Roses of Winter (26 page)

“Aye, it’s no’ bad,” she conceded. “Now all we have to dae is keep the place from looking like a midden again before he comes.”
 

On the day that Jim was expected, Mary fussed endlessly about her already shining and immaculate home. At last, with a final look around the kitchen, she put on a clean apron and sat by the fire. It was a good measure of her fatigue that she couldn’t even be bothered to make a pot of tea although her throat ached for it.
Well that’s the best ah can dae
, she thought, trying to reassure herself. But, despite the pride and certainty of her family’s worth, she knew that through other eyes more ready to judge her home might still be found wanting.
 

While the condescension directed at working people by the ‘better’ classes did not make her as openly angry as it did Charlie, the unfairness and silliness of the class system ran hard into her sense that people were all the same in the sight of God. It was when she believed that her family were being deprived of their rights that her temper rose and broke through her reserve in a seething indignation that was all the more arresting for its infrequent appearance.

So, while one part of her mind insisted that Jim could take them as he found them, another understood well the source of Ellen’s anxiety. But then a contrary thought popped into her head. She knew very little about Jim.
Maybe we’re no’ gaeing the lad his due
, she thought. At that, she put the impending meeting out of her mind.

The day had drawn in and the light from the window had a gloomy cast to it when Mary heard Ellen’s key in the outside door. Mary stopped in the act of preparing to light the gas mantles and looked expectantly at the kitchen door, through which could be heard the gentle murmur of voices. Ellen appeared, smiling nervously with Jim right behind her. Mary stopped in her tracks.
God, Ellen wisnae joking
, she thought, looking at the handsome lines of the face that was smiling brightly at her.

Taking the initiative, Jim came forward. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you Mrs. Burns.”

“Ah’ve been looking forward tae meeting you as well,” she said, recovering from her momentary lapse. “But came away in and sit ye doon by the fire while I light the mantles. It’s turned oot tae be a gey dreich night oot there.”
 

Jim sat down by the fire and held out his hands to the heat. “You’re right there, and how nice to see a cheery fire.”
Well he has good manners
, Mary thought,
and that’s not a bad sign. And he seems perfectly at ease with no sign of being stuck up
.

“A good cup o’ tea’ll soon warm ye up.”

“Sit yersel’ doon, Ma and let me pit the kettle on,” Ellen volunteered.

Mary hesitated a moment before settling opposite Jim. “Aye, well, thank ye, it’ll gie us a chance tae get acquainted,” Mary replied. “Ellen tells me ye’re from London.”

“Yes, well London area really.”

“So whit dae ye make o’ Glasgow.” Jim thought a moment.

“I like the people just fine.”

“But?” Mary said, laughing, more at ease with the young man than she had expected.

“Well, I find the winter here a bit of a trial,” Jim conceded. “It gets dark so early and it’s so damp.”

Mary nodded her head in agreement. She liked the fact that Jim had offered an honest opinion and not tried to get on her good side. “Aye, ah cannae argue wi’ that. But it’ll no’ be lang until the Spring and maybe then ye’ll see a different side o’ Glesca.”

Jim’s expression changed and he looked at the fire. Mary stared at him, puzzled, until he looked back at her and saw that some kind of explanation was expected in her unasked question.

“Well,” he said, looking nervously at Ellen, “I’ve been trying to find the right time to bring this up.”

“Bring what up?” Ellen asked, putting down the teapot and coming over to sit by him.

“We’re being shipped out soon,” he said.
 

Now we’re for it
, Mary thought, expecting one of Ellen’s famous tantrums; but Ellen said nothing.

“I didn’t know quite how to tell you. We were having such a nice time and …” The room fell into a silence broken only by the slow ticking of the clock on the mantle and the crackle of the fire. Mary raised herself from the armchair feeling every one of her years, and more. She was sick of this war and the way it was wrecking the life they had known. Now, finally, when Ellen was with a nice man, her happiness was threatened. It was inevitable, Mary supposed but none the more tolerable for all that.

