Silver Linings (12 page)

Normally Jenny would have read the riot act to Kitty about being so careless but she looked long and hard at her granddaughter. What she saw was an overburdened eighteen-year-old who had gallantly dealt with the responsibility of the household here while she herself had wallowed in her grief.

An extremely anxious Kitty waited expectantly for the verbal storm that she knew her grandmother would unleash on her. However, she was somewhat surprised when Jenny quietly said, ‘Kitty, how about I keep Rosebud overnight on Friday night so that you and your pal Laura can go out to the pictures or the dancing?’

Laura and some of her workmates had been to the Palais dance hall since the Americans had arrived, but it was Kitty’s first time. To say she was filled with excited anticipation was an understatement. When they arrived, to Kitty’s annoyance, Laura dragged her firstly into the ladies’ powder room. Never had Kitty seen so many mirrors and she was just so thankful that she was not the poor cleaner whose job it was to keep them crystal clear.

Nose properly powdered, lipstick refreshed and not a hair out of place, they eagerly emerged into the ballroom itself. A feeling of elation overtook Kitty as Glenn Miller’s ‘In the Mood’ rang out and reverberated around the hall. Instinctively her feet, and even her hands, started jiving in time to the beat.

All of the dancers were, like herself, intoxicated by the rhythm, which resulted in them throwing decorum to the wind. Indeed she had never seen such a display of indecent dancing as was being performed on the floor just then. Young men smartly dressed in the uniform of American soldiers were literally throwing young women through their legs and over their shoulders with breathtaking ease.

Kitty was just about to turn to Laura to ask if all American soldiers were contortionists when she was grabbed by the arm and propelled on to the dance floor. Her first words of protest to the brash young man had just left her mouth when she found herself winging her way between his legs. The twisting and curling movements resulted in Kitty’s skirt landing up over her head, and her knickers and suspenders could then be viewed by those standing on the fringes.

The indecent experience should have had Kitty running out of the hall but Laura was amazed to see Kitty jive, whoop and whirl herself off the sprung floor. Obviously she had thrown caution to the wind and no longer cared one whit who was able to see her underwear. Just as the bouncers started to speak to the dancers and warn them that that sort of jiving was not allowed, the tempo of the music changed to that of a foxtrot. The young man, however, instead of releasing Kitty hung on to her and they elegantly circled the floor.

The music finished when the bandstand’s revolving stage started to turn and all that could be heard was the signature tune of the orchestra that was now taking over. When the music changed to ‘We’ll Meet Again’, Kitty was keen to stay on the floor with the pleasant young man, who told her his name was Hank Rogers, but she felt a bit put out when he then bowed to her and thanked her for the dances.

Back on the fringe, where the women waited to be asked the all-important question – ‘Are you dancing?’ – Kitty was surprised when a young black, very handsome American soldier cocked his head towards her and said, ‘May I have the pleasure?’ Now the etiquette in the dance hall was that if you refused to dance with someone then that meant you could not partner anyone else for that particular dance. If you did the man whom you had rejected could ask the bouncers to evict you from the hall. Knowing this, Kitty smiled sweetly to the young man and they took to the floor. To say that her new dance partner was charming and polite would have been an understatement. As soon as the music stopped he tucked his hand under her elbow and escorted her back to the selection area. It was then that she was accosted by Hank Rogers, the first young man she had danced with.

‘You’ve made a fool of me,’ he hissed. ‘Where I come from no decent young white woman would suffer the advances of a black man.’

Kitty was incensed. ‘Well, you see, I come from Leith,’ she replied, ‘and we accept all people and we do not judge them by their religion, nationality or colour of their skin. Believe me, we are only concerned as to whether they are decent human beings and indeed if they have good manners.’ Kitty gave an exaggerated sigh before adding, ‘Unfortunately, sir, because of your attitude you would certainly not be welcome where I come from.’ She then pointed to the young black soldier and added, ‘But he would!’

The response from Hank was not what Kitty expected and it certainly was not the gift of nylons or chocolate: it was a rather hard slap across her face. As she reeled backwards she became aware that someone had come to her rescue and that he had landed a hard punch on Hank’s face. At first she thought it was the young black man who had decided to defend her but she was astonished to find her champion was none other than her brother Jack.

