Jessica Brockmole - Letters from Skye

Saturday, 14 September 1940

Paul,

Mother sent a letter that arrived at the same time as yours, only hers was written two days before.

Oh, Paul, we had no idea! We’d had no mail, much less a newspaper, for days. A blitz attack that left all of London burning? Gran sent me straight into Portree for news and for a telegram to Emily, in case Mother had left London earlier and made it to Edinburgh.

I can scarcely believe what I’m reading, Paul. Hundreds of bombs, all over the city. Sure, there have been air raids in London before. We’ve all had air raids. But for so much so fast on one city… I just can’t comprehend. When they fall, they don’t discriminate. The London my mother knew truly is gone.

And then almost every day since! A city besieged. I hope, I pray, she’s not there, but Emily said the house in Edinburgh is still shut tight, so I do what she’s been doing all these months. I wait. And watch the post.

I know that you’re out there flying in it all. Paul, please be safe. For me.

Love, Maisie LONDON STANDS STRONG AFTER 10TH NIGHT OF ATTACKS London, Tuesday, 17 September

After hundreds of German raiders swarmed over London last night and early this morning in the fiercest air attack yet, the city stands strong, with only a single casualty and minimal damage.

During the day, London heard a number of alarms, including one lasting nearly four hours—the longest yet for a daytime warning. The attack was made difficult by patches of fog hanging low over the city. The sirens began again in earnest sometime after 8 P.M., when the skies cleared, and they continued, unabated, until 2:42 A.M., when the anti-aircraft shells finally succeeded in driving off the Nazi attackers. But the citizens of London did not rest for long in their shelters, as a new warning sounded at 3:52 A.M. and another wave of raiders hit the besieged city.

High-explosive bombs were dropped in Central London in wave after wave, damaging buildings and shattering windows within a half-mile radius. Incendiary bombs fell on a popular shopping area and a number of residential neighbourhoods, keeping the fire watches busy with their gallant fight. In Portland Place, a heavy bomb fell, destroying a coal-gas main in the street and causing damage to the fashionable Langham Hotel….

Isle of Skye

6 April 1917

My love,

I’m not sure if I can send food as well, but I can’t bear to think of you hungry when I have so much more. Apples, bread, smoked sausage, cheese, beans, rice, salted herring, onions, jam. Not much fresh coming through my little garden yet, so I’ve included some dried peas. I hope they all make it to you with no trouble.

This time last year you were in hospital and I was frantic with worry. I won’t say I don’t worry about you now, as I worry every day we’re apart, but at least I know that you are safe and whole and missing me dearly.

I’ve also started writing to Minna. Did you know she’s had a baby? The bonniest wee boy, with a sprinkling of pale hair, like Harry. She sent a photo. Do you hear from Harry at all? It must be hard for her to be alone.

I’m tucking a kiss inside this envelope with the letter. Be sure that you grab tight to it before it wiggles out and escapes!

Love, Sue

Kriegsgefangenen-Sendung, Postkarte

April 23, 1917

Sue,

Last night I saw the most beautiful sunset. It made me think about the time we took the tram out to Portobello and watched the sunset from the beach. Even though the water was freezing, you dared me to roll up my trousers and wade in. Then you sat on my lap and buried your toes in the sand and we shared that god-awful pie that you made. God-awful or not, I wish I had that pie now. And the sand. And the sunset. But, most of all, I wish I had you.

Davey

Isle of Skye

2 May 1917

Davey,

Of course I remember that sunset. I think that was the first time I’d ever sat and just watched the sun slip below the horizon. I truly felt the earth rotating beneath me. Or that could have been the kiss.

Love you, E

Isle of Skye

18 May 1917

Davey,

I haven’t heard from you in a while. I wish I wasn’t starting to feel the first fingers of worry plucking at my heart, the way they always do when I miss a letter or two from you. You have to admit, your history in that respect hasn’t been exemplary. When you don’t write, it’s usually for a reason that makes me have to sit down to read the letter when it does come—being wounded and in hospital, being taken prisoner. What is it this time? What is there left?

I did something different this time. I left Emily with the boys and I went to church. I didn’t go to the stuffy Presbyterian church of my youth but rather to the tiny Catholic chapel in Portree. I remembered the warmth and mystery of St. Mary’s and, besides, I thought if I wanted to put in a special request to God to keep you safe, perhaps I should appeal to the Catholic God you pray to.

I wasn’t the only one in the chapel that day. Other women were there, in veils and scarves, muttering prayers and lighting candles. I brought along your little Bible and traced your name with my fingertip. I lit a candle and, not knowing the proper prayers, just closed my eyes and thought about you. When I opened them, a woman was sitting by my side, quietly watching me. “Have you said a novena for him?” I admitted I wasn’t Catholic, half-expecting her to order me out of the church. Instead, she put her hand on mine and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll say an extra for you.” She gave me her carved wooden rosary and promised to teach me the prayers when she saw me again.

I felt much better after leaving. Even though it is a bit of a journey for me to get to Portree, I now know a place I can go when I want to feel close to you.

Love, Sue

Isle of Skye

22 May 1917

Davey,

Please quell these fears within me. I have been bicycling to Portree nearly every day to pray for you, and I need some confirmation that my prayers have been answered. These Catholic prayers are newly learned, and I want to be sure I’m doing something right.

Anything, Davey! A postcard. A sentence. A word, even. Please.

Sue

June 1, 1917

Sue,

I’ve debated for a while about how best to write this to you. You don’t know how many versions have ended up in the grate. I suppose the best thing is just to come out and say it.

Iain is alive.

He’s not dead, Sue. He’s here, in this same camp.

A few weeks ago, we were out having our exercise. A group of British men had recently been transferred to our camp and were clustered on one side of the yard. I tell you, my girl, it brought tears to my eyes to hear English spoken after nothing but French and the occasional indecipherable bit of Russian for six months! I hurried right over to one of the guys, begging to be let in on a conversation, any conversation.

One asked where I was from. I said, “Illinois,” and another man called out, “Illinois? You don’t say! I have family there. What part?” Europeans never seem to realize the vastness of the United States, so when I said, “Chicago. Urbana, for a while,” this guy said to me, “Why, my cousin lives in Chicago! Frank Trimball. Surely you know him? I’ll ask him about you. What’s your name?”

I told him my name and heard a bellow from somewhere within the throng: “David Graham from Urbana, Illinois?”

I must’ve responded, Sue, because the next thing I knew, I was on the ground with a stinging cheek and grit in my eyes.

I heard someone say, “What’d you do that for, mate?” and I stood up, still reeling, to see a stranger, his fists clenched, his mouth twisted.

“That was for falling in love with my wife.”

Dizzy, I didn’t react quickly enough to avoid the second punch.

“And that was for making her fall in love with you.”

I spat blood. “Who the hell are you?” I asked, already guessing the answer.

“Elspeth’s husband. Or have you gone after so many married women you lost track?”

You really didn’t think I could let that comment slide by, now, did you, Sue? Of course I went after him. What followed could only be described as an old-fashioned schoolyard brawl.

It seemed to go on for ages, but it was probably only a matter of minutes before we heard shouts in German and the others finally succeeded in pulling us apart.