by Millie Vigor
The last hymn sung and the closing prayer said, to a shuffle of feet the chapel emptied. Little groups formed on the path outside to exchange news and gossip. Robbie’s hand was pumped, his shoulder patted. Catherine was introduced to those whom Jannie thought mattered, while others were ignored.
‘And what did you think of our chapel, Catherine?’ asked Jannie when they were on their way home.
‘Chapel was fine,’ said Catherine, ‘but I won’t be going there again.’
‘You’ll not be coming to the meeting? exclaimed Jannie.
‘No. I’ve seen too much of life to go to church and be condemned to hell by some skinny little runt of a man.’
With a sharp intake of breath Jannie stopped walking and stood stock still, shock evident in the expression on her face. ‘You can’t say things like that about our preacher, and what do you mean, you’ve seen too much? Why, you’re no more than a child.’
‘That’s what you think, is it?’ The two women stood facing each other. The aunts, aghast at what was happening, stood behind Jannie and stared. Daa looked everywhere but at them. Robbie, anxious to intervene, began, ‘Listen, Mam,’ but Catherine placed her arm across him to keep him behind her. ‘Shut up,’ she said. Robbie silenced, she went on, ‘I worked in a hospital throughout the war, saw people with terrible injuries as the result of German bombs. Some died, often in great pain, children too.’ She spoke vehemently and passionately. ‘I did everything I could to comfort them and tell them of God’s love. It would have been very cruel of me if I had talked to them the way that preacher did. The Bible tells us that God is love, but there was no love in that chapel today.’ Now, her voice lowered, she said, ‘No, I will not go to chapel to be threatened.’
She turned away leaving the rest of the family speechless.
‘Come on, Robbie,’ she said, ‘we’ll walk on.’ Taking his arm she marched him forward, stepping out till they were well ahead of the others.
‘You didn’t think much of the preacher then?’ said Robbie.
‘What was that man trying to do? Where were love and compassion?’ Catherine’s anger was plain to see, its force made clear by the way she strode along.
‘Hey, slow down,’ said Robbie.
‘Slow down?’ Catherine stopped abruptly and turned to look at him. ‘According to that man God is a monster to be afraid of. That’s not the Christianity I know. You’ll never see me in church again.’
Robbie laughed. ‘Bet we do.’
EIGHT
THE BICYCLE WAS not new, but was in better condition than Billie’s. With the wind in her hair Catherine flew down the hill toward the surgery. Neil Lumsden was delighted to see her. ‘I don’t think I need to tell you much about cleaning,’ he said as he showed her round. ‘No doubt you had some dragon of a matron at the hospital where you worked, but you might answer the phone and take messages.’ Then, wagging a finger at her, ‘But you won’t steal any of my patients, will you?’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Catherine.
‘How are you settling in?’
‘Well … it’s a bit different from home.’
‘Mmm.’ The doctor looked sideways at her. ‘I’m not surprised you said that, but I’m sure you’ll weather it. I’m off now, I may see you tomorrow.’
The surgery, occupying a couple of rooms on the ground floor, contained a desk, a couple of chairs, an examination bench and a locked cupboard. The waiting room was furnished with an odd assortment of chairs. A few magazines were laid on a coffee table. A fire had been lit and slabs of peat still burned in the fireplace. Catherine imagined Lumsden’s patients sitting there discussing and comparing ailments. A visit to the doctor here might almost be classed a social occasion, far removed from the sterile qualities of the waiting-room in casualty at St Margaret’s in Southampton.
Catherine was happy to be away from Jannie, who, since the words they’d had coming home from the chapel, had grown even colder toward her. She concentrated on her work and when she thought the rooms would pass the strictest of matron’s inspections she locked up, got on her bike and rode off in the direction of Deepdale.
Robbie was on the roof of their house with Billie when she got home. ‘We’ll soon have it finished,’ he said as he came down the ladder. ‘It’s not as bad as I thought, only had to replace a couple of bits of timber. We’re tarring it now.’
