by Anne Douglas
‘Find the nearest air-raid shelter,’ said Vi. ‘They’ve been building ’em all over the place.’
‘You canna fight a war just from the air,’ said Josh. ‘There’ll have to be battles and troops, just like always, before we’re done.’
‘Oh, agreed.’ Allan glanced at May. ‘But this time they won’t wait for volunteers. There’ll be conscription – for men of the right age.’
‘And women, they say, sooner or later,’ put in Vi. ‘Which is only fair.’
‘Never!’ cried Josh. ‘You mean you lassies’d have to go to war? That’d be a piece o’ nonsense, eh?’
‘I wouldn’t mind going,’ Jinny said quietly. ‘Like Vi says, it’s only fair.’
As her family looked at her, May stretched out a hand to touch hers.
‘What about Viktor?’ she asked softly. ‘You haven’t mentioned him lately.’
Because she hadn’t heard from him since he’d said he would be joining the army. Although he hadn’t spelled it out, clearly he would find it more difficult to write to her then, and now that war had been declared between their countries, neither of them would be able to write. Maybe that was easy to understand, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear.
‘I don’t expect to hear from him now,’ she said after a pause. ‘Now that he’s in the army and we are at war.’
‘In the army?’ Josh repeated. ‘You mean the German army?’
‘Of course she means the German army,’ Vi snapped. ‘What else?’
‘And you say he’s no’ a Jerry?’ Josh asked. ‘I always said he was, and now you see I was right.’
‘He’s an Austrian!’ cried Jinny. ‘That’s all he wants to be. It’s not his fault that his country’s part of Germany now!’
Everyone waited for Josh to make some sharp riposte but when he didn’t, only sat and filled his pipe, his face grey and weary, May rose to her feet.
‘Come on, girls, let’s get on with the Sunday dinner. Might as well have something good to eat.’
‘While we’ve got it,’ said Vi, joining her on the way to the kitchen.
But Jinny’s thoughts, as she slowly stood up, were far away from roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.
Part Two
Forty
It was 1940 and a day in late June – a time of summer, when the Princes Street gardens Jinny could see from Accounts were in full bloom, and people hurrying by were lightly dressed and looking just as usual. Except that they weren’t, of course; they were people at war, people under threat, people more vulnerable than they’d ever been in their lives. For France had fallen.
Jinny, totalling up figures on her adding machine, still could not believe that France had surrendered and that a British expeditionary force, originally sent to help, had earlier had to be rescued by boats from the German army now in control of Europe. It just didn’t seem possible that Hitler had been so triumphant, taking – as well as France – Norway, Belgium, Luxembourg and Holland, so that all that remained to be conquered was Great Britain. Just across the Channel.
‘Aye, it’ll only be a matter of time before Hitler’s here,’ her father had said when the news about France’s defeat had come. ‘What’s to stop him, eh? That wee strip o’ water where our laddies were rescued? Forget it. We’ll just have to prepare ourselves for what’s going to happen.’
‘Dad, you shouldn’t be so defeatist!’ Vi had cried robustly. ‘We’ve got our defences, we’ve got an army; we won’t be just giving in and opening the door for Hitler.’
‘That’s right.’ May had added, with a voice that shook, ‘Allan hasn’t been called up for nothing.’
Poor May, her family thought as she looked down at her wedding ring. Still only a newly-wed, really, for her quiet registry office wedding had taken place in April, and she was now on her own in Allan’s house while he’d been called up and was in Aberdeen doing basic training. Everyone had been happy that wedding day, except for Josh, though he’d surprisingly done his best not to show his feelings. But after only a weekend’s honeymoon in the Borders, Allan had had to report to his unit. After which there’d been one terrible piece of news after another, culminating with the fall of France. It was when that news had broken that May had come over, so that they could be together as a family and discuss what they might do. As though there was anything they could do!
