No great damage had been done in Aberdeen since Queenie had arrived, and the bombs that had fallen had been nowhere near King Street, but when an alert sounded, her stomach churned, her mouth went dry and she knew that she would never forget the terrors of the Blitz. Helene wrote to her every Sunday, assuring her that the enemy planes ignored their street now and, although the girl did not believe that one street could escape for so long when the rest of London was being razed to the ground, her haunted eyes had gradually cleared, her hollow cheeks filled out and her smile was more genuine.
She had been fifteen in April, and could have left school last year, but her parents wanted her to continue her education, and Gracie had enrolled her at the Central Secondary School; it was run by the council, but her aunt had said that it was as good as any private school, and she had done well in the six weeks since she started. At first, she had found it hard to understand the Aberdonians, particularly when they spoke quickly, but she had grown used to the flat vowel sounds and the guttural consonants and was amused when her school friends told her that she was the one who spoke ‘funny’.
Apart from missing her mother and father, she was enjoying her enforced stay in Aberdeen. Uncle Joe and Neil teased her constantly, but it was all in fun, and they laughed when she gave back as good as she got. Patsy treated her like a real sister, listening to her opinion when they discussed things, helping her to experiment with new hairstyles, and making up her face in the privacy of their shared room. Being an only child, she had often felt lonely at home, but she had plenty of company here and only Auntie Gracie made her feel as if she were being tolerated rather than loved.
Not that anything had ever been said, Queenie admitted to herself as she walked home from school one afternoon. It was her aunt’s manner, an expression on her face when she didn’t know anyone was watching her, that suggested she wasn’t very happy with the arrangement; and it wasn’t always there, just occasionally, mostly when she was tired.
Passing the familiar little grocer’s shop, Queenie put her head round the door and called, ‘Hi, Uncle Joe.’
No matter how busy he was, Joe Ferris always took time to smile and wave to her and she carried on contentedly to the house. ‘I’m home, Auntie Gracie,’ she said, as she threw her schoolbag through her open bedroom door.
‘So I see,’ Gracie grunted, then turned with the hint of a smile. ‘You’ll be needing a cuppie to keep the wolf from the door till suppertime?’ She couldn’t treat Donnie’s daughter as she did her own though she had tried, for she had nothing against the girl herself. She still felt angry at Helene for going back to London, that was the whole trouble.
‘I’ll make it,’ Queenie said, brightly, lifting the kettle from the stove and taking it over to the sink. ‘I don’t know what you’ve got in the oven, but it smells delicious.’
‘Och, it’s nothing much. Just a little something I made up out of my head.’
‘Brain stew?’
Gracie couldn’t help laughing. ‘Aye, that’s it. Brain stew with dumplings.’
Giggling, more at the unexpectedness of her aunt’s little joke than her actual words, Queenie carried the kettle back and lit a gas ring. ‘Miss McFadden said my French was above average,’ she volunteered, as she took two cups and saucers out of the cupboard. ‘She said I should concentrate on that for one of my Highers when the time comes.’
An involuntary thrill of pride shot through Gracie. ‘Well, I always knew you were a clever lassie.’ Realising that this was the first time she had ever praised the girl, she added, ‘I maybe don’t show my feelings like your mum, but it’s just the way I am. I’m going to miss you when you go home.’
Queenie’s eyes lit up as she turned to hug her aunt. ‘I’m going to miss all of you, too. Sometimes I feel I don’t want to go home, I love being here, but I love Mum and Dad more. Do you understand what I mean?’
Embarrassed at the sudden show of affection, Gracie pushed the girl away. ‘I understand and it’s only natural. Now, are you going to let that kettle boil dry?’
Grinning again, Queenie filled the teapot and studied her aunt while she waited for it to infuse. She knew that Gracie was younger than her mother, but she looked much older. Her mousey hair, shot through with grey, was pulled back off her face, emphasising the gauntness of her cheeks. She was very thin, but maybe that was because she sacrificed most of her rations to make sure everyone else had enough to eat.
Poor Gracie, Queenie thought, love for the woman coursing through her as never before. Even with the ten shillings her mother sent every week for her keep, her aunt must have a hard struggle to make ends meets, not like Auntie Hetty, who had no worries about money. She had lovely Axminster carpets in every room except the dining room which had Wilton, while the floors in King Street just had congoleum squares with surrounds stained dark brown. At Rubislaw Den, the mahogany furniture reflected like mirrors, but Gracie’s was a dull oak, solid but old-fashioned, and not really pleasing to the eye. Her curtains had been bought by the yard from Cameron’s in Broad Street, she had told Queenie once, and she had run them up herself on her Jones sewing machine, but Hetty’s had been made to measure by Galloway and Sykes, a furniture shop in Union Street which was so high class that Gracie had said she never dared to set foot inside it, adding, with a little laugh, ‘Even the wee cushions sitting on the fancy suites in their windows are beyond my purse.’
