‘Book,’ she snapped.
‘Book?’ Kezzie repeated. She hadn’t noticed that the others had a book which they handed over. ‘I don’t have a book.’
‘No book. No goods.’ The woman looked beyond Kezzie. ‘Next.’
‘I have a letter,’ protested Kezzie. ‘My minister said if he wrote a letter …’
‘You need a book,’ said the woman, already dealing with the next person. ‘We need to mark in the date and what goods you receive. You only get a certain amount each month. Otherwise people like you would be in here every day getting stuff for nothing.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Kezzie politely. ‘Where do I get a book?’
The woman ignored her while she served three other people and then said, ‘Go to the office.’
‘Where is the office?’
Again she made Kezzie wait for a few minutes, then said, ‘In the corridor. You must have noticed it on your way in.’
Kezzie returned to the corridor and found the office. It was closed. The notice on the door read OPEN MONDAYS AND WEDNESDAYS. Today was Thursday. In order to get a book for rations she would have to wait four more days. Kezzie went back into the hall. The queue was now double the length. Kezzie marched to the front.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, placing herself directly in front of the woman. ‘The office is closed.’
‘Is it?’ was the reply. ‘Then you’ll have to wait until it opens.’ She snapped her fingers for the next person to come forward.
Kezzie side-stepped smartly and blocked them off.
‘I can’t wait four days,’ she said. ‘The reason I have the letter is because I am desperate.’
‘You should have thought of that sooner, miss,’ said the woman, ‘before you let yourself get into such a state.’
Kezzie gasped.
‘Do you think I want to be like this?’ she said. ‘To come here and have to beg from someone like you?’
‘You be careful, madam. Talk that way to me and you’ll get nothing. Now stand aside and let me deal with these people.’
The people who were waiting had become very quiet as they listened to this exchange of words.
‘I will not stand aside. I was told to come here for food and I’m not leaving until I get some.’
The crowd murmured its approval.
The woman hesitated for a second. ‘If you are really so desperate you can wait until the end. If there is anything left you might get something.’
Kezzie swallowed and tried to keep her temper. She thought of Lucy, with her outgrown boots and coat, and her thin peaked face. She thought of her grandad, away from early morning until nightfall each day and coming home with pennies. Her hand closed around the minister’s letter.
‘Blast you!’ she shouted. ‘Blast you for ever more! Keep your food. Keep your stupid book. I’ll do without it!’ And she crushed up the letter in her fist and threw it into the woman’s face.
She ran outside. She could still hear the cheering and clapping from inside the hall, as she stamped down the street, an angry fire inside her. She knew that she had done something really stupid and would regret it later, but at that moment she didn’t care. No human being should have to crawl to another, especially not for food.
‘Miss, excuse me.’
Kezzie stopped. Someone was calling after her. It was an older woman, carrying a baby.
‘Miss,’ the woman hesitated, and, as she came nearer, Kezzie saw that in fact the girl could have been scarcely twenty.
‘Miss, I heard what happened inside there. The Salvation Army give out soup and bread every day at their place, and they have clothes … if you need them.’ She touched Kezzie on the arm lightly, and was gone.
This incident, instead of cheering Kezzie, made her feel even lower. The thought of queuing at a soup kitchen was too much to contemplate. People should be allowed to keep their dignity and not be humiliated, she thought, as she turned the corner into the main street. With this in her head it was just the wrong moment for her to catch sight of her grandfather.
At first she didn’t realise it was him. What she saw ahead of her in the street was an old man standing with his head down and his cap outstretched in his hand. A woman dropped a copper in, others walked past ignoring him, then one man pushed him roughly aside. Kezzie retreated a few steps and then turned and fled. She got round the corner and hurried away as quickly as she could through lanes and back alleys praying that he had not seen her.
