The Nickum (22 page)

‘I’ll remember,’ Willie smiled, having made up his own mind weeks ago that the only way to get on would be to volunteer for everything that was offered.

His mother, of course, wanted to know where he had been and was quite surpriseed that he had spent a whole day at the farmhouse. ‘You’re hardly ever here,’ she complained. ‘Your own father and mother, but you’d rather be speaking to strangers.’

Jake’s brows went down. ‘Go easy, lass. He did spend his first few days here, and tell’t you everything you wanted to ken. He needs different company sometimes, an’ he still hasna been to see the Meldrums. Millie’s been hame since Friday nicht, an’ she aye gans back on the Sunday efterneens, so you’d best see her the morra mornin’.’

‘To be honest, Dad,’ Willie said, uncomfortably, ‘I’d rather not see her.’

Emily opened her mouth, obviously with the intention of asking why, but Jake stepped in. ‘It’s up to you, of coorse, but I’d advise you to think aboot it.’

Willie did think about it. He puzzled over it all night, longing to see the girl he loved with all his heart, aching to hold her in his arms, but afraid that in his lust, he would hurt her, or even worse, bairn her, as the Burnton women would say. Either way, she would probably want nothing more to do with him. No, it was better not to place himself within reach of such temptation.

He still hadn’t gone to see the minister, but he’d be busy on a Sunday morning, so that call would have to wait until afternoon. He had promised to call in to Tibby Grant again if he had time, and he should really go and see Gramma Fowlie. Yes, that’s where he should go.

Looking out from the skylight in his small upstairs bedroom on the Sunday morning, the weather did not look all that promising, but Willie would have gone out if it had been lashing rain or drifting snow, even a Force 9 gale. As it happened, by the time he had washed and shaved and had his breakfast, the sun was making a fair attempt at shining, the grey sky had almost cleared. Emily was already dressed in her Sunday clothes, Jake was polishing his Sunday boots, both obviously going to church. Willie knew that his mother was half expecting him to join them, but he just wasn’t in a churchy mood, and as he sat down at the table, he said, ‘I promised Gramma I’d go and see her, so I may as well go. It’s a fine day for a walk, and she’ll be looking for me.’ He noticed his mother drawing in her lips, but she said nothing.

It was Jake who said, as he took his greatcoat off the hook on the kitchen door, ‘Will you be hame for your dinner?’

Emily seemed to come to a decision. ‘I’ve a whole pot of stew and carrots. If you wait a minute, I’ll put enough in the flagon to do you and your Gramma.’

‘Thanks, Mam, that’ll be great. I should think I’ll be home for my tea, though.’

His father winked at him in satisfaction as he went out carrying the container inside a shopping basket, where it sat quite steadily.

He spent all forenoon with Mina Fowlie, whose body was beginning to cause problems – legs unable to walk more than a step or two, feet crippled by corns and bunions, knees that creaked as she walked, hands curled by arthritis – but there was nothing wrong with her tongue, and she chatted away twenty to the dozen, laying bare her neighbours’ secret romances that were the talk of the place, the rumours of somebody’s sticky fingers that everyone knew about except the police, the row between the kirk organist and the leader of the choir. He didn’t know any of the people, but he found her way of telling the stories very amusing, and the pair of them chuckled like mischievous schoolkids.

Just before twelve o’clock, which he knew was her regular dinnertime, he emptied the flagon of stew into a pot and heated it on the fire – she still hadn’t had gas or electricity installed – and they sat down to eat at only a few minutes past the hour. ‘I havena any tatties,’ she had told him earlier, ‘for I was gan to ha’e cheese and breid, but I got a new pan loaf fae the baker’s van yesterday, so we can ha’e a chunk o’ that to dry up the gravy.’

Anyone not acquainted with the niceties of the Doric tongue might think breid and loaf are the same thing, and so it can be at times, but in this case, Willie knew that by breid his grandmother meant oatcakes, which spread with butter made an ideal accompaniment to the crowdie cheese made on most of the farms. She made him cut two ‘doorstep’ slices from the loaf, thick slices that they broke with their fingers to soak up the gravy.

After eating an apple each for pudding, the young man washed the dirty dishes, flagon and pot, and then said, ‘I want to go to see Mr Fyfe, the minister at home, you know, so I’d better go soon, or else he’ll be busy with the Young Communicants, maybe, or a Bible Class – and then it’ll be time for his evening service.’

