by Gray, Millie
‘Dad,’ Kitty had said gently, bringing him back from his memories.
‘Yes, love,’ he sniffed.
‘What’s wrong?’
Johnny just shook his head as he thought, Oh, Kitty, do you have to ask? Your mum was my life and it is so, so hard to go on without her.
‘Please don’t cry. You see, Dad, I don’t think Connie was really making a pass at you. It was her way of cheering you up.’
‘She’s a …’
‘Rough diamond,’ suggested Kitty, who advanced over to hug her dad and tell him how badly she felt about losing her mother. She also wished to say that she thought they should move back to Ferrier Street. These thoughts came to an abrupt end, however, when they were interrupted by the hungry, demanding wails of the week-old Rosebud, the baby who had brought such turmoil and anguish into the lives of her father and sister.
Johnny shook his head, huffed and exhaled, because these still-fresh memories were all from a year ago. Now here he was, in 1940, still grieving for Sandra – a grief that was accentuated by the dreadful realisation that he was partly to blame for her demise. What was also swamping him right now was his belief that he was failing – not only as a father but also as chief shop steward.
2
APRIL 1941
‘Will you get a move on, Kitty? We’re going to be late, seriously late, for the beginning of the big picture, and believe me, the State Picture House isn’t going to hold off starting the film because of your dithering.’
Kitty snorted and huffed before replying to her old school pal. ‘Laura,’ she began, ‘unlike you I’ve not just got myself to think of. Don’t you realise it was so good of old Mrs Dickson to agree to come up here to babysit R-r-r-rosebud? It’s a struggle for the old buddy to get up here from the ground floor.’
‘That right? Well let me also say I am home on compassionate leave for only a week …’
‘Compassionate leave!’ Kitty gasped. ‘But there’s nothing amiss with your mum and dad.’
‘So my granny died again, so what? But back to what I was going to say … I came along here tonight to go out with you, and what do I find?’
Kitty shrugged.
‘That you have turned into old Mrs Dickson.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look at you. You’re seventeen and it is six o’clock at night. You’ve still got your hair wrapped up in dinky curlers and swathed in a turban. And for heaven’s sake, take off that bloody awful cross-over overall and dump it. It does nothing for you.’
‘And I suppose you think that because you’ve been working in Coventry that you’re up sides with Ginger Rogers.’
Laura started to dance herself about the room. ‘Well I do like the dancing. Have you been lately?’
‘To a dance hall? Good heavens, no. The Polish refugees are here now – you know them that get the name of being the world’s best lovers …’ Kitty now sucked in her lips to give the impression of being kissed sensuously.
‘Well they’ll sure as hell beat the Scottish men hands down. Especially the like of wee plooky Shug McKenzie!’ Laura laughed in reply.
‘Oh, Laura, forget Shug and listen to what Sally Day told me.’ Kitty stopped to savour the moment then quickly blurted out, ‘She went to the Palais dance hall up in Fountainbridge just last week and one of them Polish refugee blokes asked to walk her home.’
‘And I hope she said no.’
‘No, Laura, she didn’t. And see when they got to London Road Gardens he guided her on to the wooded path and then he tried …’ Kitty gulped. ‘You’re never going to believe this … but he actually tried to … well, you know what. And Sally, like us, is still pure, so she got such a fright!’
‘Sally Day got a fright?’ Laura exclaimed with a wry chuckle. ‘Come off it, Kitty. Everybody, except you, kens she’s as pure as the driven slush. Besides, men trying it on is par for the course nowadays.’
Kitty gasped. ‘Laura, please don’t tell me that it’s happened to you too.’
‘Maybe aye or maybe no … but that’s for me to know and you to wonder. But one thing’s for sure, Kitty, I don’t want to end up like your Aunty Kate.’
‘What are you going on about? My Aunty Kate has never ever even had a boyfriend.’
‘That’s what I mean – when she dies they’ll pin a note to her chest saying, “Returned unopened”!’
Before the girls could continue with their banter, the door opened and old Mrs Dickson hobbled in shouting, ‘Nothing to worry about. It’s no the White Warden – it’s only me.’
‘Who in the name of heaven is the White Warden?’
‘He’s a man who dresses up in an off-white Mackintosh raincoat before he goes stalking around Craigmillar – scares the very life out of all the young women over there, so he does.’
‘Don’t think a white raincoat would put the frighteners on me,’ chuckled Laura.
‘Laura, what frightens everybody is that he suddenly jumps out of stair doors and attempts to …’ Kitty gulped before adding, ‘Well, you know what.’
‘Oh, well at least there seems to be someone trying to lift old Edinburgh out of the doldrums.’
Ignoring Laura’s comment Kitty started to get herself ready. Whilst taking out her curlers and brushing her hair she tentatively began to speak to Mrs Dickson. ‘I made up Rosebud’s bottle, Mrs Dickson. So if she wakens, and I’m sure she won’t, just let her have a sook on it. We won’t be late and as there have been no air raids these last few nights I’m sure there won’t be any tonight either. If there is, don’t panic because no matter what, even if I’m blown to smithereens, I’ll still come straight home.’
