In Another Time

The next morning, Betty Harp brought them news of Lillian, who was apparently doing well. She had been transferred from the cottage hospital in Brechin to the much larger Dundee Royal Infirmary, where surgeons had operated on her hand overnight. Betty praised Dot’s quick thinking and determination, and told the group that because Dot had kept pressure on Lillian’s hand all through the journey to the hospital, the doctors were hopeful that Lillian would not lose the use of her fingers, though only time would tell.

Once the lumberjills had applauded this good news, Betty repeated her lecture about safety in the mill, about wearing their gloves at all times—“Lillian might have cut her hand, but she’s kept her fingers because she was wearing her gloves”—and about doing exactly what they were damn well told.

Once the lecture was over, all the girls gathered around Dot, patting her on the back and congratulating her. Dot tried to say it was nothing, that anyone else would have done the same, but Maisie could see that under the pink flush, Dot was thrilled.

And all through the rest of the week Dot was like a new person; rescuing Lillian had provided her the confidence to take on any number of tasks. And there were so many new things still to learn in the sawmill that even Maisie felt rather overwhelmed.

By Friday afternoon—the end not only of their sawmill training but of their Timber Corps training too—everyone was sick and tired of the work, as well as the stifling heat in the shed.

The unusually high temperature rather spoiled what should have been an exciting day. They had come to the end of their training at last, even if they were now looking at unknown futures. In fact, the weather was so unbelievably hot for September that at knocking-off time there were no cheers at all. Everyone just drifted wearily toward the track up to Shandford Lodge, wiping the dust and sweat off their faces and necks with scarves and handkerchiefs, not even bothering to congratulate each other for finishing the grueling training.

“Ladies!” Phyllis shouted from behind them, bringing them all to a stop. She was standing by the same Bedford truck that had carried Lillian to the hospital days before. “To mark this auspicious day, the end of our lumberjill training, we will be taking a little detour to do something we should have done days ago. Come on, up you get, and we’ll be on our way.”

With that, Phyllis pulled herself up into the driver’s seat and beeped the horn twice as the ignition roared.

Maisie looked around for the truck’s usual driver, a man named Eddie, but there was no sign of him. She clambered aboard the flatbed anyway, sitting down just as the truck lurched off toward the main road.

For the first time in hours—days even—Maisie felt cool, fresh air ruffle her sweaty hair and blouse. Was this what Phyllis had planned? A refreshing breeze for the trip home? But then Phyllis drove past their usual turnoff, and they were almost to Forfar before she suddenly swung the truck off the road and down a rutted dirt track. Maisie grunted involuntarily as she was thrown around with the other girls, bouncing on the hard truck floor every time Phyllis hit a bump. Fortunately, Phyllis soon slammed on the brakes, cut the engine, and jumped down from the cab.

“Follow me!” she cried, and was over a gate and off down a footpath beside a recently harvested field before anyone could ask her where they were going. Soon, Maisie was picking her way with Dot and the other lumberjills along the side of the barley stubble toward a wooded area at the far side of the field.

Maisie had long since given up trying to guess where they were being led when she heard excited cries followed by a splash. As she and Dot came through the thick curtain of young larches, an expanse of dark-blue water extended away from them. The sun dappled silver onto the surface, and ripples extended out across the long and slender loch. Suddenly, a naked Phyllis rose up from the surface, spraying water around her, and Maisie found herself clapping and laughing with delight.

“Come on in, everyone!” Phyllis cried through the sheet of water pouring over her face. “It’s glorious!” Then she turned away and, bending double, gave a neat surface dive back into the water, a move that brought her bare buttocks up to the surface for a split second before they vanished again, followed by her legs, with a neat scissors kick of her feet.

Catherine, Mairi, and Mary clearly needed no second invitation, because they were already tearing off their sweat-soaked uniforms and charging over the soft grass into the water. The older women, Cynthia, Anna, and Helen, were a little more genteel, folding their uniforms neatly on top of their boots before tiptoeing down to the edge and easing themselves into the water with gasps and giggles.

“This is fantastic!” Maisie cried to Dot, as she tried to undo both bootlaces at the same time. “Why did no one think of doing this before?”

One boot came off, then the other, and Maisie was undoing the buttons on her blouse when she realized that Dot was still standing, fully dressed, staring at the women in the water, who were all splashing each other and laughing like children.

