Rhanna at War Read online

  Table of Contents

  Also by Christine Marion Fraser

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Map

  Part One: Rhanna March 11th 1941

  Chapter One

  Part Two: Clydebank March 13th 1941

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Part Three: Rhanna March 13th 1941

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Part Four: Rhanna March 16th 1941

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Part Five: Rhanna Spring 1941

  Chapter Fifteen

  Part Six: Rhanna Summer 1941

  Chapter Sixteen

  Also by Christine Marion Fraser

  Rhanna

  Children of Rhanna

  Return to Rhanna

  Song of Rhanna

  Storm Over Rhanna

  Stranger on Rhanna

  A Rhanna Mystery

  King’s Croft

  King’s Acre

  Kinvara

  Kinvara Wives

  Kinvara Summer

  Kinvara Affairs

  About the Author

  Christine Marion Fraser was one of Scotland’s best-selling authors, outselling even Catherine Cookson, with world-wide readership and translations into many foreign languages. She was the author of the much-loved Rhanna series. Second youngest of a large family, she soon learned independence during childhood years spent in the post-war Govan district of Glasgow. Chris lived in Argyll with her husband. She died on 22nd November 2002.

  RHANNA AT WAR

  Christine Marion Fraser

  www.hodder.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 1980 by Blond and Briggs Ltd

  This edition published in 2013 by Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © 1980 by Christine Marion Fraser

  The right of Christine Marion Fraser to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  eBook ISBN 978 1 444 76823 7

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.hodder.co.uk

  To Ray, Cathie, and Ethel, friends as well as sisters

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  While I have tried to make the raids over Clydebank on 13th March 1941 as authentic as possible, there may be some discrepancies. According to statistics from German sources there was no bomber squadron I.K.G. 3 over Clydebank on 13th March 1941.

  Part One

  Rhanna

  March 11th 1941

  Chapter One

  Shona McKenzie stood with her arms folded on the rails of the steamer and watched with quiet elation as the tiny island of Eriskay in the Outer Hebrides appeared on the horizon in an ethereal haze of mist. The landmark of Eriskay meant that in less than half an hour the boat would reach Rhanna and Shona’s pulse quickened at the thought. Soon – soon she would be back on Rhanna, amongst all the dear people whom she had known all her life and who were as much a part of her as the very soil of the island itself.

  She lifted her face to the sky, shut her eyes and breathed deeply, letting the salt-laden air wash into her lungs. Aberdeenshire had been lovely with its rivers, glens and majestic mountains, but she had missed the sea, hardly realising how much till this moment of sharp air, wheeling gulls and warm winds gently rippling the surface of the blue water. It was an extremely mild day for March. At other times in the same season the sea could be a boiling fury with gales throwing waves forty feet and more into grey lowering skies. But no matter the weather, she loved her native land and had never thought she could ever leave it for more than a week or two at a time. But that had been before the war, before her childhood sweetheart, Niall McLachlan, had been badly wounded in the massacre of Dunkirk . . . and before her father had married Kirsteen Fraser, who had once been her teacher in the little school at Portcull.

  For many years it had just been Shona and her father living at Laigmhor, the big rambling farmhouse in which she had been born. Just herself and her father had meant a lot of loneliness, but it had also meant a lot of shared confidences and a warm feeling that the happiness of one depended on the happiness of the other. Now there was another woman sharing her father’s life, and Shona wasn’t quite sure of her own feelings on the matter. She loved and respected Kirsteen, had done ever since the day the two of them had met in the little village school, Kirsteen as a young teacher just starting in her new post, and Shona, a small motherless mite of five years feeling desolate and lost in a strange new world. From the beginning she had wanted Kirsteen Fraser to take the place of the mother she had never known and it certainly had looked that all her dreams were about to become reality when she was eleven and her father had announced his intentions of marrying Kirsteen. But tragedy had befallen Laigmhor round about that time. Mirabelle, the dear motherly housekeeper who had reared Shona from birth, had died suddenly, then her father had lost an arm in a terrible accident when out searching for his brother, Alick, in the treacherous waters that swirled round the Sgorr Creags. And Kirsteen, believing that he would no longer want to marry her because of his pride, had sailed away from Rhanna carrying his child.

  But all that was in the past. In the autumn of 1940, after a lapse of almost six years, her father had been reconciled with Kirsteen and she had come back to Rhanna with his son. The boy, Grant Fergus, with his black curls and dimpled chin, was unmistakably Fergus McKenzie all over again. Laigmhor had become a real family home where life and laughter abounded and where love embraced them all in a glowing little circle. Yet, despite all, Shona had felt an intruder. She had been still in the turbulent grip of some very recent crises of her own and had known she wasn’t yet ready to adjust to a newly acquired little brother and another woman doing all the things at Laigmhor that had once been her ritual alone.

