by Anne Doughty
‘I remember a world where no one needed to lock their door,’ said Andrew sadly.
‘And before that, there was a world in which many people were so poor they’d no need to shut doors because there was nothing for anyone to steal,’ she came back at him.
‘Point taken, my beloved,’ he said, laughing. ‘You may not have been trained to jump through the hoops of legal logic, but you certainly don’t let anyone get away with a version of the past that leaves out the nasty bits. You do go for the real thing.’
‘Thank you, my love. Now that I take as a real compliment.’
John Crawford turned out to be a graduate from Queens in his early twenties who owned up to the fact that he was fairly new to the job. He was, however, very sharp and Clare watched him scan every corner of every room as she took him round, as if he were making an inventory without benefit of pencil and paper. He was very pleasant when they came into the kitchen and he met June and Bronagh preparing for the sandwich round. He complimented them on the wonderful smells which had permeated the lower floor during the hour of his visit. Once back in Headquarters, he sat talking over coffee as if he had the whole day at his disposal.
‘We do have three other properties already in the province, Clare, if I may call you Clare,’ he said smiling, as she nodded and passed him a sample of June’s morning’s work. ‘I still find it surprising that the relatives of elderly people who need care appear to be more concerned with the décor of our premises than they are by the provision of bathrooms or of lifting equipment,’ he said steadily. ‘You might not think that your beautiful chandelier or the polished wood staircase was a factor in the equation, but I can assure you it is. In fact, I can tell you now, I shall be recommending a visit by one of our Directors.’
‘My goodness,’ said Clare, surprised. ‘But surely stairs like ours are the last thing you need with elderly people?’
‘Practically, I have to agree with you, but we’ve discovered many relatives are pleased to see stairs. They don’t want to be reminded of disability. What we have to do is to provide lifts in inconspicuous places. We have a standard building design which would work perfectly well here at Drumsollen. A two storey extension, roughly at right angles to the kitchen, where the garage and stable are at present. It would run out into that meadow area with the long grass as far as the edge of the property. All the essential medical and care services would be available there, keeping the public rooms free of equipment, apart from wheelchairs,’ he said matter-of-factly, before pausing to help himself to another piece of cake.
‘I have two questions I need to put to you,’ he went on, pausing to munch enthusiastically. ‘Firstly, there is the question of furniture and fittings, and the special nature of the pictures. I presume these are of a family nature. Does that mean that you would wish to remove them? I ask, because in the case of two of our other premises, we were able to offer a price to include everything in the property, including pictures and furniture. In fact, everything right down to kitchen equipment and bed linen, which would be immediately redeployable, as you can imagine.’
‘You do surprise me,’ said Clare, honestly, thinking of Archbishop Ussher and wondering what Andrew would have to say about selling off his remaining ancestors. ‘I’ll certainly be able to give you an answer quite quickly. Would tomorrow do?’
‘Excellent,’ he responded, nodding vigorously. ‘Now the other matter is timing. We are in a position to make an offer right away, but we could not complete the sale, were it to take place, till the middle of next year. Purely a question of cash flow,’ he said airily. ‘We would prefer our new premises to be in next year’s budget. What is your own time scale for departure?’
‘Well, that looks as if it would suit us both very well,’ he replied, when she mentioned June the thirtieth. ‘I really do feel most positive about Drumsollen, but naturally I have to go up the line on this one. Can I phone you tomorrow when you’ve spoken with your husband?’
‘You will be pleased to hear that Drumsollen may become the fourth lot of premises for Eventide homes,’ Clare reported, as they drew up to the fire on a wild, December night with the wind gusting down the chimney, making the logs crackle and spark in the grate.
‘So, I was wrong. There is a possibility.’
‘Rather better than that,’ she said encouragingly. ‘Your man was quite enthusiastic. His timescale is a perfect match with our own plans. We just have a problem concerning your ancestors,’ she continued lightly. ‘Apparently, at the expensive end of the care market ancestors are welcome. He wants to know how you’d feel about yours staying where they are and their value being reflected in the purchase price.’
