Wise Child

by Audrey Reimann

  It was Friday 1st September and as hot as any June day. In another two days they would know if there was going to be war. Hitler had been given an ultimatum: 'Withdraw from Poland or our country will be at war with Germany.’ Nobody doubted that they would have to fight. The factories were crying out for hands. Hammonds Silks was busy again. Chancellor's was printing camouflage cloth; the other factories were making shell cases and munitions, small parts for bigger guns, bullets, shells, webbing and rope. Once the men were called up the women would have to do men's work. They would be needed in the factories, on the land, in the hospitals and the forces. Air-raid shelters were built, gas masks had been distributed and children were arriving in town, evacuated from London and Manchester and Liverpool.

  Isobel drove through the Waters where a group of evacuees were being marched up Churchwallgate to the Market Place. The older ones, excited and voluble, held little white-faced children, some as young as four, by the hand. In front of the Town Hall their families were waiting for them in the blazing sunshine.

  Next to her sat Bobby in a special seat that had been made for him by a coachbuilder. Isobel said, 'You are a lucky boy. Going to Grandma's.'

  'Where Mummy go?' He stuck his thumb in his mouth.

  Isobel said, 'Mummy and Daddy are going to the pictures.' They had booked seats for Gone With The Wind and a dinner table at the Macclesfield Arms as a belated anniversary treat. It would be their first evening alone at Bollinbrook Road since Bobby was born; the first time Bobby had been left overnight in his grandparents' care, and tonight was their last chance to see the film everyone was raving about.

  Bobby understood little at eighteen months, but he liked his mother to chatter to him as she drove. He sat, blond curls falling forward over his brow, eyes drooping, as they went up Hibel Road and on towards Manchester Road and Bollington.

  'Mummy is going to leave you with Grandma and Pop. You like that, don't you?' Isobel pulled his thumb out of his mouth but he stuck it straight back in, so she left it there, tenderly thinking that there was no reason to deny a baby anything. His grandparents indulged him with every comfort a child could have.

  Magnus was now on the sidelines of their life. They gave all their time and attention to Bobby. Magnus said it was a relief to come second, to be overlooked and not to be on the receiving end of the Chilprufe coats, the fine wool underwear, the hair shampooing with beaten eggs, the delicacies they lavished on their adored grandson.

  Isobel and Magnus were in high spirits when they left Archerfield to return to Bollinbrook Road to change their clothes, Isobel into a short beige dress with padded shoulders and a crossover skirt that had buttons down the left side, Magnus into his new tweed suit. Only an hour later they were sitting at a table in the Macclesfield Arms Hotel, eating their way through a six-course dinner.

  They had tomato soup, baked haddock, roast fowl, apple charlotte, savoury aigrettes and cheese and cream crackers with coffee. They drank wine with it, a claret which was Magnus's favourite. Magnus said he felt devilish because he'd had three forbidden things, the tomato soup, the apple and the red wine. Isobel wanted to stop him but he would not be ordered about since he'd put his foot down to his mother. He certainly never allowed the least criticism of himself in public, so lsobel said, 'Do'you think: it's wise, darling? 'Drinking wine as well as eating apple and tomato?'

  He was bold after two glasses of claret. 'Life's not worth living if a man is not his own master,' he said.

  She agreed tactfully but stopped him from ordering more by saying, 'Come on. We'll be late for second house. We don't want to miss any.'

  They left the car in the Market Place and went arm in arm down Mill Street to the Majestic. Magnus used only one stick when Isabel was with him, and especially when walking downhill.

  Magnus said, 'We had a call from Ian this moming. He has passed out. He finished his officer training at Greenwich. He'll be appointed to a ship soon. He's going to Edinburgh for a week's leave ...'

  'Where will they send him?'

  'It could be anywhere.'

  'Maybe he'll stay in this country,' she said. 'They need doctors at the naval bases, don't they?'

  'Ian will want to see action. He'll volunteer for service on an aircraft carrier, or at least a battleship.' He added, 'I wish I could do my bit.'

