Haste Ye Back

This captivating short story by June Davies is set in 1919.

JEANNIE LANG clamped on her warm hat and knotted a woollen scarf over it, lest the keen wind cutting in from the Tay whisk it away.

The first weeks of January had seen bitterly cold weather, with snowfalls cutting off towns and bringing disruption and hardship to various parts of the country.

Few folk were complaining. With the Armistice signed two months ago, ending the Great War, this New Year of 1919 brought peace.

“Robert, apart from blue-black ink,” she called, “do you want anything from the paper shop?”

“Pipe cleaners,” he replied, stepping over an orange cat and kneeling to coax the kitchen fire into life. “I know you look forward to getting your paper every Wednesday, but isn’t this hour early even for you?”

“I’m aiming to get to Glennie’s before the shop’s busy,” Jeannie answered, glancing into the kitchen.

“I’d like a wee word with young Malcolm.”

“He mightn’t be in the shop today.” Robert eyed his wife suspiciously. “Why do you want a confab with Malcolm Glennie?”

“At Andrew’s yesterday,” she began, recalling their visit to their married son, “when Malcolm called to take young Daisy to the pictures, I heard him saying they couldn’t stay out late because he had to be up at five to open his dad’s shop.

“Malcolm couldn’t take his eyes from Daisy! They were happy before they went out,” Jeannie concluded.

“Yet when Malcolm brought her home, he was grimfaced and Daisy looked ready to cry!”

“They’ve not set eyes on one another for four years,” Robert remarked. “Malcolm only got back from the Army last week.”

“But they both looked so woebegone,” she persisted. “As if they’d lost a shilling and found a farthing.”

Jeannie set off at a brisk pace for the paper shop, as she had every Wednesday for more years than she cared count.

Although she couldn’t recollect Daisy speaking much about Malcolm as a regular customer at the shop, Jeannie had known the Glennies for years.

Malcolm was the only son in a family of daughters, and he’d been a quiet boy. Mrs Glennie once proudly told her that when he grew up, Malcolm wanted to teach.

He hadn’t done that, but Malcolm had done well at school and got a good job at a bank. By all accounts, he’d excellent prospects – until August 1914.

When war was declared, Malcolm had been among the first to enlist. Like many other volunteers, he hadn’t been truthful about his age.

Malcolm had joined up at barely seventeen.

Jeannie pushed open the shop’s door. Malcolm greeted her with a smile, but she noticed dark circles beneath his solemn eyes.

“It’ll be your ‘Friend’, Mrs Lang.” Taking the paper from beneath the counter, he set it down. “Will there be anything else?”

“A bottle of ink, pipe cleaners and two ounces of barley sugar twists, please.”

Jeannie was at a loss. She could hardly come straight out and ask about his and her spirited granddaughter’s falling-out, could she?

“It’s grand having you home again, Malcolm,” she began tentatively.

“I’m lucky, Mrs Lang. Lucky to have survived, lucky to have got back so quick after being demobbed. There’s plenty soldiers who’ll wait months for transportation, and there’ll likely be no jobs for them when they get home.”

“Daisy and her mum and dad are coming to our house tomorrow before we see her off to Glasgow,” Jeannie ventured. “Won’t you join us, Malcolm?”

“That’s kind, Mrs Lang, but I’ll not come,” Malcolm replied, weighing out the sweeties and sliding them into a cone of paper. “I wish Daisy well, though. Will you please tell her that?”

“Of course! But surely –” “The branch manager asked me to call on him yesterday,” he interrupted her, handing over the sweets. “He’s offered me my old position at the bank.” “That’s grand news!” “I thought so,” Malcolm agreed, his face bleak.

“Good prospects for promotion. A secure future.”

The shop’s door banged open and four dock porters on their way to the waterfront strode in for cigarettes, swiftly followed by three young mill lads.

Gathering her purchases, Jeannie left the shop.

Times were certainly changing, she considered, trudging homewards. Women even had the vote

Jeannie would miss her granddaughter when she left Dundee . . .

– at least, those over thirty who owned property did.

When Jeannie was young, she’d never heard of women doctors, but now wasn’t her own granddaughter going to Glasgow to study medicine?

It was snowing. Mighty gusts swirling in from the river; snowflakes falling thick and fast, illuminated by the gas lamps’ flickering yellow beam.

Suddenly Jeannie remembered another snowy January. Fifty years ago, almost to this very day . . .

****

The year 1869 rang in with bitterly cold winds and fierce snowstorms.

Long before dawn that morning in the second week of the New Year, snow lay deep upon the ground.

In the cottage next to the forge, Jeannie Younger and her widowed mother were busy in their candlelit kitchen, baking the baps, pies and oatcakes that were the family’s livelihood.

