There was no trial. Gordon Brodie broke down and confessed after many, many hours of interrogation, putting up only one excuse for what he had done. ‘I’m a man that needs a woman, and … the wife I picked didn’t like sex.’
‘And that’s why you killed her?’ The Chief Inspector was plainly shocked.
‘That was part of it. I’d given her a bit of a going over and then I went out to get a drink to cheer me up. I did ask a woman I used to know, a prostitute, to help me out, but the bitch refused. Then another one turned me down in the pub, and they were all laughing at me. By this time I was drunk and mad with rage, so …’ He stopped, shrugging as if his ensuing actions had been inevitable.
Emily wrote to tell Willie what she had been told, but he later received an official communication from the Procurator Fiscal informing him that he would not be required to give evidence and explaining why. ‘The prisoner was discovered dead in his cell one morning, having hanged himself by tearing his bedsheet into strips. There will thus be no need for you to appear as a witness.’
‘I bet you’re relieved at that,’ Pat Michie said when he was told.
‘I can’t help thinking what a coward the man was,’ Willie muttered. ‘He could beat another person to death without batting an eyelid, but he couldn’t face death by hanging, for that’s what it would have come to. No, he ended it himself, and I bet I’m not the only one to feel cheated.’
Chapter Nineteen
Having thought it over ever since he left Elgin, Willie had decided, much to Pat’s surprise although he made no comment, that he still couldn’t face going home on his next leave, although he did feel guilty about it. He had never really given a thought to his mother’s feelings, and she must have been quite hurt by him keeping away. He’d had no reason to neglect her, she’d never actually been nasty to him, it was just this stupid chip he’d had on his shoulder about her loving his sisters more. And his father certainly hadn’t done anything wrong, so he didn’t deserve being ignored, either. Worse still, of course, was his attitude towards Millie. It wasn’t her fault that he was afraid to be near her. It was entirely his fault, the way his love for her turned him into a sex-mad beast. He pulled his wandering thoughts to a halt. What was wrong with him? Surely he had the will-power to step back from crossing the line? But he had no faith in himself, that was the trouble.
Time passed, noses to the grindstone while being taught an entirely different type of warfare from that they had learned before. It was one routine by day, another on any free nights they had. The two young friends, Willie twenty-one and Pat twenty-two, declared no interest in the opposite sex, and were quite content to be in each other’s company all their waking hours. Their sleeping hours were, of course, filled with dreams of girls; Willie’s of the only girl he had ever, and would ever, love, and Pat’s of the first girl he had ever had feelings for.
They had to endure much teasing from their comrades, who all took it for granted that, since they spent so much time together, they were ‘cissies’. Even when that teasing became bawdy, even disgusting to them, Willie and Pat ignored it. Their tormentors wanted them to rise to it, to demean themselves by denying it so forcefully that the accusation should be proved true. Nothing came of it, however, and the only quarrels that cropped up were between two lads both after the same girl, or about some imagined slight that someone could not let pass. The usual behaviour when young men are cooped up together.
On Willie’s next leave, he opted to go to York. While on the moors, they had never had a chance to visit the city itself. There was plenty of history to explore there, and although he knew some of it, he wasn’t very familiar with it. He did feel bad while he was writing to Millie to tell her this, and knew that it would make her very sad, but he still couldn’t trust himself to be with her. She could only have a year or so, maybe less, before she would be graduating with an MA Honours degree. If only he could be at the same stage – but he had given up any chance of a degree.
This was the very first time that he had given any thought to what he would do after the war. He wouldn’t be qualified to teach. He knew nothing of any other career. The only other thing he knew about was farming, and not a great deal about that. Well, that would ring the bell for Herbert Meldrum. He would no more let his daughter marry a farm servant than let her marry a circus clown. Great God! Why hadn’t he taken time to think out this side of things before he’d jumped in and signed up for the Gordons? He’d been far too impetuous, but he’d done it for Poopie. Yes, he had done the right thing – however long he’d have to wait to prove it.
His ten days in York were very satisfying. He spent much time in the Minster, letting his mind go blank and soaking in the peace first, and then observing the other visitors walking round quietly, wondering where they came from, why they were there and hoping that they were finding as much comfort as he was. Easier in his mind, he made a round of some of the other places he had read about, happy actually to see them and learn more about what had happened there in the dim and distant past. As in Edinburgh, of course, the city of York was liberally sprinkled with servicemen and women, including quite a few US personnel, but they didn’t seem to be so brash, and having no knowledge to pass on to them, he merely smiled at them in passing.
He felt completely rested when he returned to his unit, even starting to wonder why he had kept away from his home for so long, and by the time Pat returned from Elgin, Willie was determined to go home next time he was on leave.
And so, for another few months, the routine was much the same as before, until, with no warning or any explanations, they were moved in convoys of trucks to the south coast of England. Now the rumours began to fly that they were about to be posted abroad, but nothing definite was announced. Willie had imagined that it would be embarkation leave this time, but no reference of it was made by the time he asked for his warrant to be made out to Tillyburnie. He felt quite disappointed, and most of his comrades obviously felt the same, if their complaints about being ‘stuck in this bloody hole till the end of the war’ were anything to go by. He wrote to his mother, advising her of the approximate time of his arrival, and after struggling with his conscience, sent a short note to Millie.