  'If your mill is producing parachutes, you are doing your bit, Magnus,’ Isobel said as a shiver ran through her. It was a beautiful evening, balmy after the heat of the day. The trees had not shed their leaves and the hills and farmland around Macclesfield were at their sleepy, end-of-the-season best. It was hideous to imagine that in two days' time they would be in danger from bombers and guns and gas attacks

  But they were at the Majestic. The queue went round the white marble pillars outside the cinema and up the hill as far as Roe Street. They passed through the foyer and studied the photographs of the film stars and Magnus said, 'You are awfully like her, you know. Vivien Leigh. Everyone says so, even Father.'

  'Oh! You flatterer,' Isobel laughed, and said, to return the compliment, 'You look rather like Leslie Howard.'

  'Do you think so?' Magnus made a haughty gesture.

  lsobel awoke at about four in the morning, very cold. Magnus was icy. Half asleep, she tried to pull the covers higher, to warm his shoulders. Then her hand slid over his arm and it fell forward, cold and lifeless, and at once all her senses came jerking into life.

  There was a stench in the room, her lower body was wet. There was silence. There was no sound at all from Magnus, and he was not responding to her touch as Isobel pulled him over on to his back.

  ''Magnus! Magnus!' She clicked on the switch that hung over the bed.

  A glaring light came down to reveal the white, waxen face with lifeless eyes and jaw fallen open. His blood, the massive haemorrhage, had stained him and her and had soaked the bed beneath him, right up to the pillows and bolster. Magnus, her darling husband, was dead in her arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Magnus was buried in the little graveyard at Archerfield on a warm September afternoon. Isobel was deathly pale from shock and loss as she watched yet another coffin of yet another loved one being lowered into the earth. She had Bobby by the hand, and only his warm hand in hers gave her any comfort, any hope, any relief.

  She heard not a word of the service and she didn't look at a single face in the crowd of mourners. The Mackenzies were here - Ian, Rowena and their father; the Hammonds, Sylvia and Ray. Mr Chancellor came out of respect - he was quiet this time, none of the sobbing he'd been unable to control at the funeral of Sylvia's twins. The staff of Archerfield paid their respects and a few Bollington tradespeople came, but it was the family's loss and the family members had been rendered numb.

  Nobody cried. Magnus's mother and father stood silent, holding hands as their son's body was laid into the earth. The priest said, loud, so that all could hear on that golden afternoon with a soft breeze coming down from the hills above, 'Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay. In the midst of life we are in death; of whom may we seek for succour, but for thee, 0 Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased.'

  And fanciful though Isobel might be she lifted up her eyes to those hills and prayed for strength because, she told God, “Magnus was not a sinner. Magnus was a good man, who did good things. Why have you taken him from me?”

  Then Bobby came closer and leaned his hot little golden head against her leg and held tighter on to her hand. 'Go home, Mummy? Bobby go home, Mummy!' and Isobel picked him up and pressed his face close to hers until the last amen was said.

  After the funeral tea Mam went back to Lindow with Nanna, and the Hammonds demanded that Isobel and Bobby stay at Archerfield.

  'I can't,' Isobel told Magnus's father. 'I must go home. I need to be alone for a little time. I have to cry. I have to remember Magnus, tonight.'


  'Then leave Bobby here, with Grandma and me?' Pop Hammond was kind but firm. 'Mr Chancellor will drive you back to Bollinbrook Road, I am sure.'

  On the drive back to Bollinbrook Road she was silent, holding back tears until she could be alone. Mr Chancellor was clearly worried. At last he said kindly. 'You've had a bad do, lass. There's nothing I can say that would comfort you, is there?'

  Isobel began to cry. 'It's my fault. If it hadn't been for me …’

  'Hey! Hey! None of that,' he said. 'We can't have you thinking like that. It's not your fault. Whatever made you think so?'

  'I'm full of guilt. I'm afraid - afraid I'll go like I was before, thinking of dying and wishing I'd gone instead of Magnus. Thinking everyone's against me - whispering behind my back...'

  'Whispering what?'

  'That I'm a nobody -nothing. That nobody wants me. I bring trouble, shame, disgrace wherever I go ...'

  They reached Bollinbrook Road. Mr Chancellor had gone quiet. He helped her into the house and sat her in a chair by the fireplace. Then he stood over her where she sat, sobbing and incoherent.

