Rue End Street

by Sue Reid Sexton

  ‘Yup,’ he said, at last. He lowered his voice. ‘Mr Tait told me not to tell.’

  I gulped. I wasn’t sleepy any more, not even slightly. My ears tingled, the way they do when other people are talking about you. I plumped back down in my seat. Some men came in the door, letting a blast of cold air through the room. George sat back down too and leant over the table at me.

  ‘Lenny... ,’ he said.

  I stared at him hard and made my eyes as small as his had been.

  ‘Does my mum know?’ I said.

  Suddenly his hand flew up to his mouth. I flinched, thinking he was going to hit me, but instead he started biting his fingernails as if he hadn’t eaten in a fortnight. Then he leant on his fist and stared at the table. We sat like that for a long time with all the people shifting chairs round about us and the ladies serving up tea with such cheerfulness it made me want to go behind the counter and stay there forever and pretend.

  ‘George,’ I said, leaning over towards him. ‘Do you know where my dad is?’

  ‘No,’ he said looking at me at last. ‘If he’s not in Helensburgh I’ve no idea.’

  I thought about this for a minute. It was good news and bad news.

  ‘Will you take me to my friend’s house, Mrs Strachan, back up the main road and up the hill by the church? She’s a very old lady and she said I could go there if I needed help. I can’t go home. I need more time. You have to help me, George. You do.’

  He sat back down in his seat and jerked his head towards the door. ‘Home,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t have a proper home any more,’ I said. ‘I don’t have Carbeth or Mr Tait. I want my dad. Don’t you understand?’ We sat in silence for ages with the door banging shut every two minutes and some people at the back of the room laughing all the time.

  ‘I hate my dad,’ he said at last.

  ‘That’s not the point,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry you hate your dad. Please?’

  He bent over, his head in his hands. I managed to keep my mouth shut. I know it wasn’t like me.

  ‘Okay,’ he said after ages and ages more. ‘But we’ve got to be quick getting you up there and you have to come home tomorrow. You have to promise.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you!’ I said. I rushed over to the counter with my soup bowl. ‘Thank you to you too! Come on, George.’

  First George had to go and tell someone he might be late for the boat, then we set off through the dark smoky streets back into town and the town hall with the big church next door to it where I had met Mrs Strachan. George held me by the wrist all the way because there was so little light. On the way I told him about the tram that nearly ran me down, deaf Mr Gregory in Helensburgh, the Germans on the truck, and Rocco. I made him promise not to tell Mavis or Rosie about Bobby or anything else so that I could tell them together myself.

  There was no answer at Mrs Strachan’s door so, remembering how she’d warned me about the Rue End in the first place, I nearly turned back down the hill, but George turned the handle and it opened. We found a fire dying in the grate and a candle which George lit with his matches. Mrs Strachan was in an armchair with a crochet blanket over her in every colour of the rainbow. She was snoring quietly so we didn’t disturb her. The bed in the alcove was empty. I climbed in and wriggled down under the covers.

  ‘This is strange. Do you think it’s alright?’ I whispered.

  ‘Well, it’s a bit late now, isn’t it?’ he replied. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow if I can. Don’t forget your promise.’

  ‘Tell my mum I’m alright.’ I don’t even remember hearing the door close behind him.

  Chapter 27

  Hours later I woke up feeling heavy and warm and blissfully happy. I had slept the rest of the night undisturbed, not even by dreams. I lay on my back and thought about how I’d like to stay where I was, in Carbeth, forever.

  Then I thought I was in Greenock in Mrs Brindle’s crypt after an ordeal with the minister so I opened my eyes double-quick to see if I had made it all up. Mrs Strachan was filling a kettle at the sink.

  Her breathing was heavy, as if she’d just walked up the hill, but she was wearing a pink dressing gown and red slippers with bobbles on the toes. I watched her limp to the fire and set the kettle over it. Then she leaned to one side, turned on one foot and made her way back to the sink.