Mary feared Ellen’s silences far more than her tirravees. She placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “C’moan noo pet, we don’t want tae spoil Jim’s night here. Come away an’ have some tea. Ah baked the scones ye like.”

“Aye ye’re right, Ma,” Ellen replied. “Ah know ye went tae a lot o’ trouble fer us. It’s jist that there’s nae way tae win wi’ this bloody war. Aw ye want is an ordinary life, tae be a wee bit happy. An’ then ye think ye are an’ the next minute it slaps ye in the face.”

“Ah know pet, ah know. But there’s nothing we can dae aboot it, ” Mary said.
 
She turned to Jim. “Ah managed tae get mah hands on some bramble jam. A friend o’ mine brought it up from the country. It’s home made and ye’ll no' get the like of it in any store.”

After the first scone, Jim needed no urging to have more. Spreading his second scone with jam, Jim was curious about its content. “This jam is marvelous, Mrs. Burns. But what are brambles and where can you get more of this mysterious fruit?” he asked.

Mary looked puzzled and it was Ellen who supplied the answer. "It’s what you wid call blackberries an’ they grow wild.”

“Oh yes, I know those. They’re not much fun to pick though. I bet I know something you haven’t tried. I’ll see if I can bring some the next time I come.”

Mary was intrigued. “Whit wid that be?”

“Have you ever tried gooseberry jam?” he asked.

Mary had to concede that she hadn’t. “But ah can go wan better than that, Jim,” she teased, enjoying his easy banter.
 
“Dae ye know whit rowan jelly is?” she asked.

He shrugged playfully to show he had no idea. “You have the better of me, Mrs. Burns. I give up, I have no idea.”

“Aye, well, ye see, it’s a very Scottish thing, Jim, so ah’m no surprised ye havenae heard o’ it. It’s made from the berries o’ the Rowan tree.” She explained the old tradition of planting a Rowan tree by the gate to keep away evil from a house. “Ask Ellen tae show ye wan when ye’re oot at the park.”
 

Under the comforting influences of the cheery fire and the wonderful scones and jam, Jim’s news was forgotten. The ease with which Jim had slipped into their lives was a source of wonder to Mary when she thought of it the next day. So well had the evening gone that she could scarcely remember the intensity of her anxiety in the days leading up to Jim’s visit.
 
But the success of the evening was overshadowed by the change that came over Ellen in the days following Jim’s departure. She had followed him out to the close after his goodbyes to Mary and they had lingered a while in the darkness of the dunny, reluctant to part.
 

He held her close to him, feeling her tears on his cheek. She broke from his embrace and held herself away from him. Ellen turned her head to the wall. The cold of the tiles was like a burn on her face.

Jim put his hand on her shoulder. “Please stop crying, Ellen. You know there’s nothing I can do about it. I have to be back at the barracks in a few minutes and I don’t want to leave you like this.”

Ellen sighed and turned to face him. “Ah don’t even know where you’re going,” she said.

“You know I can’t tell you where we’re going,” Jim said. “I couldn’t, even if I knew.” I’ll write as soon as I can but I still won’t be able to tell you. The censor reads all the letters. You know that. Please Ellen.”
 

She allowed him to bring her to him. He kissed her, keeping hold of her hand. “I really have to go. Go on up the stair, I don’t want to leave you in this dark close by yourself. I’ll wait until you call down to me.”

Ellen nodded, fighting back tears.
 
She climbed the stairs to the door where Mary was waiting. “She’s safe wi’ me Jim,” Mary called out down the stairs. “Good luck tae ye and come back safe tae us. Come away in pet,” Mary told Ellen.
 
“You’re chilled tae the bone. Come and warm yersel’ by the fire.” And that was the first of many nights that Mary was to have her formerly wayward daughter by her side.

❅❅❅❅❅

Jimmie and Pearl watched a puffer move slowly into the lock at Temple. He had asked her if she would like to walk out along the canal bank to Dawsholm. “There’s a wee place up at Temple where we can have some tea and a bite to eat,” he had promised her.

“Oh aye,” she replied with mock tartness. “So how many girls have ye taken oot tae Dawsholm then Jimmie Dow?”