  Isobel saw the helpless expression on that face that was always so cheery and breezy. She said, 'Leave me alone. If only I had someone to share it with ...' She put her head on to her arms and sobbed.

  He put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. 'Can't you share it with me, lass?'

  'No. No. I can't tell anyone. I want my husband. I never had a man of my own. I never knew my father. I want my own man. Don't you see ...? I can't take any more ...'

  He was very quiet. Twice he started to say something but held himself back. Finally he said, 'You can't be left on your own like this. Don't do anything daft. I'll go back and get someone to stop with you.'

  It was an hour before they arrived - lan, Rowena and Sylvia to comfort her and talk to her and to try to put hope and spirit back into her.

  Sylvia cried, 'I know what it's like. We will comfort one another Ray's call-up papers came this morning. I shall be all alone Oh, Isobel ...'

  Rowena said, 'You made Magnus very happy. You didn't think you'd have him for ever. Throw yourself into something as soon as you can. That's my advice. Don't dwell on your misfortunes.'

  The girls fussed over her. They said they would stay the night, sleeping together in the spare bed. They made hot drinks for her and put her to bed. They gave her a draught of something to quieten her and at last, when they were satisfied with their ministrations and Isobel was warm and sleepy and had no tears left, Ian came upstairs and sat on her bed, holding her hands.

  'You have to rise above it, Isobel,' he said. 'None of it is your fault. We will need all our strength for the fight. Don't spend yourself on self-pity.'

  'Thank you,' she whispered. 'I'll be all right. I've got Bobby.' She was very sleepy but she said, 'And you, Ian?'

  'Me?'

  'Have you found some girl, perhaps ... ?'

  He was silent for a moments. He just sat holding her hands and looking at her puffy face. Then he leaned forward and kissed her on the brow. 'No. I haven't found anyone. I'm joining my ship tomorrow. Write to me now and again.'

  It was not until she was going through Magnus's belongings, clearing out the roll-top desk where he kept all his private papers, that she found the letter. It was tucked inside a slim volume called Haemophilia: Clinical and Genetic Aspects. lsobel remembered it as one of the books from the redwood bookcase that had belonged to Mrs Chancellor. The envelope was addressed to Miss Sarah Pilkington, written in Pop's distinctive hand, and just as Magnus had, she read and understood at once the significance of the words written so long ago.

  Charlotte Square, Edinburgh.

  5th January. 1915

  My dear Sarah, Where have you been hiding these last weeks? My letters have gone un-answered. I have missed you. I wanted toUlIk to you and I have not seen you since the night last November when I came, undeserving to your bed and you gave yourself so generously. Your love gave me such comfort. I am glad there have been no repercussions ...

  Magnus had .kept this secret to himself because to tell would have broken so many hearts. But he had kept the letter, hoping that one day she would find it, and understand. And he had known that Sylvia, though married to her own half-brother, was a carrier of the disease that would stop her from bearing a normal son. There was nothing Magnus could have done about it. 'Magnus,' she wept. 'You were a good man who did good things. Why did you have to leave me?'

  *…*…*

  Brilliant moonlight lit up the countryside for miles around. Because Mam was in Macclesfield, Isabel went to Lindow to see Nanna at ten o'clock that May night. She had left Nanna only two hours before, but a little whispering voice had come to live inside her head and it told her that she should return. That night was going to be one of the worst and one of the last of the blitzes. Everyone had stood on the moonlit lawn at Archerfield, watching formations of German bombers going over White Nancy which was no longer white but painted green and brown and khaki in camouflage pattern. They saw the sky burning orange and red where Manchester lay to the north. lsobel put on her slacks. It was shocking to see a lady in trousers, Grandma said - then she went to Lindow.

  Nanna was in bed. She had been tired for a few days, breathless, and unusually for her had had no appetite. lsobel went straight upstairs to the bedroom where Nanna was lying, eyes closed, breathing fast but easily.

  ‘Nanna!'

  She opened her eyes. 'Eeh. Glad you came, our Lil. I'll not see the night out.'

  Isabel sat down on her bed and took hold of Nanna's little hand. 'I wish you'd have the doctor, Nanna.'

  She gave a sweet little smile. 'Doctor can't do anything. It's me heart, lass. It's tired out.'

