by Iain Maloney
‘So, Jackie,’ she said. ‘Tell us all about it. You’ve been gallivanting around the country and your letters contained so little information they could’ve been written by anyone.’
‘It’s the censors,’ I said. ‘We’re not allowed to write down any details about our postings in case the enemy gets hold of them. They’d love to know exactly where a few hundred air crew are being trained and stop us ever getting to fly against them.’
Ma coughed, choking almost. ‘Well,’ said Lizzie. ‘There are no spies here, unless Hitler’s become so desperate he’s recruited Ma.’
‘Me? A spy? What a thing to say about your own mother!’
Lizzie rolled her eyes. ‘So, where were you?’
I told them about my life since leaving in the spring, about the train to London, living in Abbey Road, the training, eating in the zoo, the postings to Babbacombe, to Cliffe Pypard, about flying. ‘The English Riviera, eh? Lounging on the beach while the rest of us were doing the lambing.’ She winked at me. ‘Not bad for some.’
Soapy, Micky and the others. The red sea. The church. Carrying out those tiny corpses. Clive’s kite spread across the runway. ‘Were a the creatures still at the zoo?’ Da said.
‘No. Most have been moved out to the country. The dangerous ones were killed off.’
‘Just as well,’ said Lizzie.
‘Meaning there’s a farm aboot the country somewhere wi a great elephant lumbering aroon it?’ He chuckled, toasted the idea. It crossed my mind he’d get on with Joe.
‘It was nice and warm, but we didnae have much free time,’ I said, returning to Lizzie’s questions. ‘I’ve been studying harder than I ever did at school.’
‘Well, that wouldnae be hard,’ said Lizzie. Da was listening, happy with his food, his whisky and his family around, with thoughts of all manner of animals roaming the country. Ma was lost. ‘You must have had some fun,’ Lizzie said. ‘What did you do in London?’
The Windmill. I flirted briefly with the idea of telling them about the real life Titians. Ma would pay attention then, the shock, what would the neighbours say? ‘Some fun, aye. I met some guys who like the same music as me, so started a band. Played at a couple of dances.’
‘Ach, that’s good,’ said Da. ‘Gettin some use oot o thon bugle.’
The chicken’s carcass was stripped bare, the odd strand of dark meat hanging from the skeleton. We sat back, the oily satisfaction of a roast dinner. Ma had hardly touched her food. She was getting thinner. Lizzie began clearing up.
‘You’ll be comin ben the hoose,’ Da said. I nodded and followed him through to the sitting room. Despite the lingering summer heat I wished the fire was going. There was nothing that said ‘home’ more than a roaring fire in the red brick fireplace, the flames flickering off the brass ornaments on the mantelpiece. The bookcase, the watercolour of the old waterwheel, the dried flower displays Ma did. Lizzie came in and topped up the glasses, then sat beside me.
‘So,’ Lizzie said. ‘What have you got planned while you’re here?’
‘No much. Just thought I’d help Da out, do whatever needs done. See Willie.’
‘A shame, that lad,’ Da said.
‘He’s back home now,’ said Lizzie. ‘He’s… no the happiest of folk these days.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ I said.
‘Aye, I’m not saying he’s not entitled but, well, I’m just saying, he’s not the same Willie Rennie you’ll remember.’
‘Aye.’
‘When you going back?’ Da said.
‘A fortnight.’
We finished the ditch. I helped with the crops and the animals, did many of the little jobs that got over-looked: sharpening tools, untangling twine, cleaning out and repairing, all the jobs that seem unimportant in themselves but which would save him a lot of delay and trouble later on. I could switch off my mind and just dig, lift, carry. The satisfying tiredness of a day’s work was far superior to the bored exhaustion of a route march. Starting to unwind. I’d never thought that coming home would be a holiday, but when I rejoined the lads in Manchester I’d be ready and refreshed.
