by Dirk Bogarde
Lally had soap suds up to her elbow. ‘Black-Man’s what?’ she said, and you could see she was alarmed.
So I said, because I already knew, from being up in that dreadful country, that she really meant a black pudding. So that was all right, and our father loved haggis, although Lally said it had taken her a little time to ‘get used to them’. But she only had them once a year, and the getting-used-to was a bit of a shock every time. ‘As long as you don’t dwell on what they are made of, you’ll come to no harm,’ she said. ‘There is a very big difference between the words “composed” and “de-composed”, and that’ll do for the moment. Savoury, that’s what your father says, and savoury they certainly are.’
When we finished the washing-up, and put the plates and things back on the dresser, had a game of Snakes and Ladders, and two of Happy Families, we had to take the bricks out of the oven in the range, wrap them in bits of an old flannel shirt which had belonged to her father, Mr Jane, and put them in our beds. My sister and I were in our room, the first one, Flora had the second one, and Lally was right at the end, in hers. But we all had doors between each other, so when Lally called out ‘Goodnight, be good!’ we all heard her. But this time she called out and said to remember that in two days’ time it would be Christmas Eve, and that our father and mother would be with us, and they’d bring Minnehaha our cat, and a goose and presents, and that we had to be quiet with our mother because she had had a ‘nasty time of it’, and so we were to be respectful and kind. And did we hear all that? And we all yelled through from our rooms, ‘Yes!’, so that was all right.
My sister huffled and fuffled about in her bed across the room.
‘Whatever are you doing?’
‘Trying to find the comfortable part. I’ve forgotten since last time. Do you like Flora? I mean really like her?’
‘Not much. But whisper. She’s next door, and it’s open.’
‘What is?’
‘The door.’
She huffled and fuffled a bit more. Then she said suddenly, ‘Did you show her her potty? With the pheasant on the bottom?’
‘Yes. She looked worried. I think she’ll save it all up until morning.’
‘Save what all up?’
‘Widdle.’
‘Oh. I see. These Scots people. Really. But it’s good about no books or socks and just haggis. Isn’t it?’
‘And our father and mother and Minnehaha . . . I am a bit worried about Sat and Sun. They drive him wild. He can smell them.’
‘Well, put them on a shelf in the lean-to.’
‘It’s cold there.’
‘I think it’s very nice being back again. Don’t you . . .?’
But her voice was getting a bit faded, so I just agreed. But I did feel it was very nice, the candlestick with Australia on the chair beside my bed, the Weekend safe, fed and watered, on the shelf by the stairs, Flora asleep in the next room, and being with Lally. Because, apart from our parents, Lally was the best person in all the world, even if she did cuff me a bit and make me cart the water up in buckets and bury the Bindie Bucket and everything. She made it all feel safe, and loving.
Just through the wall I could hear her snoring. It was very nice indeed.
Chapter 5
I was just lying there: it was very warm and safe-feeling. I knew it was still dark because there was no ragged line of light round the curtains and I could hear Flora snoring, or moaning, in her bed. My sister was probably curled up with her head under the quilt. She always slept like that, only this time I couldn’t see her because it was dark. But if I turned my head and looked through Flora’s room I could see the orange glimmer round Lally’s bedroom door, and that was her getting up. So, worse luck, as soon as she’d got on her pinafore, tidied up her hair and shaken her alarm clock (she always did this to see if it was still working even though she could hear it ticking, but it was just something she did anyway, to be quite certain), I knew the door would creak open and she’d come through the rooms and tell us to start waking up, quick sharp, and that another day was starting and there was this or that to do if we wanted any breakfast. I knew it by heart, I suppose.
‘Time to wake up! Lots to do before breakfast!’ she said. (You see?) And then she saw I was awake ‘There’s a surprise for you all outside . . . better get your skates on before it goes.’ She was holding her candle high so that shadows danced across the bumpy plaster walls and made the beams black and wavery. She had her indoor shoes in her other hand, so as not to wake us up, except that she had already woken us.
‘What is it?’ I said and sat up, and felt the cold slither right down my back.
