Kezzie at War

by Theresa Breslin

  ‘Some of the furniture …’ She hesitated. ‘It’s ours, isn’t it?’

  ‘Course it’s ours,’ said Lucy. ‘This is my stool, isn’t it, Grandad?’ She indicated the stool on which she had sat down.

  Her grandad nodded as he stirred up the fire and set the kettle on the grid above the coals. ‘I’d kept all the pawn tickets, and I managed to get some of our stuff back. And young Michael Donohoe helped a bit.’

  ‘Michael …’ Kezzie repeated the name. ‘I was thinking of him only last night,’ she said. ‘Have you seen him recently?’

  ‘He was billeted at Edinburgh Castle for a while, and he used to visit me.’ Her grandad paused. ‘Your letters, you see … I helped him read them. He wasn’t very good with the words and he couldn’t ask any of his mates. Then the Argylls were posted to Palestine. He went off not so long ago.’

  Kezzie felt her heart move within her. She had missed him! She thought of his letters, sent out to her in Canada faithfully each month. The careful elaborate writing. It must have taken him hours to write those few pages. She looked around the kitchen. It was so like Michael to help her grandfather reclaim up the bits and pieces which they had been forced to sell. She must send him a note of thanks at once.

  ‘How is everyone else?’ she asked.

  ‘Yer Aunt Bella’s man was laid up again. His lungs are packing in. He’s got the black spit, but he’s back at work now. She’s away to a cousin in the Highlands for a wee holiday wi’ the weans.’

  ‘Is the pit on full production?’ asked Kezzie.

  ‘Aye, it’s the one benefit that war brings. Employment for all. Here, have some tea.’ Her grandad was putting milk and sugar into the cups. ‘And there’s bread and jam.’

  He picked up a knife and began to cut the loaf.

  Kezzie watched him as he worked. He was so much fitter than when she had last seen him. The regular pay and the very fact that he was working again showed in his whole demeanour.

  She glanced around the room. A rag rug would do very nicely in front of the hearth, she thought. She would teach Lucy how to make one. A few cushions would help too, perhaps an embroidered table-cover, and the window curtains … They were just what she would have expected her grandad to choose, heavy and dull. Even if they couldn’t afford new ones, she would at least make a nice tie-back or fringe the hems.

  She looked up. Her grandfather was watching her.

  ‘You’re making plans,’ he said. ‘I can tell. Ye’ve got that busy look on your face. Your mother was just the same. A few days like that, then the spring cleaning would start or it would be a great round of baking or reorganising the whole house.’

  Kezzie smiled. She got up and put her hands around his neck. ‘I was only thinking that a few cushions would make the place a bit brighter. You don’t mind, Grandad?’

  ‘Mind? Mind?’ said the old man. ‘I’ve waited months for this. Each night sitting here on my own. I’d look around me, and well … I knew I had a great wee house, but that’s all it was, a house. Now you’re here, Kezzie, it will be a home.’

  CHAPTER 5

  Settling in

  DURING THE NEXT weeks Kezzie and Lucy settled into their new home. To begin with Kezzie noticed every little difference in their living pattern. Instead of the calling of the blue jays from the tall trees in the woods around Waterfoot rousing them in the morning, they awoke to the sounds of the Clyde. The elegent fretwork of the ever-moving cranes, black lace against blue sky, made a backdrop to the constant noise. The ringing, hammering and clatter from shipyards, the tramp of tackety boots in the streets, and the blare of the hooters which ruled the days and lives of the workers.

  Life in the tenement was strange to Kezzie. She had seen tall buildings as she passed through the big Canadian cities such as Montreal. They called them skyscrapers on the other side of the Atlantic. The tenements here weren’t nearly so large but she found it odd to live in such close proximity to others and to have to share your garden and washing line. The people in each close seemed to think of themselves as a kind of extended family. The three small boys on the first floor now called Lucy their cousin and looked on Kezzie almost as an aunt. Houses were rarely locked, and in the ones with younger children, the front door lay ajar for most of the day. There was great rivalry between the closes. Mrs Sweeney was the self-appointed leader in Kezzie’s and looked down with scorn on the others in the street. She carried tales of their inferior conditions. Their middens were overflowing, their children less well behaved, the stairs and landing not so well kept.

