Rue End Street

by Sue Reid Sexton

  ‘I wish you’d told me,’ I said. ‘About being Italian, I mean. It’s important, especially if it makes me Italian too.’

  ‘I’m not Italian and neither are you. I’m British. I was born here, in England at least. I don’t even speak Italian, only bits your grandad used to say. I always had an inkling it was best kept quiet. Of course ordinarily there’s nothing wrong with being Italian. Rocco’s proof of that.’

  Helensburgh lay like an accusation across the water, glinting in the sun, a thousand ships still at anchor in the water between, George’s ship amongst them.

  ‘A sea captain came up here one day with his binocliars,’ said my dad.

  ‘Binoculars,’ I corrected.

  ‘As I was saying, his binocliars, and after I’d played him a tune or two, he let me have a shot of them. That was before I threw my moothie into the boiler after my hat. Anyway I saw them over the water using this sea captain’s binocliars, on the farm up there on the hillside, probably about the same height as this hill.’ He gazed over the river.

  ‘You saw them? What, Jeannie and Bobby?’

  ‘Well, not exactly them but I saw the house, a wee speck amongst the trees. When did you say you were there? ‘

  ‘Yesterday,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe it was you I saw then.’

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Anyway it was raining all yesterday.’

  ‘Not all day.’

  ‘Yes, all day.’

  ‘You people with attention to detail. It’s an affliction, you know. You ought to go to a doctor.’

  ‘Doctor schmoctor,’ I said.

  But it wasn’t funny. I turned back round and looked at the heaps of logs and old paper, the blizzard of scraps tumbling in the wind, Ella and Mr Archer waiting along the path. Time was running out and I hadn’t said a fraction of what I could have said or asked enough questions or had any real answers.

  ‘At least I know you’re not dead,’ I said. ‘I don’t know why she let me think you were.’

  ‘She hates me,’ he said. ‘She has reason.’

  ‘There’s Bobby, I know, but wasn’t that later?’

  ‘Yes, Lenny,’ he said quietly, ‘that’s enough now. Don’t ask me any more. Ask your mum when you get home. And work hard at school.’

  I stared at him. ‘Why can’t you just tell me? Agh!’ I shook both my fists.

  ‘Give your mum my love, and Mavis too,’ he said, ignoring my outburst.

  He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand then screwed up his eyes as if something hurt. I could tell I wasn’t going to get any more. He turned the green part of his ear which meant end of story, no more information. I felt my blood boil. I’d had more sense and honesty out of Rocco and Jeannie than my own stupid parents.

  ‘You’re every colour of the rainbow. Does it hurt?’ I said, hoping it did.

  ‘No!’ he said in quiet scorn. ‘Well, yes, actually, it hurts like hell, but a man’s got to do, and all that.’ He smiled a little. ‘Peas in a pod, you and me, eh?’ he said. ‘Tea for two and two for tea.’

  ‘Not really. I’ve only got purple,’ I said flatly.

  ‘You’re not trying hard enough, girl!’ he said, ignoring my tone.

  Suddenly I felt very tired.

  ‘There’s work needing done, Lenny,’ said Mr Archer. He didn’t seem unkind or angry. ‘The last car has to be loaded so it can go in time. You know we can’t take any chances.’ The two men met eyes and nodded. ‘We’re already behind, as you know.’

  ‘Right, alright, just coming.’

  ‘Come on, Lenny,’ said Ella. ‘Let’s go and find George. We can say goodbye to him before he goes. You’ve found your dad now.’

  ‘How is Mavis? And your mum, how’s your mum?’ said my dad.

  ‘Mavis is fine,’ I said. ‘She’s, well, she’s...’ I thought of Mavis rocking by the puddle like she was only three and I felt one of those pangs I’d had all day every day when I thought I’d lost her forever after the bombing. My dad had his hands at his mouth again as if he was praying, so I gave him the truth. ‘She’s nervous and sad and scared all the time. Ever since the bombing, she’s never been herself again, even with... even with Mr Tait looking after her, even though she’s got Rosie who’s the same age to play with.’

  He nodded and looked at the ground. Mr Archer made to move so we did too, back to the edge of the paper mill, slowly, as slowly as we dared.

