‘No one else can,’ said Sarah McMath.
Kezzie folded her hands in her lap. It was true, she thought. There was no one else to make this decision. Not Dr and Mrs McMath, or her Aunt Bella or Grandfather, a thousand and more miles away. Lucy was too young and vulnerable. She, Kezzie, had to make the decision of a lifetime for both of them.
In the kitchen warming some milk for Lucy before bed, Mrs McMath spoke to Kezzie. ‘No matter what you decide there is always a home for both of you here,’ she said.
Impulsively Kezzie hugged her.
Kezzie lay in bed that night unable to sleep. Forsythia would be coming out just now in Scotland, bright yellow on brown bush. There would be a great golden carpet of daffodils beneath the trees, and the tops of the hills still covered with snow. The missing of the place and the people was suddenly a physical pain. She placed her hands on her stomach and then across her heart. Until now she’d been so occupied with merely keeping Lucy alive she had no time to dwell on her own feelings. Now they came back in a rush, the sound of friends’ voices, the calling of children in the dusty village street.
The sight of Bella, always cheerful in spite of troubles, with her little ones clutching at her skirt. And Grandad, she had an image of him in her head, his tall figure with his muffler and cap, and the smell of pipe tobacco. It must have taken courage for him to have written such a letter, releasing her as best he could from any obligation to return.
Except … there were bonds that you could not break, for instance the one that linked her and Michael Donohoe. The one that had made Matt McPhee turn back on the road to Skye. Kin calling to kin. With a terrible realisation Kezzie knew that if she remained here in Canada then she might never see these people again.
What should she do? Always before, when Kezzie faced trouble, the road had been a hard one to travel but in one way the path was already chosen for her. Now she must decide. This beautiful country with its great open heart was waiting to welcome Lucy and her. And they would prosper here. She knew that as a certainty, as surely as the day followed night. She fell asleep at last, her mind troubled.
Kezzie was awoken the next morning by the sound of honking. She went to her little window and pulled aside the curtain. Across the fields on the marshland she could see a flock of geese, unmistakably Canadian geese with the black neck and head, and a broad white band across throat and cheeks.
She looked at them for a moment or two as they shifted restlessly about, cackling and bickering with each other.
She opened the window to see them better. It was a deep instinctive urge that commanded them. Centuries of inbuilt pattern dictated their direction, as each year, winter over, they returned to their breeding grounds. They are going home, Kezzie thought suddenly, as I should. She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned out on the windowsill. She would go back to Scotland, she decided. When Lucy was well enough to travel they would cross the Atlantic and be reunited with Grandad. At the moment, although she had found Lucy, it was as though her journey had not yet finished. She would go home. It would be a completion.
But she would come back. That she knew also. More than a spoken commitment or a resolute thought, it was an urge within her that she would answer. She had an instinctive feeling that she would return to Canada.
From the marshes there came a great disturbance and flapping of wings as the geese, answering an unseen signal, scrambled to be airborne.
Kezzie looked above her and watched them finding their direction. The birds formed a long distinctive V shape and turned north. They honked loudly, and it seemed to her, happily, as they headed towards home.
BOOK II: A HOMECOMING FOR KEZZIE
This story is for Dora Cuollo
BOOK II: A HOMECOMING FOR KEZZIE
Dedication
PART ONE: SCOTLAND
Chapter 1: Atlantic crossing
Chapter 2: Dinner party
Chapter 3: Arrival in Clydebank
Chapter 4: Homecoming
Chapter 5: Settling in
Chapter 6: Casella’s Café
Chapter 7: War!
Chapter 8: The café is wrecked
Chapter 9: Peg McKinnon
Chapter 10: Love at first sight
Chapter 11: 1940: Internment
Chapter 12: Kezzie learns to drive
Chapter 13: Lucy runs away
Chapter 14: Ricardo returns
Chapter 15: 1941: The sirens go off
Chapter 16: Blitzed!