‘I’ve never seen a tarred roof. Why don’t you put slates on it?’
‘Probably will later on, but we’ve got other stuff to spend our money on, furniture for instance,’ said Robbie.
When the roof had at last been declared watertight and the floor in the living room made sound Catherine took the table and chairs outside. With a bucket of soapy water and a scrubbing brush, borrowed from Kay, she scrubbed and rinsed and dried. She also borrowed a dustpan and brush and a long-handled broom and went to work indoors. She took down pictures and curtains, destroyed cobwebs, cleaned the stove, swept walls and floors. She had already colour-washed the bedroom. Propped against the wall there, waiting to be put together, was a new bed. A bed that had been ordered, waited for, and welcomed when it came. The box-bed in the living room would have to go. She was looking at it when Kay walked in.
‘How are you getting on?’ asked Kay.
‘Not bad,’ said Catherine. There was dust in her hair and the remains of a stray cobweb highlighting her curls.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
Catherine laughed. ‘Only if you’ve got an axe.’
‘An axe? Oh, the bed. My dear, you can’t chop it up, it’s good wood.’
‘Robbie said I could have anything I wanted. I ached for a proper bed. I’ve got one. This one has to go and if you won’t help then I’ll smash it up myself.’
‘I would have thought that by now,’ Kay’s voice was stem, ‘you would have realized there’s a shortage of timber here. The wood in that bed is valuable.’
Valuable! Catherine looked at Kay, who went on, ‘Every piece of wood has to be brought in by boat; surely you’ve noticed that what trees do grow here are very stunted and that there aren’t many of them.
‘Well … yes … but I never thought …’
‘No, I don’t suppose you did. Let Robbie take the bed to pieces and use it to build something else.’
‘Mm, I suppose you’re right,’ said Catherine.
The rain and wind of April gave way and May came in with fine cold days. Catherine, on her way home, stood at the top of the road and looked down into the valley. The aunts in their long skirts and shawls were throwing scraps out for the hens. Jannie had come out too and the three old women stood there gossiping.
A shaft of sunlight drifted across the ocean, highlighting the restless waters of the bay and making them shimmer with a brightness that was painful to see; the beach glowed. Sunshine spread to the valley and brought it to life. It chased shadows across the land over the houses and away up to the hills. It made mirrors of windows, heightened the colours of all it touched, and Catherine saw the valley in a different way. It was a little world on its own, far apart from the hustle and bustle of life away from the islands; now she could begin to see why it was where Robbie wanted to stay. She stood to take it in for a few minutes more, then, pushing the bicycle, went down the hill.
They watched her as she drew near, the aunts and Jannie, and she was sure they had been talking about her. It was obvious from the way they nodded their heads and smiled at one another.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘It’s a lovely day, isn’t it.’
‘Not bad,’ said Jannie, and, ‘So it is,’ said Mina, while Laura just smiled.
‘And how are you getting on with our good doctor?’ asked Mina.
‘I like him.’
‘He’ll not work you too hard. Do you see the wife?’
‘I haven’t seen her yet. I gather she’s not too well.’
‘A likely story.’
Oh dear, what piece of gossip was Mina wanting to tell? Catheri
ne didn’t want to hear. ‘Please excuse me,’ she said, ‘I must get on. I have things to do.’
Standing on the floor in her house was a rope-bound box. When Robbie had complained about the weight of it, when he had to drag it on and off trains and on to the ferry, she had wondered why she had bothered to bring it with her. But it contained all her treasures and at last it was going to be opened. The house was cold, but she soon had a fire going and in front of it, kneeling on a rug that Kay had given her; she pulled the box towards her and began to unfasten the ropes that bound it. She didn’t hurry, but eased every knot apart and rolled the rope into a ball. Then she lifted the lid.
