Roses of Winter (4 page)

Mary, well aware of this, admonished him sternly. “Jist you keep yer hands off that until it’s time.”

The Gows came down and sat by the fire with the family. “Have another piece o’ dumpling Mr. Gow,” Mary urged.
 

“Ah don’t mind if ah do,” he said. “It’s grand right enough.”
 

Close to midnight Charlie went over to open the window. “Tae let the Auld Year oot and the New Year in,” he explained. “Ah like tae hear the ships blaw their whistles doon at the docks.”
 

From the wireless came the sound of Big Ben striking the hour. On the last stroke, Mary hugged Charlie. “A guid New Year tae ye, Charlie,” she whispered in his ear.
 

“An’ the same tae you,” he replied. He raised his glass to everyone in the room. “A guid New Year and mony o them,” he said.
 

As the others echoed his sentiment, Mary thought to herself,
how good a year can it be when we’re waiting to see what the Germans will do next? And how many New Years will we have to face at war?

Chapter 2

The McIntyre Family

Scotstoun, March 1941

Bessie McIntyre looked at the messages on her kitchen table, a look of disgust on her face. How was anyone supposed to feed a family on those few things? If she had not been entirely alone in the house she would have complained out loud and at length. These days with Donald and Alec at the war, except for their brief spells at home, it was Murdo who faced her wrath alone. A soft-tempered man who liked peace and quiet, he had tried throughout their marriage to make the best of things. But while he understood the deep disappointment, the dashed hopes and expectations that were the foundation of Bessie’s sour temper, that understanding did not make it easy to thole her harsher excesses.

The rationing, when it came in, had been hard on everybody, but some managed to make do better than others. For Bessie, who had always felt she deserved better in life than she received, the shortages served to make her all the harder to live with. It helped if you were in the know with the butcher or the greengrocer, who might let you have a little extra or a better cut of meat when it could be had. But the local shopkeepers had felt the lash of Bessie’s tongue many a time over the years, and now they had the upper hand.

Nor could Bessie take much comfort in the small community of women that lived up her close, who one and all considered her to be a holy terror. God help the poor soul who hadn’t polished their door brasses or pipe clayed the stairs to Bessie’s exacting standards when it was their turn. Bessie cast a dark shadow over what was otherwise a happy close. While the best closes would have their upsets now and again, usually these were patched up and some kind of civility restored. And when crisis and tragedy struck the close, the women and even their men would band together to help one of their own. Bessie, having inflicted so many slights and hurts, was excluded from those little social occasions that helped to lighten the drab surroundings and drudgery that made up much of the women’s lives.
 

“That wumman is a right scunner,” exclaimed Mrs. McLennan who was just then listening to the latest complaint about Bessie from Mrs. Gillies, who lived across from the McIntyres on the bottom floor. Ella McLennan was a big sturdy woman who had strong opinions about everything and was not loathe to voice them, in sharp contrast with her friend who, shy and retiring, tried to please everyone.
 

“It’s that man o’ hers I feel sorry for. He must have the patience o’ a saint.”
 
Betty Gillies nodded emphatically in agreement, her small head bobbing on her diminutive frame. They were holding this conversation in the safe refuge of Ella McLennan’s kitchen on the top floor where Betty would retreat of a morning for a quiet cup of tea and a fresh baked scone. Ella’s skill as a baker was renowned the length of Dumbarton Road. That and the fact that Ella had a sympathetic ear and a taste for gossip made her table an important social center. She filled the kettle. “Dae ye have time for another cup, Betty?” she asked. “Ah’ll make us some fresh.”
 

Betty looked up at the clock on the mantle. “Aye, time for a quick wan. Mah man’ll no’ be hame for his tea for a while yet.” Her husband, Alec, worked as a boilermaker down the road at Yarrow’s.

