Capital Union, A (9 page)

The day of the tribunal came too soon and the train to Glasgow was full of servicemen and sailors, who had docked at Leith and were travelling home. They were bearded and
hollow-eyed
, gazing out at the hills and the ruin of Linlithgow Palace as if they were seeing them for the first time. The carriage was full of smoke and Jeff pursed his lips, brushed at the creases in his best suit and looked through his papers balanced on his briefcase, as if he was doing something so important he couldn’t look up for a moment. I brought him a cup of tea from the buffet, but he let it grow cold on the little table below the window.

‘I’ll drink that if you don’t want it, pal,’ said the soldier opposite, and Jeff nodded. ‘Going far, doll?’ the man asked me, as Jeff looked down again.

‘Glasgow,’ I said.

‘A meeting,’ Jeff added, with a look at me under his brows.

‘Home Front?’

‘You could say that,’ Jeff answered.

‘Glad you boys are holding the fort. I was never much good at paperwork.’

I excused myself. My stomach was churning and I only just made it to the toilet before I threw up my tea. I sat there until someone knocked on the door, and then I stood at an
open window at the end of the carriage until we were almost at Queen Street.

‘Where have you been?’ Jeff asked, as I slid open the door to the compartment.

‘You want to keep an eye on that one, pal,’ said the soldier. ‘A regular film star.’

Jeff sniffed as he leant towards me. ‘I’ve been sick,’ I said. He put his arms around me. ‘I’m not going to jail, Pip,’ he
whispered
. The soldiers pressed past us, down the narrow corridor.

We walked out from under the huge glass canopy of Queen Street station and through George Square to Ingram Street. The Sheriff Court was in a sandstone building with six columns that had flowery tops at the front. It stretched back a long way. I felt I was getting smaller as we walked up to it. A policeman opened the door for us.

The room where the tribunal was held was very bare. A photo of King George hung behind the heads of three men seated at a polished oak table. One stood as we entered and led me to a seat behind the door. His feet squeaked on the lino as he moved back across the room, pointing to another seat for Jeff in the centre of the floor. Jeff walked over to the coat stand in the corner. ‘You won’t be here long enough for that,’ the man said, but Jeff hung up his coat anyway. It seemed to annoy the man who had spoken.

‘Dr Jeffrey James McCaffrey of Falkland Terrace, Edinburgh?’ he said. ‘You know why you are in attendance at the Sheriff Court?’

‘I am fully cognisant of my position,’ replied Jeff.

‘Do you have a valid reason not to sign up?’

‘I’d like to know to whom I am addressing my remarks,’ Jeff replied.

The man introduced the others at the table. One was in uniform.

‘It is really quite simple,’ said Jeff, ‘I do not wish to fight under the auspices of conscription.’

‘On what grounds?’

‘On the grounds that Westminster cannot enforce the National Services (Armed Forces) Act of 1939 in Scotland under the Act of Union.’

‘You are a member of the SNP?’ said the uniformed man.

‘Yes.’

‘Then you will be aware that we have already been over this ground with your Chairman, Douglas Grant.’

Jeff opened his mouth to speak but the man held up a hand. ‘Let me cut to the chase, Dr McCaffrey. All former
rulings
have been superseded by the Act of 1941, and as long as that remains a statute, it is the law. It doesn’t matter if an individual wishes to contest it. It is law until repealed by
subsequent
legislation, and therefore you are bound by its
jurisdiction
. Do I make myself clear?’

Jeff shuffled his papers. ‘I wish to invoke the League of Nations and its attendant organisations,’ he said.

‘Let us save ourselves the cost of another High Court appearance, Dr McCaffrey. For international purposes, Scotland and England constitute one state. Perhaps we might be more inclined to listen to your views when the guns fall silent across Europe, and your fellow countrymen return.’

‘I am committed to the declared aims of the SNP to
establish
a self-governing Scotland,’ said Jeff.

‘Now be a good fellow,’ the third man interrupted, ‘and sign up. We can offer a man of your evident intelligence a
non-combatant
role with His Majesty’s Government.’

‘I will only fight for Scotland,’ said Jeff.

The man sighed. ‘Perhaps you would agree to tend the soil of your beloved Caledonia until this war is over? There are
various
nurseries across Scotland. I believe the work there would not be too arduous.’

‘I will not surrender my principles,’ said Jeff.

‘Then we have no option but to recommend you for a jail term of twelve months. Do you wish to contest the ruling?’