He blushed a bright red. “Nane afore ah met you,” he admitted. Until meeting Pearl he had been painfully shy with women. True, there had been one or two he had wanted to get to know better, as with Ellen. With Pearl somehow, it was different, and he was glad for it.
 

His mother had said approvingly, “Ah said you would meet the right lassie, ye jist had tae be patient.” In the misery of his shyness and loneliness he had dismissed such statements as a mother’s blindness to a son’s deficiencies - until he had fallen for Pearl and realized that she was returning his love. His misery had been replaced overnight with a deep longing for her that brought a warm glow to his belly and tingling expectation that lasted until he saw her again.
 

Jimmie Dow was feeling confused. He had grown up with no explanation of sexuality or knowledge of its physical manifestations. When his body had begun to change as he entered manhood he was ill prepared. His views of love were unformed and naïve and what he knew had been built on the foundation of schoolyard jokes and the raw commentary of his workmates in the shipyard. He had pieced together the basic mechanics of the act but he was having trouble reconciling his love for Pearl with his physical desire for her.
 
The notion had been planted in his head that, if you shouldn’t talk about it, then sex had to be something dirty and shameful.
 

In the silent hours of the night he lay awake with thoughts of Pearl beside him, trying to imagine, with no practical knowledge as yet to guide him, what it would be like to touch her, to enter her and hold her close afterwards.
 

A few nights before, when he had seen Pearl home to her close, his body had betrayed him. He had taken her in his arms and kissed her and was horrified to feel the stiffening in his trousers increase until there was no hope of Pearl not noticing. He separated from her and looked at his feet, his face aflame.

“Ah’ve never known a man that can blush like you, Jimmie Dow,” Pearl observed. “Whit’s the matter now?”

Jimmie said nothing. Pearl took his arm but he shrugged her off.

“Dae ye think ah don’t want you too, Jimmie?” she said quietly. She took his arm again and patted it gently. “There’s nothing tae be ashamed of ye know. I like it that ye want me, Jimmie. Ah really do. I know there nothing we can dae aboot it for a while, but ye shouldnae blame yersel’ for having the feeling.”

Jimmie looked at her, not expecting this reaction.

“Whit is it Jimmie? Dae ye think ah’m no’ a nice girl for stating the facts?”

Jimmie shook his head. “It’s jist that ah’m no’ used tae hear people talking aboot it like that,” he said. “Aye, well, maybe if they talked aboot it mair there wid be less herm done in the world,” Pearl said. “They’re aye ready tae cast oot some poor girl that gets intae trouble but God forbid they wid talk aboot it and maybe gie her some help. Tae listen tae them ye’d think there was a whole lot o’ immaculate conception going on in Glasgow.”

Jimmie laughed. “Aye ye’re right there.”

She drew him close to her again and kissed him hard. “That’s fer you wanting me sae much, Jimmie.”

“Oh no, this is where ah came in,” Jimmie muttered. They burst into a fit of giggling that brought out Mrs. Anderson who chased them away.

“Ah’ll see ye the more,”
 
he called out to Pearl’s back as she raced up the stairs laughing. Turning to Mrs. Anderson, he gave her a deep bow. He went out the close, leaving her shaking her head and smiling to herself wistfully about the sweet follies of youth, and a few memories of her own.
 

They crossed over over the canal and went uphill into the treed expanse of Dawsholm Park. It was later in the afternoon now. The sun sank lower in the sky, the air providing hints of the deeper chill of evening to come.

“It’ll be nice tae come back here when the weather’s warmer,” Pearl told him. “It’s full o’ daffodils.”

“Aye it will that,”
 
Jimmie agreed. They stopped at the top to look back towards Clydebank, easily found by the landmark of the cranes at Brown’s yard.

“Ah wish this war wis over, Jimmie,”
 
Pearl sighed.

“Ah wish it had never bloody well started,” Jimmie said, with feeling.

“At least ye’re no’ in the army or at sea,” Pearl said. “Ah couldnae stand the worry o’ that.”