On the morning of his departure, it was announced that this was indeed embarkation leave, and that all ranks would be given their full quota of furlough, which they took to mean that it could be a few weeks yet before they were sent overseas.
His journey home was long and arduous. Portsmouth to Waterloo was bad enough, then several hours to wait in King’s Cross for a train to Aberdeen, then some hours sleeping on a bench in the Joint Station for the first train on Monday morning to get him to Udny Station, and another hour and a half before he could get a bus to Tillyburnie village. Having set off in the early hours of Sunday, it was almost noon on Monday before he staggered up the track to his home.
Emily did not make a fuss of him – he hadn’t expected her to do so – but packed him off to bed as soon as he supped the broth she gave him. She could see that he was too tired to eat anything else. She had many questions to ask him, mostly about why he had never come home again, but she and Jake both had to wait, for their son slept round the clock. Emily had gone up several times to check on him, and had been surprised by the unusual tightening of her heartstrings when she looked down at him, his dark lashes curling on to his haggard cheeks, his hair cropped shorter than she had ever seen it. ‘He’s sleeping like a baby,’ she told Jake when he came in for his supper. ‘Sounder than he ever did when he was a baby.’
Her husband said nothing – it was the first time he had ever heard her speak of their son with a catch in her voice – but he was pleased at her reaction. Was this the dawning of motherly love for the boy?
After supper on the Tuesday, Willie fended off their questioning by saying, ‘Don’t ask. I’d an awful lot on my mind that I had to figure out, and that’s all I’m saying.’
His father made one brave try. ‘But surely you could have done
your thinking at home?’
‘No, Dad, I couldn’t, but I’ve more or less sorted myself out, and I may as well tell you, I’m on embarkation leave. It’ll likely be a few weeks yet before we’re sent overseas, but I’m really looking forward to it.’
Emily opened her mouth, but Jake frowned at her. He could see that the lad was set in his mind.
And so the first three of his ten days of freedom had passed before Willie recovered enough to get out and about. On the Wednesday, he visited Beenie Middleton and Tibby Grant, both of whom made him very welcome. Beenie told him that Malcie was in the Middle East with the REME, where he had been transferred after the reorganisation of the Ordnance Corps. Tibby told him about her grandsons, back with their mother, and the various children she had fostered since Willie had been there last. On the Thursday, he visited his Gramma Fowlie in the Cottage Hospital in Ellon, where she had been taken some weeks before with a broken leg. He could see that there was more wrong with her than that, however, and he felt a stab of regret for not visiting her more often. When he went home, he asked his mother if she knew anything, and was distraught when she admitted that his grandmother had emphysema on top of everything else.
‘It’s only a matter of time,’ Emily added, and then, seeing how upset that had made him, she went on, ‘She knows, and she’s all prepared for it. Even something like that hasn’t knocked the spirit out of her. She’s chosen the hymns for her funeral already.’
‘Aye,’ Jake put in, tears in his eyes as well. ‘Naething that’s ever happened afore ever put her aff her stotter, nae even when my brother Davey was killed.’
‘Aff her stotter’ was not a phrase that Willie had heard before, but he didn’t need to ask. His father’s voice had shown his pride in the woman who had borne him, and the young man, too, felt a rush of loving admiration for her – having brought up a family on very low wages, having lost her husband just after her two sons had set up homes of their own, having lost her elder son in the Great War. She had even helped out her daughters-in-law on many occasions, financially and by just being there. She had never complained and always shown a smile to whomever she was speaking to, whatever she had felt like in private. It was a compliment that wasn’t paid to many people, but Gramma Fowler deserved every word.
The following day being Friday, when Millie Meldrum came home for the weekend – Willie knew from her letters that she was still attending the University – he decided to wait until the Sunday before going to see her. She would likely be going back by the early evening bus and that would mean a forenoon or afternoon visit with little or no chance of temptation for him.
His mind made up, he went to see the Reverend Fyfe, who had just come home from sitting with a dying parishioner, and was thus much cheered by his visitor. Willie had told no one except his parents that he was on embarkation leave, but he found himself telling this man about it, this man who had the magic touch of consoling people in trouble or in mourning, or just feeling unable to go on with life. Not that the young man was at that stage, but he did feel quite apprehensive about the future.
Mr Fyfe then related some stories of the heroism he had seen during the First World War, in which he had served as a padre. ‘I had not long been ordained,’ he explained, ‘when I felt that I could do more good by offering my services to the Army, and, without being overly proud of myself, I think I helped many young lads to face the enemy, and also men a lot older than myself. I hope you do not think I am trying to scare you, because I am not. As far as I am led to believe, this war is nothing like the last. There is not the wholesale slaughter that there was then, although I am not trying to make light of it. There is also much danger, and I would be glad, William, if you will allow me to say a little prayer for your safety.’
His heart full, Willie mumbled, ‘Thank you,’ and bowed his head. It was not a long prayer, just a plea for God to look kindly on all the young men and women in the forces, not forgetting those on other kinds of war work, and advising his visitor not to lose his faith, no matter what the circumstances.
