The Girl with the Creel (54 page)

‘Jenny's a lovely young woman,' he assured her. ‘A real gem!'

Before her first day was finished, Lizann was on Christian name terms with most of the gutters, who ranged in age from fifteen to sixty. Quite a few had husbands in the forces, and the majority of single girls were younger than she was, but age and marital status made no difference to them. The girl who worked next to her was soon talking to her as if they were old friends. Gladys Wright, red-haired and as thin as a rake, could not be described as pretty, but her bright blue eyes, pert nose and wide mouth gave her an appealing attractiveness.

On the Saturday morning, their half-day, Gladys remarked, ‘You've got a wedding ring on. Is your hubby in the services?'

Lizann shook her head. ‘I'm a widow.'

‘I wondered why you never spoke about him. Mine's a prisoner of war, so God knows how long it'll be till I see him again. What about coming to the pictures with me tonight?'

‘I'd better wait to see if I can afford it,' Lizann smiled. ‘I've my board to pay before I do anything else.'

When the wages were given out, she was pleasantly surprised. After paying Mrs Melville and laying past what she needed for bus fares, she would have enough to save something for clothes and still have a few shillings to spend. Gladys was delighted when she said she'd love to go to the pictures, and they arranged to meet outside the Capitol.

This was the beginning of a close friendship, and the two young women discovered that they both liked the same kind of films, often coming out of a cinema and walking down the street singing a song from the musical they had just seen. Other people smiled at their infectious gaiety, and the servicemen who tried to date them were turned down nicely.

‘I'm glad to see you so happy,' Mrs Melville said, when Lizann went in one Saturday night. ‘Have you found a lad?'

‘Gladys and me don't need lads,' Lizann smiled. ‘We've enough fun on our own.'

‘Aye, but she'll have her man coming back after the war,' Mrs Melville pointed out, ‘and you'll have nobody.'

‘I don't need anybody. I loved George so much, no other man would do.'

‘You're still young, though. I've just been a widow for five years and I know how lonely it can be. Just think how you'll feel by the time you reach sixty, with nobody to bother about you. I've got two lassies, but they're both in England and can't come to see me very often. That's why I always take female lodgers.'

‘Gladys'll still be my friend after her man comes back, and anyway I'll always have you.'

‘I'll not last for ever.'

‘Nobody lasts for ever,' Lizann said sadly.

Sorry now at having pricked Lizann's happy bubble, her landlady gave a little laugh. ‘Ach, I'll maybe live till I'm a hundred.'

His hand trembling, Peter laid the letter from his mother-in-law down on the counterpane. Elsie was dead! Mrs Slater had been very careful not to desecrate her daughter's memory, but he could read between the lines. Why had his wife stayed two nights in Elgin, if not to be with some man or other? She'd been up to her old tricks again, and he felt no sorrow, no jealousy, only relief that he was free of her. She would have left him in any case when he was sent home, a useless wreck with just one leg. But … maybe she'd been notified about that and had walked out on him before he returned. That could be why she left their children with her parents. She had told her mother it was only for two days, but she could lie like a trooper. He had years of experience of that.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes wearily. He had known from the time he went into the Navy that he wouldn't have her to depend on if he was invalided out, but he'd never thought he would be incapacitated to this extent. Oh, the doctors told him he'd be able to walk again when he had the prosthesis fitted, but he had his doubts about that, so what would happen when he was finally discharged? Would they send him to some home for cripples, where he would be confined until he died of old age?

It would have been better if he'd been lost, like most of his shipmates. He would never forget the agonies of the night the torpedoes hit them. He had been speaking to Mick just minutes before the first one struck, and he'd been horrified at the thought of all the engineers trapped below decks. Then the ship had been blown to pieces by a second, taking half his leg with it. He had still been conscious, just, hanging on grimly to a bunk attached to its wooden surround when the survivors were picked up. He didn't remember anything after that, not until he came to in a hospital in Gib. The first thing he did was to ask about Mick, and when he learned that his old friend had gone, he nearly went out of his mind and they'd had to keep him under sedation.