‘Aye, they’re gey hard worked on the Sabbath,’ she grinned, ‘but some o’ them dinna dae muckle for the rest o’ the week.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. There’s weddings and christenings …’

‘An’ frunials, but that doesna tak’ six days, does it?’ She giggled to show she wasn’t serious.

‘You’re an awful woman, Gramma.’

‘It’s either that or gi’e up an’ let the undertaker get anither frunial to dae.’

‘No, no, don’t say that. You’ve been the backbone of my life, Gramma, so don’t even joke about something like that.’

‘You’re richt, laddie. I’m makin’ fun o’ men that are dedicated to God. They do a lot o’ good work, giving folk comfort in a time of need, just bein’ there for them is a blessin’ sometimes.’

‘I’d better be off, but remember, I need you to be here when I come back next time.’

‘I’ll dae my best, but you ken, Willie, naebody has the power to escape the Grim Reaper. When your time comes, you have to go, and the trouble is, you never ken when your time is comin’. An’ maybe that’s a good thing.’

Very emotional now, he bent his head to kiss her cheek when he shook hands with her, and, his eyes blurred with tears, he narrowly avoided walking into the door on his way out.

The Reverend Fyfe greeted his visitor warmly. ‘Sit down, my boy. I half expected to see you in church this morning with your parents, but …’

‘I went to say cheerio to my grandmother.’

‘Yes, so your dear mother said. Well, that was a charitable thing to do. Many of the younger people today have no time for their grandparents, or indeed for anyone over the age of forty. Now, tell me about your training. You know, I would have quite liked to volunteer as a chaplain again, but my age is against me.’

They chatted companionably for the next hour and a half – the older man wanting to know if Willie’s education had helped him in his present situation, to which he gave a fictional affirmative reply, and then Mr Fyfe said, ‘I know a white lie when I hear one, but rest assured. Your time at University will not be wasted when you come out of the army. It will stand you in good stead to find a decent job, a good career. Have you been to see Millie Meldrum yet?’

The abrupt change of topic disconcerted the young man. He wasn’t prepared to discuss this side of his life, but the other man had noticed. ‘I am sorry, my boy. I didn’t mean to pry. Now, I’m afraid we will have to stop there. I take a Young Communicants’ Class at half past three; not that many attend, but even adding two or three new members to our congregation is a worthwhile cause. Thank you for coming to see me, William, and I wish you luck in your career in the Gordon Highlanders. A really fine regiment, with a long history of gallantry. God bless you.’

They shook hands and Willie went down the path on to the road, wondering if he should chance going to the schoolhouse, or if it was too early and Millie would still be there. He decided against going and made for home, deciding at the last moment to spend a little more time with Tibby.

As always, she welcomed him warmly, but cannily avoided even the slightest reference to the tragedy, confining herself to giving him little tidbits of gossip regarding mutual friends and acquaintances. ‘Beenie says Malcie’ll be hame some time the morn, so you’ll just miss him. She says he’s settlin’ doon now, an’ nae afore time. He’s aye been a big bairn, nae happy unless things is gan his way, but the army was the best place for him. They’ll nae tak’ ony o’ his nonsense. It’ll be the makin’ o’ him – you wait an’ see.’

He smiled a little wryly. ‘I bet you say the same about me.’

‘Na, na, laddie, you’ve aye been a different type. You never expected things to be handed to you on a plate. I ken you werena happy at the dominie sub … eh, subsiding – is that the richt word? – your education.’

Stifling a grin, he said solemnly, ‘It’s sub-sid-ising, but you’re right. I wasn’t happy. I like to work things out for myself, then I’ve only myself to blame if anything goes wrong.’

‘Aye well, that’s a good enough reason, I suppose, but you’d mak’ things easier for yoursel’ if you sat back an’ let somebody else tak’ the responsibility.’ She uttered a screech of laughter here. ‘Oh, would you listen to me? Fowk would think I’d swallied a dictionary. Me that’s never picked up a book in my life.’ She looked at him askance. ‘I suppose you think I’m a richt dunce. You see, I canna read. I was the auldest an’ I was kept aff the school every time my mither had a bairn, and my faither was a randy auld bugger …’ Another howl of laughter.

