Kezzie at War

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Kezzie at War Page 9

by Theresa Breslin


  What happened next took only seconds but to Kezzie it was like a drama played out before her eyes in slow motion. The load from the hold swung across high above them and, as the black shadow of it passed between her and William, something detached itself from the netting and fell.

  ‘Smile please,’ cried William. Then he was struck on the back of the neck, spun round and toppled over the side.

  Kezzie reached out automatically with her hands, as she heard William’s mother scream. She looked round for help. Lady Fitzwilliam had fainted. No one else had seen what had happened. Kezzie ran to the side and stared at the water. It was black and oily. There was no sign of him, only his cloth cap floating on the surface. He might be unconscious. And then she thought of something else. With that calliper on his leg he would sink like a stone.

  She dragged off her jacket and skirt and, aiming at the spot where she guessed he had gone down, she dived from the rail.

  Kezzie had learned to swim, as all the village children had, in the local river and canal. This water was different. It was much colder, deeper and darker. She reckoned she had one chance. If she didn’t locate him the first time it would be too late. William, manacled in iron, would sink quickly. So she dived as deeply as she could, groping blindly with her hands at anything.

  Her lungs were bursting and her heart was thudding. She would have to go up. She struck out wildly around her and, grabbing to the side, found the rough cloth of a tweed jacket. She had him!

  He was a dead weight. She couldn’t pull him up at all. In fact he was pulling her down. She manoeuvred herself under his body, and felt for the calliper. With the ends of her breath releasing into the icy water she battered the clip. It fell away and at once he started to rise.

  There were coloured lights in her head, and though by now she had a firm grip on his belt, she felt herself weaken. Water trickled into the side of her mouth. She looked up, no light above. She was failing and she knew it. It had been too late – for both of them. Time drifted … It would have been like this in the pit, she thought … black … nothing. She closed her eyes and in the double darkness she could hear her father … softly …

  ‘Kezzie.’

  With the little strength she had left she kicked for the surface.

  Two sailors were in the water beside them and Kezzie felt herself being lifted and William taken from her. Then she was violently sick in the bottom of a rowing boat.

  On Lady Fitzwilliam’s instructions they were taken to a private clinic and despite Kezzie’s protests she was put to bed and made to rest. Lady Fitzwilliam entered her room a few hours later.

  The older woman came and at once placed her hands over Kezzie’s.

  ‘My dear child,’ she said, ‘you are intelligent enough to know what William means to me. He is dearer to me than life itself. If I can ever be of assistance to you, you must tell me.’

  ‘I need help now,’ replied Kezzie. ‘I must leave here at once, I have lost time already and I am so worried about my sister.’

  ‘I know,’ said Lady Fitzwilliam. ‘I have already made enquires on your behalf. I went to the Receiving Home here and have discovered that a party of children stayed there and then were sent on to Carrville, near the American border.’

  ‘Can we be sure it is the right group?’ asked Kezzie.

  Lady Fitzwilliam smiled triumphantly.

  ‘I’m afraid I may have bullied them just a little,’ she said.

  Kezzie could imagine that only too well.

  ‘At any rate I persuaded them to allow me to see their records. One of the children was called Lucy Clyde!’

  ‘Lucy!’ said Kezzie. She was close to Lucy.

  ‘How do I get to Carrville?’ she asked.

  Lady Fitzwilliam opened her bag and took out some documents. ‘I have that in hand for you. This is an aeroplane ticket which I booked on your behalf. I thought it would be much quicker than travelling by train. Also, here is a letter of recommendation,’ she went on. ‘It may ease your way with officials. My husband is slightly acquainted with John Buchan, the governor general. He is a Scot, you know.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kezzie.

  She packed her suitcase. William’s mother had sensed that to give her money would have been insulting but had insisted on buying Kezzie some new clothes to replace those ruined in the river.

  William was to stay at the clinic for a few days until the cut on his head healed. Kezzie’s goodbye to William saddened her. He had become a cheerful friend which she had badly needed.

