The beaches along the coast were fenced off and the promenades still restricted, despite the threat of imminent invasion having long passed. Adela took a back lane towards the station and found herself at the end of the street where Jackman’s Sewing Shop stood. She stopped outside. Was Sam’s mother equally remorseful for having turned her back on her only son? Was it ever too late to try and heal the wounds of betrayal that Sam felt so keenly? Perhaps it was within Adela’s power to attempt to mend the rift between him and his estranged mother.
There was a handwritten notice in the window advertising an alteration and mending service. There was no light on in the shop on this dull grey day, but she tried the door anyway. It opened with a tinkle of a bell. The same woman she had seen behind the counter several years ago was sitting in the pool of light from the shop window, round spectacles poised on the end of her nose, sewing the hem of a utility skirt. Less plump and a lot greyer than before but recognisably the same woman.
‘Can I help you, dear?’ She looked up and smiled. She didn’t look like the type of woman who would walk out on a husband and a small son. But then who was she to judge?
‘I’m Adela Robson. I was brought up in Assam on a tea estate. Belgooree. Did you used to live in Assam, Mrs Jackman?’
The woman looked at her in astonishment, her mouth falling open. After a moment she nodded. ‘A very long time ago.’
‘It’s just that I’m a friend of Sam Jackman’s,’ Adela ploughed on before her courage failed. ‘And I wondered if he was . . . if he is your son.’
The woman half rose. Her sewing dropped to the floor. ‘Sam?’ she gasped. ‘You know my Sam?’
Adela nodded. Mrs Jackman burst into tears.
Later Adela talked it over with Tilly and Josey: the spur-of-the-moment encounter and Marjory Jackman’s emotional outpouring.
‘She insisted that she’d never meant to abandon Sam, wanted to take him with her, but old man Jackman wouldn’t hear of it. Marjory said she couldn’t stand another minute of India – the climate, the isolation, her husband taking her for granted.’
‘I can sympathise with that,’ Tilly murmured.
‘She said they had terrible rows. She told him he should just as well have hired a housekeeper rather than married her. And why had he dragged her all the way out there just to ignore her and live on his blessed boat all the time? Marjory said she’d have gone back to England sooner if it hadn’t been for Sam.’
‘But she did desert Sam, didn’t she?’ Josey pointed out.
‘She claimed her husband threatened her with the police. She made arrangements to take Sam anyway, but Jackman took him on the boat and wouldn’t let her see him, so she knew her husband would never let Sam go.’
‘What a terrible dilemma,’ said Josey.
‘I’d still have stayed,’ said Tilly. ‘At least I think I would have – for Sam’s sake. He was only very young, wasn’t he?’
‘About seven I think,’ said Adela, feeling a stab of pain. Not a lot older than her lost son was now.
‘So why didn’t she fight harder for poor Sam?’ asked Josey.
Adela sighed. ‘Marjory was pretty hard on herself. Said that her husband, for all his faults towards her, was a good father to their boy. A better parent than she was.’ Adela swallowed, feeling tearful. ‘She gave up Sam because she thought he’d be better off with his father.’
‘What sort of mother does that?’ Tilly exclaimed.
Josey gave Adela a sympathetic glance. ‘A brave one.’
They lapsed into silence. Tilly broke it. ‘So did she give you a message for Sam?’
‘She wanted his address so she could write to him, but I’ve no idea where Sam is.’ Adela felt her heart squeeze. ‘So I gave her Mother’s address at Belgooree. Said we’d try and find out through Dr Black; send on any letters if and when we know Sam’s whereabouts.’
‘That was kind of you,’ said Tilly. ‘Though from what you’ve said of Sam, he might not thank you.’
‘No,’ Adela admitted, ‘he’ll probably be mad at me for interfering. But isn’t it better that he knows that his mother cared for him and didn’t want to leave him?’ Her throat tightened with emotion.
‘Yes, of course it is,’ agreed Josey.
‘I hope you manage to track Sam down.’ Tilly gave an encouraging smile. ‘Just think: in a few weeks’ time you’ll be back in India.’
