Gift from the Gallowgate (14 page)

Not long before we moved from the quay, I had gone into the Labour Exchange on my way home for lunch to volunteer for the WRNS – I don’t know why I chose the Wrens
– but I was refused on the grounds that I was employed in the distribution of food. This apparently exempted me from other war work. Accepting that I’d never have the excitement of
being in uniform unless I changed my job, I settled down to remaining an ordinary civilian for the duration. Hazel and I went out together as often as we could afford to, going to the pictures
straight from work then to one or other of the little tea-rooms on Union Street, whichever we happened to be nearest.

Hazel always made for a seat where she would be in full view of at least two young servicemen (one for herself and one for me), and she usually managed to find an escort home. I, of course, was
left with the one she hadn’t fancied. If an alert was in force – when no buses ran – I was glad of a companion on my long weary walk home in the pitch blackness, but if there was
no air raid, I said I’d prefer to take public transport. It was perhaps no quicker, considering the time I had to wait sometimes, but it was safer – much safer.

Then Hazel met a Canadian airman one night and things changed. She made a foursome date, a blind date for me, and I was dragged along to the Ice Rink in Spring Garden. She was an accomplished
skater – she and her sister went there regularly – and the boys, being Canadians, were almost as good as professionals. I, on the other hand, was an absolute novice. It was my first
time on ice, and I spent more time on my backside than on my feet. I wasn’t the only one, I’m glad to say; there were lots of others in the same boat.

Thankfully, there was half an hour allotted for speed skating, so I sat down on a bench to watch, my soaking rear end getting colder and colder as the minutes passed, but still glad of the rest.
Then it happened! As they whizzed round, Hazel and her partner were letting each other lead for a few minutes then changing over, and on one change, coming from behind her, the boy didn’t
leave enough space between them and his skate came right up the front of Hazel’s leg. He went to hospital with her in the ambulance, and I was left, feeling sick at what I had seen, with the
other boy. I can’t remember either of their names, but ‘my date’ saw me home and even supported me right into the living room because I was still shaking. Shocked at our story,
Mum gave us strong tea to steady our nerves and didn’t give me her usual lecture about picking up strange men.

After a while, she asked, ‘Have you told Hazel’s Mum what happened?’

I hadn’t thought of that, so out we went again, but by this time, the sirens had blown and there were no buses or any kind of public transport running. We walked all the way to the foot of
Bon Accord Street, around three miles I’d think, though it felt much longer than that. We had hardly spoken to each other at the rink and we couldn’t find much to say now. It felt
really strange.

Mrs Lamont was much older than my mother, Hazel was the youngest of three, but despite the shock we had given her, she thanked us and offered us tea, which we refused very politely. When the
‘All Clear’ blew, my escort said that he had better go, otherwise he would miss the last bus to Dyce Aerodrome, and he’d have to report what had happened to his friend.

We walked up to Union Street together, and along as far as Union Terrace, where I caught a tram, thank goodness they were running again, and he carried on to the country bus terminus, I suppose.
Sadly for me, by the time I reached Mile End, the last bus up the hill had gone and I was left to walk the rest, which was quite scary, with no lights of any kind. I was never so glad to get home
as I was that night.

Hazel was off work for some time, but as soon as her leg healed, she went back to the ice rink . . . without me. I couldn’t have gone back supposing I’d been offered a thousand
pounds. I never saw ‘my’ Canadian again, and Hazel never saw hers after he left the hospital. She thought their squadron must have been posted.

It was early 1942 now, and we two girls continued to go out together, being ‘picked up’ by various young men in uniform – there were very few young civilian
males left in the city. Yet it wasn’t on any of those occasions that life suddenly changed for me. I was waiting at the bus stop across from my house when a naval officer stood up beside me
and started talking. He was actually Merchant Navy not Royal Navy but I didn’t know the difference then, and I learned that he was a 2nd Officer on one of the Ben Line ships and was about to
start studying at Robert Gordon’s College in order to get his First Officer’s ticket. He was lodging just round the corner from us.