Chapter 17: Buried alive
Chapter 18: Evacuation
Chapter 19: The sirens sound again
Chapter 20: Greater love
PART TWO: ENGLAND
Chapter 21: Travelling south
Chapter 22: Close Manor
Chapter 23: School lessons
Chapter 24: William
Chapter 25: Bad news
Chapter 26: 1942: The Americans arrive
Chapter 27: US hospital
Chapter 28: Life or death
Chapter 29: Recovery
Chapter 30: New beginning
PART ONE
Scotland
CHAPTER 1
Atlantic crossing
‘LOOK!’ SAID LUCY. ‘There it is again.’
And she pointed up to where the lone Luftwaffe spotter plane droned above the ocean liner. The ragged sound was an irritant in the hot summer sky, a waspish buzz in a pleasant day.
Some of the American ladies at the side of the boat shaded their eyes to watch. One took her hat off and waved, red and blue ribbons trailing from the brim of her white straw boater.
Kezzie, who was sheltering from the brisk Atlantic breeze in the lee of one of the lifeboats, could now see the pilot quite clearly. Goggled and grim-faced, he gave no signal as he made his second wide arc across their bows.
‘He’s coming back! He’s coming back!’ Lucy jumped up and down in excitement beside her. Kezzie frowned and took her little sister’s hand.
What made her suddenly afraid? The abrupt blocking of the sun between sea and sky as the pilot completed his turn and passed above them? The sudden darkness, and the chilling of the air?
What instinct made her grab the child and yank her arm so hard that Lucy cried out, ‘Kezzie, don’t!’
Kezzie turned to face the sea, her eyes following the grey outline of the machine as it banked and tilted purposefully, lining itself up with the ship. Its altitude dropped dramatically and then suddenly the shadow of the plane was sweeping back across the Atlantic waves and racing towards them.
‘Kezzie, let go!’ cried Lucy.
But Kezzie was running now. Frantically seeking cover on the bleached white deck of the Atlantic liner, with the quoits scattered at random and the deckchairs set in a long line to catch the sun.
An open door … It was a hatch to the crew’s quarters, nevertheless, a place of safety … And she was inside, dragging Lucy with her as the plane came roaring down the length of the boat.
The noise filled the whole ocean. The scream of the engines, the sudden chattering of the twin guns on its forward snout, the frantic cries of the passengers on deck, the shouts of the ship’s officers. Kezzie put her hands quickly over Lucy’s ears and gathered her little sister towards her. It lasted for seconds only. Then silence, as if a blind had been drawn, a lamp abruptly turned down. The happy conversations and jolly waves on the promenade deck, the playful teasing between young men and girls, the laughter of the children, all shuttered in a moment of time.
And it seemed to Kezzie, when she thought about it afterwards, that although it wasn’t until the beginning of September, nearly two months later, that the Second World War started officially, it had been on the cruise liner travelling home from Canada to Scotland that the war began for her.
‘Scare tactics,’ the captain’s voice boomed out from the ship’s speakers almost immediately. ‘Be assured, there was no serious threat at any time. We were keeping a close watch on him. He had his guns aimed high, and had overshot the deck before
he fired. An irresponsible act to try and alarm us. But are we upset?’ His laughter echoed in the air. ‘I should think not. Now, I want to see all of you at our celebrations tonight. Paper hats must be worn. No exceptions. Everyone to be there, from two to ninety-two. A prize for the best hat.’
Notices were quickly posted all over the ship. There was to be an informal party after dinner, their last night at sea before they docked tomorrow in Glasgow. It was a way of restoring morale after the shock of the incident earlier. Although no one had been injured, the atmosphere aboard changed completely. Few passengers had stayed on deck despite the continuing daylight of the long summer evening. People crowded in the lounges or chatted in groups on the stairs and companionways.
‘This is an American ship,’ one man with a southern drawl declared angrily. ‘How dare they frighten our women and children? They’d better not try to tangle with Uncle Sam. We’d lick them faster than it’d take to whistle “Dixie”.’
There were murmurs of approval from his audience. And in every part of the boat the talk was the same.
‘Let them come,’ Kezzie heard a very elderly Englishwoman proclaim in a tremulous voice. ‘We beat them once, we’ll do it again.’
