Cousins at War (35 page)

The second shot came from behind them and was followed by a long blood-curdling scream, then a voice rang out, ‘I got the bastard!’

McIvor ran over to make certain. ‘Aye,’ he said when he came back, ‘he’s deid a’ right.’

Four willing hands – the sergeant’s and the private’s, who had saved the day – helped them to their feet, because Neil was bleeding profusely and Alf couldn’t get
his leg free of the heavy weight. ‘You were bloody lucky, mate,’ the gunner observed. ‘If this lad here hadnae had the sense to shove you ower, you’d ha’e been
playin’ a harp up there or maybe shovellin’ coal doon ablow. That effing Jerry was aiming for the petrol tank, an’ you’d ha’e been blawn to smithereens if he’d
hit it.’

Flexing his leg to get the blood flowing, Alf gave Neil a slightly crooked grin. ‘D’you realise you saved my life?’

‘Ach, away.’

‘No, right enough, so I owe you one.’

‘Give’s a fag if you’ve any left and we’ll call it quits.’

Alf passed over the last one in the tin of Senior Service he had been issued and held out his lighter. ‘I’d better go now, if the bike’s still in one piece.’

‘Watch yourself!’ Neil called after him, screwing up his face as he tried to lift his arm to wave.

While Neil’s shoulder was being bandaged – by the only man left who had any knowledge of first aid – a renewed barrage of fire broke out, and he hoped that Alf was out of range
of the German guns. They had been together for three and a half years now and were as close as brothers, if not closer, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

During the next quiet spell, Neil relaxed and let his mind drift back. Less than a year ago he’d been the happiest man in the world, with a wife who loved him as much as he loved her, in
their own little love nest, then wham! He couldn’t remember much about the actual day of the accident, when the troop-transporter had gone out of control and mown Freda down. He had been in a
living nightmare until his mother and father arrived the next day, in answer to the telegram Alf had sent. He had found out later that they had been getting ready to go to South Norwood with
Queenie when they got the message.

‘She wanted to postpone her wedding,’ his mother had told him, ‘but we said you wouldn’t want that.’

He’d been too numb at the time to make any reply – he had not been caring about anything or anyone else – and it was days later before it came into his mind to hope that
Queenie had not allowed his tragedy to spoil her wedding day. He had received a letter from his mother when he was in Brighton being primed for the invasion telling him that Les Clark’s
squadron was also preparing for it, so Queenie must have had even less time with Les than he’d had with Freda. He had thought, a little bitterly then, that Queenie would have her husband back
when the war ended but, after the slaughter he had seen since landing on the beach at Normandy, he thought it was possible that neither he nor Les Clark would ever go home again.

Poor Queenie, Neil mused. He had treated her very shabbily and he was glad that she’d found somebody else. He had once told her that she would always have a place in his heart and it was
true. He still felt a deep affection for her which in no way detracted from the great sorrow he felt for Freda. He groaned aloud. Why hadn’t Alf let him take that message to headquarters? As
long as he’d got there and given them the company’s position, it wouldn’t have mattered whether or not he got back. Had Alf got through? Alf, always so bright and cheery, always
ready for a lark, always there when his pal needed him . . . it would be terrible if he were killed.

When a fresh outburst of shelling began, Neil contemplated walking outside and letting the Jerries finish him off, but his legs refused to move. Was he a coward then, as well as being bitter and
self-centred? No, by God! He wasn’t a ruddy coward, and if Alf came back, he would show him that he had stopped feeling sorry for himself. He was still young, only twenty-two . . . he must
have been in Holland on his birthday, though he hadn’t remembered about it. Not like his twenty-first, when Freda had baked a cake and . . . but he should stop thinking about Freda. He should
concentrate on the present – and the future, if he had one – not dwell on the past.

It was during another quiet spell when Alf strolled in as if he had just been out for a walk, his tin helmet perched cockily on the side of his head. ‘Mission accomplished,’ he
crowed. ‘Has anything much been happening here?’

‘A fat lot you care,’ Neil grinned. ‘You couldn’t get away fast enough.’

The sound of gunfire made them look warily at each other, but in another five minutes, McIvor appeared. ‘We’re getting’ support at last, thanks to you, Melville. Anti-tank
guns, so that’ll put the wind up the Jerry bastards.’ That afternoon, at his headquarters, the Brigadier expounded his plan for the 46th Brigade’s attack next day through the RSFs
bridgehead. This battle, unfortunately, would prove to be long and costly, but one soldier at least, out of the hundreds involved, felt happier than he had done for months. Neil Ferris had passed
the crisis of the malady which had affected him for so long. He wanted to go on living.