Kitty was now dressed to go out and it was then that Laura noted that she was wearing a black band on the right arm of her coat. ‘Oh, Kitty,’ she blurted, ‘please don’t tell me that your brother Bobby …’
‘No. He’s in the Merchant Navy, right enough. A Fourth Engineer now would you believe …’ Kitty stopped chattering to lovingly stroke the band on her coat sleeve. ‘But this band’s for my granddad.’
‘Sorry, I forgot that he was … and how is your granny doing?’
‘It will be some time before she gets over it. You see … it was just so horrible. These blasted German bombers were to blame and they don’t give a damn.’
‘You’re right there, Kitty, they don’t,’ Laura quietly replied.
‘And see their continual air raids on the docks since they killed my granddad … well, they make me so nervous and frightened … I just couldn’t bear it if anything was to happen to my brothers, Jack and Davy.’ She stopped to grimace before adding, ‘Or even my dad.’
Kitty’s thoughts were back in November of the previous year. It was true that before then there had been some heavy air raids on Leith, and in particular the dock and shipyard areas. For a long time, she knew, everybody would remember the date 18 July 1940 when, at eight o’clock at night, two 250lb bombs and six 50lb bombs had rained down on the Victoria Docks at Portland Place. The Gerries had also plastered the surrounding areas including the coal depot and railway line at Newhaven. Kitty and her entire family however would never forget the raid of the previous week. It started at six in the morning of a bright 11 July day, when a 1,000lb bomb, the heaviest to be used against the entire city of Edinburgh, was landed beside the Albert Dock.
Her grandfather, Donald, and his lifelong friend Dodd Brown, were just coming off their Home Guard stint and were heading home when the bomb dropped. The blast blew old Dodd off his feet and he landed in the high-tide polluted water of the docks. He had only a few seconds to call out to Donald that he was being sucked under because of his army greatcoat. The heavy coat became weightier and weightier by the second as it greedily sucked in the salt water. Common sense, which had always been Donald’s byword, eluded him that morning because even although Dodd had disappeared beneath the waves, Donald, without taking off his own cumbersome coat, jumped into the swirling brine in an effort to try to save his friend
.
When the tide ebbed, both bodies were found within a couple of feet of each other. Everyone expected Jenny to be devastated and they were amazed and surprised when instead she said, ‘I’m so pleased that they’ve gone on their last journey together. All their lives they’ve been the best of pals and helped each other through thick and thin. So … as much as I’m grieved to lose my Donald … I do understand why my darling husband tried to save his friend Dodd.’
Neither Kate, Johnny, nor Kitty were so understanding. They felt it had been foolhardy of Donald to jump in when there was no hope of even finding Dodd in the murky water, never mind saving him.
Three weeks after Donald and Dodd’s funerals, Jenny had a sort of breakdown. She’d been so brave up until then and had urged her family to get on with their lives. ‘Sad it is that your dad has gone,’ she would say, ‘but it’s not tragic. He and Dodd had good lives and knew so many joys with their families. Tragic,’ she went on, ‘is the slaughter of all our young people in this blasted war.’ That was all she ever said but she did ask herself, Why, oh why, did the people of Germany put their trust in a mad man like Hitler? Why, oh why, did they blindly follow him?
The breakdown saw Jenny retreating into herself and she gave up everything. She even stopped trying to assist Kitty with her burdens that became heavier as each day passed.
Kitty, for her part, felt it had been bad enough to live without her mother, but now that she had also lost the support of her grandparents, life was becoming intolerable. To add to all her worries she felt that her inexperience in the art of cooking was adding to her problems. How was she going to satisfy her ravenous brothers and father out of the paltry rations that were being allocated? It was a nightmare. However, if Kitty was being truthful, which she was reluctant to be, her Aunty Kate was the one who was most affected by the sad events that had recently befallen the family.
On the morning of her dad’s accident, Kate had been jolted awake by the wails of the sirens. ‘Not another blooming air raid,’ she hollered, jumping out of her camp bed in the department store.
‘You say something, Kate?’ Gladys asked, stifling a yawn.
‘Yes, Gladys, it sounds as if we’re under attack and I don’t mean from our male colleagues who always expect us to be up before them and making their tea and toast.’
‘Germans? Don’t be daft, Kate, it’s just coming up six o’clock in the morning!’
‘Maybe so but these wails you hear are us being told to get to our fire stations.’
An hour later, after they had listened to the docks being bombed and blasted, they sighed with relief. The department store had not been subjected to a direct hit by any bombs or incendiaries.
By eight o’clock all had gone quiet and the fire duty team got themselves out of the store; they were heading home when one of the dock area policemen called out to Kate.
The constable had begun by saying how sorry he was but it looked as if her father had been drowned. Whatever he said after that failed to register with her. All she had taken in was that her beloved father, the only man in her life since Hugh, was now deceased. The manner in which he had been killed was of no importance to her. All that mattered to her was that he was dead. Her darling daddy was no more.
