Authors: Doris Davidson
Gracie had been disappointed that Olive’s romance with Alf had come to nothing and, after worrying for some time, she decided to confide in Joe one night,
‘I’m scared that Olive starts with Neil again, for she’ll be more possessive than ever, and he’ll stand no chance against her.’
As usual, her husband laughed at her fears, ‘You’re always worrying about something or other. Neil’s not the raw laddie he was before, he’s had more experience with
girls. He won’t knuckle down now, he’ll tell her straight out that he’s not going to stand any nonsense from her. Alf had the right idea, he’s well shot of her. Anyway,
you’re maybe barking up the wrong tree. Now Olive’s been out with one lad, she’ll likely have got Neil out of her system. The next thing we’ll be hearing is she’s got
another boyfriend.’
‘I hope so,’ Gracie breathed.
‘It’s usually their daughters women worry about, not their sons, but thank goodness our two lassies are sensible.’
‘Aye, you’re right there. I was wor- . . .’ She caught herself before Joe laughed at her again. ‘I wondered, the last time Neil was home, if he’d ideas about
Queenie, but she doesn’t look at boys nowadays, not since that Callum.’
‘She’s young enough yet to have a steady lad, so’s Patsy,’ Joe grinned. ‘That’s when your worries’ll start.’
Their posting had come as an anti-climax to all the soldiers involved. Like all first-time travellers abroad, the thought of being in a foreign clime had filled them with a
thrilling anticipation, and Northumberland was not what anybody could call exotic. Most of them, however, soon got back to the old routine of picking up willing girls, their libidos getting an
unnecessary boost from the new variety of faces and figures. Most of them, but not Neil Ferris, although Alf Melville was always chivvying him to hunt with the pack and he could not explain why he
wouldn’t. He felt a little foolish now about having written the letter to Queenie, but surely they would be sent overseas soon – he hadn’t been out of England and it was nearly a
year since he joined up – and it would be best to keep it in his pocket . . . just in case.
Their camp was between Alnwick and Morpeth, with Newcastle not too far away, so there were many interesting places to see on their twenty-four-hour passes, not like Salisbury Plain, where the
dominant feature was a circle of standing stones, though there had been several picturesque villages in the area. Both Neil and Alf had been raised in fairly close proximity to the sea so it was
natural that they often landed up on the coast of Northumbria, watching birds and boats, and breathing in the bracing ozone of the same North Sea. Neil was fascinated by the causeway across to the
Holy Isle, Lindisfarne, which was cut off twice a day by the tide, but when he suggested visiting the island, Alf said, ‘No bloody fear. We could be marooned for hours.’
Inevitably, on their walks, they met girls who stopped to talk to them. Alf, of course, was in his element when this happened, choosing his partner and walking off in front, leaving Neil with
the other one. A few, accustomed to the procedure, took his arm and kept up a steady stream of talk which required little or no answer, but some were as embarrassed as he was, which made things
difficult. On one such occasion, the girl was so shy that Neil had difficulty in getting her to speak at all, but he did eventually learn that her name was Alice, and that she lived in the village
of Seahouses – ‘back there a couple of miles’.
Her shyness drew him to her, not in any romantic way, more as a friend who would pose no problems and she appeared to feel the same, opening up to say, ‘Betty and I came out for a picnic,
it was such a lovely day.’
He responded to the overture. ‘We hitch-hiked to Bamburgh Castle, and we’re walking back a bit to shove in our day.’
A little farther on, they saw Alf and Betty sitting on the sands, unpacking the girl’s haversack. ‘You could have some of our sandwiches,’ Betty giggled.
The picnic let all of them get to know each other a little better, and when the empty paper bags and lemonade bottles had been stowed away, Alf took Betty behind one of the dunes but the other
two stayed where they were, facing the wide expanse of gently rippling water which only ended where it met the sky, and letting the warm breeze ruffle their hair. Neil was completely relaxed with
Alice now – she had turned out to be a good companion – and after a while she suggested taking a walk along the sands to search for seashells. ‘My mum makes pictures with
them,’ she explained. ‘It keeps her busy in the winter.’
They chatted idly – about her work in the bank in Alnwick, about the stupidity of some army drivers which resulted in the burned-out gearboxes and cracked cylinder blocks Neil had to
replace – the girl bending down occasionally to pick up a shell that had taken her fancy – but eventually, they turned to something more personal. ‘Have you a boyfriend?’