Although Ellie McKenzie had believed that she was prepared for anything, she had never dreamt that the reality of war could be so horrifyingly fearsome. Isa Green, her
ex-cleaner and now co-driver in the Church of Scotland mobile canteen in Edinburgh, was determined to get as near the fighting as possible so they had found themselves practically in the firing
line at times. On such occasions, they fought back the fear of being blown to bits and kept their hands steady as they poured out cups of tea. The men they served – English, Welsh, Canadians
and Americans, as well as Scots – were always cheery and it wouldn’t do to let them down.

They had followed the 15th Scottish Division determinedly through France, Belgium and Holland, longing to stop for the long lines of refugees, but knowing that it would be futile. How could they
hope to refresh so many desperate people? It would only cause pandemonium among them and, possibly, even the destruction of their van. They had hardened their hearts and carried on, coming
eventually to Tilburg and, like the men involved in this long battle, they had been glad to rest when it was all over. The townsfolk fêted the troops who had liberated them, and there had
been a lighthearted carnival atmosphere for fourteen days, until the time came to move on . . . into Germany itself.

It was the last week of March when the two women crossed the Rhine behind the soldiers. The air was softer, the trees still standing had a touch of green on their branches. Here and there,
cattle were grazing in the fields and sometimes it was so peaceful that, if they closed their eyes to the evidence of war – the shellholes, the ruined buildings, the burned-out barns –
it seemed impossible that they could be in enemy territory, but an instant later, all hell would be let loose again.

Isa had drawn off the road one afternoon to go to a small farm for more water, and Ellie was in the van by herself. One large tea urn was still full, enough until the others were filled. There
was no sign of soldiers at the minute but they often appeared from behind hedges or trees, and it was as well to be prepared. When Isa came back, they would be moving on to look for the odd,
isolated platoon.

It was quite pleasant here, Ellie mused, filling her lungs with fresh air. She would never have believed, even a year ago, that she would one day be in Germany, sitting outside Mehr – she
hadn’t even heard of it then – waiting to serve tea. She smiled at the last two words. Serve tea. But not in the way she had done at home in Edinburgh, with a cloth on the table and
bone china cups and saucers, plates of home-made cakes and biscuits. The troops had no time to appreciate niceties like that . . . and disposable cups saved on washing up. She glanced at her
wristwatch. It was five minutes to six. Allowing for the time difference, her two sisters would likely be preparing supper in Aberdeen about now; Gracie for Joe and Patsy if she was not on duty
– Jake Corbierre was on this side of the Channel, too – and Hetty for Martin, because there were only the two of them left at Rubislaw Den. Ellie heaved a sigh. Would she ever see any
of them again? Would she ever see her own two daughters again?

‘Cup o’ char, please, missus.’

The cheeky Cockney voice brought Ellie out of her reverie and she jumped to her feet. ‘Rightio, coming up.’

‘Bin quiet f’r a while,’ the boy observed as she turned the tap on the urn. ‘Calm before the ruddy storm, eh?’

Pushing the paper cup forward, Ellie shrugged and smiled. ‘No doubt, but we’re ready for anything, aren’t we?’

‘Too right, we’ll beat the buggers yet.’ Remembering that this was a church canteen and the woman probably a staunch churchgoer, he turned beetroot red. ‘I’m sorry,
missus, I shouldn’t be swearin’ in front of yer.’

Ellie chuckled, thinking how incongruous it was that this tough young soldier could blush so easily. ‘I’ve heard much worse than that since I’ve been on this job.’

Isa, returning in time to hear this last remark, smilingly agreed. ‘Aye, we’ve had our education finished over here.’

‘We don’t mean nuffink by it – it’s just Gawd bless yer to us. I bin up the line wiv a dispatch, an’ I took the chance of a kip seein’ ev’ryfink was so
quiet. Me bike’s be’ind them trees.’

Isa’s eyes widened. ‘You were on a bike?’