I kept meaning to go see Willie, but there was always something to do. Da really needed my help. One morning I glanced at the paper. The headline announced the invasion of Italy. I scanned the article and realised Willie’s regiment were involved. Da gave me the day off. Old Rennie and his wife ran the village shop and lived behind it. It was one of those village shops that sold anything. Over the years Old Rennie had amassed the kind of eclectic stock that would satisfy the needs of everyone in Inverayne. As a kid I’d thought the place an Aladdin’s cave of wonders. I went through the door, the bell jangling, and wove my way between shelves and around stacks.
‘Who’s that?’ said a voice at the back of the shop.
‘It’s Jack Devine, Missus Rennie.’
I found her behind the counter with a teapot and a copy of that day’s paper.
‘It is Jack Devine,’ she said. ‘I never recognised you in that get up. Stand straight, let’s have a look at you.’
I did. I was unsure how to act. If Willie Rennie had died I’d have known what to do, but he wasn’t dead, he was somewhere, in the house presumably, without a leg. What was the correct decorum? I’m sorry for your loss?
‘So you’re finally a pilot then?’ she said.
‘No yet, Missus Rennie. I’m still training. Soon though, I hope.’
‘It seems to take an affy long time tae learn tae fly,’ she said. ‘You’re nineteen now?’
‘I am, aye.’ Same age as Willie.
‘Have you even been in a plane yet?’
‘Aye. I’ve done twelve hours.’
‘Twelve hours? And now you’re back on leave?’
‘Aye.’ I didn’t want to go into all the training, to justify myself. I knew from Ma’s reaction when Dod died that the question of fairness or not was of paramount importance. Instead I said, ‘It’s hard to train us here. They need all the planes for fighting.’
‘Aye, well,’ she said. ‘The sooner you get trained the sooner we can win this war. Nae dallying, ye hear?’
‘Aye, Missus Rennie.’
‘Right, you’ll be wanting to see Willie. He’s ben the hoose.’ She moved slightly to let me through the counter, along the passage and into the house. I pushed my way through into the kitchen and found Old Rennie sitting at the table.
‘Hello, Mister Rennie,’ I said. ‘Missus Rennie said it was okay to come through.’
‘Aye,’ he said, barely looking up. ‘I’m here to see Willie. Is he about?’
‘Doon the field playin fitba.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Far div ye think he is? Ben the hoose drinking tea wi his foot up, the lazy bugger.’
Willie was on the sofa, legs stretched out. One of them must be wooden. The wireless was on, some classical music. ‘Hello Willie.’
Willie looked up, surprised. Must’ve been miles away. ‘Jack? Is that you?’
‘Aye. Got some leave so came back for a couple of days. Heard you were back and all, so I thought I’d come and see how you’re doing.’
‘Aye, I’m here. No on leave though. Or permanently on leave. One or the other.’
I didn’t know if I should ask about what happened. I decided to stick to safe ground. ‘Anything good on?’ I said, nodding at the radio.
‘Damn all. Never is, not during the day. ITMA’s on later.’
‘What have you been up to?’
Willie looked at me as if I was soft. ‘What do you think? Playin fitba?’
‘Your Da already made that joke.’
A pause, then Willie laughed. ‘Miserable bastard, too cheap to even think up his ain jokes, now he’s stealin mine.’ His laughter seemed to break something in the room. ‘I’ve no been doin anything much, Jack. They gave me thon things tae get aroon on,’ he gestured at the crutches leaning against the wall. ‘But whits the point? Where the hell am I gonnae go in this place?’
‘So how’s life in the RAF? All those mechanics. You should’ve joined the Army, Jack.’
‘What, and miss out on this pilot’s uniform? No chance.’
‘Aye, the birds do love it, that’s true. You get any of that down south?’
‘No really, you know what it’s like. Never a minute in the forces.’
‘Aye, I ken exactly fit it’s like. Spare minute and every man is straight doon the hoorhoose before you can say “payday”. Dinnae play the innocent wi me.’
‘No kidding. We tried the one time, in London, but the place had been bombed out.’
‘Nae luck. Still, you’ll have tae get it out the wrapper soon. You dinnae want tae die a virgin, do you?’
I tried to control myself. ‘Whit are ye thinking?’ said Willie. ‘Are ye thinking “shame a cannae tell a cripple tae get tae fuck”?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I was just wondering if, since you’d got back, you’d managed to get your log over?’