‘Been a fall of snow overnight. Still as still . . . but it won’t lie. Best put on your woolly stockings from the top drawer. It’s a very cold morning.’ And then she opened the door to the stairs and went rustling down while I reached for the box of Swan Vestas by the candlestick.
When we all got down to the kitchen, and after I’d looked to see if all was well with the Weekend (which it was), the light was goldeny brown from the paraffin lamp and the candle, and the range was crackling and Lally was pumping up the Primus . . . the other one had a singing kettle on it – well, not exactly singing, but sighing really. It was still dark outside, but if you pressed hard against the cold glass, and shaded your face against the lamplight with your hands, you could see, as clear as clear, that everything outside was white.
‘It’ll be light in a few minutes, near eight o’clock, and as soon as it is, and as soon as you’ve had a good hot drink, taken your Virol, got on your Wellingtons, then it’s off with you all to do a bit of wooding for the kindling pile while I get the toast and porridge ready. And I want no arguments!’ She looked very serious, one hand on hip, bread knife in the other. I mean, it was sticking up! You couldn’t argue with her.
‘What’s for breakfast?’ I said, pouring milk from the milk-can into a jug.
‘Tea, toast and six eggs! And out of my way, I’ve a busy day today.’ She wagged the knife at me, ‘Toot de sweet, now!’
My sister came clumping down the stairs doing up her snake-belt. It was her most favourite thing, and she’d pinched it from me, but I had a second, so it didn’t worry me really. But she wore it even with her good flannel skirt from school. Not just her shorts, like she did in summer. ‘You said it was snowing!’ she grumbled. ‘That’s what you said,’ and she began to pull up her school socks which were woollen and awful-looking things. Wrinkled grey worms.
‘It was snowing! I said there had been a light fall, if I’m right – and no one try to correct me. It’s stopped now, and you’ll come to no harm and I reckon you won’t see a polar bear, no more a penguin, where you are going. And please set the sugar on the table. Flora! Flora! Come along now, do. Breakfast is about to begin. Flora! Do I have to bang a gong?’
‘She wouldn’t know what a gong was,’ I said. ‘And the wood will be all snowy, all the kindling and everything.’
‘So what’s the use?’ said my sister huffing about looking for the Tate and Lyle on the dresser.
‘The use is that I need the kindling, so shake the snow off – don’t dare bring it into the house and make all the rest sodden!’
‘But there is masses of kindling, we got piles yesterday!’
‘And you’ll get piles today! Or else my name is not Ellen Jane
My sister looked at me across the table and made a twisty face, and we both began to snort a bit, and Lally suddenly got a bit red in the face, the way she did when she thought we were being rotten behind her back but she didn’t know. Like the Bindie Bucket business.
‘What’s all the sniggering in aid of, pray? That range uses the kindling like straw, and there’s the sitting-room fire to be lit to air the room for your parents, and I want the copper lit this afternoon . . .’ She started to slice up the big cottage loaf for toast. You could see she was being a bit huffy about the sniggering part because she suddenly said, quite crossly, ‘Your grammar! Upon my word! What would your fa
ther say? “Good Grammar Teached Here Gooder Up The Stairs.” That’s what. “Is” and “are”, remember. And now out of my way.’
But you could see she was fretting, and then Flora came down the stairs looking pretty silly in a raggedy woollen red and yellow tartan hat which she said was her Tarn o’Shanter. And it had a stupid pom-pom on the top which wobbled about. She looked really jolly funny, wandering about the kitchen pulling the hat this way and that.
Lally took the kettle off the Primus and poured it into the big brown teapot. ‘I want no more private laughter from you two,’ she said, ‘and no quibbling! No quibbling at all. Wooding after your tea and Virol, breakfast after. Then you all get washed and do teeth.’ And looking at Flora she said, in her Polite-to-Guest voice, ‘Flora dear, what are you about? Not in the house dear, not in the house.’ And then she set the jar of Virol on a saucer and put three spoons round it, like the spokes in a wheel.
Flora pulled out her chair and sat down. She wasn’t a bit afraid of Lally, mostly because Lally was always so terribly sweet to her. When she spoke to her, anyway.