Next day the surgeons had amputated a bit more of his leg, and after giving him some time to recover from the shock, he had been sent to this naval hospital in Plymouth. He'd been here for weeks now, but his mail had only just caught up with him: a few letters from Elsie which didn't tell him anything, and one from her mother – the fateful one.

That night, with everything fresh in his mind, Peter had a fearsome dream, in which Elsie was bobbing around him in the sea and laughing her head off at his attempts to reach a big double bed behind her. Then an aircraft carrier ran them down and her head was floating past him with the eye sockets empty. Screaming and thrashing about, he woke up to find two sick-berth attendants holding him down.

‘Good God, Tait,' one of them exclaimed, releasing him and wiping the sweat from his own brow. ‘You nearly had my head off then, throwing your arms about like that.'

Peter recoiled at the reference to a head, and muttered, ‘I'm sorry. I'd a nightmare.'

Having to settle some poor devil every night, the other orderly said, ‘That's okay, pal. We're used to it.' He flexed his aching arm muscles.

When the two men walked away, Peter remembered what he and Mick had been talking about in those last few minutes. His dreams of searching for Lizann after the war had gone down with his ship, but at least he could keep the promise he'd made to his best friend … his late friend. Whatever happened, however he would manage to get there, supposing it was in a wheelchair, he would have to go to Buckie to make sure that Jenny was coping without her husband.

With a purpose to his existence now, he was more co-operative with the doctors and attendants, who couldn't understand what had brought about the change in him.

The afternoon bombing of the harbour area was really frightening, and Lizann was glad that her fellow workers were so used to having to run to an air-raid shelter that they could make fun of it. She certainly didn't find it funny hearing explosions coming closer and closer, and praying they wouldn't be killed by a direct hit. But at last the danger was over and they went back to work.

Mrs Melville was full of it that evening. ‘Was anywhere near you hit this time? I was worried with you working so near the docks.'

Lizann tried to allay her fears. ‘We've to go to the shelter when the sirens blow, so we're quite safe.'

‘But there was a good few bombers today, and I mind June 1940, when there was only one, and by gum, he didn't half do a lot of damage. He hit Hall Russell's yard, you know, the shipbuilders, and killed over thirty men in the boiler room. Then he started dropping bombs all over the place, till the Spitfires got after him and shot him down at the new skating rink. There was a lot of sore hearts in Aberdeen that day.'

‘I never thought it would be anything like that,' Lizann murmured. ‘It was awful hearing the explosions, and we were all huddled together. We cheered when the noise died down, for we just thought of ourselves, not the poor people that got it.'

‘You know,' Mrs Melville said, thoughtfully, ‘you're not safe working there, Lizann. The Nazis have bases in Norway now, that's nearer here, so they'll likely come a lot oftener, and they'll always be after the harbour.'

‘They're not scaring me into giving up my job,' Lizann declared. ‘I'll take my chances, the same as everybody else there.'

‘Aye, and I suppose it doesn't really matter where you are, we're all in the front line now.'

Each time he heard of a raid on Aberdeen, Dan wished that he had tried harder to stop Lizann from going there. If he had known where she lived he would have taken her back to Easter Duncairn by force, if necessary. Ella's letters, however, made him realize that most of the rumours going round of wholesale damage to the city every day had little foundation, or were greatly exaggerated.

Never completely free of worry for the girl he loved, he did his best to concentrate on the work of the farm, which was much easier since he got the Ferguson tractor, even with several of his men off to the war. He was showing a higher profit than ever before. Most of the vegetables he grew now were sold to shops in the larger towns, and he'd needed some sort of vehicle to make deliveries, but with buying the tractor, all he could afford was a rattly old Ford lorry. Still, it did the job.

