Catherine of Deepdale

by Millie Vigor

  Catherine held up the dresses, turned them this way and that, then shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘You’re right, you know. Quiet wedding or not, it is a special day so it needs a special dress. I shall go to Lerwick tomorrow and see what I can find. Now what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m brought your shawl.’ Laura handed a parcel to Catherine. ‘Who are you going to have for your best wife?’

  ‘Best wife? It’ll have to be you, of course.’

  ‘I was hopin’ you would say that,’ said Laura. ‘I’d be very proud. Now I have to go.’ She had not gone further than the bedroom door when she turned around. ‘What is Norrie makin’ such a noise for? Sounds like he’s pullin’ the house apart.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Catherine put down the parcel and followed Laura. As they went out of doors the sound of hammer blows and splintering wood grew louder. ‘Whatever is he doing?’

  ‘He’ll likely tell you later,’ said Laura.

  ‘If he doesn’t I shall ask him,’ said Catherine.

  But Norrie didn’t tell her. ‘You don’t need to know,’ he said, ‘Go you and buy a dress, do what you have to do and leave me to do mine.’

  Shopping for a trousseau, even a small one, was not something to be rushed. Underwear was not hard to find, but when it came to a dress the choice was harder to make. Thanks to Dior’s New Look, dress rails had filled with frocks with tight waists and full skirts: not what Catherine wanted. But shop assistants were eager to help when they heard what the new dress was for and Catherine was persuaded to try on one garment after another until at last everyone in the shop smiled and agreed that the one she had chosen could not be bettered. The dress was wrapped and, with the parcels containing her other purchases, put in her basket.

  At home work went on as usual and gradually the days drifted by till at last there was none left and the very next was to be her wedding day. Everything that couldn’t be left till the last minute had been done. Laura had made cakes, Jannie had cooked a ham and Catherine had ordered and received a wedding cake which was in a box on the table in her kitchen. Her dress was on a hanger, her shoes were placed side by side on the floor and the wedding shawl, wrapped in a muslin cloth, was in the chest of drawers.

  There was nothing left to do and everything seemed to have come to a grinding halt; it was the calm before the storm, thought Catherine as she looked out of the window at a grey sky and a restless sea. Through her mind raced all the things that had happened since she first set foot in Deepdale. Was it really nearly seven years? She had reached a turning point now. She loved Norrie and ought to be excited, but the wedding was to be such a quiet affair, nothing like the day she had wed Robbie Jameson. Her mother had taken charge then and for Doris it had to be the whole works. The traditional white dress was borrowed, Janet and one of her friends were bridesmaids and a friend of Robbie’s was his best man. Begged and borrowed from friends and relations, rations were stretched to provide a feast for the reception. It had all gone without a hitch.

  ‘Will you read me a story, Mam?’

  Little Robbie’s voice brought her out of her reverie.

  They were beside one another in the armchair, squeezed tight for Robbie was growing fast, when the door opened and Norrie’s grinning face appeared. ‘Catherine,’ he said, ‘you have a visitor. I think you’d better sit down … oh, you are.’

  ‘What mischief are you up to now, Norrie?’

  He shook his head, ‘Nothing,’ he said as he pushed the door wide open.

  ‘Did you think we’d let you go to your wedding without us?’

  ‘Mum!’ cried an astonished Catherine, ‘and Dad too,’ as a smiling Peter Marshall looked over his wife’s shoulder. She jumped up and ran to embrace her mother. ‘Oh, I’m so happy to see you, but … oh … you hated the journey last time. Whatever made you risk it again?’

  ‘We think you’ve already been through enough on your own,’ said Doris, ‘and the journey was worth it just to see your face now.’

  ‘It was a hell of a trip,’ said Peter. ‘I wouldn’t like to do it too often. And your mother was right about you living at the back of beyond. I’m surprised, but there must be something special about it for you to stay.’

  ‘Oh there is, Dad. You should see it in summer, it’s beautiful then. Uh,’ Catherine looked at her father and mother, ‘what am I going to do with you, I mean, where are you going to sleep? I don’t have enough room.’

  ‘It’s all taken care of,’ said Norrie.