‘It’s against the cold,’ she said firmly. I thought she was very brave. ‘My father says that our heads are like yon chimney. All the heat in your body just rises up and goes out of the top of your head. And he was a soldier in the war and he should know.’
‘Well . . . quite right. But your head will be nice and warm in my kitchen, now I’ve got it all cosy and comfy for you, so I’ll be obliged if you’d remove your hat at my table, please. You’ll lose nothing through the top of your head except your brains. Off with it, please, Madam Caledonia!’
So Lally won. Well, she nearly always did. So the silly Tarn o’Shanter came off and we drank our tea, had the Virol and licked the spoons.
Lally poured herself another cup of tea. ‘I’ m not washing all that money down the drains! You lick it clean. Cost your parents a lot of money to keep you healthy. Lick now! Quick sharp! It’s just like caramel!’
She was being really quite bullying, but it was now light outside, and she was in a hurry. ‘I’ll need milk today. So when you’ve done the wooding and washed, and if the snow isn’t too thick, I’ll thank you to hop skip it down to the dairy and ask Miss Aleford, if she’s there, or Len Diplock if he’s in the yard, for two pints of fresh –’ and then she stopped and said we’d never remember, and so when we came back from the wooding she’d have a list. And to hurry up about it.
The snow wasn’t really thick. We left footprints, but it wasn’t right up to our knees or anything wonderful like that, or even up to our ankles. It was just white. But everything was very still and early morning. Down at the Court, where we had to go for the milk, there was a waver of thin smoke meandering up in the air, and my sister said that at least someone else was up at dawn, and not just us.
Flora stood looking at the whiteness. The sky was grey with little orange specks in it like the back of a plaice. The Downs were smooth and soft, and you couldn’t even see the white horse on High-And-Over because he was covered, and so was the gorse. Everything was smooth and clean like big fat pillows. I almost really liked Flora when she said that the cottage looked like a ‘wee ship’ in a white sea. But I knew it looked like a ship, I just found the ‘wee’ part boring: it was the way she spoke. And the cottage did look strange up on the very top of Great Meadow with nothing, except the elms round the church, for miles and miles. We started wooding away, but secretly I was a bit worried that perhaps our parents wouldn’t be able to get up the road. The O.M. was the best car in the world, but the lane to the cottage was deep in snow. Only I didn’t say anything, except to tell Flora not to pick up any old bits of elderberry bush. She was stuffing the wooding-sack full with it, and I had to take it all out and explain to her why not.
‘Well! Why not? It’s as dry as dry. It just snaps –’
‘And it smells terrible on the fire. All the house smells if you burn it.’
‘Smells of what? What does it smell of?’
My sister looked at me with a squinty smiling face. ‘You tell her,’ she said.
‘No, you. You’re the girl.’
‘Whatever has that got to do with it?’
‘Well. You are both girls. It’s easier to tell a girl if you are a girl.’
‘My feet are cold, thank you kindly,’ said Flora. ‘So what do I gather if I don’t gather the easy stuff. Elderberry. And why not? You haven’t said.’
‘Because,’ I said, with my breath drifting out round me like fog, ‘because it smells of bindie. That’s why. So don’t pick it up.’
Flora looked pinched, but she just shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I think you are being horrid and making me feel daft because I’m Scots! Well I am and I don’t. Feel silly, I mean. I don’t know what your old bindie means so I’ll just go on picking it up. So there.’
‘It smells like dog’s bindie,’ hissed my sister.
Flora went quite white. She dropped some sticks and looked worried. ‘What’s bindie for goodness’ sake? What’s that?’
My sister started to drag the wooding-sack through the snow across the little churchyard where we were looking for the kindling among the ash and the elms. ‘It’s what dogs do in the street. Not at lamp-posts, that’s just widdle. Bindie is much worse. Much worse. And that’s what elderberry wood smells of.’
Flora screamed suddenly, her Tarn o’Shanter went tilty, and she beat her hands against her coat.
