God's Acre

by Dee Yates

  The door latch rattled again. Jeannie turned to remonstrate with Malcolm, only it wasn’t the boy but Alan who stood there.

  ‘Well, this is a cosy gathering. Can anyone join in?’

  ‘There’s still enough in the teapot for another cup,’ Jeannie turned away to fetch another cup from the shelf. Alan’s eyes followed her as she poured tea and passed it to him together with a scone.

  ‘You must come again,’ he said, sipping his tea. ‘There’s nothing like a pretty face to brighten up a dull afternoon.’ He sat back in his chair and continued to watch her as she cleared the dirty utensils.

  ‘You’ll bring the lass again sometime, Tam,’ Douglas said when they rose to go. Tam looked at his father, recognising, perhaps for the first time, the struggle he must have had single-handedly to complete the boys’ upbringing without the help of his wife.

  Malcolm was still throwing stones into the river in an effort to make a dam. They called him over and reluctantly he left his game and came to join them. His socks and shoes were soaked and his trousers caked in mud. Ian, more fastidious, still stood on the bank watching him.

  ‘It’s great here. Can we come again?’ Malcolm begged.

  ‘I’m no’ so sure your mum will agree when she sees the state of you,’ Jeannie laughed. She thanked Douglas for his hospitality and smiled a goodbye at Alan, who winked in reply.

  The sun cast long shadows in front of them as they retraced their steps. Soon it would disappear behind the hills and the temperature would drop quickly. Above the summit of the hill to their left, the buzzards circled. Tam, who had said he would walk them back as far as the road, went with them. Jeannie put her hand in his and squeezed it, causing his heart to miss a beat. He frowned at the bizarreness of it. Here was a girl who, against all the odds, liked him. Moreover, she seemed to be a hit with his father… and that was no easy thing.

  *

  Blackford Farm

  County of Lanark

  25th November

  Dear Auntie Christine,

  I hope this finds you and Uncle Cameron both well. Such a lot has happened since I last wrote. We now have an evacuee family staying on the farm – a mother, her two young sons and a wee baby. They are from Clydebank and have been here since the start of the war – not that you would realise here that there is a war on. It is really no different from normal, apart from there being petrol rationing, so we use Rosie the Clydesdale most of the time.

  The two boys, Ian and Malcolm, go to the school on the moors. They seem to like it, but they like helping on the farm more. Malcolm says he wants to be a farmer when he grows up! We walked to Tam’s cottage today. I was invited to go a while back (well, actually I invited myself. I would have waited forever for an invitation from Tam!), but we’ve been busy with harvest. The boys’ wee sister was poorly and I took them with me so Alice could have some peace with the baby. The boys had a great time. Malcolm and Tam got on especially well together. It’s wild out there, so they got even dirtier than usual. Their mother, who thinks the countryside is full of germs, was horrified!

  This is all the news for now.

  With love from us all,

  Jeannie. xx

  24. Mishaps and Misfortunes

  December 1939

  Jeannie followed the path of the river eastward. It was a crisp mid-December day, the sun slanting low across the valley to bathe it in light, leaving the forest where it cloaked the north-facing slopes in darkest shade. Mallards swam in formation and, quacking noisily, rose into the air when they sensed her presence. The frost that had accompanied the turnip harvest had gone for a while but was now back again, and where the sun failed to reach, it lay, like a Sunday afternoon tablecloth, across the fields.

  It was the first weekend for a while that she had been able to take her free time. She had decided to stretch her legs and try to walk to the top of the hill on the furthest side of the valley. She had no idea whether it was possible to find her way through its thick covering of trees, but she was determined to try. She entered the forest from a point halfway along the road. It was dark and gloomy and she hurried along a muddy path until she came to a clearing. A wide stretch of grass ran upwards between the trees and she used this as her path, climbing until her breath came in short gasps and her legs had turned to jelly. Then she turned round and looked back down the way she had come.