  It was a single end like ours in Clydebank before the bombing. The window over the sink was steamed up and streaky but beyond it there was a bright sunny day. A loud clock ticked out the time and there was the crochet blanket over the armchair. Mrs Strachan set a teapot down at the sink.

  ‘Good morning, dear,’ she said, without turning round. ‘What kind of trouble sent you here?’

  ‘Good morning. Well... I...’ I sighed and gazed at the ceiling.

  ‘The Rue End?’ she said, hobbling back to the stove for the kettle.

  So I sat up and rediscovered how sore and bruised I was all over and told her about the minister and Mrs Brindle and Rita and George.

  She nodded quietly. ‘I did tell you not to go down the Rue End, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, I know, sorry, and I didn’t mean to. It’s just that I have to find my dad,’ I said.

  ‘You have to find some sense,’ she replied, arranging breakfast things on a tray. ‘Porridge?’

  Mrs Strachan made the best porridge I’ve ever tasted. It was thick and gluey and made my stomach stick out I ate so much of it, plus I got to sit up in bed like we did at home if we were sick. I made a silent wish that by some strange fate Mrs Strachan would turn out to be my granny instead of the mean one I had.

  ‘Greenock never used to be like that,’ she said. ‘It was always a bit wild but not like now. There are so many people now, all from different places and you don’t know who anyone is any more.’ She shook her head in exasperation. ‘And of course a lot of our own have gone, evacuated or fighting or...’ She drew a breath and stopped.

  I finished the porridge and she took the bowl.

  ‘Better?’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You have nice manners,’ she said. ‘That’s something.’ She leant on the bed. ‘Were you there when Clydebank was bombed?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered.

  She stroked my arm. ‘Were your family alright?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘once I’d found them.’ I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to be asked. ‘Were you here when Greenock was bombed?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. She hobbled back to the sink with my porridge bowl. ‘I was in that chair. I’d hurt my knee and couldn’t move. My neighbours wanted to carry me to the shelter but I said, no, you go. You’ll be quicker without me. What does it matter an old bat like me?’ She laughed.

  ‘Were they alright?’ I said.

  ‘Just a couple of broken arms and some burns.’ She shrugged. ‘We all hobbled around together after that!’

  We sat in silence a minute. Then I showed her the photo.

  ‘He’s a handsome young man!’ she declared. She was flushed from standing by the stove but sat down in the green armchair for a proper look. She stared at my dad in his little photo. ‘I’d remember a face like that.’

  I held my breath and leant over her shoulder.

  ‘What’s his name again? You’re very alike.’

  So I gave her both names.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, and laughed. ‘A citizen of the world, I remember.’

  She stared at the photo a while longer, so long I thought she might have fallen asleep, but instead she sighed and handed it back to me.

  ‘No?’ I said.

  ‘Don’t think so. Sorry. I’ll have a little think. Maybe I’ll remember something.’

  She said both the Italian cafés in Greenock had been taken over for war purposes at the beginning of the war and later the owners were arrested with all the other Italians. She also said there were lots of Italian prisoners in Greenock already and had been for ages. They were working alongside our
own men and going back to camps at the end of the day. Of course, I didn’t want to say but this particular Italian was one of our own men. Unfortunately, she didn’t know where the camps were.

  ‘I suppose the ones they arrested will be allowed back now Italy’s not with Hitler any more,’ she said. ‘Your dad could be anywhere. I’m so sorry. Poor you. Good luck!’

  I thanked her and left and set off down the hill, my heart doing somersaults. The day was brighter and Mrs Strachan had given me ideas about where to look. From her front door I could see Helensburgh beyond a glittery sea full of ships. The sky was a perfect blue with puffs of white racing across it. I went straight down the hill to the road where I’d met her the day before.

  Outside the police station I waited for the courage to go in, but finding none went to the town hall first. It was much bigger than the town hall in Clydebank and even posher with pillars and towers and fancy windows.