“Come on, Dot,” said Maisie, “let’s get in there quick. We’re all so hot, I reckon we’ll set the loch to boil like a kettle.” Maisie was down to her underwear when Dot turned away from her, gazing instead into the trees behind them.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” Maisie lowered her voice a little. “It’s only us girls.”

Still Dot didn’t move.

“Can’t you swim?” Maisie asked gently.

“No, it’s not that.”

“If you can’t swim, don’t worry, it doesn’t look deep. At least come in as far as your waist, so you’ll get cool. I’ll stay beside you, in case.”

“It’s not that I can’t swim.” Dot was now fingering the top button of her blouse. “It’s … well, I don’t have a swimsuit.”

Maisie almost laughed, but stopped herself in time when she saw Dot wasn’t joking, and it struck Maisie that she had never seen Dot get dressed or undressed in front of anyone else. Maisie, like all the others, got her uniform or her pajamas on beside her bed, without really thinking who else was around, but Dot never did. In fact, Maisie couldn’t work out where Dot did dress—under the blankets, or in the ablutions block behind the dormitory huts? Wherever, she was always dressed ahead of everyone else.

“Well, neither do they,” she said kindly, indicating the girls already swimming. “And neither do I.”

“I know, but …”

Maisie was torn. She desperately wanted to swim, but Dot looked so upset. Either way, she was standing on a loch shore in nothing but her underwear, so she really ought to decide—

That was it!

“We can swim in our bra and knickers then.” Maisie suggested. “It’s so warm today, they’ll dry out again in no time.”

Dot glanced back at the cool water of the loch, and a faint smile began to break through the worry.

“I know I’m being ridiculous, but—”

“You’re not being ridiculous, but you are wasting valuable swimming time. So come on, get those boots off!”

A minute later, Maisie grabbed Dot’s hand and led her to where the soft mud at the water’s edge cooled their feet even before the chilly water could make them gasp as it wrapped around their ankles, then their knees. There was a chorus of catcalls from the other women as Maisie took a deep breath and plunged into the water.

It felt wonderful, as if the water was sloughing off every bit of dirt and sweat that had caked her skin over the last few weeks, cleansing her in a way that no five inches of tepid bathwater ever could.

From somewhere a bar of soap had appeared—a very ladylike pale lilac soap that smelled wonderfully of lavender—and eventually, it was passed to Catherine, who then passed it to Maisie. For months now, the only soap they’d been able to get with their ration books was carbolic, harsh, bright pink, and sold in utilitarian blocks. So being able to rub this soft and silky, sweet-smelling lather over her skin and into her hair was sheer luxury, even if there was mud oozing between her toes, and pond weed—at least she hoped it was pond weed—grabbing at her ankles.

Tempting though it was to linger with the soap, Maisie offered the bar to Mary, who was chatting nearby to Dot and Mairi. Dot, Maisie noticed, was looking relaxed now, but was also making sure everything below her shoulders stayed under the water.

Mary took the soap, sniffed it, and pulled a comically disgusted face. “What a choice to make,” she said. “I can stay stinking like a sweaty cesspit, or I can use this soap and smell like my granny instead.”

“Well, I thought it smelled lovely,” said Maisie as she eased herself back under the water again, moving her head from side to side to clear the soap from her hair.

As Maisie surfaced again, she saw that Phyllis and Helen were now standing on the grass beside their clothes. Helen was squeezing the water from her long brown braid as Phyllis rubbed her short hair into a messy crown with her undershirt. Although Maisie wouldn’t have hesitated to strip off to swim if it hadn’t been for Dot, she was still struck by Phyllis’s and Helen’s complete lack of embarrassment. Neither seemed to find it the slightest bit unusual to be standing naked in the open air, whereas Maisie knew that she would soon be rushing to get her clothes on as quickly as possible. Even though her belt was these days pulled two notches tighter than when she’d first arrived at Shandford Lodge, proving how much flatter her belly had become from all the physical work, Maisie was still self-conscious about her size. Hadn’t her parents been telling her she was fat—or “hefty,” to use her father’s expression—all her life? Perhaps Phyllis and Helen were lucky enough to have kinder, more sensitive parents.