‘It’s everywhere! I can smell it! It’s terrible! My coat is ruined. Oh dearie me –’
‘No need to deary-you. It only smells like it in the fire. That’s all. I mean, there isn’t any bindie actually on the twigs . . . ’
But she covered her ears up and started to scramble down the path to the gate. ‘You are awful! Awful! I feel sick. I’ll go and tell on you two . . . ’
I watched her sliding and stumbling down the hill. But we had work to do.
‘Let her go. Good riddance,’ said my sister. ‘So silly about a little bit of bindie. Goodness. Anyway, she gets in the way. We can do it quicker together because we know what is and what isn’t. After we’ve got the milk, will you come to Baker’s with me? There is a dear little matchbox there with a whole fishing-kit inside. It’s only a penny. How much have you got?’
Two pennies,’ I said, stuffing some sticks into the sack, having shaken off all the snow and frost.
‘Oh good!’ said my sister. ‘So you can buy one too. There’s a little round thing with a funny mouse in it, and you have to get the glass balls into its eyes. It’s a penny too. You’ll love that.’
The next day was pretty good because there was a thaw in the night, so that made it all right for our father and mother to be on time. I mean the O.M. would be able to get up the lane. So we all went out, well wrapped up with scarves and Wellingtons and gloves and everything, and stamped about at the end of the muddy lane between 2 o’clock and 3 o’clock, as our father had promised to be there, and Mrs Daukes kept running down her path and said we’d all perish from the cold but she never asked us to come into her parlour and that was because Mr Daukes was probably still unconscious with his bad head and bandages everywhere. So Lally said. And then, just as it was beginning to get dusk, because we had got past the shortest day, we saw the headlights, the little ones, of the O.M. as it turned left at Piggy Corner and started to climb up the hill. It was exactly ten past three, and we all started cheering and waving, except silly Flora. She had just about got over her sulking on account of the bindie-wood business, but didn’t know about cheering her father and mother because she only had a father and he wasn’t worth cheering for anyway.
And then the huffle and bustle, the kissing and laughing, and our mother looking so pretty all wrapped up in the big moleskin travelling-rug, with her leather helmet and huge great goggles. Our father always drove with the hood folded away. It was a ‘sports car’, he said, so it was suitable. But our mother didn’t very much like getting her hair all blown everywhere, so that�
��s why she had to wear the helmet, like my father. Hers was brown and his black, and they had gauntlet gloves and all the luggage was in the big box strapped at the back. Minnehaha was in his basket with the wire front, under the tonneau cover at the back, and I was told to carry him up first and let him have a sniff round the sitting-room, locked in, while we all unloaded the car and got our mother safely up to the house. She was a bit wobbly from the drive, and from not being very strong after her fall down the stairs.
But Lally steadied her up the path and we all helped carry the parcels and cases. Just as it got really dark and my father started to cover the car for the night by putting up the hood and slotting in the isinglass windows (I had to help, and it was a jolly cold and fiddly job, I can tell you), I said, very politely, ‘Where is the tree, Papa?’
He straightened up and put his hands to his mouth and said, ‘Oh! My god!’, which was pretty awful, but he looked so worried that I pretended I hadn’t heard what he said and just went on talking and screwing the things that held the windows down.
‘I know the goose is there – Lally said it was a “giant of a bird” – and there was the box of crackers, because I saw the name in wriggly writing, but there isn’t a tree.’
And there wasn’t, and our mother was quite amused when we told her and said it really didn’t matter, we’d do without a tree this year because there had been so many problems for our father to worry about. He just forgot it, and it wouldn’t have fitted into the car anyway. We had Minnehaha, crackers, the goose, even the pudding from October, and we had them, safe and sound. So that seemed reasonable, and Lally brought in the tea and a big dish of buttery crumpets with a lid on, and so I just forgot the tree. Well, sort of.
Minnehaha had almost settled down by this time, of course. He was pretty old, and he knew the cottage, and so he just went poking about here and there, sniffing, and in the end he jumped up on my father’s lap and sat looking about him, his ears rather flat to his head. Flora said, ‘I think he’s scenting your wee mice in the cage. Cats have a wonderful sense of smell, that’s how they find their prey.’