  ‘I want you to have this.’ He took a fountain pen from his pocket. ‘I would like you to have something which belonged to me to remember me by.’

  They looked at each other.

  ‘I will write to you,’ said Kezzie reassuringly. ‘And you have my aunt’s address. And your leg will get better.’

  ‘If you say it will, then I believe it.’ He gripped her by the shoulders. ‘Good luck, Kezzie,’ he said. ‘Dear Kezzie, the bravest and the best.’

  CHAPTER 21

  Niagara Falls

  WHEN KEZZIE ARRIVED at the airfield she stared hard at the aeroplane which was to take her down to Carrville. She knew that it was thirty-odd years since two American brothers had managed to get a power-driven machine into the sky and that many advances had been made since then. But the appearance of the plane itself, when viewed up close, did not inspire confidence. One could see the joins quite clearly on the pieces of metal and the wings seemed too fragile to hold together once the engine started, and yet at the same time too heavy to allow the plane to stay airborne.

  As she climbed the stair trolley to board the aircraft Kezzie remembered how daunted she had been when boarding ship in Glasgow to sail across the Atlantic. Now that seemed a minor adventure compared with actually allowing yourself to be lifted up into the air to a great height, and remain there with nothing at all above, around or below you.

  She settled herself in her seat and pulled back the little curtain to look out of the porthole. She swallowed nervously. The ground seemed far enough away already and they weren’t even airborne!

  The engines were switched on, and a tremendous roar filled the cabin. The plane began to shudder. Kezzie closed her eyes and gripped the arms of her seat.

  ‘You all right, honey?’ said a voice beside her.

  Kezzie opened her eyes. A little old lady had taken the seat on her left.

  Kezzie gave a brief smile, and then her eyes opened wider as the plane began to move forward rather bumpily towards the runway.

  ‘First time flying, isn’t it? I thought so,’ said the lady who introduced herself as Janine le Pointe. ‘Going down to see my folks at the Lakes. Flown dozens of times myself.’ She rummaged in her handbag and brought out a bag of barley sugar sweets. ‘Here, suck on one of these,’ she advised.

  Kezzie did as she was told and as the plane rolled faster and faster along the grass she managed one more quick peek out of the window. She gasped at what she saw. They had taken off! She, Kezzie Munro from Stonevale in Scotland, was flying in the skies above the continent of the Americas.

  The plane twitched and dipped, pulled by the air currents, and then the pilot set its nose up and they climbed higher. Suddenly they were above the clouds. Despite her fear Kezzie could not stop gazing out of the window. A rumpled white carpet of cloud lay below them, and the sun shone in a sky of the clearest blue she had ever seen.

  ‘It’s unbelievable,’ said Kezzie, speaking louder above the noise of the engines.

  Her companion nodded.

  ‘I always get the same thrill, every time I go up,’ said Janine. ‘Look now.’ She pointed down where the mass of white clouds were drifting apart and they could see below them a thick forest of spruce trees with many little mirrors of lakes reflecting back at them.

  They flew over checker-board fields with small farms and churches picked out in white clapboard. The city of Ottawa lay to their right as the plane headed south following the line of the St Lawrence Riv
er. The clear water flashed many feet below them. Kezzie could see the river busy with boats on this main trade artery of both Canada and America.

  Kezzie explained the reason for her journey and Janine chatted to her, telling her about her family. She was a French Canadian who’d lived in Montreal all her life. Her son had married and gone to live near the shores of Lake Erie to grow grapes and produce wine.

  ‘His wine is the best in all Canada. It has the taste of summer and the sun. We are still very French,’ she said proudly.

  As the plan reached the outskirts of Toronto the pilot swung away to the left, out over Lake Ontario.

  ‘Ah,’ said Janine. ‘I’d hoped he would do this. Not all of the pilots do. Now,’ she instructed Kezzie, ‘do not take your eyes from the window for a single second.’

  Kezzie sat up and did as she was told and several moments later saw a view which was to remain with her to the end of her days.