  ‘Mum’s not really fine either,’ I went on. ‘She doesn’t sing any more, not since Mr Tait got ill. She stopped when you went away too.’

  He glanced at Mr Archer.

  ‘I’d better get back,’ my dad said, stopping.

  ‘Why did you do it? Je... Jeannie and Bobby, I mean. What about us? Why didn’t you...? Why... ?’ A gust blew fiercely about us, so I lost my footing and bumped against him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lenny, I’ve got to go. Mr Archer’s waiting.’

  ‘Mum doesn’t know where I am,’ I said. I felt the blood drain from my face as I realised I had been stupid enough to get myself stuck in Greenock for another night. All this for a dad who wouldn’t even give me the truth. ‘I don’t know how to get home.’

  Ella was bouncing on and off a log, flicking her polka-dotty skirt.

  ‘You won’t get on a train without a pass from the travel office at the pier,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what you’re going to do.’ He flicked a secret look at Mr Archer.

  ‘But it’s miles back to the pier,’ I said. ‘Even if we tried. I don’t know what to do.’ My voice was high with panic. I had no proper plan. How stupid. Even without Ella I couldn’t stay with Mrs Strachan again. She’d already fed me and I didn’t even know her.

  Suddenly my dad grabbed me by the hand and bent down close. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ he whispered into my ear. ‘I know how to get you home.’

  Chapter 33

  For a split second I hoped my dad’s plan was him sneaking away with me there and then and coming home. Without meaning to, I had a whole new life mapped out for us in which he came to work at Mr Tulloch’s farm, he and my mum were reunited, and we all went back to live in Carbeth. Simple really. Not difficult to understand at all. And clearly, seeing as both my parents loved me and had at some time loved each other, it was only a matter of time before they could leave all their troubles behind them and we could be united as a family again. I made that plan before I went to Helensburgh. It seemed so childish now.

  Here, however, was my dad’s plan: he was going to smuggle us out of there on a train, me and Ella that is. Not me, her and him.

  He whispered instructions to me as he hugged me goodbye. I could barely take them in. After all, here I was saying goodbye already when I’d only just found him. It made me dizzy to think about leaving him so soon and with so little. Then he called Ella over and said something to her which I couldn’t hear because, I suppose, I just didn’t want to. And I was too busy trying to contain my panic and thinking, No! It’s too soon. Don’t let the daylight go. I haven’t finished yet. Stop the train. I don’t want to get on. My heart hammered away in my chest.

  ‘But Dad,’ I said, interrupting them. ‘Can’t you come too? I mean Italy isn’t at war with us any more. It’s all over the papers. Haven’t you seen? They could move you to Carbeth, couldn’t they? Please? Couldn’t I at least just stay and chat while you work? I mean I’ll just sit there near you. I won’t be in the way. Please, Dad. Please Mr Archer? Please don’t make me go. Please?’

  Neither my dad nor Mr Archer spoke. Ella was suddenly there in front of me instead of my dad and I held my head and felt my face crumple, and over the top of my fingers I watched the two men walk away from me up the path until they disappeared behind a flurry of waste paper, merging into the piles of rubbish like ghosts until I couldn’t see for crying.

  ‘No!’ I wailed, all hope being snatched away. ‘Dad! Don’t go! Come back!’

  ‘He said we’ve to get away and hide,’ said Ella
. ‘Come on.’ She grabbed my arm. ‘We haven’t got long and I don’t want to get stuck in smelly old Greenock for the night. This place stinks. Come on. Lenny!’

  She dragged me down the path, and I followed her, blinded by tears and tripping over every bump in the path, the cold wind rushing up my legs. She yanked me in behind a pile of pallets.

  ‘Okay, that’s us away,’ she said. ‘What do we do next? What did he say?’

  I had no idea. ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember!’ I gasped.

  What did he say? What were we to do? I put my head in my hands. Mr Tait was in there. What would he say? I had to put my tears away for now and try to think. I held my breath and listened.

  ‘Right.’ I gave myself a shake. ‘Don’t say a word and don’t jump,’ I said before she could do either. I rummaged in my brain for what else my dad had said. What were we to do? Stowaway, we were going to stow away on that train. I told her this and she looked at me as if I was mad, which to be honest seemed quite likely.