The next day was bitterly cold, and Lucy protested strongly as Kezzie tried to force her feet into her little boots. They were far too small for her. Kezzie had at last to admit to this. She found a pair of her own from last year that she had outgrown and by putting a pair of Grandad’s socks on Lucy’s feet and stuffing the toes with paper she fitted them on her sister. They set off for school. Kezzie was in an ill humour. The events of the previous days and her sister’s complaints had brought her down completely. The very sight of the child wrapped up with a huge wool scarf against the cold, with her skinny arms sticking out of her outgrown coat sleeves, stumbling along in the big boots, enraged her. Lucy was walking far too slowly and would be late for school. Kezzie wrenched cruelly at her arm.
‘Hurry up,’ she snapped.
Lucy pulled her arm away. ‘I can walk to school myself,’ she shouted, and with as much dignity as she could muster clumped determinedly off up the road.
Kezzie walked six miles into another town that day. She couldn’t risk seeing her grandfather begging in Shawcross. She got nothing at all until almost closing time when a greengrocer said to wait behind and help shut up the shop. She dragged sacks of potatoes and boxes of apples and vegetables in from the street, then swept the floor. The man was kindly enough and gave her a bag of bruised fruit and vegetables as well as her money to take home. As she left the shop she saw her reflection in the lowered blinds. She looked unkempt, her hair was matted, her coat stained and missing a button.
It was a long six miles home in the dark carrying some boxes the shopkeeper had given her for firewood. When she arrived at the bothy the fire was barely burning and Grandad and Lucy were sitting at the table waiting for her.
‘Have you not eaten?’ she asked sharply.
‘We were waiting for you,’ said her grandfather. ‘You are late, we were worried something was amiss.’
‘And would you just sit there all night,’ she cried, ‘and let the fire go out and never think to make yourselves something to eat?’
Lucy opened her mouth.
‘You be quiet,’ said Kezzie. ‘I’ve had enough of your moaning for one day. No one does much here except me, and I’m sick and fed up with it all. Look at this place. The roof is leaking and the wind is blowing in through the walls.’ She glared at her grandfather. ‘It’s time you did some repairs around here instead of traipsing all over the town each day for no good whatsoever.’
He lowered his gaze and looked away. Kezzie began to set out cups and plates noisily on the table. She caught sight of her hands, chapped and red, her fingernails dirty and broken. She realised with a sudden shock that she was just like the other people she had waited with in the queue the other day. The people she had moved away from and tried to keep at a distance. She pulled open the drawer of the kitchen table to take out the breadboard and knife. The handle came away and dropped painfully on to her foot.
‘This is exactly what is wrong!’ she shrieked. ‘Someone should have fixed this handle. It has been loose for weeks and neither of you would think of doing something about it.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘You,’ she pointed at her grandfather, ‘get your toolbox and fix this and anything else that needs fixing. You,’ she addressed Lucy who had gone to stand beside her grandad, ‘get that grate cleaned out and this table top scrubbed and then bring out your sum book. You haven’t done any school work for weeks and it’s time you started.’ She pulled a piece of bread for herself from the loaf and snatching up her coat she opened the door. ‘I’m going for a walk and t
his must all be done when I come back. That is if I decide to come back at all.’
Kezzie walked in the woods for nearly two hours. It was a clear and beautiful winter’s night, with frost sparkling on trees and grass, but she did not see it at all. Her thoughts were confused and desperate. She knew that they were at the end of their road. Her outburst tonight had shown that. They had had arguments and fall-outs before like any normal family, but tonight had been different. She waited until Lucy and Grandad would have gone to bed and then returned home.
They were waiting for her when she softly opened the door. The fire was burning brightly, the grate swept and the table clean. Grandad was leaning over Lucy and her school books. They regarded her silently as she stood at the door.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Kezzie, and burst into tears.
She didn’t know quite how it happened but next she was settled on Grandad’s knee in the big chair by the fire with his arms around her, and Lucy brought her her doll to cuddle.
‘Here,’ said her sister generously, ‘you can keep Kissy tonight if you want.’