‘Good Lord,’ said Andrew, looking amazed. ‘The answer is Yes. We’d only have been asking Harry to get rid of them anyway. What else did he say?’
Clare gave a full account of John Crawford’s visit and expressed her cautious optimism that they might actually have an offer once they’d agreed on what he’d called lock, stock and barrel, a curious phrase, she thought, but familiar enough from her childhood.
‘Then I’d really be able to go shopping,’ he said with a grin. ‘There are farms coming on the market in Norfolk. Not often, and not where we’d most like to be, but now at least I would know how much money we have to go shopping. That’s a start.’
The offer came with the first Christmas cards and was the subject of much excitement. Even after deducting the remaining mortgage on Drumsollen and allowing for moving expenses, it looked like a very nice, round figure, as Andrew called it. There were enthusiastic phone calls to Aunt Joan, who was delighted things were now working out for them after all their hard work, and to Mary and John who promptly invited them to spend next Christmas with them.
‘Of course we’ll miss you,’ Harry said, after Clare had spoken to both on the phone, ‘but you won’t be so totally tied down that you can’t get home for a holiday now and then. You know you’ll be welcome and the apartment’s there up on the coast if you fancy a bit of sea air as well.’
The run up to Christmas was busy, much busier than the previous year, but as Clare said, ‘Things never come when you need them most.’ Happily, the extra income paid some extra bills and provided a larger Christmas bonus for June and Bronagh.
‘Nobody deserves it more,’ Clare said, when she passed over the small envelopes. ‘The only thing I’ll really miss when we go is having you both to talk to. The phone and letters isn’t the same thing at all,’ she added, thinking longingly of Louise, and Marie-Claude, and Robert, far away in France and of Helen and Ginny and other friends, nearer at hand, but not visited for such a long time.
January blew in with unexpected gales and some very unwelcome bills for the replacing of slates on the most exposed part of the roof. Andrew continued his search for land in North Norfolk, but gradually accepted that there wasn’t much point. Nobody would chose to sell up at this time of year, barring emergencies.
Clare was concerned that he seemed so dispirited, with very little work coming in to his office, not even the unpaid work he was willing to do for applicants for Legal Aid. He was sadly disappointed over the failure of the efforts he and Charles had made through the Society of Labour Lawyers to get some focus on the question of Civil Liberties in Northern Ireland.
When the Campaign for Democracy in Ulster had been started he had been in such good spirits. He’d made her laugh by telling her about the launch of the movement. A public house in Streatham did not seem exactly the most appropriate place to go into the history books, but that, he said, was where the Irish Trade Unionists and the Labour Party members got together.
They had some good people too, he went on, an MP for one of the Manchester constituencies, a lawyer called Paul Rose who’d been called to the bar. They were trying to secure a Royal Commission to look into the running of the Stormont Government and investigate allegations of discrimination.
It was clear by February 1966 that despite the bright hope of June 1965, when the
CDU was launched publicly at a meeting in the House of Commons, the campaign was confined to London and Manchester. More disappointing still was that the Prime Minister, Harold Wilson, had made clear he intended to take the same line on Ulster as his predecessors and avoid doing anything that might rock the boat.
‘I just sit in my office and read about pedigree cattle. Anything to avoid the local papers and the rantings and ravings of the Unionist councillors should anyone have the temerity to suggest anything as radical as equal rights,’ Andrew said bitterly. ‘I can’t wait to get away. Why don’t we just look for a little house in Holt and I’ll get a job, any old job, just so long as I can do something useful. I could take up maintaining gardens for old people, or drive them into Norwich to do their shopping. With all that money from Eventide we wouldn’t starve for quite a while, would we?’