  Isobel had suspected for days that Nanna was nearing her end. Mam would not face it. Mam said that Nanna had a touch of summer cold and would soon be right. But Nanna wanted to go. She had been talking a lot, these last days, about Grandpa and Magnus and how it would be when she met them again.

  'Stay with me,' she said, and she was gasping for breath. 'Keep me comp'ny. Let me go easy.'

  'I will.'

  'Have you had another letter from Ian?' she said, knowing that Isobel wanted her to ask.

  'He's in the Atlantic fleet. I'm not allowed to say which ship.'

  ‘I shan't tell anyone, lass. Not this side.'

  'He wants to marry me when the war's over,' Isabel said, and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks, remembering the words in his last letter: You have always been the only girl for me. I have been serious and reserved in the past and I have never been able to express myself on paper. I want to tell you that I was afraid of my powerful feelings for you that first time we kissed. I was afraid of being too eager, too fast. I was a fool, Isobel, not to tell you how much I need you. I want to lay my head on your breast and tell you of the great unbounded love I have for you. Will you marry me?

  Isobel said to Nanna, 'I wrote to him and said yes.'

  Nanna said, 'I'll be watching you, Lil. I'll be with you in spirit.'

  Isobel bit her lip. The letter had come three months ago. They all lived on a knife edge. Nobody could guess what the next day would bring.

  'When's Sylvia's baby ...' Nanna breathed.

  'July,' she said. Ray, a senior aircraftsman, was based in Kent and came home regularly on leave. Sylvia was expecting a child in July.

  Nanna whispered, 'You are going to be happy when it's over. You've had your troubles. You've fettled 'em, Lil! Isobel tried to hush her but she wanted to say more. 'You'll have your man and your house in the hills.'

  'Archerfield will go to Bobby, Nanna. He will have everything that was Magnus's.' The mill would be Bobby's when he was twenty-one.

  Isobel was salaried, a voting, working director of Hammond's. Magnus's father was going to work on, he said. He'd be like his own father before him and all the old mill-owners in Macclesfield. He'd die in harness.

  Nanna lifted a pale hand and patted the bed. 'Lie do
wn, lass. Like when you were little ...'

  Isobel slipped off her slacks and climbed into bed beside Nanna. 'I used to sigh, "A-ah! A-ah!'" she said as she lay down.

  'I'd say, "Is that you, our Lil?'" Nanna gave a deep sigh.

  'And I'd get in and cuddle up to you, like this ..., Isobel said, and she slipped her arm around Nanna, moved closer and said, 'I loved being with you, Nanna.' But Nanna had gone.

  One Sunday lunchtime, a month after Nanna died, Isobel cooked the Sunday dinner as she always did. They had roast pork, boiled potatoes and tinned peas with roast parsnips, there being no greens ready in June in Grandma's garden – for Mrs Hammond – Grandma had taken to the soil. Isobel had made apple pie and custard and all this because her in-laws had always eaten a roast on Sundays and always would.

  After it was over and Mam had returned to Lindow, they were all tired, Pop went for a lie-down in his room, Sylvia took Bobby up to bed with her for an afternoon rest and Grandma and Isobel collapsed into the wicker armchairs of the conservatory.

  The windows were all crisscrossed with sticky tape in case bombs fell. It was cold, damp and stuffy. 'Shall I open the door so we can breathe?' Isobel asked.

  Grandma said, 'Yes,' and when Isobel had done it, offered her a sherry and said, ‘Your mother does very well. All that work. And a husband in the asyl ... Sorry, the mental hospital.'

  There seemed no need to reply to this and lsobel took another sip of sherry as Grandma continued, 'War brings the best out in people.'

  What did she mean? 'Why do you say that?' Isobel said. 'War has done nothing for me.'

  'Class divisions go in wartime,' Grandma said. 'Snobbery has gone.'

  'You never were a snob,' Isobel said, at last daring to talk to her mother-in-law as an equal. 'You used to terrify me. You said what you meant but you never put on airs about your connections and social ambitions.'

  She laughed. 'That's because I'm Scottish. We don't make the same distinctions in Scotland. We look up to people who work hard and achieve great standing. We don't admire people simply for being high-born.'