CHAPTER TWELVE
The first term I spent in Edinburgh seemed endless, and I was nearly mad with excitement when the Christmas holidays approached, but after that the years flew by very quickly. There was so much to do that I had no time to think. My days were full of lessons and games and expeditions with Uncle Matt. I went to see Aunt Etta as often as I could; Freda came to lunch; I made friends with several boys at school and visited their homes; I took the tram to Leith Street and called at the Dodges’.
Uncle Matt and I got on well very together. I learnt to understand him and to manage him so that I could usually get my own way. When he flew into one of his rages I left him alone and made myself scarce until he recovered. I decided that his rages were a sort of disease. Uncle Matt could not help flying into a rage when things annoyed him; it was a pity, but it was not his fault. I realised that although Uncle Matt was old in years he was young in character, he had never grown up. There was a naïvete about him which was rather pathetic. He was both proud and humble. For instance he would boast about his cleverness and tell me what wise advice he had given his clients and what fools they were when they did not follow it; and then, a few minutes later, he would say with absolute sincerity, “ It’s dull for you, David, cooped up with a silly old buffer of an uncle. You’d better get Miles to go to a show or something. There’s a good play on at the Lyceum this week.”
“ Why don’t you come? ” I would say. “ I’d rather go with you.”
Then he would smile all over his face and exclaim, “ Would you really, David? ”
Rages or no, you could not help liking Uncle Matt.
When I had been in Edinburgh for about a year I suddenly began to grow at a tremendous rate. Uncle Matt said it was the East Coast air. I was delighted, of course, for I had always wanted to be a giant and I had almost given up hope of being anything more than a pigmy. The only trouble was that I outgrew all my clothes; every garment I possessed became too small for me. Mrs. Drummond did what she could to make my clothes wearable but even she could not work miracles and at last I had to write to Mother and tell her about it. Fortunately mother was quite pleased at the news, she came up from Haines for the day and we had a great shopping expedition. We bought clothes that were too large for me and for a bit I felt completely lost in them, but I was growing so fast that I soon filled them out.
Looking back upon the years in Edinburgh they seem to telescope and it is difficult to remember when this incident or that incident occurred. Here and there a day stands out like a little bright picture, but for the most part those years are hazy in the extreme. There is a little bright picture of a sunshiny afternoon when Uncle Matt and Freda and I went over to Peebles and had lunch at the Hydropathic Hotel; there is the day when Cliffe and I took a tram to Fairmilehead and walked over the Pentland Hills …
Another incident which I remember clearly—but for quite a different reason—is the Saturday afternoon when Miles came to tea and we talked about the future. Miles was to have played rugger but the rain had been coming down in sheets all day and the match had been postponed.
“ Do they think we’re made of butter? ” grumbled Miles as we went upstairs to my room together. “ We could easily have played. Fothers is just an old woman to put off the match.”
“ You may not be made of butter but the pitch is like treacle,” I replied. “ It would have ruined the pitch for the whole season if you’d played.”
Miles laughed and settled himself comfortably in one of the basket-chairs. “ Oh well, we can talk,” he said.
We talked. The rain was lashing against the window, but my room, with its electric stove, was cosy and comfortable.
“ What are you going to do when you leave school? ” asked Miles.
“ National Service, of course.”
“ I know—but after that? I’m going to London.”
“ London! ” I exclaimed in surprise.
“ That’s the place to make money, David. London is the hub of the world,” declared Miles.
“ Yes, but——”
Miles leaned forward eagerly. “ Look here,” he said. “ Why don’t you come too, David? ”
“ I couldn’t possibly! ”
“ Why not? We could join forces. We could both get jobs and live in digs together. Gosh, it would be fun! ”
“ Do you mean it? ” I asked incredulously.
“ Of course I mean it. We could have a marvellous time—you and I in digs together. It’s a grand idea.”