  The view was magnificent. In the distance, she could see the collection of cottages that made up the village. Further afield was a scattering of farmhouses, some of which she knew and could name. Blackford Farm lay snuggled in the valley to her left. In the distance beyond the farm, she could make out the moors among which Tam’s cottage lay hidden. Below her, the side of the valley was thickly coated with trees with, here and there, patches of grass where the trees had failed to grow or had fallen in gales long past.

  It was while she was admiring the view that a sudden shot rang out. She stared at the mass of trees, her eyes darting from patch to patch of the bare hillside in an attempt to see the origin of the shot. It was not unlike the sounds she had heard over the past weeks as the pheasant shoots were in progress, but she knew that they didn’t shoot on a Sunday. Then she noticed a movement on a distant bank of grass, a small dark figure, not recognisable from such a distance but surely the gamekeeper. She began to run in the direction from which the shot had come, but she tripped and stumbled over tree roots and once fell flat when she caught her foot in a rabbit hole. And then, amazingly, she came out in to a clearing and there was Alec on the ground, struggling unsuccessfully to arrest a flow of blood coming from his shoulder.

  ‘Alec! What on earth has happened?’

  The gamekeeper looked up startled and relief flooded his face.

  ‘It’s Tam’s girl, isn’t it? I’m glad to see you, hen. I was cleaning one of the guns and it went off. I don’t know what got into me,’ he muttered, struggling to get up. ‘I’ve been doing this job for more years than I care to remember and this has never happened before.’ He glanced down at the dark blood seeping between his fingers. ‘It’s only a graze to my shoulder. I don’t think it’s any worse than that, though I can’t be sure.’

  Jeannie had run across the clearing. ‘Don’t try and stand up,’ she said quickly. ‘Let me see what you’ve done.’ She undid his shirt and pulled it back to reveal the wound. As Alec had said, it looked as though the bullet had grazed the flesh, nothing worse, but even so, blood was still oozing from the wound. She looked around for something to use as a bandage, could see nothing and told Alec not to move a muscle while she found something suitable. She stepped back behind a tree, took off her coat, her jumper and finally her blouse. Quickly, she struggled back into her jumper and coat and rolled her blouse into a firm bundle which she pressed tightly to the wound. She watched as Alec relaxed and the colour began to return to his face.

  ‘I’m gey grateful to you, hen. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d not come along.’

  ‘Do you think you can stand now? We’ll need to get you to the doctor’s to let him check that wound. I don’t want to leave you here in the middle of the forest. I’d rather get you down to the road.’

  ‘I’ll manage. Just lock up the pheasant feed, will you, hen. I don’t want them finishing off the lot tonight, else they’ll no’ be able to fly at all come the morning.’ Alec rolled over onto his good side and got slowly to his feet, wincing with the pain.

  ‘Slow and steady now. Put your good arm round my shoulders,’ said Jeannie.

  ‘Pass me the gun, will you, hen. I’ve broken it now, so it’s safe. But be careful.’

  Slowly, they made their way down between the trees. When they reached the road, Alec sat on the grass verge and Jeannie showed him how to keep pressure applied to the wound. Then she left him and started up the hill to the village to get help. Miraculously, she saw the Cunninghams’ van parked outside the pub. Hoping she would not encounter Neil, she was relieved when she saw both father and son in lively conversation with
a local farmer over a pint of ale.

  ‘So, this is what you get up to on your afternoon off, is it?’ Neil said as she hurriedly approached.

  ‘I need help. It’s Alec Meikle. He’s injured.’

  *

  The doctor in the next village was at home when they knocked on his door. After his wound had been inspected, cleaned and bandaged, Alec was told to take it easy for the next couple of weeks and return to the doctor’s for the dressing to be changed.

  ‘How I’m going to take it easy in the middle of the season, I’ve no idea,’ Alec said when they had delivered him home and explained to his wife what had happened.

  ‘Tam may be able to give you a hand,’ Jeannie suggested. ‘He told me that things were quietening down now. I’ll tell him to call and see you, will I?’

  ‘Aye, lass. That would be helpful. And Jeannie – thank you for your help today. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there. And I’m sorry about the blouse.’

