Kezzie at War

by Theresa Breslin

  ‘My son’s bairns,’ he said. ‘The wee one’s awful bonny, and the older one, she’s bonny too, and has brains as well. Got herself a good job, good prospects, fine thing for a woman today.’

  In the second part of the day they visited the Empire Exhibition at Bellahouston Park in Glasgow. Kezzie had heard about it on the radio in the factory. She’d listened with the rest of the girls to the recording of King George VI’s speech from Ibrox Park, and the commentary on the royal couple’s progress through the Pavilions. According to the reporter, Queen Elizabeth had purchased two Shirley Temple dolls for the little princesses, Elizabeth and Margaret Rose.

  Kezzie and Lucy and Grandad got off the tram at Mosspark Boulevard and went through the turnstile. The exhibition was quite spectacular. They went to the Palace of Engineering first, as this was what Grandad wanted to see. There were models of dams, bridges and ships, as well as domestic appliances.

  ‘Look at that, Kezzie,’ said Grandad, ‘a machine that can do the washing for you, while you read a magazine.’

  ‘That’ll be the day,’ Kezzie laughed.

  They wandered round the park. They saw Canadian Mounties and a copy of the Victoria Falls in Africa with a model train travelling beneath the water. Lucy was fascinated with the fountains, she kept running to trail her fingers in the water. They stopped at the bandstand and sat on the green folding chairs where they could listen to the music while eating lunch. Grandad made Lucy a paper boat and she went to sail it in the lake. Kezzie looked around her. The music was playing a lively march and there seemed to her to be a lot of smartly dressed people about, chatting and smiling.

  ‘Do you think things are getting better?’ she asked her grandfather. ‘Maybe folk have more work now, with all this building.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Rearmament’s a false salvation, whether you agree with the war or not. The world’s changing and Scotland’s not keeping up. Engineering skills and tools will have to progress or we’ll slump again. I suppose that conditions will improve as the government places defence contracts, but what a price to pay for employment. War will come, unless someone sorts that bully Hitler out in his own back yard, and then …’

  Kezzie shivered in the sun. She didn’t like to think about war. It was only twenty years since the last one had ended. Her grandad rarely spoke of it. A carnage, she had heard him say once. War didn’t belong here, with mothers pushing prams and couples strolling hand in hand, and the sound of children’s excited screams from the amusement park. Earlier they had visited the Peace Pavilion. Perhaps it was significant that it was a small wooden building tucked away from the main exhibition.

  They collected Lucy from the lake and spent the rest of the afternoon in the Amusement Park. They saw Indian dancers and a magician and persuaded Grandad to have a ride on the mountain switchback railway. When they came out it was dark. The fountains were still playing but were floodlit in changing colours of red, blue, green and yellow. They could see the coloured cascades running down either side of the hill. Above it all, like a beacon of hope, rose Tait’s Tower, the Tower of Empire. The silverised steel shaft glittered in the brilliant floodlights and its three observation balconies were edged with red, green and yellow light.

  It was an unforgettable sight and they gazed at it for many minutes before turning for home.

  CHAPTER 16

  The accident

  KEZZIE ADAPTED TO working in the factory office very well and Miss Dunlop was pleased with her. She had a good memory and more and more she was being left to work on her own. The firm had an insurance scheme for non-manual workers and as the money was taken from her wages each week before she received them, Kezzie hardly noticed the loss. Because of this, and Grandad’s steady employment, Kezzie had peace of mind and for the first time in a long while she felt safe.

  As their fortunes improved and the summer faded she and Grandad began to discuss leaving the caravan and finding better accommodation for the winter.

  ‘We could try for one of these new houses the council are building just outside Shawcross,’ said Grandad. ‘Now that we’re on regular wages we would manage the rent.’

  Grandad was obviously well thought of in the shipyard – respected by men and managers alike. The foreman had called him aside one day and enquired if he would be willing to travel to Edinburgh with a group of other workers for a special job the following week.