“ But Miles, how could I? ”
“ Don’t be an old stick-in-the-mud! ” cried Miles. “ Think of it, David! Think of what fun we could have! ”
I thought about it. “ Could we? ” I asked doubtfully. “ I mean, could we get jobs in London? ”
“ We could,” declared Miles. “ I’ve gone into that. As a matter of fact I spoke to Uncle Tom and he promised to help me. He knows a firm of lawyers in London who would take me on as a clerk. Of course that would only be a beginning; I don’t intend to stay a clerk all my life. Once I was actually in London I could look about and find something better. That’s my idea.”
“ You could do that here, couldn’t you? ”
“ Here! ” he cried scornfully. “ Good Lord, I don’t want to settle down in Edinburgh. I don’t want to be on a leading-rein all my life. I want to strike out on my own.”
The idea of going to London and living in digs with Miles appealed to me tremendously. The only thing was I had promised Uncle Matt that when I had done my National Service I would come back and start work as a clerk in his office. His idea was that later on I should read Law at the Edinburgh University and take my degree and become a junior partner in the firm. The prospect did not fill me with enthusiasm but there had seemed no alternative. Uncle Matt liked me—I knew that—and it was a good opening. I explained all this to Miles.
“ Gracious! ” exclaimed Miles. “ What a dreary prospect! Cut it out and come to London with me.”
“ Miles, listen——”
“ No, you listen to me. You want to get on, don’t you? There’s no scope here for a young fellow who wants to get on in the world and make good. Are you going to moulder here all your life and turn into an old fossil like your uncle—and mine? ”
“ No, of course not! ” I cried.
“ You will,” said Miles, looking at me and smiling. “ I can see it coming. I can see you forty years from now and, believe it or not, you look just like Uncle Tom.”
I had a horrible feeling he was right.
“ Come on, David,” continued Miles. “ Be a sport. Come to London with me and make your fortune.”
“ But how could I get a job? ”
“ That’s easy. You could get one to-morrow if you wanted. Your uncle could fix a job for you. Why don’t you speak to him about it and see what he says? ”
After that Miles and I talked about it often and at last he persuaded me to broach the subject to Uncle Matt. I sounded Uncle Matt as tactfully as I could for I did not want to hurt his feelings.
“ London? ” exclaimed Uncle Matt in surprise. “ Why on earth do you want to go to London? ”
“ Miles is going,” I said. “ He suggested we might live in digs together, but of course I wouldn’t dream of going if you want me here.”
“ Miles is going? ” asked Uncle Matt.
“ Yes, it was his idea, really.”
“ Well, I don’t know,” said Uncle Matt thoughtfully. “ We’ll need to think about it.”
“ Yes, of course. We needn’t decide straight off.”
Uncle Matt was silent for a few moments and then he said, “ It might be quite a good plan. Supposing you tried it for a couple of years and then came back here to me? ”
I gazed at him in amazement. I had been so sure that he would be averse to the plan and turn it down off-hand that I was completely taken aback; it was like pushing against a door that you think is shut and finding it open.
“ Fred Heatley would take you,�
� continued Uncle Matt. “ Heatley and Frensham—it’s a good solid firm. We often do business with them. I’ll write Fred Heatley and see what he says.”
“ You don’t mind? ” I asked. “ I mean you’ve been so awfully good to me.”
“ I don’t mind at all,” declared Uncle Matt cheerfully. “ Why should I mind? Everybody’s got a right to decide his own future. And it will be a great advantage if you have a little experience before you come to me. If you go to Heatley for a couple of years you’ll learn the way an office is run.” He paused and then added, “ You know, David, the more I think about it the more I like your plan. It will do you good to get away and be on your own for a bit. Try your wings, my boy! Have a look at London! You’ll settle down better when you’ve seen a bit of life.”
Uncle Matt was so pleased with the idea that he wrote to Mr. Heatley at once and Mr. Heatley replied that he would be delighted to keep a vacancy for me. I was to let him know when I had done my National Service.