First would come the bombers – that was Hitler’s practice – then the troops. There would be resistance, as Vi had said, and Mr Churchill, who’d taken over as prime minister from Mr Chamberlain in May, would no doubt be planning with his service chiefs their contingency plans at that moment. But why should Great Britain succeed in blocking Hitler when everyone else had failed? All that was sure was that the British people stood alone against a so far unstoppable army. For how long?
What am I doing? Jinny suddenly asked herself, putting down her pen and looking round the pleasant accounts office, at that moment filled with sunshine. This was all crazy, eh? Carrying on as though everything was normal? Any minute now, Mabel would come in with their tea and they’d all take their break as usual, yet Jinny had only to look across to Ross’s desk and see Mr Lennox, Ross’s replacement, checking some invoices to know that she was right and that nothing was at all normal.
Oh, how she missed Ross! He’d been gone since September, having volunteered for a Scottish regiment soon after the outbreak of war, and his place had been taken by Hugh Lennox, an old friend of Mr Comrie’s and a retired accountant. After Ross’s training, Jinny had felt she could have managed the office herself, and might have said so once, but now just let it go. Of course, it was good to have Mr Lennox anyway and he had certainly lost none of his skills, but every time she looked at him – and he was quite handsome in his way, with smooth grey hair and strong features – she was reminded that he wasn’t Ross and that the old, pleasant way of working had gone and might never return.
Other things had changed, too. Comrie’s, for instance, which was struggling to provide a service to its customers under difficult wartime conditions. There was a shortage of supplies, of course – flour, sugar and eggs, and pretty much everything else. There were new rules and regulations that had to be followed, such as the replacement of all breads by a so-called ‘national loaf’, a solid, wholemeal affair few people liked, and had the extra disadvantage that it could only be sold when a day old. The official intention was so that folk wouldn’t try to eat too much when it was new, which as Mr Comrie said was a piece of nonsense if ever there was one!
As for his staff, Mr Comrie was in despair. Of his bakers, only Alf, who was over forty-one and not eligible for call-up, was left, which meant that Norah Mackie had been required to help out. Imagine Norah, a woman, being a professional baker! But she was happy enough, her own work of decorating cakes being no longer required, there being so few cakes made and those only of the plainest type.
It was just as well, perhaps, that Trixie had departed to work in munitions, for there might not have been enough work for her, and certainly not for Senga, the trainee, though she was now married to Terry and ‘expecting’, while Terry no longer drove the van, for which there was no petrol allowance anyway, and was now serving in a Border regiment.
Not only Trixie had left to work in the munitions factory at Portobello – Audrey from the Princes Street shop was another who’d gone for the better money, leaving Mrs Arrow with only Fiona and Joan to help, about which she bitterly complained even though the café, at least, was no longer anything to worry about, Mr Comrie having closed it in 1939.
‘Aye, there was no way we could keep that going, what with all the rules and regulations and nothing much to offer,’ Mrs Arrow had said at the time, but she still liked a little moan to Jinny about her difficulties.
‘So little to sell in the shop!’ she would sigh as Jinny stood waiting to eat her sandwiches at lunchtime. ‘I mean, compared to what we used to have!’
Of course she never mentioned Viktor’s Austrian cakes, as there was no Bo
b to make them, even if they’d had the ingredients, and they wouldn’t have made them anyway, would they? Who’d want Jerry cakes now?
In fact, no one ever spoke Viktor’s name – certainly not to Jinny, and certainly not to Mr Comrie, who must be feeling bad enough that his nephew was probably fighting with the Germans by now. How Jinny was feeling it was thought better not to ask.
How was she feeling, then, on that apprehensive day so soon after the fall of France? She wasn’t even sure herself.
Forty-One
How did she feel? Glancing over to Mr Lennox again, Jinny saw that he was still absorbed in his work, and after a moment’s wait she picked up her bag from under her desk and took from its inside pocket a small box and a photograph. Removing the lid from the box, she looked down at her brooch, her Edelweiss, and as she remembered her joy, her utter happiness a the time it had been given, tears pricked her eyes and blurred the white flowers, so beautifully made, resting on the fine gold stem.