Just at the point when Clare was beginning to think it was, in fact, the only thing to do, something quite unexpected happened. Phillida’s cowman, who had been with her for fifty years, suddenly decided to retire. Phillida was at her wits end to find someone to replace him. Then, on top of that, one morning early, she came out of the house, walked round the side of the water butt and fell on an invisible skim of ice, where it had overflowed after rain in the night that had frozen by dawn.
She had broken her hip, lain on the icy path till her daily help arrived and was now in hospital. Joan though she had a touch of pneumonia, but when she visited before the hip operation, Phillida insisted her horrible cough was only the result of bad temper as she lay on the path cursing, because she couldn’t get up.
Nineteen
Clare thought the daffodils at Drumsollen were even lovelier than usual this year. As she stood gazing out of the window of Headquarters, there were not only more of them but they seemed brighter, their colour enhanced by the strong sunlight of a blowy March day. She remembered the year she had sent out the daffodil cards to all their former guests and discovered from their replies that the world had changed. For many of them, horizons had broadened and put air travel within reach. That had meant holidays beyond Ulster, one of the first changes that put their Grand Plan at risk.
She was still standing there thinking how hindsight could so easily point you to what you couldn’t possibly have seen at the time when the phone rang.
‘Joan, how lovely to hear you. Nothing wrong, I hope,’ she said cautiously, well aware that Joan seldom rang and had never yet rung in the morning at peak rate.
‘Well, yes and no, my dear. It’s been a difficult couple of months for your two old crocks. Phillida’s better. A lot better, thank goodness. That chest of hers nearly did for her. It’s all right now, but the leg isn’t. Oh, the consultant says it has healed, but Phillida says it’s had it. She can’t put her weight on it, or if she tries to, it aches horribly. We make a great pair, she and I, so long as we’re sitting down. However . . .’
Clare took a deep breath. Joan’s tone told her she’d not rung to report on their health.
‘Now, dear, I hope this will be good news,’ she said briskly. ‘Philly’s decided to sell up and go into sheltered accommodation. She’s furious, of course, but she’ll get over it. Besides, her cow man Jim is only holding on out of good nature. His wife wants him to retire and if you knew her you’d know he hasn’t got much choice in the matter,’ she added. ‘She’s no idea what the farm’s worth, but she needs a lump sum for her new property and some capital for interest to give her pension a boost. She’s totted it up and it comes to half what you’re getting from Eventide, which sounds like good value to me. What do you think? Would Andrew be interested?’
‘I think that’s something of an understatement,’ Clare said happily. ‘I think he’ll be ecstatic. He’s been so downcast over not being able to find land in North Norfolk even now he has the money to buy it,’ Clare continued. ‘I’ve tried to tell him people don’t make moves this early in the year and that something’s sure to come up after Easter, but he’s been getting terribly despondent.’
‘Well then, tell him he’ll be hearing from Philly’s solicitor in a day or two. At least they can sort it out between them without a fortune in fees. Philly’s man is a distant cousin and they’ve been friends all their lives,’ she added by way of explanation. ‘Must go now, my dear. Give me a ring when you’ve got it sorted. Looking forward to seeing you. Bye.’
Clare looked down at the phone in amazement. Joan had a habit of just disappearing, as if she’d felt her phone was running out, just as it used to when you put pennies into a slot in a public call box.
‘My goodness,’ she said. ‘My goodness,’ she repeated, as she put the receiver down. ‘What an extraordinary surprise.’
She was just about to pick up the phone again and dial Andrew’s number when there was a gentle tap on the door. She opened it and found Bronagh standing there empty-handed.
‘I didn’t think I’d earned my coffee yet,’ she said easily. ‘Come in and sit down.’
‘Clare, I’ve got some news for you,’ Bronagh began awkwardly. ‘You’ve been so good to me, I wanted you to know before anyone else. Matt and I are going to get married. We don’t know when, because I can’t leave the two young ones, but we’ve made up our minds.’
‘Oh Bronagh, what wonderful news. I am so delighted,’ Clare said, getting up and hugging her. ‘Andrew will be so pleased when I tell him. I can tell him, can’t I?’