Just then, something caught Maisie’s eye from the trees beyond where Phyllis and Helen stood. A face peeked out, then another, and then a third. Maisie distinctly heard giggling and realized that they were being watched by three young boys of perhaps eleven or twelve.

Instinctively, Maisie ducked down into the water until her shoulders were covered, and called to Mary and Mairi, who were already wading out of the loch. “Girls, wait!” She pointed her finger toward the peeping toms in the trees.

There was a squeak from behind her, as Dot saw too, and within a second, Mary and Mairi were back under the water.

“Phyllis!” Mary called, her hand cupping her mouth, “Phyllis! We have visitors!”

Phyllis looked at Mary, and then at the boys Mary was pointing to. Helen grabbed her uniform and held it up in front of herself, apparently discovering her embarrassment at last. But Phyllis simply glanced back toward the women in the water with a wide grin.

The boys didn’t seem to notice they’d been spotted until Phyllis was already heading toward them. One of them let out a shriek and ducked behind his tree. The others followed suit, but none of them reappeared from the other side to run away.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” called Phyllis in a singsong voice, and Maisie had to laugh. She’d bet these boys had never played a game of hide-and-seek quite like this one. “If you’re so interested in female anatomy, lads, you might as well come and have a really good look while you have the chance.”

There was the sound of a skirmish, and suddenly a boy was shoved out from behind the tree and held there by his friends as he tried desperately to fight his way back into cover. This boy was older than Maisie’d first thought, more like thirteen, though she guessed he had yet to hit the true growth spurt that came with puberty. Right now, however, he looked like a young deer caught in the beam of a ghillie’s flashlight, quivering yet hypnotized.

“So, what’s your name then, young man?” Phyllis asked in her best schoolmistress voice, as if she weren’t standing stark naked in front of a boy young enough to be one of her pupils.

He swallowed before he croaked, “Davey,” but when Phyllis placed her hands on her hips in what would have been a stern gesture in other circumstances, he corrected himself. “I mean, David Matheson, Miss … erm … Mrs …”

Phyllis nodded at him, the motion of which sent her breasts swinging, something that Davey seemed to find quite hypnotic. “You may call me Miss Cartwright. And now, young David, will you introduce me to your friends too?”

Davey continued to stare at Phyllis’s chest but vaguely beckoned to his friends with one hand, in the manner of someone half-asleep. Five seconds of noisy shuffling later, the two other lads appeared. This pair, however, had no courage to look at the naked woman; they kept their eyes studiously on their boots. Glancing at them, Davey followed their example and dropped his gaze too.

“Poor little sods,” chuckled Mary from where she was mostly submerged next to Maisie.

“This experience could scar them for life,” replied Mairi.

“I think it’s scarring me for life,” joined in Dot, and they all laughed, sending out ripples around them. The movement of the water against Maisie’s shoulders made her shiver, the delicious relief of cool water on her skin now turning into shivering cold, as goose bumps broke out on any skin that was still exposed to the afternoon breeze. She really wanted to get out of the water now, but there was no way she would stand up with those boys there.

“So, is it polite to spy on other people?” Phyllis was saying in a clear voice.

All three boys shook their heads solemnly without lifting their eyes.

“Then perhaps it’s about time you got off home. I’m sure your mothers will be very keen to hear what you’ve been up to this afternoon.”

Davey nudged his elbow against his friend, who did the same to the third boy, and all three of them shuffled sideways toward the tree.

“I’m sorry, boys, I didn’t quite hear what you said there,” Phyllis sounded very stern.

“Thank you, miss. Sorry, miss. Good-bye, miss,” mumbled the boys as they moved.

“That’s better,” said Phyllis, as she shooed them away with one hand. “And good-bye to you too.”

Sensing that they had been released, all three boys suddenly pelted behind the trees, reappearing three seconds later as they dashed toward the thicker bushes beyond. Maisie heard one of them let out a triumphant whoop, which was followed by a succession of cheers and yells, the boys clearly delighting in their narrow escape from the spitting venom of a naked Medusa.

Hearing the exultant cries, Phyllis put her head back and guffawed. “I don’t think they’ll be back anytime soon, do you?” she crowed.

“No, but their big brothers will be,” called Mary.

“And their dads,” added Mairi.

