Roses of Winter (12 page)

It was thoughts of Nessie that preoccupied Charlie. He could not get out of his mind’s eye the image of her learning of Tam’s passing. These were times when nobody went to the door without a certain chill of apprehension. The most innocent sounding knock might be an invitation to hell. There was no moment of relief waiting for Nessie this time.
Next time, would it be him or Harry who lay broken on the sand? Would Mary be the next woman to weep?
The death of a man created a wave of sorrow that rippled out to so many hearts.
 

Charlie cursed this war and the human stupidity that had created it. Life was hard enough without also having to endure this. Without the war, how many more years could he expect, anyway. He had seen his father die at sixty of hard work and being out in all weathers. At forty-four, Charlie, though his life had not had nearly the hardships of his father’s, was beginning to feel the years weigh heavily on him. Tam’s death had smothered his natural optimism. He dwelt on the finality of death. It had been a more frequent topic in his thoughts for some time. Charlie believed that if you are to do any living, it is to be here and now. He had little hope of a hereafter.
 

Knowing that the Germans would surely return, they attempted to deepen the natural depressions in the dunes. They soon stopped. Sand slipped constantly into their excavations. The men felt vulnerable and exposed. Their discomfort increased as the fine sand worked it’s way into their clothing and eyes and other tender places. The winds agitated the finer particles in the air above the dunes, stinging their faces and adding to their misery. Forced to stay in the same clothes for many days, the grime and sweat combined with the sand to open sores. They oozed and hurt, adding to the misery of those listless times between attacks. Nor did they feel safe to seek relief in the sea. The men feared being trapped in the open. The planes could return at any moment. It was a long hard run up the beach to the dunes.

John Stokes had been keeping track of the days. By his reckoning today was May 27, his wife Evelyn’s birthday. He stared at the horizon. His mind was filled with scenes of other times. They had found after years of trying that they could not have children. Their response had been to draw closer together. John remembered how hard it had been to comfort his wife when the truth became inescapable. Her bitter tears had been so hard to bear. He had worked hard to reassure her that he wanted her in his life, whatever might befall.
 

John loved his wife dearly. He had been afraid for her then. That and the separations brought about by sea duty had begun to wear on him. Last year, he had decided to leave the merchant marine to be near Evelyn. The war had intervened, and he had stayed on. On his last evening before departure they had shared a quiet dinner at their favorite restaurant.
 
John had waited until they were sipping the too expensive wine to quietly slip the box across the table. He was richly rewarded by his wife’s loving smile. It wrapped him in its warmth. Once again he felt blessed to see her look at him that way.
 

Evelyn’s image evaporated, dispelled by the captain’s voice.

“What do you see out there, John?” the captain asked in a manner that was teasing but carried a hint of concern.

“Oh I was looking much further away than the horizon, Sir," he said.

“You’ll see her again,” Tierney said.

“I hope you’re right, Captain, but it isn’t looking very promising is it?”

“I’ll grant you that point, but I wouldn’t count us out yet.”

“Maybe not. But you asked me what I see out there. That’s just the point. I don’t see anything. I was hoping by now to see a sea full of ships.”

The captain drew in his breath. “It takes time to organize what they have to do John. I didn’t expect much today, but if things don’t start to happen by tomorrow then I will agree with you that it’s time to worry.”

“Yes, I know you are right, Sir, but it doesn’t make the time sitting on this beach go any faster. And it’s like a shooting gallery out here. Look at that poor man McBain. Of all of us, why only him? It was so sudden, so random.”

The captain’s face turned somber. He felt a personal responsibility for each of his men. The memory of Tam’s bullet-ridden body, torn up and broken, hurt him deeply in places he could not share with John. But John had worked for so long with Tierney, that the captain’s inner spaces were not quite the private territory he might have hoped. Stokes regretted causing him pain. They had developed as close a personal relationship as was possible for two men in their respective roles to have and still recognize the line of rank that separated them.

