by Millie Gray
“Ye’re splittin’ hairs, Rachel! An’ my sister Ella says only the King and Queen would dream o takin’ on a rent o nine bob a week.”
“Well that makes a change from her rantin’ on about your soul bein’ damned because you didnae get married in the Chapel,” Rachel said, before stopping to take a long breath.
“And in case you dinnae ken it,” Johnny went on, ignoring Rachel’s reminder of the price he’d paid for marrying a Protestant. “At fower bob a week we just manage tae get by – wi’ a few coppers left ower tae jingle in ma pooch. A man needs that when he’s wi’ the ither lads on the street corner. But bidin’ here, whit’ll I hae in ma pooch?”
“How about the loose screws from Ella’s stupid head?”
Johnny bridled at this slur on his sister. “See this? Oor Ella says ye aye think ye’re a cut above awbody else. She’s richt at that.”
“Compared to her, I am! Oh, look!” Rachel halted. “The Learig Pub. The Close is just round the corner.”
Only then did Rachel notice that Carrie and Sam had run ahead and were trying to climb the wall of the railway bridge to watch a train slowly rumble past.
“For the love of heaven, come down out o that!” she cried as they disappeared in a cloud of smoke from the engine. “That’s a coal train an’ if you fall in you’ll be smothered in dirt for weeks – nae to say landin’ in hospital.”
“Mammy,” Carrie spluttered and coughed as she reappeared out of the smoke. “See there. Up the road there’s a Chippie!”
“Where? Where?” squealed Sam in excitement. “Oh aye! I see’t. Can we no hae some chips, Mammy?”
“No, you can’t.”
“But I dae want some chips!”
“An’ I’ve told you – you can’t have any. Besides it doesn’t open till five.”
“A Chippie!” Johnny joined in. “Next thing, we’ll be findin’ there’s civilisation hereaboots.”
“Well, if you mean everything civilised folk need – the butcher, the grocer, the Co-op, the Post Office, the doctor and the midwife – then they’re all here.”
“Fair enough,” her husband responded grudgingly, “but that’s thirty-five meenits it’s taen tae get here.”
“Aye, but just you wait! Round the corner here, an’ – there we are! Learig Close!”
“Oh, ma God, Rachel! You’ve really flipped proper if ye think we could bide here an’ feel at hame. Which yin’s oors?” Johnny panted as he tried to keep his panic in check.
Rachel stopped and was silent for several minutes. The broad street basking in the spring sunshine seemed even lovelier than she’d remembered: pink and grey harled Corporation four-in-a-block housing with red-tiled roofs and daffodil-strewn gardens beckoning cheerfully to her. Tears came into her eyes as she breathed the sweet scent of lilac and new-mown grass. So different by far from Admiralty Street, where vile body odours met with the smells of stale cooking in dark, dank, narrow lobbies.
“The left-hand bottom one,” she whispered dreamily as she pointed to their new home. “All it needs is the grass cutting.”
“Grass cuttin’!” Where the hell d’ye think we’ll get the money for a pair o shears? Let alane a bluidy lawn-mower! “Look, let’s awa oot o here richt noo.”
“You want us to give up this house just because we’ve not got a lawn-mower?”
“Naw! Cos we’d nae feel at hame here. Aw snobs they’ll be across the wey there. They’ll no want tae ken us,” moaned Johnny, jerking a finger at the elegant stone-built villas facing them.
Rachel shrugged her shoulders. “But we won’t be living across the way. We’ll be staying here!” She pushed open the gate and marched up the pathway. With a shake of his head Johnny slowly trailed behind while she fished the precious keys from her pocket and unlocked the door, which swung open to welcome them into a sun-drenched, two-windowed living-room that was half as big again as the one in Admiralty Street. She didn’t linger there though, because the scullery beyond seemed to invite Rachel to enter through its open door.
Johnny gaped. That scullery was near as big as their single-end living room. To his right stood a three-ringed gas cooker and beside it a large storage cupboard – a walk-in cupboard at that, complete with shelves. He turned to speak to Rachel but she was now standing by the sink and wash-tub. Both had hot and cold water taps which she immediately turned on full and gurgled rapturously in unison with the cascading water that ran bubbling into the drain.
“Hot and cauld water on tap, eh?” said Johnny.
“Aye, four taps. And see outbye there.”
