Authors: Murdo Morrison
“I don’t think they’re German,” he exclaimed. His suspicions were confirmed when they fell upon the first group of aircraft. “They’re Hurricanes, Sir.” He looked again. “And something else I don’t recognize. Maybe Russian.”
“Well, whoever, they are,” Llewelyn mused, “they’re putting those Germans to flight and no mistake.”
A German plane turned on its back and went straight down into the sea. The rest were being savaged with a relentless ferocity. The Germans turned away, attempting an escape.
“Well, its nice to see them get a taste of their own medicine,” Llewelyn said with great satisfaction, as another enemy aircraft began a smoking descent.
They tied up at Iokanka without further incident. Without delay, the officers began a search for whatever fuel and supplies they might procure from the Russians. They were surprised and annoyed to be met with suspicion and even hostility from the Russian officials. Armed guards were posted at the gangway of each ship and there were reports of seamen being questioned and harassed at bayonet point.
“If this is how they treat friends,” McLellan grumbled to Hugh and Llewelyn, “God help the Germans.”
It didn’t help the men’s attitudes that many of the dockworkers and most of the guards were women. McLellan had been stopped on his way to the Izmir.
“She looked younger than mah ain daughter,” he complained. “And she was as tough as nails,” he added, telling them how she had shouted at him in Russian and threatened him with her rifle.
After a great deal of arguing and complaining they were able to satisfy their most vital requirements. They got their fuel only after McLellan told the Russians that if they didn’t change their attitude, he would dump whatever cargo they had left into the White Sea. Although this was largely an idle threat, McLellan’s monumental temper, expressed in his broad Glaswegian accent, appeared to impress the Russians sufficiently to drive away any further difficulties.
They left the dubious assistance of the Russians at Iokanka astern and headed for the White Sea. Their mood improved when they were joined by Russian destroyers who were to help them find its entrance. This evaporated on the following day.
“Signal from the Russian commander,” Hugh reported to Llewelyn, his face grim.
Llewelyn looked at him a moment. “Well, Hugh, what is it?”
“They’re wishing us luck and returning to Iokanka, Sir.” And that was one of the rare instances in their long association when Hugh heard Llewelyn swear.
They headed south for Archangel on what they hoped would be the successful last leg of their long and arduous voyage. Hugh had the bridge watch. As they shortened the remaining distance to their destination, his nervousness increased in proportion.
Surely
, he thought, trying to assuage his anxiety,
nothing could happen to them now
.
Chapter 12
Fear of the Unknown
Scotstoun, 1942 to 1944
Both telegrams arrived on the same day. The first sent shivers of fear through Bessie. For several moments she grasped the envelope to her breast where she felt her heart skitter. Dizziness caused her to sway. Bessie made her way through the lobby and into the kitchen and collapsed onto a chair.
She ripped open the envelope and quickly scanned the brief message. It consisted of several lines of tape, cut apart and pasted to the form. Bessie deciphered the strange syntax and spacing.
25 CG CW SOVIETUNION
11
NIL
MCINTYRE
2005 DUMBARTONRD GLASGOWW
4 =
=
ALL WELL
DELAYED
LOVE
=
DONALD MCINTRIE
+
Bessie dropped the paper and drew a handkerchief from her apron pocket to mop her eyes.
When Ella stopped in later, Bessie showed her the telegram. “Ah’m that glad for once that it was good news,” Ella said, relieved for her friend.
“Yes, we are so used to thinking of telegrams bringing bad news,” Bessie replied.
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.
“You finish making the tea,” Ella volunteered, “ah’ll see who it is.”
The waiting messenger stared with concern at the sudden pallor that overwhelmed Ella’s face. “Are you all right, Missis?”
She nodded and took the telegram back into the kitchen where she sat down by the fireside with saying a word.
“Who was at the door?” Bessie asked, placing the kettle back on the range and stirring the water in the pot. When there was no answer, she turned to Ella. Seeing what was in her hand, Bessie gave out a little moan of despair.
Ella handed her the telegram. “It might no’ be anything,” Ella ventured. "The first one was good news."
“Yes, but what are the odds?” Bessie said. She ripped open the telegram, scanned it for a moment, then bent her head.
Ella went over and took the paper from Bessie’s hand. She read it quickly then placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder. Bessie shrank from the touch. “Ah just want tae be a help tae ye, Bessie, like ye were for me,” Ella told her, annoyed.
Bessie looked up. “I know Ella, I know, and you will be later. I just need to sit here by myself for a little while, if you don’t mind.”
Ella nodded and left, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Murdo received the news about Alec as Bessie had expected him to, stoic and wooden-faced. It was a sham, she knew, his generation’s notion of how a male should behave. His withdrawal into a silent, private space set a wall around his hurt. Bessie tried to temper her resentment of his resolute solitude with the knowledge of his pain. But it deprived her of solace for her grief. Inevitably she turned to Ella, who, mindful of her own dark time, amply repaid Bessie’s earlier kindness in the weeks and months after Alec’s death.
By the end of September, the shrinking days were a harbinger of the dreary winter nights to follow. Bessie dreaded the long hours of winter darkness. On a morning that brought the last gentle kiss of the fading summer, Bessie was sitting in Ella’s kitchen. Her friend was unusually quiet. Bessie’s natural reserve at first prevented her from inquiring. Her curiosity finally overwhelmed her. “Ella, is there something the matter with you?”
Ella’s face took on a cautious look. “Whit makes ye say that?” she countered. Then, seeing Bessie’s exasperated look, she confessed. “Aye well, ah suppose ye know me better than that by now. There is something ah’ve been wanting tae tell ye but ah don’t know where tae start.”
