Roses of Winter (35 page)

“Don’t you worry aboot him. Ah’ll see he gets fixed up. And he better no’ try any mair o’ his nonsense wi’ me.”

“Your mother’s coming through tae bide wi’ me for a while tae,” Mrs. McGurk assured her.

Pearl thanked them both, feeling a great deal of shame for the terrible display put on by her father. “Ah’m awfy sorry ye had tae get mixed up in this.” They waved aside her protests and sent her off down the stair.

When Ellen came to the door she found Pearl standing on the mat. “Ah telt ye ah wid be seeing ye,” her friend told her. Ellen brought her through to the kitchen. It was only then, in the glow of Mary’s fireside, and bathed in her solicitous concern, that Pearl felt safe.

They looked at her expectantly, bursting to know what had happened but reluctant to appear too eager. Pearl, her mind relaxed sufficiently to comprehend the full implications of her abrupt departure from her family, knew that an explanation was owed to her benefactors. Shame over her father’s behavior fought with her need for the comfort of their sympathy. She had thought of holding back the most sordid details. But once begun, anger drove on her story. Mary’s sympathy turned to ire when Pearl related Patrick’s behavior on the landing.

“Ah’ll no’ have ye goin’ anywhere near that man,” she insisted. “The very idea of a grown man behaving like that. He should have the polis on him so he should.” The sight of tears welling in Pearl’s eyes made Mary relent. “There, there, Pearl, it’s no’ your fault.”

“Thank you Mrs. Burns. Ah’m very grateful tae ye for letting me stay with you. Ah don’t know what else ah would have done. If ah could just stay for a few days until ah can sort something out?”

“You’re welcome tae stay here as long as ye need tae,” Mary insisted.

“Aye,” Pearl said sadly, “ah don’t see how ah can ever go back there.”

They fell silent. Mary thought of her mother. All those lost years, estranged from her family; Mary knew of countless examples.
Ah wonder
, she thought,
if people will ever learn to have any sense?
 

Chapter 11

Matochkin Strait

In the Barents Sea, 1942

The bombers narrowed the gap quickly. They came on in line abreast, fanning out to mount an attack on each of the four ships. The
Strathcairn’s
guns
opened up first. The first shells arced high. The gunners, with plenty of recent practice under their belts, quickly got the range. Hugh saw hits on the furthest port side aircraft. The
Izmir’s
gunners quickly joined in, targeting the aircraft that was bearing down on their bow. As the Ju-88 raced towards them, Llewelyn ordered a course change to starboard. The ship had just begun to respond to the helm when the nose of the aircraft was enveloped in flames. It shuddered and came skating through the sky towards the
Izmir
.
 

Llewelyn saw bombs leave the aircraft.
We’re going to be hit by the bombs and the plane
, he thought. The bombs crashed harmlessly into the sea, jettisoned by the pilot to clear them from his burning aircraft. The stricken bomber came on, trailing smoke and flames, heading straight for the
Izmir
. For a moment, Llewelyn wondered if the pilot meant to crash into his ship in one final, suicidal attack. The bomber was so close that he caught a glimpse of the blood spattered pilot wrestling frantically with the controls.
 
The aircraft screamed over the ship, barely above the mast.
 
The pilot’s battle to survive ended in a cart wheeling collision with the sea.
 

Llewelyn surveyed the other ships. To his amazement they were sailing along unharmed. He scanned the area around his little convoy, searching for aircraft. Three had broken off their attack and were speeding towards the horizon.
So staying together had worked to their advantage
, he thought.
If only they had been able to persuade Macfarlane
. The thought of Macfarlane brought his mind sharply back into focus. His eyes searched for the
Anglesey
.
 
He quickly found it lying under a dirty plume of smoke.

The ship was in a bad way, down by the head and on fire. Llewelyn saw a few lifeboats scattered around it in a sea littered with floating debris.

“Hugh, try to raise Macfarlane on the RT.”

Moments later, Hugh reported, “No luck, Sir.”

Llewelyn looked back at the
Anglesey
. The superstructure was a mess. There would be many casualties he was sure.

“Try signaling, Hugh.”

“Aye, Sir.”

A few moments later Hugh reported, “No luck there either, Captain.”
 

As the
Izmir
came up on the stricken rescue ship, the extent of the damage was horribly evident.

“My God,” Hugh said in a whisper.

The entire bridge of the
Anglesey
was a blazing wreck. Smoke and flames billowed fiercely from the upper deck.

“Nobody could have survived who was in that,” Hugh said. The bridge crew’s fate was clear. He turned to the captain. Llewelyn shivered as though waking from a nightmare.

“Let’s make sure we do what we can for the living,” he said quietly.

But Hugh was already shouting out orders to head for the
Anglesey
and prepare to
 
lower the boats.
 

“Hugh, do you think we can get a boarding party on board to check for wounded who can’t make it off?” Llewelyn asked.

Hugh looked back at the ship. In the few short minutes since the
Izmir
had hove to, the
Anglesey
had
 
noticeably settled . Her bow was awash in the swell.

“It doesn’t look good, Sir. She’ll be going down any minute.”
 

They watched the rescue launch travel to the
Anglesey
, pick up survivors and return. Hugh spotted a seaman who was being helped over the side. He appeared dazed but uninjured.

“You there,” he called out. The man started and looked up. “Can you make it up here?”

The man gave Hugh a brief nod and was brought up to the bridge.

“What do you know about the situation over there?” Llewelyn asked.
 
“Is any one left on board?” Realizing how abruptly he had assailed the man, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Arnold Gray, Sir, aft gun crew,” the man replied. “We couldn’t get to the bridge. We heard men screaming up for’ard, but we couldn’t reach them.”