Hetty’s husband was a solicitor, of course, Queenie mused, not a small shopkeeper, so they had a big salary coming in and would have to keep up the same standard as the people he worked with. It was no hardship for them to send Olive to Medical School, and she seemed to be enjoying it though she hadn’t been there long. Raymond, the same age as she was herself, was still at Gordon’s College, so he was probably going on to the university like his sister. Her mother and father had never mentioned that for her, but surely the war would be over and she would be back in South Norwood by the time she was old enough for the decision to be made.
‘The lassie’s fitted in well,’ Joe observed one night.
Gracie smiled. ‘She was a bit quiet at first, for she must have missed her mum and dad, but she soon bucked up.’
‘She’s a wee comic sometimes, imitating her teachers and her school chums, she fair brightens the place up.’
‘And she never loses her temper, though you and Neil tease the life out of her. Patsy and her are real pals, as well.’
‘Aye, well,’ Joe said, proudly, ‘Patsy gets on fine with everybody.’
One Sunday, the Potter family arrived at King Street just after lunch. The visit had not been arranged and Olive was delighted to find Neil at home – he usually contrived to be out when he knew they were coming – but her pleasure dimmed as time went on, because he was too intent on cracking jokes with Queenie to pay any attention to her. When she had first learned that their London cousin was to be living with the Ferrises, Olive hadn’t been too bothered. Queenie was a kid, only fifteen, and presented no challenge as far as Neil was concerned. She had been disconcerted when she first saw the girl, although she had been sure that such a chocolate-box prettiness wouldn’t appeal to Neil. Seeing them laughing and sparring with each other today, however, was more than just disconcerting, it was downright upsetting. It was probably all innocent fun but it was easy for fun to become serious.
‘Neil,’ she said, loudly to make sure he heard, ‘have you seen any good films lately?’
There was a slight frown on his face as he turned to her. ‘Nothing startling. Have you?’
‘I haven’t been to the cinema for ages, but I wondered if there was anything you would recommend.’
Her ‘hoity-toity’ manner of speaking had always irked him, but he caught his mother’s cautioning eye and went across to sit beside Olive. ‘There’s a Fred Astaire–Ginger Rogers on next week, I think, if you like them. It’s been here before, and it’s quite good.’
Knowing that he was interested in dancing, she smiled. ‘I might go to see it, if I can find someone to go with.’
He didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Get Raymond to go with you. He likes them as well. Don’t you, Raymond?’
‘I like them,’ Raymond muttered, ‘but I don’t like going to the pictures with her.’
‘Why don’t you go with her, Neil?’ Joe’s solution was met with a grim glare from his son.
‘I saw it the last time it was here.’
The brief silence was broken by Patsy. ‘I’ll go with you, Olive, if you want?’
‘Don’t bother,’ was the frosty answer.
Angry at her husband for making the suggestion, and at her son for being so rude in his refusal, Gracie turned hastily to Hetty. ‘There’s a sale on at Watt and Milne’s just now, and they’ve got corsets from five shillings a pair.’
Her sister was most indignant. ‘I don’t need new corsets. The ones I have are firm enough, it’s this old skirt that’s all out of shape.’
Martin and Joe were talking about football, so Raymond and Neil thankfully joined in. Olive was staring straight ahead with a face like thunder, and Patsy winked at Queenie and shrugged, as if to say, ‘Never mind her, she’s sulking.’
It was fury that was consuming Olive, not pique. Neil had insulted her in front of everybody but she would make him pay for it.
When Martin said they would have to go, they all stood up and Olive was amazed to see Neil tickling Queenie when she passed him on her way to get the coats from her bedroom. It was as if he couldn’t keep his hands off her, and Olive’s heart felt crushed by a heavy weight. He might not be in love with the girl yet, but it was more than likely that he would be soon, if he carried on like that. What could she do to prevent it? Neil would be angry if she said anything to him, but warning Queenie might be a good idea. She would say that she had a prior claim to Neil, that they had an understanding, and the Londoner was so young that she would take it as gospel and discourage him.