‘A motor bike,’ he explained. ‘I’d the bl . . . fright of me life ’arf an ’our ago, though. I goes past the advance, for they were dug in well off the road,
an’ when I realises I’d gone too far, I gets off me bike an’ goes be’ind a tree fer a quick Jimmy Riddel before I turns back, an’, s’welp me, I comes face ter
face wiv this Jerry wiv a billycan in ’is ’and. I think ’e got as big a fright as me, for he drops ’is can and runs inter the wood, an’ I makes for me bike and comes
’ell for leather back, an’ by good luck, I finds the advance this time, they’re about five mile along the road from ’ere. Jocks, if them’s what yer lookin’ fer.
They’ll be glad ter see you, they’ve ’ad a rough time lately.’

Both women had been highly amused by the boy’s story, but now Isa shouted, ‘Thanks!’ and was into the driver’s seat before Ellie had time to pull up the flap of the van.
The road was pitted with holes and Isa drove slowly, weaving from side to side to avoid them, but before they’d gone any distance, they were stopped by a small patrol.

‘You’ll have to turn back, ladies,’ ordered the sergeant in charge. ‘Jerry’s not that far off.’

Isa’s derisive snort showed exactly what she thought of the Germans. ‘You wouldna grudge oor lads a wee cup o’ tea, surely? It’s the Seaforths, isn’t it?’

‘Aye.’ A broad smile spread across his face as the other soldiers crowded round, accepting the cups of tea Ellie gave out. ‘You ken’t the badge, did you? Well, since
you’re that determined, I’ll no’ force you to go back, but you’d better get off the road – there’s a gap in the trees about quarter o’ a mile along, and
our lads are in behind there somewhere. Maybe you’ll find them without Jerry seein’ you. Good luck to you.’

‘Thanks.’ Isa let off the handbrake, then turned to Ellie, ‘I hope you’re no’ feared?’

‘No’ me,’ Ellie had lived in Edinburgh long enough to have absorbed the dialect. ‘If our lads can face it, so can we.’

If it hadn’t been for Isa’s utter disregard of danger, she thought, she might not have felt so brave, and felt grateful for having such an intrepid partner. Isa Green was the widow
of a Leith shipyard worker, and had gone out cleaning and taken in laundry in order to bring up her three sons, while Ellie, her employer in the large house in Morningside, had been well provided
for when her doctor husband died.

‘Here’s the gap.’ Isa hung on grimly to the steering wheel as she swung the cumbersome vehicle round to the right, the tea urns rattling as it bumped over the mossy mounds
between the trees. ‘Can you see any signs o’ them yet?’ she asked, her own attention concentrated on avoiding boulders, fallen trees and tree stumps.

‘No’ yet.’ Ellie was peering steadily ahead and, in the next minute, she exclaimed, ‘Aye, there’s something there.’

Her eyes darting to where Ellie’s finger was pointing, Isa gave a satisfied grunt. ‘Oh aye, I see it.’

When they drew closer, they discovered that it was a field medical station and Isa stopped when she saw a khaki-clad figure coming out of a tent. ‘How much farther have we to go to get the
Seaforths?’ she yelled.

‘You can’t go any farther. They’ve been under fire, that’s why we’re here.’

‘That’s why we’re here, an’ all,’ Isa snapped, letting off the brake again.

‘Wait!’ Opening the door of the van, Ellie jumped out and ran towards the tent crying, ‘I thought at first you were a man, then I recognised your voice. I never expected to see
you here.’

Olive Potter stepped back in amazement. ‘I never expected to see you here, either.’

Ellie had never liked Olive, but the strange circumstances of their meeting overrode anything personal and she flung her arms round her niece. ‘It’s good to see you.’

The wariness left the tired face. ‘It’s good to see you, too, Ellie. We’ve been so busy since we came over, I haven’t had time to think about home, but now . . .’
She wiped her eyes with her hand.

Ellie was shocked by the change in Olive, who had always been so fastidious about her appearance. Her fair hair was dragged severely back but some strands had worked loose; her face was grey and
haggard, with dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep; her battledress blouse and trousers were crumpled and stained; she was thinner than she used to be – far too thin. It was hard to
believe it was the same girl. ‘How are you, Olive?’ she asked compassionately. ‘This is a right hell hole you’re in, and no mistake.’

‘I don’t regret joining the Medical Corps.’ Olive was on the defensive now. ‘I enjoy it.’

‘Good for you. I don’t regret volunteering for the canteen either, though I sometimes think I must have been mad at my age. I’d better go now or Isa’ll think I’m
deserting.’