‘No,’ said Jeff. ‘I will be a nationalist martyr.’

‘Then you are a fool, Dr McCaffrey,’ said the man, ‘with no thought for your wife.’

Jeff looked round at me and winked.

The street looked the same when we came out, but everything had changed for us. Jeff walked off under the sandstone arches opposite the court, muttering something about ‘triumphal archways to my own bloody misfortune’, when I stopped to look up at them. ‘We haven’t time for this, Agnes,’ he said, and walked quickly up a hilly side street, which looked as if it led straight into the clouds. The name ‘St Vincent Street’ was carved into one of the tall buildings. Three-storey houses lined the pavements at the top, and on my left I could see out over the Clyde. Somewhere down there, they were building warships among the bombed-out tenements. Jeff stopped at Blythswood Square to let me catch my breath. All the houses looked out onto a beautiful garden, but it was locked behind iron gates. I would have liked to climb over the fence, sit for a while and talk. It was like a Garden of Eden, full of growing things, but he didn’t want to stop. ‘I don’t want to discuss it,’ he muttered. ‘They are just misguided, self-serving plebeians afraid to shake the status quo. They won’t count for anything at the end of the day.’

We walked towards Charing Cross station and I tried to put my arm through his as we reached the Scottish Home Rule Association, but he shrugged me off and took the five steps up to the door in a single bound.

Jeff left me sitting in the kitchen while he went off with a Mr Lamont to discuss whether the SNP petition should demand amnesty for himself as well as Douglas, but in the end they decided it was not a good idea. ‘Douglas is a figurehead,’ Mr Lamont explained as they came back through. ‘Adding other names would only muddy the water. I have to ask you to suffer your jail term quietly. I secretly fear that MacGilvray might be right that conscientious objection in the membership might hinder, rather than help, the cause of nationalism.’

‘MacGilvray was a fool to divide the Party,’ said Jeff. ‘The new Scottish Convention is just a distraction.’

‘Still the same cause, Jeff.’

I dried the cup I had used and hung up the dish towel. Someone had embroidered it with thistles. ‘Why can’t you help my husband, Mr Lamont?’ I asked. ‘How will I survive in a war without him?’

‘Not now, Agnes,’ said Jeff. ‘I can ask the Edinburgh University branch of the SNP for support. I believe they are going to campaign for Douglas for Rector, so they must be pretty active.’

‘Never say never,’ laughed Mr Lamont. He helped me into my coat and shook Jeff’s hand. He bowed to me. ‘Although I am not in complete agreement with your husband’s particular stand, you should be proud of him, Mrs McCaffrey. In his way he is fighting a different kind of war on behalf of all Scots. Some wrongs need to be righted, we’re just not all able to agree on when or how.’

‘But we have had peace with England since 1707, Mr Lamont. My father said they lent us money. Doesn’t that count for something?’

Jeff looked over at me as if I was a mental defective short of a bed, but Mr Lamont said, ‘An unequal partnership does not make a happy marriage, Mrs McCaffrey.’

‘That is enough, Agnes,’ said Jeff, opening the front door before I could say anything else. ‘We’ll be late for our train. Good day to you, Mr Lamont.’

When he turned to me in the street he looked like he hated me. ‘Do you think I went through that tribunal for fun? Do you think I have nothing better to do than sit in prison? My work for the Party is important.’

‘I didn’t mean…’

‘You undermined me with your pro-Unionist comment. We were standing in the middle of the Scottish Home Rule Association in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘I do support you. I am here, amn’t I?’ I tried to take his arm. ‘But you must admit we haven’t been sneaking across the border to steal each other’s cows since the Union.’

‘That is typical of you – take the simple view. Reduce everything to the farmyard.’

‘You have a very low opinion of me.’

‘I judge as I find,’ said Jeff, and walked off.

‘I know enough to know you are trying to plant in the wrong season,’ I shouted after him, but he didn’t turn round. I watched him go. The rain crept under my collar in thin, cold lines and ran down my back. I followed him as best I could to Queen Street station but I lost my way at the end of Sauchiehall Street. A woman directed me to the side entrance and I found Jeff at the barrier, urging me to hurry up.

‘We’ll miss the train, Agnes,’ he shouted, and I ran across the concourse. He caught my arm as I slipped on the wet
surface
of the platform, and opened the door of the last carriage just as it began to pull out. The guard blew his whistle and waved his flag to the driver as Jeff levered me on board and jumped in after me, slamming the door. ‘Let’s not fight, Pip,’ he said, as we found an empty compartment and took our seats. ‘At the end of the day, you are my wife and it is my duty to guide you.’

