Language in the Blood
By Angela Lockwood
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situations, are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2013 Angela Lockwood
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the permission of the author.
First published (ebook) August 2013
Amazon Createspace (print) August 2015
ISBN 978-2-9554053-2-1 (Angela Lockwood)
Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favourite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.
To my husband Adam who, on a rainy day when I was bored to tears, told me ‘just write a book!’.
I would like to thank my friend Penny Hunter for her input and editing, as one doesn’t ‘just write’ a book.
Table of contents
Chapter 1: Cameron
Chapter 3: Andrei
Chapter 4: Lily
Chapter 5: Fifi
Chapter 6: Hélène
Chapter 7: Fergus
Chapter 8: Charley
Chapter 9: Rashid
Chapter 10: Ivana
Chapter 11: Yvette
Chapter 12: George the Elder
Chapter 13: Gianluca
Chapter 14: Madeleine
Chapter 15: Pavel
Chapter 16: Eugene
Chapter 17: George the Younger
Chapter 18: Ermintrude
Chapter 19: Nanette
Chapter 20: Klaus
Chapter 21: Roberto
Chapter 22: Marjorie
Chapter 23: Emmy
Chapter 24: Serge
Chapter 25: Pablo
Chapter 26: James
Chapter 27: Hedwig
Chapter 28: Carl-Heinz
Chapter 30: Lyudmila
Chapter 31: Baz
Chapter 32: Jean-Claude
Other works by Angela Lockwood
Chapter 1: Cameron
I was born in Edinburgh in 1895 and had a normal upbringing. My dad worked at the McEwan’s brewery in Fountainbridge and my mother did a bit of sewing for the women in the neighbourhood. We didn’t have much spare, but I had a happy time growing up, often playing with other boys by the Water of Leith, doing what all boys do when they find themselves by the riverside and getting rows from our mums for coming home all wet and dirty.
I didn’t excel at school and left at 14 to become an apprentice cooper at the brewery. My parents weren’t too upset at my leaving school; whilst they would have been pleased to have a doctor or a lawyer in the family, my dad was proud of his work and was happy enough for me to follow in his footsteps. Work at the brewery was hard, but I liked the fact that my dad and I could walk there together and I already knew most of the men. My schoolfriend Wee Tam worked there too so we were still able to switch sandwiches like we’d done at school. I preferred his mum’s sarnies, though I’d never have told mine that. Wee Tam on the other hand would eat anything and preferably in large quantities – he could eat for Scotland so we were all amazed that he stayed so small and weedy.
Most of my friends followed their dads into their respective trades too. Big Tam became an apprentice brickie and Fat Malckie went to help his dad out in their shop. The Malcolms had a small grocery where we would go and buy sweets if we had any money, which was probably the reason that Malckie was the only fat kid in my class. We were all jealous of him and his easy access to so many sweets, but we all liked him as he’d sometimes give us a few too. Only Hootie was more academically gifted and he got a bursary for a place at Edinburgh University to study law. We’d always made a lot of fun of Alistair Henderson as he wore spectacles and was just a bit too clever. We told him he looked like an owl and the name Hootie quickly stuck.
My friends and I signed up together when war broke out. We were all 18 and 19 and it seemed like the right thing to do. My dad said he was proud of me and warned me not to turn any girls’ heads in my fancy new uniform, but he needn’t have worried. I only had eyes for my Fiona, and had promised her we would get married when the war was won.
Bagpipes played as we boarded the steamer for France. On board, my friends and I, all part of the new pal’s battalion of the Royal Scots Lothian Regiment, played cards and smoked, blissfully unaware of what was waiting for us on the other side. We didn’t discuss the possibility of dying. We were young and naïve and besides, it was a different time back then; we didn’t talk about our fears and feelings. We all went on that boat feeling sure we’d be back in a few months after we’d given the Germans a good drubbing.