“Oh aye,” Betty said, picking up the thread of the conversation, “that man o’ hers is nice right enough. I don’t know what he ever saw in her.” Murdo McIntyre was as universally popular with the women in the close as Bessie was unpopular. But they quickly tired of Bessie and their talk turned to Ella’s daughter May who had just given birth to a son. “So ye’re a grandma now?” Betty asked, hoping to get a rise out of Ella who, she knew was a little sensitive on the topic of age. But Ella, instantly puffed up with pride and disappointed her.
 

      
“Aye, and ah’m that pleased about it I could burst,” she replied as she poured hot water into the teapot to warm it. “Ah’m away doon tae Clydebank the night tae see them.”
 

Ella rinsed out the teapot and placed it on the table. She opened up the tea caddy and put three generous spoonfuls into the pot. “He’s such a nice lad, May’s man,” she said, pouring in the water that she had brought back to the boil. “He’s making good money at Brown’s as well. At least he’s no’ aff tae the war an’ May no’ knowing where he is either.” Betty nodded. The afternoon was drawing in and the kitchen was getting noticeably darker. Ella turned on the gas and carefully lit the mantle. “Ah cannae wait for the summer,” she said as she went over to draw the curtains. “Ah wonder if we’ll get the sirens the night? Ach if we dae, it’ll no’ come to anything, as usual.”
 

They had gotten used to hearing the air raid warnings, followed a while later by the all clear, and they were getting fed up with it. The first few times, it had sent a chill up their backs, but months had gone by and no bombs had dropped. “Well, ye never know, that’s the thing o’ it,” Ella said, suddenly thoughtful. With the shipyards so close she knew they could be in real danger. Then there were May and Tam and their new wean, just a stone’s throw from Brown’s. And those who had shelters in their backcourts knew they weren’t worth a damn. Ella was sure the Germans wouldn’t stay away much longer, and she worried about the safety of May and her family.

Later, after Betty had gone off to get her man, Alec’s, meal ready, Ella sat with her husband, Willie, as he finished his tea. “Are ye sure ye’ll be all right?” she asked for at least the third time.

“Ella, wid ye jist pit a lid on it,” Willie said, his humorous tone softening the impact of his words. “Ah’m no’ helpless, and it’s only for a night or two, anyway. Ah’ll come doon there on Setterday efter work.”

Reassured, Ella bustled around, gathering the things she would take down to May.
 

“Ah ran into that Bessie McIntyre on the way in,” Willie said. “She’s that stuck up that wumman, ye wid think she lived in a palace.”
 

“Ach I know, nothing pleases her,” Ella agreed. “Ah wis jist hearing the latest from Betty afore ye came in. Well, ah’m away now,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Be sure and behave yersel’.”
 

Willie, who had moved over to his chair by the fire and was unfolding his Evening Times, laughed. “Whit am ah going tae get up tae here all on mah lonesome?”
 
Ella smiled and was out the door.
 

As she left the close, a No. 9 tramcar came whistling up over the crest of the hill. It came to a halt at the stop near her close. Ella climbed aboard and took a seat on the lower deck. At Yoker the air raid sirens started, and the tram came to a stop. Ella heard the driver and the conductress arguing over what they should do next. Ella had just started to say, “It’s just anither false alarm,” when in the distance the sky lit up, full of what looked like falling stars.
 

“Whit the hell are those?” the tram driver asked.
 
“It’s no’ the right time o’ year for fireworks.”
 

“Dinnae be daft,” the conductress retorted in a sarcastic tone. “Those are incendiaries. Dae ye no’ read the paper?” They stood watching this show, far enough away not to feel in danger themselves. Against a sky made bright by the moon, the incendiaries floated down in such numbers that the night sky over Clydebank glowed and sparkled.
 

“Ach well,” the know-it-all conductress stated, “it’ll no’ be lang noo until the bombs are drappin’.”
 

At that instant, a huge explosion erupted followed by several more in quick succession. It took a few seconds before the tram was shaken by the sound of the explosions. The windows rattled and the lights flickered. Ella screamed and for a moment they were all frozen in place as their minds tried to understand what was happening. “God Almighty,” the driver shouted, his voice trembling with shock, “the bloody Germans are bombing us.” He turned to the conductress. “See you, ye should keep that big gob o’ yours shut an no’ gie them any ideas. Ah’m going back tae Glesca.”
 