He shook out his coat, folded it and put it up on the
luggage
rack before opening his paper. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked, and started reading as we pulled into the tunnel out of the city.

During the next week, it was more difficult to get food to Hannes with Jeff around. I set another snare and made double quantities of broth and stew, which I slow-cooked in a hay box. Jeff didn’t notice or at least didn’t comment. When he went out for a round of golf or to the post office, I ran upstairs and left food for Hannes just inside the door.

Every day, Jeff’s typewriter thundered in his study. He was also proofreading
The Free Minded Scot
, which he said was the text of Douglas’ High Court appeal, as well as a leaflet and statement for the
Scots Independent
. ‘This should please Professor Gilbert,’ he said. ‘He almost stymied the Stirling conference by saying he wanted a statement that we support the war. He never stopped banging on about it when you were blethering in the kitchen, although you’ll see Douglas hasn’t conceded anything on conscription.’

He made me sit down in the drawing room and read the words as if it was the Creed, but I sat there wondering why he didn’t want to spend any of the time he had left with me.

‘You see,’ said Jeff. ‘We don’t look both ways. Our purpose is clear. Nationalism in a world without Nazism.’

‘And how are you going to do that from behind bars?’ I asked.

‘Oh, not this again.’ He sighed. ‘Words can pass through bars, Pip. They won’t disarm me by putting me in prison. Anyway, without the distractions of marriage, I can always work on the dictionary. There will be more than a few Scots words from all over the country in that jail. I shall be the honey bee that effortlessly sips the nectar of language.’

I turned away. He certainly hummed the loudest.

‘Where are you going, Pip?’ he asked.

‘To clean the stair,’ I said, thinking I might be able to get more food to Hannes in my pail.

‘Why are you doing it again?’ he asked. ‘Mrs MacDougall has the card.’

‘She has been a wee bit peely-wally recently,’ I said.

‘Well, do it later. Come and kiss me. It may be a while before I taste your sweet lips if the rails are as well policed in Saughton as you say they are.’

‘Maybe later,’ I said.

‘No, now, Pip. It has been over a week.’

‘I am not in the mood, Jeff.’

‘Well, I am. Come here.’ He stepped towards me.

‘I said no.’

‘You are my wife.’ He grabbed my arm and pulled me against his chest. ‘You may barely feign interest in my politics – don’t think I haven’t noticed – but you have a duty to your husband. Forget the stair.’

‘Let me go. You never even told me you were in the SNP when we married.’ I could hardly breathe and he pushed me back onto the table. The cups crashed to the ground. ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ he said as I wriggled free. ‘Come on, Pip.’ He was laughing. ‘I have your attention now.’

‘Stop it, Jeff. You’re scaring me.’

I lifted the blue ironstone jug from his mother’s wedding set and made as if to throw it at him.

‘Put that down. It is irreplaceable.’

He stepped closer. I threw it at his head, but he ducked and it crashed onto the hearth. ‘I told you not to do that,’ he said.

I ran into the hall. He picked me up as I unlatched the front door and carried me to the bedroom, throwing me onto my knees on the bed and pulling my skirt up. I screamed as he ran his hand down my legs. ‘I like rationing,’ he said, ‘there is less to take off.’ He pushed my head into the quilt. ‘Stop
making
such a fuss. Mrs MacDougall will hear you. Now be a good girl and hold still.’

The satin of the quilt was smooth against my face and the end of a tiny feather poked through it near my eye. The shout at the door startled us both. Hannes was standing there with the broom in his hand.

‘
Hören Sie auf
,’ he said. ‘
Sie hat nein gesagt
. She said no.’

Jeff jumped back, pulling at his zip. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he shouted. He tried to push me behind him but I scrambled over to the other side of the bed. The quilt slipped off and I fell on the floor.

‘
Es macht nichts. Hände hoch!
’ He gestured to Jeff to put his hands up and swept the broom at his knees, which buckled. Jeff crumpled to the floor and started crying. ‘Please don’t hurt me,’ he said, raising a hand to protect his head.

Hannes took a step forward and put the broom on his neck, pushing his head down onto the rug.

I tried to reach him across the bed but the sheets were all in a fankle, so I shouted, ‘Hannes, stop!’