Two days before his eighteenth birthday, Neil again tackled his father about joining the army, and this time Joe merely said, ‘You haven’t changed your mind, then?’
‘No, I’m more determined than ever.’
‘Aye, well, that’s it, I suppose.’
Gracie did not interfere. Her husband, although he was an easygoing man as a rule, could dig his heels in if he felt like it, and her son was old enough to know his own mind. It was hard for her to let him go but she couldn’t tie him to her apron strings for ever. In any case, it was four against one, because Patsy and Queenie were on Neil’s side, thrilled because one of the family would be in the armed forces.
Only two weeks after his medical, a large envelope arrived for Neil. ‘I’ve to report on the second of December at Chilwell in Nottingham for training with the Durham Light Infantry.’ Excitement was building up inside him. His dream was coming true at last.
‘I thought it was the Ordnance Corps you’d joined,’ Gracie observed, puzzled.
‘They’ve to do their infantry training first,’ Joe said, ‘and he’ll be sent to the Ordnance Corps after that. They’ll not turn down mechanics, though they’ve just done two years of their apprenticeship.’
‘It’s all more experience,’ Neil pointed out. ‘I was told they’ll teach me about all kinds of vehicles.’
‘They haven’t given you much time,’ Gracie moaned. ‘Just two days?’
‘It’s long enough,’ Joe told her. ‘Tell your foreman when you go in that you’ll be stopping work tonight. You can go to Rubislaw Den tonight after teatime, and that’ll let you have a free day tomorrow to let you do whatever you want.’
Neil would rather have slipped away with no fuss, but his mother would be disappointed if he didn’t say goodbye to her sister. ‘Mum, you’d better phone Hetty to let her know I’ll be coming, but don’t tell her I’ve got my marching orders. I want to surprise them.’
‘I’m never sure if it was a good idea getting the phone in here,’ Gracie remarked. ‘I don’t mind the neighbours using it if they need a doctor, but sometimes they take advantage and speak to their friends for ages. One or two, mentioning no names, just come to be nosey.’
Joe laughed. ‘They wouldn’t find out much when the phone’s in the lobby?’
‘Oh, they pop their heads round the kitchen door to tell me they’re finished. It’s just an excuse to see if I’ve got anything new. Fat chance of that!’
Neil did surprise Hetty Potter that night, when he told her when he had to leave. ‘Already? My goodness, they didn’t let you have much warning, did they?’
‘That’s what Mum said, but it’s better like this. I didn’t say anything to her, but I’m really looking forward to it.’
‘You young lads,’ his aunt smiled. ‘You can’t wait to get away from your mothers, can you? Thank heaven Raymond’s too young to go.’
Her son looked at Neil with envy. ‘I’ll join up as soon as I’m old enough. I just wish I could be going with you.’
Olive was less enthusiastic; she had hoped that Neil would not have to go for weeks yet, and she still hadn’t succeeded in getting him to say he liked her. Doing her best to hide her dismay, she told him that she was pleased for him and kept a smile fixed firmly on her face.
Martin, who did not come home until nearly eight o’clock, also turned out to be envious of Neil. ‘I’ve been thinking of offering my services, but I’m probably too old.’
‘I should think you are!’ Hetty burst out, indignant that her husband could even think of going. ‘You’ll be forty-one in three months, and you did your bit in the last war.’
Martin shrugged wryly. ‘Not for very long, but I won’t do anything about it just yet.’
‘One of the lads who used to work with me joined the Royal Artillery a couple of years ago,’ Neil remarked. ‘He’s been in Egypt since before the war, the lucky blighter, seeing the world at the army’s expense.’
‘You’ll probably see too much of the world before you’re done. On the other hand, you could meet a lovely girl, like I did, thousands of miles from home.’ Martin smiled fondly at his wife.
Neil grinned. ‘I’d forgotten you were in the ANZACs, but I won’t be looking for a wife for a long time. I’m too young.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ Hetty laughed. ‘Martin and I were both only eighteen when he came to Aberdeen – and we fell in love as soon as we saw each other.’
Finding it difficult to believe that this middle-aged man and woman had once been young and in love, Neil muttered, ‘I suppose I’ll find the girl for me some day.’
Olive felt as though a knife had twisted in her heart. The girl for Neil was sitting less than three feet away from him, if he only knew it. ‘Will you write to me?’ she asked.
For a second, his brows came down, but he answered with a light laugh. ‘I might drop you a few lines if I get time.’