Each morning, Jeannie took a barrow of their wares to sell outside the mills, factories and workshops of the town.

“After he came from school yesterday, Colin noticed one of the ropes on the sledge was fraying,” Mrs Younger was saying, packing the baked goods while Jeannie scurried back and forth into the yard. “He’s put on a new piece.”

“So I see,” Jeannie called, securing hampers on to the robust sledge.

She and her brother had built it the winter after Pa died, when she and Ma first started their baking. The sledge had been Colin’s idea – and it was a godsend!

Hauling it was hard and slow going, Jeannie had to admit, but pushing the barrow through deep snow would be impossible.

Due to the weather, she allowed longer for her journey so set out early.

Jeannie didn’t see another soul. Even when she turned on to the wide, gas-lit road into town, everywhere was deserted.

Snow was falling heavily and Jeannie’s back, shoulders and legs were aching from dragging the heavy sledge.

She was approaching the coal yard when she stumbled over something half-buried in the snow.

****

“He’s a lamplighter, Ma,” Jeannie declared as they manoeuvred the unconscious lad into the warmth of their kitchen. “His ladder fell across one of the coal carts, and a smashed lantern lay beneath him.”

“What’s going on?” Colin yawned, appearing in the stairwell. “Who’s he?”

“He’s a poor soul who needs our help,” Ida replied. “Fetch blankets, quilts and the stone pig from your bed. Go into my room to the linen chest.

“Bring your pa’s nightshirt, nightcap and thickest socks,” she went on, smoothing strands of wet hair from the young man’s face. “He’s soaked through. We need to get him into dry clothing and a warm bed as quick as we can.”

“He must have been lying there for hours,” Jeannie murmured when the women were alone. “Will he be all right, Ma?”

“He’s taken a bad fall,” was all Ida would say, pouring water into a basin for bathing his injuries. “We’ll make a bed for him over in the chimney corner.”

Colin came thumping downstairs, a bundle of bedding and clothes topped with a hefty stone pig clutched in his arms.

He’d no sooner dumped them into the alcove beside the chimney before he was looking to Jeannie.

“What have you done with the baking?”

“I pushed everything under a coal cart.”

“Hadn’t you better go and take it into town? I’ll help,” he declared, haring upstairs to get dressed. “With two of us pulling the sledge, we’ll get there in no time.”

****

“I wonder who he is, Colin,” Jeannie was saying while hungry townsfolk were gathering about the sledge. “His family must be worried.”

“I bet Mr Glennie at the paper shop knows who he is,” Colin opined, helping himself to an oatcake. “Mr Glennie knows everybody. I’ll go and ask him, shall I?”

“You’ll away off to school!” Jeannie responded firmly, wrapping two baps, a pie and oatcakes into a cloth. “Take these with you, for you’ve had no breakfast.

“I’ll call at the paper shop to ask about our lamplighter,” she added.

****

“Kenny Lang is his name. He’s no’ from Dundee, Miss Younger. Hasn’t any family here,” Alec Glennie replied. “There is an older brother – a seaman – who lodges with Kenny when he’s ashore.

“I’ll spread word what’s befallen the lad and where he’s being looked after.” The newsagent’s attention shifted from Jeannie, and he gazed through the window into the street.

“’Wonder who’ll tend our gas lamps now?”

****

“He’s looking better, Ma,” Jeannie whispered.

Beneath her father’s nightcap, Kenny Lang’s head and the left side of his face were neatly bandaged with soft strips of linen.

“There’s a lump big as an egg on his head,” Ida murmured, drawing the quilt around him. “When he stirred, he was feverish and burning hot. I brewed some herbs and he managed to sip the tea.”

She touched her hand to his forehead and nodded. “He’s resting easy now.” Later, the January afternoon began to close into dusk.

Kenny Lang had managed a little broth and Jeannie was reading to him, her voice soothing the boy into sleep, when the back door banged open and Colin raced indoors.

“A man’s coming up the lane, Ma! His name’s Robert Lang. He’s the lamplighter’s brother!”

Ida and Jeannie set to preparing supper and Robert Lang emerged from the chimney corner, once again humbly thanking them for their kindness.

“I’ll return to town now,” he went on, reaching for his hat. “And hire a vehicle to take him –”

“I beg your pardon, Mr Lang,” Ida interrupted him firmly. “I cannot allow you to take that lad anywhere this night. Not until he gets his strength back.

“He needs nursing,” she went on bluntly, vigorously mashing carrot and turnips. “I believe you’ve no kin here in Dundee?”

“I cannot allow you to take that lad anywhere this night”

“Well . . .” Robert faltered, taken aback by Mrs Younger’s forthright manner.