Neil asked, purely to make conversation.
‘Yes, Bill’s in the navy, and I haven’t seen him for eight months. We’re going to get engaged when he comes home again. Do you have a girlfriend?’
He hesitated for a moment, but the atmosphere was so easy between them now, and the balminess of the early evening so conducive to confidences, that he said, ‘Queenie’s not long
sixteen, and I haven’t told her yet that I love her. I think she knows, though.’
Alice nodded, ‘A girl always knows that. Bill and I grew up together, and I knew he loved me long before he told me, and I was only fourteen at the time.’ Seeing the question in
Neil’s eyes, she added, ‘We haven’t done anything wrong, but we nearly did, the night before he went away the first time. That’s why I didn’t let him go beyond a few
kisses the twice he’s been home since.’
‘I’d never dream of doing more than kissing Queenie though I might feel like it. She’s still too young.’
It did not occur to either of them that this was a strange topic between two young people of different sexes, nor that, if they had been at all attracted to each other, it could have erupted
into something they wouldn’t have been able to stop. ‘How old are you, Alice?’
‘Seventeen past May. How old are you?’
‘I’ll be nineteen in November.’ Elation was surging up in him. He had actually voiced his love for Queenie, and even though it was to a girl he hardly knew, he felt as if he
had sworn it on oath, legalised it, made certain of the outcome. Catching Alice round the waist, he whirled her into the air. ‘Oh, it’s great to to be young and in love, isn’t
it?’
When their friends came into view, a few minutes later, it needed no clairvoyant to tell what they had been doing over the past half hour. Betty’s thin dress was dishevelled, her face
flushed, and Alf wore a hang dog, but satisfied, expression. ‘I’ve promised to walk Betty home,’ he said, ‘so you can go with Alice, and we’d better put a step in, or
else it’ll be dark before we get there.’
The sun was dropping behind the horizon, but Neil had been enjoying himself so much that he hadn’t noticed. ‘You don’t have to see me home,’ Alice murmured.
‘I’d like to.’ They waited until Alf and Betty went ahead before they followed, walking at a quick pace to keep up. It was only two miles to Seahouses, but another fifteen to
the camp, and the soldiers dared not be late. When they reached her village, Alice pointed out a fishing coble, one of the many small craft tied up in the harbour. ‘That’s my
dad’s.’
‘He’s a fisherman, is he?’
‘They’re nearly all fishermen here, and I’m sure he was a bit disappointed I wasn’t a boy to carry on after him.’
‘My dad was disappointed that I didn’t want to work in his shop, but I was more at home with engines than groceries.’
Alice lived in one of the terraced houses which overlooked the harbour, standing out starkly against the darkening sky, and looking just as grey and dour to Neil when he came close to them.
‘Can I see you again?’
She turned to face him, looking at him earnestly. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve had a really great time, but . . . I’ve got Bill and you’ve got Queenie.’
Her skin was brown with sunburn, her black hair was short, she was as tall as he was – everything that Queenie was not – but in some way, some indefinable way, she reminded him of
Queenie, which made him ashamed of what he had asked. He had no romantic intentions towards Alice, though he had enjoyed the time he had spent with her, and it was probably best not to spoil it.
‘Cheerio, Alice, and I hope you see Bill again very soon.’
‘Thanks. Goodbye, Neil . . . Queenie’s a lucky girl.’
He walked to the end of the row of houses, where Alf was already waiting for him. ‘It’s been some day, eh, Neil? That Betty’s a humdinger. How was Alice?’
‘She’s very nice . . . a really decent girl.’
‘So you didn’t score?’
‘I didn’t try.’ He hadn’t even wanted to try, Neil thought in some amazement. He’d had Alice in his arms at one point, and had let her go without feeling a thing,
when not so very long ago, holding a girl so closely would have aroused him into making at least some attempt. But that was before he’d fallen in love. He was a changed man now – sex
was secondary to him . . . until he married Queenie.
Alf, forging on ahead, turned round impatiently. ‘Come on, or we’ll never make it back to camp in time.’
They hurried on, praying that they could hitch a lift once they were on the main road – they couldn’t depend on getting a bus, and luck was with them. They had just left the side
road when a van pulled up. ‘Thanks, mate,’ Alf puffed. ‘I’m bloody sure I couldn’t have gone much farther.’
