Vee: Lost and Found

by David Roberts

  She knocked on Jamie’s door: he was already getting dressed so she headed off downstairs to finish her tea and put on the toast. As she passed the table something caught her eye, something on the top shelf, next to the sugar. Spam. Yes, that’s what they’d have tonight. America; an appreciation.

  _________________________

  Later that day, for no particular reason, Mhairi decided to go home for lunch rather than having it in school. It wasn’t that she had forgotten anything- she rarely forgot anything; that’s the point of being organised. Really, it was a whim, but it was one she would be grateful for.

  When she entered the kitchen she had a feeling that something was wrong. Adrian should have been getting ready but he was nowhere to be seen. She went upstairs, her school shoes clattering on the stairs. He would know that she was there. She felt that would be a good idea.

  Approaching the room she saw the envelope was gone. He was up then. She knocked lightly on the door.

  “Adrian, it’s me. Are you there?”

  He opened the door, ashen-faced, and then sat back down on the bed. A letter was open on the quilt and he handed it to her. Mhairi read the opening sentence and then sat down on the bed, next to him. It read…

  “Dearest Adrian,

  This is your Aunt Pauline. I am writing with terrible news, so bad I don’t know where to start.

  Two nights ago there was a big air raid on the aeroplane factory. Several other big factories were hit. Many of the bombs fell on houses in the area, killing many people. Ladbroke Avenue was hit and five houses were destroyed. Number seventeen was one of these. We have just been told that Ted and Julia died in the blast, along with Mrs Spenser and the Anderson girls from number eleven, and some others. The police told us that they wouldn’t have felt anything. It would have been instant, while they were asleep.

  Ellie is safe. She was staying with me at the time, to help me around the house. She is safe and can stay with me for good, so you are not to worry about her.

  With these air raids, they deal with casualties very quickly. Injured people are taken to hospital right away. They thought Julia showed some signs of life but….”

  Mhairi stopped reading at that point. “I’m so sorry, Adrian. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling now.”

  For several minutes neither spoke.

  “Will you be going there?”

  “I don’t know if I can,” was the simple reply.

  “If they say you can go, do you think you will?”

  Adrian looked down, turning the letter over to read the last paragraphs again. “I’ll have missed the funeral. Aunt Pauline knew the letter would arrive too late. There wouldn’t be much of a service or anything, not when people are being killed like this all the time.”

  Mhairi sat for a moment, trying to absorb it all.

  “What about Ellie?” she asked. “What would she want?”

  There was a pause. Adrian sat with his head in his hands.

  “Take this letter to the base, Adrian, and talk to your CO. He will be able to help. You can decide after you’ve talked it through with him.”

  She lowered her head and looked closely at Adrian.

  “Whatever you decide, Adrian, we will do what we can.” She paused for a few moments.

  “If it’s Ellie you’re worried about, she could come to stay up here, if that’s what you both want. We’d find a place for her, away from all those air raids.”

  “Thank-you Vee,” he said, looking across at her. “I don’t know what to do yet. I need to think…..”

  By the time he had arrived at the base, Adrian had come to the conclusion that Mhairi was right.

  It was a slow day at the gate, relatively speaking. There were the usual supply lorries to be checked through and the occasional civilian vehicle but it was all very straightforward. A convoy had left four days before and the next one would not be assembling there in any numbers for at least ten days. Only three ships were anchored in the bay.

  All this made it easier for Adrian to have a few minutes with the gatehouse NCO and show him the letter. This was a discussion where each began to see the other in a different light. It was clear Sergeant Fleming had encountered this sort of thing before.

  “I’ll have to pass this up the line but have a think about what you want to do, Adrian. You have to decide.”

  When Adrian asked about the rules, the reply was direct. “There is only one rule: you have to get permission. Sometimes I’ve seen this denied, if it’s a busy time or if the soldier is doing a job where he can’t be replaced. That’s what happened to Sgt Jenkins. No-one else could organise the refuelling of the tenders and he was needed right then. I think you’re different. It’s likely to be quiet and we can fill in for you. What’s your feeling about this?”