“But ah need tae get tae Clydebank,” Ella shouted.
 

“Then you’ll need tae get aff the car now,” the conductress, told her.
 

“But ah have tae get tae Clydebank tae see my daughter, Ella protested.”
 

“Naebody’s getting tae Clydebank the night except the Germans, hen,” the conductress told her. “Come on now, make up your mind.”
 

Ella left the tram and stood on the pavement. The detonations had increased and a crimson glow lit up the clouds of black smoke that were rising into the sky. The red intensified into many hues as flames became visible over Clydebank. The drone of airplanes made Ella look up. She caught a glimpse of dark shapes against the clear evening sky.
 

Ella’s thoughts were a confused jumble. She started off towards Clydebank but the evil-looking glare of the fires stopped her in her tracks.
Christ
, she thought,
May and Tam and the wean are in the middle of that
. She turned to go back home, to get back to Willie who would know what to do. She stopped again, feeling the pull of her daughter. She wiped her eyes with back of her hand and turned for the last time towards Clydebank. If the Germans were trying to kill her family, then they would bloody well have to kill her too.
 

Ella started off running but soon slowed to a walk. For what seemed like ages she kept going, stopping at times to catch her breath, until she was so close that the blasts from the exploding bombs thundered in her ears. She heard a sharp crack high in the air and looked up to see a parachute.
 
Below it hung what looked like an outsize version of a bin that you might see in one of the backcourt middens. It descended towards a block of tenements. An immense explosion was followed by a powerful hot wind that lifted her off her feet and threw her backwards onto the pavement.
 

As she sat dazed, a policeman darted out of a close where he had dived for shelter when he spotted the parachute mine coming down. He saw Ella and stopped short, his face white and drawn. “What the bloody hell are ye daeing oot here ye stupid wumman,” he yelled at her.

 
Ella stormed to her feet. “Don’t you bloody shout at me,” she screamed at him, shaking her fist in his face, completely at the end of her tether.
 
She burst into tears and slumped down onto the pavement.
 

The bobby’s expression softened and he came over to help her up. He led her over to the close mouth in behind the baffle wall. “Have ye taken leave o’ yer senses? Ye canna be oot in this.”
 

A whistling sound high above made him look up. He grabbed Ella and propelled her deep into the close where he forced her to the floor. Several huge explosions followed one after the other. Ella felt every organ in her body vibrate as a huge wave of pressure passed through her, drawing the air out of her body. She gasped for breath. Desperate to get air she forced herself to her hands and knees. Deafened for the moment by the enormous detonations, she failed to hear the rumbling crash as a block of tenements up the street subsided into rubble. A broken gas pipe caught fire. A long stream of flame added its roar to the devilish symphony. Another huge concussion rocked the close.

Confused and shaken, Ella and the policeman lay sprawled in the close. Debris had blown in around the blast wall at the close mouth.
 
Ella coughed, gagging on the dry, stifling dust with the burnt earth taste that settled in her throat. Coming to her senses she raised herself up on one elbow and looked around for the bobby. The dirt and dust on his uniform had turned him into a wraith-like figure in the dim light of the close.
 

He lay silently on his back long enough to make Ella wonder if he was dead. She started when he suddenly spoke. “Are ye all right?”
 

Ella felt for her left leg where a damp trickle ran from her knee. “Ach, I’ve skint mah knee,” she muttered. She tried to rise but stopped and looked at her raw skinned hand. “Ah’ll live,” she told him. “Whit aboot yersel’?”
 

He sighed and started to get up. “About the same,” he said, trying to shake the dust off his uniform and tut-tutting at the rip he had found on his right sleeve. “God, they nearly did for us then,” the policeman said. “Thae bombs must have come down just up the street. Any closer an’ we widnae be here tae tell the tale.” He looked at Ella. “Whit the hell ah’m a supposed tae dae wi’ you?” he asked, more to himself than her.