He was so offhand that she could have shaken him. ‘Well, I intend writing to you, anyway, once I know your address.’
The slight frown was there again but, luckily, her father said, ‘You’ll be glad of letters, Neil. I know I was.’
Olive hoped that her cousin would kiss her goodbye at the door, but he just shook her hand, as he did to her parents, so she turned and went inside with tears in her eyes.
Taking out his wallet, Martin fumbled in it for a moment, then said, ‘Take this for luck. You’ll likely be glad of an extra bob or two.’
‘There’s no need for . . .’ Neil began, but his uncle forced a note into his hand. ‘Thanks very much. I suppose I will be glad of it.’
With a wave, he walked down the path, waiting until he was out of sight of the house before he opened his hand, and was delighted to find that his uncle had given him a fiver, not a pound as he had thought. Good old Martin!
Hetty closed the front door and turned on her husband, her voice acidic. ‘You weren’t really serious about joining up, were you? They wouldn’t want you at your age, and besides, what about me?’
‘If you’re going to quarrel, I’m going to bed.’ Olive ran upstairs. It hadn’t bothered Neil that he wouldn’t see her for a long time. Why couldn’t he realise that she loved him? Would he miss her when he was away? Did absence really make the heart grow fonder? She could only live in hope that it would, and she did have the photo of him that her father had taken in the summer. She looked across at the wooden-framed snapshot – a head and shoulders close-up. The lack of colour didn’t matter; she knew that his wavy hair was the colour of milk chocolate, that his eyes – crinkled against the sun – were blue though they looked dark enough to be brown. His determined chin was square, his face more round. He was so good-looking, so manly, that the girls would flock round him like bees round a honeypot, but none of them would get him – he belonged to Olive Potter.
Walking to the tramstop, Neil let out a gusty breath, quite relieved that Olive hadn’t tried to get him by himself. She usually tried to get all his attention, and he’d been a bit worried that she might monopolise him for the whole evening once she knew that he was going away so soon. She had always rubbed him up the wrong way and he couldn’t help feeling so antagonistic towards her, though it wasn’t very charitable. She could be classed as pretty, he supposed, with her long fair hair and sky-blue eyes, but he didn’t like bossy girls. He wasn’t really ready for girls of any kind yet, but when he was, he would want to be the one to make the running, and he didn’t fancy making it with that boa constrictor. Once he was out of her smothering reach, he would feel free.
Gracie looked up when her son came in. ‘So that’s all your goodbyes said now, is it?’
‘Yes. Martin gave me a fiver for good luck and Raymond said he’s going to join the army when he’s old enough.’
‘Oh!’ Gracie exclaimed. ‘I hope the war’s over before he’s old enough to fight – he’s only fifteen.’ She hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘Did everything go off all right?’
‘Yes. Martin said he’d thought of offering his services, but I don’t think Hetty was very pleased.’
It was Olive’s reaction that Gracie was interested in, but she didn’t ask. Hetty would tell her the next time they saw each other. ‘Your father went to bed about ten minutes ago, and Patsy and Queenie went about nine. They want to be up in time to see you off at the station.’
Neil pulled a face. ‘I don’t want any of you coming to see me off, Mum, I’d feel a proper twerp if my mother and my young sister and my cousin were . . .’
‘But . . .’ Gracie stopped. Her son would be in uniform soon – a soldier. ‘All right, if that’s how you want it. Now, off to bed with you.’
Breakfast was early the following morning, but no one ate much – Neil was too keyed up, his parents, sister and cousin too sad – but Gracie still had to issue a mother’s caution. ‘Look after yourself, remember, and don’t leave your clothes all over the place like you do here. There won’t be anybody there to pick them up after you.’
‘I know that. I’m not helpless, for God’s sake.’
Patsy, recognising that her brother’s sharpness was due to emotion, not bad temper, tried to help him out. ‘Aren’t you getting excited, Neil? I know I’d be, if it was me.’
Her tactics worked – the antagonism vanished. ‘A wee bit, but I’m looking forward to it. It’s like starting out on an adventure. I don’t know what’s in front of me, and . . .’ The boy’s defences broke. ‘Oh, Mum,’ he gulped, ‘you don’t need to worry about me. I’m old enough to look after myself.’ He drew his hand hastily across his eyes. ‘I’ll have to go now, but I’ll write as soon as I can.’
Disengaging himself from Gracie’s hug, he shook hands with his father. ‘Cheerio, Dad.’
‘Cheerio, son.’ Joe’s voice was gruff, and his grasp had a desperate firmness in it.