  ‘That train? There are no carriages,’ she hissed at the tarpaulin-topped flatbeds that reached off into the distance.

  I didn’t know how he was going to do it, but we were to hide behind an old wooden railway hut with no roof and he’d tell us when to move. A green wooden structure stood near the line. It had no roof and no glass in the window. I didn’t really care what happened any more, if we were caught by Mr Archer or got stuck in Greenock, but I did at least realise this was a silly way to think and not helpful. I crouched against the pallets and tapped my head to get my thoughts moving. Then I wiped my face with my scarf, pulled my hat into place and puffed my cheeks. Ella peered out.

  ‘Get down,’ I said, giving her no choice.

  ‘Ow!’ she complained.

  ‘Ssh! We have to keep low. Not a sound. Follow me.’

  We tiptoed over cogs and wheels, bolts and tin boxes, round a ploughshare (in a paper mill?) and behind the remains of the railway hut.

  ‘Lenny,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think this is a good idea. I think we should go and find George. He’ll know what to do.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said. ‘He’s probably on his way out to his ship. Out there.’ I pointed between some trees and a lorry load of waste paper.

  ‘He’s not really going, is he?’ she said, searching my face.

  ‘What?’ I said, ‘Of course he’s going. What d’you think he was doing in that employment office? Saying hello to old friends?’

  ‘Okay, keep your knickers on,’ she said.

  ‘It wasn’t me who was thinking of taking them off.’

  This was something I’d heard about at Carbeth, ladies wanting to take off their knickers, and I thought I knew why. That shut her up for all of three seconds. But before she could scream and shout I put one hand over her mouth and the other at the back of her head to keep it there.

  Somebody walked along behind the lorry we’d passed. The man whistled, then underneath the lorry we saw two legs in overalls and a pair of boots come to a stop. We held our breath and waited. A puff of smoke flew at speed round the back of it. Ella gasped and tore my hand from her mouth.

  ‘Smoking? If this lot goes up!’ she whispered. ‘We have to stop him.’ It was possibly the most sensible thing she’d ever said. But also the most stupid.

  ‘Ssh,’ I said. ‘He won’t be long. He’s probably smoked here plenty of times.’

  ‘Is it your dad?’

  ‘No, those are boiler suit legs.’ Couldn’t she tell? ‘My dad’s in trousers.’ Torn ones. Didn’t she notice anything?

  A shudder ran through the lorry, then the boiler suit legs crossed so we could see the underside of his boot.

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘He’s smoking the whole thing.’

  ‘Ssh. Come on then, let’s go.’

  ‘No, I think we should stay here. Wait for my dad.’

  Ella huffed, rearranged herself on her heels and leant back against the hut. In turn, the hut groaned and the boiler suit legs uncrossed and straightened, so we hurried on all fours further round the hut in case he might see us. The lorry door creaked open, slammed shut and its engine growled into life, billows of thick smoke rushing round the hut to join us.

  I held on to Ella and we waited until the lorry had gone a short distance and creaked on its brakes. There was a noisy burp as the engine shut off again.

  ‘Right then, where do you want them?’ we heard in the distance.

  ‘Now!’ I whispered. I had done this many times of course, in school playgrounds and the woods at Carbeth, but never so it actually mattered. Keeping low, we sneaked round bits of engine and piles of rubbish and up along the goods wagons beyond them. Each wagon was piled high, with a black tarpaulin over the top. Along the track I could see my dad there on the ground tying the tarpaulin over the last carriage.

  He glanced up at us and made a ‘come on’ sign down at his leg, and just as we got to him he lifted a bit of the tarpaulin and pulled out a bale of cardboard which was sitting on its own without another two on top.

  ‘Up you go,’ he said as quiet as he could.

  He made a step with his hands, the way I’ve done lots of times trying to see in high windows. Ella, after some frantic persuasion, put her foot in his hands and jumped up into the space.

  ‘Hold the tarp up,’ he whispered. ‘Come on, Leonora, you next. That’s my girl. ’

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said as I stepped into his hands. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said as I took my place beside Ella, two little words I never thought I’d get to say and was scared I might never say again. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said a third time and slipped under the tarpaulin.

