Primrose Square

by Anne Douglas

  How can they seem so happy? Elinor wondered, standing aside from the throng, slim and pale in her black dress. Yet a moment’s thought told her that no one was really happy, no one had any reason to seem cheerful except that they wanted to appear so. Many of the young men from the tenements were already away to the front, leaving those at home to the kind of anxiety Elinor and Hessie were already feeling over Corrie. And then there was the continued anxiety over money, for if some war work was well paid, most jobs were not, and there was always the rent to find, eh? And boots for the bairns?

  She shouldn’t be critical, Elinor told herself. At this time, everybody had something to worry over. Even the well-to-do had to fear the ring of the doorbell, the sight of the telegram. How long did a young officer last at the front? Three weeks, was it? The thought crossed her mind . . . was Stephen Muirhead an officer? She’d never thought to ask Brenda, and didn’t in any case want to show the interest in him that was fast occupying her heart.

  After Walter’s burial in a Newington cemetery, she and Hessie spent a quiet evening with Corrie, their last for some time, trying like the mourners to appear cheerful, but with less success. It was a relief, really, when they could go to bed early and make the morning come more quickly, get the parting over, as Corrie put it. Soon, it was indeed over, the hugs and brief kisses given, the promises made to write, and he was away, walking down Friar’s Wynd with a canvas bag on his back and a last wave to the two women waving back.

  ‘That’s him, then,’ Hessie sighed, turning in to the cobbler’s shop, where no Walt bent now over his customers’ shoes. ‘Now, there’s just you and me, Elinor, and you’ll be gone soon, eh?’

  ‘I’ll be back tonight, Ma. I’m sorry to leave you, but they’ve been so good at the Primrose, letting me have the time off, and I know I’m needed.’

  ‘Aye, you get back, pet. I’ll be all right, I’ve plenty to do. And you’ve your friend to see, eh? She must’ve started work by now.’

  ‘Brenda, yes, that’s true,’ said Elinor. ‘I wonder how she’s been getting on.’

  ‘Very well!’ cried Brenda, when Elinor arrived back at the Primrose. ‘Wonderfully well. At one time, I’d never have thought I could do something like this, but I love it. I think of Tam and remember I’m doing my bit and then I’m really happy.’ She took Elinor’s hand. ‘But never mind me. How have you been managing? I was so sorry to hear about your father.’

  ‘Thank you. I must admit, it’s no’ been easy – was such a shock, you see. And then we had to say goodbye to Corrie, my brother, as well. He’s joined the Royal Scots.’

  ‘Oh, your poor mother! To lose your dad and then to have your brother going to war. But she still has you, that’s something. My dad died years ago and there’s just my mother and me at home, so I know how things are.’

  ‘I’ll do all I can for Ma. I promised Corrie when he left, I’d see she was all right.’ Elinor gave a faint smile. ‘But your mother will be gaining a son soon, eh? When you’re married to Tam?’

  ‘Yes, when. Oh, I just hope he can get the leave some time. He thinks maybe July, but nothing’s sure. You’ll come to the wedding, Elinor?’

  ‘Need you ask? There’s no’ much to look forward to these days, but I’m looking forward to that!’

  Who had liked something to look forward to? Elinor’s smile faded, as she remembered. Stephen, of course. ‘Something to look forward to, that’s what I like,’ he’d once said, and what he’d been looking forward to was another meeting with her. But there would be no more of those.

  ‘I’d best get on,’ she said quietly. ‘Always so much to do.’

  Good news came at last for Brenda, when Tam’s letter arrived giving the dates of his leave in July. Barely a week, but it would be enough for their wedding and time away on honeymoon. He’d have to leave all the planning to her, but who was more efficient than his dear Brenda? ‘Yours,’ he’d ended, ‘with love and desperation to see you again, your own troublemaker, Tam.’

  Brenda, in seventh heaven, read the letter to Elinor, whose day was brightened by such hope of happiness. It was like a ray of sunshine in the darkness, but darkness was to descend again when an event occurred that no one could have foreseen.

  Forty-Six

  News came first to the Primrose from a QA who’d gone out to buy her usual early edition of a newspaper on the morning of May 23rd, and come running back, white-faced.

