Her aunt and uncle had never spoken about it outwardly, but she knew deep down they thought about it too. Knowing how hard it would be with both families on Barra living side by side for hundreds of years; neither able to just uproot and move somewhere else. So, with no way of going back, Lizzie would have to do that for herself. She loved her aunt and uncle but now it was time to find her own way.
Going to London to join the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force had been a noble reason for leaving Scotland. No questions needed to be asked, even if her own reasons for leaving were very different. She wanted, of course, to help the war effort. She could have chosen to join the volunteer effort in Scotland. But she had secretly hoped to be posted to London, and she had been. England’s capital city was far enough away for her to get some distance between her and her past, but there was also another incentive, the huge secret she hadn’t even shared with her family.
Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by her aunt Marion, who placed a breakfast plate down in front of her. Hot crispy bacon, fresh eggs, and her aunt’s home-made bread made her mouth water. As if alerted by the smell, both of her cousins tumbled down the stairs, falling over each other like puppies to enjoy their last breakfast together. As they all ate, the three girls chatted about Lizzie’s new adventure and what it would be like, and one hour later, they found themselves waiting at the tiny train station that would take Lizzie to the central station in Glasgow and then on to London.
As they huddled together on the platform, Lizzie looked at her family, her two red-haired cousins, her crinkled-faced uncle in his town tweed, to see her off, and her kindly aunt, smiling, round and rosy-cheeked. Lizzie was sad to say goodbye. But she also knew she had to do this. This was her chance to get away.
There was also the newspaper clipping folded in her diary, the one she had read and reread so many times, and that had made her hope she would finally have the chance to find her daughter.
Her aunt handed her a wrapped bundle.
‘I’ve made you some sandwiches and some eggs in case you get hungry.’
‘I’ve just finished breakfast!’
‘But you have that long journey down to London. You’ll be hungry between now and tonight when they feed you. And who knows what they’re going to feed you in England?’
Lizzie smiled and took the packed lunch.
‘Well, this is it,’ said Hamish. ‘Our favourite niece going off to win the war for us. We’re very proud of you, Lizzie.’
As the train pulled in to the station, he gathered her into his arms, hugging her so tightly she tried not to cry. She would miss her uncle, so different from her father; his quiet presence, their long conversations on the banks of the loch, the sound of him calling to his sheep, and the smell of the fresh outdoors on his farm tweed. She pulled back and hugged her aunt as well. She could hear the tears in her voice.
‘Please take care of yourself, Lizzie. We’ll write to you all the time. Keep your head down and make sure you eat properly.’
Lizzie nodded, fighting the tears as she grabbed both Fiona and Margaret in her arms and gave them one big squeeze.
Lizzie made her way on board, clutching her grandmother’s carpet bag, the only bag that had been big enough to carry her belongings from Barra and now down to London. She pulled down the window and waved as they all waved back furiously. And as the train whistle blared out its final departing sound, Lizzie felt the tension in her stomach and hoped she was doing the right thing. She took in the family faces one last time, each of them looking at her with so much hope and pride.
‘Goodbye,’ she shouted. ‘I’ll write as soon as I can.’
‘Good luck, take care,’ they shouted back.
Before she knew it, she was gone, leaving Scotland behind; the only place she had known in her whole life.
3
Diana Downes clutched her new brown leather suitcase by her side and looked up and down the platform of Birmingham New Street station. She’d arrived early, so as not to miss her train, but now she was worried that she might be on the wrong platform, as she was the only one waiting there, except for her mother.
Jessie stood stoically by her daughter’s side, her quiet, gentle presence always reassuring and loving. Clutching her large leather handbag under her arm, her mother was wearing a flowery yellow and olive dress and her favourite brown hat. And, of course, the matching brown raincoat she wore year-round, summer or winter.
Diana smiled nervously at her mother and thought about her dad, wishing he could have been there with them, but understanding why he hadn’t been able to see her off. As she paced the station platform to work out her nerves, Diana thought back to the conversation they’d had at lunchtime.
She and Jessie had been busy in the kitchen, clearing away the dishes after lunch, when her attention had been drawn to the front room where her dad was still stood gazing out of the window, his corned beef sandwich untouched on a table by the side of his chair. Was the fact that she was going away to fight this war making it harder for him? she’d wondered with a new sense of guilt. What was he thinking about as he stared across his garden?
Were his thoughts back in the trenches? Still locked in the war that had changed him irrevocably? She recalled the stories her mother had told her about her father when he had come back, not only injured from the mustard gas that had created chronic breathing problems for him, but also broken on an emotional level that was both a lot less measurable than his constant wheeze, and less able to be remedied with medication. Shell shock, as it was called, was their daily reminder of a war, fought and won nearly twenty years before, that had left its mark forever, still ever-present to many; whole families, not just hers, who’d had to readjust to living with an enemy that continued to assault its victims long after the ceasefire had been celebrated.
She’d closed the kitchen door and looked across at her mother. ‘Is he okay, do you think?’ she asked in a whisper.
‘Yes, love.’ Jessie nodded, drying a teacup in her hand, a gentle smile drifting across her face. ‘He will be. Of course, it’s hard for him with so many of our friends and family already off to war, and now you’re going to join up. But don’t worry, his garden will keep him busy.’
Diana hadn’t been convinced, and walking into the sitting room, she had observed her dad in a familiar routine, taking out his pipe, tamping tobacco down into it, lighting a match, and inhaling deeply as he continued to stare mindlessly out at the garden.
‘Are you all right, Dad?’ she asked in a forced, chirpy manner as swirls of blue smoke scented the air with its earthy aroma. When he didn’t answer her, she nervously started rearranging the cushions on the sofa, pretending that was the main reason for her being in the room as he made his way back to his favourite chair. ‘I don’t want you to worry.’
Horace nodded slowly, staring at the floor as if he was considering the zigzag pattern of their brown and cream carpet for answers. Sitting down next to him in the saggy brown armchair with the lacy cotton armrests her mother had embroidered herself, Diana reached forward and laid her hand gently upon his, noting once again with sadness how he still had the tremor he’d been left with. Diana could see he was fighting with emotion.
Finally pulling his pipe from his mouth, he looked up at her with reticent eyes. ‘Are you sure you want to do this, Diana? There are plenty of things you could do right here in Birmingham for the war. Why don’t you settle down and marry a nice local boy here? You could still do something for Britain. But you could also be close to your family.’