  The idea of leaving home for a time had come slowly and conflicted greatly for a period with other instincts that would not let her relinquish, even for a little while, her beloved island. But she had felt strongly the urge to do something useful in wartime and notions of patriotism and feelings of superfluity continued to grow till eventually she had sailed away from Rhanna, a slender girl, not quite eighteen, wearing her uniform pinned with the Cross of St Andrew.

  Now she had been ordered to take some leave: she had thrown herself into the job with such dedication she was physically exhausted. The leave had come unexpectedly, giving her just enough time to dash off a letter to Niall, who was at a college in Glasgow training to be a vet. At thought of Niall and of the letter she gave a little start of dismay. She had written the letter in great haste but had she remembered to post it? A rummage through her handbag revealed almost instantly that she hadn’t and guilt raged through her. She loved him v
ery dearly and her joy at returning to Rhanna was tinged with sadness that he wasn’t here to share the holiday with her. What would he think of her for writing letters that she didn’t post on time? At this very moment he would be thinking she was still working away in Aberdeenshire when all the time she was sailing over the sea to Rhanna. It had been a pact of theirs always to let the other know exactly where they would be so that each could think of the other in that particular setting.

  Shona’s friend, Babbie Cameron, came swaying over the deck towards her. Babbie was not a good sailor and despite the calm crossing had suffered from seasickness for most of the journey. As a result her normally glowing face was a sickly white colour, though nothing could take away the dazzling bright sheen of the sunlight on her red hair. Nor could it completely quench the sparks of mischief in those green, amber-flecked eyes that had the translucent look of a clear sea freckled with seaweed. They were odd eyes, dreamily masking a million secrets, yet they sparkled with soft lights of laughter and kindness. Babbie was five years older than Shona and though they had known each other only a short time, they were already firm friends. It was unusual for Shona, who had never been one for girlfriends. Most of her childhood had been spent playing with boys, especially Niall, and as a result she had always been something of a tomboy. She got on well with men; with them there were no petty little jealousies or frivolous gossip such as she had sometimes encountered with girls. But Babbie was different. She was sensible, honest and great fun to be with.

  When Shona had first started her nurse’s training with the St Andrew’s Ambulance Corps, Babbie had taken her under her wing, always ready with helpful advice yet never too superior about it. Yet despite her open honesty and frank remarks, there was something very mysterious about Babbie. She was reticent about her private life, both past and present, yet this very enigmatic side to her only made Shona like her more. She felt that there was always something that was going to be new about Babbie, no matter how long she might know her.

  ‘Haven’t you found your sea legs yet?’ Shona chuckled. ‘If Canty Tam saw you now he would say you were a Uisga Hag – that means a sea witch. I thought I’d better warn you about such things now, for you’ll hear plenty about them on Rhanna.’

  Babbie smiled ruefully. ‘A sick witch might be more apt. I can always tell people that instead of sailing to the Hebrides I spewed my way across.’ She looked at the letter fluttering in her friend’s hand. ‘Is this you throwing guilty secrets into the sea?’

  ‘Och, Babbie, I’m a silly bitch right enough! This is the letter I wrote to Niall and just remembered I’d forgotten to post. What will he think of me posting letters from Rhanna that ought to have been posted from Aberdeen? It’s not as if things were all that good between us just now, certainly not good enough to allow mistakes like this.’

  Babbie eyed her friend thoughtfully. Shona was a stunningly beautiful girl, delicate and slender with huge blue eyes and a thick mass of naturally waving auburn hair. Sometimes she looked like a small girl who had lost her way in a dark wood and didn’t quite know how to get out of it again. She was looking like that now, tremulous and forlorn, yet the proud tilt of her head was defying pity or well-meant advice.

  A few minutes of silence passed while the gulls wheeled and screamed above the ship’s funnels and a crate of chickens covered by a tarpaulin clucked morosely in a corner. Nearby was a jumble of mail bags, paraffin drums and a mountain of coal which would keep the Rhanna folk supplied for two months or more.

  ‘This Niall of yours,’ Babbie said carefully, breaking the stillness, ‘you’ve told me often enough how much you love him, yet . . . you also hint that things are not as they should be between you. It’s none of my business I know but—’

  ‘Ay, you are quite right, Babbie,’ Shona interrupted angrily, ‘it is none of your business. I’ll have enough of the Rhanna folk prying into my affairs without you starting as well!’

  ‘I’m sorry, really,’ Babbie said turning away. ‘I was always too outspoken. My sister was forever giving me rows for it. Forget I mentioned Niall and . . . everything.’

  Shona was immediately sorry for her outburst and she gripped Babbie’s hand tightly. ‘Och, I’m the one who needs forgiveness . . . by a lot of people I love most. My temper always lets me down. Father says it’s a family failing, and how right he is. All my life I’ve had to fight it and just when I think I’ve won, it comes right back at me and hits me between the eyes. I do want to talk about Niall . . . and before we get to Rhanna there’s something I have got to tell you or nosy old Behag or one of her cronies will tell you for me. I’ve kept putting it off because I didn’t know what you’d think of me . . . innocent little Shona McKenzie with a past as black . . . as black as that coal there! Oh God! If only it was possible to wind the clock right back!’