Excitement fizzed inside Adela at the sudden thought. After the emotional turmoil of the last few days, she clung to the thought with hope. How she longed at that moment for her mother and home! For the first time in over five years, she knew she was ready to return to the land of her birth.
CHAPTER 28
India, 1944
It was February before Adela finally reached India again. They had spent a month in North Africa on the way, entertaining at military hospitals and desert camps, before taking the train to the end of the Suez Canal and embarking at Port Tewfik on SS Port Ellen. It was a small ship carrying parts for Spitfires and Hurricanes, with only a couple of hundred passengers, mainly American airmen and Royal Navy personnel. Their passage on a large troop carrier through the Mediterranean in December had been anxious – a ship carrying ENSA members had been torpedoed two months earlier – but Adela felt no such fear as they steamed across the Red Sea to meet a naval escort at Aden.
The sight of porpoises and flying fish leaping from the azure sea had quickened her excitement for the East and quelled any nerves at their daily emergency boat drill and submarine watch. How she wished Josey had been with her to share her excitement, but her friend had come down with pneumonia on the eve of departure and was still convalescing in Newcastle at Tilly’s. With huge disappointment, Adela had gone without her.
Prue, however, had been enjoying the attention of an American airman called Stuey, with whom she played regular deck tennis and cards. She and Adela had slept out on deck under the stars so that Prue could chat late into the night with Stuey. Adela had lain restless, wondering if she would be able to get to Belgooree during the tour. And now she had this new quest on behalf of Marjory Jackman to put her in touch with Sam, which gave Adela an excuse to discover what had become of him.
Her greatest fear was that Sam had settled down somewhere with Pema and begun a family. But she had to know; not knowing was ten times worse. Lying on the warm deck, she would be beset by old doubts; Sam’s feelings had never been as strong as hers, and once he knew her shameful secret, even those feelings might be blighted.
Adela clung to the thought of getting back home; Belgooree would be a balm on her sore heart. And there was the joyous possibility of seeing her beloved Auntie Sophie.
Rafi had been seconded to timber production for the forces and was based at the Gun Carriage Factory in Jubbulpore. Even though he travelled all over India sourcing timber and inspecting factory production, Sophie had set up temporary home in the garrison town. Prue’s parents were also still living there, and the two friends had talked excitedly about the likelihood of them getting to see their loved ones. But by the time the tugboats and small islands around Bombay hove into view, Prue’s talk was only of her romance with Stuey. She declared she was head over heels in love with the airman from North Carolina and that they were unofficially engaged until Stuey could seek her father’s approval.
‘I predict that will be the first of many plightings of troth for our dear Prue,’ Tommy said dryly, tapping out his pipe. He had taken to smoking one since leaving London; even though he didn’t like the taste, he thought it made him look distinguished.
‘God this place pongs!’ cried Mavis. ‘Worse that the fish quay in Grimsby.’
The city was teeming with servicemen in uniform, alongside the brilliant colours of sari-wearing women and the dazzling white suits of high-caste Hindus. Mavis was full of complaints about the state of the dingy and overcrowded hostel where they were billeted. Adela took her out sightseeing before Tommy choked on his pipe with exasperation. But the things that wer
e endearingly familiar to Adela – the oily smells of cooking, and the red spit from paan chewing that spattered the ground – caused Mavis to squeal with horror and retreat indoors.
Mavis had the knack of irritating others without realising it. Tommy couldn’t forgive her for ruining their first show in Egypt; it was only then that they had discovered she sang out of tune. After that, Tommy had ordered her to mime the words to all The Toodle Pips’ songs, while Betsie, one of the ukulele players, sang off stage on her behalf.
They hardly saw Prue for three days while she spent snatched hours with Stuey, eating ice cream at the Taj Mahal Hotel and going to dances. Then the troupe was boarding a train for Lahore, and Prue was saying a tearful goodbye to her American fiancé. From Lahore they travelled by truck along dusty roads to Rawalpindi and stayed in Flashman’s Hotel while they gave two performances every day for a week to the many servicemen billeted in the army town. Every night they were entertained at mess parties and plied with whisky while the officers gossiped and asked for news of home.