  Kezzie had quickly been informed which day was hers at the wash-house and when she could use the drying greens. She tried very hard to be friendly and polite, although she found Mrs Sweeney a great strain.

  ‘I think ye might have won her round,’ her grandad told her one evening. ‘She almost smiled at me tonight. Mind you,’ he added, ‘it nearly cracked her face to do it.’

  Lucy giggled.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Kezzie sighed. ‘She tries to find fault with everything I do. Nothing seems to please her. She thinks I’m far too young to be keeping house.’

  There was a sharp rattle at their letterbox and an empty cotton reel dropped through onto the mat. Lucy picked it up and brought it into the kitchen.

  ‘Must be the bairns playing about,’ said her grandad. He took it from her. ‘But seeing as how it’s handy I’ll just make ye a wee knitting bobbin.’

  Lucy watched fascinated as he hammered in the points of four small nails, one in each corner at the top of the wooden spool. Then he wound some woollen yarn round the nail heads, looping it through so that the tail dropped down the centre hole.

  ‘See?’ He took her small fingers in his own and showed her how to do it.

  ‘Ye can make a knitted cord as long as you like, any colour you fancy,’ he said.

  In a few minutes Lucy was following his instructions.

  ‘What can I use it for?’ she asked Kezzie.

  Kezzie picked up the end of the thin tube of knitting which was beginning to appear through the end of the cotton reel.

  ‘Lots of things,’ she said. ‘A hair ribbon maybe, or laces. You can lay it flat, wind it round and round and then stitch it together, and make a hat for your doll.’

  Lucy frowned, concentrating hard on her bobbin knitting.

  It wasn’t until some days later that Kezzie discovered exactly why the cotton reel had been posted through their letterbox. As she returned from the shops Mrs Price from the floor below was standing chatting to Mrs Sweeney on the landing.

  ‘This close is needing a good sweep and scrub if you ask me,’ the older woman proclaimed loudly. She shook out her duster vigorously. ‘I do my share, and I’m sure you do yours, Mrs Price. It’s up to others to do theirs.’

  Kezzie put her shopping bag down.

  ‘Would you like me to do it this week?’ she asked politely.

  ‘Like ye to do it,’ repeated Mrs Sweeney indignantly. ‘I should think so. It is your turn.’

  Kezzie flushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Didn’t ye get yer bobbin?’ demanded the older woman.

  ‘Bobbin?’ repeated Kezzie. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

  Mrs Price smiled and laid her hand on Kezzie’s arm. ‘I put the empty thread spool in your door a couple of nights ago when my week was finished. I thought you’d know what it meant.’

  ‘No,’ said Kezzie, looking from one to the other.

  ‘It means it’s your turn to do the stairs,’ said Mrs Sweeney, ‘and when you’ve done them, you pass the cotton reel on to the next person. Then they know that their turn has come around again.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Kezzie. She covered her mouth with her hand. ‘We didn’t realise … Grandad made Lucy a knitting bobbin with it.’ She started to laugh.

  Mrs Price joined in, and eventually so did Mrs Sweeney.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Kezzie. ‘I’ll do them at once.’

 
; ‘Don’t harass yourself,’ said Mrs Price, ‘it can wait.’ She looked at Mrs Sweeney. ‘Why don’t you both come down to my house and have some tea?’ she said.

  Kezzie accepted the offer quickly. Grandad’s house was easy to keep clean and tidy, and she found more and more that her days were dragging out. She had resolved that as soon as Lucy began school she would find a job and then see about taking night classes herself. She’d not forgotten her dream of one day being a doctor and found out that the high school ran evening classes to prepare students for university entrance exams. Towards the end of the summer she would go along and enrol.

  Mrs Price too was lonely. She was fairly young, not long married, and her husband was in the army. He was still based in Scotland, but for how long?

  ‘Robert says the war is only weeks away,’ said Mrs Price as she poured the tea. ‘He’s expecting orders to leave at any moment.’ Her hand trembled as she picked up the milk jug. ‘I might never see him again.’