Before anyone could do or say anything else the bouncers summoned the American Military Police, who were on duty at the Palais dance hall, and they soon had both the young white man and young black man in custody and very quickly they were whisked out of the hall.

‘What in the name of heaven are you doing here? And why did you interfere?’ Kitty demanded of Jack.

‘Look, we don’t live in America so we don’t know what their racial tensions are about. Now get your coat on. You’re leaving.’

‘But I’m enjoying myself.’

‘That right? Well until you are more streetwise could I suggest you just keep going to the YMCA dances in Fire Brigade Street.’

‘Fire Brigade Street?’

‘Aye you know, Junction Place, where there are no GIs and certainly no fights. Take a look about you, Kitty. Look at all the bottle blondes who are hoping to marry a GI and get a better life over in America. You don’t need to go after that; you have a good life here – a very good life.’

Kitty was about to challenge Jack and his views when a bouncer came up. ‘I trust, sir,’ he said, emphasising the ‘sir’ to let Jack know that in no way was he suggesting that he considered Jack to be a gentleman, ‘that you will be escorting the young lady out of the hall.’

‘Too true I will,’ was Jack’s explosive reply before propelling Kitty towards the exit. Then before leaving he decided to shout back to the bouncer, ‘Believe me, she’s far too good for this den of iniquity.’

Kitty could only sigh. It had been some week. Firstly she was held responsible for Rosebud being abandoned, then she thought she’d done a first-class job delivering Mrs Ferguson’s baby only to be told by the midwife, Joan Fowler, when she arrived the next day, that the umbilical cord had not been tied off properly. And now she was being dragged home because it would appear she was going to be blamed for a further deterioration in America’s race relations.

Two hours later a fuming Kitty was sitting in an easy chair. The night that she thought was going to be just so magical had turned into a nightmare, ending as it did with her being shoved on to a bus and told by an officious Jack to go straight home. He, of course, was not going to have his Friday night capers curtailed. The last Kitty saw of Jack was him, accompanied by three mates, heading towards the Royal Mile. No doubt they would be going down Niddry Street to St Cecelia’s Halls, better known as the Excelsior Ballroom. This little backwater off the Royal Mile wasn’t as well known as the main dance hall in Edinburgh – the Palais – and therefore fewer American servicemen strayed there. So, to the delight of the locals, no chocolate-waving GI would be waltzing all the best-looking ladies around the dance floor.

Kitty felt completely humiliated at being treated like a naughty child by her brother. After all, Jack was only a year older than herself, and in her opinion less mature. As her vexation grew she inhaled deeply to calm her chagrin but when the outside door opened she shouted, ‘I hope that is you, Davy?’

Light footsteps sounded in the hall before a female voice called, ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Kitty, but I’m not Davy. And I’m surprised to find you here. I thought you were going to be out on the tiles until the wee small hours.’

‘Well, Connie, it would appear that Jack was told to watch out for me. And being overzealous in carrying out his duties, he ended up with me being evicted – evicted, mind you – from the Palais.’

Connie’s bawdy laughter echoed around the room. ‘You’ve got to be joking,’ she spluttered.

‘Unfortunately no!’ Kitty spat. ‘And I would like to know who it was that put that rabid guard dog on to me.’

‘Are you talking about Jack?’

‘Yes. Brother Jack.’

‘It was your dad. I heard him telling Jack to follow you to wherever you went and to make sure you got on a bus back home by ten thirty.’

The cushion that had been behind Kitty’s back was suddenly hurtling through the air. ‘Just because my dad has decided to live a monastic life doesn’t mean that I should become a nun.’

‘Och, get real, Kitty. Your dad is only trying to protect you.’

‘Protect me? Surely you mean that he wants to make sure I will continue to be his unpaid housekeeper.’

Shaking her head, Connie responded, ‘Kitty, you are lucky, very lucky, to be loved and wanted.’

No response was forthcoming from Kitty but her attention was now fully on Connie.
Funny,
she thought,
in all the time I’ve known her I’ve never heard her talk about her past life.
Kitty knew, because Connie wore an engagement and wedding ring, that at one time she must have had a husband. But where was he now? Had he died or perhaps deserted her because of her continual flirting with other men? Kitty wanted to ask Connie what had happened to her marriage but she felt in doing so she might damage her relationship with Connie – a relationship that had become so important to her.