With relief, Maisie and the other girls left the water and pulled their clothes over their soaking bodies. Maisie wasn’t about to let the presence of the boys disrupt her pleasant afternoon.

Walking back to where the truck was parked, Maisie tugged at the back of her trouser leg, pulling the fabric off her damp skin. With soaking underwear under dry clothes, it wasn’t going to be the most comfortable ride home, but the swim had been worth it.

“Thank you for not laughing at me,” Dot said suddenly.

“Why would I have laughed at you?” Maisie replied.

“You know, with the swimsuit thing. It’s only that, well, I’m not used to being so open and uninhibited. I’m not very good around other women, I suppose.”

“But that’s nonsense—you’ve made loads of friends here.”

“No, Maisie, you’ve made loads of friends, and they all let me tag along because they like you so much.”

“That’s not true, and you know—”

Dot put her hand on Maisie’s arm. “I’m serious. I’ve got four big brothers, and their favorite sport is to make my life miserable. My whole life they’ve been shoving me, and stealing my things, and tearing my clothes, and so I spent my time at home trying to be invisible. But then they started picking on anyone I tried to be friends with. It took a while, but in the end, no one at school or in our street dared talk to me because of what my brothers would do to them.”

Maisie felt heartsick for her friend. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

Dot shrugged. “It’s not something I’m all that proud of.”

“But didn’t your mother—”

“She died when I was little. I don’t remember her much.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Maisie felt a sudden wave of shame, never having considered herself lucky to have her mother and sister. They had always just been there.

Maisie and Dot were almost at the truck now, and everyone else was already clambering on board.

“I always wanted to be one of those pretty girls,” Dot continued, “like Anna and Lillian. Or outgoing, like Phyllis, or someone who makes friends so easily, like you. But that was impossible. My brothers saw to that.”

“But didn’t your dad stop them?”

Dot slowed her steps. “My dad,” she said quietly, “well, my dad’s not a very nice man.”

Maisie almost replied that her dad wasn’t a very nice man either, but Dot’s lowered eyes and stillness told her that her own family problems could not compare, so she said nothing.

“I’ve never really had a best friend before I met you, Maisie, or any friend actually. And before coming here, I’d never really been around any women either, so I was terrified on the journey here.”

“But if the idea of being with a large group of women scared you so much,” Maisie asked, “then why would you join what is basically a large group of women?”

Dot looked at Maisie for several seconds, seeming to consider her answer very carefully.

“Because,” she said eventually, “the idea of staying at home with a large group of men was worse.”

Maisie reached for her friend’s hand and squeezed it tight. “You’re the best friend I could have hoped to find, Dot. I couldn’t have survived the last few weeks without you.”

Maisie was about to add how much she was dreading the postings being announced later that evening, in case she got separated from Dot, but why make it even worse? Even the thought of it made her nervous, so instead, she reached to put her arms around Dot.

Dot immediately shied away. “Best friend or not,” she cried with a sudden grin, “you are not hugging me while you smell as bad as Mary’s granny!”

WOMEN’S TIMBER CORPS CAMP

AUCHTERBLAIR, CARRBRIDGE, INVERNESS-SHIRE

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 12^TH, 1942

And then, training was over. The morning of the final day, the huts had been cleared, cleaned, and inspected before breakfast. Chores finished, Maisie stood with her suitcase, alongside all the other lumberjills, in front of the lodge waiting for the trucks to arrive to take them to their new camps. Maisie was looking forward to her next adventure, but was sorry to be losing so many new friends almost as soon as she’d found them.

When the postings had been announced last night, there had been squeals of delight as some close friends learned that they would move on together, but there had been tears too.

Miss Cradditch had read down the list of recruits alphabetically, each name immediately followed by one of the WTC camps around Scotland. Helen and Phyllis had learned almost immediately that they had been posted together somewhere in Perthshire, then Mary, Mairi, and Cynthia had found out that they would all be at the Advie camp, near Grantown-on-Spey. Maisie had grown anxious as Old Crabby reached the names beginning with M.

“McCall, Margaret,” Old Crabby had shouted, and Maisie’s stomach had lurched. “Auchterblair, Speyside.”

Maisie had been sure she hadn’t yet heard Auchterblair called out after anyone else’s name, but if the camp was in Speyside, she would be close to Mary, Mairi, and Cynthia, even though they wouldn’t all be at the same camp. But then, as Old Crabby had continued down the list, and no one else was assigned to Auchterblair, Maisie had grown uneasy. She didn’t want to go somewhere by herself.

