Chapter Twenty-Five

Willie lit the fire for Mrs. Harris and she sat happily, crooning contentedly to her tabby cat, Tabatha. She was known to take in any stray cat in the district, much to the annoyance of many of her neighbours and Nathan sat quietly by her side, watching Willie as he worked.

“How old are you now, Willie, “ she asked, still stroking the moggie with her scrawny hands.

“Nearly fifteen, Mrs. Harris

The old lady smiled and looked at her grandson.

“This young man has been doing my fires for a very long time now, Nathan. What is it Willie? It must be nearly five years, yes? You’re growing fast, Willie Blair. You were only a wee mite when you first started the fires do you remember those days?”

Willie blushed and flexed his muscles for Nathan’s benefit and the latter began to speak.

“Nanna, I shall have to write to Mamma ... I think Daddy would like to buy a house here in Scotland don’t you?” Nathan spoke as he watched the muscular fire-lighter at work. “Do you know anything about the price of property here in Glasgow, Willie?” he asked and Willie shook his head slowly.

“We have a Council house, Nathan and you don’t buy Council houses. You have to pay a rent every month I think. Isn’t that so, Mrs. Harris?”

Mrs. Harris nodded for she too was a Council tenant, even if her famous son who lived in London with his wife and family, was a doctor and now Rachael and Nathan were mixing with the working class

At that moment Rachael came into the room and Willie blushed. She smiled at him but his hands were dirty and he didn’t speak. Rachael had just had her sixteenth birthday and was becoming more beautiful every day. He thought of what Charlie had said about her and he blushed again as a feeling of unusual excitement charged through his body. He studied her hair with its long, black plait draped down her neck as she stood with her back to him. He wanted to touch it, but he knew he dare not and besides, Nathan was watching him. It was almost as if he was daring Willie to stroke his sister’s hair daring him to realise his desire, but Willie carried on cleaning the grate before he took the spent ashes away in a bucket to the midden in the back yard.

“Bye Nathan ... Mrs. Harris See you next Saturday, Mrs. Harris ... Bye Rachael.”

“Bye Willie ...” they all said in chorus.

***

He tipped the smouldering ashes into the midden and the smell of the burning cinders swept through his nostrils as a little paper carton burst into a puff of flame, burned for a second and then went out again. He wondered about Rachael. No other girl made the same impression on him that she did. Moira McKenzie and Cathie Coutts were shadows of womanhood when he looked at Rachael Harris. She was becoming a fixture in his mind and he worried about Charlie. Rachael was Charlie’s girl. It was obvious when you saw them together although no-one ever said they were officially. If only Charlie would look at someone else ...If only ... Willie could see Rachael’s beautiful hair again as he began to dream and he touched it, defiantly, even if Nathan did look on. The touch was beautiful; sensual as he took her hair back from her smooth, olive skinned face to study her high cheek bones and those magnificent eyes. She gazed back at him tenderly and closed her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her ... and ...

“Willie, Willie ... the midden ... Look at the midden Willie. ...it’s on fire.”

Willie had been so absorbed in his dream and of his sensuous thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the fire that had started up in the galvanised steel waste bin. All the paper and other waste had caught fire with the hot ashes that he had deposited there and Wattie was beside him, looking on in fear, with his puppy dog in his arms.

“Stay there Florrie,” he gasped as he put the little bitch down on a nearby grass verge, safely away from the flames and placed a brick on the end of the piece of string he had around the puppie’s neck, to ensure that she wouldn’t run away. Florrie blinked and yelped, but she obeyed.

“I’ll help you put it out Willie. Let’s get some water quickly.”

They ran to the communal wash house, which was situated nearby in the back yard and doused the flames with buckets of water, passing each pail from one to the other until there was only a black, soggy, scraggy mess to be seen in the midden and finally a sudden hiss of steam.

“Thanks Wattie. I didn’t see that. I must have been thinkin’ ... Yes, that’s what it was, I was thinkin’.”

Wattie stood back and raised his shoulders to accept the appreciation from his friend. He loved it when Willie praised or thanked him for anything. Willie could do or say what he wanted to Wattie, but Wattie’s admiration was boundless endless and eternal ... Willie Blair was his hero and he could do no wrong. . and what’s more, Willie was thinking, so that could account for everything.

“What do ye think of ma wee dug, Willie? Isn’t she lovely?” Wattie asked as he lifted his canine friend who had been sitting shivering on the verge where he had left her and she kissed Willie’s nose.

“Where did you get it Wattie? It’s a wee bitch, isn’t it?”

Wattie was surprised that his friend could tell straight away, the sex of his new pet, but he sniffed and accepted that Willie had qualities of discernment that few others possessed.

“Miss Carson gave her to me,” he said with a ring of pride in his voice as the animal continued to kiss Willie’s nose and face. “Looks like she likes you,” Wattie added proudly, as Mrs. Harris appeared on the scene to investigate the smell of burning, so near to her home and to find that everything was by now under control. She stroked Florrie as she sat comfortably in Wattie’s arms, but the little dog snapped at her and tried to bite. Wattie was annoyed at the dog’s behaviour towards Mrs. Harris, but she wouldn’t hear of any complaint about the animal.

“He ... oh ... It’s a she, isn’t it?” she remarked, “Well, she doesn’t like cats, obviously, that’s all ...and she can smell my pussy.”

Willie blushed and looked the other way, but Wattie grinned in appreciation of the old lady’s understanding and they hurriedly left the midden precinct with Willie clutching the bitch, he had grabbed from his friend’s arms.

“What’s wrong with you, Willie Blair? Why are you laughing like that?” asked Wattie as they went on their way together.

“Nothing Wattie ... Nothing at all,” he answered but his face was red with his stifled laughter.

***

Willie’s fifteenth birthday came and went without incident. The war continued fiercely and the Germans were soon to master the human race according to a man called Adolf Hitler. He had already marched into Poland and it was reported on the wireless that he intended to invade the entire Continent with his troops before long. Churchill was fighting, ‘on the land, on the sea and in the air,’ and rationing was at last beginning to be accepted as the norm. Black market dealings were everywhere and the wide-boys made a packet. Chocolate was a thing of the past and someone’s brother in the Forces had brought back a banana from somewhere in the Middle East, although no-one knew exactly from where in that Region. Nor would anyone dare ask .for careless talk costs lives but it had caused no end of a stir with excitement. Life was simple and frugal and excitements were rare, except for the ones that nobody wanted. London was being bombed day and night without mercy, but the morale of the Cockney was firm and he still sang proudly of his Lambeth Walk and proclaimed, if somewhat tearfully, that Jimmy would go to sleep one day, in his own little room again. A woman called Vera Lynn sang of ‘The white cliffs of Dover’ with a lilting cry in her voice and apart from a bash or two at the Docks of Clydebank, Scotland had been lucky. Maybe this Hitler fellow liked the kilt.