  Adrian was unsure.

  “Think about it this way. How will you feel later on if you don’t go? How will your sister feel? You’ll have to live with that. Of course, they may not let you go anyway- but in that case it won’t be your fault.”

  Adrian was still unsure. Sergeant Fleming could tell that. One of the soldiers waved across to the sergeant, who crossed the road to speak to the driver. Fleming nodded and pointed up the road, in the direction of Mellon Charles. He checked both ways and said something to the corporal before returning. He looked carefully at Adrian and then spoke, quite matter-of-factly.

  “You should go. You will think better of yourself if you go. It won’t be a pleasant experience, lad, but you’ll know you’ve done the right thing. Come with me.”

  They walked to the admin block- now fully repaired and as busy as ever. Paperwork never stops. Fleming explained the situation to the officer, emphasising

  Point 1; the young, vulnerable sister who really needed Adrian.

  Point 2; the well protected naval base that really didn’t need Adrian.

  “These young officers,” Fleming told him afterwards, “you can usually rely on them to make the right decision once you’ve explained it clearly enough. Two points is about the limit, I find. Of course, you have to be respectful; that is the key.

  “This five-day pass will give you enough time to get right down there and do what’s necessary. Right then, Adrian, I want you to bugger off now, straight away. I’ll tell the rest of them what they need to know. You just get off, and look after that sister of yours. And don’t forget to take that pass with you: you don’t want to find yourself stuck God knows where. And don’t rush to come back early. Just make sure you are back on time or we might have to shoot you.”

  Fleming moved to the middle of the road so he could speak to the drivers of the vehicles at the barrier. The third was heading south, so he waved Adrian over.

  “Your taxi has arrived. He’ll let you off at Gairloch. Hop on to the back. Adrian,” he said offering his hand, “good luck.” Fleming thumped the side of the lorry, gave the driver a wave and the lorry lurched off and headed off up the hill.

  _________________________

  Adrian closed the book and rested his eyes for a minute, listening to the clicking of the rails. He’d never been much of a reader, even at school back down in Saltley. He’d only taken this one because Jamie was trying to be helpful. Good luck. If he remembered correctly, that was what his teacher had told him when he left school to go into the factory. That was what Sergeant Fleming had said to him just a few hours before. It was what Vee had said, and Jamie, when he left Gairloch to cadge a lift to Inverness. Good luck. It was a sure sign that things were going badly.

  It felt different this time, though, because it wasn’t his fault. The War had done it. Curiously, he actually did feel lucky: lucky to have been somewhere else when the house was hit, like Ellie. He felt lucky also to be with Vee, being part of the one family which included her. She had pressed three pounds on him as he was leaving: ‘just in case’, that’s what she had said, before she said ‘good luck’.

  He knew what he wanted: to be where he was, in Gairloch, with them, the people
who cared. “What I have to do now,” he told himself, “is find out what Ellie wants.”

  Leyland, just south of Preston. It was starting to become crowded and he had to move up right next to the window and put his bag on the netting overhead. Two sailors peered in looking for a space, but they moved on after acknowledging him.

  He’d be there in two hours or so. Increasingly, it was a world of chimneys and belching smoke and dirty towns. He opened the book once more, though the light was fading.

  Shere Khan needed no more trampling. He was dead, and the kites were coming for him already.

  Now Mowgli had to take the hide, to prove himself.

  34 The Cave

  North Coast 2014

  Alastair stopped the car at the side of the road about a mile from the village of Tongue. It was a clear day and the scene was striking.

