Cousins at War Read online

  ‘It’s God who’s been cruel,’ Queenie said in a low, flat voice, ‘but I knew it was bound to happen. Our house was too near Croydon Aerodrome, that’s why we got so many air raids, that’s why Mum and Dad wanted me away.’ A sob started in her voice. ‘Why, Auntie Gracie, why? They were the best mum and dad in the world and what’s going to happen to me now?’

  ‘Listen, Queenie. Your Uncle Joe and I promised your mum we’d look after you if . . . this is your home now, and you’ll be another daughter to us. That’s right, my dear, let it all out, you’ll feel better for it.’ She rocked the girl to and fro until the harsh sobbing eased. ‘Never feel you’re alone for we love you as much as we love Patsy, and never be scared to tell me anything or ask me anything, the same as you’d have done with your mum.’

  After a short, pensive silence, Queenie looked round. ‘Was it my grandma that wrote to tell you about it?’

  Gracie had forgotten that the girl hadn’t been told the rest. ‘Queenie, dear, Joe was right when he said you’d have to be very brave. It was a Mrs Bertram that wrote. You likely know her – she lives beside your grandma and grandpa – well . . . their house was hit two nights before, and they’re . . . both gone, too. I’m sorry, Queenie, but I can’t hide it from you. It would have been a lot worse if I’d waited to tell you that, wouldn’t it?’

  She held the girl even tighter as the frail body began to shake violently. No amount of comfort or sympathy could make up for what the girl had lost and only time would blunt the heartache. ‘You’ve had an awful shock, lass, and you need a cup of strong, sweet tea to help you get over it. Will you be all right till I go and make one?’ The nod was very weak but Gracie stood up. ‘Maybe you’d like Patsy to come through to you till I come back?’

  At the second faint nod, she made her way to the kitchen, her legs weak and shaky. ‘Patsy, will you stay with her till I make a pot of tea?’

  Joe waited until Patsy went out. ‘Maybe I should have left you to tell her but I was trying to save you the worry. How did she take it?

  ‘She took it quietly to start with but she got the tears out at last, then she asked if it was her grandma that told me and I had to tell her about Mr and Mrs Lowell. She’s in a terrible state now but it’s not surprising, is it?’

  ‘Poor lassie. We’ll need to be extra gentle with her for a long time.’ His face darkened. ‘Bloody, bloody war! Why do innocent men, women and children have to suffer?’

  When the tea masked, Gracie filled a cup and added three spoons of sugar. ‘You’d better take your dinner, Joe, before it’s spoiled.’

  ‘I couldn’t eat. I’ll just help myself to a drop of tea.’

  When Gracie carried Queenie’s cup through, she found her and Patsy sitting close together, arms round each other, and she was relieved to see that the younger girl’s shaking had stopped and her face had regained a touch of colour. ‘Go and get your dinner, Patsy. I’ll stay here.’

  ‘I’d rather have Patsy, Auntie Gracie, if you don’t mind?’

  ‘I don’t mind, but Patsy’s got to go back to work.’

  ‘Couldn’t I stay off this afternoon?’ Patsy pleaded. ‘Miss Watt would understand.’

  ‘I’ll phone her and explain.’ Gracie was guiltily relieved that her daughter had taken over the role of comforter. For years, Patsy’s knack of gentle reasoning had smoothed over awkward incidents in their family, had even settled quarrels between Ishbel’s two boys when they were little, before they emigrated to New Zealand. Olive was the only one who could hold out against her. Olive never listened to anybody.

  ‘I’ve left Patsy with her,’ Gracie told Joe after she had made her telephone call. ‘She didn’t want me.’

  ‘Patsy’ll cope with her. I’ve often thought she’d make a good nurse, she’s got the right touch.’

  ‘Oh, Joe, don’t put that idea in her head. I don’t think I could stand it if she went away, as well as Neil.’

  Joe stood up. ‘I feel awful about not going to London, but there’s nothing we can do.’

  Gracie poured herself a cup of tea when he went out. There was nothing they could do, but that was another Ogilvie gone now. The tears which had refused to come before rushed to her eyes now. It was terrible to think that Donnie had been the last son – the last who would bear the Ogilvie name, for it was a girl-child he’d had, and Queenie would marry one day and change it, the same as all his sisters had.