  The great tumbling falls of Niagara were suddenly in her sight. A tremendous natural waterfall, cascading, never-ending, glittering water. Far below she could see the Maid of the Mists boats cruising as close as they dared, with the tourists’ upturned faces. What could man create which could equal this? A shroud of mist hung over the waterfall with a wraith of a rainbow suspended between earth and heaven.

  Kezzie gasped.

  ‘“Ontario” is a word from the Iroquois,’ said Janine in her ear. ‘It means, “beautiful water”.’

  Kezzie could well understand why the native people had named this place with such words. The tiny plane swept over the abrupt drop and Kezzie could see the emerald waters foaming below her.

  ‘The water is green because of the mineral deposits,’ Janine went on. ‘Many lakes in Canada are this beautiful colour. In the wintertime the Falls are quite spectacular. The spray remains frozen on the surrounding trees, and the whole area has a magical look about it.’

  When they landed Janine led Kezzie quickly and efficiently through the terminal building. For all her small size she was a woman who commanded attention. They shared a cab into the town, passing fruit and vegetable sellers with their goods in baskets by the roadside.

  ‘You’ll find lots of the people hereabouts are French or Scots,’ said Janine. ‘The type of work available in Canada seems to suit Scottish people in particular, farming and fishing. The big new addition to the power house at the Falls was dug out of the cliff face by men from the Isle of Lewis. It was very hard and dangerous work. Of course a lot go over to the States because the money is better and there’s work in the car factories in Detroit.’

  Kezzie remembered Janine on the plane pointing out the United States of America, just a few moments away from them. She thought suddenly of Michael, who had given up his chance of emigrating by giving her all his savings. A sudden pang of homesickness took hold of her.

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,’ the older woman said when they reached the station, ‘but I’ve a train to make.’ She patted Kezzie on the cheek. ‘Don’t look so worried, honey. I was a school teacher for forty years, and I reckon I’m a good judge of character. You are a young lady with a very strong sense of purpose. I just know you’ll find your little sister.’

  An hour or so later when Kezzie was sitting in the supervisor’s office in the Rescue Home at Carrville she tried to make herself have the same conviction.

  Seeing the stunned expression on the girl’s face before him the supervisor repeated what he had said slowly and clearly.

  ‘Although we did have papers for the child Lucy Clyde, we did not have the child. She definitely did not come with that party. There must have been an error. When we realised this we sent the papers on.’

  ‘She is not here?’ Kezzie asked dully.

  ‘If it will make you more easy I will take you to meet all of the children. None of them are at all close in age to your sister.’

  Kezzie nodded. She must think. She must not panic. She had to think.

  ‘It is too late for you to travel anywhere now,’ he said. ‘You are welcome to spend the night here, and then in the morning you can decide what to do.’

  Kezzie gripped her bag tightly. She had already decided. There was only one thing she could do. Return to Montreal and start again.

  CHAPTER 22

  On the train

  BY THE TIME Kezzie returned to Montreal the Fitzwilliams had left for America. She went straight to the Receiving Home.

  The officer in charge was sympathetic but regretful.

  ‘This is just a clearing home,’ he said. ‘Sometimes they don’t even come through here. They go directly to a real home.’ He checked the ledgers and found the record relating to Lucy Clyde. ‘It was a mistake,’ he said. ‘The children from Liverpool and Scotland were regrouped to make a more even balance, and her papers were sent to Carrville in error. She must have gone with the other party, to a home in Dalton in British Columbia.’

  Kezzie went back to Immigration. Yes, children had come through. A week or so ago. They had been in two groups, one going south, to Niagara, the other west, all the way to British Columbia.

  Had Lucy definitely been with the other group, or was she somewhere else altogether? The confusion with the papers upset Kezzie deeply. How could she be sure where her sister was? Was she even in search of the right person? Surely someone would recall seeing a child as pretty as Lucy?

  It was a very distraught Kezzie who went through the Immigration sheds trying to find someone who could help her. Did anyone remember a little girl? Blonde, age about seven, blue eyes. She showed them the cracked and blurred photograph, taken at the seaside many months ago. The happy face smiling from behind the sandcastle didn’t seem to be connected to her little sister at all. She couldn’t even tell them what Lucy was wearing now.