Johnny crossed to look out at a manicured drying-green with its dancing lines of washing: shirts, blouses, towels and sheets, all flapping boisterously in the wind. His eyes strayed beyond the green to the spot where Sam was already playing happily with the wee lad from next door.
“Want a gemme?” Chalky had asked, lobbing a football to him.
“Aye,” said Sam. “Cos yin day I’m to be playin’ for the Herts.”
“Herts! Nae Herts for me,” his new friend retorted. “Naw. Naw, I’ll be goalie tae the Hi-bees.”
Without saying a word, Johnny sought Rachel’s hand and guided her back though the living-room, this time noticing the brightly polished brass canopy over the fireplace with its pipe-clayed hearth. Hesitating only for a moment, he drew her gently into the small hall that led towards the two bedrooms – but it was the adjacent bathroom that compelled his attention – a room without bed, table or chairs. Just a bath, a wash-hand basin and a lavatory. A lavvy they wouldn’t have to share with anyone else. His eyes strayed back to the bath: Johnny was thirty years old and had never taken a bath in a house. Until he married Rachel, he’d lived in a room and kitchen with his Mum, his Dad, his sister and his younger brother.
“I’m away oot for half an hour, Johnny,” his mother would say. “So ye get yer private bits washed at the sink. There’s enough hot water for ye in the kettle on the range.”
But when he had married, Rachel insisted he’d queue up at the public baths in Junction Place. Sixpence it cost if you allowed them to run the water but they never put in more than would just cover your legs. For ninepence though you could run your own bath – a luxury he’d never experienced. Johnny nodded his head silently. Rachel was right after all. Times were changing and the bairns deserved better than he’d had. Maybe too she was right about them going to a better school hereabouts. Or maybe Ella knew better when she’d said that Rachel was giving them delusions of grandeur.
“Heavens alive!” he thought to himself. “What if we cannae find the nine bob a week for the rent?” Terror-stricken, he hardly heard Rachel speaking to him.
“Well, Johnny, what d’you think?”
“It’s … it’s just great, it is. Absolutely … dandy in fact.”
Then, after a lengthy pause: “I was just wonderin’.” He needed more time to think; time to find a good reason to run away from the problem. Something that Rachel would accept gracefully. Then it came to him suddenly. “What if we hae tae gang tae war?”
“And what on earth would a war wi’ Hitler have to do wi’ us taking on this house?”
Johnny could only shake his head and stare blankly at her.
“Surely you’re not saying that if Chamberlain wakes up and finds he’s been hoodwinked an’ there’s a war on, then we cannae take this house?”
“What I’m sayin’ is …” Johnny hunted desperately for words. “… that even though I’m in an exempted job I wid still need to volunteer for some sort o Hame Guard duties or somethin’.”
“So?”
“Well, ye’d be up here all alane wi the fower bairns – five bairns I mean – ye wuidna be aside my Ma or Ella when the bombs stairted.”
There was silence for a moment as the words sank in. Rachel turned away to hide the triumphant expression on her face. Then Johnny put his head in his hands as enlightenment dawned.
CHAPTER 2
RATIONING
Johnny had just
turned the key in the lock and opened the door when he yelled, “Carrie! Sam! For heaven’s sake, pit a sock in it.”
“It no me, Dad. It’s him,” Carrie screeched as she swung another punch at Sam.
“Me? Never. She’s ayeways at it,” Sam retaliated, pushing Carrie over and on to the floor.
“I am not,” she said defiantly, kicking out at Sam.
“But ye are,” Sam retorted before chanting, “Fower eyes. Fower eyes. Just like mince pies.”
Johnny breenged forward, grabbed Sam by the arm and yanked him to his feet. “Look, my lad,” he said threateningly as he shook Sam. “Dinnae ever, ever let me hear ye say such a thing to yer sister again.”
This reaction emboldened Carrie, who smirked at Sam before leaping from the floor on to his back. Curling her legs tightly round his waist, she began pummelling him with her clenched fists.
“That’s enough,” Johnny commanded. “Is there no enough fightin’ goin’ on the noo withoot you twa startin’ anither war in here?”
He heaved Carrie off Sam’s back and propelled her into the scullery.
“Rachel!” he called. “Could ye no hear the racket they twa were makin’? Heard their shrieks from the tap of the back lane, so I did.”