  ‘A terrible train crash!’ she cried, waving her paper. ‘The worst ever known – near Gretna Green – and all Royal Scots men – oh, so many killed and injured – it’s terrible, terrible!’

  Royal Scots men. Elinor’s heart stood still. Oh, God. Corrie! Had he been on that train?

  ‘What happened?’ people were asking, as she stood with her hands clenched at her sides, fearful to hear details from the QA who had bought the paper. In fact, it was the matron who told them, calling all the staff together to pass on the information she’d been told by telephone the previous evening.

  It seemed that the accident had happened at 6.50 a.m. on the morning of the 22nd. Men of the Royal Scots were in a special troop train, travelling to Liverpool to embark for Gallipoli, when their train collided with a local train left where it shouldn’t have been by careless signalmen. A goods train and a train of empty coal trucks then hit the two damaged trains and a fire broke out, sending the old-fashioned wooden framed carriages of the troop train up in flames. Of the soldiers involved, 226 were found to be dead and 246 were badly injured, leaving only a handful of men unharmed.

  Looking over her reading glasses, the matron paused as a stunned silence followed her words.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll agree that nothing could be more tragic or ironic than what happened to those soldiers on their way to Gallipoli. To be killed or injured in their own country before they could even reach their destination abroad is too horrifying to think about, but there are two things I want to say to you now.

  ‘The first is that I know some of you would like to be able to offer your services to help the injured, but as we are so very stretched here, I’m afraid that’s just not possible. I’m really sorry – I wish we could have done something.

  ‘The second is that, as you know, we have some patients here who are in a very fragile mental state because of their experiences. It might be as well to withhold news of the accident from them until we can take the time to prepare them. I’m sure I can leave this to your discretion.’

  Thanking them for their attention, the matron was turning to go when a QA put up her hand.

  ‘Excuse me, Matron, but have any details been released about which Royal Scots battalion was involved in the accident? My brother is a serving officer with the Eleventh.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I should have made it clear – I know some of you will be anxious about relatives. The men were from the Seventh, known as the Leith Battalion, because so many came from that area.’

  Taking off her reading glasses, the matron looked around her listeners and gave a little sigh. It seemed that no one had a special grief for someone lost at Gretna Green, but that didn’t mean that their hearts were not going out to those who had died and their families. Plain to see was the shock and sorrow on all the faces of those turning to take up their duties, trying to come to terms with death and destruction, not on some foreign battlefield, but very close to home.

  ‘Not your brother?’ Brenda whispered to Elinor.

  ‘No, thank God. I suppose if I’d thought about it, I’d have realized he wouldn’t have been ready yet to go out to Gallipoli, but I just heard the words “Royal Scots” and everything turned black. Now I’m thinking of those who died.’

  ‘Me, too. I’m shaking. Let’s get on with things and then make some tea, eh?’

  ‘Tea, yes. What would we do without it?’

  But as she began her morning’s work, Elinor was thinking of someone else she’d almost forgotten. Barry was Royal Scots, too, but not from Leith, which meant he wouldn’t have been on the
fatal train. Another reason for thanking God, though why God should single out one soldier rather than another to be saved was not something she’d ever worked out or even questioned. All she knew was that even if Corrie meant more to her now than Barry, she still was glad that Barry was safe, too. No doubt Bettina and Georgie would be thinking the same, but she never saw any of the Howat family now, which perhaps was just as well.

  And then, she did see Bettina. As it had not been possible for Primrose staff – apart from Matron – to be spared for the funeral of the dead soldiers, Elinor had gone after work to pay her respects at the Rosebank Cemetery, where the men had been buried in a mass grave. As she was leaving to make her way home, she saw Bettina ahead of her, dressed in black, and wondered if she should speak. Might be awkward, she was thinking, when Bettina turned round and the problem was solved.

  ‘Why, it’s you, Elinor!’ she cried. ‘Have you been to the cemetery?’

  ‘Hello, Bettina. Yes, I couldn’t go to the funeral, so I went to put a few flowers on the soldiers’ grave.’

  ‘I did the same thing.’

  The two young women, studying each other, were silent for a moment, then Bettina cleared her throat.

  ‘I was that sorry about . . . what happened between you and Barry,’ she said, with some nervousness. ‘I always said, you were the best lassie he brought home.’