  “We’ll be crossing that,” he said, pointing out across the water. There, silhouetted against the reflected light of the Kyle, Tom could see the causeway, with a long elevated road on stilts making up the middle section. This allowed for the flow of water up and down the Kyle of Tongue, which continued for perhaps three miles inland. Quite clearly, it had been a massive undertaking, but that didn’t prevent it from looking like an architect’s model from where they were standing. Tom took a couple of stills, one with Alastair and the car in the foreground. He even managed to capture a smile.

  “EU money?” he asked.

  “Could be. Many of the big projects in the Highlands were paid for by the EU. The road to Mallaig, for example, or the last stretch of it from Lochailort- that was funded by Europe. Some roads in the Kinlochewe area too, I think. Local councils could never afford projects like that.”

  The two of them stood there admiring the view for a few minutes.

  In the village of Tongue they had to slow right down because of the hairpin before continuing down the hill to the causeway. It really was an impressive structure, cutting out over the water. On their left they could see a derelict stone tower perched on an outcrop and two huge mountains in the distance. Once they were off the causeway, Tom consulted the ‘Secret places…’

  “Castle Varrish is the name in English. It goes back perhaps a thousand years, to Viking times.”

  As soon as they were off the causeway they were right back in the sort of landscape the Vikings might have recognised: uninhabited, rocky and rather desolate. After another fifteen minutes it changed again when the road hit the coast once more on the shore of Loch Eriboll. This time there was no causeway: you had to drive inland and follow the loch round and up the other side.

  The road was steeper than before, giving elevated views of the loch and the fish-farm cages. For some this would have spoiled the view but for Alastair it was a sign of vitality. After all, Scotland isn’t simply there for tourists.

  “Convoys used to sail from here too, like that place near Gairloch,” said Tom. “It would be nearer Russia but not so secure.”

  They reflected on this as they droned up the hill steadily in third, at least one gear lower than was strictly necessary. You don’t come all this way to rush things. You won’t be coming here often. If there’s no traffic and you can make the most of it, then you should.

  As they rounded the headland they passed the sign for Smoo Cave. Neither had ever been there, so Tom looked it up.

  “A river flowing across the moor drops down a hole before coming out through a cavern into the creek. It has carved out a series of caves, apparently,” he said. “It’s unique in Scotland, apparently.”

  It was perfectly in keeping with their ‘Walking Holiday up North’ that they did not stop the car, get out and do some exploring, or even just stop the car. Perhaps they were still exhausted from their long traipse from Laxford Bridge to Lairg. But of course, the important thing was that they could do it if they wanted to: that explained the boots, the compasses, the survival knife (somewhere in the back of the car), the orange plastic whistles and the Gore-Tex clothing. They had actually used the tent of course, in Applecross, which placed it in a different category. All of this gear was there in case they had the inclination; and the Vibram soles, according to the retailer, could cope with inclination, or wetland, or rock. Not that they had ever sought them out either. That’s probably why there were lots of ‘apparentlies’.

  Alastair spoke. “Just round this corner there’s a house perched above the road, right on top of the cliff. It has the most fantastic view I’ve ever seen. There’s a quiet beach right at the bottom of the cliff, but it’s the white cottage that gets to me.”

  About half a mile on Tom saw it, with a narrow gravel track leading up to the front of the house. He imagined himself with a telescope on a tripod in the front room, looking out over the rough sea, watching the ships struggle to make headway. These small, strongly built Highland houses with their tiny windows deeply recessed: nowhere else could make you feel so safe, surely.

  “I’d love a house like that,” he said.

  For five minutes they talked, entranced by the possibilities of peat burning stoves, paraffin lamps for emergencies, sometimes simply the emergencies themselves, and the ‘wee goldies’ (single malts) that they could share in the comfort of their own telescope. The image was seductive enough to leave both of them feeling faintly embarrassed, at which point they shut up. Thank goodness there was a view to gawp at.