Through her daze she knew she must pull herself together because she was the one who would need to break the news to her mother. It had only been after the last air raid, when people were killed or injured, that Jenny had said how lucky the family had been – not one of them had received as much as a scratch. Kate’s thoughts now became fully consumed by her mother and father. She had always thought that if Hugh had survived and they had wed, their marriage would have been like her mum and dad’s. It wasn’t that they never quarrelled – they did, and how – but they never went to sleep without kissing each other goodnight.
Kate had been amazed when Jenny took the news about the death of Donald, her husband, in her stride. She appeared so strong and, at first, it was she who held the family together. This mystified Kate because her own grief was such that she was unable to hold up anyone, even herself. She also noted that her brother, Red Johnny, hadn’t crumbled the way she had. Perhaps with their dad’s demise coming so soon after Sandra’s, Johnny was now past caring.
The night after her dad’s accident, Kate was due to be on fire duty again. Her first response was to ignore this commitment but Jenny insisted that the family had to go on and do their duty. ‘There is no other way, Kate,’ she had emphasised. ‘Dad wouldn’t want us to let others down. Fires may have to be put out. Women, and more importantly, bairns rescued.’
When she entered the locked-up building by the back door a man who she reckoned was ages with herself came forward and offered her his hand.
‘Sorry, very sorry about your father, Miss Anderson,’ he said in broken English.
Holding back surging tears, Kate nodded as she recognised the man as Hans Busek, who had come to work as a porter in the store six months before. All she knew about him was that he was Polish. According to the shop gossip he had been a native of Warsaw. It was also said that he had escaped the German occupation of his homeland by stowing away in a Port of Gdansk fishing boat.
‘Can I do anything for you?’
Kate shook her head but she did manage to mumble, ‘Thank you so much, Mr Busek.’
Quite suddenly Kate found herself then thinking that there was a refinement about Hans. She also acknowledged that he was very polite and worked very hard, but always he kept his distance from staff and customers alike. Giving further thought to Hans, she also admitted that he appeared to live in a world of his own which he did not wish to share with anyone. This being the case, it was such a surprise to Kate that he had hung about waiting for her to come into the building that first evening after her dad’s accident. Reluctantly she admitted to herself that until tonight she hadn’t even given the man a second thought, and yet he was concerned enough about her to offer his condolences.
Being the senior employee on duty, it was Kate’s responsibility to inspect and ensure that all was ready in case of an attack. She had just finished checking that all doors and passageways were free from obstructions and that all the pails were filled with either water or sand when she once again came upon Hans filling a kettle in the staff-room.
Wearily dropping herself down on a dining chair, she decided that she had to speak to someone, it didn’t matter who. What did matter was that they would engage her in a conversation that had nothing at all to do with the war or the untimely death of her father.
‘You’re making some tea, Mr Busek?’
Hans turned, and for the first time that she could remember, he smiled at her – a radiant smile that completely changed his expressionless face, turning it into a warm and friendly, caring countenance.
Kate’s elbows were now resting on the staff dining table and Hans set down a cup of hot weak tea in front of her. ‘Thank you, Mr Busek,’ she managed to mumble.
‘No trouble, Miss Anderson,’ he replied, holding out his hand to her. ‘And it would please me if you would call me Hans.’
Gripping his outstretched hand she nodded. ‘Nonetheless’ – she swallowed and paused before adding – ‘when others are about in the store we must address each other formally. You see,’ she hesitated again before whispering, ‘Hans, this superior Leith Provident Department Store has its standards and we must be seen to be keeping them – especially as this blasted war is changing everything.’
He nodded, stepped back and withdrew quickly into himself again.
Kate knew she had offended him and she wished she could take back her words but he had lifted up his cup of tea and left the staffroom. All she heard was the adjacent door of the cubbyhole open. She knew he would now be sitting on an upturned packing case in the large windowless cupboard where the manual staff took their breaks.
The shipyard where Johnny worked was owned and run by the Robb family. It was a compound of mismatched buildings situated in the docks
area of Leith and was encircled by the tidal waters of the Firth of Forth.
To enter the yard at the Portland Place entrance, one of the two larger access portals, you had to be admitted by a police constable. The constabulary’s job was to ensure that no unauthorised person gained entrance to the yards and dock area. This task at the start and finish of the shifts was a sheer impossibility. Thousands of men, who were employed on an hourly basis, would stampede at the start of their shift to get to the ‘clocking-in’ area on time. If they were as little as a minute or two late then they could see their wages docked by a quarter of an hour – and most men needed every penny to support either their families, the street bookies or their drinking habits.
The Dock Police Officers, who operated out of a good-sized wooden shed, would, if it was in their interest, turn a blind eye to a privileged few of the dockers and stevedores who always seemed to be snaffling out food and alcohol that had ‘accidentally’ fallen off the back of lorries. It wasn’t really an uncontrollable black-market affair. In the main it was just that some of the men couldn’t resist the temptation to make life easier for their families – and really what else can you do with an accidentally torn sack of sugar and a couple of bashed tins of New Zealand butter other than to divide it up amongst the men unloading the ship?
On the morning of the raid that cost Donald his life, Johnny was on the early shift, starting at seven o’clock. At 6.55 a.m. precisely he and a group of about twenty other trotting mates approached the entrance gates to the docks and were about to push past the police box when the elderly cop called out to Johnny.