by Betty Annand
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When Gladys’s pregnancy became obvious, Millie made her a loose fitting cloak, saying she could now go about town without embarrassment. Gladys replied that she thought that was ridiculous. In Old Nichol, women didn’t behave any different if they were with child or not. She asked Millie if that could be the reason Andrew stopped taking them out to dine. Millie said it probably was, then explained that proper ladies did not flounce about when they were with child and that they usually remained in the confines of their own home, at least during the last three or four months.
“But I’m not embarrassed, Millie, and I cannot see why I would embarrass anyone else. You don’t see people blushing and looking away when a bitch or a cow with a fat tummy walks by, do you?”
“Do not be ridiculous, Gladys. You are not an animal! Why do you always have to find fault with customs and behaviours that have been around for ages?”
“I don’t know, Millie. Perhaps it’s because they are foreign to me, and I can see how silly they are. Having a baby is something I am proud of and not ashamed of. If my father-in-law is too embarrassed to be seen with me, I shall keep out of his sight, but I do not intend to stay home for the next three months.”
The next time Andrew came to call on Gladys, she said she wasn’t feeling well and would get in touch with him when she was feeling better. After waiting to hear from her for over a week, Andrew called in to Millie’s shop to see how Gladys was. Millie could see he was worried, so she told him what Gladys had said. When he left, he went directly to Gladys’s house. She was down on her knees in her garden weeding, and when he offered a cheery hello, she just glanced up for a second, then went right on with her weeding.
“Look here, Gladys, I have just come from Millie’s and I think the least you could do is to look at me so I can apologize.” Gladys started to rise and he reached out to give her a hand, but she ignored his gesture, and, like Mr Grimsby, she made use of a stout stick to pull herself up. Once she was on her feet, she looked at him but didn’t say anything, so he smiled and said, “I would love a cup of tea if you have time, Gladys.”
“Are you sure you can stand to look at me for that long?”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Millie told me that you were probably too embarrassed to be seen with me.” She saw the hurt in his eyes and softened her tone. “I know I should be more understanding. Millie said it’s natural for people to behave like that around women in my condition, but personally, I think it is cruel.”
“I shan’t deny it, my dear. Millie was right. I am so very sorry, but I blame it on my upbringing. Now that I know how you feel, I shall take you and Millie to dinner and then for a walk around town anytime you want, just to show you that I do not give a damn what people say. What do you think of that?”
Gladys laughed and said, “That is very noble of you, but it’s not necessary. Now that I know what most people think, I would be embarrassed to go with you. You, Millie, and I will just have to have our dinners here until after your grandchild is born.”
“You truly are an angel. And speaking of angels—I have something in my buggy for my soon-to-be grandchild. You go on in and put the kettle on while I fetch it.”
The gift was a beautiful cradle with hand-carved flowers and butterflies all delicately painted in pretty pastel colours. “Oh, it is simply wonderful! Wait until I write and tell Tom about it. I have never seen anything so lovely. Where on earth did you find it?”
“I bought it in Ireland,” he said, but didn’t tell her that the man who made the cradle had made it for his third child. Unfortunately, the baby died before it saw the light of day, along with its mother, leaving the carver with two little girls to bring up on his own. Andrew gave the man three times what he was asking for the cradle, hoping it would keep them in food for a long time. He also tried to help as many poor, unfortunate people in Ireland as he could. Bob Hennessy, the blacksmith, who looked after Tig and Andrew’s horses and buggies, once told Gladys that it was Andrew who brought him and his family to Dover and set him up in the blacksmith business. He said they would have starved if they had stayed in Ireland.
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Gladys was becoming anxious. She hadn’t heard a word from Tom, and she thought by now he would have landed in India and received his commission. She wanted to be over there before she had the baby so Tom could be with her, but time was running out. It was already the middle of November and the baby was due in a month’s time. If she could go to India via the overland route, she could be there in a month. As each day passed the journey became less and less probable. When her due date was three weeks away, she had to accept that the baby would be born in England. It was a disappointment, but Tom’s father made it less so when he announced that when the time came for her to go to India, not only would he go with her and the baby, but they could even take a nanny with them.
Gladys made fun of her size in Tom’s letters saying that she now resembled a lady who used to frequent Scots Inn—a woman who required two chairs to sit on. She said she still managed to sing in the choir because the choir robe was generous enough to hide two babies. She was still able to keep up with her piano lessons, but Mrs Grimsby now refused to allow her to do any chores.