  Neil lifted an eyebrow and looked at Jeannie.

  She laughed off the comment. ‘All in a good cause,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  The sun had set behind the hills and the frost was once more beginning to bite.

  ‘Let’s get home, then,’ Rob said cheerfully. ‘You’ve earned your tea tonight and no mistake.’

  ‘I ought to go and see Tam and explain what’s happened.’

  ‘Och, we’ll see him tomorrow at market. That’ll be soon enough.’

  Jeannie looked doubtful. She knew that Tam would want to know about Alec, but it was cold, night was drawing in and she would struggle to find her way to Tam’s cottage and back in the darkness. So she returned to Blackford Farm with Rob and Neil and spent the rest of the evening wishing that she could be with Tam.

  By market’s end the next day, the story of Jeannie’s blouse had spread far and wide among the farmers, including Tam and Alan McColl. Alan laughed heartily. Tam was embarrassed that Jeannie should be the centre of such ribald humour and determined to discuss it with her the next time they met.

  *

  Snow began to fall the following afternoon. Jeannie had led Rosie out of her stable and tethered her in the in-bye field, together with a net of hay which the horse was consuming in noisy mouthfuls. It was easier to muck out the stable without the presence of a huge and unwieldy horse. Jeannie constantly surprised herself at how, after initial qualms, she had taken to Rosie. Even so, she took great care in her dealings with her for, gentle as she was, nearly a ton of horse standing on Jeannie’s foot was a thing to be avoided at all costs.

  By the time she had shovelled a barrowful of manure out of the stable and swept the floor, she was sweating despite the deteriorating weather. She wheeled the barrow to the manure heap and emptied it, then wheeled it into the big barn, where straw was stacked ceiling-high. Pulling two bales out, she balanced them precariously on the barrow and returned to the stable, where she spread the straw, heaping it round the edges to make a comfortable bed. Lastly, she untied Rosie and walked her through to the farmyard and her stable.

  As she was steering her through the door, a van drove at speed into the yard. Rosie, startled by its sudden appearance, spooked, bringing her hind quarters round and almost pinning Jeannie against the wall.

  ‘Whoa! Steady, girl,’ Jeannie shouted in alarm. The horse calmed and Jeannie spoke gently to her and fondled her huge ears.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Willie Fordyce the postman wound down the window. ‘I was concentrating on getting my round finished before the snow begins to settle. Is Mrs McPherson still with you, hen?’

  ‘Aye, she and the children, they’re all still here, having the time of their lives… at least the boys are.’ She laughed.

  ‘Aye, well, let’s hope it continues.’ Willie handed her an envelope, put the van into gear and made a wide semicircle in the farmyard before setting off along the valley again.

  ‘Careful how you go,’ she called after him.

  Alice was sitting at the kitchen table feeding the baby when Jeannie entered.

  ‘It’s a letter for you, Alice.’

  Alice tore open the envelope and frowned at the piece of paper it contained.

  ‘I’m no’ so good at reading, hen. You read it for me. You’re more used to words than me.’ She thrust the letter into Jeannie’s hands.

  Jeannie took a deep breath and began, ‘Dear Mrs McPherson, deeply regret to inform you that your husband Neil McPherson of the 1st Battalion, The Highland Light Infantry, was killed in action on 15th December. His commanding officer states that he died immediately and did not suffer.’

  There was silence. Jeannie glanced at Alice in alarm. The mother’s eyes were dry, staring at the baby in her lap.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Alice said, slowly shaking her head. ‘He’s no’ been gone long enough. Men don’t get killed in the first few weeks of fighting. It’s no’ right.’ She looked up at Jeannie. ‘Are you sure that’s what it says?’

  ‘Aye, I’m sure. I wish I wasnae.’

  ‘What am I going to do? How am I going to raise all these weans without my man?’ She got up suddenly, her chair grating on the stone floor of the kitchen. ‘I’m going back to Glasgae. I dinnae know why we came here in the first place. It’s over there where the fighting’s happening, not here. I need to be back with my own kind.’