Bessie sent her another look.
“Aye well, here it is then,” Ella stammered. “It’s aboot May McAllister.”
Bessie sat forward and looked at Ella. “What about her?”
“Ach, ye’re no’ gaun tae like this, Bessie,” Ella prevaricated.
“Of that I’m certain,” Bessie replied. When Donald had returned from the newsagent that day and said he was going out with May McAllister, she had expected that little good would come of it. Despite his initial protestations, their relationship had become progressively more serious. The last straw for Bessie had been on New Year’s Eve when Donald had announced his intention to marry the girl. In times past, Bessie would have assailed the very notion with the full fury of her wrath. She was prevented by the knowledge that such an attack would drive her son away from her again, perhaps permanently, not to mention handing victory to May.
Bessie lost patience with Ella’s hesitation. “Ella, would you please just get to the point. What do you know about May McAllister?”
Ella nodded. “Ah ran intae Mrs. Gilmour at the shops. She said tae me, ‘Isn’t that May McAllister going oot with yer friend Bessie’s boy?’ Ah telt her they were engaged. Then she gives me a sly look and says, ‘That’s whit ah thought. Is it no’ a wee bit strange then that ah saw her oot at the pictures wi’ this big chap in an ermy uniform, and her fiancé away at sea?’”
Bessie weighed this information. “How does she know they were
out
together? What were they doing?”
Ella shook her head. “Ah tried tae brazen it out. Maybe it was her brother, ah said. But Mrs. Gilmour just laughed. ‘Naw, hen, it wisnae her brother.’”
Bessie’s heart sank. As much as she didn’t like May, and was happy to hear her view of the girl vindicated, she felt sick at heart for her son. “What am I to do, Ella? How can I tell Donald something like this? He knows I don’t care for May.”
“Aye, it’s a bad business, right enough,” Ella agreed. “Ah feel that sorry for him, away at sea and her playing around behind his back. But if somebody disnae tell him, he’ll find out for himsel’, and that will be worse.”
Bessie nursed her apprehension for her son over the course of the months until his return from Russia. She was not home when he arrived. When Bessie came through the kitchen door she found him sitting staring into the fire. He turned his attention to his mother. Bessie shrank from the anger in his eyes. Her apprehension was tinged with relief. At least she would not have to broach the awful matter with him.
She placed the messages on the table and sat down to face him. “I can see that you already know,” Bessie said.
Donald glared at her. “So you knew about May?”
Bessie nodded.
“When were you going tae let
me
know?” he asked.
Bessie looked at the fire. “How could I have told you, Donald? You were stranded in Russia. But I honestly didn’t know how I could have in any case. You must know my views about May. I thought you wouldn’t believe me.”
Donald sighed. “Aye, ah suppose you’re right.”
“How did you find out?”
Bessie was pained to see that he was fighting back tears.
“Ah got an anonymous letter. It was waiting for me at the company when ah got back.”
“Did you recognize the writing?” Donald shook his head.
“May I see it?” Bessie asked.
Donald pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to his mother. She scanned the letter quickly and handed it back. Her brief glance at the letter had confirmed a suspicion.
“Dae you have any idea who wrote it?” Donald asked.
Bessie shook her head and looked away at the fire before returning her eyes to meet his. He flashed her a skeptical glance, opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind. “What will you do?” she asked.
Donald shrugged. “Ah don’t know. Have it out wi’ her, ah suppose.” Donald twisted off the ring that May had given him and put it in his pocket. He rose and picked up his coat. “Ah need some time tae think aboot this,” he told his mother and headed for the door.
Donald walked out the close and stopped, uncertain what to do. He was unwilling to confront May right away. Donald turned away from the direction of the store and walked down Dumbarton Road towards Yoker. He found a bench near the Yoker ferry and sat staring at the murky waters of the Clyde, oblivious to the shards of cold that stung his face. The river ran dully under the leaden skies of a cold October morning, in waves roiled by a stiff breeze that hurried the water onward towards the sea.
Donald was more deeply hurt than he could ever allow to his mother. And yet, he had to confess to himself, he was not surprised at the news about May. From the first time he had seen her, his good judgement had been swept aside.
It had lingered in the wings, prodding him now and again, warning of the wrongness and futility of any hope of a permanent connection with her. His shyness with women had been a liability in his dealings with May, he now realized.
Her aggressive attention had found a bemused and vulnerable Donald, whose previous approaches to women had been few and tentative. He had misinterpreted her interest then denied the obvious warning signs that came later.
For May, her first invite to Donald had been no more than her usual game. She had seen Donald as offering a free night out and a brief good time with a handsome man. May had no thought of anything more. But she had quickly discovered that Donald was too serious to be good material for a quick fling. Despite herself, she had liked the young sailor and surprised herself by finding that she couldn’t bring herself to hurt his feelings.
May had received no sympathy from her friend Linda. “If ye gie that chap up, yer aff yer heid,” Linda told her. “He’s a damn sight better than aw thae nyaffs ye
have
been goin’ oot wi’.”
May had to agree with that. But it was not long before she again felt herself repelled by the notion of being tied to one man. This force intensified when Donald was at sea. His absence lent weight to her rationalizations. “It’s just a bit o’ fun,” she told a disgusted Linda. “There’s no’ harm in it.”
“There’s plenty o’ harm in it,” Linda told her. “It’s no’ fair tae Donald. If ye’re no’ interested in him then ye should do the decent thing an’ stop seein’ him,” she insisted.