by Millie Gray
Carrie obeyed, and immediately her hands curled around a small wooden cylinder. She was about to take it out when Gabby suddenly roared, “Thievin’ bastards! Thievin’ bastards! I’ll get even wi ye aw!”
The unexpected outburst startled Sam so much that he instantly let go of Gabby, whose body now firmly crushed Carrie’s hand.
“Sam, I’m stuck,” she wailed, realising that Gabby had lapsed once more into a drunken stupor.
Sam made a grab for Gabby’s coat again, but his grasp slipped repeatedly before he managed to haul Gabby over and allow Carrie’s hand to break free.
“Sam! Sam! See! See! I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” Carrie yelled triumphantly, brandishing the cylinder with its bundle of crisp fivers rolled around it.
Hannah, who had heard Gabby’s shouts, now came running in. She snatched the money from Carrie and began to unroll one five-pound note after another.
“What d’ye think you’re doing?” Carrie demanded angrily.
“Getting the money for Mam.”
“But we only need a fiver. You’ve taken two. Now – there’s three in your hands!”
“If we leave any he’ll just drink it. And we could do a heck of a lot with all this,” moaned Hannah, waving the fivers in the air.
“No, Hannah! We only take one fiver. The rest goes back,” Carrie replied decisively as she grabbed the cylinder and money.
“But—”
“But nothing! Our rules are always that we only take what we need to get by. Besides, Jesus knows exactly what we need, so to take more would be letting him down.”
“Besides, Hannah, Granddad mightnae miss yin fiver,” Sam suggested. “The state he’s in, he’ll think he either drunk or gambled it. That wey he’ll no caw in the polis.”
“Does that mean I’ll no get the birch?” asked Carrie, rubbing her buttocks.
“Aye,” said Sam, nudging her playfully with his shoulder. “Cos I was just kiddin’.”
“You were?”
“Aye. Did ye no ken they stopped birchin’ the hell oot o bairns years ago?”
With great satisfaction, Carrie handed one large five-pound note to Hannah. She rolled the rest around the cylinder again and fastened them with the elastic band, but before she could put them back in Gabby’s pocket he let out another great roar and screamed, “Bastards! Bastards! Bleedin’ thievin’ bastards.”
Sam and Hannah scampered from the room, followed quickly by Carrie, who only just had time to drop the wooden cylinder by her grandfather’s side.
Rachel emerged from the side entrance of the Queen’s Hotel where stinging ice particles of sleet assaulted her face.
“Some night, Rachel, and you’ve missed the last bus,” Duncan the doorman informed her.
“Aye, well. Lord Strathcannon drinks to all hours so the bar must bide open till he drops,” Rachel responded, pulling her coat collar around her face.
“Aye, but surely they gave you somethin’ for your inconvenience?”
“Five bob for a taxi,” Rachel chuckled.
She had just sallied forth when the doorman called after her, “Good. And the next one that comes along is yours.”
Rachel waved a dismissive hand and without turning round called out, “Dinnae be daft, Duncan. Me take a taxi when five bob’ll feed my bairns for two days?”
“But lassie, you’ve miles to walk.”
“Och, I’ll dae it in about two hours.”
“But see this weather. No tae mention there’s a rapist on the loose.”
She was now too far from Duncan for him to hear her reply, “Oh, if that was all I had to worry me, Duncan, I wouldnae caw the Queen my auntie.”
It was after two in the morning when Rachel reached her front door, but before taking the key from her bag she slipped off her shoes. As quietly as possible, she let herself in and crept through the living room into the scullery where she tripped over something solid. “Sam’s blooming guider, I bet,” she muttered, rubbing her shin. “Told him so often, I have, not to bring the thing inside.”
She ran her hand lightly over the obstacle. “Good heavens,” she thought. “It’s a human being, and from the stench, I know it’s my own father.”
Fumbling her way to a chair, she struggled to her feet, sought for matches and lit the gas. As the eerie blue and yellow flame lit the room, it did nothing to temper her disgust at the sight of her sleeping, drunken father. “Well, well!” she said philosophically as she nudged him with her foot. “Wonder what brought you here tonight? Wanting something, no doubt, cos you sure never ever gave anybody anything – but heartache.”
It was only when she pulled her foot away that she noticed the wooden cylinder with the five-pound notes wrapped around it. A puzzled expression crossed her face as she unrolled and counted them. After a moment’s reflection, she opened her handbag and slipped one of the notes inside before replacing the re-rolled money by Gabby’s side. Only then did she allow a quiet smile of satisfaction to light up her face.