Dan was dreading the harvest, but when the time came, all the farmers in the area rallied round to help each other. He thought it strange that it took a war for this to happen, though he felt guilty that it was so. Young Alice, the daughter of his cattleman whom he had hired after Lizann left, had proved her worth by ferrying out what old Meggie and the cooks from the Mains and Wester Duncairn made for the workers, although she and the other maids flirted shamelessly with old men and young boys alike.

Having waited impatiently for months for his artificial limb, Peter was delighted to be told on 20 November that he should have it the next morning, and he pictured himself being on his feet by Christmas.

The reality, however, was a bitter disappointment. The fitting was agony, and when he put his weight on his leg, an excruciating pain shot right up through his body forcing him to sit down again, sweat beading on his brow. ‘I'll never cope with this,' he gasped.

The specialist looked at him sympathetically. ‘It'll take time, but it
will
get easier. But we'll leave it today, and the therapist will start working with you tomorrow.' Kneeling down, he unstrapped the metal leg.

Left alone again, Peter thought it had all been a waste of time and money. He would never walk on that thing. How could anybody expect him to suffer like that for the rest of his life? Then Mick came into his mind. Poor dead Mick. At least he was alive and had a duty to do. He must keep his promise to his friend.

The therapist persevered with him for an hour a day, and in just over a week he mastered the art of taking a few steps using crutches. It took another fortnight of grim persistence, and many falls, for him to hobble about slowly with just one crutch, and he eventually cast that aside, determined to arrive at Jenny's door under his own steam. He could sort out his own life after he'd sorted out hers.

Chapter Thirty-one

There had been an alert every night for over a week, and apart from about three hours on the Saturday, when she and Gladys had been in the Majestic cinema, Lizann had sat with her landlady in the kitchen. They didn't want to take shelter in the cellar, where some of the residents of the tenement had taken to going, or even in the common lobby, because there would be more masonry to fall on them if the building was hit and they might never be found.

Lack of sleep was making them increasingly edgy, but at seven every morning Lizann washed, put on fresh clothes, had breakfast, then set off for work whether or not the all clear had gone, as did all the other citizens who had a job to do.

‘You might be going right into the middle of it,' Mrs Melville said, one day. ‘You should wait till it's past.'

‘Nothing's been happening for a while,' Lizann reminded her. ‘I think the bombers are away already. See, I told you,' she smiled, as the long-awaited signal rent the air.

There seemed to be excitement in the yard when she arrived, the men nodding and smiling to each other in a most secretive manner. ‘What's going on?' she asked Gladys.

Her friend grinned. ‘You know Timmy Fraser, the young cooper? Well, he's getting married tomorrow.'

There were only a few young men who had not yet been called up – the majority of males in the yard, coopers or overseers or whatever, were older, although they were still ready for a bit of a lark. Lizann still didn't understand. ‘Are they going to do something to him?'

‘The usual thing.' Gladys laughed at Lizann's puzzled expression, but didn't satisfy her curiosity. ‘Wait and see.'

When the hooter went at five o'clock, everyone stopped work, the men rushing outside and the women, still in their rubber aprons and boots, following behind, not wanting to miss any of the fun. In a few minutes, two coopers dragged Timmy out, and amid loud hilarity, he was stripped down to his underpants and made to sit on a stool. The noise from his fellow workers reached a crescendo when his foreman produced a tin of shoe polish and, with the help of two others, blackened every inch of his exposed body, from face to feet.

‘Why are they doing that?' Lizann whispered.

‘You'll find out in a minute,' Gladys giggled.

After an initial feeble struggle, Timmy let them carry on. It was a ritual carried out on every bridegroom on the eve of his wedding and, having known it would come, he was enjoying it as much as anyone. When he was completely covered, the same three men carried him to one of the lorries, lifted him on and climbed up beside him. Another ten or so men jumped on as the driver let off the handbrake, some with handbells, some with old pans and lids, and the vehicle moved out on to the street with a great clamour of metal clanging against metal, combined with the more melodic ringing of the bells.

Those left behind ran out to watch as the lorry went slowly along the cobbled street, waiting until it was out of sight before going inside to make ready to go home.