  But then George appeared in front of me and not only that he had Ella with him, of all people. They were both grinning their heads off as if they had just won a million pounds.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ I said. If I’m absolutely honest, which I always try to be unless there’s a good reason not to, I was pleased to see George. I can’t believe I’m saying this about bad George, but there it is. It was mainly because he was familiar, like an old blanket that needs a wash and is full of holes. But also, after meeting the minister I was nervous wandering alone, even in daylight.

  ‘Hi, Lenny,’ said Ella. ‘We came down on the train.’ You’d have thought no-one had ever gone on a train before, she looked so pleased with herself.

  ‘Bully for you,’ I said. I was not happy to see Ella.

  ‘Did you find your dad yet?’ she said.

  ‘Mind your own business,’ I said. ‘What’s she doing here?’

  George seemed distracted by his fingernails.

  ‘No need to be like that,’ said Ella. ‘I was just wondering. You’re lucky you’ve got a dad. Mine’s missing in action.’

  George gazed off down the street, then took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered one to Ella.

  ‘Thanks George,’ she said, laughing at the horror on my face.

  ‘You’re not old enough to smoke,’ I said. ‘Neither are you, George.’

  ‘Don’t be so boring!’ she said. ‘You’ve got to get your fun while you can these days. We might all be blown to smithereens tomorrow.’

  They went into a huddle, backs against the wind, and lit their cigarettes. Ella started coughing immediately, then laughed at herself, held the cigarette out to one side and batted the smoke away. George on the other hand blew out great clouds of smoke like he was used to doing this every day. His cloud drifted down the road like a ghost.

  ‘Well, it’s nice to see you again, George,’ I said, ‘but I’ve got to go.’ I’d changed my mind about him being a bodyguard, not if he had Ella in tow. ‘Bye!’ I said and set off round the corner for the entrance to the temporary town hall.

  ‘Wait!’ they shouted and came after me.

  ‘You don’t need to come,’ I said, hurrying away. ‘It’s fine, but thanks.’

  As I came to the door of the town hall, a bride and groom and a whole wedding party were leaving. They sailed past me and went giggling into the shelter of the arches outside. The bride was so pretty and happy I couldn’t help staring after her.

  But I had important things to do and anyway George and Ella had clattered in behind me. However, they soon got bored standing in the queue with me, which was a long one, and sat on a bench whispering instead. Then a doorman, who looked so old and withered I was surprised he could open the big front door at all, told them to go outside if they wanted to talk and be silly.

  It didn’t take me long to find out I was in the wrong place, there being no mention of my dad in any of the ledgers. But the lady behind the counter told me where the right place was, the Harbour Master’s Office, and about various other places which Mrs Strachan had also mentioned. It was cold in the town hall, even with my coat buttoned all the way up.

  ‘C... cold in here, isn’t it?’ I shivered.

  ‘Hmm?’ she said, busy writing something on a scrap of paper. It was a little map with two crosses on it, one for the Harbour Master’s Office and the other for the police.

  ‘I’d start with the Harbour Master,’ she said. ‘And don’t worry about the police. You’re too young to be arrested.’

  I thanked her and went back outside. The wedding party were posing for a camera. George and Ella were by the next pillar posing for an invisible camera too. I pretended I didn’t know them and hid in the doorway while the father of the bride came and chased them round the corner. Then I went after them as if I just happened to be going that way anyway. I decided to tell them a lie.

  ‘I’ve to wait half an hour for the man to come back,’ I said, ‘the man who knows about these things.’

  ‘You can be our witness then,’ said Ella and she twirled her skirt, which was dark red with polka-dots.

  ‘You shouldn’t joke about that kind of thing,’ I said. ‘You know once you’re over twelve even to pretend makes it legal and you’ll be married to George for the rest of or life, or didn’t you know that? I don’t think your gran’d be too happy about that. I don’t think anyone’s gran would be pleased if their granddaughter married George. Just saying. In case you didn’t know.’

  ‘That’s rubbish,’ she said. She picked a gentian scar on her cheek and eyed me over her hand.

  George’s little lips twisted in a smile she couldn’t see.