Willie left the manse feeling cleansed, feeling that the guilt he had carried with him for such a long time had been – not exactly exonerated, but definitely made less unbearable. He carried on to Wester Burnton Farm, where Mrs McIntyre persuaded him to have a bit of dinner, the farmer himself sat and spoke to him for about an hour and promised to give him a lift home at half past five. He also had a chat with Lachie the Daftie, whom he thought was looking much older than the last time he had seen him, but his wits were as sharp as ever.
‘It’s Willie, isn’t it? Willie that spilt the bleed an’ had half the Aiberdeen bobbies lookin’ for a body?’
Willie couldn’t help grinning. ‘Aye, that’s me. Fancy you remembering that. You were the one that solved the mystery.’
The old man beamed with pride. ‘I can mind mair nor that. I can mind you findin’ a real body …’ His words trailed off, a vagueness came into his eyes, as if he had remembered that this was something he shouldn’t be speaking about. ‘I’m sorry, Willie,’ he mumbled, in a moment. ‘I forgot.’
‘It’s all right. I got over it long ago.’
‘They never got him, though?’
‘They did get him but—’
‘Will he get hung up by the neck till he’s deid?’
‘He killed himself. He got off lightly.’
‘I never gaed nae place, but I aye kept lookin’. He coulda been hidin’ among the hay-ricks, or in the byre or the stable, or …’ He stopped, shaking his head as if at his own stupidity. ‘D’you think I’m daft? They a’ think I’m daft.’
‘I don’t.’ Willie was speaking the truth. He did think that the poor man was not quite twelve pennies to the shilling, but he certainly wasn’t daft. There was wisdom there of a kind.
At half past three, Mrs McIntyre came out with two enamel mugs of tea and two thick wedges of home-made cake. ‘When you’re finished this,’ she said to Willie, ‘you’d best come inside. My milkmaid has to get the cattle in.’
His eyes popping with pride, the old man puffed out his chest and patted it with his hand. ‘Me,’ he beamed. ‘Good milkmaid, aye?’
‘Very good,’ she assured him.
When Willie took in the mugs, he said, ‘He doesn’t look very well, I thought.’
‘He shouldna be workin’, but what would become o’ him? He’d land in the Poor’s Hoose, that’s what. I’m he’rt sorry for him, but he’s a thrawn aul’ blighter. I keep tellin’ him he should tak’ it easy, but he just winna stop. At least you’ve kept him aff his feet wi’ sittin’ speakin’ wi’ him. I tell’t him I’d get a new milkmaid to help him, but he wouldna hear o’ it. So we’ll just need to let him keep goin’ till he canna go on ony langer.’
‘You’re a good woman, Mrs McIntyre,’ Willie told her earnestly.
‘Awa’ wi’ you. I’m a daft aul’ woman, that’s what.’
‘Jake, we really should open it.’ Emily touched the yellow envelope lying on the kitchen table. ‘I know telegrams always bring bad news.’
Her husband believed that, too, but was more intent on calming his wife’s fears. ‘It canna be very bad news. We ken Willie’s here. He canna ha’e been killed, that’s certain sure.’
‘Oh, I know that, but it could be … Oh I don’t know, just something bad.’
When their son walked in, looking much fitter than he had done when he went out in the morning, Emily said, ‘There’s a wire for you.’
His parents were surprised that he wasn’t upset. In fact, he did not seem at all perturbed. It was almost as if he were pleased by what he read. He looked up, smiling. ‘I’ve to report back by noon the day after tomorrow, so I’ll have to leave first thing in the morning. It’ll take over a day to get back to Portsmouth. I was sure we wouldn’t be posted for a while yet, but we’re surely going earlier than they’d planned.’
‘Oh, no!’ Emily burst out. ‘You’re not due back yet. Let them know they’ve made a mistake.’
Jake laid his hand over hers. ‘No, Em, he canna dae that. He has to dae what he’s tell’t.’
‘But …’
‘Nae buts, lass. It’s orders and he has to obey them. He’ll be put on a charge if he doesna.’
Emily had to accept this. After all, her husband had been in the Gordons himself, and knew what he was speaking about. ‘Well, we can take our supper in peace and you can get to your bed early, Willie, for you’ll have to be up betimes in the morning. I’ve got most of your things washed and ready for you, if you give me the semmit and drawers you’ve got on, I’ll …’
‘I’m going out, Mam. I’ll take my supper, but I’ve got things to do.’
Jake’s penetrating eyes warned her not to ask the questions he could tell she wanted to ask, so she rose to dish out the stew.
Willie took his bike out of the shed, checked the tyres and found them as solid as they should be. He wanted to get this duty over as quickly as possible, but his resolutions faded as he neared the schoolhouse. He had to tell the Meldrums that he was being sent overseas, and he would have to try to sort things out with the headmaster. It was all very well to have a speech planned out, but he knew, from past experience, that events never turned out as they were expected, and having to do it tonight instead of Sunday had made him forget half of what he meant to say. He was, however, still determined to lay everything out in the open. The man would be more understanding if he knew he was being told the truth.
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