Charlie sat in the dunes watching the changing hues painted on the heavens by the setting sun. He was a man whose outward good cheer masked a world of quiet interior spaces where his mind would roam unchecked. At such times, the outer world would recede, as though he had withdrawn behind a veil. Neither sight nor sound could penetrate in these moments. Early in their marriage, Mary had accused him of not listening. Later she came to realize that her husband lived in two worlds and could slip between them easily.
 

The sunset before him dissolved into the harbor at Fraserburgh. Charlie was seeing it through the eyes of his fifteen-year old self. His mind filled with the younger man’s frustration and discontent. Late in the day and early in the morning he would come and sit on a bollard to watch the comings and goings in the busy harbor. He was well known to the fishermen and would occasionally be asked to help them. Often he was rewarded with fresh fish for the family.
 
Most of the boats were drifters owned by local families. There were often trawlers from other British ports such as Whitby or Grimsby. Sometimes there were larger ships, coastal vessels that traveled around the British Isles or sailed to the Baltic.

Charlie would watch their sailors with envy. Held throughout his short life within the confines of this small coastal town, Charlie dreamed of faraway places and adventures. A carter’s son whose hopes of an education had been bluntly dashed, even ridiculed, he saw little future for himself in Fraserburgh. In comparison, the lives of the seamen appeared exotic. Charlie was eager for adventure while largely overlooking the hardship and disadvantages.
 

This particular evening, the harbor shone with a golden light. The fishing boats rocked idly at their moorings. The air was heavy with the mingled aromas of seaweed and fish, brought to him by the breeze that had stirred up just moments ago. Charlie was walking along the quay, idly kicking stones, when he stopped to watch a ship maneuvering in to lie along side and tie up. She was a small cargo ship flying a Norwegian flag. Charlie lingered to watch the seamen toss the ropes to men on the quay. Soon a gangway was set in place, and shortly thereafter a man carrying a seaman’s bag walked down it and on to the dock. He was a large, brawny man, clad in trousers of thick twill and a roll neck jersey. His large ruddy face was topped with a navy blue watch cap. The heavyset sailor’s feet, shod in sea boots, landed heavily. He glanced at Charlie as he passed, nodding with a smile. Charlie nodded back. Encouraged, he asked where the man was from.
 

The sailor thought a moment. He answered in good if accented English. “Are you asking where we just sailed from or what our home port is?”

Charlie’s brow furrowed while he deliberated. “Whit place did ye jist came frae.”

“Ah,” the man smiled, apparently at home with the local dialect. “That would be Riga. Do you know where Riga is?” Not wanting to appear ignorant, Charlie hesitated. His curiosity overruled his pride. He shook his head. “Well, do you know where the Baltic Sea is?” Now really feeling frustrated, Charlie was again forced to admit he did not. The man paused and looked at Charlie appraisingly. “How would you like to see it for yourself?”

“Whit dae ye mean, Mister?”

“We could use an extra hand for a while. How would you like to sign on for the trip?”

Charlie’s mouth dropped open. “Ye mean ah could cam wi’ ye tae the Baltic?”

The man nodded. “As long as your father and mother do not mind, of course. We will be back here in a month.”

 
Charlie made a quick decision. “That sounds grand. Ah will cam wi ye.”
 

The man nodded. “Talk to your family. If they agree then be here early tomorrow. If you don’t show up we’ll find someone else.”

“Ah’ll be here,” Charlie cried. He hurried off, a flush of excitement spreading though his body. Of course, he said nothing to his parents. Next morning, carrying a sack with a few items of clothing inside, he boarded the ship and was immediately put to work.

Harry was used to Charlie’s quiet spells. He glanced at Charlie’s face. Charlie was smiling as though thinking of the funniest joke in the world. “Whit’s sae funny Charlie, especially here?” Harry asked.

Charlie looked at him. “Ach ah wis jist thinking o’ something that happened a long time ago.” And that was all Harry could get out of him. Charlie thought of the consequences when he returned.
 