The speaker must be at least eighty years old, Kezzie thought. As she led Lucy along to their cabin, she smiled, imagining the old lady dressed like Queen Boudicca and driving a chariot into battle.
‘What’s happening?’ Lucy asked as Kezzie washed and then dressed her in a pretty frock.
‘We’re going to a party,’ said Kezzie, as she combed her little sister’s blonde curls.
Kezzie had told Lucy that the pilot of the plane had made a mistake. She certainly was not going to worry the child by mentioning the threat of war in Europe. Her sister had recovered well from her traumas and illness of the last year. At seven years old her understanding was limited but she was still very sensitive to atmosphere.
Kezzie patted her on the head. ‘Play with your doll, pet, while I get ready.’
She picked up Lucy’s old rag doll and gave it to her. We’ve travelled far together, the three of us, Kezzie thought as she smoothed down the doll’s skirt and adjusted its hat. She remembered the terrible winter of 1937, just after their father had been killed in a pit accident in Scotland. Herself, Lucy and their grandfather had been turned out of their tied house in the miners’ rows. The only shelter they could find had been a bothy on a neighbouring farm. With Christmas approaching, and in dire poverty, Kezzie had been determined to make Lucy a special gift. The nights she’d worked late, cutting up precious linen, stuffing those arms and legs and plaiting the woollen hair! It had been worth the effort and sacrifice. The doll, whom Lucy had promptly named Kissy, not only gave her little sister great joy, but, Kezzie believed, had actually saved the child’s life.
While Lucy played with her doll Kezzie changed into smarter clothes. She put on a dark blue suit with a full skirt. The jacket was edged in black piping with corded frogging on the front and fitted closely under her bust. Underneath she wore a white high necked blouse. As she pinned up some of her brown curls on the top of her head, she looked in the long mirror which was fastened with brass studs to the door of their cabin. A tall dark-eyed girl gazed back at her. Kezzie hardly recognised herself from the gawky skinny person with tumbled hair who had left Scotland barely ten months before.
The crew had organised music, games and some ice-cream and jelly to try to dispel the anxiety which now pervaded the ship. There were tables set out with cardboard, paper, scissors, raffia and ribbons. Kezzie helped Lucy make herself a red top hat which promptly slid over her nose as soon as she placed it on her head. Kezzie laughed out loud.
They found a quiet place to sit away from the crowd where Lucy could eat her ice-cream. Before the music and dancing began the captain made a speech of welcome and then spoke of the earlier harassment.
‘They’ll find that we’re not so easily intimidated,’ he declared. ‘If it comes to a scrap then they’ll find we’re ready. Ready and willing.’
Rousing cheers came from the floor of the room. Kezzie glanced around her. Men and women were nodding in agreement. Some of the smaller children were waving little flags made from coloured paper. Everyone seemed happy and enthusiastic at the thought of war. Why then was she uneasy? Her grandfather had fought in the First World War. When he talked about it he lamented the terrible loss of life. ‘Nothing glorious about it at all,’ he had said.
Kezzie thought again of the plane. She recalled Lucy’s excitement, she who had never seen an aeroplane before. What had the pilot’s thoughts been, surveying their upturned faces as he circled above them? Had he misunderstood the intentions of the lady waving her hat? Perhaps taken it as an angry gesture of defiance, the sight of the colours, red, white, and blue enraging him? Why was it, that a recent invention like an aeroplane was immediately adapted and used by man for the purpose of war and killing? Kezzie’s one vivid memory of today was the American lady’s hat floating away on the grey Atlantic waves, the bright ribbons bedraggled and sad.
Kezzie shook her head and firmly pushed all these thoughts away. She and Lucy were going home to Grandad. Returning, after an absence of almost a year, to stay with him in his tenement house in Clydebank. She would be cheerful and try not to think about war. The music had begun. Already children and adults were taking the floor. The tunes were mainly popular and light, a combination of British traditional and modern American.
Kezzie felt a touch on her shoulder. She looked up. A tall young man with very black hair was standing just behind her chair.
‘May I dance with you?’ he asked.
