Roses of Winter (7 page)

They lay still for many long minutes until the silence seductively drew them out. Except for Betty, who had to be physically brought out from below the table. Alec gently pried her hands away from her face. “Are ye aw right, Betty? Let me take a look at ye.” She was on the verge of hysteria. Alec shook her gently. “Come on now, Betty, we’re all right.” He put his arms around her and held her to him, her small frame wrapped in his muscular arms. With gentle words he coaxed her back to herself.

They dozed no more that night, wondering what in Scotstoun had been hit. It had to be nearby. They waited out the few remaining hours until dawn, shaken and uneasy. In the morning, red-eyed and weary, they huddled around the kitchen table trying to liven themselves with cigarettes and Betty’s strong, hot tea. Revived a little, Willie once more was determined to set off for Clydebank. “Bugger work, ah have tae get down there.”

“Ye’ve nae need tae worry aboot work,” Wattie Mckay said with determination. “Ah’ll straighten that oot wi’ the foreman masel’. Naebody could expect ye tae go tae work at a time like this.” Willie knew he was right. But even now it was hard for a man who hadn’t missed a day in ten years, and hardly at all in a lifetime, not to feel uneasy about missing work. The hard, uncaring times of the thirties had left their mark.
 

Willie rose from the table. “Now Willie,” Wattie began, “might it no’ make sense tae wait a wee while and see if Ella disnae turn up here. If ye gang doon there the noo wi’ everything aw at six and sevens yer shair tae miss her.”
 

Willie was insistent. “But Wattie, it’s no’ just Ella, its May and Tam and the bairn an aw.”
 

“Ah know, ah know," Wattie said sympathetically. “Just gie it a wee while, ok pal?”
 

“Ach, maybe yer right, Wattie, but just for a while mind.” Willie sat back down heavily.
 

Despite their comforting words, they were all afraid the worst had happened and, if it had, what better place for Willie to find out but among his friends and neighbors. They sat around the fire lapsing into silence when they ran out of things to say.

Wattie stood up. “Well, ah have tae be aff tae mah work. Dinnae you worry aboot you no’ showin’ up, ah’ll fix it wi’ his nibs.”
 

With the men gone Willie felt uncomfortable sitting in the kitchen with the women. They cajoled him into staying for a while with cups of tea but his restlessness reached a point where, despite their protests, he walked out into the close heading for the street. He was at the close mouth when he bumped into Wattie who was just then turning in.

“Whit are you daeing back? Whit is, whit’s happened?”
 

Wattie said nothing and leaned on the wall of the close. He reached in his pocket, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He took a long drag before looking back at Willie.

“Ah went doon tae Yarrow’s but ah didnae make it by the front gate. Whit used tae be the gate that is.”
 

      
"Thae bombs hit Yarrow’s?” Willie asked.
 

      
Wattie nodded. “Aye. There wis glass everywhere. The place looks like it goat a right pastin’. They were jist letting a few men intae the yard, and they sent the rest o’ us hame.” He took another drag on the cigarette and stared at the other wall.
 

But Willie felt there was something else his friend knew, and he pressed him for more details.
 

“Aye well,” Wattie said heavily, “they got the bomb shelter near the plumbing shop. Every man that wis in the place is deid.”

Betty and Mary McKay and her two daughters, had followed Willie out of the house and were listening. There was a shocked silence in which they looked at each other, trying to take in the terrible news.
 

A No. 9 tram pulled to a stop across the street and left to reveal the figure of Ella. For a moment they hesitated, then sure of her identity, rushed to her side dodging a bicyclist who was coming up at a fair clip and swore at them as he passed. But they came to a halt a few steps from her, shocked by her haggard and filthy appearance.

Ella, who always took such pride in herself and her house was in such a state of disrepair and distress that at first no words would come out. Her hair was matted and thick with plaster and dirt. Her good coat was ripped at the shoulder, a great flap of fabric hanging down to her belt. Dried blood stained her legs and face. They were horrified and immensely relieved in the same instant.