  Jeannie was taken aback. ‘Let me go and talk to Mr Cunningham. You can’t just go like this.’

  At that moment, Agnes Cunningham put her head round the door. ‘Here’s the boys home from school. What’s happened?’ she said, suddenly serious when she saw the faces of Jeannie and Alice.

  *

  After consultation with Robert, it was decided that he would drive them to the nearest station to board the evening train to the city. Once there, Alice would have to walk with the children to the Underground, where they would catch a train to Govan Cross, the nearest station to their part of Glasgow.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to wait till we see what the weather’s going to do?’ Rob said, glancing out of the window. ‘The snow’s beginning to settle. I don’t like to think of you having to make your way through Glasgow with the children.’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ Alice said tearfully. ‘My mind’s made up.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have something to eat first. The boys at least will be wanting their tea.’

  Alice could eat nothing, upset as she was and anxious to be on her way to her home. As soon as the meal was finished, she went upstairs to pack the family’s few possessions. Jeannie took the baby. The boys went outside with instructions ‘not to run off’. The snow was falling in huge fluffy flakes that were quickly whitening the dark fields.

  The case was packed, the pram folded ready for its journey. Robert drove the big van into the yard and they started to climb in. It was then that they noticed that Malcolm was missing. Alice began to shout for him to come out from wherever he was hiding and get himself into the van. Ian was sent to look indoors, Jeannie hurried first to Rosie’s stable, for Malcolm had taken a liking to the gentle carthorse. But he was not to be found there or anywhere else.

  After several minutes, Jeannie appeared again, breathless and pointing up the valley. ‘There’s footsteps,’ she gasped, ‘leading out of the farmyard and up the hill. Little footsteps. They look like Malcolm’s.’

  ‘What is that boy playing at?’ Alice exploded. ‘Wait till I get hold of him.’

  ‘Well, lass,’ said Rob, ‘if we don’t get hold of him in the next few minutes, you’ll miss the train. In fact, we might as well agree that by the time we find him, it will be too late to set off, especially with the weather as it is.’

  Alice burst into tears of despair and handed her daughter down to Jeannie before climbing down from the van.

  ‘He can’t have gone far,’ Jeannie said, handing Effie back to her mother. ‘I’ll follow his footsteps and find him. At least the snow is making it easy.’

  ‘You go with her,
Neil,’ Rob suggested. ‘She can’t go off in this weather on her own.’

  ‘Och, I’ll be fine,’ Jeannie replied quickly, but Neil had already come forward and was buttoning up his coat against the cold. ‘Come on then,’ Jeannie said in resignation. ‘The sooner we set off, the sooner we’ll catch him up.’

  ‘Now where?’ Neil said, when they reached the top of the hill. The small footprints had been obliterated by the wheels of passing vehicles.

  ‘The only way he knows is down the track to school. Let’s go down the road to where it starts.’

  Sure enough, the footsteps were evident again as soon as they left the road and started off on the school track.

  ‘He must be gey fond of school to prefer visiting it at this time of night to the chance of going back to his home.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s school as much as the farm beyond it,’ Jeannie said as they set off again.

  ‘You mean he’ll be at the McColl Farm? Why on earth would he want to go there?’

  ‘Och, Tam took us to visit the farm and his dad two or three Sundays ago. Malcolm and Mr McColl got on well together.’

  ‘He must be one of the few people who does get on with the cantankerous old so-and-so,’ Neil snorted. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘Tam’s been taking you to meet his dad! And what do you think of the family estate, then? Not much to write home about, is it? I can’t imagine your father being too impressed with his daughter’s choice.’

  ‘What’s it got to do with my father? Anyway, it’s the people who live in the home that matter, not the home itself.’

  ‘My point exactly. Now, if you took more notice of where you’re staying and who lives there…’

  ‘Which I do. I really enjoy the work and I’m very grateful to your parents for the way they look after me.’

  ‘But not grateful enough to show their son any consideration.’