  To their left, at different distances inland, they could see the impressive mountains of north- west Sutherland unpronouncibly resplendent in their Gaelic names: Benn Spionnaidh, Granstackie. At one point they passed a small loch or mere, flat and hard as ice in the October light. Surrounded by dark, straggly trees, it was like something from a poem by Robert Frost, or from a Pre-Raphaelite painting perhaps. A picture, of sorts.

  It was a beautiful road, completely deserted (almost) in a nineteen mile stretch from Durness to Rhiconich, where the rugged coastline began to take precedence. They drove down a long straight, focussing on the coastline to their right rather than the mountain immediately to their left, its peak hidden by the high banking at the roadside. It was soon behind them and out of sight.

  As they rounded one of the twisty corners and headed downhill Tom saw before him the familiar shape of the bridge near Laxford. Once again, the blue Volkswagen pulled into the strangely sloping car park and disgorged its occupants.

  It had only been slightly more than twenty-four hours, but for Tom and Alastair it felt like revisiting an old friend. They felt this genuinely, and without embarrassment. Some places can be characters too.

  35 The Maltese Falcon

  Birmingham 1942

  It was after nine when Adrian got off the train in the Sparkhill area of the city and he was very pleased to do that. The last part of the journey, through the centre of Birmingham, had definitely been the worst: all stops and starts. Either he was falling forwards or the passengers were bracing themselves so they wouldn’t fall on him. All of it was pressure which he didn’t need.

  Thirty-four Heathcote Gardens was only a three minute walk away. Pauline would have a room ready for him, he knew that from her letter, but she wouldn’t know when he might arrive, or even if he were coming at all. He rounded a corner, recognising the signage: Pears Soap and Colman’s Mustard. He remembered playing football on the cobbles with the big wooden doors as goals. That had only been a year or two before, but it felt like ten.

  A house on the left was boarded up: another victim of an air raid, possibly even the same one. Thirty. Thirty-two. He knocked on thirty-four. It was a tired looking Pauline who answered but her face lit up. Before he knocked on the door he had been thinking about what he should say, but he needn’t have bothered. He was hugged, kissed on the cheek and dragged inside before he knew what was happening.

  “Ellie, it’s Adrian!” she yelled upstairs.

  There was the thump of someone getting off a bed and a flurry of footfalls to the landing and then a flight on stairs.

  “Oh Adie, I’m so glad you came!
” she said, hugging him. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  She took his hand and led him through to the living room, where she sat right down next to him on the settee, not letting go. It was a torrent of things tumbling out of Ellie and she had to wipe her eyes, though she was smiling throughout.

  “I’ll take these things upstairs,” said Pauline. “Then I’ll make you something to eat.” She went through to the kitchen before heading upstairs with Adrian’s bag.

  There was a lot to catch up on. Ellie told him about the night of the raid, and the terrible aftermath. It was clear that Pauline (still Aunt Pauline to Ellie) had protected Ellie as much as she could. The identifying of the bodies; the funeral arrangements- she had done all of those. The service itself had been a simple affair. It was one of several services carried out that day and they had had to hurry out to make way for the next victims of the raid. Yes, he knew about the Andersons.

  “Everyone was respectful. Many asked for you. They were all proud to hear you were in the army doing important work up in Scotland. I’m proud of you too,” she said, cuddling into him on the settee. “We can go to the cemetery tomorrow, if you want to.”

  Adrian wasn’t sure.

  “For now, I’d like you to tell me about Scotland. What kind of place is it? Tell me about where you stay, who your friends are.”

  He could see her enthusiasm flooding back. Adrian was slow at first and needed a lot of prompting but gradually he opened up. He told Ellie, and Pauline, about the place, the train journeys and especially about Vee and Dr John and Jamie; bicycle runs, steep hills, camping on the headland; the peacefulness of the mountains; the fishing boats unloading in Gairloch and Charlestown.

  “I know from your letters that you find the place interesting and that you feel lucky to be with the MacLeods. After Birmingham it must seem like a paradise. But I think it’s more than that.” She paused and looked straight at him. “You love it, don’t you.”