Richard prayed that the bombing wouldn’t escalate and extend to Scotland. He began to worry about his parents, his grandmother and his sister. He tried to banish any idea of Scotland getting hit. He had more than enough on his plate at the moment. Night after night, the bombers returned in force, each time widening their target area. On the ground, there was a shortage of anti-aircraft guns, and in the air the Blenheim and Beaufighter night-fighters were blundering around in the darkness with precious little success. Guns were hastily pulled out of the ports, factories and RAF bases they’d been protecting and rushed into London—but to little effect. From the top of hills miles outside the city, German planes could be seen each night dropping their marker flares, while tracers arced back up towards them, and searchlights lit up the sky in a last-ditch attempt to pick up the bombers. And every night, the bombs fell and the fires raged.
As London burned, Richard thought with a sinking heart of Glasgow’s East End and all the tenements along the River Clyde. But there was nothing he could do about any of it. All he could do now was to get on with the job.
21
At first it had been perfectly innocent. She’d met him while working in the Royal. She was still frightened to drive her car in the dark and so he had begun giving her a lift. He lived in the south side of Glasgow but insisted he didn’t mind going out of his way to drop her off in the West End. His name was Donald Hamilton and he was a doctor at the Royal Infirmary. He was older than her—quite fatherly she’d thought at first, with his silver-grey hair and moustache.
She’d met him in one of the corridors. She’d been leaning up against a wall, clutching at her white-aproned waist, grey-faced and feeling sick. He’d stopped to ask if she was all right. She’d blurted out, ‘That poor man. There was surely no need to be so rough.’ She’d realised almost immediately that she should have kept her mouth shut. She would not say another word.
Doctor Hamilton, however, was determined to find out exactly what she was talking about. Then, even though she knew that it would mean she’d suffer hell from the nursing sister involved when she found out, Virginia told him what had upset her. She’d been holding the kidney dish for Sister by the bedside of a man suffering from VD. It had been a shock in the first place when the sister pulled the bedclothes away to reveal the man’s enormous, grotesquely swollen testicles. Then with one vicious movement, the sister jerked the sticking plaster from the testicles. The man had cried out in pain. Virginia almost fainted. She was relieved when the ordeal of renewing the dressing was over and she could escape into the corridor.
Doctor Hamilton said gently, ‘She wasn’t really being cruel. She did the right thing. It would have been much worse, and only prolonged the agony if she’d tried to remove the plaster slowly.’
After a moment, Virginia said, ‘Oh, I see.’ She felt a bit of a fool. ‘I’m sorry. I think tiredness must be affecting my judgement, or something. I’ve been up since the crack of dawn. I’m not usually as feeble as this.’
‘You’re not feeble, you’re caring. A caring nurse is a good nurse. When are you off duty?’
‘Now, actually.’
‘So am I. Let me take you somewhere nice for a cup of tea—far away from the smell of illness and death and disinfectant.’
She had changed out of her blue cotton uniform dress, white apron and starched cap into her outdoor uniform, and had met him outside the Royal Infirmary. They had gone to Copeland & Lye’s and drank tea and ate delicious cakes while listening to Copeland’s orchestra playing. It was very soothing and relaxing and just what she needed. They talked easily and happily together. He told her of his home in Clarkston where he’d lived for many years with his late wife, Mary. She’d gone down south to visit an elderly relative to try to persuade her to move to Glasgow. There was so much danger in the coastal towns and villages now. This had been tragically proved when Mary and the old lady had both been killed in an air raid. He and Mary had no children, nor had either of them any living relatives left. That elderly aunt of Mary’s had been the last.
‘You live alone then?’ Virginia said.
‘Yes, I’m glad of my work. If I didn’t have that, I think it might be a very lonely life.’
She knew what loneliness was and she too was glad of having her work to go to. She confided in him about Wincey and he was intrigued.
‘Talk about truth being stranger than fiction?’
‘Yes, I don’t think I’ve really come to terms with it yet. So many years of worry and fear and uncertainty. Eventually the terrible grieving. Then the shock of her letter.’