He looked at me. His eyes were hard, like he wanted to kill someone.

‘No, stop.’ I reached out a hand, and got to the other side.

‘Fucking hell. You know him?’ croaked Jeff, aiming a kick at his ankles and trying to push the broom away from his neck and get up. Hannes kicked him in the stomach and his knees jerked up to his chest.

‘Don’t hurt him,’ I screamed. Hannes stopped, with his foot pulled back for a second kick, as I fell over Jeff and tried to shield him.

‘
Er ist nicht besser als ein Tier
,’ Hannes said, and spat. ‘He is an animal.’

Jeff was curled into a ball, crying. I knelt and cradled his head. ‘Leave him alone,’ I said, but Hannes didn’t move. ‘Leave him alone!’ I shouted, and my voice came out as a screech. He backed into the hall.

‘What is going on? Who the bloody hell is he?’ Jeff asked me. His eyes took in Professor Schramml’s clothes and he looked back at me. ‘Why is he wearing Schramml’s clothes?’ He scrambled to his feet.

Hannes eyed him warily.

‘It’s a long story. I have been looking after him,’ I said.

‘He is German, Agnes.’

‘He is a better friend to me than you.’

My nose was streaming with tears and I wiped them away with the back of my hand. ‘Stay there,’ I said to Hannes.

Jeff sat back onto the bed, rubbing his stomach. I walked out of the room and into the bathroom. I cried for a long time into the basin, and then I splashed my face. I unpinned my plait to brush it out, but then I picked up my scissors and cut through the rope of my hair. Jeff had wound it round his hand, pulling the hairs at the base of my neck. I put my wedding
ring on the shelf. Hannes and Jeff were where I had left them, but Hannes was leaning against the wall, looking wabbit. Jeff saw his attacker weakening and became brave enough to try talking to him in halting German. ‘
Wer sind Sie?
’ he said, but Hannes didn’t reply. ‘Who are you?’ he repeated.

He looked at me for an answer, but I walked into the kitchen. Jeff followed me. ‘I am sorry, Agnes. Please talk to me. Oh God, what the hell have you done to your hair?’ he said, and he reached out to touch it. I brushed his hand away.

Hannes followed us into the kitchen and sat down at the table. I couldn’t look at him. I was afraid of meeting his eyes. ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked Jeff.

My voice was ragged.

‘I’ll make it up to you.’

‘I mean about him.’

‘I don’t know. That is an interesting question.’

He looked more focused. Hannes was rubbing his
forehead
. Jeff pulled his bottle of Talisker from the dresser and poured three large measures. ‘To the divine insanity of war,’ he said, raising his glass, but it bumped against his teeth as he put it to his lips.

Hannes sipped his whisky and put the glass back on the table. ‘
Wie geht’s Dir?
’ he asked me.

‘He is asking how you are,’ said Jeff, ‘after being caught
in flagrante delicto
…’

‘Stop using your fancy words,’ I shouted. ‘You are no better than a beast of the field.’

‘That is a nice thing to say in front of our guest.’

Hannes pushed himself to his feet.

‘
Bitte, setzen Sie sich
,’ said Jeff, pointing to the chair. ‘You still haven’t told me who you are. Who is he, Agnes?’

He was feeling braver now.

‘Mrs MacDougall found him, why don’t you ask her?’ And then I regretted letting him know she had been involved.

‘Mrs MacDougall and a Nazi, for God’s sake. Do you expect me to believe that?’

I stood up. ‘Must you talk to me like a bairn?’

‘Sit down,’ said Jeff.

I could see that Hannes wasn’t feeling well now. His cheeks were pale and he rested an arm on the table. Jeff pushed his chair back and looked at him. Hannes stared back. He should never have come downstairs.

‘Even if you are here as a guest of my lovely wife, you are still an enemy combatant.’ He began to play with a coin from the housekeeping money I kept in a jar on the table. ‘But he who pays the piper calls the tune.’

He translated it into German for Hannes, who frowned.

‘The question is what should I do.’

I knew he was going to start talking, tying the words together in a long, long line so they would all run together and confuse me.

‘How would this cosy scene in the kitchen look to the
outside
world?’ he went on.

‘Stop talking,’ I shouted. ‘Please just stop talking.’

But he ignored me, sucking all the air out of the room. ‘A conscientious objector sheltering an enemy soldier – a German, no less. A soon-to-be jailed member of the SNP entertaining a man whose politics the rest of the world finds… distasteful.’