She lifted out sheets then pillowcases. There were more pillowcases, but these were embroidered. As she opened them out she was taken back to when she sat with needle and thread, dreaming as she stitched, of the day they would be on the bed she would share with Robbie. She put them aside and took out more linen, tablecloths and towels. There were some wrapped bundles, a clock, ornaments, a set of saucepans and a kettle. From the middle of it all she lifted a package wrapped in a towel; when it was unwrapped a doll with blue eyes in a china face stared at her. ‘You made it then,’ said Catherine, ‘I was afraid you might get broken. One day I’ll give you to my little girl. That’s if I’m lucky enough to have one.’ She put the doll on the chair behind her and turned again to the box.
Another package contained a framed photograph of her parents. She held it up and looked at them. ‘You would never believe me if I told you what it’s like here,’ she said, ‘and for that reason I never shall. But I love Robbie and “better or worse”, that’s the way it shall be.’
She was surrounded by the contents of the box which she had spread out on the floor when Robbie came in.
‘What are you doing?’ he said.
‘Diving into my treasure chest. We’ve got plenty of sheets and pillowcases, but no blankets or pillows. We’ve got saucepans and cutlery but no plates. What are we going to do?’
‘Go and see Kay, she’ll know.’
It was a fine morning. One of those rare days when the sky was a bonnie blue and the sea looked up and swallowed it whole. One of those days when wind fled away and peace settled over all, a day too tranquil for anything but pleasure.
‘Leave what you’re doing,’ said Robbie. ‘We’re going out in the boat.’
Catherine needed no second bidding. As they pulled away from the shore in the dinghy she looked into the crystal-clear water. ‘I can see right to the bottom,’ she said, ‘and there’s a fish.’
‘I’ll get you a line so you can fish for your own supper then,’ said Robbie.
Aboard the Deepdale Lass Catherine stood beside Robbie as he sailed out of the bay. ‘It seems bigger now we’re on it,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you can manage it and set the pots by yourself? Shouldn’t you take Daa with you?’
‘No. He wouldn’t want to come, that’s why he gave the boat to me.’
The sea was like glass with hardly a ripple to disturb its surface; its only turmoil was in the wake of the boat. Catherine was thrilled with the sound of water lapping the sides of it, the purr of the engine and the lazy mewing of a gull.
‘This is lovely,’ she said. ‘I’d like to do it again.’
They sailed up the coast, Robbie pointing out and naming places. Then he turned the Lass and headed out to sea. When he turned towards land again Catherine could see how secluded the valley was; she could also see way up the hill to where sheep were grazing. With the engine slowed Robbie took the boat round Mouat’s Craig. ‘There’s no way to land on it,’ he said. ‘It’s just a skerrie, a lump of rock. I’m going to set my pots here. We’ll go home now.’
With the engine idling he eased the Deepdale Lass through the entrance to the bay, anchored her and helped Catherine down into the dinghy. As he rowed ashore he asked her if she was going to be busy that afternoon.
‘I’ve got to start cutting peat,’ he said, ‘I wondered if you’d come with me?’
Jannie was at her sister’s house and she, along with Mina and Laura was busy with a piece of knitting.
‘What does du think of Robbie’s wife, Jannie?’ asked Mina.
‘Well, I thought I might have made her go home, but she’s going to stay.’
‘And are you not pleased at that?’
‘No. I know she’d be no use on a croft, you only have to look at her hands, fine and soft they are. I cannot see her working wi’ the peat or the sheep. My poor Robbie’s gotten himself the wrong wife.’
Laura listened to her sister’s conversation, but said nothing.
‘She didn’t take long to get a job,’ said Mina.
Jannie muttered, ‘And how long do you think that’ll last? She says she’s a trained nurse. You don’t have to train to clean a house.’ Turning the work in her hands she inserted the spare needle into the knitting-belt on her waist and set her fingers flying again. ‘Wait now till she has to help Robbie wi’ plantin’ tatties and clippin’ sheep. Hard work’ll be too much for her.’
‘And what would she do if she had a bairn?’
‘A bairn?’
‘Ay, did you not think she would?’
For a moment Jannie’s fingers stopped. ‘Well, I know it’s likely, but I was so sure she wouldn’t stay I hadn’t thought about it,’ she said.