  ‘We’ll wait until you come back before looking for a house,’ said Kezzie as she saw him off at the bus station in Shawcross. She would be sorry to leave the caravan with its cosy familiarity but the thought of living in a house again with proper washing facilities and space to move about in appealed to her.

  It was Friday and as she finished work with her pay in her pocket she felt light-hearted at the prospect of a weekend with just her and Lucy in the caravan. She would take the bus tonight, she decided. It would be quicker, then they would have time to do some baking. They would go for a walk and pick flowers and maybe stay up late and make toast by the fire. Sunday, they would visit Bella who was laid up with ’flu.

  There was light drizzle falling as she boarded the bus, not enough to dampen Kezzie’s spirits, but just enough, she realised later, to make the roads slippery and dangerous. It was a single-decker. She sat at the front and wrote a shopping list for tomorrow.

  She looked up as the bus approached the crossroads at the edge of town. Kezzie heard the driver curse. Crossing slowly, and directly in front of them, was a dray pulled by a Clydesdale. Kezzie gasped and gripped her seat as the driver braked hard. On the wet road the bus skidded and the last thing Kezzie could recall was the red brick wall rushing towards her.

  Lucy had walked to the end of the lane and back hundreds of times, she thought. She was hungry and it was getting cooler and still Kezzie did not come. It was going to be special tonight, Kezzie had promised her, with Grandad away. Lucy had changed into her old clothes, greased the griddle and set the table and washed her hands twice, and still Kezzie was not home.

  She looked up and down the road and then very cautiously stepped out into the middle. She was forbidden to go any further than the end of the lane on her own, but would it do any harm to walk just a little way along and see if she could spot Kezzie coming? She made up her mind to go. After all, when she met Kezzie she could help carry the shopping. She ran back to put on her coat and taking her doll for company she set off down the road.

  ‘Is it right or left?’ Lucy asked her doll as they reached the road junction. She gazed up at the signpost. The black letters were all worn away with the wind and rain and anyway one of the arms pointed into a field. ‘That’s silly, isn’t it?’ said Lucy. She lifted her doll so its mouth was at her ear and pretended to listen to what it was saying. Then with great determination she started down the road on the left. Behind her the signpost pointed the way to Glasgow.

  She HAD to meet Kezzie on the road, she told the doll, after she had walked a few miles. There was no other way to go. She held the doll up in her arms so that she would be able to see Kezzie first. After another twenty minutes or so her arms got tired and she tucked the doll inside her coat and buttoned it up. A breakdown van towing a bus with a smashed windscreen passed her slowly. The driver called to her: ‘Are you all right, little girl?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lucy. ‘I’m going to meet my sister.’

  The man waved and drove on.

  Eventually Lucy saw a scattering of houses on the road. She had no sense of how far she had come or indeed where she was, only a fixed idea in her mind that if she kept on walking she would meet Kezzie. Perhaps she could ask at one of the houses if anyone had seen her sister. As she approached a big black and tan dog ran at her and started barking. She hurried off, further into the city. Very soon she was completely lost and although she had decided to walk back to the caravan she did not know which road to take. It was getting dark and the streets where she wandered became mean and dingy. She sat down on the edge of a pavement and tried
hard not to cry.

  ‘Are you lost, hen?’ a wheezing voice asked.

  Lucy looked up. An old woman with a black shawl was bending over her. She was very smelly, Lucy thought, and didn’t appear to have any teeth at all. Lucy would normally have found this quite funny but at the moment she was too concerned with her sore legs and empty stomach.

  She hesitated. She shouldn’t speak to someone she did not know, but there was no one else about.

  ‘A little bit,’ she admitted.

  ‘Aw, ma poor wee lamb.’ The old woman sat down beside her and began to finger Lucy’s coat. ‘That’s a lovely coat you’ve got on,’ she said, ‘but I can see it’s a wee bittie too small for you. Would you like a new one?’

  Lucy looked at the sleeves on her coat. It was getting too small for her now, but she hadn’t dared mention it to Kezzie because she had already had a new cardigan and skirt for going back to school. Was it greedy to want so much?

  ‘And yer boots,’ the woman was untying the laces, ‘are yer wee toes pinched in them boots?’