  ‘Water under the bridge,’ Elinor answered. ‘I was upset at first, but I’m over it now.’

  ‘That’s good, I’m glad.’

  After another short silence, Elinor asked, ‘How are things with you, then?’

  Bettina shrugged. ‘Well, Alfie’s joined the Navy, but we got wed before he left, so I’m Mrs Daniels now.’

  ‘Congratulations – that’s very good news.’

  ‘Yes and no. What sort of married life is it, when you never see your man? And then . . . did you hear what happened to Georgie? Killed at Le Cateau way back at the beginning of the war. This black I’m wearing is for the poor laddies from Leith, but I feel like wearing it all the time, eh? I see you’re in black, too.’

  ‘Just for today. My dad died lately, but I have to wear uniform at the Primrose Hospital where I’m working.’ Elinor hesitated. ‘I’m very sorry to hear about Georgie, very sorry indeed. I hope Barry’s all right?’

  ‘Och, he’s fine. In Gallipoli, but will be moving to France, he thinks.’ Bettina smiled. ‘Says he’ll be playing the piano in the trenches.’

  ‘Playing the piano?’

  ‘His wee joke. But I bet he does play football in no-man’s-land, eh? I can see him, kicking the ball to the Jerries.’ Bettina put out her hand and Elinor shook it. ‘I’ve to go for ma tram now. Nice to see you, though. Keep in touch.’

  ‘Yes, we’ll do that,’ said Elinor, knowing they wouldn’t, and went her way, her mind working over Bettina’s news. Poor Georgie, then. Always in the shadow of his more talented brother, now not even that. A name on a casualty list, all hopes and prospects gone. Remembered by his sister, though, and perhaps by Barry, too, though he wouldn’t be one to dwell on death’s sting. He really was just the way he seemed, wasn’t he? One who would never have a care in the world, or perhaps would never allow himself to think he had. Certainly he wouldn’t be losing any sleep over his broken love affair with herself.

  Thank heavens, she was over the pain of losing him. Hadn’t lasted long, so her love might never have been as genuine as she’d thought. Perhaps he’d done her a favour, after all, turning her down. The more she thought about what she’d lost – or, more precisely, thrown away – Elinor was ready to believe he had, but knew it wouldn’t do her any good. You made mistakes, you paid, that was life’s teaching. And she was paying now for what she had done.

  Back home with Hessie, however, describing the newly prepared mass grave in the cemetery, Elinor’s thoughts moved to the true tragedy of the Gretna Green rail crash. How humble it made her feel, to consider the loss of those young lives and the grief of their families, and compare her own troubles with that sort of loss and suffering. She really should put her worries aside, she decided, and concentrate on doing her work well at the Primrose. Perhaps permit herself to think of the one bright spot on the horizon, which was Brenda’s wedding.

  Forty-Seven

  For days before the wedding, Brenda was so excited, so tensed up, her high spirits spread throughout the Primrose, with everyone wishing her well and keeping their fingers crossed for the bridegroom’s safe arrival back home. Though she’d said she would have liked all the staff to see her wed, obviously that wasn’t possible and in the end, after a whip-round to buy a crystal salad bowl as a present, Elinor was the only one given permission to attend.

  ‘You’ll no’ be wanting to wear your black or grey for a wedding,’ Hessie told her. ‘Come on, your dad’d be happy to see you looking your best. How about that sweet pink dress you made yourself? It’s July, it’ll be hot.’

  ‘Think it’d do?’ Elinor asked doubtfully. ‘It’s nothing special.’

  ‘If you buy a bit of matching ribbon for your hat, I think it’d be grand. There’s a war on; nobody’ll be expecting you to be dressing up too much.’

  ‘The pink it is, then,’ Elinor agreed and, on a steamy July morning, set off for the kirk near Brenda’s home, looking, her mother had said, an absolute picture.

  ‘Oh, it makes me feel good, to see you dressed like that again,’ she’d sighed, pressing a hankie to her eyes as she so often did. ‘As though the sad times have gone, though I know they haven’t.’

  ‘They’ll be gone one day, Ma, so cheer up, and I’ll maybe bring you a piece of wedding cake back – if Brenda’s managed to find one.’