Five minutes later, she was calmly seated, drinking a cup of tea, when Hannah came into the scullery and thrust a five-pound note into her hand. “Where the hell did you get that from?” Rachel exclaimed, banging down her cup and grabbing at her daughter.
“Er, er, er,” stammered Hannah while she tried to dodge her mother’s grasp. “Carrie stole it from Granddad for you.”
Rachel dashed immediately to the bedroom and dragged Carrie out of bed and into the scullery. It was hardly surprising that the commotion wakened Sam from his sound sleep. Jumping out of bed, he decided at once that he too should be part of the drama now unfolding in the scullery.
“I keep asking you what’s wrong, Mammy?” Carrie whimpered. She wondered perhaps if she was still dreaming about the end of the Red Letter serial.
“This is what’s wrong!” Rachel screamed, brandishing the fiver.
Carrie didn’t wait for her mother to continue. She guessed she was in for a right good leathering – one that her mother would say she had asked for – but she knew she hadn’t. Flight was the only option, so she bolted from the scullery and into the living room.
Sam too realised Carrie was in deep trouble. Without hesitation, he sprang forward and yanked the front door open for his sister. But just as Carrie leapt out, Hannah kicked the door shut, trapping Carrie’s hand. The resulting screams sent bloodcurdling waves of shock through each of them, and they cringed when the door was re-opened to display the terrifying picture of red blood gushing from Carrie’s hand. “Mammy, Mammy,” she bleated piteously, “I’m dying.”
“Ye’re a richt bleedin’ ass, Hannah,” Sam accused his older sister. “She was only tryin’ to mak a getaway and noo ye’ve broken her airm.”
“It’s all right, Sam,” sobbed Carrie, shaking her hand in the air. “My arm’s not broken but see – my whole thumb is and the nail’s hanging off.” Her sobs then reached a crescendo before she ruefully announced, “That means I’ll never be able to write for the Red Letter.”
Hannah squirmed away from Sam. “I was only trying to keep her in, Sam; I mean, what would the neighbours think?”
“The neebers? Weel, as they dinnae bluidy live wi’ us, I really dinnae gie a shite what they think.” Sam spat at Hannah and rammed his clenched fist into her face.
“Why on earth did you do that?” Rachel yelled, making a grab for Sam.
“Cos she asked for it.”
“Never did,” sniffed Hannah, trying to stem the flow of blood from her nose.
“That’s enough from all of you,” said Rachel. “Come on now, Carrie, get on your feet and stop bubbling,” She took Carrie to the fireside. “Quick, Sam. Fetch the matches from the scullery and get this gaslight lit.”
Sam scurried into the scullery and duly brought through the matches and lit the gas.
Carrie’s mutilated thumb then became the focus of their combined attention.
“Some mess it is. You’ll need to go to the hospital in the morning and get it seen to,” pronou
nced Rachel, wrapping a towel round Carrie’s bleeding hand. “And why, can you tell me, did you do it?”
“Oh Mam. We need to keep our house. I just couldn’t bear it if Alice and Paul ended up in a Home. And I’m sure Jesus knew how I felt and that was the reason he sent Granddad here the night.”
A bemused smile crossed Rachel’s face before she said. “I meant, why did you run away from me?”
Carrie was about to answer when she glanced at the mantelpiece. A still more strident scream escaped her mouth.
“What is it? What is it? Is there more than your thumb hurt?” demanded Rachel frantically.
Carrie nodded her head to the bare mantelpiece. The shepherd and the shepherdess were gone! “That’s why you wouldn’t let us have a light in here the night. You didn’t want me to see the rotten, stinking thing you’ve done,” Carrie howled, pulling away desperately from her mother.
“Carrie, I had to sell them today,” sobbed Rachel. “Surely you can see that keeping the roof over our heads was more important than a couple of china dolls?”
“They weren’t just china dolls. They were my ornaments. My beautiful ornaments. I loved them. I want them back. Please, oh, please.”
“And we could get them back, Mam,” Sam argued. “We could yaise Grandad’s fiver.”
Rachel shook her head. “No, we can’t. You see, the dealer that bought them from me had a customer who was desperate for them. And with us bombing the hell out of Dresden at the end of the war, there’ll be no more.” Rachel hesitated, thinking, “Oh please, Carrie, try and understand!” Then she reflected, “Got four pounds ten shillings for them, I did. But then I would, because they’re so valuable.”