Later with the doll cuddled between the two of them Kezzie prayed: ‘Dear God help us. If you don’t do it soon then we surely will starve.’
And starve they would have if it had not been for the timely arrival of Matt McPhee.
CHAPTER 12
Matt McPhee
A FEW DAYS later Kezzie awoke suddenly in the early morning. She reached blindly for the small stone she kept on the floor beside her bed in case she ever saw a rat again. Nothing moved inside the bothy.
She got up quietly. Something or someone was creeping around outside, she was sure of it. She cautiously opened the door. In the half-light she saw, lying at her feet, a dead rabbit.
‘Something wrong?’
Her grandad was beside her.
‘Look.’ She pointed at the ground.
Grandad stepped outside and glanced about him. There was no one in sight. Then a low whistle sounded from beyond the trees. Kezzie’s grandfather raised his arm in a salute, and picking up the rabbit, he came back inside.
‘It’s the travellers,’ he said.
They had rabbit stew at seven o’clock that morning, and all of them ate fit to burst.
‘My tummy’s sore,’ said Lucy happily.
‘Don’t you DARE be sick,’ said Kezzie, laughing. She stirred the pot on the fire. ‘There’s enough here for tonight, as well.’
‘I’ll get some potatoes from the farmer today,’ said Grandad, ‘and we’ll manage rabbit soup with them tomorrow.’
Kezzie persuaded her grandfather to go back to the farm and ask for employment. He repaired the tools and machinery. Kezzie was sure that the farmer was only making work for her grandad out of friendship and pity, but she didn’t care. It was better than letting Grandad go back into town to beg. Even if he couldn’t pay, the farmer always gave them milk each day, and some potatoes or turnips to get by on.
Kezzie had also set Lucy little tasks to do in order to keep her occupied. No matter how tired or hungry she was, Lucy had to keep a jam jar on the table filled with fresh evergreens and berries. Her school work, which had been neglected, was now done every night, and Grandad was teaching her to play chess.
On the third day, when they had finished the soup, Kezzie opened the door in the morning to find a small chicken there. And so it went on. Every few days something was left, two plump pigeons, fish, eggs, then a fine buck hare which lasted them nearly a week.
The wind shifted round and there was a tingling in the air, as Kezzie got Lucy dressed for school one morning. She had gone previously to the Salvation Army clothing store and managed to find a pair of boots to fit her sister. She wrapped her up well and they were about to go outside when the door opened and in stepped Matt McPhee.
He touched his forehead, but did not speak.
Kezzie realised that it was a sign of respect. He was waiting for her to greet him first.
‘Come in, please,’ she said. ‘Would you take some tea?’
He nodded and sat at the table.
‘Matt,’ said Kezzie as she poured his tea and cut him some bread. ‘We want to thank you for your gifts.’
His face reddened and he concentrated on his cup.
‘No, truly,’ said Kezzie. ‘These last days, you have stood between us and starvation.’
‘As you did with us in the past.’
‘How did you know that we needed help?’ asked Kezzie.
‘We had finished the berries at Blairgowrie and were on our way north. We met up with cousins at a camp in Brechin and they said they had been past this way. They had called at your house and had abuse and a shoe thrown at them. We knew that your da would never do that. He was a gentleman, your da. It’s not a big house or money that makes you gentry. My mother sent me back down the road to see what was amiss.’
Kezzie suddenly remembered the travellers’ last visit and Matt’s mother telling their fortune.
‘She knew, didn’t she? Your mother knew?’
Matt looked away and then back towards them. He shook his head.
‘Not exactly, no, or she would have warned you. She just told me that your da’s hand was cold, very cold.’
There was a silence. Matt finished his tea and wiped his mouth.
‘I came to speak with you as I’ll need to be going back up the road soon. We always winter in Skye and I’ve got to get my two hundred days’ schooling or the Cruelty fine us.’