  Eventually she came across a tall bearded man with a faint Scottish burr in his voice. A little girl? He checked the files. There was a Lucy Clyde listed. Did he remember anything about her – anything at all? He thought carefully. There was one child he recalled, smaller than the rest, very pretty but poorly, clutching a rag doll. Kezzie’s heart jumped. Lucy’s doll! The one she had made her for her Christmas present. It had been missing from the caravan! He checked the records again. It must be her. The next older child was ten. Which way? Which way? Dalton, he was almost sure, B.C.

  ‘You take the Canadian Pacific Railway. It goes all the way,’ he said proudly, ‘from sea to sea.’

  Kezzie turned away. ‘Poorly.’ He had said Lucy was poorly. She had a great unease in her mind. Lucy was ill.

  At the exit there was a huge map of Canada pinned to the wall, and as Kezzie stared at it she felt quite faint. British Columbia was hundreds and hundreds of miles away. She traced the line of the railway, she could barely make out Dalton. It was on the other side of the Rocky Mountains! A wave of dizziness swept over her.

  ‘You all right, ma’am?’

  She shook her head, trying to clear it.

  Someone took her firmly by the elbow and led her away from the crowds to sit on one of the wooden benches which ran along the wall. A glass of water was put in her hand. Her fingers shook as she drank. She looked up. It was the tall immigration official.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m quite all right now.’

  She made to stand up. He pushed her gently back down.

  ‘With respect, ma’am, no you ain’t,’ he said. ‘You’re going to have to take it easy for a little while.’

  ‘I cannot wait,’ Kezzie said wildly. ‘I have lost too much time already. You said yourself my sister was unwell. I must press on and find her. She may be in great danger.’

  He consulted his pocket watch. ‘The train for B.C. doesn’t leave for some hours yet. Why don’t we book you a ticket, then go and have something to eat? My guess is that you haven’t breakfasted at all today.’

  Kezzie hesitated. It was true. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten.

  ‘I thought as much.’ He smiled at her easily. �
��Now you ain’t going to do your sister or yourself much good if you collapse on the street and end up in hospital.’

  Kezzie followed his broad figure as he shouldered through the throngs of people. He organised her ticket and baggage and then led her to a small restaurant close to Windsor railway station. It was comforting to have someone take command, and as she started to eat she found herself telling Alexander Dalgleish all about her life.

  ‘You are an amazing girl, Kezzie Munro,’ he said. ‘To come all this way on your own.’

  ‘But your country is so vast,’ said Kezzie wearily. ‘I have already travelled hundreds of miles and I feel I am as far away as ever from her. And,’ she pointed out of the window, ‘there are so many people. I have never seen so many people in my life. I could search for ever and not find her.’ She felt her eyes fill up with tears.

  Impulsively he reached forward and gripped her hand.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find her,’ he said. ‘I have dealt with the people involved in the juvenile immigration scheme. Dr Barnardo’s, Sheltering Homes and various church organisations have brought many children to a better life in Canada. It has been going on for a long time and they are very well organised. The foster homes are carefully selected and they have an efficient after-care system of inspection. I’m sure Lucy is being well looked after.’

  Later Alexander Dalgleish watched Kezzie make her way towards the train. Her long dark curls and elegant clothes made her stand out in the crowds. He sincerely hoped they would meet again. She was a fine-looking girl, with the type of spirit a developing country needed, and so concerned for her sister. He had not liked to tell her too much about the state of the child or the cuff on the side of the head which he had witnessed Lucy receiving.

  Although her nerves were fraught with worry, being on the train, as with being on the boat meant that Kezzie had time to sit and observe. In an attempt to distract her thoughts she leafed through the collection of newspapers and magazines in the restaurant car. Ontario’s crop harvest was up on 1937’s despite extensive damage by army worms. There were pictures of farmers taking in their harvest. They would be doing that at home, thought Kezzie, in the fields around her village.

 

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