Rachel didn’t answer. She just sat there on her rickety wooden chair, staring vacantly into space.
Johnny hesitated before shaking his head. “Em … em,” he stammered. “Ye just gang back ben the hoose, Carrie. But keep awa frae Sam.”
He closed the door quietly but firmly on both children and turned to his wife. “Noo then, Rachel. What’s up? You cannae be awa wi’ a bairn again. Hiv ah no been gettin’ aff at Haymarket for months noo?”
Rachel well understood Johnny’s euphemism for a practice that so often dulled her sex life. She blinked her half-misted eyes. “Och, if it was only you forgetting to get off afore the Waverley, I’d be more than happy.”
Johnny pulled up another chair and slumped himself down in front of Rachel. Then he patted her hand and took a deep breath. “So ye’ve mebbe heard aboot whit happened to me at work the day?”
“No,” said Rachel, pulling her hand away impatiently.
“Then whit on earth’s wrang?”
“Mind how you wanted me to get your shoes out of the mending the day?”
“Dinnae say ye didnae hae enough to pey for them?”
“No… Aye … What I mean is, I hadnae at the start. No till I pawned your suit.”
Johnny jumped to his feet, the chair toppling over with a thud, and shrieked, “Pawned ma suit! But Rachel, you ken it’s the Trade Union meetin’ the nicht. The AGM. An’ I’m chairin’ it.”
Rachel didn’t speak, so Johnny continued. “I cannae staun up in a boiler suit to address the brithers. I’d be the laughin’-stock.” She still made no comment, so he bent down and picked up the chair before starting to pace about the scullery. “Pawned ma suit? Pawned ma suit? Pawned ma only suit?”
“Now just a minute, Johnny,” Rachel said sharply as she slowly got to her feet. “What you said this morning was that, whatever else, you had to have your dress shoes out of the mending.”
“Aye, but surely the likes of you, whae’s sae hoity-toity, kens ye dinnae wear dress shoes wi’ a boiler suit.”
“Look! Why don’t you go in your Home Guard uniform then?” Rachel said brusquely. “But right now we’ve a lot more to worry us.”
Johnny stopped his pacing. Rachel could see he was realising that the Home Guard uniform was his solution. Smart and authoritative he looked in it. Especially now there were three stripes on his sleeve.
“Richt enough,” he conceded, “I cannae dae onything aboot the suit noo. And there could be an air raid the nicht. So it’s just as weel that they ken whae’s in chairge.”
Rachel nodded. “Now listen to me, Johnny. They shoes of yours were mended by yon Polish refugee, Roman, who’s working there the now.”
“Did he no mak a guid job o them like?” Johnny asked, picking up the shoes to examine them.
“Och aye. But when I got talking to him, know what he told me?”
“Naw.”
“That it’s true about Hitler no liking the Jews.”
Johnny was still admiring the shoes, giving them a wee rub up on his boiler suit sleeve, and he casually replied, “Well wi’ aw their dosh, the Jews’ll no be bothering a whit aboot that.”
“Look, will you just listen to me?” Rachel said in an exasperated whisper. “He says Hitler puts Jews into concentration camps and I’ve been thinking – what if he invades us?”
“Dinnae be daft,” said Johnny with a chuckle. “There’s nae wey he’d bypass Dover and Portsmouth and start his invasion doon at Leith Docks.” He pushed out his chest and began strutting around the table. “And even if he was daft enough to tak’ on me and ma lads first, whit’s him no bein’ keen on the Jews got to dae wi’ us?”
“You’re forgetting my Mammy was a Jew.”
“Aye, but she’s deid and I dinnae think he’ll dig her up just tae tell her he disnae care ower muckle for her.”
“But, Johnny, Roman says they’re arresting all of the Jews.”
“And I say again, what the hell has that to dae wi’ us?” Johnny replied emphatically, laying down his shoes and looking vaguely about the scullery.
“Well, Roman says that even half-Jews, like me, have to be sent away to be – cleansed.”
Johnny now slowly raised his head to examine the clothes pulley. Freshly washed garments hung neatly from every bar.
“Cleanse you? For heaven’s sake, wumman, there’s naebody wid need to cleanse you wi’ aw the bleachin’ and carbolickin’ ye’re forever daeing.”
Rachel went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “And no only me but the bairns an aw – because they’re a quarter.”