  Gracie sat up. She would have to let her sisters know, but she couldn’t phone Hetty until she came to herself, and she’d have to wait until she could think straight before she wrote to Flo and Ishbel in Wanganui and Ellie in Edinburgh. Ellie, next to Donnie in age, had been closest to him, and would be worse hit than any of them. Telephoning her would be the kindest thing to do, but the call to Hetty would be as much as she could bear.

  Concentrating on thinking what to say to her sisters her tears came to an end but, for the first time since their mother’s death, she felt resentful that they all looked on her as a mother-figure, even Ellie and Flo, who were older than she was. It had started because she had been living in the family home, but she had left there almost two years ago and she was as vulnerable as they were. That was exactly how she was feeling – vulnerable and alone. The tears flowed again, self-pity mingling with grief for her brother and his wife. She was saddled with Queenie . . . no, responsible for her until she had a husband to take over the duty. But the girl wasn’t sixteen till April, and she would have to stay on at school till she passed her Highers, like Donnie had wanted. That would be a year or more yet, and another two or three until she earned enough to support herself. And what if she wanted to go to the university? It would be even longer till she was working.

  Gracie’s musings came to an abrupt stop. What on earth had got into her? It didn’t matter how long it was. Queenie was part of the Ferris family now, not a hated encumbrance but a beloved addition, to be cherished and loved like their own daughter, until they both married or until she herself died. She pulled out her handkerchief to dry her eyes. It wouldn’t do to let Queenie see that she’d been crying. The poor thing needed someone to depend on, not an unstable, nervous wreck.

  It was almost an hour later before the two girls came into the kitchen, both faces showing signs of the trauma they had been through. ‘Mum,’ Patsy said, her teeth chattering, ‘can we have a cup of tea, please? We’re both freezing.’

  Gracie jumped to her feet. ‘I should have lit the gas fire for you, but I didn’t think. Sit down and heat yourselves at this fire and I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Sitting on one of the old armchairs, Queenie said softly, ‘Can I see Mrs Bertram’s letter, Auntie Gracie?’

  ‘Do you think you should? Maybe you should wait a while.’

  ‘I’d like to read it now. I want to know . . .’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you do.’ Gracie took the letter out of the dresser drawer and handed it over, watching anxiously as her niece read it.

  ‘She’s over the worst of it, Mum,’ Patsy observed.

  After a few minutes, Queenie looked up with moist eyes. ‘I . . . I’d like to keep it . . . please, Auntie Gracie?’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but . . . well, all right.’

  ‘Would you mind if I spoke about my mum and dad?’

  ‘If you think it’ll help . . .’

  For the next half hour, Queenie told them how idyllic her home life had been, how her parents had always listened to anything she had to say, how they had discussed together any family decisions which had to be made. ‘They never left me out. They never did anything without asking what I thought first. When Dad wanted to change the shop round, Mum and I gave him suggestions or he told us what he was thinking and we all talked it over.’

  She went on to describe the shop as it eventually was, and the house above it where they had lived. ‘It wasn’t as big as the house in the Gallowgate, but it was fine for three of us, and Mum kept it ever so nice. On my thirteenth birthday, Dad let me
choose the colour scheme I wanted for my bedroom, and I went round the wallpaper shops for days before I chose the cream with teeny pink rosebuds. Dad did the papering and painting and Mum made curtains and a bedspread to match.’

  The catch in her voice made Patsy say, ‘It must have been lovely. I wish my dad would do something about my room – I mean our room, but there’s no wallpaper to be had now.’ She brightened as a thought struck her. ‘Mum, would you let us paint on top of the old paper? I’ve read hints about how to make patterns on plain walls with a bit of sponge dipped in another colour. You can make flowers, or anything you like.’

  ‘We’ll see what your dad has to say about it.’

  Patsy turned to her cousin. ‘What about painting the walls cream and using pink and . . .?’

  When Joe came in, the two girls were still working out a colour scheme, Queenie looking more animated than he’d have thought possible, and he was pleased that her mind had been taken off her bereavement for a short time. ‘You can paint your room whatever way you like – sky blue and pink with magenta spots, if that’s what you want. It’s not me that’ll have to sleep in it.’