  Babbie looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘Shona, you don’t have to tell me anything, we all have our secrets and the right to keep them as such. I won’t listen to Behag or anyone else for that matter. You can trust me.’

  The anger in Shona’s blue eyes changed to a look of tenderness. ‘I know that, Babbie. That’s one of the things I like most about you. But I want to tell you . . .’ She looked out to the sea and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the rail. ‘I have to talk to someone and I hope – when you’ve heard all the gory details you’ll still want to be my friend.’ She took a deep breath and gazed unseeingly over the glistening blue reaches of the Sound of Rhanna which they were just approaching.

  ‘Last summer, just about the time of the Dunkirk evacuations . . . I . . . gave birth to a baby . . . a little boy, Niall’s son. Niall was in France at the time and I thought he was dead. We got word from the War Office that he had gone missing, presumed to be killed . . . and I ran and ran over the Muir of Rhanna to a cave, our cave, Niall’s and mine. No one could find me, they searched all day and all night. During the search my little dog, Tot, died trying to find me. That may seem a trivial thing to you but oh God how I loved that dear little spaniel with her wee pot belly and her white muzzle! I got her as a present for my fifth birthday and we grew up together. She died and my little boy died . . . was born dead . . . and all because of my stupidity. If I hadn’t run away he might be alive now, but I thought Niall was dead, you see, and I couldn’t bear to think about that, didn’t believe it really, but of course I was living in a child’s world, trying to pretend that things weren’t true when they were going on all around me. I did it when Mirabelle died and when Father lost his arm and I did it again when I was giving birth to a tiny baby boy with Niall’s fair hair and Niall’s life inside him . . . And the guilt inside me is all the worse for knowing that I made Niall make love to me before he went away to France. I thought he might never come back and I wanted something that was his to hold on to! I made a mess of everything and I feel so guilty all the time. The lovely things I had with Niall, the innocence, the freedom of the carefree love we had between us – all has been ruined because of me. We were children together, before . . . before I turned it all upside down and now I can’t look at Niall without feeling soiled, without feeling that our love has been ruined. I still love him, there never has been nor ever will be anyone else yet . . . oh, I can’t understand it myself . . . but I don’t want to let him kiss me or touch me or even look at me too closely because I think he’s looking at me with accusation in his eyes. Och, he’s not of course but I just feel he is and until I get rid of that from my mind then . . . things can never be the same between us.’

  The tears were pouring unheeded down her face now and her breath came out in shuddering sobs. In a great rush of compassion Babbie took her into her arms and stroked her burnished hair. ‘There, there now, have a good greet, it’s the first step to healing that proud little heart of yours. I’m glad that you told me, if only to unburden yourself a bit . . . and I’m honoured to be your friend. Things will come right between you and Niall. I know they will, it will just take time, that’s all. Here, take my hanky and
give your nose a right good blow. It’s my best linen one so don’t blow too hard!’

  Shona obediently blew and even managed a smile at Babbie’s typically nonsensical words. ‘Och, Babbie, it’s me that’s honoured to have you for a friend,’ she said with a watery sniff. ‘It’s a good job we’re the only ones at this side of the rails or I would have given more than just you a free show. I’m sorry for being such a crybaby but I feel a lot better, better than I did a whily back anyway. Here’s your hanky back and don’t worry, I’ll wash it with my very own fair hands when we get home to Laigmhor.’ She looked quizzically at Babbie and said hesitantly, ‘I’ve talked a lot about myself and you’ve listened even though you look greener than a green Uisga Caillich. What about you, Babbie? I get this funny wee feeling that you hold yourself back all the time. You laugh a lot and talk a lot of daft nonsense but I think . . . the real you is hiding about somewhere under all the surface things.’

  Babbie waved an airy hand. ‘Ach, you and your funny wee feelings. I’ve already told you I was brought up in an orphanage in Argyll and that’s all there is to it! Nothing exciting about my background at all.’

  Shona’s gaze held Babbie’s for a long time before Babbie looked away with feigned interest at a seagull strutting over the deck. ‘Maybe it was at the orphanage that you learned to hold yourself back,’ Shona said softly. ‘For you do it all the time, Babbie Cameron. I am not the only one to be sewing myself up and throwing away the scissors, as Mirabelle used to say.’

  They both laughed and Babbie said gladly, ‘Well, thank goodness, a Mirabelle saying from you means we’re going to get away from all this serious talk. You invited me back to Rhanna with you for a rest, remember? And a rest I mean to have with a few of these ceilidhs you talk so much about and a crack or two with all those marvellous characters you’ve talked yourself blue in the face about ever since I met you.’