Finally, Old Crabby had reached the last name on the list.

“Thompson, Dorothy.”

Dot had raised her hand. Maisie hadn’t been able to breathe.

“Auchterblair, Speyside,” Old Crabby had shouted, and a huge weight had lifted from Maisie’s heart. She and Dot were moving together to Auchterblair, wherever that was. Scary though it was to leave Shandford Lodge, at least she’d have Dot at her side. Then she and Dot had hugged each other, and all the other girls had joined in too, everyone laughing and crying at the same time.

How ironic, Maisie thought as the first Bedford rolled up the drive, that she had shed more tears last night about leaving her new friends from Shandford Lodge than she had when she’d left her family in Glasgow.

The trucks, it turned out, were not only arriving to pick up, they were also dropping off. Down clambered a new set of fresh-faced lumberjills-to-be, all soft, silent, and clearly terrified. Watching the new arrivals, Maisie could see how much she had changed from the new recruit of six weeks ago. Not only was she slimmer and fitter now, more tanned and muscular, Maisie knew she was different inside too. She wasn’t scared anymore to handle an ax or saw, or to drive a car—actually, she was still a little scared of the car—and she’d swum almost naked in a loch and had had her first dance with a man. She felt older, and wiser, and best of all, she had friends now, good friends, and these women loved and respected her. They treated her not as a child, but as an equal.

And that felt right. Maisie was not the spoiled child who had walked down Sutherland Avenue without a backward glance six weeks earlier. She was Maisie McCall of the Women’s Timber Corps. She was a fully trained lumberjill, ready to go out into the forests to work—and to work bloody hard—to help her country win the war.

But suddenly, Maisie wished that her parents could see her now, and Beth too. They would be proud of her. Surely.

Maisie felt a surprisingly strong twinge of … something. Homesickness, or guilt? What if something happened to her? Or to her parents, or Beth?

Old Crabby interrupted her thoughts by calling for everyone going to Speyside, the camps at Ballater, Grantown-on-Spey, and Auchterblair, to board the truck on the far side, which was leaving shortly. Everyone else was to board the two nearer trucks to be taken down to the train station.

But as the other girls began picking up their luggage, Maisie quickly crouched down and clicked open her suitcase. Rummaging, she found the postcard she’d bought a month earlier. Even though it had been tucked inside a book, it was still crumpled and torn at one corner. But it would have to do.

Her only pencil was the thick-leaded one that she used to mark measurements on the cut timber, but that too would have to do. On one side of the bent card, Maisie wrote her mother’s name and their home address, and then on the other side:

Completed WTC training. From today, Sat Sept 12, will be stationed at WTC Auchterblair Camp, Carrbridge, Inverness-shire.

Maisie

Entrusting her suitcase to Dot, Maisie ran over to where Old Crabby stood on the lodge steps and held out the postcard.

“Would you mind posting this for me, Miss Cradditch?”

Old Crabby grunted something as she took the card. Then she grunted again when Maisie grabbed it back and scrawled additional words.

Sending love to you and Li—

She had started to write “Lilibet,” the sweet nickname for Beth that they’d borrowed from Princess Elizabeth, but writing that felt too … well, Maisie wasn’t in the mood to be quite so nice to her family yet.

She wrote instead, “Sending love to you and Beth,” handed over the card, and sprinted for the truck.

It wasn’t comfortable, bouncing around on the hard seats in the back of the Bedford, listening to the engine whine and the gears grind as the driver urged the vehicle higher and higher into the Cairngorm Mountains, and Shandford Lodge was soon far behind them. They passed through pretty villages like Laurencekirk and Aboyne, and eventually reached Ballater, where they dropped off half of the lumberjill load, including Catherine and Anna, who tumbled out with hugs and promises to write.

It was certainly beautiful countryside, the road looping over steep and majestic hills, and through wide swathes of treeless wilderness. Soon, though, a thick fog rolled over the road, blocking the view.