  Lucy nodded.

  ‘I thought as much,’ said the woman gently,’ you just slip them off and hand them to me. There’s a shop at the end of the road where they change things for ye.’

  Lucy hesitated.

  ‘Here’s a barley sugar for ye tae suck while yer waiting,’ the woman wheedled.

  That decided it. By this time Lucy was very hungry. She grasped the barley-sugar stick in one hand and with her doll in the other, sat down to wait for the old lady’s return from this magic shop where you could get new clothes for old ones.

  An hour passed and it became very dark and Lucy began to realize that the old woman was not coming back. There were people passing by staring at her, rough people who shouted and swore. She got up and stumbled on.

  It was very late and the pubs were emptying their last regulars into the streets. She paused outside one as the door swung open and jammed. She could see lights and warmth and she wanted more than anything to be back in her own home. A man came towards her with a bottle in his hand.

  ‘Hallo, pet,’ he asked kindly. ‘Are ye waitin’ for yer da?’

  ‘My daddy’s dead,’ said Lucy.

  ‘That’s a shame, yer ma then?’

  ‘She’s dead too,’ said Lucy sadly.

  The man burst into tears. Lucy stared at him. She had never seen a man crying before.

  ‘That’s a terrible shame,’ he sobbed. He took a drink from his bottle and then handed it to her. ‘Here,’ he offered generously, ‘this’ll cheer ye up.’

  Lucy drank some of the tea-coloured liquid. It burned her throat, but quite soon she did feel better.

  ‘Would you help me find my way home?’ she asked him.

  ‘Certainly.’ He waved his arms about. ‘Just point me in the right direction. I can always find my way home.’

  ‘I don’t know the direction,’ said Lucy, her voice wavering.

  The man put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Come over here and sit down and tell me how you got here, and then we’ll work out how to get back.’

  The two of them sat down with their backs to the pub wall. Lucy sipped some more of the cold tea, and told the man her story. When she had finished she turned to ask him to take her home. He was fast asleep!

  She stood up, uncertain what to do next. Maybe he wasn’t well and she should ask someone for help. She herself was beginning to feel very unwell. She staggered down the road, trailing her doll by one arm.

  CHAPTER 17

  Where is Lucy?

  KEZZIE WAS WALKING in fog. It drifted and swirled about her and she couldn’t see in front of her at all. She must sit down and rest. She was very tired. Her head ached so badly and she knew that there was something important which she must remember. There were reports to file, and order forms to make up. Miss Dunlop would be cross with her if she didn’t finish them.

  Miss Dunlop was cross with Kezzie, very cross indeed.

  ‘This is the third day she has not turned up for work,’ she snapped at the manager. ‘These young people have no sense of responsibility. I trained up that other girl then she decides to get married, and now this …’

  The manager tapped his pen slowly on the edge of the desk.

  ‘It’s not like her, you know, not Miss Munro. Even if she was ill I would have thought she would have sent a note.’ He paused. ‘I think I’ll give the shipyard where her grandfather works a ring and enquire.’

  Fifteen minutes later he came through to Miss Dunlop’s desk.

  ‘They say he’s gone to the east coast for a week’s work, and as far as they know the girls were fine when he left. They say he’s always talking about them so they’re sure he would have mentioned if they’d been ill.’

  They both looked at each other.

  ‘We’ll take a run out to where she lives in your car after work tonight,’ said Miss Dunlop briskly, ‘and find out what’s what.’

  Far from finding out what was what, their visit to the caravan only worried them further. The door was ajar, the table set for tea but the fire was out and the place was cold.

  ‘The police station, I think,’ said Miss Dunlop, pulling on her gloves. Her hands shook a little. She would never have admitted it but she had developed a real fondness for Kezzie, and was now very concerned that something quite awful had happened to her and the child.

  An hour later they were in the cottage hospital.

  ‘We had no means of identifying her,’ the doctor told them, ‘and no one came forward to report her missing. Any bag which she may have been carrying was not recovered from the wreck. She’s actually lucky to be alive.’