The whole thing was settled in a few days and I ought to have been delighted … but I was not. Instead of being delighted at having my future settled I felt as if I had been caught in a trap, and the fact that I had walked into the trap with my eyes open did not make it less dismaying. Miles was full of enthusiasm of course, and when I was with him and he was painting our future in glowing terms I felt a bit better about it. Certainly it would be fun to share digs with Miles and although I had doubts as to whether we would make our fortunes as rapidly as he expected his enthusiasm was infectious.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The wind was cool and fresh upon my cheek when I stepped out of the train at Drumburly Station. The sunshine had the shallow brightness of autumn—there was little warmth in it—and the hills looked more gently rolling, less high and bold. Perhaps this was merely a trick of light (the mellow sunshine cast only the softest of shadows upon the slopes) or perhaps they looked less high to me because I had not seen them for so long and my fond imagination had magnified them. I stood for some minutes on the station platform enjoying them, loving their roundness and their baldness and the clean sweep of them against the sky. My National Service had taken me first to Salisbury Plain, where there were no hills worth speaking of, and then to Germany where the mountains were clothed with trees. It was fine scenery no doubt but it was not my kind of scenery; it did not lift up the heart or soothe the spirit like my hills of home.
“ Are ye wanting a lift tae Haines? ” inquired a voice behind me. “ Ye’re David Kirke, are ye no’? ”
I looked round and was amazed to discover the speaker was Sandy, my enemy of long ago; there was no mistaking him for he looked the same as ever—big and beefy with small eyes stuck like currants in his pink face. His carroty hair was still shaggy and still had the odd appearance of growing from one place on the crown of his head and spreading in all directions over his skull.
“ Sandy! ” I exclaimed.
“ Aye, it’s me,” he agreed. “ I’m driving the milk-lorry. If ye’re wanting a lift tae Haines I’ll take ye.”
The offer was too good to refuse and soon I was sitting beside Sandy on the front seat of the lorry and we were rattling out of the station yard.
“ You’ve not changed a bit,” I told him.
“ I’ll no say the same,” he replied. “ Ye were a wee skinny speldron and noo ye’re no’ sae bad at all. Mebbe it’s the army that’s set ye up and made a man of ye. That’s what folks say it does.”
“ Yes,” I said doubtfully.
“ What were ye doing in the army? ” inquired Sandy. “ Ye were an officer, I suppose.”
“ No, I was driving the colonel’s car most of the time.”
“ Hmff! Yon’s a cushy job! ”
In some ways it had been a cushy job, but all the same I was slightly nettled. There are colonels and colonels—mine had been pernickety and had liked the car kept in a highly polished condition. He had been chary of praise when all went well and lavish with blame when it did not. He had kept me waiting long hours in the cold while he fed and feasted.
“ Yon’s a cushy job,” repeated Sandy scornfully. “ Ye’d get oot of drills and fatigues and all the rest of it. Some folk are danged lucky. It’s inflooence, that’s what it is.”
“ It wasn’t,” I replied. “ I know a bit about cars—that’s why I was chosen for the job.”
Sandy snorted.
“ Have you done your National Service? ” I asked.
“ What d’ye think? ” he replied. “ I’d have got oot of it if I could. I knew fine I’d hate it—and it was wurrse than I expected.” He was silent for a few moments and then added, “ Och, weel, it’s past. I’m hame noo, and hame I’ll bide. There’s no place like Haines tae my mind.”
This was interesting, not because I disagreed but because I shared his feelings wholeheartedly. It seemed odd that two people so completely different as Sandy and myself should be in agreement.
“ Why do you like Haines? ” I inquired.
“ Why? ” he echoed as he changed his gear with a heartrending crunch. “ Why dae I like Haines? Dae ye no like it? ”
“ Yes, of course.”
“ Weel then,” said Sandy as if that settled the matter.
“ But you may like it for a different reason.”
He made no reply. It was obvious that the subject did not interest him.
“ What’s the news? ” I asked after a short silence. This was the usual gambit to a conversation in Haines, as it is in most rural districts.
Sandy understood this better and was only too ready to oblige. He launched out into a history of the Haines Football Club during the last two seasons with particular emphasis on his own prowess in the field.