Betty stepped forward and grasped Ella’s arm, but she wrenched it free and went over to Willie. Without saying a word she looked him right in the eye, and a silent communication, a special knowledge built on years of marriage, passed between them. To the great shock and consternation of all but Ella, Willie began to cry. Ella put her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder.

 
Betty and Mary looked at each other and shifted on their feet, uncomfortable beyond words at this scene. Neither had ever seen a man cry before. And then they understood what had passed between Ella and Willie.
 
Betty put her hand to her mouth and looked helplessly around her.

“Come on you two, come wi’ me,” Mary McKay ordered, shepherding Willie and Ella towards the close. Like children they allowed themselves to be brought along, tears streaming silently down their faces.

Mary brought them into Betty’s kitchen and sat them down. “Betty, dae ye have anything stronger than tea?” Mary demanded.
 

Betty left the room and returned a few moments later with a bottle of whiskey. “Alec keeps this for medicinal purposes” she told Mary.

“Oh aye,“ Mary said knowingly, “does he get sick a lot then?” noticing the bottle was only a third full. Betty blushed a deep red and started to protest, but Mary held up her hand. “Ah’m sorry Betty, it’s jist aw been too much for me, ye know?” Betty nodded, mollified.

 
Mary heated up the kettle and poured a generous quantity of whiskey into two teacups, mixed in some sugar and hot water and stirred each cup vigorously. “Here, take some o’ this,” she insisted, forcing a cup into first Ella’s and then Willie’s hands.

For Willie and Ella the next few days were a waking nightmare. Somehow they managed to get through that first day, closely watched over by Betty and Mary. They slept poorly, catching a little now and then when pure exhaustion couldn’t be denied.

On Friday night the bombers returned to Clydebank, and they winced at each distant explosion and shrank deeper into themselves. It was not until the Saturday that they were able to return to the place that had once been May’s street. Many in the close came with them, and when they saw the extent of the destruction, they held onto each other and searched for words to make sense of it.
 

For a brief while they held onto the irrational hope that maybe May and her family had gone out somewhere and had missed the bombs and would turn up again as right as rain. They went to every official looking person they could find to ask if they had seen them and, like many others. put up notices inquiring about their whereabouts. But they knew that May had been expecting Ella that night and would have been at home. And Tam didn’t drink, so he would not have been down at the pub. Once Willie and Ella accepted that they were really gone, they had to face another harsh reality. No trace of May or Tam or their child was ever found. They had simply vanished from the face of the earth, crushed and atomized into nothingness. They were to be denied even the simple comfort of a proper funeral.

The people in the close did what they always did when tragedy struck one of their own.
 
They came together in tangible expressions of sympathy that they knew could not really dull the pain but were ways in which they might express their little community’s sense of loss. A collection was taken up in the close and up the street. People would drop in with some hot soup or scones and keep the bereaved company by the fire. But it was one visitor in particular who was to make a great deal of difference to Ella.

On the following Monday, Willie had gone back to his work, and Ella was sitting alone by the fire when there came a soft knocking at the door. There was a pause, and then the knocking resumed, a little louder this time. Ella roused herself and walked heavily to the door. When she pulled back the door and saw who was waiting, she drew in her breath. Standing on the landing, clutching a neat parcel, wrapped in tissue paper, was Bessie McIntyre. She looked uncertainly at Ella who stared back.
 

      
After an awkward silence, Bessie said, “May I come in please, Ella?”
 

      
Ella nodded and stepped back to let her through the door. Bessie stepped over the threshold and followed Ella through to the kitchen. She picked her way carefully through the dimly lit room. The blinds were down, the sign of a house in mourning.

Ella invited her to sit in Willie’s armchair and sat down on one of the plain kitchen chairs she pulled out from the table. Suddenly, Ella remembered her manners. “Wid ye like some tea, Mrs. McIntyre?”