‘But it must be wonderful to have her back.’
Virginia sighed. ‘The only thing is, she isn’t properly back with me. I mean, she’s living most of the time with the Gourlays. I only see her briefly at weekends. Any time she refers to the Gourlays’ place, she calls it home.’
His hand covered hers. ‘Well, it was her home for so many years. It will have become a habit to call it home. It’s perfectly understandable. I’m sure she doesn’t mean it as slight on you.’
‘I suppose not. That’s what I keep trying to tell myself.’
He was so kind and sympathetic and she needed somebody to talk to. They went on talking in the car and it was agreed that whenever possible, he would give her a lift home. They’d also have tea in Copeland’s again, he promised. Their hours on duty did not always coincide, and there were times when he could not meet her, or take her home. More and more however, she looked forward to and enjoyed the times when he could. He was such a nice man—kind and attentive to his patients, and to her. Only when they were alone, of course. Hospital protocol frowned on the most innocent of familiarity between doctors and nurses, even in wartime. A nurse spoke when necessary to the staff nurse. The staff nurse communicated with the ward sister. The sister could speak to the matron or the doctor. The matron was top of the nursing pile and greatly feared by one and all, even by some of the doctors.
So every time Virginia met Doctor Hamilton outside the hospital, she’d hop into his car and they’d speed away like two naughty children. The idea made them laugh. She hadn’t laughed for ages. After all, there was very little to laugh about these days.
Even listening to the wireless only added to the general feeling of doom and gloom. The latest news was that night after night, London was being bombed. There weren’t enough public air-raid shelters and people fought to get into underground stations. At first the gates had been locked against them but eventually the authorities and the government were forced to give in after a large crowd of angry East Enders burst into the Savoy hotel demanding shelter. Now thousands of people trooped down into the bowels of the earth to sleep on draughty platforms.
Those who emerged from the shelters, or did not go down in the first place, stood and cheered on the Hurricanes and Spitfires as they tore into the German bombers. The onlookers cheered themselves hoarse as bomber after bomber plunged to the ground. One Spitfire pilot who had run out of ammunition deliberately crashed his plane into a German Dornier. As the two aircraft were sent spiralling to the ground, both pilots bailed out. The German pilot landed in the middle of an area that had recently suffered many casualties in the bombing. As he did so, a crowd of civilians came running from their houses with pokers and kitchen knives to attack him, forming a screaming melee around the dying man.
The bombers still came back every night, and not only to London. Now they were bombing Liverpool, Swansea, Hull, Southport, Bristol, Birmingham and many other cities, including Glasgow, although so far the raids on Glasgow had caused little damage and only a few casualties.
A tenement in the Scotstoun district had been hit. A bomb had dropped on Killermont golf course. Another bomb fell in George Square in the centre of Glasgow, and one hit HMS Sussex, moored in Yorkhill Basin. Virginia had been more aware of the noise of the anti-aircraft guns than of the bombs at the time, and her life continued more or less as normal. Well, as normal as it could be in wartime.
; She saw so little of Nicholas, and when she did see him, he was mostly in uniform, forever caught up with his Home Guard duties. Then there was the vegetable garden to attend to. He also took his turn fire watching. Nowadays, he hardly had any time even for his writing. Virginia herself was mostly in uniform and hardly ever in the house either, what with long working hours and queuing for food, and God knows what else. And now there was her relationship with Donald Hamilton. It had grown into a relationship. She hadn’t meant it to happen. She didn’t think he had either, but it had. He knew about Nicholas, and admired his writing. He’d remarked that he hadn’t seen a new book of his in the shops for a while and she’d explained about all his other commitments.
‘He still keeps his hand in, but he only manages a couple of hours in his writing room every now and then. There will be a new book coming out, but not for a few months yet. He had to get an extension of his deadline.’
Gradually it had come out that they had drifted apart.
‘I’m not blaming Nicholas,’ she said, not wanting to sound disloyal. ‘It’s my fault as much as his.’
