Authors: Millie Gray
“Right,” ordered the sergeant, making sure he rolled the “r” “If we proceed with an assault charge then this lady will have the right to say why she …
justifiably
… lost her temper.” The farmer shifted uneasily. “And the whole story of the deplorable conditions these children have endured will come out.” Patsy nodded. “So,” and the sergeant now turned Patsy round to face him, “I think that, since you want to take them home with you the day, we should all forget what has happened here.”
The farmer and his wife quickly nodded in agreement.
“But,” continued the sergeant, “I consider it only right that compensation be paid for the appalling behaviour.”
“Naw, naw. Just let them go. We don’t want anything from them,” the farmer emphasised as he began ushering Patsy and the children towards the door.
“I should hope not,” replied the indignant sergeant. “It’s
you
who has to compensate
them
!”
“But how could I do that?” spluttered the farmer. “I’m a poor man.”
“That’s right,” his wife butted in. “We’ve not got much.”
“Oh I wasn’t thinking of money. Now, let’s see. How about all the eggs the wee lassie had to collect for you? I think, so I do, that it would be only proper for you to give her a dozen to take home!” The farmer gave a nod of assent and promptly went to fetch the eggs – but not before the sergeant added, “And of course I’ll need half a dozen for myself as some recompense for all the trouble I’ve gone to today to keep you out of hot water!”
The bus journey home from Lasswade seemed endless. The children were so excited and longed to see their mother again. Tess was the first to ask if there was any word of her father and Patsy said, “No-o-o.”
“You sure?” Johnny insisted.
Patsy just nodded silently and was grateful when Senga began to ask about Phyllis. “Och, she’s doing well enough. A wee bit weaker. But still holding on,” she added quickly, diverting any other questions about Tam. She knew she would have to tell the children eventually, but at least she could put it off until they got home. She hoped desperately that the children would not be as upset as Dinah had been. Well before she had reached the Restalrig Circus house she could hear Dinah’s hysterical screams and sobs. She had tried to quieten her for the sake of Phyllis, who lay imprisoned in her bed making no attempt to wipe the large tears that dropped silently from her eyes. Patsy had just managed to console Dinah when Tam’s mother, Mary Glass, arrived. Mary’s calm and resolute conviction that she would never believe her Tam was dead until they had found his body had astounded Patsy. Mary was so emphatic. Not a tear – just a quiet statement: “No. I’d know in here,” she said, patting her breast, “if anything bad had happened to my Tam. I just know, and don’t ask me why, but I do know he’s still …”
“Alive, Granny?”
“Aye, alive, Phyllis. Alive!” Mary emphasised, wiping the tears away from Phyllis’s cheek with her bare hand before kissing the girl fiercely on the forehead.
Dinah persisted however. “My life’s over now. Wi’ Tam gone, I’d enter a nunnery if it wasn’t for the bairns.” Patsy nodded but wondered what the poor nuns had done to deserve that!
On reaching Restalrig Circus, Johnny was the first of the children to burst into the house. “Johnny!” Etta whooped, leaping up from her seat by the fire to hug him.
However, when Patsy came into the room, tugging a very tired Senga by the hand, things didn’t go quite as planned. “Where’s Dinah?” she asked, her eyes roving around the room.
Etta shrugged. “Oh, Patsy. Her pal Eva came in and suggested, just to cheer her up, that they go up to the Palais in Fountainbridge.”
“She’s away to the Palais dance hall and her man no cold in his grave?” screeched Patsy, before clamping her hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to take back the words.
By now, Tess and Johnny had surrounded Patsy. “What d’ye mean … saying our Dad’s not cold in his grave?” sobbed Tess.
“Well. Maybe he’s no,” Etta countered, in an effort to calm them all.
“That’s right,” agreed Patsy, who tried to catch hold of Tess but was angrily rebuffed. “You see, all the telegram said was that he was missing – and that usually means …”
“Presumed deid!” screamed Johnny. “I hate this bloody war. Us being treated like pigs and now Daddy being …”
Silence fell in the room and no one noticed that Senga had slipped into the small bedroom and was now crying uncontrollably into a pillow.
Mary Glass had just turned into Restalrig Circus when her ears were assailed by the sound of loud shrieks emanating from her daughter-in-law, Dinah, who was hurling verbal abuse at her mother Patsy. In addition to this, a radio was being played at full blast in the background. Thinking that the screams might be the result of disastrous news from the front about her son, Tam, Mary began to race towards the house. Once up the path, she noticed the living room windows were wide open and so, instead of going to the door, she stuck her head in at the first window and called out, “Is this a private war or can anyone join in?”