‘Likely you should,’ said Mina. ‘If she can’t cope wi’ the work now, how would she do wi’ a little one to look after?’
‘Ach,’ Jannie shook her head, ‘it’ll not happen, she’ll be away before the year is out. She was never made to work hard.’
Laura stopped knitting, lifted her head and looked straight at Jannie. ‘That’s not right. Catherine cleaned out her house all by herself. She painted all the walls and the wood round the windows and the door. Robbie didn’t help at all; he was busy on the boat.’
The clicking of needles had stopped. Jannie and Mina stared at Laura. Suddenly Mina’s jaw snapped shut, ‘You don’t know what you’re saying, Laura. Go and put the kettle on.’ She turned her attention to Jannie. ‘Never mind her.’
Catherine carried a bag containing a flask of tea and some bannocks. Resting on Robbie’s shoulder were his tools. In the valley the air had been still and warm, but as they climbed the hill it grew cooler; when they reached the top there was a soft breeze.
‘Just the day for what I have to do,’ said Robbie.
‘How do you know which bank is yours?’ asked Catherine.
‘These have always been dug by Deepdale folk. This is the one for us.’
For a while Catherine watched as Robbie sliced off the tough heathery turf to expose the peat beneath it.
‘You don’t have to dig for everybody, do you? What do your aunts do?’
‘Daa and I dig for them, but they and Mam have to come up to raise it. You’ll have to come and do ours.’
‘Raise it?’
‘Turn it and dry it. I’ll show you what to do.’
They were not the only ones on the moor, among others who had come to win their peat was Billie. He saw them and came loping across.
‘I hear you have the boat in the water,’ he said. ‘Will you take me fishin?’
‘I likely could.’
Robbie stood holding the handle of his spade. He looked at Billie, who had hung his head and was looking sideways at Catherine. He laughed. ‘Aren’t you going to say hello to Catherine?’ he said.
‘Oh, ay,’ said Billie and with a fleeting smile looked at Catherine. ‘Hello,’ he said; then, ‘I’d better get to me work or Daa’ll be at me if I’ve not done.’
He was off as he had come, bounding and leaping from tussock to tussock.
‘He’s awful shy,’ said Robbie with a grin on his face, ‘but I’d say in a year or two, when he gets a fancy for a lass, he’ll lose that.’ He went back to his work and watching him, Catherine thought what a hard job it was. How much longer would it take?
And then Robbie had done with the turf and the length
of the peat bank had been exposed. ‘I’ll have that bannock and a drink now,’ he said and sat himself down on the turf beside Catherine.
‘Do you have to do all this hard work?’ she said when they had eaten and she had poured out mugs of tea. ‘Couldn’t you burn logs or coal?’
‘Yes, that would be very nice,’ said Robbie, ‘but where would we get them? Coal comes by boat, is expensive and there are no trees to provide logs.’
‘I should have known that,’ admitted Catherine. ‘I wanted to chop up the box-bed, but Kay wouldn’t let me. I’ve got a lot to learn.’
‘She was right. Peat is free,’ said Robbie, ‘but wood is expensive.’
He drained his mug and put it down. Then, hands behind his head, he lay back on the turf and closed his eyes. Catherine sat and looked around her. A skylark rose up out of the heather and, trilling its song, climbed the sky. In the distance the sea was blue and sparkling. There was no rush of traffic here, no one was in a hurry, no get to work on time and can’t be late. Life went on in a different way.
‘Robbie,’ she said, ‘why does your mother boss everyone about?’
‘She’s always been the same. I don’t take any notice.’
‘You do. I heard you shouting at her when you didn’t know where I was.’
‘Ah … that was different. I thought she’d said something to make you leave and I wasn’t going to let her drive you away.’
‘Why do you let her get away with it? Why don’t you answer her back?’
‘What good would that do? It would only make her more mad.’
‘She’s not going to boss me.’
Robbie gave a deep throaty chuckle and said, ‘I’d already gathered that.’
‘Would you like to know what decided me to stay?’