Understanding, Willie laughed along with her. It had long been a common occurrence amongst the farm labourers’ families – the first-born female child was expected to be a sort of second mother to the younger siblings, and was thus deprived of a decent schooling. There was only one thing he could think of to say. ‘At least you were well prepared when it came your turn to run a house and a family of your own.’

‘You think like an auld ane, d’you ken that? Govey Dick, you’ll mak’ a damn good man to some lucky lassie some day, be she Millie Meldrum or somebody you havena met yet.’

He gave a hearty laugh at this. ‘Tibby, you’re fishing now, but I’m not rising to the bait. I’m making no commitments until the war’s over, but I promise you, when I do, you’ll be among the first to know.’

After another half-hour or so of banter, he took his leave, kissing her cheek as he shook her hand, something he never did as a rule, not even to Emily.

Coming to the Middletons’ house, he decided that he had better say goodbye there, too. Although Beenie and Tibby were the best of friends, there still existed a shred of one-upmanship between them, and it would probably cause trouble if he spent so much more time with one than with the other. ‘I jist wondered if you’d have time to come an’ see me again,’ she beamed, plainly pleased that he had bothered. ‘It’s a pity you’ll nae be here to see Malcie, though.’

‘I know, but that’s life, isn’t it? Anyway, tell him I was asking for him.’

‘I’ll dae that, and he seems to ha’e settled in, noo. I’m sure he’ll be a different loon efter the war. Mair content and nae forever grumpin’ aboot things. He was aye a moaner, my Malcie.’

‘I got on all right with him. He never moaned to me.’

‘He ken’t you was cleverer nor him, and you’ll end up a lot better aff than him. He’d aye keep far in wi’ onybody like that. An eye oot for number one, you could say.’

‘There’s nothing wrong in that,’ Willie laughed. ‘If we don’t look after number one, nobody else will.’

‘Aye, but you’ve got the brain for it. He hasna.’

‘Malcie’ll get on all right. You don’t need to worry about that.’

‘You ken this, Willie? Every time I see you, you mak’ me feel a lot better. You’ve got something aboot you, I canna describe it, but you’ll go far, loon. I’m sure o’ that.’

‘That’s good of you, Beenie, but I’ll have to go now, or Mam’ll fly off the handle at me for bein’ late for my supper.’

‘Your Mam doesna ken when she’s weel aff. Bye bye, then, an’ haste ye back, as they say.’

‘Bye, Beenie, and I’ll see you next time I’m home.’

Contrary to his expectations, Emily asked no questions, but he told her anyway about his various ports of call. It was Jake who said, ‘So you didn’t go to the schoolhouse?’

‘No.’

The matter was left there, the parents rather disappointed that their son hadn’t bothered to visit the man who had done so much for him, the boy himself doubting if he had done the right thing. Whatever, it was too late now to do anything about it.

Although most of their day was occupied in going over and over what they had been taught during their basic training, the young men did have some time to relax. The majority made straight for the nearest dance hall, with the intention of finding a girl friend for the evening, or, with the same end in view, to the nearest public house. At least two of the relatively new recruits, however, were not interested in girls. Willie Fowlie and Pat Michie had their own way of filling the time – exploring the local area, enjoying a chat whilst having a bracing walk and rounding things off with a quiet drink in the pub.

The problem with the last option was, of course, coming in contact with the opposite sex. Each of them found it hard to cope with this. As Pat confessed after their first awkward visit, he had never had anything to do with girls. Willie, on the other hand, was so involved with one girl in particular that he had no wish to take up with another; he had, however, a longing to find the right girl for Pat. Once that mission had been accomplished, he could discuss his own romance with his pal without feeling at all embarrassed.

Willie found great difficulty in writing to Millie. His remorse for not once going to see her was so deep that he didn’t know where to begin. How could he tell her that he loved her too much? It would really be a pathetic excuse without explaining what he meant. How could she possibly understand what happened to him when he was close to her? She would despise him for not being able to control his lust. But the thing was, it wasn’t just straightforward lust; it was a truly wonderful love for her that sparked off a desire that wouldn’t be denied. Even that, though, was pathetic. She would be disgusted at his cowardly attitude, and wouldn’t want to have anything more to do with him. The only thing to do was to keep away from her, but to let her know in his letters – not as frequent as before – that he still loved her with all his heart.