Sensing Kitty’s curiosity, Connie slowly said, ‘Kitty, my dear, life can be shit. But when it is you can do one of two things – wallow in its stench or brush it off your feet and get on with your life as best as you can.’

Kitty look perplexed. ‘What exactly do you mean?’

‘I’m just trying to say to you that the only person who can make you happy is yourself. Believe me, Kitty, no one can make your life worth living other than yourself.’

‘Did something awful happen to you?’

Connie nodded. ‘It did, and when I accepted there was only me who could put it right, I did – and I’ve never regretted having moved in to this place with no hang-ups.’

Kitty was sitting at the table writing her weekly letter to Bobby and, as she dipped her pen into the ink bottle, she began to think about how the war had dramatically changed the lives of all those related to her and in particular the womenfolk, who were especially anxious and afraid for the men doing the actual battling.

She knew it was true that Scotland, because of her vital industries – factories, engineering, coal mines and shipbuilding – was always a target for German bombers. She grimaced as she conceded that Edinburgh, however, was not, with the exception of the dock and shipbuilding areas where her menfolk worked, as badly affected as Glasgow, Clydebank, Coventry and London. With a wry smile she also conceded that the recent air raids were now being concentrated on the cities of Glasgow, Coventry, Liverpool, Manchester and London in the vain hope that the people would be bombed into submission. This meant that Edinburgh, although still a major target in her beloved Leith area, could enjoy some nights without a bombardment.

Her musing, however, was brought to an end when Rosebud impatiently wailed, ‘What are you doing?’

‘Just writing a note to Bobby to say that we are all missing him and that we all hope that he will get some home leave soon.’

‘Does he write back to you?’

Reluctantly, Kitty laid the pen down. She was about to say to Rosebud that it didn’t matter that Bobby very rarely wrote back to her, or anyone for that matter, but what was important was that he got letters from home, to keep his spirits up. But just then the doorbell rang.

On opening the door Kitty was alarmed when she was confronted by a telegraph boy. Thrusting the yellow envelope into Kitty’s outstretched hand the young lad quickly about-turned and fled. Gazing down at the ominous telegram, Kitty experienced her thoughts tumbling into free fall. Her first instinct was to rip open the envelope to read the message. But as it was addressed to her father she could not – and dared not – open it. She was sure that the message was to say that Bobby …

‘Oh no!’ Kitty howled out aloud.

‘What’s wrong, Kitty? Are we in trouble?’ Rosebud asked as she tugged at Kitty’s skirt.

Tucking the envelope into her pocket Kitty then grabbed Rosebud’s hand, before opening the door and fleeing downstairs.

Banging on the Fergusons’ bottom-flat door Kitty shouted, ‘Dora, Dora, I need you to look after Rosebud.’

Kitty was somewhat taken aback when the Fergusons’ door opened and, instead of being confronted with her understanding friend Dora, there stood Dora’s husband, Fred. ‘Calm yourself, lassie,’ he began. ‘What a state you’re in. And what is wrong exactly?’

‘That’s the trouble, I don’t blooming know!’ Fishing in her pocket Kitty dragged out the envelope. ‘This came for my dad and I’m sure it’s bad news about my brother Bobby. He’s in the Merchant Navy on the Atlantic convoys. So you see, Mr Ferguson,’ she babbled on, ‘I just have to get down to Dad, so he can tell me … I wish I could open the blooming thing but I just can’t open anything that’s addressed to my father.’

Fred nodded, and by this time Dora too had come to the door. ‘Off you go, Kitty, and I’ve told you before to bring Rosebud down here to me at any time. Sure she should be mixing and playing with other children.’ Dora paused. ‘Honestly, Kitty, I think her being constantly with adults is the reason that she’s so lippy.’

‘I am not lippy, Mummy Ferguson,’ Rosebud snorted before pushing past Dora. ‘And I am here to play with Ina and Dolly and not with you.’

Kitty didn’t realise how fit she was until she raced from Restalrig Road to the shipyards without once having to stop to ease her laboured breathing.