  Mrs Sweeney shook her head. ‘Ye’d think after the last time folks would have learnt their lesson. I’m glad my two are firemen. They’ll not get called up.’

  Kezzie could see the anxiety on Mary Price’s face. Her own thoughts were with Michael. She tried to change the subject.

  ‘When Lucy starts school, would anyone come along to the pictures with me?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never been to a proper cinema before, and I’d love to see what it’s like.’

  By chance Kezzie had hit upon the one thing that Mrs Sweeney loved doing. When her husband and son were working nights and had to sleep during the day, then it was a way of passing the time, rather than staying at home and disturbing them. She was an authority on every picture house in the area. She knew the best places and all the films worth seeing. Before Kezzie left to go upstairs and prepare the evening meal they had made a date for her first expedition to La Scala, the local cinema.

  When school began, as Kezzie was having Lucy enrolled, the teacher spoke to her.

  ‘There’s an opportunity to have the little girl evacuated,’ she said.

  ‘Where to?’ asked Kezzie.

  The teacher shrugged. ‘We never really know. They are sent on trains into the countryside and it’s decided when they get there.’

  Kezzie felt Lucy’s hand tighten on her own.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Kezzie said pleasantly. ‘My sister is staying at home.’

  Later in the afternoon, when Kezzie collected Lucy from school, the teacher thrust a piece of paper into her hand.

  ‘Here is a list of articles for evacuees to take with them,’ she said, ‘in case you change your mind.’

  That night, after Lucy had gone to bed, Kezzie read the list out to her grandfather.

  ‘“Spare clothing, toothbrush, comb and handkerchief, and a bag of food for the day.” And they tie labels around their necks,’ Kezzie went on. ‘It’s as if it’s a parcel you are sending away, not a child. I can’t believe it’s happening.’

  ‘When the war starts you might be safer in the country,’ said her grandfather. He looked across the table at her.

  Kezzie stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked sharply.

  He sighed. ‘I’m thinking it was very selfish of me to want ye both to come home. It could be that I’ve put you in danger …’

  ‘We had to come back,’ Kezzie said. ‘It was the right thing to do, not just for you, but for Lucy and myself too.’

  ‘Yes, but,’ her grandad persisted, ‘it’s possible that this area, with the yards and the docks, isn’t going to be very safe. Perhaps we should think about getting her out of it.’

  ‘Never,’ said Kezzie.

  Grandad looked at her carefully. ‘If the bombers do come …’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

  ‘Never,’ said Kezzie again.

  There was a soft rustling noise from the kitchen doorway. They both looked up. Lucy was standing there in her pink fleecy nightie.

  ‘Kissy can’t sleep,’ she said, holding up her doll.

  Grandad held out his arms.

  ‘Bring her over here,’ he said. He took Lucy and the doll onto the chair beside him. ‘I’ve got a new story for ye.’ He poked up the fire and then settled back in his chair. ‘A royal story,’ he went on mysteriously. ‘D’ye want to hear it?’

  Lucy nodded.

  ‘Well, coorie doon beside me,’ he said, ‘and I’ll tell you all about it. Did you know that when the work is finished on the hull of a big ocean liner, they launch the boat into the water and then take her away to be fitted out?’

  Lucy shook her head.

  ‘Well, that’s how it’s done. And the one I was working on last year was a very special one indeed. It was the biggest and the best, and when it was finished they asked Queen Elizabeth, the wife of the King, to come and launch her. On that very special day, which was September the twenty-seventh, there I was, walking around John Brown’s shipyard, and did I not come face to face with the Queen of Britain herself?’

  ‘“John Munro?”’ she asks.

  ‘“Aye, that’s me,”’ I reply.

  ‘“Ye’ve made a grand job of her,” says she, looking the boat up and down. “They tell me she’s the largest liner in the world. I’m fair pleased with you.”’

  ‘Your tales are becoming as fanciful as Michael Donohoe’s,’ Kezzie interrupted.

  ‘It’s the gospel,’ said her grandad, ‘as sure as I’m sitting here.’

  Kezzie lifted a handful of peas in the pod from the vegetable rack and put them into a small basin. Her grandad winked at her and went on with his story.

  ‘“Yes,” said Queen Elizabeth. “She’s a magnificent ship, John. And I’m very happy to be here today.”’