  ‘Let’s go and look at the ships then,’ he said, and he put an arm round her waist as if she was his girlfriend, right out there in public, and I realised she must be older than me to let him do that. Was she his girlfriend?

  ‘Yuck!’ I said.

  ‘Maybe I could get a job,’ she said. ‘I could pass for fourteen, couldn’t I?’

  ‘Easy-peasy,’ said George.

  ‘Lemon squeezy,’ said Ella. ‘Wow, look at all the sailors.’

  ‘See you in half an hour, Lenny,’ he said. ‘No more trouble please.’ He waggled a parental finger at me, which I ignored.

  When George and Ella came back to the town hall, I wouldn’t be there. If they asked the lady where I’d gone, she’d tell them the Harbour Master’s Office, but I’d have left there by that time too.

  Chapter 28

  After the noise of the street, it was amazingly quiet in the Harbour Master’s Office. Everyone was incredibly busy. There were six people working so hard at their desks I only saw the tops of their heads. In the five minutes I stood waiting they only spoke in hushed tones as if there was a baby somewhere they mustn’t wake. Through a closed door came the buzz of typewriters banging away like lots of bacon frying. Then it was my turn.

  I put the photo on the desk and pointed.

  The boy at the desk wasn’t much older than me. ‘This your dad then?’ he said in a loud voice.

  ‘Yes,’ I said just as loud, glancing round.

  ‘Ssh!’ he said. ‘Let’s see.’ He put some thick glasses on his nose and looked at my dad for a long time. Then he said, ‘He’s not a seaman.’

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘But I know that face.’

  Goose pimples crept up my back. I told him the names, both, Galluzzo and Gillespie, and he went and looked them up in a list.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Might have been a casual down at the quayside. If he’s Italian the army might know or the police. I’ve seen that face though. He’s a joker, isn’t he?’

  ‘The best.’

  He gave me directions to the army office and the police (again) so I asked him to mark the army office on the town hall lady’s map.

  On my way to the army office I got lost and wound up down by the docks again, this time by an inner harbour busy with small boats and beyond that the big ships anchored out to sea. A million seagulls turned and squealed against the blue
sky. Three ladies in khaki crossed the road and, while I glanced away to avoid being run down, they went off the edge of the quayside. No-one seemed even slightly worried but I had to go and look just to stop my heart beating so fast. But there were steps down and they clambered into a boat as if it was perfectly normal, then raced out of the dock holding their hats. As I watched them disappear beyond the harbour wall, I wondered how old you had to be to do that.

  Then I spotted George and Ella over the road with a policeman who was at least a head bigger than George and two heads bigger than Ella. The policeman pointed back down the road toward the Rue End and I watched them follow his direction, then went after them at a safe distance. But a wind started up and a line of green army vehicles roared past, then a horse and cart piled with girders and soon I’d lost George and Ella in all the uniforms and the drum of engines in the docks. So I asked a boy about George’s age in a polo-neck where the Army Office was and he told me where to go no bother.

  The lady at the Army Office wasn’t scary at all. She had dark hair pinned up behind her ears and buck teeth and was ages with Jeannie on the farm. She had the same green uniform all the other ladies had and WRNS on her shoulder. Ah, I thought. Wrens. I’d heard of them.

  ‘Dunno, love,’ she said, in an odd voice not from thereabouts and smoothed down the front of her uniform. ‘Why don’t you try the town hall?’ She smiled and looked away.

  I told her I’d already been there and showed her the photo. ‘He’s Italian,’ I said.

  She squinted at the photo as if getting too close to it she might smell him. Another lady came into the room, put some papers down and went out again.

  ‘I know him!’ said the buck teeth lady, coming to life. She snatched the photo before I could stop her and peered in close.

  ‘Do you?’ I said. My heart went boom into my throat.

  ‘Yeah, but he’s not Italian. Looks it.’ She licked her lips and stared at the photo. ‘But he spoke English, Geordie English, Newcastle or Middlesbrough or some such. I’m from Leeds me, see. That’s how I know,’ she said with some pride.