CHAPTER 2
Dinner party
KEZZIE GLANCED AT the dance floor, crowded with couples laughing and talking together, and dancing. Then she looked up at the boy who had spoken to her. He wore an elegant dinner suit with a white shirt and bow tie, and had the dark good looks of an Italian. He gave Kezzie the impression that he would dance very well.
Reluctantly she shook her head, and indicated Lucy who was eating her way through her bowlful of ice-cream. ‘I don’t wish to leave my sister on her own,’ she said.
The young man smiled down at her. The effect of his smile, bright white teeth in his tanned face was startling.
‘Of course,’ he said politely. ‘May I sit with you for a little while then?’ he asked.
Kezzie hesitated. She was almost sixteen years old, it was 1939, and she had spent some time in North America where the social customs were much more relaxed. However, she wasn’t sure if it would be the done thing in Europe. Most people on the ship were travelling in family groups or with male escorts. She should really say no, but it would be so pleasant to have someone of approximately her own age to chat to, and … he was very handsome. She glanced around her uncertainly.
The young man smiled again. ‘One moment, please,’ he said. ‘I will return.’
Kezzie watched him as he crossed to another table where an older man and woman were sitting. He spoke to them and then all three stood up and came towards Kezzie.
‘I would like to present my family to you.’ The boy gave a slight bow. ‘My mother, Signora Biagi, my father, Signor Biagi, and myself, Ricardo Biagi.’
Kezzie introduced herself and Lucy, and shook hands with Ricardo and his parents. She invited them to sit down.
‘Now we are chaperoned.’ Ricardo smiled at her in triumph. ‘So everything is swell, no?’
Kezzie laughed at the Americanism which sounded strange to her ears.
‘Everything is swell,’ she agreed.
Signora Biagi spoke to her. ‘You must excuse us,’ she said. ‘Our English is not very correct, but Ricardo,’ she gazed at her son with pride, ‘is fluent in both Italian and English. He is a college student,’ she added, and stretched across to pat her son’s hand.
‘Mama,’ protested Ricardo. ‘You are boasting again.’ He turned to Kezzie. ‘Do you find that your parents do this all the time?’
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sp; Kezzie looked at him. ‘I wish they could,’ she said softly.
As she grasped the meaning of Kezzie’s words Ricardo’s mother covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Zita!’ she exclaimed. ‘You have lost your mama and papa, no? Ricardo. Apologise at once. So clumsy,’ she scolded him, ‘so clumsy and unthinking.’
‘I am so sorry, so very sorry,’ said Ricardo. He looked so comically sad and forlorn that Kezzie almost laughed.
‘Please don’t upset yourselves,’ she said quickly. ‘Lucy and I have some very happy memories and we talk about them often. Our grandfather has looked after us since our father died. He lives in Clydebank, and we’re going back now to live with him again.’
‘He works in the shipyards?’ asked Signor Biagi.
‘Do you know him?’ Kezzie asked in amazement.
Signora Biagi laughed. ‘My sister tells me, in Clydebank, everyone works in the shipyards.’
Kezzie found Ricardo’s parents very easy to talk to. They told her they were going to spend a few months in Scotland to help Signora Biagi’s recently widowed sister who owned a delicatessen shop.
‘Ricardo will help her manage for a little while before he returns to America when his college starts in autumn,’ said Signora Biagi. ‘Then I may stay on a bit longer. It depends how she is.’ She spread her hands out and shrugged. ‘Her son is in the army and stationed in England, so she is very lonely.’
After a few minutes Ricardo stood up. He looked at Kezzie. ‘Now that etiquette has been honoured,’ he said formally, ‘perhaps I will be able to have a dance?’
‘I can dance,’ said Lucy quickly. She placed her spoon on the table and wiped her mouth with her hand.
‘Lucy!’ exclaimed Kezzie.
Ricardo laughed.
‘It is a party, isn’t it?’ said Lucy. ‘And I want to dance.’
‘Such a pretty little girl,’ Signora Biagi leaned over and stroked Lucy’s hair, ‘should certainly have someone to dance with her.’ She offered her hand to Lucy. ‘Dance with me, piccola,’ she said.
Kezzie at War Page 13