Roses of Winter (48 page)

“Is there something wrong?” Mary asked.

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Ida said. “It’s just that this war drags on and on wi’ nae sign o’ it stopping.”

Mary could see her point. The news lately had been disappointing to say the least. The Americans had landed at Anzio, just south of Rome, at the end of January and were meeting fierce resistance and counterattacks from the German army. The Allied armies trying to work their way up the backbone of Italy were finding it hard going at Cassino. It looked like the Germans had a lot of fight left in them and there was still no sign of an invasion into Western Europe. True, the Allies were giving German cities a heavy pounding, but then, just the week before last, the Germans had mounted their heaviest night air raid on London since 1941.
 

“It’s no’ going tae be easy tae beat the Germans,” Ida said. “They’re no’ going tae roll over and play deid, that’s for sure,” she told Mary.

“We beat them in the last war didn’t we?” Mary replied.

“Aye, but it’s no’ the same this time, is it? Hitler’s a fanatic an’ he’ll fight tae the bitter end. If we want tae beat them we’re going tae have tae go intae Germany an’ a shudder tae think what that will mean.”

I know one thing it will mean
, Mary thought.
Any invasion of Europe would require a lot of supplies for the army and that would put Charlie and Harry at risk too.

“Ah think you’re right, Ida. There’s going to be more hard times afore this war is done. More dead sons and more grieving mothers,” Mary said sadly. “And more women and children killed tae,” she added. “As if there werenae enough already.”

      
The spring, and the better news that followed it, lifted Mary’s spirits. By the middle of May, the Germans in Italy were finally being pushed back. The road to Rome was open and the Russians were again advancing in the east. Mary received word from Charlie that he would be home for a while.

      
When he arrived he looked tense and drawn. Worried, she followed him into the kitchen and sat opposite him. “What is it Charlie? Has something happened tae Harry?”

      
“Naw, Harry’s all right,” Charlie said. “Then what is it?” she asked.

      
“Ach, they telt me ah needed tae see the doctor, tae get a check up,” Charlie said. “There’s nae need for you tae worry,” he said quickly, seeing the look on her face. “The doctor said ah have an ulcer and ah canny go tae sea any more. Ah’ll have tae find a job ashore.”

      
Mary felt elated. She would have her man home with her. But her delight quickly turned to worry.
 
“Is it serious, Charlie, this ulcer.”

      
"Serious enough, ah suppose, tae keep me away from the sea,” he said. “The doctor told me ah’ll have tae watch whit ah eat from now on. And no’ much alcohol,” he said.

      
“Well, ah’m sure that’s no’ a bad thing,” Mary told him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all, she thought. She would have her man home and make sure he looked after himself. “Are you allowed tae have tea?” she asked playfully.

      
Charlie grinned. “Aye, ah believe tea is all right,” he told her. Mary put on the kettle.

      
“So, whit dae ye think ye’ll dae?” Mary asked when she was sitting back by the fire.

      
“Ach well, ah figure ah’ll be able tae find something,” Charlie said. “Ah would imagine men wi’ mah experience are a bit scarce right now, wi’ so many away at the war. Ah was thinking o’ maybe trying tae get a job on the tugs. Ah worked on them afore and ah still know a few o’ the old timers on the river. Besides, ah would at least be on something that floats and ah wid be hame most nights.”

      
“Ah think that’s a grand idea,” Mary said, and meant it. She knew that a conventional job ashore would not suit Charlie. This way he would be around the ships he loved and she could have him close by.

      
Charlie soon found work with Steele and Bennie. The Clyde was a busy place in wartime and the tugboats played a vital role in moving cargo ships up and down the narrow river, maneuvering them in and out of the crowded docks. The tugs, squat, powerful and unglamorous in the eyes of some were a common sight on the river. They had their dangers too; a snapped hawser, an incautious or delayed maneuver could bring disaster, ripping off a leg or dragging the boat asunder.

      
Charlie was in his element tending the powerful marine diesel engine. Easing a large ship into the confines of one of the many docks along the river required fast and sure responses to the urgent and frequent commands from the skipper. Charlie handled the engine with the finesse of a maestro conducting a fine symphony orchestra.

      
Mary was pleased that Charlie was more like his old self. She worried about his health but, as Charlie said, “it’s an ill wind that blows naebody any good.”

      
“Did they no’ inquire about your health when you signed up on the tugs?” Mary had asked him.

      
“They didnae ask so why should ah say a word?” he replied. “Besides, the doctor telt me the reason ah had tae give up the sea was because ah couldnae take the risk o' being so far away from help if mah stomach acted up. On the tugs ah rarely get outside the Cloch lighthouse so its nae bother at aw.”

      
The weather at the end of May was unusually warm and the heat brought people out into the streets and parks.

      
“Ah don’t mind a wee bit o’ nice weather,” Ida said, “but this is the limit. Ah bet ye could fry an egg on that pavement oot there.” The windows were open but the curtains hung limply in the still air.

      
“Ah know,” Mary agreed. “Ah had tae throw oot the end o’ the milk. So, if ye want tea ye’ll have tae dae without. There’s no point in getting any more in this weather.”

      
Ida mopped her brow with the end of her apron. “Ah never thought ah would refuse tea but it’s too damn hot for it.”

      
“They say it cools ye down, “ Mary said, “but ah never saw the sense in that.”

      
All this talk about the heat was just making her feel hotter
, Mary thought. “Charlie thinks the invasion will be any day now,” she said.

      
“What makes him think that?” Ida asked.