He swirled the whisky round his glass. ‘It might raise interesting questions of loyalty.’

‘
Ich bin Österreicher
,’ said Hannes.

‘You might be Austrian but it didn’t stop you getting into bed with Germany, did it? Or did Germany get into bed with you?’ He laughed. ‘I wonder who else you got into bed with.’

He pinched my cheeks together and tilted my face up. ‘
Meine Frau ist wunderschön, nicht wahr?
A real beauty.’

Hannes pushed himself to his feet. ‘
Ich bin schon
verheiratet
,’ he said.

‘Well, you may be married, but that hasn’t stopped you from taking things that weren’t yours – Poland, for example.’

He poured more whisky. ‘Let’s drink to Poland,’ he said. He took a sip. ‘And Norway. What about a dram for King
Haakon? What about a dram for Agnes?’

He smashed his fist onto the table. ‘A toast to Agnes.’

He raised his glass to me and drank. ‘You’re not drinking to my wife, Hannes. I take that as a personal insult,’ and he laughed, but it ended in a gulp. He wiped his mouth with his hankie.

‘Jeff, please stop. You are being ridiculous,’ I said.

‘Not like Douglas,’ he said. ‘Not like the bear. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, if I were more like him?’

‘
Bitte
,’ said Hannes. ‘
Beruhigen Sie sich. Morgen wird alles anders scheinen
.’

‘You shut up. I was talking to my wife. Nothing will be
better
tomorrow,’ he shouted at him.

‘Please, this isn’t helping anyone,’ I said. ‘Why not let him go for now, Jeff? Take time to calm down.’

‘Don’t tell me to calm down,’ he replied, his voice rising again. He looked at Hannes, ignoring me. ‘I will be going away for a lot longer than twelve months if they find you here. On the other hand, I could apprehend an enemy soldier and become a national hero. You’d help me, wouldn’t you, Agnes? The loyal, not-so-loyal wife.’

He turned back to Hannes. ‘They assumed you died in the fire after the crash, you know. A lone pilot downed in heavy mist over the Pentlands. How clever of you to bail out. How very clever of you to find my lovely wife – a heavenly vision, an angel.’

He filled his glass again. ‘To angels,’ he said, ‘and men who drop from the sky.’

‘Das habe ich nicht verstanden,’ said Hannes, looking at me. ‘Please, I don’t understand.’

Jeff picked up the coin and spun it on the table. ‘Time to choose,’ he said. It clattered as it fell flat, an edge lifting one last time before it ran out of momentum. He slapped his hand over it. ‘Heads or tails?’ he asked. ‘I said heads or tails?
Wappen oder Zahl
? You call it, Agnes. Tails, he dies a nationalist hero. Heads, I do.’

‘Stop playing games,’ I shouted.

‘There is no need to shout, Pip. That’s not very ladylike but then I forgot: you are no lady.’

‘And you are no gentleman.’

‘No, maybe not. Do you think Mother would be
disappointed
in me? But at least I play by the rules.’

He turned to Hannes, who looked like he was trapped in a nightmare. ‘Let’s have a gentleman’s agreement, my dear man.’ He imitated the voice from the wireless. ‘Keep it all
civilised
and above board. Heads, you get to stay. Tails, I call the authorities.’

He flipped the coin in the air. ‘Call it, Agnes,’ he said. ‘Or I will.’

He caught it on the back of his hand. The fingers of his left hand lay across the skin. A tendon twitched. I heard the rattle of a cart’s wheels on Canaan Lane.

‘Heads,’ I said.

He lifted his hand. The king’s head stared blindly at the
legend
on the edge of the coin, the circumference of his world. I remembered his halting voice on the radio, the words of comfort he spoke to the nation; the German name he rubbed out of the history books. Hannes was pushing himself to his feet, but
staggered
and steadied himself against the table as if he might fall.

‘Wouldn’t you know it?’ Jeff said. ‘Fortune favours the brave. It’s heads. Janus is alive and well and the whole world looks both ways. Herr… but I forget, we don’t know your
second
name, do we? Herr Rank and File. Anyway, I’m off to prison tomorrow, so you can stay upstairs.
Sie können dort oben bleiben. Ab morgen bin ich weg
. Lucky for you.
Sie sind nicht der einzige Gefangener in dieser Stadt
. Both prisoners: we have that in common. Looks like we are paying the price for our beliefs. Poor saps too stupid to keep our heads down.’