“Och, it’s yourself, Mary,” Patsy responded. “Come away in and see if you can make this daft lassie of mine see some sense.”
Much to Patsy’s astonishment, Mary made no attempt to withdraw her head. Instead, she simply pushed her body further in until she finally landed on all fours on the floor. “Noo, what’s this aw aboot?” demanded Mary, as she stood up and skipped over to kiss Phyllis.
“It’s me,” yelled Dinah, “telling this … this interfering mother o’ mine that just because the Jerries are knocking hell out o’ London that’s no reason for my bairns to be sold back into slavery!”
“Slavery?” queried Mary in some puzzlement.
“They’ve been given the chance to be evacuated to a country estate where they’ll be safe and well looked after,” Patsy explained, lifting a letter from the mantelpiece and handing it to Mary.
“Look, Mammy, the pasting everybody said we would get here hasnae happened, has it?”
“That right? And what was the first place the Luftwaffe hit when this blinking war started?”
Dinah laughed derisively before quipping, “Oot there in the Forth. And a right shambles that was. For two years we’d aw been practising on how, when the siren went, we were to get oursels into the Anderson shelters while putting on our gas masks. And when the raid did happen, the dopey air-raid wardens forgot to sound the alarm.”
Mary bristled. “You blaming my Archie’s section, Dinah? It wasnae their fault that they planes came at two-thirty in the afternoon.” She now turned to Patsy. “As Gawd’s ma judge, Patsy, I’ll never forget yon day. Oh aye, the efternoon o’ sixteenth October 1939 will bide in my mind for ever!”
“Right enough. We weren’t expecting them afore supper time. Bloody cheek they had, turning up just when the bairns had been let oot o’ school.”
“Dinah,” shouted Patsy, “that’s quite enough! Mary here has enough to contend with – I mean – Tam being missing, poor Archie having to do his bit here wi’ some other air-raid wardens – that dinnae seem to be up to their job – and Dod …” She didn’t continue as she knew Mary was ashamed of Dod, her third son. She did say to people now that he had deliberately got himself into prison because he was a conscientious objector but in truth he was a problem child, having been sent to Borstal for thuggery when he was just twelve years old. The only thing of value he got out of that Borstal training was an ability to play the trumpet exceptionally well. Such a pity it was that, when the police arrived two years ago to arrest him for black-marketeering, instead of blowing his trumpet he banged it over the arresting officer’s head while pushing some contraband butter up his nose!
“You know, Patsy! It wasnae the fault o’ Archie and his mates that 602 and 603 squadrons thought it was just another practice. I mean, how can they be blamed because the Brylcreem Boys were sitting on their arses at East Fortune and Turnhouse playing poker while the Jerries were knocking hell out o’ our ships in the Forth?” argued Mary, who was anxious that all the blame for the fiasco didn’t fall on her least able son.
It was now time for Dinah’s ten-year-old Johnny to provide a display and he startled everyone by giving a loud demonstration of a ducking and diving aeroplane. “Aye, but once oor flying ace, Patrick Gifford, knew what was happening he and his pals got their Hurricanes airborne with the guns goin, ‘Ack! Ack!’ And they didnae half put the frighteners on they Jerries. Shot two o’ them down and sent the others tearing back to Germany, so they did.”
Patsy nodded in assent. “Looking for our braw battleship, the
HMS Hood
, they were. Good thing she wasn’t there. Mind you, I think when they couldn’t find her they knocked hell out of all the other ships just for spite.”
“And then the damaged German planes flew so low, they did, trying to get back hame,” interjected Mary, ignoring Patsy’s observations, “that the bairns in the street could see the swastikas on their wings and helmets. Know Ivy Dickson?” All nodded towards Mary. “Well, she says the plane that was coming down on Restalrig Crescent was losing height so fast you could smell the soorkraut the pilot had had for his denner the night afore.”
Dinah rolled her eyes and looked up at the ceiling before commenting: “Mind you, you’ve got to hand it to the blooming Joppa Christians, who you’ll remember gave the two pilots a proper military send-off after fishing them oot o’ the sea at Port Seton.”