“Behave yerself, Rachel! Even Hitler widnae mak war on innocent bairns.”
“Oh but he does. They get taken away too and they’re looking for a final solution. One that will be …” She hesitated as she drummed her fingers on the table. “Final!”
“Final solution? Weel, let me tell ye, I’d like a final solution richt noo – like when am I, the breid winner in this hoose, gonnae get ma tea. And is there onybody gonnae show ony interest in whit happened to me the day?”
Rachel went on talking as if Johnny had said nothing. “Look,” she said as she rose mechanically and lit the gas underneath the chip pan and lifted up a handful of chips that were sitting ready in a bowl of water. “We’ll need to make plans.” She breathed in deeply as she laid the chips on a tea towel and began vigorously patting them dry.
Carrie, who had grown tired of being jabbed and punched by Sam, now pushed open the door and crawled into the scullery. Without being noticed by either Rachel or Johnny, she huddled up in the corner beside the children’s bench.
“Aye, we have to make plans,” Rachel repeated more to herself.
“Plans? What kinna plans?”
Rachel flung the first handful of chips into the chip pan and the fat sizzled and spat. “Like how we get to be like the Free French.”
“Free French?” Johnny exclaimed as his eyes widened.
“Aye, a hit-and-run resistance.”
“But, but… but ye could get killed daein’ that.”
“So?”
“Ye ken fine it’s against my principles to kill onybody that hasnae put an end to me first,” Johnny moralised as he picked up his dress shoes again and held them to his chest.
“Naw! Naw! Mammy,” Carrie cried, bumping along the floor on her backside.
“No what?” Rachel demanded.
“I dinnae want to get killed either.”
“And why for no, Carrie? A guid killin’ wid dae ye the world o guid.” This admonition came from Sam, who had now joined the others.
“It wud not!” asserted his sister indignantly.
“Aye, wud it. Cos ye’re just a great big yelly belly,” said Sam, jabbing Carrie in the shoulder.
“Careful, Rachel, ye’re scarin’ the bairns,” warned Johnny, pulling Sam and Carrie apart.
Rachel stopped slicing the bread when she realised how terrified Carrie looked. The knife slipped from her grasp as she stretched out her hand towards the child, but when she saw Carrie shy away she instinctively pulled back and turned again to Johnny.
“Richt!” he said. “Let’s forget aboot aw this cleansin’ nonsense. There’s a mair pressin’ problem that we hae to get to grips with the nicht.”
“Aye, you were saying there was something up at work,” Rachel said slowly.
“Somethin’ up? It’s mair than somethin’ up,” said Johnny, with a note of alarm in his voice.
“Oh?”
“Aye, an’ it’s no as simple as gettin’ to grips wi’ Hitler the meenit he gets here. This is serious, very serious, and we’ve got to get it sorted oot this very nicht,” said Johnny with conviction.
Without another word, he turned to Carrie and Sam, and with a jab of his thumb signalled for them to get out.
“But, Mammy?” Carrie protested.
“Your Dad’s right. Now off you go. The pair of you.”
Carrie sniffed but without further protest followed Sam out of the scullery, Johnny slamming the door after them.
“Now what is it, Johnny?” Rachel asked wearily as she shoogled the chip pan.
Johnny began to pace the floor. “I just dinnae ken what t’dae aboot it. An’ if I dae nothin’ I could end up daein’ time in Saughton.”
“The prison?”
“Of course the bluidy prison!”
“But why?”
“Well, ye ken hoo they’ve put in the polis at the Store?”
“Aye, cos there’s been a lot more food going missing since you were put in charge?” Rachel said quietly but firmly as she began to lift the chips out of the pan.
“Well, the nicht, wi’oot ony warnin’,” Johnny continued, ignoring this slight on his managerial abilities, “dae they no lock aw the doors and start to dae full body searches o awbody?”
“Everybody?”
“Aye, even me. There wis I waitin’ to gang through to be searched when Fingers, whae was standin’ richt aside me, threw a wobbly. Honestly, what a state he got himsel’ in. And then he gasps, ‘Christ, Johnny, I didnae ken there was to be a bluidy body search the nicht. Ma auld hert’ll no staun it. Hae an attack, it wull’ So I says to him that I could see he was haein’ bother with his hert but he then tells me that the problem’s no his hert – it’s his liver!”