Hope in the dark

When Jimmy Mackie opened his eyes he thought he'd died. He was surrounded by darkness. Not the darkness of night time but the thick, shapeless, infinite void type of darkness that he thought sucked you up to heaven, or down to hell. He took a breath and choked. The air was thick with dust, smoke and the acrid smell of burning. It scorched his throat. He lifted a hand to cover his mouth and saw it was grey with dust and dirt and caked in congealed, crimson blood. What had happened?
Through the fog of his mind he caught faint slivers of a memory that he'd gone to the front room of his mother's house for sugar but after that, nothing.
As the darkness gradually began to take shape he realised the horror of his predicament. His right arm was pinned against the stone hearth by exploded chunks of cast iron. His head was nestled on the lower shelf of his mother's bookcase-the wooden shelf above, still intact, was precariously holding up blocks of masonry. His body was lying on its side, with his back against the smashed remnants of the porcelain wash basin from the floor above and his legs were bent; one he could move a little whilst the other was wedged between two wooden struts that Jimmy assumed used to be roof trusses. Beneath him was solid ground but above him, resting on piles of rubble and wood was the tin bath from the bathroom. It was the only thing protecting him from the crushing weight of the rest of the house.
It was at that point that Jimmy knew it was a bomb. He'd heard folk talking about the nazis dropping parachute bombs, or D.A's as some were calling them, on England. He never thought for a second they'd hit Clydebank. But was it over now? He held his breath and listened. All he could hear was the air raid siren wailing in the distance. Too late for him and probably a load others as well. For all he knew the entire town had been levelled. Was he the only one left, alive?
"Ma?" he quivered as tears began to pour across his nose and onto the dusty stone. Was she alive? Was she dead? He couldn't bear to think. He blocked it out and took a deep breath, gathering as much of his energy as he could and yelled at the top of his voice. "HELP, HEELLPP. Somedae HELP."
As he screamed he felt the ground beneath him shudder. Fearful that his cries had caused the house to shift he clasped his free arm round his head and gasped. With his heart pounding and his chest heaving, inhaling more of the chalky air, his eyes darted across the space looking for signs of movement. If he was going to be crushed he wanted some warning. Then there was a thud and a crash to his right. The tin bath above him rocked causing stone dust to rain down on him. He screwed his eyes shut and curled into as smaller ball as he was able. The house settled back down again.
He was helpless. The daren't call for help again. But if he didn't he'd never be rescued. No-one would know he was there.
'I wish I kent Morse code,' he thought. 'I could tap the bath. But then the vibrations might cause the hoose to shift again an crush me completely.'
He scanned around to see if there was any sliver of daylight poking through the rubble.
'If there is," he thought. 'Ah could poke sommin through it. Somedae might see it and ken I was 'ere. ' But everything was shrouded in the velvet sting of blackness.
The sense of utter despair germinated in his mind. He couldn't block out the thoughts of impending doom. How was he going to die? bleeding, thirst, starvation?
Thirst would catch him out first, or bleeding. Either way he didn't really care. At least it would be quicker than hunger.
He reached round his back to scratch an itch and felt a small tin on the floor behind him. It was open and some of the contents had spilled out. They were small and cubed. His heart skipped a beat. He knew what it was. Gingerly, he grasped the tin and brought it in front of him. It was the sugar cubes his mother wanted.
Jimmy smiled. Someone was watching over him. 'Wiz is da?' he thought.
Jimmy counted up the cubes and felt round his back for the stray ones that had fallen out. He then dusted off a patch of the stone hearth by his chest and counted the cubes as he lined them up in front of him.
Seventy-six. If he rationed himself to seven cubes a day he could last for eleven days; unless thirst claimed him first. Rationing he was used to. His mother taught him all he needed to know.
'Ah hope she's awright. Or if god has 'er I hope she didnae suffer,' he thought.
He said a little prayer for her and for everyone on Bally Street before he ate his first cube.
He savoured the grainy sweetness on his tongue, enjoying the brief moment of bliss before despair took over. That night he cried himself to sleep.

The next day he was awoken by the sound of muffled voices. They were distant, but definitely recognisable as voices.
"Help," he cried. "Am doon here. Help. Help me."
He wasn't sure if anyone heard him at first but when the voices grew quieter, his beacon of hope was snuffed out.
If it wasn't for the gentle sound of trickling water he would have given up and shuffled about until the house dropped on him. He listened and saw, down by the knee of his free leg the slow drip, drip of water.
In sheer desperation to relieve the stabbing pain in his throat from every dry breath he took, he reached his hand down and tried to cup a few droplets. Hurriedly he brought it up to his parched lips and sucked and licked up every molecule. He repeated it over and over again before realising that he had to somehow capture it in something. He felt around and found a spoon near to where his other arm was still pinned to the floor.
He drank spoon after spoon of the gritty water before wondering where it had come from. He noticed that since he'd been awake the air wasn't quite as smoky as the day before. 'Mibbe they've put the fires oot.'
That instantly terrified him. He realised that if the fires were out there would be no reason for them to come back.
"Help. Somedae, please, help me. HEELLLPPPP," he bellowed.
But no-one came.
Another day passed and out of sheer depression and hopelessness Jimmy scoffed twenty of his cubes-at least three days of his ration. He scolded himself afterwards for being weak.
"'That's no wit da widda wanted, Jimmy," he said as he struggled to stop his lower lip from quivering.
A lone tear fell from the corner of his eye. In his heart he knew his plight was without a miraculous ending. He was hungry, he was thirsty, the numbness in his right arm was creeping up towards his shoulder, his left leg was stiff and right side was in agony from laying on it for two days.
He prayed for death, and while he waited he sang the only hymn he could remember that would cheer him up.
"Aw things bright and beautiful. Aw creatures, great an small..."
The words lift his lips with a distracted stupor, as though he wasn't really paying attention to what he was singing.

The next day, as he sucked on a sugar cube, his mind wandering into and out of consciousness, there was a distant rumbling sound outside the house. At first he paid no attention to it. His mind was so addled with fatigue he thought it was playing tricks on him. Then the rumbling was accompanied by sounds of muffled voices, and sounds of crumbling rubble. Minute by minute the voices grew louder and sharper. His heart suddenly started beating faster than he had ever felt it. His eyes pinged open. A renewed sense of hope had recharged his entire body. He took a deep breath and drew up as much energy as his weak body could muster.
"I'm in here!" he yelled.
He listened.
"Ah hear him. Ah hear him. Over here. He's over here," shouted a voice from the other side.
Terrified they might leave, Jimmy continued to call out until a sharp spear of brilliant white light pierced the darkness of his prison. He held his hand up to his eyes to shield them from the blinding sparkle.
"Get a stretcher, noo," Jimmy heard someone shout.
Within half an hour his rescuers had removed most of what was on top of him, including the tin bath that saved his life and he was out in the sunshine.
As he was carried out to the waiting ambulance he glanced down his street. As he'd feared every one of the houses that had once been filled with people were now just piles of stone.
"You're lucky you've got a singin' voice, laddie," one of the men said. "If ah didnae hear ya last night youda probably been doon there fer ever."
Jimmy smiled. "Thanks," he said.
"Dinnae thank me. Thank yer ma. She wiz the one that tole me ta come doon an see if ah cud find ye."
"Ma," he said, sitting bolt upright. "She's alive."
"Aye, she's fine," the man said, pushing Jimmy back down on the stretcher. "She's in the hospital. You'll see her in a wee while."
As the ambulance chugged down the street, weaving around the demolished buildings, Jimmy mouthed the words 'thank you' to the heavens and vowed to himself that he'd learn more hymns.