The next month was spent in the north of India. They toured the tribal territory of the North-West Frontier under an armed escort of Sikh soldiers in a convoy of lorries that kept breaking down. Adela and Prue wore bandanas to keep the dust off their hair, and Mavis moaned about her feet swelling in the heat.
‘Call this heat?’ Tommy derided. ‘This is a spring picnic. Wait till we get to Calcutta and Bengal – fires of hell. That’s when you’ll really start to melt.’
The days were hot in the rocky, barren hills around Peshawar, but the nights were still cool. They performed to pilots training with the Indian Air Force, to Gurkha soldiers and British conscripts. The paratroopers at one remote camp made so much noise with rude comments and ribald laughter that they could hardly hear themselves sing.
‘ENSA – Every Night Something Awful!’ one shouted out when the juggler dropped his batons for the third time.
They mocked the impressionist and booed the ukuleles. At his wits’ end, Tommy sent The Toodle Pips back on again, which received rousing cheers.
‘Think I prefer the officers’ wives knitting in the front row at Rawalpindi to this lot,’ Mavis panted, her face beetroot red and her blonde wig awry after a final encore.
They travelled on to Risalpore, where they played to RAF audiences. Then March came and they moved up into the hills around Murree. Leaving the plain, with its walled villages, temples and bullocks, they climbed steep, winding roads surrounded by thick emerald-green bushes. As they gained altitude quickly, Adela felt a jolt of familiarity. She leant out of the truck window and breathed in the sweet scent of pine and was transported back to Simla.
Arriving in the hill station of Murree, Adela was struck by how similar it was to her former home in the British-Indian capital. Wooden bungalows, hotels and shops were strung out along a ridge, which was milling with rickshaws, the road being closed to motor traffic. It too had a Cecil Hotel, with dizzying views over a sheer drop away to the distant hazy blue plain, and a bazaar spilling down the hillside that throbbed with activity and noise in the rarefied air.
The chalet where they were staying, with its flight of wooden steps up from the hotel lawn and the glimpse of Himalayan mountains beyond the fir trees, reminded Adela nostalgically of her home with Fluffy Hogg. Her eyes smarted to think of her carefree life with her kind guardian. Fluffy had kept in touch by occasional letter. From her she knew that Sundar Singh had distinguished himself in North Africa fighting the Italians and that Boz had re-joined the army and was training mortar gunners. Fatima was still at the hospital in Simla, working all hours. But there had never been any more news of Sam or where he had gone.
Adela stood on the veranda, gazing at the peaks of Kashmir, and felt anew the sharp tug of longing for Sam Jackman. She was older and wiser than the impulsive seventeen-year-old who had fallen so deeply for the handsome former steam captain that heady spring of ’38, but her feelings for him had not abated. Despite the intervening years and the separation of continents, she knew she still loved him – and now back in India, that love flared ever stronger. It had taken just the sweet smell of pines and the sight of snowy peaks to conjure up Sam’s lean smiling face and vital eyes, his deep laughter and passionate talk.
From the breast pocket of her uniform, Adela drew the photograph of her with Sam at Narkanda. It was creased and dog-eared from use, but the image of Sam still set her heart hammering.
‘Where are you, Sam?’ she whispered.
Adela vowed to herself that she would not leave India a second time without knowing what had happened to him.
‘Dancing up here is worse than the heat,’ Mavis gasped. ‘You can’t catch your breath.’
Her litany of complaints had gone on all month as they ventured to outlying camps. They travelled up hairpin bends, where the narrow road was sometimes washed away, and had to clamber out of vehicles while their drivers negotiated the ruts and avoided toppling into ravines. At other times they had to squeeze past oncoming local buses, with only inches to spare above dizzying drops. One evening, as the temperature plummeted their truck skidded and slewed towards the cliff edge. The driver ordered them all out as he fought for traction and managed to regain the bend.
‘Got nerves of steel, these Indian laddies,’ accordionist Mack said in admiration.
‘They’re hopeless mechanics,’ Mavis retorted. ‘The motor vehicles are always breaking down.’