Hugh put his hand on his shoulder. “There was nothing you could do,” he said softly. “Get yourself below.” He turned to the sailor who had brought Arnold to the bridge.
 
The man nodded and led Arnold away.
 

“She’s going,” Llewelyn said. Hugh spun around in time to see the bow of the
Anglesey
dip below the sea. The stern reared up, hesitated for a moment, then slipped below the waves. The raging fires were extinguished, leaving a cloud of steam and an oily patch of sea filled with debris.
 

Allan Ballantyne ordered the launch back to the search. They patrolled the area where the
Anglesey
went down.
 
A few dead bodies floating in life jackets were all that remained.

“Shouldn’t we at least try to recover them?” Davy asked. “They’re all some poor mother’s sons.”

“We barely have room for the living,” Allan replied. “And all we would do is send them back to the sea anyway. Let’s try to get some identification from their bodies, at least.”

Davy nodded but said nothing. He knew the routine, but it didn’t sit well with him. Allan steered the launch close to one of the bodies. Davy reached over to grab the corpse’s life jacket and started to pull the body up into the launch so he could search it.

“God, there’s nothing to this one,” he said, surprised at how easily it came out of the water. As the body came inboard he let out a cry. He let go and began retching over the side.

Donald, who had seen the whole thing, needed no explanation. He felt the contents of his stomach rise in his throat but held them back.

Davy was sitting with his head in his hands, weeping.

“Davy, get a grip o’ yersel’,” Donald said, giving a quick look at Allan. The Officer remained silent, whether out of embarrassment or sympathy was impossible to tell. “They’re calling us back tae the ship,” Donald told Davy. "We’re getting oot o’ here.”

Davy wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said.
 
“There wasn’t anything there, just guts hanging down.”

“Ah know, ah saw it too,” Donald replied. “There’s nothing’ tae be sorry about, Davy. Take a look around here. Is there anybody who’s supposed tae like this?”
 

Llewelyn conferred with the other captains on what their next move should be. Iain McLellan suggested they head north to find the edge of the pack ice. Llewelyn demurred, saying that might buy them a little time, but only postpone the problem of getting to Archangel. Eventually they would have to head back into range of the German bombers.

“Aye, ah see yer point,” McLellan grudgingly agreed. They decided to head east toward Novaya Zemlya, then attempt to reach Archangel from a more northerly route. As the launch was being brought aboard, Llewelyn was ringing down to the engine room. They were already underway when Donald stepped on deck.

Two hours later, traveling fast on a zigzag course that brought them eastward, they heard from McLellan.

“We’ve sighted a ship to port, looks like it will cross our course somewhere ahead. Can’t tell who it is yet.”

Within the hour he was back in touch. “It’s the
Hengist
. They’ve changed course towards us and they’re asking if we want company.”

“I assume you said yes,” Llewelyn wryly responded. The
Hengist
was an anti-aircraft ship and would be a welcome addition to their little band.

“McLellan’s reply was terse. “Ah said you’re very welcome as long as you want to go where we’re goin’. They said ‘that wis fine wi’ them.’”

The captain smiled at his friend’s Glaswegian bluntness. The
Hengist
took up the rear, where it would be in a good position to carry its weight against attacking aircraft.

They sailed at full speed into worsening weather. The wind increased, fracturing the gray water into a rough chop that made the
Izmir
rise and roll in sickening lurches. The intensity of the waves increased until the small group of ships was battering into massive walls of water. The
Izmir’s
bows rose at a steep angle to meet the oncoming waves.
   

The ship paused on each crest before rolling down into deep chasms of water. Sheets of spray rose up, cutting visibility. They proceeded more slowly now, fighting to keep their bows head on to the seas. On the bridge, Hugh and the captain were having a hard time remaining upright. Maintaining visual contact with the other ships was next to impossible as they disappeared from sight behind mountainous crests of water and spume from the wave tops.

The wind shrieked past the bridge in a constant whine. Llewelyn and Hugh felt every shudder of the ship through backs braced against the bridge walls.

“Well, at least the Germans won’t be attacking in this weather. I suppose we should be grateful,” Llewelyn said directly into the Hugh’s ear.
 
They strained to hear each other over the roar of the gale.

Hugh nodded. “It’s an ill wind that blows no one any good, Sir. Let’s hope it is kind to us. It can’t be much fun below, though.” The volume of noise from the storm discouraged further conversation.
 

They remained on the bridge through the storm, fighting off the impulse to sleep. Both had been awake for so many hours neither could remember exactly when they had last lain down. Their minds drifted in and out of a no man’s land somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Hugh’s eyes would begin to close, then he would jolt awake, disoriented and groggy. He would wonder how long he had been out and look over at the captain to gauge his reaction. Each time he found Llewelyn staring stubbornly ahead, willing himself to stay awake.
 

At least we have the advantage of the long Arctic days
, Hugh thought, glad not to have to endure this terrible weather in complete darkness.
God, I can’t remember ever feeling this awful
, he thought. But of course he had many times in this war. His body felt heavy, his fatigue so deep that he was feverish and off kilter. He knew that sleep would cure his ills but had no idea when that would be possible. There was no choice but to hang on, enduring each slow minute and clawing his way stubbornly forward to the next.
 

Before the storm had worsened to its present raging fury, they had changed course to bring the ships more directly into the wind. Although this lessened the rolling to some extent, the
Izmir
still bucked like the wildest carnival ride you could imagine, making conditions below thoroughly miserable. The helmsman struggled to keep the
Izmir’s
bows pointed squarely into the storm. To be hit broadside was a calamity that could prove fatal in these seas.