After a few days, he asked me out. I didn’t have to think about it. In fact I was very flattered that a man so much older – six years is a big difference when you’re nineteen .
. . or it was then. The uniform, I suppose, also played a large part in making me accept – none of the other boys I knew had any gold braid. We went out twice a week for months. I was still
writing semi-love letters to Jimmy, and going out with him when he came to visit us, also with the cousins when they were around, and, of course, ‘Uncle Doug’. I didn’t have any
deep feelings for Sandy, but . . . he was an officer.

The more I saw of him, the more I grew to like him and when he asked me to marry him, on the day he was notified that he had gained his First Mate’s ticket, I readily agreed. He had
already bought an engagement ring, which fitted perfectly, but he had to report for duty in two days. Mum, still somewhat Victorian in her attitudes, seemed to be quite happy about my commitment.
Her daughter was doing well for herself, wasn’t she?

His ship sailed to Oran with supplies for the troops there, but he had also made arrangements for the wedding to be in just over a month in Rathven Church, near his home village of Portgordon in
Morayshire. Bertha was only ten, but she was allowed to be bridesmaid, and Sandy’s brother was to be best man.

We had a week’s honeymoon in Preston, where his ship was being refitted, and then they were ordered to join the Murmansk convoys. Unfortunately, in Russia the winter had already set in
although it was only October, and they were ice-bound for eight months. It was a long time before I saw him again. Meanwhile, I still went out with Hazel . . . and nothing else changed much either.
I did tell all my escorts straight away that I was married. They respected me for it, and I felt smugly righteous at being so honest when so many other married girls were jumping from one lover to
another.

Then, it must have been into our autumn that same year, Mum had gone out one evening and I was in what had once been our lounge, now Granny and Granda’s living room.

It would have been around seven that evening in late October 1942 when the bell rang. I answered it and was quite disturbed to see Jimmy on the doorstep. This was the first time I’d seen
him since I had written to tell him I was married – a ‘Dear John’ letter – and I had been dreading his next visit.

To let you understand why what happened next came as no surprise to me, I had better make it clear that Jimmy had lodged with my granny before coming to Mum, and that Granny had always had a
real soft spot for him. She had understood exactly how he was feeling, and her words were meant kindly, although she couldn’t possibly have foreseen the eventual result.

She was propped up in bed by about a dozen pillows, as she had been for some time now, and she held his hand much longer than necessary when he greeted her. Then she looked at me with her
eyebrows raised. ‘You two should go oot for a wee walk, and nae be penned up in here wi’ an auld man and his useless wife.’

I didn’t know what to say, but Jimmy smiled. ‘What about it, Doris? It’s a fine night, just a bit cold.’

Granda, probably shocked at his wife for suggesting it when she knew we had once gone steady, now issued a warning, ‘You’d best keep walking smartly.’

So off we set, each uncomfortably aware of the other and afraid to broach the subject uppermost in our minds. We did keep walking smartly, for most of the hour or so we were out, but we also
managed to work round to a point where we knew our feelings for each other were still the same. The first shy kisses became longer and we ended up by breaking away in dismay. We couldn’t
carry on like this.

My mother was in when we went back, not looking at all pleased with us, and it was just as well that Jimmy had to leave to catch the last bus to Laurencekirk. I think, however, that Granny had
done some diplomatic talking while I saw him to the bus stop, because the maternal telling off I expected never materialised.

I must confess that the interlude really unsettled me. I shouldn’t have agreed to it. I ought to have known what could happen. In fact, it was fortunate that it hadn’t gone any
further. It very nearly had. I did feel guilty, and I’m sure he did, too, so our letters were more stilted after that.

As I said earlier, Granny died in December 1942, and we were all shattered. I cried myself to sleep every night and wondered how on earth I’d get through the funeral. I had no one to lean
on. Sandy was still away, Mum was comforting Bertha, Doug had his father, my Granda, to turn to. I was feeling at a very low ebb that day, and couldn’t believe my eyes when Doug went to
answer the door and brought Jimmy in. He was home on leave again, and had come to see us in a forenoon to save any further embarrassment. It was he who was embarrassed, and deeply upset when he
heard about my Granny, for he had loved her nearly as much as I did.