  After tea, the two girls disappeared to draw up plans, and Gracie said, ‘Patsy’s worked wonders with Queenie, so I hope Hetty doesn’t come rushing here when I tell her, it’ll just upset the poor lassie again.’

  ‘Have you not phoned Hetty yet? Look, you can’t put it off any longer, Gracie. I’ll wash the supper dishes and you go and do it right now. Just say what’s happened, and explain it’s for the lassie’s sake you don’t want her to come. Have you written to Flo and Ishbel and Ellie yet?’

  ‘I won’t bother with Ishbel. Flo can pass it on to her. So I’ll write the two letters once I’ve phoned.’

  Hetty burst into tears when she heard the sad news, and it took all Gracie’s tact to prevent her sister from coming to King Street there and then, but she did make her understand that it would do no good, and might even do some harm. She said that it had been Patsy who had comforted Queenie and was stumped for a moment when Hetty offered to send Olive to help, too. ‘It’s all right, Hetty,’ she murmured. ‘Queenie’s had enough for one day, and I think she’ll be going to bed early tonight, and Patsy, as well.’

  Luckily, Hetty did not take offence. ‘Poor thing, both her parents killed like that.’ She had to suppress another sob. ‘I can’t believe we’ll never see Donnie and Helene again.’

  ‘Is Martin there with you?’ Gracie asked, gently.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be all right. It’s just . . . it was so sudden . . .’

  ‘I know, it’s been a terrible shock.’

  ‘Will Queenie be living with you for good now?

  ‘I promised Helene I’d look after her if . . .’

  ‘Well, remember if you ever feel you’re at the end of your tether, let me know, and I can have her here for a while.’

  The offer took Gracie totally by surprise, but she said, earnestly, ‘It’s very good of you.’

  ‘You’ve had more than your share of looking after people, but don’t think it hasn’t been appreciated.’

  Gracie felt chastened when she sat down to write to Ellie and Flo. After feeling so sorry for herself earlier, it was gratifying to know that she had not been taken for granted over the past . . . was it really nineteen years past November since their mother had died?

  Snuggling against Patsy in the three-quarter bed, Queenie forced her tears back. She had begun to like it here, having a temporary brother and sister had been fun, but at the back of her mind there had always been the warming thought that she would be going home after the war. Now there was no home to go to; no mother and father to come to Aberdeen and take her back; no grandmother and grandfather to exclaim over how much she had grown.

  ‘Oh, Patsy,’ she gulped, unable to bear it in silence any longer, ‘why did it have to happen? I’ve never done anything bad, and neither did Mum and Dad, so why did God punish us? Is it because I’ve been happy here? Is it because I sometimes forgot London was still being bombed?’

  ‘No, I’m sure it wasn’t that.’ Patsy had no experience in comforting the bereaved, and wished with all her heart that she could find the proper words to soothe her cousin.

  There was a short silence, broken only by small, hiccuppy sniffs, then Queenie whispered, ‘I suppose I’ll have to live here for ever?’

  ‘Don’t you want to live here now?’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just . . . it’s going to feel different, knowing I have to.’

  ‘I’m glad you’ll be staying here . . . I mean . . .’ Patsy felt confused. ‘I’m not glad about why, but I’m glad you won’t be going away. I like having you to speak to. Neil’s all right, but he couldn’t speak about things I wanted to speak about . . . and he’d never have let me put his hair in curlers.’

  Giving a faint gurgle of amusement, Queenie said, ‘I’m so glad I’ve got you, Patsy. You make me forget . . . for a little while, anyway.’

  ‘Good. Now, we’d better try to get some sleep, or else we won’t feel like getting up at rising time, and I’ll have to go back to work.’

  Hetty and her daughter arrived at quarter past nine the following morning. ‘Olive hasn’t got any lectures today till later on,’ she said. ‘Where’s Queenie?’

  ‘I made her stop in bed,’ Gracie explained. ‘She’ll need a while to get over it.’