‘It’s the war,’ Donald said. ‘It’s affecting everyone’s life in all sorts of ways.’
One evening, Donald phoned and invited her to dinner at his house in Clarkston. Nicholas was going to be out on Home Guard duty that evening. She said goodbye to him and he left dressed in his khaki uniform and tin helmet, and armed with his rifle. She hadn’t been looking forward to spending the evening on her own so she gladly accepted Donald’s dinner invitation.
‘I’ll take a taxi over,’ she said.
‘That would be best,’ he agreed. ‘I daren’t leave the cooker. I’m not a very confident cook. You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for.’
She wore a sheath dress in a soft blue material and little diamond earrings. Her hair was still an attractive golden brown, with very little grey. It was long and, for the evening, she wore it swept up. She began to feel flushed and as excited as a young girl as she set off for Clarkston. The taxi dropped her off at a villa on the main road. It was fronted by a rather unkempt looking garden. At the back of the house there was a much larger, secluded but equally wild and neglected garden lined with trees.
‘I never get time to attend to the garden,’ Donald explained, ‘and it’s impossible to find any gardeners nowadays.’
Virginia was surprised at how old-fashioned everything was inside. The walls were covered with dark brown embossed paper, up to a dado, with floral printed paper above. The patterned carpet looked faded and dusty. The furniture was heavy and of a Victorian or even earlier period. All of it was made of dark mahogany with a reddish tinge. There were button-backed chairs and an intricate floral arrangement displayed under a glass dome. The curtains were of brown chenille. A matching cover edged with long fringes was draped over the table in the dining room. Unfortunately, it reminded her of Mrs Cartwright’s house.
‘I’m sorry,’ Donald said. ‘I’ve been so long in the kitchen, I haven’t had time to set the table through here.’
‘Why don’t we just eat in the kitchen?’ Virginia suggested. ‘It’s so much homelier.’
‘Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not.’
She followed him through to the kitchen which, to her relief, turned out to be brighter and more attractive than the rest of the house. It had cream walls and blue and cream linoleum tiles on the floor. She soon found out where dishes and cutlery and glasses were kept, and she set the table while he stirred a pot with great concentration. He had made liver savoury.
‘Sorry it couldn’t be fillet steak,’ he said.
‘Lucky you to find some liver,’ Virginia told him. ‘I haven’t seen any in the shops for ages.’
‘I’ve to thank my cleaning lady for queuing for it. The soup is made from vegetables out of her garden, but I did all the cooking myself.’
‘It looks wonderful.’
He turned round for a second. ‘And you look wonderful.’
After the meal they took their coffee through to the sitting room and settled next to each other on an uncomfortable horsehair sofa. By that time, she’d had quite a few glasses of wine. She blamed the wine for what happened afterwards but knew it was a weak excuse.
They had made love upstairs in the brass bedstead with its flounced valance. Across the foot of the bed was a chaise longue and the fireplace had polished copper scuttle and tongs, and a poker set on show within the fender.
Virginia felt as if she’d stepped back into another age. It was a peaceful feeling. In a way, her lovemaking with Donald was also peaceful. Certainly it wasn’t a mad passionate encounter, as lovemaking with Nicholas had been at the beginning. Once she’d danced naked with Nicholas in the woods and they’d made passionate love on the soft mossy earth. Now Nicholas usually fell sound asleep as soon as he collapsed into bed each night. If she was on late shift, she did much the same thing once she arrived home.
This evening, with Donald, at least she was relaxed and happy.
22
‘If Grandmother Cartwright knew what my mother’s up to, all hell would be let loose.’
‘You’re not going to tell her, are you? Teresa’s gentle face creased with worry.
‘A doctor too!’
‘How do you know that, dear?’
‘Well, I told you I saw her with him a couple of times. Then on Saturday, I decided I’d meet her as she came off early shift, and take her out to lunch. I went into the Royal and there they were in reception, talking together. He was in his white coat, and with his stethoscope hanging round his neck. I recognised him right away.’