‘Well, go by bloody mule then!’ Prue snapped. ‘There’s a war on and we’re not priority. They do their best.’
Tempers were frayed after the nonstop series of shows and the nerve-racking travel. They shared tin-roofed huts with giant red cockroaches and changed for shows all together in the same small tent, without chairs or mirrors. Monkeys invaded and ran off with costume jewellery and hats, the juggler got dysentery and the magician fell off a rickety stage and broke a leg. They had to leave him behind in a hospital in Abbottabad, to follow on when he could travel. And Mavis had a point about the thin air: singing required double breaths that left the singers feeling faint.
For Adela, all the tension and exhaustion was worth it for the moments of comradeship with the men – seeing their faces relax as they enjoyed the show and forgot about the war for a few precious moments. They danced in mess tents with the sound of jackals in the forests beyond and sat cross-legged with troops around campfires singing all the songs they could think of until they grew hoarse. The women were in high demand as penfriends for homesick conscripts, who were on the verge of being sent into action in Burma.
‘Be my girl and write to me’ was a constant refrain. Prue took on the task with enthusiasm.
‘What about Stuey?’ Mavis pointed out. ‘You’ve already got a man.’
‘Most of these boys have also got girlfriends,’ said Prue. ‘That’s not the point. They just want letters. It’s what they live for.’
Nobody would tell the entertainers what their impending orders were, but it was obvious that the fightback against the Japanese army on the fringes of India’s eastern borders had begun. The mood in the camps was jittery.
Adela and Tommy had renewed an old habit of slipping off to the cinema together whenever there was a free afternoon at their base in Murree to watch out-of-date newsreels. There was footage of General Orde Wingate and his guerrilla force, the Chindits, being airlifted into Burma, and reports of their successes, but the film was six months old. From what Adela could glean, there had been fierce fighting on the Arakan peninsula near Chittagong since December. What she wanted to know was the present situation further north, on the Assam border.
When they returned to Murree from Abbottabad, there was a letter awaiting her from her mother. Adela sat on the chalet steps and read it eagerly. Clarrie and Harry were well and managing things at Belgooree. Her mother was worried about James pushing himself to the point of exhaustion, taking on numerous civil defence duties, as well as the work of the plantations.
‘I’ve forbidden
him to come to Belgooree while the present crisis is on,’ wrote Clarrie, ‘as I can manage perfectly well with Daleep and Banu’s help.’
What present crisis was she referring to, Adela worried? Was it the war in general or Assam in particular? Familiar tension curdled in her stomach.
I had a visit from Sophie last week. She has volunteered with the Red Cross as a driver and was on her way up to Dimapur. She is so plucky and brave. It doesn’t seem to bother her that she is heading into a war zone – she was as cheerful as ever. She said that Rafi fully supported what she was doing – besides, he’s away such a lot that she hardly sees him. She is very excited to think she might come across your show and see you if you are sent up to Dimapur. Selfishly, I hope you won’t go anywhere near Upper Assam. There’s never any mention in the press about the Japanese being on Indian soil, but from what James tells me, Imphal is under threat and Kohima too – do you remember playing tennis up there with your father one Christmas holiday? One of his fishing friends had a bungalow with a tennis court. How long ago that all seems now.
Adela could hear the longing in her mother’s words. It was nearly six years since her father’s death. For Adela, the pain of loss had eased to the point where she could think about him and smile rather than be choked with tears. But she sensed that, for her mother, the grief was as raw as ever.
Adela was folding up the letter when she saw a postscript on the back. Her heart skipped a beat to see Sam’s name.
PS As you asked me to, I wrote to Dr Black to see if he knew the whereabouts of Sam Jackman. I just heard back last week. It seems that Sam enlisted with the Royal Air Force. Dr Black says he was on operations in Iraq, but since returning to India he’s been assigned to the film unit. The doctor is not sure where he is, though he suspects it might be Chittagong or somewhere on the battlefront, but a letter care of the Public Relations Directorate in Delhi would probably catch up with him eventually.
The Girl From the Tea Garden Page 39