Would she ever have believed, when Viktor had given her the brooch, that she would be afraid now to be seeing his countrymen marching with Germans down Princes Street, as they would have marched in Paris and all the places they’d overrun? Might she even see Viktor himself? Oh, no, that wasn’t possible! He wouldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t be like those Nazis, so triumphant …
Yet as she put the brooch away and turned to his photograph, a snap she’d taken herself on one of their city walks, she had to admit that she didn’t really know what Viktor was like now. He had not wanted to fight for Hitler before he went home, but time had passed and he might have changed. People did change, didn’t they? And she had not heard from him for more a year. Time enough maybe for him to no longer be the man she had loved.
For she was no longer sure she still loved him. There was her problem and her pain, which was not the same as that she’d suffered when she was first without him. Then she’d felt only loss. Now she felt guilt. How could she not love Viktor just as much as ever when they’d been so happy together? Shared a love that was true? A year was a long time to manage alone, maybe, but how was it possible that she could allow the memory of his face, once so beloved, to begin to fade?
As her eyes again studied his photograph to remind herself of his fine, handsome face, she felt a great stab of grief cut through her heart like a knife, and as she thrust the photograph back into her bag she gave an involuntary sob. Oh, God, had Mr Lennox heard? He had.
‘All right, Miss Hendrie?’ he called.
Miss Hendrie … He always called her that, saying he was far too old fashioned to use colleagues’ first names, which only made Jinny miss Ross all the more.
‘Fine, thanks, Mr Lennox,’ she answered, pushing her bag under the desk again as Mabel brought in tea, followed by Mr Comrie, who said he was on his way out to a doctor’s appointment.
‘All this stress and strain – it’s not good for me,’ he announced as Mabel gave Jinny and Mr Lennox their tea. ‘Arthur Whyte’s just rung to say there’s more trouble over our flour allocation – I mean, what does anyone expect? We feed the nation on fresh air or what?’
‘You’re sure you don’t want tea before you go, Mr Comrie?’ Mabel asked as he clamped his trilby hat down on his head and strode to the door.
‘No, no, I’d better get on my way. Though why we’re worrying about anything I couldn’t really say, after the news about France. What hope is there for us, Hugh, eh?’
After a quick glance at Jinny, which seemed to warn her against mentioning his nephew – as though she would! – Mr Comrie finally departed, allowing Mabel to sink into a chair and fan herself with her handkerchief.
‘Mr Comrie talks about stresses and strains,’ she remarked, ‘as though he’s the only one suffering. But I’m sure we’re all on edge, eh? I feel quite bad myself, thinking about an invasion.’
‘He’s in charge, he has the responsibility,’ Mr Lennox replied rather coldly. ‘And these worries take their toll.’
‘That’s just what I’m saying – on all of us.’ Rather pink in the face, Mabel stood up. ‘May I take your cup, Mr Lennox?’
‘Thanks, but I’m not quite finished. I’ll bring it through.’
After she’d left, her head held high, Mr Lennox gave Jinny a slight smile. ‘I’m afraid I’ve upset her, haven’t I?’
‘I shouldn’t worry about it, Mr Lennox. As Mabel says, everyone’s on edge at the moment.’
Why indeed worry? she asked herself, draining her own cup and setting it down. Why be touchy about things that didn’t matter, when for all they knew they might have no future. At least, not as an independent country?
How she wished she could get away! Away from Mr Comrie and Mr Lennox and Mabel, and the flour allowance and the sugar shortage, and who would do what to help Mrs Arrow or Mr Whyte at the bakery. Was there not something else she could do? Something more worthwhile? Something that would put all these worries at Comrie’s into perspective?
And maybe put her guilt over Viktor’s fading image into perspective, too?
But what could she do? Where could she go?
With a sigh, she collected Mr Lennox’s cup and her own and took them through to wash them, but with this little duty done and returning to her work, no answers to her questions came to mind.
Forty-Two
As the evening was so warm and close, Vi – whose turn it was to do the tea – announced that they were going to have salad and Dad would just have to put up with it.
‘We’re lucky to have it, and the boiled ham I managed to find, so don’t go complaining,’ she told him as they sat down to eat, at which he shrugged.