  ‘I might have known you would have had something to do with this,’ said Catherine. ‘What other plans have you hatched up?’

  ‘Jannie kens your mother was comin’,’ said Norrie. ‘They’re going to sleep at her house.’

  Catherine laughed. ‘The glorious box-bed, it’ll be a totally new experience for you, Mum.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m not going to tell you. But look, I’ve forgotten the most important thing. Meet Norrie, if you haven’t already; he’s the man I’m going to marry. Norrie, this is my mum and dad.’

  When Norrie had taken himself off Catherine pulled a chair out from the table. ‘Come and sit down,’ she said, ‘and tell me all your news.’

  ‘I want to see the boy,’ said Peter.

  Robbie, clutching the book he had wanted his mother to read, was still sitting in the armchair. Catherine gasped. ‘I was going to read to him. I’m sorry darling,’ she said as she turned round. ‘Come and say hello to your grandma and grandpa from England.’

  ‘My, hasn’t he grown,’ said Doris as Robbie slid out of the chair and came towards her. ‘Hello. I have something in my bag for you.’

  FORTY

  THE MORNING OF Friday the seventeenth of December dawned cold and clear. Catherine woke while it was still dark. She stretched her legs long and her arms wide, then curled herself small. She was warm and cosy and didn’t want to get up; in fact she wanted to stay there as long as she could. She had planned her day down to the last detail but now that her mother was here there was little doubt that she would have a hand in it. And what had Norrie been up to? He must have known her parents were coming. Oh well, the day was probably going to be one of surprises. She threw back the bedclothes and got up.

  Robbie was still sleeping when she looked in on him. He slept on his back. Holding the candlestick high she gazed down on his face, his cheeks were rosy with health, his hair dark against the pillow. You look more like your father every day, she thought; as long as I’ve got you he’ll still be with me.

  She set the kettle to boil and went about laying the table for breakfast. What a boon it would be when electricity – already lighting and warming the houses in Lerwick – came to the valley. Piped water was on its way too. When it reached Deepdale she would no longer have to climb the hill to the well for a bucket of spring water, but would be able to turn on a tap.

  Tea made and drunk, she made breakfast and called Robbie to get up. ‘You have to have a bath now,’ she said when he’d finished eating. ‘I’m going to be busy so I want you to go along to Daa and Grandma. But you’re not to get dirty; I won’t want to bath you again.’

  She was busy cutting up bread to make sandwiches when Doris arrived.

  ‘Cathie, love, can I do anything to help?’

  ‘No. Thanks very much. We won’t be leaving here till about four o’clock so there’s plenty of time. Sit down and tell me how you’re getting on with Jannie.’

  ‘Well,’ said Doris, ‘I can understand most of what she says now. You’ve been keeping things from me again, haven’t you? She told me about you getting caught in a snowstorm and spending the night up on the hill.’

  ‘Oh, that.’

  ‘Yes, oh that. It’s a wonder you’re still here, she said.’

  ‘But I am,’ said Catherine. ‘Come and look at my dress.’

  ‘But you’re going to walk to the church, aren’t you?’ said Doris when she looked at the pale-peach dress on the hanger. ‘Won’t you be cold?
’

  ‘Jannie’s loaned me her mother’s winter shawl. It’s better than an overcoat.’

  The shawl was lying on the bed. ‘Looks more like a blanket,’ said Doris. ‘I’m glad things are better between you; when I think of you I shall feel happier.’

  ‘How did you get on in the box?’

  ‘I never knew anything like that existed,’ exclaimed Doris. ‘Your dad couldn’t get to sleep for laughing. Just when I thought he’d dropped off he’d chuckle again. I felt like thumping him, he was keeping me awake.’

  ‘I hated it. I made Robbie buy me a proper bed when we moved in here.’ Catherine laughed. ‘You can sleep in my bed after the wedding if you like.’

  They were in the bedroom when Laura came in. ‘It’s a bonnie dress, is it not,’ she said as Doris Marshall was helping her daughter into it.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ said Doris. ‘Now, the shawl is old, the dress is new, so what’s borrowed and what’s blue?’