  Someone shouted from the road, ‘Lenny!’ and Dad and I turned to see who it was: George, with a brown parcel under his arm. He waved to me, gave a thumbs up and pointed at the parcel. I put my finger to my lips and darted under the tarpaulin.

  ‘It’s George,’ I whispered to Ella.

  ‘Let me see!’ she squeaked.

  ‘Don’t be a bloody idiot,’ I hissed, taking a grip of her. She was worse than Rosie. ‘You’ll get us caught.’

  ‘Nearly done, Mr Archer!’ I heard my dad shout.

  ‘That’s George, Dad.’ I said. ‘He’s my friend.’

  My dad gave us some last instructions about getting off, then tied the tarpaulin tight, passing a rope underneath it and up to us. ‘Pull that when you want to get off and not before. Understand?’

  ‘Okay, got it,’ I said. Had I? For once?

  He patted the tarpaulin in reply and shouted to Mr Archer that he was finished.

  ‘Come with us, Dad!’ I said. ‘Dad? Come too. There’s room in here for you.’

  There was a pause. All I heard was my heart beating in my ears.

  He patted the tarp again and his voice was close to my head. ‘Give my love to your mum,’ he said, ‘and Mavis.’

  The train jerked forward and his feet scrunched on the gravel so I knew he was walking beside us and then with one final pat he was gone.

  ‘Dad!’ I yelled. Ella screamed too and we tried to grab onto the bales. ‘Dad!’

  ‘I want to get off!’ she screamed. We clung to each other as the train shook itself down and lurched forwards and we tried to jam ourselves against the walls of paper. There was nothing to properly hold on to and no protection from the clamour of wagons shuddering into life and the din and screech of wheels against rails. Neither was there any way of keeping the paper dust from our eyes and mouths or seeing anything at all in the total darkness under the tarpaulin.

  Because it was my dad’s idea, I’d assumed he knew what he was doing and it would be safe and easy to stow away like this. That’s what dads do, isn’t it, keep their daughters safe? But as we careered around the first bend at what already felt like high speed, Ella slid heavily against me and I in turn was squidged up against the canvas of the tarpaulin. We both squealed and fought against the force that seemed to shift us closer and closer to certain death with every jolt of the train.
We knew the drop beyond the canvas and I for one couldn’t help imagining the speed and violence with which I would hit the ground. Soon the bales at our backs, those nearer the front, because we were facing the end of the train, slowly moved backwards so that our little secret square was soon an oblong, and not a big one. Luckily the bales got stuck somehow, and with even more luck another bale came tumbling down on top of us and jammed at an angle in the gap before it reached our heads, boxing us in and preventing any others from coming closer. Our little prison had closed on all sides but one.

  It was dark in there like you’ve never known, which was fine, really, to begin with. We had to keep our eyes tight shut against the dust anyway. But very quickly we had no idea which way up we were or how close to the edge or whether the oblong was shrinking and if we were about to be crushed. This meant we had to hold each other tight and keep feeling what was around us. We were not cold, quite the opposite. The bales protected us from most of the chill rushing past, except on the tarpaulin side which was icy. I knew immediately if I’d touched it.

  Eventually we managed to stop yelling. The train slowed and blundered to a halt and I thought my bones would fall apart altogether with all the banging and shaking.

  ‘Where are we?’ whispered Ella.

  ‘How should I know?’ I said, shoogling the stiffness from my legs.

  ‘Have a look then.’

  ‘Sssh. Someone’s coming.’

  Suddenly a bang sounded and we were bounced two inches off our backsides, landing with an excruciating thud. I thought the lower end of my back was broken, and someone must surely have heard us squeal, but all we could hear was the scraping of metal against metal, the crack of a hammer and chains running over iron, then another bang and the same hammer and chains.

  ‘Let’s get out,’ said Ella.

  ‘We can’t. We only get one shot,’ I said. ‘If we pull this rope and we can’t get off here we’ll fall off at the next bend.’

  ‘I don’t care. Let me out.’

  ‘This is the wrong place. My dad said,’ I said. ‘He said we’d stop twice and the first time we’d hear more wagons being attached. That’s what the banging is.’