‘Been out on the randan?’ the driver chuckled as he let off the brake.
Alf snorted. ‘I have, but this dozey blighter’s either in love or he’s lost his touch.’
Grinning, Neil winked. ‘Don’t you wish you knew?’
It was a cold, but dry, November evening when Neil next came home. ‘What a journey,’ he moaned, as he took off his greatcoat. ‘It gets worse every
time.’
Gracie was already opening the oven. ‘Your supper’s ready, I kept it hot for you.’
‘Thanks, Mum, I’m famished.’ Sitting down at the table, he looked at his sister and cousin. ‘You two not out?’
‘I’m broke,’ Patsy laughed, and added, ‘till payday.’
‘I know the feeling.’ He sat back as his mother laid down his plate. ‘And how are you two old folks?’
Joe pretended to scowl, ‘Less of the old folks, you cheeky devil. Your mother and me are still in our prime.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Gracie said, a shade sourly. ‘I feel like I’m ninety some days.’
As Neil demolished the huge pile of potatoes and the much smaller mound of rabbit stew, he watched Queenie darning the elbow of her jumper. Her head was bent over it, but she had looked up at
him once or twice and he thought she was still beautiful, even with no make up and wearing an old felted cardigan. His eyes travelled down past her industrious hands to her legs, the streaks
puzzling him until he recalled a girl once telling him that she painted her legs because she couldn’t get stockings, not even when she did have clothing coupons. Queenie’s leg-paint was
quite obviously in need of touching up or replacing – whatever the girls did – and a thrill ran through him at knowing this intimate detail about her. Well-worn slippers with one
pom-pom missing encased her feet, making them look like massive blobs. He smiled at this thought; nothing about Queenie was massive at all, not even her feet. He would love to be alone with her, to
get to know her as a boyfriend not as a cousin, somewhere that he wouldn’t be constantly aware of his mother’s eagle eye on him . . . but he couldn’t ask her out.
In obedience to Gracie’s command Neil went, much against his will, to Rubislaw Den the following evening, hoping that Olive would not blame him for Alf’s defection but assuring
himself that she knew nothing of his hand in it. His welcome was the same as usual from Hetty, Martin and Raymond, but he did think that Olive was a little restrained, though it was maybe just his
imagination . . . or guilty conscience? All she said was, ‘How’s Alf these days?’ and when he told her that his friend was very well, she sat back and let her family do the
talking.
He had just glanced at the clock and decided that he could get away shortly without causing offence when Martin said, ‘I suppose you’ve a girlfriend now? Or more than one?’
Without even looking at her, Neil was conscious that Olive was holding her breath, and decided to make a joke of what was no longer the truth, ‘Dozens. All the nice girls maybe love a
sailor, but the bad ones love a soldier, and that’s a lot more fun.’
Martin slapped his thigh. ‘I bet it is. Seriously, though, what do you do with yourself when you’re off duty?’
‘Oh, go dancing, to the pictures or stay in the hut and play cards for matchsticks if we haven’t any money. Not that we’re supposed to gamble, and to let you know what happens,
the boys in the next hut to us were playing pontoon for ha’-pennies one night and somebody reported them. They’d no idea who it was, but they’d to go in front of the CO, and this
creeping Jesus of a sergeant was there as well.’
Martin nodded. ‘So he’d been the one who reported them?’
‘Aye, he was a right bast – ’ Remembering that there were ladies present, Neil broke off then grinned sheepishly and went on, ‘Well, the CO says, “How did you know
the men were gambling, Sergeant?” – I don’t think he liked the Sarge very much – and the blighter says, “I was walking past their hut, sir, and I heard one man saying,
‘Twist’, then a second later the same man said, ‘Oh, bugger it! Bust!’ They were playing pontoon, sir.” The CO frowns and says, “You didn’t actually see
them?” “No, sir,” says the sergeant, and the CO turns to the men and asks if they have anything to say, so one bright lad pipes up, “I can’t deny we were playing
pontoon, sir, but only for matches. We would never play for money.”’
Laughing fit to burst, Martin said, ‘So they got off?’
‘Aye, they got off but the best bit was the sergeant got a bollocking for not making sure of his facts so, of course, he picked on that hut for weeks.’
‘Olive needs to be taken out of herself,’ Hetty remarked, suddenly. ‘She studies far too much.’