 
“Oh yes, that would be very nice. But please, would you call me Bessie?”
 

Ella, who had hardly spoken two words to this woman in all the years they had lived up the same close, was reminded of how well spoken Bessie was. “Aye, if that’s all right wi’ you,” agreed Ella who busied herself with the ritual of making the tea.
 

Bessie looked up at Ella, and her next words came out in such a gentle and kind manner that Ella put down the teapot and turned to look at her. “I just wanted you to know how sorry I was to hear the news about….” She broke off and Ella was astonished to see her dab at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. Recovering herself, she went on. “I always thought that your May was such a fine young woman, such a great credit to you. I was heartsick when I heard the news.”
 

Ella’s heart thawed at the obvious sincerity and feeling of the woman. “That’s awfy kind of ye, Mrs... Bessie. It means a lot tae me tae hear ye say that.” She sat down on the chair and burst into tears.
 

Bessie rose and went to her, rested one hand on her shoulder for a moment then went to finish making the tea. By the time she came back with two cups in her hand, Ella was wiping her eyes. “Here Ella, have your tea,” she said gently.

They sat quietly for a while looking at the fire until Bessie put down her cup. “I’ve brought a little something for you.”
 

“Och ye shouldnae have done that, Bessie.”
 

Bessie waved aside her polite protest. “Well, open it then,” Bessie urged.
 

Ella carefully undid the ribbon and unfolded the paper. “Oh Bessie,” she gasped, “whit a wonderful thing tae give tae me.” She held up a hand embroidered linen tablecloth, so delicately worked and fine it took her breath away. Overcome, she placed it carefully aside and hid her face in her apron. Bessie sat quietly, waiting for Ella to compose herself. After a time she raised her face to look at Bessie. “Did ye dae that yersel’? Och, its that nice ah couldnae bring masel’ tae use it. Ah’ll keep it for show.”

Ella poured another cup of tea for Bessie. “Have ye had any word from yer sons? Ah hope they’re aw right.” Bessie sighed. Having both of her lads at sea in the Merchant Navy was a constant source of worry for her. When letters arrived they were often weeks old and for all she knew the writer could be dead and at the bottom of the sea before she received them. Sometimes the letters had pieces cut out or inked over. She hated the idea of strangers reading her mail.
 

“I just got a letter from Donald. He’s been crossing the Atlantic to America but until he gets home I usually don’t know where he’s been exactly. They censor their letters you know.”
 

“Oh, that’s awful, reading your mail like that.”
 

Bessie nodded. “But there’s been no word from Alec for quite a while. I can’t sleep at night for the worry.”
 

“And now we’re no’ safe at hame either,” Ella said. “It’s a terrible thing this war. Ah hope its over soon.”

Again Bessie sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t see it being over for quite a while,” she said. “My husband Murdo was in the last one you know, though I didn’t know him then.”

Ella nodded. “Aye, so was Willie. It changed him, he wis never the same efter that. Oh, he’s good tae me an aw that, but the spark went oot o’ him when he came back.”

“Yes, Murdo won’t talk about it but it must have taken its toll. I hope it will be different for Alec and Donald but I fear it won’t.”

They spent the morning talking and Ella was surprised to find that she was enjoying Bessie’s company. The woman seemed to have a breadth of knowledge about a whole host of things. It had carried her away from her tragedy for a few short hours. The spell was broken when Bessie looked at the clock. “Oh my, look at the time. I need to get back.”
 

“Bessie, wid ye come back an’ see me again when ye hae the mind tae?”
 

“I will,” said Bessie firmly, “you can be sure of that, Ella. And maybe you would like to take a turn down to see me?” They parted with a promise to do just that.

“Whit, are ye telling me ye got a visit from that wumman?” Betty Gillies exclaimed later that day when she dropped in for her usual tea and blether. “Well ah never.”