  ‘I haven’t got anything blue.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ said Doris.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ said Mina as she joined them, ‘but I could hear you talking.’ She handed a small box to Catherine. ‘This is for you.’

  A present from Mina! Catherine opened the little box and lifted a turquoise pendant from its nest of white tissue. She held it up for all to see. ‘Oh, Mina, it’s beautiful. Thank you so much,’ she said.

  Stiff, upright Mina stood with her hands clasped together in front of her. ‘Ay well, it’ll look fine on you. You’re a good lass, for all that you’re English.’

  ‘And now you have your something blue,’ said Doris as she fastened the pretty blue pendant’s silver chain round Catherine’s neck.

  ‘Now for the shawl,’ said Laura. She draped the fine cobweb lace over Catherine’s head and secured it with some hairpins. ‘You don’t want the wind to take it away.’

  Like a veil the fine white wool sat gently on Catherine’s dark hair and clung to her shoulders where it contrasted sharply with the sombre colours of Jannie’s heavy shawl. All final adjustments made, Laura stood back to look at her handiwork. She stood smiling at Catherine, then said, ‘You are most surely da vire o da isle.’

  ‘And what does that mean?’ asked Catherine.

  ‘Doesn’t need any explanation,’ said Doris, ‘you look absolutely beautiful.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Laura, ‘You are a most beautiful lass.’

  Billie, Norrie’s best man, pushed Catherine’s door open. ‘Come on, are you ready? The minister will be waiting.’ He looked at Catherine and gave a low whistle. ‘Hold on a minute, I’m thinkin’ I’ll lock Norrie up and run away wi’ you myself. You look beautiful, Catherine.’

  ‘Go away with you, Billie. Come on Laura, Mum, it’s time to go.’

  There were no cars to take them; Norrie had wanted a walking wedding. They and their guests would go to the church on foot. He was waiting outside when Catherine, Billie, Laura and her mother went along to Jannie’s.

  Any thoughts or plans that she was going to have a quiet wedding disappeared when Catherine stepped in to the Jameson house. It was full of people. Added to Jannie and Daa, the aunts and her father, were others whom she didn’t know. There was a man with a fiddle who tucked it under his chin and began to play when he saw her. Robbie, who was sitting on his grandmother’s knee, slid to the floor and ran to his mother.

  ‘Why are you dressed like that?’ he said.

  ‘We’re going to the church. Norrie and I are to be married,’ said Catherine. ‘You’re coming with us. See, Grandma Jannie’s got her best hat on and so has Auntie Mina. You can walk with me.’

  Fiddler first, playing as he went, they left the house, Norrie with Laura, Billie with Catherine and little Robbie. Catherine’s parents next, then came Jannie and Daa while the rest of the company paired off and followed behind. Up the hill they went, the old folk puffing and blowing. At last they were at the top and there waiting for them were more people.

  With Rose and Bobbie Robertson were more people and a young man who held a fiddle. The extra folk fell in behind and the little procession set off again. Billie tucked Catherine’s arm in his. ‘I thought you said you wanted a quiet wedding?’ he said. ‘You can’t have a quiet wedding here. Just listen.’

  From behind came the buzz of voices and laughter, the shuffle of feet and the shrieks and cries of children. In front of them the young fiddler, who had joined the other, played and pranced and danced ahead of them. A gusting wind had got up. A hat, which hatpins had been unable to secure, flew through the air to roll along the road, where it defied attempts at laughing children to pin it down.

  ‘Your head will roll if you laugh at me,’ said the owner to the boy who had caught and returned it. The merciless wind, not content with stealing the hat, had scrambled the few thin wisps of hair that the hat had covered and stood them up on end.

  ‘You’re like an old witch,’ laughed the boy and jumped neatly out of the way as the old wife took a swipe at him with her walking-stick.

  As they went down the hill into Broonieswick and through the village the procession grew. Folk came out of their houses to join it. Catherine turned to Billie. ‘I hope they don’t all come home with us,’ she said. ‘There won’t be enough room and certainly not enough food.’

  ‘I dinna think you need to worry about that,’ he said.

  The windows of the little church were glowing with the light from its oil lamps. The minister was there to meet them. He turned and led them up the aisle.