The weather had changed and the winter storms had begun. Gladys loved to visit her father-in-law during the stormy weather. She always wore the loose cloak that Millie had made for her, and, as she was unwilling to leave Tig outside on the wharf in the rain, she took a cab to the quay. One of the cab drivers drove his buggy past her house once a day, so she waited outside her house under an umbrella and waved for him to stop. The storm was never as fierce in her neighbourhood as it was down at the quay. Gladys would sit by the huge window that overlooked the water and watch the waves as they crashed against the wharf and made the boats bob up and down, but the thing she loved most was listening to the big window moan and groan as the howling winds attacked it. Sometimes she would talk Millie into coming too, and Andrew would serve them tea and cookies.
During the last week of Gladys’s pregnancy, her father-in-law insisted that the two midwives he had hired move into Gladys’s spare room. She was quite annoyed with him, thinking she would have plenty of time to send for them when they were needed, but she knew he was right as soon as she felt the first labour pain. Gladys gave birth to a baby daughter on the 29th of November. A week later she felt strong enough to write to Tom.
6 December 1845
My Dearest Tom—
Congratulations, darling! We have a darling little daughter. She was born on November the 29th at three in the morning. I have not been up to writing until now. However, there is no cause to worry, my love, I am well. I had a bit of a hard time, but your father was good enough to hire not one, but two excellent midwives, so I was in good hands.
Now, I shall try to describe what our little girl looks like. I think she looks very much like her daddy, but Millie and your father think she resembles both of us. She is not bald like a lot of newborns, but has a fair amount of auburn hair. Did I ever mention that my mother had red hair? She now weighs eight pounds and six ounces and is not the least bit red and wrinkly, like some babies I’ve seen. And she is such a contented little darling, except when she’s hungry. I can just hear you say, “Just like her mother!”
Because we still have not heard from you, we named her Dorothy, after your mother, but we call her Dolly. It was your father who started calling her that. It seems that is what he called your mother. If you do not like it, we can change it, since she will not have time to get used to any name before we are with you.
I am having a harder time waiting for your letters now that Dolly is here. I know I am too blessed to be sad, and besides, everyone has been so understanding and helpful. Reverend Mason even came to visit, and didn’t object when I said I didn’t want to have Dolly baptized until we were together.
Another bit of w
onderful news I have for you is that your father has insisted on paying our passage overland as soon as we get word that you have your commission. Not only that, he has decided to come with us. What a relief! He brought me another pamphlet about the trip, and it advises passengers what to take along. It seems I will need two trunks and plenty of linen. Oh, my darling, I can hardly wait to be in your arms once more. Just think how wonderful it will be for the four of us to be together.
You will love your little girl, I know. Your father is such a proud grandfather and the way he boasts about her is, at times, rather embarrassing. I know it is hard to believe, but I vow, they have a deep understanding of each other already.
Every day until noon, I watch and pray your father will ride up with a letter in his hand but, so far, to no avail. They say absence makes your heart grow fonder, but it is not possible for mine to grow any fonder than it already is.
Hopefully, I will hear from you before I write again. Goodbye for now, my darling. I shall hold this paper to Dolly’s lips so you can kiss hers as well.
From your girls,
Gladys and Dolly
My kiss is here:
X
Dolly’s is here:
X
Tom wrote his first letter home the same day he and Keith joined their outfit in Ferozeshah, India.
10 December 1845
Dearest Gladys—
Your wonderful letters were waiting for me when we finally arrived here. I don’t know how many you have sent, but the three I have were written on the 17th of July, the 19th of August, and the 3rd of October. I’ve read and reread each one so many times that they are falling apart. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve allowed Keith to read them as well. Until he finds a wife of his own, I don’t mind sharing—as far as letters go that is.
I try to picture you doing all the things you have talked about in your letters like working in your little garden. I can even imagine the birds singing while you work. You see what you have done—you’ve turned me into a romantic. Because I am so far away from you, I have learned to use my imagination more than I ever thought possible. I can even imagine you sitting at the piano in that pretty blue dress with the squiggly things on the collar, your beautiful hair pulled back and tied with a red ribbon, all but those few strands of curls that always wiggle free fall over your eyes. How I wish I was there to brush them back for you.
As for answering my questions for me, my dear, I think I shall prefer to do it myself if you don’t mind. I guess I am not as agreeable as is Mr Grimsby. But I do promise I shall do everything else for you that I can. I regret all the time we lost together because of my obstinacy. I shall never hurt you again, of that you may be certain. How sweet of you to want to name our child after my mother, if it is a girl. Now if it is a boy, would you like to name him after your father? I don’t even know his name. We certainly will have a lot to talk about when we are together once more, won’t we? Keith and I really had a laugh over your account of my stepmother’s departure from our parish. Good for you and for Reverend Mason. I must admit, I have not attended church since I was a teenager. I am not sure why, but I do have good memories of the Reverend.