‘Cheerio, Neil.’ Wanting to hug him too, Patsy held back. Further demonstrations of affection would embarrass him.
‘Cheerio, little sister.’ He ruffled her hair, aimed a mock punch at Queenie, lifted his suitcase and went out.
The family gathering in King Street on New Year’s Day 1941 was rather too large for comfort. When everyone sat down for the meal, the kitchen-cum-sitting room was crowded with so many chairs round the extended table that it was virtually impossible for anyone to move freely.
‘I wish we were still at the Gallowgate,’ Gracie sighed, squeezing into her seat after dishing up the thick broth. ‘I miss having a dining room.’
Joe held out the plate of bread to Hetty. ‘I’ve told her a dozen times, the place was going to rack and ruin, that’s why it was condemned, but she’ll not listen.’
‘You don’t understand, Joe,’ his wife said, sadly. ‘All my memories are in that rambling old house – my childhood, with my brothers and sisters, Neil and Patsy as babies . . .’
He patted her hand. ‘You can’t keep hankering after what you’ll never have again, lass, and wherever you are, you’ll always have your memories.’
To cheer his sister-in-law, Martin asked, ‘Have you heard from Neil lately?’
She brightened considerably. ‘We’d a letter last week. He says his feet are hardening up now. The boots nearly killed him at first.’
Martin chuckled. ‘I know all about army boots. They’re not the kindest of footwear.’
‘Football boots aren’t so bad,’ Raymond observed, leading the men to their favourite topic. Patsy and Queenie were whispering and giggling together but Olive felt apart from them all. She had been anxious to hear about Neil – what he was doing, not about his feet – and nothing else interested her.
As soon as they were finished one course, the next one was set down and the meal ended with tea and cakes. Laying his cup down, Joe stretched his arms lazily, narrowly missing Martin’s eye with his elbow. ‘I could do with a kip, I’m that full up.’
‘Joe, we’ve got guests,’ Gracie reprimanded him.
Martin smiled. ‘I feel the same, but how about walking it off? The ladies can join us, if they like?’
Hetty jumped to her feet, but Gracie looked doubtful. ‘Go on, Mum,’ Patsy smiled. ‘Don’t worry about the clearing up, we’ll do it. I’ll wash the dishes and Queenie and Olive can dry.’ She knew quite well that Olive wouldn’t help – she never had before.
The adults could not have reached the foot of the stairs when the argument began. ‘If nobody else wants it,’ Raymond said, politely, ‘I’ll have that last bit of black bun.’
‘I’m oldest, so I should have it.’ Olive’s hand shot out an instant before her brother’s.
He drew back, muttering, ‘You always have to get your own way, haven’t you?’
Patsy acted as mediator. ‘You’ve had more than your share already, Olive. I’m sure Neil wouldn’t let you off with that if he was here.’
Olive’s eyes flashed. ‘Neil would never say anything nasty to me.’
Her haughty tone riled her normally even-tempered cousin. ‘Yes, he would. He doesn’t like you any more than I do.’
‘He does like me! You and Queenie are both jealous of me, I know that. You can have the rotten old black bun, Raymond. I don’t want it now.’
Beaming, Raymond picked it up and took a bite before she could change her mind. ‘Neil doesn’t like you,’ he declared, his mouth still full. ‘I’ve told you that as well.’
Assuming a dignity she did not feel, his sister said, ‘The trouble with you lot is you’re too young to understand about things like that. Some boys are too shy to show how they feel about a girl, but I can tell Neil likes me by the way he looks at me when nobody’s watching, like the hero in a film before he plucks up courage to tell the heroine he loves her.’
Raymond and Patsy burst out laughing, and a crimson-faced Olive was more annoyed still when she noticed that while she’d been arguing, Queenie had taken the last, small triangle of shortbread from the cake stand. ‘You greedy little pig!’ she shouted. ‘I wanted that.’
Undismayed, Queenie popped it into her mouth whole, and Patsy, ashamed at what she had said before, smiled at Olive. ‘Mum baked a whole lot of shortbread, so there’s more in a tin, if you want?’
‘No, thank you.’ Olive bit off each word separately, as if she were spitting it out. ‘You’ll laugh on the other side of your face, Patsy Ferris, when I’m your sister-in-law.’
This made Raymond and Queenie splutter with mirth, but it wiped the gentle smile off Patsy’s face. If Olive had set her mind on marrying Neil, nothing and nobody could stop her . . . not even Neil himself.