No one spoke aloud. There was nothing to say that would pacify Carrie, and the only sound that filled the room was her uncontrollable sobbing.
Eventually Rachel, her face etched with fatigue, croaked, “The ornaments are by the bye. None of you must ever steal again. It’s wrong. And if ever we do need to steal again it will be done by me and me alone.”
“Does that mean you’re going to put Granddad’s money back?” asked Hannah.
“Course not. I was ten shillings short for the rent. But now, not only do we have enough, but thanks to me having more respect for Gabby’s liver than he has, there’s also enough for next month’s rent too.”
“There is?” Hannah cried as she looked at Sam, who was smiling broadly.
“Aye,” continued Rachel with a wink. “And a wee bit left over for luxuries like a warm coat and shoes for Alice, ham ribs and cabbage for tea the night and a clootie dumpling on Sunday.”
Hannah and Sam beamed. But even the thought of ham ribs and cabbage and clootie dumpling wasn’t enough to lift Carrie’s spirits. She was still staring at the bare mantelpiece and pitiful sobs still racked her thin frame.
When Sam became aware that Carrie was so upset, he stopped grinning and went over to her. Putting both arms around her, he pleaded, “Stop greetin’, Carrie. Please! Ye ken hoo ye brek my hert, so ye dae.” And as he brushed his lips over her hair he murmured, “I promise ye, I dae, that if ye stop bubblin’ an’ thole it, I’ll get them back for ye.”
“When, Sam?” Carrie sobbed, lifting her eyes to his.
“I dinnae ken exactly when. But what I dae ken is – that some bluidy day I will.”
CHAPTER 5
THE ART OF SURVIVAL
“Crippled for life. That’s what I’ll be after all this,” Carrie moaned as she scrambled after the tractor to pick the potatoes that the digger relentlessly threw out to her.
Sam turned to look at his sister. He shook his head and sighed. “Look, Carrie,” he said in exasperation. “I telt ye hoo to dae it yesterday. Get stuck in efter the tractor’s past and pick the biggest tatties. It’s easy to fill yer basket that wey.”
“Easy? I never should have listened to you. You said it would be jammy, like picking the rasps and strawberries in the summer.”
“But tatties are ten times bigger, so they’re much easier to pick,” Sam argued back with increasing impatience.
“No, they’re no. And you cannae eat raw tatties to keep you going. Nor make jam neither out o the ones you smuggle home.” Carrie picked up a potato and threw it at her brother.
“Naw, but they make braw chips,” Sam laughed, making a flying dive to catch the potato and then tossing it high into the air.
Carrie wearily sank down on the earth before bleating, “Sam, I just cannae go on. I want to go home.”
“Why?”
“Cos I’m flaming freezin’. Soddin’ soakin’ an’ screaming hungry,” she yelled through her cracked sobs. “Worst of all, my back’s broken and I’ll likely never straighten out again.”
“That aw?” mocked Sam.
“No, it’s not aw,” she retorted, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. Carrie wiped them away with her muddy hands and whimpered, “I want my Mammy.”
Sam tutted as he helped her upright. Then he wrapped his arms about her and rocked her back and forth comfortingly. “C’mon noo, Carrie. It’s okay.” He began to wipe the rain from her hair but suddenly pushed her away and warned urgently, “Sssh! Stop greetin’. That bluidy fairmer’s on his wey ower.”
“Hey, ye twa,” the farmer shouted when he was still twenty feet away. “Ye didnae get a week aff the schuil just so ye can skive. So get liftin’ they tatties. And afore ye start, it’s no bucketin’ rain. It’s only drizzle ye’re haein’ to work in.”
Sam and Carrie both nodded, but the farmer strode close up to them and shook his fist in Carrie’s face. “And Missie, if you dinnae manage yer bit the day – dinnae bloomin’ bother comin’ back the morn.”
Sam said nothing, but sprang to help Carrie fill her basket. “Just keep goin’,” he whispered. “And remember that we’ll baith get three and a half quid. Nae countin’ the bag o tatties we tak hame wi’ us every nicht,” He squinted at her. Tears were still running down her face. “Hoo aboot – if I no anely dae my ain bit but half of yours as weel?” he coaxed.
All Carrie could do was brush her hand across her dripping nose and nod.