‘Who’s complaining? If I think salad’s rabbit food, it’s still food, eh? I know we’re lucky. As long as Herr Hitler’s no’ crossing the Channel yet.’
‘Don’t!’ cried Jinny. ‘Don’t joke like that!’
’Only way to get by, pet. Joking, I mean.’
‘Nothing on the wireless yet?’ asked Vi.
He shook his head. There’d been no news of movements across the Channel so far. Not that they could take comfort in that. It was still early days and no doubt Hitler was perfecting his bombing plans so that Great Britain would be attacked from the air before the troops came over. London, of course, would be his first target, but Scotland would not be forgotten. The Scots would be sure to need their air-raid shelters, just like folk in the south.
‘I don’t feel very hungry,’ Jinny said, putting down her knife and fork. ‘Sorry, Vi.’
‘Oh, come on!’ Vi had drawn her dark brows together. ‘That’s just silly talk! We have to eat; we have to keep going. And I got some lovely raspberries at the market – no cream, of course, but there’s a wee bit of sugar. Just have to be careful.’
‘Anything Jinny doesn’t want you can give to me,’ Josh said cheerfully. ‘I need my strength for this farce we’re putting on at the minute. Talk about scene changes! I feel I’ve run twice up Arthur’s Seat by the time we’ve finished!’
‘Full house?’ asked Vi.
‘You bet! To think they closed the theatres at the beginning of the war! Soon found out that was a bad idea!’
‘I think I’ll have some of the raspberries, anyway,’ said Jinny, who was feeling slightly better seeing her father in a good mood, which was probably his aim.
After he’d left for work, the sisters washed up and turned on the wireless, but there was no news to alarm them, only a woman’s educated voice talking about a wonderful ‘response’.
‘Response to what?’ asked Vi.
‘Ssh, I think she’s telling us,’ said Jinny.
‘The number of young women responding to the Princess Royal’s call for volunteers – “Your King and Country Need You!” – has been most gratifying,’ the broadcaster was continuing. ‘And I can assure everyone that they will be doing a thoroughly worthwhile job in the ATS, working alongside our brave soldiers and meeting new people, knowing they are responding to the call to help their country in her
time of need. Now, it only remains for me to thank—’
‘Think we’ll cut out the thanks,’ said Vi, switching off the set. ‘But that’s interesting, eh? All those lassies running off to join the ATS?’
‘ATS?’ Jinny repeated. ‘What exactly does that stand for?’
‘Auxiliary Territorial Service – it’s the women’s army.’
‘Doesn’t sound like it’s for women.’
‘No, I think I read there’d been trouble finding the right name. The women’s air force and the women’s naval service have got W for women in their titles – WAAF and WRNS – but nobody worked out how to put it in for the army. Still, what’s in a name, eh?’ Vi smiled. ‘Fancy volunteering?’
The two pairs of dark eyes met.
‘You know, I just might,’ Jinny said slowly.
‘You what?’ Vi’s mouth had dropped open. ‘You don’t mean it? Why would you want to leave Comrie’s until you have to? We’ll probably all be called up when they get round to passing an act for it.’
‘I just felt today that I couldn’t stick it any longer. I know it’s nobody’s fault, but the young men are away fighting and the rest of us are just going on about rations and how much flour we can have and all the rest of it. I know it’s important – folk have to eat – but I’d like to get away, do something that matters.’ Jinny smiled nervously. ‘Couldn’t think what – and then just now, hearing the wireless—’
‘And you decided to join up? Well, I’m struck dumb, I really am!’
‘Struck dumb, you?’ Jinny tried to laugh. ‘Do you think I shouldn’t go for it?’
‘Oh, I don’t say that. If you’re really fed up with Comrie’s, why not? But Mr Comrie won’t want to lose you, will he? How’s he going to manage?’
‘He’s got his old buddy, Mr Lennox, working there instead of Ross, so he doesn’t need me. There isn’t as much to do as there used to be. We’ve had to cut down so much.’