Feeling that he was intruding, he made to leave and, wonder of wonders, it was my mother who asked him to stay. He stood at my back and held my hand all through the funeral service, squeezing it
so hard at times that it was quite painful. We didn’t care that everyone had noticed, we needed each other and he was glad to be there for me.

Nothing was ever said about it. My mother must have realised that I wouldn’t have coped with saying goodbye to my darling grandmother if he hadn’t been there.

Doug’s wedding had been booked for the week after, when he would qualify as a draughtsman. He and Reta had planned to ask the driver of the beribboned taxi to take them from the church to
Mid Stocket to give his mother the bride’s bouquet, but they wanted to postpone the marriage. Granda, however, was adamant that Granny would have wanted them to go ahead – which we all
knew was true – and so they did.

Everything was going quite smoothly at our new premises in Bon Accord Square. There were no storemen to tease us, and we all felt quite proud to tell people that was where we
worked. It gave a better impression than saying, ‘Inside the Coast Lines sheds’, but there was one real drawback. By this time, the city was being assaulted regularly by incendiary
bombs and we had to take our turn at fire-watching.

Looking back on this, I am amazed that the safety of several buildings with a caretaker in each was placed in the hands of two flippertigibbets of twenty years old. Peggy had a caliper on one
leg, Helen was pregnant and Miss Murray wasn’t asked. I think she must have been over forty-five by then. I suppose each office had to supply at least two for this duty, and Hazel and I had
no choice.

It wasn’t as bad as we had feared. We had to spend the night in the room above our office, a huge hall of a place with a wide open fireplace . . . and yes, we were allowed to use it. I
suppose Mrs Logan would have had to make sure it was burning properly for us, and a whole pail of coal was always standing at the side. There didn’t seem to be any shortage here, not like at
home, where Mum practically counted each lump of coal to make sure nobody had sneaked one into the grate. (She also counted the bags of coal the men delivered in case they cheated her.) Two camp
beds were also provided for us, with pillows and blankets. This struck Hazel and me as a poor kind of joke when we saw them first. How could you go to bed and sleep if you were supposed to be
watching for fires?

I can’t remember how often we had to take our turn, perhaps once every ten days, and we were allowed to go home at half past seven in the morning and not start work until ten. We regarded
this as quite a bad deal. Were we supposed to stay up all night then only get an hour to go home for breakfast and snatch forty winks?

We did try. We sat on the typists’ chairs at first just talking about this and that, mostly boys, I expect, then after a while, we had to lie down to give our backs a rest. We didn’t
fall asleep the first time. We didn’t know what to expect and had our pails and stirrup pumps at the ready beside us, but it was a tremendous effort to keep our eyes open. Neither of us
smoked then – it was a year later before I was persuaded to try a cigarette and was hooked – so we had nothing to help us keep awake.

Half past seven took a couple of years to come round, and we made our separate ways home after reporting to Mrs Logan. Hazel, fortunately for her, lived in Bon Accord Street, only a short walk
from Bon Accord Square, whereas I had to walk a good bit down Union Street to get the No. 5 tram and change at Mile End for the bus.

The only blessing for me was that the bus stop was right outside the door of Murdoch the baker, who sold the best morning rolls I have ever tasted (an Aberdeen speciality found nowhere else),
and the smell wafting up my nostrils was too tempting to resist. I went home armed with a bagful, still hot from the bakery and . . . oh, how I long for one now. (The poor excuses that most modern
bakers offer as rolls are more than twice the price, less than half the size and nothing like the taste. There are one or two near exceptions with regards to the last.)

Feeling like going to bed after I’d had my breakfast, I had just a short time to rest before starting on the journey back to work. Needless to say, as we were dog-tired by the end of the
day, we didn’t think too highly of this procedure, and decided that we would play it differently next time.

So, on our next turn we chatted for a while, read for a while, and then lay down to sleep. Why stay awake when nothing was happening? We would hear if the sirens blew an alert . . . of course we
would. In the morning, we went down to report to Mrs Logan before going home. ‘Another peaceful night,’ Hazel ventured, because we both knew by the woman’s expression that
something had happened.