  ‘We’ll all need a while to get over it. I can hardly take it in yet myself. Will any of us have to go to the funeral? You didn’t say when you phoned last night.’

  After hearing what Mrs Bertram had written, she said, ‘It seems terrible that none of Donnie’s sisters will be there to see him buried, but I suppose it happens all the time.’

  ‘Joe and me didn’t get much chance to speak properly till we went to bed, but he reminded me we wouldn’t have anywhere to stay if we went down there, and I couldn’t leave Queenie just now, anyway.’ Ashamed of how she had given way when she was alone with her husband, Gracie did not describe how long Joe had held her, how he had kissed her tears away, how he had convinced her that their duty to Donnie and Helene lay in comforting and caring for their daughter.

  Queenie came through just after half past ten, and Gracie was thankful that Hetty didn’t overdo her condolences. Olive said nothing until her mother prodded her, then she went to her cousin, shaking hands stiffly and saying, ‘I’m sorry,’ in a not very convincing manner. Queenie did have a little weep, it was only to be expected, but she was soon talking quite calmly about her parents. It seemed to Gracie that by airing her memories of them, she was bent on inscribing them indelibly in her heart so that she would never forget them.

  Olive sat stone-faced, and her aunt wished that she hadn’t come . . . she was still a spoiled brat even if she was at the university and should know better. Just after eleven, Hetty stood up. ‘Raymond comes home at half past twelve, and I’ve nothing made for lunch yet. Would you like to come with me, Queenie? Olive’s to go to Medical School, and I’ll be glad of a hand. I’ll take you back in the afternoon.’

  Thankful for the respite from having to make conversation when they had gone, Gracie moved into a more comfortable chair and lay back with her eyes closed. She would have to get something ready for Joe’s dinner, but there was plenty time. She’d hardly had a wink of sleep last night, and she deserved a wee rest.

  Only fifteen minutes later, she was dragged out of a deep sleep by someone shaking her shoulder. ‘Gracie, it’s me.’

  Her brain was still a little foggy, but she sat up to find her eldest sister leaning over her. ‘Ellie?’

  ‘I got your letter first post and I was so upset I had to come to see poor Queenie.’

  Having heard Gracie’s explanation of the girl’s absence, Ellie sat down. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about Donnie when I was driving up. He was the last of our three brothers . . . though wee James died when he was just an infant. Father was so proud when Charlie and Donnie started working with him in
the shop in the Gallowgate. He got a new sign put up above the window, remember? Albert Ogilvie and Sons, it said, then the war came and they both went into the army.’

  Gracie wiped her eyes. ‘I remember how angry Mother was at Father for being proud of them enlisting. I don’t think she ever got over it properly.’

  ‘Charlie was her favourite, of course . . .’

  ‘And you were Father’s.’ This fact had never rankled with Gracie. She had grown up with it, and had known that it was none of Ellie’s doing.

  ‘At least we know Donnie never regretted settling down in South Norwood,’ Ellie observed. ‘When they were in Aberdeen for Father’s funeral, we could all see how happy he was with Helene, and now . . . they’re both gone, too.’

  The two sisters had a weep together, then went on to talk about their childhood, each remembering incidents which the other had forgotten, and they were both astonished when Joe came in just after one, Gracie jumping up in agitation. ‘Oh, is it that time already? I haven’t made any dinner yet.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he assured her. ‘A sandwich’ll do, if you’ve anything to put in it.’

  ‘There’s a bit of corned mutton left from yesterday.’

  ‘That’ll do fine.’

  ‘That’ll do me, too,’ Ellie said, rising to help just as Patsy appeared.

  Hetty brought Queenie back in the middle of the afternoon. The girl was still very pale and Gracie’s heart contracted at the sight of the large, blue eyes so deeply filled with pain. Thankfully, at four o’clock, when Hetty said that she would have to go, Ellie also stood up. ‘I’d like to take a look at some of the shops before I go back.’

  Gracie saw them downstairs, assuring Hetty that there was nothing else she could do, and when she went back to her own kitchen, she knelt down beside Queenie to put her arms round her. ‘You’ve been through an awful lot this past two days, lass, and you must be feeling lost, but Joe and me’ll always be here for you. Remember that.’