  Joining a group of brightly dressed guests outside the kirk, Elinor for a moment felt, like Hessie, that all the sad times had passed. Everyone seemed so happy and light-hearted, that when the bridegroom arrived, looking so smart in his tunic and kilt, his red hair catching the sunlight, quite a little cheer went up, at which Tam gave his old grin, and catching sight of Elinor, turned from entering the church to give her a great hug.

  ‘My word, Elinor, it’s grand to see you! And looking so nice, eh?’

  ‘You’re looking good yourself, Tam. I do believe you’re slimmer.’

  ‘What, with all the bully beef I eat? Hey, I’d better get going, eh?’

  ‘I’ll say,’ said John Andrews, one of Tam’s friends Elinor remembered and now his best man, wearing similar uniform. ‘Don’t want the bride to see you still talking when she arrives. Though who could ever stop you talking?’

  As Tam and John entered the church to take up their positions, the guests followed, for time was getting on. Any moment now, the bride would arrive, accompanied by an old family friend to ‘give her away’, and a cousin who was her bridesmaid.

  For a wartime wedding, it was traditional and expensive, Elinor thought, and was certainly not the sort that could be afforded by anyone she knew in Friar’s Wynd. But then she’d always guessed that Brenda’s family had money, and if Mrs Cordiner wanted to spend it on her only daughter’s great day – why not? Listening to the organ, soaking up the atmosphere, Elinor turned to smile when a latecomer slipped into the seat next to hers. And froze. The fair-haired man in officer’s uniform who had just arrived was Stephen Muirhead.

  She was not imagining him this time. No, this was the real man, visibly shocked at the sight of her. See his sudden pallor, and how, when her dark eyes met his, he instantly looked away. Why, it’s true, he doesn’t want to see me; he doesn’t even want to be near me. Should she move? She couldn’t, she would have to pass him. In any case, she felt her limbs so heavy, so unwilling to respond, that she was as still as a statue. Thank God, the organ had struck up the wedding march; the guests were on their feet. Brenda must have arrived.

  Somehow, Elinor followed the service. Somehow she noted that Brenda looked radiant in the white dress her mother had made for her, that her bridesmaid was sweet in blue, and Tam so proud he couldn’t take h
is eyes off his bride and sounded out all his responses as though he were ringing a joyful bell. While all the time, Stephen was by Elinor’s side, his presence burning into her consciousness, so that she was glad to sit down when the register was being signed and the organ played, wishing with all her heart that the ceremony would end and she could be somewhere else.

  It did end, of course, and as soon as the bridal couple had come down the aisle, Stephen moved after them and Elinor was able to follow and mingle with the guests outside.

  ‘Brenda, you look wonderful!’ she cried, as soon as she was able to reach the bride.

  ‘And you, Elinor, you’re beautiful!’ Brenda was flushed and smiling as they exchanged hugs. ‘Oh, it’s so lovely to have you here.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,’ Elinor declared, and after the bride and groom had been borne away by motor car to a nearby hotel, followed on foot, in company with Pearl, who she remembered from Stephen’s class. Some way ahead, she could see Stephen himself, walking with some people she didn’t know. And with all her heart, she hoped he wouldn’t look back.

  ‘Is this no’ amazing?’ Pearl was asking. ‘I mean, that Tam and Brenda would ever get wed? Remember how they used to be? Always striking sparks?’

  ‘That’s the way it goes sometimes.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right. How about you, Elinor? You engaged, or anything?’

  ‘No. I’m just working at the Primrose Club that’s now a convalescent hospital.’

  ‘And I’m nursing, too. Training full-time at the Northern.’ Pearl laughed. ‘All that office stuff I swotted up on for Mr Muirhead has quite gone out of my head! Talking of him, didn’t I see him somewhere around?’

  ‘Yes, he’s here,’ Elinor replied. ‘Think this is the hotel, eh?’

  ‘Oh, very grand! Mrs Cordiner’s done Brenda proud, eh? This must be costing a bonny penny. Still, what’s money these days? Spend it while you can is my motto!’

  Drinks were being served in the hotel’s pleasant garden, and as Pearl dived away to speak to some people she knew, Elinor stood alone for a moment, looking round at the cheerful guests, thinking how far removed all this was from anything to do with the war. Was it even in the same world as the battlefields abroad? As the mass grave in Rosebank Cemetery?