  ‘Is she very bad?’ asked Miss Dunlop, gripping her bag tightly.

  ‘It’s hard to say. She’s severely concussed. She could be that way for months, or wake up tomorrow.’

  Miss Dunlop came out of the hospital with the factory manager. She stopped with her hand on the handle of the car door.

  ‘Where,’ she said, ‘I wonder, is Lucy?’

  ‘LUCY,’ repeated the lady in the white starched apron. She wrote it in the orphanage register. She smiled at the small waif with the stained clothes and tangled hair in front of her. ‘And you can’t remember your second name?’

  Lucy shook her head. She couldn’t remember anything at this moment. It had taken an hour of coaxing to get her to say her first name. She couldn’t remember how she got here or where her coat and shoes were. The policeman, who had found her wandering drunk beside the river at three o’clock in the morning, had never seen such a terrified child before.

  Her mother and father were both dead, at least they had established that, and she had obviously been deliberately abandoned by whoever was supposed to be looking after her. It was a disgrace, thought the nurse. Children always suffered the most in a depression. She would have to give her a second name. She recalled where they had found the child. ‘Clyde,’ she added in the book.

  ‘Come on now, Lucy Clyde,’ she said gently, ‘and we’ll give you a nice bath and some warm soup.’

  ‘You’ve got room for her then,’ said the policeman, glad that the problem was now someone else’s.

  ‘Actually, we haven’t,’ said the matron. ‘We’re full to bursting. But there’s a group of orphans being emigrated to Canada at the end of the week, and if she’s not claimed by then we might manage to squeeze her in.’

  ‘Where in Canada do they go?’ asked the policeman.

  ‘All over,’ said the matron. ‘They are sent to Receiving Houses in various places and then placed in good homes. I’ve had letters from there, and Australia and New Zealand. Lots of children now have whole new families, and are enjoying open spaces and sunshine.’

  ‘Wish it was me,’ said the policeman, snapping shut his notebook.

  Miss Dunlop visited Kezzie in the hospital the next day. Kezzie’s grandfather arrived as she sat by the bedside. She spoke to him of her concern for Lucy.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said,
‘Aunt Bella will have her.’ He placed his hand on Kezzie’s forehead. ‘Come on now, Kezzie,’ he said, ‘you’ve slept long enough.’

  Kezzie could feel the mist clearing slowly from around her. She felt warmer. The sun must be shining and, better still, her headache was less severe. She opened her eyes. It was very bright, and she was not outside as she had imagined but in a room lying down in bed. Her grandad was there, and Miss Dunlop. She wanted to laugh, they looked so serious. She smiled at them.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said. Then she remembered her dream and the thing she had been trying so hard to recall. ‘Is Lucy with you, Grandad?’

  Kezzie became like a person demented. She discharged herself from the hospital immediately, despite the doctor’s dire warnings. When she eventually realised that Lucy had not been seen for days her distress was profound. They went from house to house in the village and then started a search of Shawcross.

  ‘A child that age, wandering off,’ said the sergeant at the police station, ‘anything could happen to her. She could fall in a burn or go away across the peats. We might never find her.’

  Kezzie clenched her fists and tried not to scream. It was all she could do to control herself. She felt like running up and down the streets shouting wildly.

  ‘Or the tinkers,’ the sergeant went on, ‘taking a child’s the sort of thing they would do.’

  ‘They would NEVER do something like that,’ said Kezzie angrily. She was just about to say something very rude when her grandfather came running in.

  ‘One of the bus drivers at the garage saw a little girl walking on the road to Glasgow last Friday. She told him she was going to meet her sister.’

  ‘Glasgow!’ cried Kezzie. ‘Glasgow!’

  ‘She must have taken the wrong turn at the road end,’ said Grandad. He turned to the sergeant. ‘Can you check with the Glasgow police, if any child has turned up there?’

  By evening they were speaking to the matron of the children’s home.

  ‘I don’t understand how you can do something like that.’ Kezzie was in tears. ‘She’s halfway to Canada with a different name and her own family don’t know.’