“Your brother is welcome here, Mr Lang,” Ida finished. “I’m about to dish up. You’ll stay for supper?”

Thus, all was settled. “When I arrived, you were reading to Kenny,” Robert began, catching Jeannie’s eye. “He’s always been one for stories.”

“As are we,” she replied quietly. “We’ve not many books, but each evening we settle around the fireside and one of us reads awhile. It’s a fine way to round off a busy day.”

“We didn’t have books at home, but our grandfather told fine stories.” Robert smiled broadly. “Grandfer had been a sailor, and we loved listening to his tales.

“Thank you for reading to my brother, Miss Younger.”

****

Kenny Lang passed a restful night, with Ida sitting nearby lest she be needed.

Come morning, she and Jeannie were about their baking as usual when there was a tap at the lane door.

“Colin told me how you take the baking each day,” Robert said when Jeannie answered the door. “I’d like to lend a hand.”

Within the hour, they were hauling the laden sledge towards town.

“Langs have laboured on the land for

generations, but times are changing, Miss Younger. There are no prospects in the country.

“I’d always hankered to go to sea.” Robert grinned. “So when I was fourteen, that’s what I did. Kenny came to Dundee last year. He has another two jobs besides lamp-lighting – he’s saving for passage to Canada.”

“But it’s so far away.” “Canada has opportunities for men willing to work hard.” Robert shrugged. “Kenny’s determined to build a good life over there.”

“And you?” she queried. “Will you seek a new life with him in Canada?”

Robert shook his head. “Seafaring does me well. Mind, I’d give it up tomorrow if I had reason to stay ashore.”

****

Despite Kenny’s stubborn insistence he was fit and well, for the remainder of that week, Robert continued calling at Smithy Lane and accompanying Jeannie with the sledge each morning.

On Sunday, however, he arrived unexpectedly.

“I’ve had my orders, Jeannie. My ship sails with tonight’s tide.”

“Tonight?” she echoed in dismay.

“I wanted to give you and Mrs Younger and Colin these as a thank-you for everything,” Robert went on, setting chocolates on the dresser. “But it’s you I’m here for. May we stroll together a while?”

Walking beside the Tay, Jeannie stared beyond its waters to the open sea that would take Robert far away.

“The first time I saw you,” he began abruptly, “you were reading stories.

“I spotted this.” Robert tugged a periodical from the pocket of his coat. “It’s called ‘The People’s Friend’ and it’s new. Mr Glennie says there are stories inside – and there’s a serial on the front page, see?

“I thought you could read it round the fireside this evening,” he finished.

Jeannie nodded, clutching the paper against her.

“I will read it tonight.” Her voice trembled. “By then you’ll have set sail, won’t you?”

“Aye, it’s a long voyage – almost round the world.” Robert frowned, gazing down at her. “I’ll likely be gone a year and more.

“We may have known each other only a wee while, but I care for you, Jeannie,” he pressed on. “When I return, can I come courting?”

“Haste ye back,” she whispered, touching her hand to his weatherbeaten cheek. “I shall be waiting.”

****

Despite the passage of a half century, Smithy Lane was one thing that hadn’t changed.

As always, Jeannie’s heart warmed at sight of home, but she was surprised when Robert hurried out, clad in his great-coat and hat.

“It’s snowing so heavily, I was coming to meet you,” he explained, shepherding her indoors. “You’ve been gone such a while.”

“Aye, it was a bit of a trek.” She laughed, reaching up to kiss Robert’s cheek. “But I had nice memories keeping me company.”

Later that morning, while Robert was shovelling snow and Jeannie was busy baking, Daisy arrived.

“We weren’t expecting you till tomorrow!” Jeannie exclaimed. “Aren’t you meeting up with your friends today?”

“This afternoon,” she mumbled, gathering the cat in her arms and curling up into the hearthside armchair. “Hello, Pumpkin.”

“How about cocoa to warm you?” Jeannie suggested, watching her granddaughter gently stroking Pumpkin’s fur.

Daisy didn’t look much different from the wee girl she’d been when she’d found him as a half-starved kitten with a torn ear and nasty wound on his tail.

Daisy had brought him home so she could make him better, and here he had stayed ever since.

“There’s shortbread, if you’re peckish?”

“No, thanks,” Daisy replied, glancing at the table alongside the armchair, with Jeannie’s weekly paper upon it. “Have you been into the paper shop today? Did you see Malcolm?”

“I did. He looked every bit

as glum as you.” She patted the girl’s shoulder. “I’ll make our cocoa, and you can tell me all about it.”

****

“Some girls from the office and I were at a dance, and Malcolm was there. He asked me to dance.” Daisy paused, sipping the hot cocoa. “We were having a lovely summer until . . .”