While Charlie had very good reasons for not seeking his parent’s permission, he had not wanted to hurt them by disappearing without trace. As the ship departed from its berth, he had made sure to stand prominently on the deck and wave vigorously to all of his fishermen friends. It was not very long before the news and nature of his departure was known to his mother. She gave out a deep sigh born of a frequently and sorely tried patience and wondered, not for the first time, how to tell his father.

With little to do, the day before them seemed endless in the living of it. Charlie, a man who in other circumstances had enjoyed a quiet sit on the beach with a newspaper and a cigarette, decided that he had had enough of sand. Tedious as the hours were, living on the beach required caution and watchfulness. In an instant the quiet boredom of the shore could be transformed into long moments of fear. The long intervals of
 
ennui interspersed with instant horror left the men unsettled, preventing the usual pastimes when men gather. The uncertainties of survival and sudden death instilled a reluctance to venture out for idle recreation. They kept low and hunkered down, waiting for whatever might happen next. That next event might well be the appearance of German tanks.

The sun fell into the Channel, bringing on another night. In the early morning of the following day, when John made his customary sweep of the sea, he blinked, shielded his eyes against the flint sharp light, and called out to the captain. “Sir, look.” Tierney followed his outstretched arm to see several ships at anchor offshore in the direction of the Belgian border. Stokes looked back towards Dunkirk. Two destroyers rode at anchor. Sailing behind them was a passenger steamer. Moments later the ship was engulfed in a great explosion. It reappeared, slowing and settling, fatally wounded.
 

Their spirits revived after news spread along the beach that three minesweepers had tied up at the East Pier. Tierney and Stokes decided to look for information at the source and made their way to the pier. “Well, John, this is encouraging news,” Tierney said, looking hopeful again after days of rising doubt. “It makes sense that they would wait until a way was clear before sending over the main body of the evacuation fleet.”

They walked around the end of the pier until they came upon a sergeant. Tierney greeted the man, who snapped off a salute executed with flair, and a cheerful smirk that endeared him at once to the sailors. “Morning, sirs, and what can I be doing for the Merchant Navy on this fine morning?” He might have been collecting tickets on the pier at Brighton.
 

“Ah well,” he said, after hearing their inquiry, “I believe I have some good news for you both.” He saw Stokes’ skeptical look. “This is for real, Sir. They are gathering up everything that will float over there, and it’s going to be headed here.”

Tierney looked at the man. “Are you sure about this?”

“God’s truth, Sir. Everything from pleasure steamers to small boats. News came fresh from Dover.” Tierney thanked the man and they headed back to tell the crew. “Well,” Tierney said, “I told you they wouldn’t leave us here. There’s too much at stake.”

John nodded. “Yes sir, perhaps you’re right. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance we’ll get out of here after all.”

Chapter 4

Reconciliation

Scotstoun, 1941

Ella had become a regular visitor to Bessie’s kitchen. The first time she had entered this once alien territory she felt strange and awkward. Now, some weeks on from Bessie’s surprising visit, she was more at ease if still on her guard. “Have ye had any news o’ yer sons?” she asked Bessie.

“Yes, I’m happy to say. Well, Donald writes regularly anyway. But that Alec, weeks can go by and I never hear a word. Then when I do get a letter it is usually little more than a note.”

“Ach well, ye know whit lads can be like,” Ella said, trying to be diplomatic. “And there is a war on, ye know. They’ll no’ have much time for writing letters.”

But Bessie was not to be turned away so easily from making her point. “Just look at this one and you’ll see what I mean.”

“Och, Bessie, ah don’t want tae be reading yer private letters from yer son.”

“Well, that’s exactly my point, Ella. I could paste this one up on the wall of the close and little difference it would make.” Bessie picked up the letter, smoothed it out and prepared to read. She stopped and held up the letter for Ella to see. “As you can see, the address is almost as long as the text.”