  Catherine had thought she was in control, had her wedding all planned. But when her mother walked in she knew it was out of her hands and when Laura had settled the shawl on her head she had felt she was stepping into a dream. The feeling had grown as the procession had grown larger and people she knew only by sight had smiled at her and fallen into step. Where were they coming from and why? Billie said she needn’t worry why they were there or how they were to be fed. Visions of Laura baking batches of cakes saying they were for the church flitted through her mind. So that’s what she’d been up to, baking to feed wedding-guests.

  The dream went on as she walked up the aisle. An organ played, then the minister was speaking and Billie was grinning at her as he gave Norrie a ring. Norrie put it on her finger, promising to love and cherish her as he did so. She looked up into his face, into his kind brown eyes. Then she too was repeating the words the minister was saying, ‘… to love and to cherish, to honour and obey.’

  It was done; she and Norrie were married. With a broad smile on his face the minister said, ‘You may now kiss the bride,’ but he was too late for Catherine was already being kissed.

  ‘Is there something going on in the hall?’ asked Catherine as they walked down the church path and she saw vehicles parked and windows full of light.

  ‘I think they’re waiting for us,’ said Norrie.

  Catherine stopped abruptly. ‘You had it all planned, didn’t you?’

  ‘Catherine, my love, we all thought we were never going to see you again when you went up the hill and didn’t come back. Ken, it takes somethin’ like that to tell folk what you’re worth and we wanted to show you.’ A slow smile spread across his face, then turned into a grin. Dropping into the dialect he said, ‘And did du no ken, du canna hae a quiet weddin’ in Shetland?’

  ‘Move on, the soup’s getting cold,’ called a voice.

  ‘Ay, and the tatties’ll be ready,’ said someone else. Then, as Catherine put her arms round Norrie’s neck and kissed him more voices chimed in. ‘Time for yon later,’ ‘I’m dying here for want o’ meat,’ ‘Hey, Norrie, I’m the best man, I should be doin’ that.’ That was Billie.

  ‘Away wi’ you, Billie,’ said Norrie. ‘Find your own wife.’

  In the hall tables were laid for a feast. Dishes of potatoes, platters of roast pork, lamb and beef and jugs of gravy were brought out and set before the guests. Catherine, sitting with Norrie, marvelled at where it had all com
e from. There were jugs of water and squash; no wine, but when she saw a hand go into an inside pocket and a small bottle being withdrawn she had to smile. Trust a Shetlander to find his own drink. When the feasting was over, tables cleared and put away, the room was swept and the fiddlers began to play.

  ‘Come, we have to start the dance,’ said Norrie. Taking Catherine by the hand he led her on to the floor. Hand in hand and in time to a marching tune they went down the centre of the room, then, parting right and left, each took up another partner. At the top of the room they joined together again and this time marched four abreast. Again they parted and took another, circled again till they were eight in number. Now they paired off and formed a set.

  The fiddle-players had been joined by a pianist, and a bow drawn across the strings of a fiddle was the signal to start on an eightsome reel. Soon feet were flying and hands clapping. Catherine tripped lightly through the sequence of steps, smiled when they brought her back to Norrie, when they clasped hands and swung, then parted to stand side by side and clap as another couple danced.

  ‘I didn’t know you could dance like that,’ said Doris to a rosy-cheeked Catherine when the dance was finished.

  ‘I’ve learned a lot of things, Mum. Dancing’s only one of them.’

  ‘Do this with me, love?’ asked Peter as a Boston Two-step was announced.

  ‘With pleasure, Dad,’ said Catherine.

  Happy laughing people filled the floor and with feet stamping in time to the thumping rhythm of the piano and the frantic playing of the fiddlers the walls of the hall throbbed. The minister, devoid of his jacket, shirt-sleeves rolled up and trousers anchored by a pair of red braces, but still wearing his dog collar, danced with enthusiasm. Sitting with Norrie, Catherine watched Neil Lumsden’s long legs negotiating the intricate steps of the Lancers. Billie, with a different partner for every dance, was never off the floor.

  Mina, who was sitting with Jannie and Laura, came to speak to Norrie. ‘Do you not think us old folk could have a dance?’ she said.