gave a tight smile. ‘Please call me Robbie. Not many people do nowadays.'

He studied the fire until Jenny made the tea, and when she handed him a cup he said, ‘I'd better tell you my story, but first, did Hannah ever show you a sketch of her as a fishwife with a creel on her back?'

About to say no, Jenny recalled the picture which had hung over the kitchen fire at Freuchny Road, though Lizann had never said it was her mother. ‘I've seen it,' she murmured, guardedly, for she couldn't think what it had to do with anything.

‘I'd known Willie Alec for years, though we were never what you would call pals, and when I heard he'd married a lassie from Portessie, I was pleased for him. He knew I was interested in sketching folk, so when he asked if I'd draw his wife, I thought it would be good practice for me. Besides, I wanted to see the kind of girl he'd chosen. Hannah wasn't at all happy about being drawn as a fish-wife, but Willie Alec insisted that he wanted a permanent reminder of how she looked the first time he saw her, and she agreed to pose for me.'

Jenny sat enthralled as he told her how he had gone to the Yardie on week nights – as Willie Alec had instructed because he didn't want to see the sketch until it was finished – how he had fallen in love with his friend's wife and how he had repressed his feelings in the belief that she was only being friendly with him to please her husband.