For a second I thought I’d gone too far, but Willie burst out laughing, a high, hard laugh that sounded like it’d been dying to come out for ages. ‘For Christ’s sake Jack, that’s a good one. Get your log over? Oh, am stealing that yin.’ I looked around the dark, musty room, and at the tiredness on Willie’s face. The clock said five past eleven.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We’re aff oot.’
‘Am no going anywhere.’
‘Aye you are, and I’m no asking. The Clansman opened five minutes ago and I’m buying.’
Willie looked like he was going to argue, but I just handed him his crutches.
‘Now, either use those things or I’m going to carry you there like you really were a cripple.’
Willie pulled himself up shakily, leaning on the crutches like a new born calf. We moved slowly through to the kitchen.
‘I’m just taking Willie out to get legless, Mister Rennie,’ I said on the way by. ‘Aye,’ he said, turning a page in the paper.
The pub was empty. Everyone was off fighting, working, contributing somehow. I ordered two pints, taking comfort in the uniform. ‘So what’s it like,’ he said, ‘the flying?’
‘Nothing like it. Up there alone, just you and the kite.’
‘And Jerry.’
‘Aye. Well, no yet. But it’ll come.’
‘Still got the training wheels on you?’
‘For a while. We’re getting shipped overseas for more training.’
‘Overseas?’
‘Canada, South Africa, Rhodesia, somewhere like that.’
‘Far from the fighting.’
‘They need the kites here for fighting.’
‘Still. It’s no all training, Jack. There’s fighting to be done.’
‘Hey, don’t tell me about fighting. I’ve suffered. Back in London, three whole weeks and no clean sheets. And they only let us have seconds at dinner. No more than that.’
‘Get tae fuck.’
Another round. ‘You make any mates?’
‘Aye, a couple. Started a band.’
‘Aye? Some war you’re having.’
‘Leave it, eh? Tell me this, you’ve been in a while. You had any grief?’
‘Apart from the leg?’
‘Aye, I mean, I’ve a… well, yeah, a mate, and he’s big on the Scotland against England stuff. And Dod got a lot of stick for his accent. You had anything?’
‘No more than anyone else.’
‘This mate, he thinks we’re different. Should be a different country. As much for fighting the English as for fighting the Germans.’
‘Well dinnae listen tae him, Jack. Forget him. Think about your own experiences. You feel like a foreigner down there?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Well then. Dinnae worry about banter, all the “jock” stuff. It’s no about us, it’s just lads being lads. We dinnae get it anymore than anyone else, and we all gie it out. You remember at school? We all had nicknames, we all got the piss ripped out of us. At the end of they day, we’re all still mates. Your mates are your mates. End of.’
‘Aye, I suppose.’
‘Listen, if they really think you’re a cunt, you’ll know it. We had one boy in my unit, one boy everyone hated. People did stuff tae him all the time, pissed on his bed, put things in his grub, sent him tae dae all the suicide missions, laying cables during mortar fire, things like that.’
‘Why did everyone hate him?’
‘Never did work that out. Just something about him.’
‘He still out there?’
‘Nope. Hanged himself.’
‘That’s horrible.’
‘Aye. I’m empty.’
Another round. Another. I wondered if Willie knew about Italy. Another round. I came back from the toilet. He’d the paper open.
‘Fucking useless, I am,’ he said. ‘Sitting here when I should be shooting Itis with the lads.’
‘Lot of use you’d be in a beach landing,’ I said. ‘Long John Silver sinking into the sand.’
‘I could be amphibious,’ he said. ‘Float across from Salerno.’
‘Wouldn’t work. Your leg would float to the top, flipping you upside down.’
‘I knew this thing would be the death of me.’
Gallows humour, the only way to cope. Distraction. Get him thinking about something else. ‘That lad I was telling you about. The one who hates the English.’
I told him about Joe. ‘Sounds like he did it, aye,’ said Willie.
‘What should I do?’”
‘What dae you mean “what should I do?”‘
‘I mean, should I say anything. Should I turn him in?’