Kezzie felt as though she had been struck.
‘Go away?’ she said.
‘Aye, but before I do we will have to sort you out a bit better.’ He stood up and glanced around him critically. ‘This is a hole you’re in and the snow’s coming. I can smell it in the wind. I’ve sent word to other kin of ours in the Borders and we should get you fixed up with something else soon. Also, after you leave the bairn off to school I’m going to give you some real education. The kind that you don’t learn from books, but it’ll keep you ’til springtime.’
And that is what he did. Over the following days Matt showed Kezzie how to live as well as nature would allow, how to rob a nest and set a snare, which berries were edible and which were not and how to follow animal tracks.
One afternoon just after Lucy had returned from school he appeared with a great smile on his face.
‘Come quickly,’ he said, ‘and see what I have got for you.’
He led them to the other side of the wood, near where a clear stream ran.
‘This is a better place for a camp,’ he said, ‘less damp, fresh water, and look …’
Parked beside the burn was an old-fashioned gypsy caravan.
‘The man who had this has a modern trailer now, pulled by a car, would you believe?’ Matt laughed. ‘Not for the likes of me, I’ll tell you. I’ll have a yoke and a tent any day. Anyroad, it’s yours and it has a stove and a sink and all, it’s watertight and it’s up off the ground.’
‘It’s wonderful,’ said Kezzie. The thought of leaving the bothy overjoyed her. She would get their things together at once and settle there tonight.
Matt seemed restless and she turned to speak to him.
‘The people who brought this are waiting for me at the end of the lane,’ he said. He held his hand out awkwardly. ‘I must say goodbye.’
Impulsively Kezzie went forward and hugged him, not caring that he was rigid with embarrassment.
‘Thank you, Matt McPhee,’ she said, ‘and tell your mother thanks. And may we have better fortune when we see you again,’ she called after him as he ran off down the road.
CHAPTER 13
Kezzie plays a trick
THEY SETTLED THEMSELVES in the caravan and, as Matt had predicted, the snow came. They awoke one morning to that particular brightness and strange quietness that tells of a heavy fall of snow during the night. Lucy was delighted.
‘No school!’ she squealed and, pulling her coat on over her night clothes, she ran out to play.
And wit
h not much persuading, Grandad and Kezzie joined her. For a few days while the first fall lay white and clean, Grandad and Kezzie gave up their search for work. When Kezzie thought about it later, she felt that their temporary return to childhood had been good medicine for both of them. They made snowmen and had snow fights, tried skating on a nearby frozen pond and even attempted to build an igloo.
At last a thaw came and with it the very first frail snowdrops scattered under trees and hedgerows. Kezzie felt better. The indication that the year was on the turn gave her hope, and as if to prove her right, Bella arrived breathless one day with what she hoped was good news.
‘The new knitwear factory in Shawcross,’ she gasped, out of breath with hurrying, ‘they’re hiring tomorrow at ten o’clock.’
Kezzie rose early and set out for the town, aiming to be there by eight o’clock, in plenty of time as she thought. She was aware of the noise as she approached the site but was totally unprepared for the crowds of people already gathered and waiting. She cursed her own foolishness for not thinking ahead. Some, obviously really desperate, must have been waiting since before dawn. Was she not really desperate? She asked herself this in anger. She estimated the crowd to be around three or four hundred. They were taking on, how many? Fifty? One hundred? No more certainly. She leaned against the wall and tried to think, hardly aware that she was fingering her silver locket. Your brain is in charge of your body, not the other way about, her father used to say. Use your brain.
She detached herself from the wall and hurried back the road she had come. She reached the Manse just as the minister was entering. He had been sitting all night with a dying old man whose family had all gone out to Australia. He heaved a sigh as he hung his coat and scarf on the hallstand. ‘One of the sad things about emigration,’ he said, ‘is that it can break family bonds. When the young ones go off there’s no one left at home to care for the old.’
Kezzie at War Page 5