They stopped for the driver to have a smoke, and so they could disappear behind a gorse bush to have a pee. As they climbed aboard again, the driver told them that it wasn’t so much fog as a low cloud on a high road, which crested hill after hill as it rose and fell. Either way, they spent the next part of the journey peering into a thick curtain of mist. The air grew colder, and Maisie was glad to have her heavy WTC-issue coat. She’d been sitting on it to cushion the bumps, but since a bruised bum was preferable to frostbite, she now wrapped the coat tightly around herself, and Dot did the same with hers, as they huddled together on the bench. Had they really swum in a loch only yesterday? Maisie shivered at the thought.

The truck gradually wove down from the mountains, to where the countryside was flatter, warmer, and sunnier, with the road passing through dense woodland shade at times, and at others giving them glances of the sparkling River Spey. They dropped Mairi, Mary, and Cynthia at Advie, near Grantown-on-Spey, which left only Maisie and Dot in the back, and at last, they reached Carrbridge and Maisie felt a rush of excitement. In a matter of minutes, she would be a real lumberjill in a real forest camp, and her real life would begin.

Beyond the last stone house in the village, there was a hand-painted sign pointing to a track going off to the right, which said simply NOFU. Maisie would have thought no more about it but for the appearance of two men walking out from that track and onto the main road, talking animatedly and paying no attention to the three-ton truck hurtling toward them.

The quick-thinking driver threw the wheel, and the Bedford lurched, missing the men, but slamming Dot and Maisie hard against each other. The driver swore loudly, and Maisie heard shouts from behind. She looked back, expecting to see raised fists and angry faces, but instead, the two men were waving enthusiastically and shouting something at the truck. Before Maisie could stop her, Dot was waving back.

“Dot, don’t!” Maisie grabbed her friend’s hand.

“Why not? They were only being friendly.” Dot retrieved her hand from under Maisie’s and started waving again. “See?”

Maisie looked back as one of the men—the darker-haired of the two—lifted one hand in the air, flourishing a lit cigarette, and bent low in a deep, if slightly unsteady, Jacobean bow.

Neither girl could suppress their laughter at this ridiculous gesture, even as they were again bumped together when the driver negotiated a tight turn up another track between high hedges. Back on the road, the blond man shoved against his still-bowing friend, knocking him off-balance, though somehow the dark-haired man managed not to fall. As they disappeared from view behind a hedge, the two of them were wrestling like little boys after school, apparently having already forgotten about the girls in the truck.

Something dawned on Maisie then. She knew the dark-haired man with the broad smile and the deep bow. She’d seen him before, she was sure. After the swerve, the men were already some distance away, so she hadn’t gotten a close look at his face. But his dark hair and his lopsided gait as he walked were triggering something in her mind. And that smile was somehow so familiar.

As they pulled up in front of two large log huts, set at right angles to each other with other smaller huts beyond, the puzzle piece slipped into place. The man looked exactly like the American chap—or had he been Canadian?—who had danced with her a few weeks ago in Brechin, the awful dancer, the one who had left her in the lurch. But what were the chances of it being him? And if it was, what the hell was he doing here?

The driver killed the engine, and Maisie and Dot clambered down, stretching their aching muscles and looking around for any sign of life.

Maisie dismissed the idea that she knew the man. It couldn’t be the same chap—that would be ridiculous. They were hours away from where she’d met him and the coincidence would be too great.

But what had that chap’s name been again? James, or Jack? Maisie tried to tell herself she couldn’t quite remember, all the while knowing that was a lie.

She knew his name. It had been John. John Lindsay.

Just then, a girl appeared, coming at a trot around the corner of the farthest hut. She looked to be only a year or two older than Dot, and she was tall, with a wide smile and a healthy tan, her brown hair loosely plaited into two thick braids. She was wearing WTC overalls, but also a brown leather jerkin, sleeveless and with wide pockets, out of which were hanging several leather straps.

Pulling the straps out of her pocket, she smiled and waved at them as she approached.

“Hello, everyone!” she called as if to a crowd, instead of only three people, and Maisie could now see that what she held was a horse’s bridle. “Come on, let’s find you somewhere to dump your things. You all look exhausted, and I bet none of you would refuse a cup of tea. No sugar, I’m afraid. We haven’t had any for a couple of weeks now.”

She picked up Dot’s suitcase and made for the hut on the left. “But we did get some honey on the sly from Mr. Macallan at the farm this morning, and that’s almost as good, isn’t it?”