“ We’ve lost Robert,” he said sadly. “ Robert was coming on fine—but we’ve lost him.”
“ Not—not dead? ” I asked in suitably muted tones.
“ Just marrit,” replied Sandy. “ An awful niminy piminy lassie oot o’ Dumfries. It’s a wonder what he could see in her, so it is. She’s made him give up football—did ye ever hear the like? ”
I asked for information about other people in the district and received the usual tale of births, marriages and deaths; finally I asked about Nethercleugh.
“ It’s the same as ever,” Sandy replied. “ Mr. Lorimer got a good price for his lambs … but maybe it’s his lassies ye’re wanting tae hear of? ” He leered sideways at me as he spoke.
“ I just wondered if they were all at home,” I said coldly.
“ None of them is,” chuckled Sandy. “ Ye’ll need tae find a lassie some other road. Yon Freda is away in foreign pairts and the twins are in Edinbro’ at a school for cooking … a school for cooking! ” repeated Sandy scornfully. “ Did ye ever hear the like? Could they not be learnt cooking at hame like other lassies? Och, they re just snobs, the whole jing bang of them.”
By this time I regretted having accepted a lift from Sandy. I had detested him in the old days—with good cause—and he was still detestable. I wondered whether I should take a strong line and tell him to speak respectfully of my friends or whether it was more dignified to ignore his rudeness. Glancing sideways at his fat pink face I remembered the occasion when I had hit it with all my might—and the subsequent horrible results of my action—Sandy was still much bigger than I, but I was not the least afraid of him and I was pretty certain that if it came to blows between us I should have the best of it. The idea amused me a good deal; I imagined Father’s horror if I were to arrive home with a black eye or a bloody nose.
“ What are ye grinning for? ” asked my companion.
“ I was remembering our fight,” I told him. “ The time when you nearly killed me in the changing-room at school. We’d be better matched now.”
He grunted crossly but said nothing. Perhaps he had caught the hint of a threat in my suggestion and decided that discretion was the better part of valour. I had not intended it as a threat but I realised it might be taken as such by a creatu
re of Sandy’s mentality.
We were nearing Haines by this time; we rattled over the bridge and drew up with a screech of brakes at the manse gate. The dear old house looked exactly the same as ever; there were asters and chrysanthemums in the garden and the Virginia creeper was rioting like flames upon the west wall.
Mother must have been watching from the window for as I said good-bye to Sandy and pushed the gate open she came flying down the path to welcome me home.
It had been arranged that I should have a month at Haines before going to London and starting work in Mr. Heatley’s office. I had been looking forward to this and intended to make the most of it for in future I should get no more than a fortnight’s holiday in the year.
Quite often when one looks forward to something with keen anticipation one is disappointed in the reality, but in this case it was not so. The reality was even better than my expectations. Now that I had been so far away and had seen a bit of the world I appreciated my parents more than ever; I was able to measure them by a new standard and they stood the test. Although they lived in a backwater there was nothing stagnant about them; they were wiser and more alert in mind than I had remembered. I found endless pleasure in talking to them, telling them what I had done and seen and listening to their views. To me they seemed younger than before; perhaps this was because I was older. I appreciated my home; my own dear room with the chestnut tree whispering outside the window; I revelled in the peace and leisure, the comfortable chairs, the bright log fire in the evenings and the delicious food. Last but by no means least I enjoyed the long walks over the hills in the crisp September air.
Sometimes I had to stand still and look … the colours were so startling that they almost took my breath away. The withered bracken was golden brown; the withered heather dark brown and amongst the dark green conifers were deciduous trees burning like flames.
One of my first walks was up the path by the side of the Ling to the ruined cottage and as I sat down upon the smooth turf and leaned against the wall I had the strange feeling of moving back in time … all that had happened since my last visit to this place was nothing but a dream. Rip van Winkle must have had the same feeling when he returned to his home after his sojourn with the fairies. I was a bit hazy about the details of Rip van Winkle’s story but how clearly I understood his feelings!
Five Windows Page 10