      
“You know Charlie, he knows a lot of folk,” Mary told her. “He always seems tae know everything before anyone else does. He says there’s talk about men and supplies being assembled down in England. They must be getting ready for something.”

      
“Aye well, if it’s true, it’s about time,” Ida said.

      
“Charlie says that they’ll need tae start early enough in the summer if they’re tae get a foothold in Europe before the winter sets in,” Mary told her.

      
“Then, he’s right,” Ida said, “It shouldnae be too long.”

      
The next morning, Mary was up before dawn. It was her turn at the steamie and she liked to get an early start. Before the war she had taken on this task alone, sometimes mustering help from Ellen or Betty. But not long into the war, finding the exhausting work more and more burdensome, Mary and Ida had agreed to help each other turn about.

      
Having made certain that the boiler was heating up nicely she came back up the stairs to get the basket with the dirty laundry. She hefted the heavy load and carried it sideways down the stairs so she could see the steps, not wanting a repeat of the time she had slipped and landed on her arse at the foot of the stairs with a pair of Charlie’s grubby long johns draped over her head.
 

      
Mary opened the washhouse door to a wave of warm air and the sound of the boiler singing. Its lid danced an erratic fandango as steam escaped in spurts. She lifted the lid of the boiler and sprinkled in the soap before inserting the soiled linens into the seething tub.
Ah’ll just leave that for a while and give the dirtier stuff a good scrub on the washboard
, she thought.
Then ah’ll get Ida tae help me with the rinsing and wringing oot
. But Ida came through the door while Mary was rubbing one of Charlie’s shirts to get off a patch of grease. She held it up to look at it before putting it back on the board for few final scrubs. “Ah think it’s finally coming oot,” she said, breathing hard with the effort.

      
“We should make them dae their own clothes, so we should,” Ida said.

      
“Ach well, there’s no way to stay clean in their jobs,” Mary replied. “But ah’ll agree it’s no’ hard tae get right fed up wi’ it week after week.”

      
“Are ye ready for me yet?” Ida asked.

      
“Aye, jist aboot,” Mary said. She picked up a stick that was as wrinkled from frequent immersion in hot water as her hands, and swirled the washing in the boiler. She snagged a sheet on the end of the stick and with hands inured to heat from years of rough usage, deftly pulled it out and into a tin basin at her feet.

      
The next few hours were filled with exhausting labor for the women. Each item of laundry, saturated and heavy had to be manhandled into the sink for rinsing and then worked through the rollers of the wringer. Mary was glad of Ida’s help, remembering when she had managed these tasks by herself.
 

      
At last the load of damp laundry was piled high in the tin tub. “Well, at least we have a good day for it,” Ida said. “Aye, we’ll be able tae get it outside on the line the day,” Mary said, thankful not to have to humph the heavy load up the stairs and hang the clothes on the pulley in her kitchen. She hated the clamminess the wet washing brought inside when it was already dreich and damp to begin with.

      
The two women made short work of hanging the washing on the lines. They held the pegs in their mouths until the sheets were in place then pushed them down on the wet cloth. When the last item was hung, they pushed up the long clothes poles to hoist the washing high off the ground.
 

      
"Well ah’m glad that’s done,” Mary said, flopping into a seat by the fire. “It fair takes it out of you,” she continued. “Ah’m quite out of breath.”

      
Ida sat down across from her. “Aye, so ah’m I,” she told Mary.

      
“Whit we need is a tonic,” Mary said mischievously.

      
“Are you suggesting what ah think you’re suggesting?” Ida asked.

      
Saying nothing in reply, Mary left the room and returned with a bottle of sherry. “If Charlie can have a bottle o’ whiskey hidden away that he disnae think ah know about, ah don’t see why ah shouldnae have a private bottle o’ sherry,” she told Ida.

      
Ida laughed. “And ah see it’s the good stuff too,” she observed. “How did ye get yer hands on that?”

      
Mary uncorked the bottle and poured two generous glasses of the amber liquid.

      
“Steady on now,” Ida, joked, “ah have tae see straight enough tae make Hughie’s tea.”

      
“Ah think Hughie’s just going tae have tae take his chances the night,” Mary said and took a long appreciative sip of her sherry.

      
May passed into June. Every day Mary searched the newspapers for news of the war. She kept the wireless on almost all the time now, causing great annoyance to Alastair, who was assigned the task of hauling the heavy batteries up and down the stairs. He didn’t make too much complaint for he had his own favorite programs he liked to listen to.

      
The wireless had become a focal point, a second hearth, bringing music, comedy shows and, more importantly, the earliest news of major events. Mary liked to listen while she did her sedentary chores like mending or sewing.
 

      
On one particular Tuesday she was repairing a tear on Alastair’s trousers. He had graduated to longer pants only recently and Mary grumbled often about his apparent disregard for their condition.
He hasn’t had these a month
, she thought. It would be bad enough if clothes were easy to get. She had manage to find him some that fit and had hoped to make them last at least through the short interval before he outgrew them.
 

      
Her annoyance with her son had caused her attention to wander. The radio fell silent. The pause made her look at it expectantly. A voice broke the silence.

      
This is the BBC Home Service and here is a special bulletin read by John Snagge. D-Day has come. Early this morning the Allies began the assault on the northwestern face of Hitler’s European fortress.

Mary sat frozen, her mending forgotten. Although everyone had expected such an event it was shocking to think that it was really here at last. She thought of the young boys who had died already and were dying now even as she thought about it. The announcer went on with his story, his calm manner belying the historic nature of the events he was describing.