“Until Malcolm enlisted?” Jeannie prompted softly.

“That awful September day when they went away!” Daisy recalled bitterly. “Thousands of folk lining the streets, cheering those boys going off to fight and everybody saying the war would be over by Christmas.

“At Tay Bridge Station, when he was boarding the train, Malcolm kissed me and said as soon as he came home we’d be together and never ever part again.

“Last night, Malcolm said he’d got his job back. He was overjoyed and he asked me to marry him!

“But he didn’t know about medical school, Granny,” she cried. “I still hadn’t told him I’m leaving home and moving to Glasgow!

“He was overseas when I read about Doctor Elsie Inglis,” Daisy went on. “She wanted to work on the front line, but the war office told her to go home and be still.

“So Doctor Inglis set up the Scottish Women’s Hospitals for the wounded in countries like Serbia, France and Russia. I began finding out about other doctors, too, like Elizabeth Ross and especially Marion Gilchrist.

“She was among the first women to enrol in the medical school at Queen Margaret’s in Glasgow. After she graduated, she went into general practice. That’s what I want to do, Granny!”

“If you study hard, I’m sure you shall,” Jeannie responded. “You’ve your great-grandma’s healing way, and her kind heart.”

“In a letter to Malcolm, I mentioned Doctor Gilchrist and how I wished I could study medicine, but I never spoke of it again. It seemed selfish. Me safe at home with hopes and dreams, and he in the trenches.

“Then when I heard I’d got a place at medical school, I was so thrilled I couldn’t wait to tell Malcolm!” she admitted. “But before I posted my letter, news came he’d been wounded.

“I couldn’t write about all my plans when Malcolm was going through so much . . .”

“And with the war coming to an end,” Jeannie said, “you plumped for waiting until the lad came home?”

“But the right moment never came,” Daisy agreed. “And now we’ve had words.”

“But all is not lost. You’re nineteen and Malcolm’s still only twenty-one,” Jeannie argued. “The world is finally at peace and the pair of you have your whole lives to –”

“I love Malcolm, but I want to go to Glasgow and study medicine, too!” Daisy blurted out. “Whatever am I to do?”

****

The following day, Daisy and her parents arrived at Smithy Lane for the family get-together celebrating her departure to medical school.

Jeannie was putting finishing touches to the fruitcake she’d baked, and her granddaughter lost no time seeking her out.

“I went to Malcolm’s yesterday,” she declared. “Mrs Glennie told me he was out, but he wasn’t at the paper shop, either. “He obviously doesn’t want to see me.”

****

Although the Langs arrived early at the station, Malcolm was already there and started purposefully toward them.

“There’s Malcolm, Daisy,” Jeannie announced brightly. “Why don’t you both have a talk while we go and –”

“Organise your ticket and luggage,” Robert finished, ushering his family away and leaving the couple to themselves.

“I had to see you before you left,” Malcolm began. “To let you know I love you and wish you well, wherever you go and whatever you do.”

“I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve been to your house and the shop . . .”

“Mum and Dad told me,” he interrupted, glancing to the station clock ticking away what little time they had left. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Daisy. That night at the pictures, you gave me plenty to think about.

“I went to the bank and told them I wasn’t going back. I visited my old schoolmaster to ask advice,” he rushed on. “Mr Balmer knew I wanted to teach. He believed I made a mistake not going on to college.

“He said it’s not too late,” Malcolm finished, eyeing the clock. “He gave me letters of character and everything’s been arranged. I’m training to be a school teacher.”

“That’s wonderful,” Daisy whispered. “Oh, I do wish I wasn’t going away!”

“So do I,” he responded with a rueful smile. “But I’m proud of you and some day you’ll be the best doctor this old town has ever seen.”

“I won’t be away for ever.” She was close to tears now.

“When you come home, I’ll be waiting,” he told her. “That is, if you want me to.”

Impulsively, Daisy threw her arms about his neck, and Malcolm closed his eyes, holding her close before they started slowly towards the Glasgow train.

****

Jeannie, Robert and Daisy’s parents made their way along the platform.

“There they are!” Jeannie said, glimpsing the pair.

They were standing still, with eyes only for each other.

“Parting’s never easy, is it?” Robert said, leaning close to Jeannie so he might be heard above the engines. “At least Glasgow’s only across country!”

“We’ll all miss her.” Jeannie met Robert’s eyes. “But go she must!”

Heartfelt farewells were hurriedly said, and more than a tear or three shed.

A whistle shrilled, doors slammed, smoke, cinders and smuts belched into the chill air and wheels turned and sparked as the Glasgow train gathered speed.

The future Dr Daisy Glennie was on her way.

The End.