‘Oh yes,’ she replied, smiling happily. ‘And I am going to tell June. But you first and no one else. We’re not having a ring, because we’re saving up,’ she went on. ‘Matt says there are houses to rent in Railway Street from time to time, which would be near his work. If we could get one of those, then we’d have room for my young brother and sister. He’s been very good about that,’ she confessed.
‘I’m not surprised, Bronagh. He’s a very nice man and he did fall for you in a big way. Whenever I think of him, I remember the stories my mother told about my father, when he had to wait around, because she’d got herself more or less engaged to someone else. He had to be so good until the boyfriend, who was supposed to be sending for her to come to Canada and marry him, turned round and married someone else.’
‘Oh, how awful for her,’ Bronagh said, her eyes wide with sympathy.
‘Yes, she said it was a bad time for her, but it was all for the best,’ Clare replied. ‘She always used to tell me that some good always comes out of disappointments, if only you can see it. Not that I think there’ll be any disappointment where you and Matt are concerned,’ she added, smiling. ‘We must cross our fingers and hope for a house coming up.’
They sat and talked for a little longer. Bronagh explained that Brendan had said he could manage the rent for Callan Street and could support his sister, Anne-Marie, until she went to university. She’d been told she’d almost certainly get a County Scholarship and he’d been earning quite a bit from odd jobs that still gave him time to study. He’d even been giving driving lessons to pupils who had a car of their own, after his success teaching his sister in Clare’s car.
As Bronagh closed the door behind her and Clare dialled Andrew’s number, she made up her mind about one thing. They were not driving from Liverpool to North Norfolk in convoy. If she could possibly afford to give Bronagh her car before she left, she would. One car would be quite enough for a farmer and his wife.
It was a week or more before their excitement died down enough to let them study the details of Phillida’s offer more closely. Initially, Andrew had been concerned that the amount of land involved was simply not enough to support them and that the sum Phillida needed for her plans made it very expensive indeed. On the other hand, it was top quality land which he’d seen. It was in the right place, near to both Joan and Mary and John, which was a marvellous bonus. Documents arrived in stages so it took till the end of April for them to realize how generous Phillida had actually been.
For some time now she’d been working only a quarter of her land. The rest was leased by th
e year to adjoining farmers, the rents making up part of her income.
‘But it is leased, Clare. Leased,’ said Andrew happily, the documents and maps spread out all over the kitchen table. ‘Not like Drumsollen where the land was sold. Gone beyond retrieving. When I get things going I can simply not renew the leases. It will be my land, whenever I am ready to expand, and we’ll have enough to live on till I’m up and running. It is everything I’ve ever wanted,’ he said, throwing his arms round her. ‘Clare dear, I’m sorry. I said it’s my land. That’s just a manner of speaking. You know I mean it’s our land. You do understand, don’t you?’
Clare laughed. ‘What’s that expression about scratching an Ulsterman and finding a peasant underneath? Land hunger,’ she continued, shaking her head. ‘I’ve no problem with that. I’ll even talk about my house if it makes it easier for you.’
‘It’s a bit run down, Clare, and I think she wants to leave most of the furniture. Will you mind terribly?’
‘Well, it won’t be the first time, will it?’ she came back at him. ‘So long as you don’t forget how to paint when you start talking to your cows,’ she added crisply. ‘We have rather a lot of experience in the refurbishing department.’
‘So shall I sign on the dotted line?’
‘And become Farmer Richardson as opposed to Lord Rothwell?’
‘Point taken,’ he replied soberly. ‘I’d very much like to sign. I have made up my mind but I’m asking if it’s all right with you, because I won’t if you don’t think I should, however much I might want to.’
She picked up his pen and handed it to him.
As Clare and Bronagh drove back through the gates of Drumsollen after the daily sandwich run some two weeks later, a fresh, April day with the trees just beginning to leaf, Bronagh noticed some men in the large field that ran alongside the driveway.