  ‘“Thank you very much, Your Majesty”, I said. “Now if you’ll just excuse me, there’s things need doing.”’

  ‘And I give her a nod and off I go. And do you know she was so busy chatting to me that she nearly forgot to let the bottle go?’

  ‘Blethers!’ said Kezzie.

  ‘It’s true,’ he protested. ‘It’s absolutely true. Ask anybody. It was in all the papers.’

  Kezzie shook her head and started to shell the peas, as her grandad went on with his story.

  ‘There was a great crack and a groan. The ship had started off down the slipway without anyone realising it! What a panic! But Queen Elizabeth stayed completely calm. She leaned over, quick as she could, snipped the ribbon and let the champagne go. Just in time, she was. The bottle struck the ship on the very tip of her bows as she slid towards the river! What a magnificent sight as she entered the water! What a roar went up! Hundreds and hundreds of people cheering and waving, and the flash and pop of the camera light bulbs. And the rust-red dust from the chains rose up in a great cloud as they dragged along. Everyone flung their caps in the air. It took me three weeks to find mine again!

  ‘And then the Queen catches a glimpse of me, and she gives a wee wave of her hand. And I can see her telling the two princesses, “That’s John Munro, the best shipbuilder on the Clyde.”’

  When they were sure Lucy was safely asleep, Kezzie and her grandad talked for a little while by the fire. As if by unspoken agreement neither of them mentioned the war.

  ‘I’m going to look for a job now that Lucy’s at school,’ said Kezzie. ‘Remember you wrote to me when I was in Canada saying you might know of somewhere that would fit in with my studying for university?’

  ‘You don’t need to go out to work,’ he replied. ‘With my wage, there’s enough coming in for us to manage.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘But if I do finally get a university place, then I’ll need some savings to fall back on.’

  He smiled back at her. ‘You’ve still got that inside you?’ he asked. ‘Ever since you were small, you were determined that you were going to be a doctor.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I’ll ask tomorrow,’ said Grandad. ‘It’s a wee café, run by Italians.’

  ‘Oh,’
said Kezzie. ‘I met some Italians on the boat. The Biagi family.’

  ‘This one’s called Casella’s,’ said Grandad, ‘though I wouldn’t be surprised if they were related. It’s a shop and a café, right next to the yard, just off Glasgow Road. I’m friendly with the owner, and I’m sure she could do with some help about the place.’

  A few days later, early in the morning, Kezzie went to keep the appointment her grandfather had made for her. As she crossed the street in front of the café she could see through the large glass window fancy chairs and tables with smart red checked covers. Further back was a delicatessen with shelves of cheeses, jars of pasta, and various types of sausages hanging from the ceiling. Standing behind the counter refilling the biscuit tins stood a dark-haired boy. He turned around as Kezzie entered the shop. It took several seconds before Kezzie recognised who it was. The last time she had seen him he had been wearing a formal suit with an elegant bow tie.

  ‘Kezzie!’ he cried, and his smile was like the sun coming out.

  CHAPTER 6

  Casella’s Café

  ‘KEZZIE!’

  Ricardo Biagi hurriedly wiped his hands on a cloth and came out from behind the counter. He kissed Kezzie on both cheeks.

  ‘My aunt told me to expect a new assistant today, but I had no idea it would be you! When can you start?’

  Kezzie laughed. ‘At once if you wish,’ she said.

  ‘We are so very busy here,’ said Ricardo. ‘We serve tea and ices in the café. Many people come from the yards and the workshops. At lunchtime the garzoni, the apprentice boys, are sent by their bosses for sandwiches and pies. All day we deliver grocery orders in the van.’ He took off his apron and presented it to her. ‘You may begin immediately.’

  Kezzie found that she enjoyed working in the shop. It was very busy, as Ricardo had said, but it was fun to meet and talk with so many different people. The friendly atmosphere on both sides of the counter compensated for the hard work. Signor Biagi ran the deli, as he called it, ordered the stock and made up the boxes for delivery to houses and institutions. Ricardo’s mother and his aunt mainly stayed in the kitchen and cooked, which left Kezzie and Ricardo dealing with the front shop.