“That’s richt. And we’re hauf wey through. Only Thursday and Friday to go efter the day,” said Sam encouragingly as he took a piece of rag from his pocket and spat on it before wiping Carrie’s face.
An Irish family who were working alongside them had all stopped howking by now. They stared long and hard at the two children before the mother asked, “You no got a pair of mittens for her, son?”
Sam shook his head as he pulled his sister’s collar up and tucked it in round her neck.
“Here then. Take mine,” the woman said, pulling off her own mittens and handing them to Sam. “Sure, me own hands are well enough seasoned. Hard as that blessed farmer’s heart, so they are.”
These acts of compassion served to make Carrie’s tears run even faster. However, she did manage to push back her damp curls before looking down at her mud-caked hands, scowling when she saw that her nails were all edged in thick black mourning, as if to match her mood. Without a word she lifted her right hand to her mouth and blew on her white bloodless fingers while managing a half-smile for Sam and the Irish woman. It was the best Carrie could do to convey to them that she was determined to soldier on.
Two weeks later, at the end of October, winter set in. Wind, rain and sleet arrived; and finally the snow came – the snow that would fall and lie for weeks and weeks well into the spring of 1947. Always there would be fresh snow falling on top of packed ice. Always the wind would whistle and howl, chilling every bone in your body to the marrow.
“You know, I’m beginning to wonder who won the blasted war,” Rachel raged as she shivered.
“What d’you mean, Mam?”
“What I mean, Hannah, is – I thought things would’ve got a lot better by now. Seeing we won. Not worse like they are.”
Rachel was at the coal bunker in the scullery and flung it open with such force that the lid bounced off the wall. “Pas
s me the torch, Hannah,” she said, bending over to see down to the very bottom. “Never mind. I don’t need any blooming light to tell us we havenae even any dross.”
“But we must have a fire for Alice. We mustn’t have her getting sick again.”
“You know something, Hannah,” Rachel retaliated venomously, lifting her head out of the bunker. “You’re a real genius at telling us what our problems are. Pity you’re no so clever at coming up wi’ the bloody solutions.”
Slightly embarrassed, Hannah made herself scarce by slinking off into the living room.
“Right. We just have to find some coal or something to burn. Bloody Hannah’s right, Alice just has to be kept warm,” Rachel muttered to herself before shouting to Sam, who was out in the stairwell fixing his guider. He had built it himself – and, like Sam, it had a mind of its own.
“Was that you shoutin’ on me, Ma?” Sam asked, wiping his hands on a towel as he came in.
“Aye. You were saying they’re selling briquettes down at the Coal Depot just past the docks?”
“Aye, just aside the railway station at Lindsay Road they’re sellin’ them, richt enough.”
“Well, how’d you like to take your guider and some of your tattie-picking money and go down to buy some?”
“Weel, I wouldnae, cos ye’ve got to stand in a queue for at least three hoors.”
Rachel looked piercingly at Sam. Her eyes glinted a stern warning to her son, who had been quite truculent ever since she’d been down to school to tell his teacher, Miss Stock, to stop coaching him for the Heriot’s bursary he so longed for.
Miss Stock had been absolutely furious and explained how it would be such a wonderful opportunity for Sam that his fees to the prestigious school would be met until he was eighteen and that when he was ready for university they might even help him there too. All Rachel would have to provide was a blazer and his bus fares.
“That all?” Rachel said bitterly as she turned to walk away from Miss Stock. “Well, rides on the bus, my dear, are luxuries you may be able to afford, but not us.”
What Rachel couldn’t understand was why the teacher didn’t realise that if Sam did go to Heriot’s, he’d have to give up his morning milk job – ten shillings a week that the family simply couldn’t do without. Yet if there was any mother who wanted her bairns to go to a posh Edinburgh school, it was her. Hadn’t she already had to cope with dashing Hannah’s hopes of sitting for a bursary – Hannah, who was brighter than Sam? Folks would tell her she must be right proud to have two such bright bairns. Proud, aye, but broken-hearted because their father didn’t pitch up with any keep for them, so that good schools, even with bursaries, were way, way beyond their means. But Rachel did promise herself, there and then, as she waited for Sam’s response, that she would make sure that he got a good trade. It would be a struggle even getting him through that, but she would do it for him, one way or another. Oh aye, one way or another, she’d make it up, as far as she could, to Hannah and Sam.