‘Turn him in? Grass him up? Are you fucking kidding me? He’s a mate?’
‘He was, aye.’
‘Doesnae matter. You dinnae grass up anyone, mate or no. You know that, Jack. You’re no a cunt.’
‘But if he murdered him?’
‘Then he’ll get his one day. There’s a war on. People dying every day. I honestly cannae find it in me tae give much of a fuck, Jack. I really can’t.’
‘You don’t think I’ve a duty?’
‘To who? Since when were you William Wallace? It’s no your job tae bring justice tae this world, Jack. It’s your job tae stand by your mates, dae your best and, if need be, die for your country. Anything else is just shite. Empty.’
Another round in, and another. When the pub closed for the afternoon I took Willie home, laying him out on the sofa where I’d first found him. Mrs Rennie didn’t look too happy at drinking during the day, but it seemed that really was the first time Willie had been out the house for weeks. The one balanced the other. Da took one look at me and told me to sleep it off.
I climbed the stairs. I lay back, my old room. Dod’s room. Dod’s bed was still there, as were his pictures, his books, his clothes. Ma wouldn’t have anything touched. When Dod first left I couldn’t sleep. The room was wrong, an emptiness. Slowly I got accustomed to the emptiness, but it never felt right. Now I’d been away it was even less like my own. I lay back on the bed and looked at the model planes hanging from the roof. The Tiger Moth was inaccurate. The ones I’d flown had no tail wheel, just a skid. My model had a wheel. I leaned over and switched on the record player, Louis Armstrong. How many times had I fallen asleep listening to Satchmo blow beautiful? Dod’s empty bed. Willie’s wooden leg. What would happen to me? Sleep came then, the fast, deep, dreamless sleep after daytime drinking. I didn’t wake until the sun had set and dinner was served. Da seemed to understand the mercy mission I’d been on, but he didn’t offer me any whisky that night.
More work. Digging, lifting, building. Alone in the big field with my trumpet. The sound, the lone brass blast, wasn’t enough anymore. The solitary notes were hollow without Terry’s piano, Joe’s drums. Back against the trunk, trumpet at my side, eyes closed, hoping for emptiness, hoping for answers.
Dod. All those lads in Babbacombe. Clive. Willie’s leg. Could be my t
urn any day.
Makes you think.
Straighten up and fly right, Jack.
Sunday came round. I packed my kit.
Next morning. Ma cried. Da saw me off at the end of the road. Lizzie walked me to the station. I chapped on Willie’s window, gave him a wave. Didn’t stop. A second leaving. This time I knew what was waiting for me.
I thought I’d meet him. I’d no idea how many trains went from Glasgow to Manchester every day, but Joe was always going to be on mine. He crashed down, breath strong with beer. Nothing I could do. Couldn’t tell him to fuck off. I offered him a fag, lit his, lit mine. ‘Good holiday?’ he said.
‘Aye. You?’
‘Shite. No-one’s around, no-one tae have fun with. City full of women, weans and old yins. Same in Teuchterland?’
‘Aye. One pal was home, leg blown off.’
I looked at him. Still no idea what to do. Willie said you stand by your pals no matter what. A mate’s a mate. End of.
‘Any idea how long we’re in Manchester?’ he said.
‘No. It’s an Air Crew Despatch Centre, so I guess we’re there until they despatch us.’
‘Overseas, eh? Sun, flying and dusky maidens. Where dae you think we’ll go?’
‘No idea.’
‘I know that, you’re no fucking Bomber Harris, but you must have thoughts.’
Too many. ‘America would be nice.’
‘Jazz.’
‘Jazz.’
‘Hey,’ said Joe, ‘if we’re in Manchester more than a couple of days, we should see about getting the band back together.’
And have you behind me, where I can’t see you? ‘Doubt Terry will be up for it.’
‘Like a bloody woman, that one. Mood swings, silent treatment. Hopefully a fortnight in the valleys will have sorted him out. Couple of turns with an experienced sheep and he’ll be right as rain. Any idea what was wrong with him, anyway?’