“Right enough. They good folk,” enthused Patsy, “let them lie in yon St Philip’s church the night afore their burial at Portobello cemetery, so they did. I think they did that because they’d spared the bairns. Could have killed some o’ them, so they could.” Patsy looked about the room before continuing in a whisper, “Mind you, that wasn’t reported in the news – censored oot it was because they didnae want people thinking there might be some good Germans.”
“Right enough, but what about our sixteen brave sailor laddies that were killed when their ships were bombed by your pals – no to mention the forty they hospitalised. What did the Christians do for them?”
“Look here, Dinah, I ken what you’re trying to do by going on about the Germans – avoiding the real issue here the day,” Patsy emphasised. “So let me tell you that the bairns
are
going to be evacuated.”
“But why has that to be, Mammy?”
“Because in the first raid there were no civilian casualties but the second one in August last year when the mine was dropped in Leith …”
“When we forgot to sound the sirens yet again. But then that time did they no come when we were haeing our tea and no our supper?” mocked Dinah.
“Okay. But there
were
civilian casualties that time.” Patsy shook her head. “Still think o’ that wee laddie delivering his night papers in Largo Place – blown to smithereens he was and that’s the reason your bairns are off next week to Linlithgow. And before you start, that’s what their faither wanted – wanted them safe.”
“All of them?” Mary asked, gazing at her five grandchildren.
“Well, naturally no Phyllis; and I’m letting Tess stay to help with her. So only Johnny, Senga and Elsie will go.”
“
You’re
letting Tess stay? Big deal!” jeered Dinah. “Whose bairns are they, yours or mine?”
“Your Mammy’s quite right, Dinah,” said Mary. “My Tam did want them evacuated. Dead scared he was for them after the first raid. And I always wonder if he knew about the one in August last year? Just said that the Jerries had carried out a raid somewhere in the East of Scotland – but since the mine that was dropped blew parts o’ Leith to smithereens we knew it was us.”
“So you think Tam’s still alive do you, Mary?” asked Patsy, shaking her head.
“I
know
he is.”
“You do?” Dinah exclaimed. “How?”
“Well, last week did I no go doon to a séance at the Spiritualist Church in Bath Street at Portobello?”
“Are you saying he got a message through to you from the spirit world?”
“No, Patsy,” said Mary with a shake of the head. “I didnae get a message and that’s how I ken he’s still alive.” Dinah and Patsy looked askance while Mary continued, “Honestly, the medium was awfy guid, so she was. Explained to me, she did, that you can only get a message through if the person you want a message from is really in the spirit world!”
* * *
“Right, missus,” the conductress called out as the driver brought the bus to a shuddering halt.
“Oh, is this it?” asked Patsy, signalling to the children to get up, gather up their luggage and follow her off the bus.
Once everyone was safely out, the conductress leant over and pointed to the old stone bridge over the Union Canal. “Just cross over the bridge there and follow the road. First you’ll come to the wee Home Farm, and then,” she hesitated, looked at little Elsie before adding, “it’s a good stretch of the legs till you come to the Big Hoose. Cannae miss it. Naw, you just cannae miss it.”
Patsy nodded her thanks before she and her three grandchildren, Johnny, Senga and Elsie, began their trek to Andrew Craig’s ancestral home.
They had trudged for twenty minutes before the house loomed into view. Patsy was so awestruck by its size and splendour that she dropped Elsie, to whom she had been giving a colly-buckie. “You’ll need to walk by yourself from here,” she whispered.
“But why?” moaned Elsie, who was very small and delicate for her years.
“Because you don’t want the folk to think you’re a baby.”
“But, Granny, she
is
just a baby,” Senga emphasised.
Patsy shook her head, grabbed Elsie’s hand and began dragging her towards the house. The nearer they came to the building, the more Patsy thought the most remarkable thing about it, apart from its size, was the large and intimidating metal-studded wooden door which stood ajar, as if to offer a somewhat intimidating welcome.
Johnny had just raised his hand to bang on the knocker when the inner half-glazed door opened and a smiling woman, possibly in her mid-thirties, came forward with an outstretched hand to Patsy. “I’m Mrs Stoddard, one of the two teachers here. And you must be Mrs Glass.”
This introduction only added to Patsy’s bewilderment and the children were greatly amused to see their granny give a small curtsey before replying, “No, I’m Mrs Kelly. The bairns’ grandmother, your ladyship. Dinah, my daughter, the bairns’ mother, had to stay and look after our Phyllis – she cannae be left alone – she cannae walk, you see.”