‘But it needn’t mean she’s having an affair with him, Wincey. They could be just colleagues and friends. That’s what she said when you spoke to her before, wasn’t it?’
‘Oh yes, that’s what she said, all right.’
‘Well then, dear.’
‘But I saw how they were looking at each other, Teresa. They’re having an affair, believe me.’
Teresa hesitated. ‘It’s really none of your business, Wincey. Although,’ she added hastily, ‘I know how you feel, dear.’
‘It’s my poor father I’m thinking about.’ Wincey replied, ‘He works very hard but Mother always seems so resentful, instead of having any sympathy or understanding.’
‘That may be so, but all the same, you don’t want to cause any trouble.’ The words ‘You’ve caused them enough trouble already’ hung in the air, unsaid.
‘Oh, I suppose you’re right, Teresa, but I can’t understand her doing this—after all they’ve been through, all that they’ve managed to overcome. Not to mention the opposition from the Cartwrights. And Father’s so handsome and talented, isn’t he? Whereas this man is just old. I can’t understand it,’ she repeated.
‘But you won’t say anything, will you, dear?’
‘I suppose not. But Father’s such a nice man. It makes me so angry. Guilty as well, because I have to watch Father innocently trusting Mother, never questioning her, while all the time I know what she’s up to.’
‘These things happen a lot nowadays. Everybody’s life is upside down because of the war, and couples separated for ages, and all the temptations …’
‘Mother and Father are not separated, but they will be—and for good—if she continues like this. I’d hate to see that happen. I want us to stay as a family now that we’ve found each other again.’
‘I know, I know. Just try to be patient, dear. It’ll probably all work out in the end. But it’s for your mother to sort things out. Or your mother and father. Not you.’
‘Oh, all right.’
Just then, Granny bawled from the front room. ‘Are you two tryin’ to send me to ma grave before ma time? It’s like the bloody North Pole through here.’
‘I’ll get her,’ Wincey said, and went through to fetch the old woman and her wheelchair.
‘I thought you were enjoying yourself, Granny, watching the wo
rld go by.’
‘Feel they hands.’ Granny lifted a couple of gnarled, shaky hands. Wincey took them in hers, gently rubbed them, and Granny said, ‘Aye, it’s well seen ye’ve been heatin’ yersel’. Yer hands are like hot water bottles.’
Laughing, Wincey began pushing the wheelchair through to the kitchen and manoeuvred it as near to the fire as possible.
‘There you are. You’ll be as warm as toast in a minute or two.’
‘Ah’m starvin’ as well. An’ ah see the table’s no’ even set. What have you two been bletherin’ about aw this time?’
‘I’ve just made a pot of tea,’ Teresa soothed. ‘That’ll keep you going until Erchie gets in. There’s a nice Skirly-Mirly.’
‘No’ that again. Tatties an’ turnip wi’ nae meat. What good is that to a workin’ man, or to anybody for that matter.’
‘We’ve used up all our meat ration, Granny. I’m not a magician, you know.’
‘Ah suppose ma sweety coupons are aw done as well.’
‘Yes, but I’ll get your peppermints with mine. I haven’t such a sweet tooth as you.’
Erchie had breezed into the room. ‘Ma hasnae any teeth at aw, have ye, auld yin. But ye’re a great souker, eh?’
‘Aye, well, ye’ll be auld yersel’ wan day.’
Erchie laughed and rubbed his hands. ‘Is that tea on the go, hen?’
‘Yes dear.’ Teresa poured him a cup and passed it over to him.
‘Here’s the paper, Ma.’ He tugged a rolled up newspaper from his jacket pocket.
‘Ye know ah cannae see right to read. Just tell me what’s in it.’
Teresa groaned. ‘Here we go again.’
‘Ah dinnae make aw the bad news happen,’ Granny protested. ‘Ye cannae blame me for that.’
‘I know, but I wish you didn’t need to hear it every night. It puts me off my tea—all these poor folk getting bombed. It’s getting worse instead of better.’
Clydesiders at War Page 13