Now I suppose you would like to hear of our adventures since we left. It was a very long and tiring trip, to be sure. We had not been out to sea for many weeks when we ran into some very stormy weather and many of our regiment suffered with seasickness, including Keith and our Sgt. Major. I was one of the lucky ones. Well, perhaps not that lucky since I had to attend those who were sick—not a pleasant job.
Poor Keith was so sick that he was sure he was going to die, and even confessed that he thought I’d make a great father. That should give you an idea of how bad off he was. Anyway, it all may have worked to our advantage since the Sgt. Major was so grateful he promised to put in a good word for me as far as hurrying my commission.
You need not concern yourself with the cost of coming here by the overland route as I had a letter from father, and he is determined to pay for the journey. In fact, and do not let him know I told you this because he wants to keep it for a surprise, he is thinking seriously of taking a year off and coming with you.
We took much longer getting to India than we were supposed to because the ship’s keel was damaged during one of the storms, and we had to spend time in port waiting for repairs. Then, when we did arrive in India, they did not seem to know what to do with us, and we were sent from camp to camp. Finally, we arrived at our destination, which is a place called Ferozeshah, close to the border of Punjab. We are here as reinforcements for General Littler who is the commander of our garrison. There are quite a few different regiments in the garrison: our regiment, the HM 62nd Foot; two Bengal Light Cavalry regiments, who dress in pale blue uniforms; five Bengal Native Infantry battalions, who, like us, wear red coats, however, instead of the white covered shakos we wear, their shakos are much taller and without peaks; plus two troops of horse artillery and two batteries. If we have to fight the Sikhs, I think we should have a jolly good chance to beat them with such a diversified army, don’t you?
I was somewhat disappointed when I learned that we would not be with General Gough since I have been told his men are very fond of him. It is said that he even wears a white jacket into battle in order to draw the enemy’s fire away from his men. However, General Littler is popular with his men as well. Anyway, there is talk of something big coming up, all to do with Punjab. We are practically on the border of that territory, so I hope it will not happen here.
The good news is that Sgt. Major has inquired about our commissions and was told that it will probably happen early in the new year, so it should not be long now, my darling, until we are all together, all four of us.
This country is so very different from England that it takes a little getting used to. I have seen many ornate and rich estates on our travels. A lot of marble and beautifully coloured tiles are used in the buildings here, but I have not had the pleasure of being in one, so cannot tell you about that. Sadly, there are many, many poor people here as well. I know you will enjoy the markets that are alive with vendors selling brightly coloured silks and materials of all kinds and all sorts of exotic smelling spices and curries. What one has to get accustomed to is the infernal amount of flies. I think the way they allow their cows to mingle amongst the crowds has a lot to do with it! Most of the people here have that attractive polished oak-coloured skin, and I regret to say, the men are quite handsome, but so are the women, who all wear a good amount of jewellery. Some even have jewels on their foreheads and noses. I have no idea why, but I’m sure you will find out when you are here.
By the time you get this, we may be parents. Please, my darling, do look after yourself, and even if I am not there in person, I shall be with you every minute in my thoughts.
I’ve kissed the spots you kissed over and over again; now here is one for you.
X
My heart goes with this. Yours forever,
Tom
After the battle of Moodkee on the 18th of December, Lal Singh’s force of Sikhs withdrew and set up camp around the village of Ferozeshah. General Gough, Commander of the British/Indian army, sent word requesting General Littler march his battalion out of the town in order to join him for a second battle against Lal Singh’s force.
Littler began the assault well in advance of the rest of the army, moving his guns forward to engage the Sikhs at close range. The HM 62nd foot led the assault. They were met with grapeshot (fragmented shot used on troops at close range) from the enemy guns.
Many Sikhs preferred to fight hand to hand using their Kirpans, (a curved weapon kept so razor sharp it could sever a limb with one swing) and shields. Tom and Keith soon found themselves face to face with the enemy—so close they were forced to fight with bayonets instead of their Brown Bess muskets.
The sound of the gunfire, clashing metal, and screams of the wounded was deaf
ening. Tom and Keith fought side by side as long as they were able to, but as they challenged their foes, they soon became separated. Suddenly, without knowing why, Keith turned to look for Tom.
“Oh my God, Tom, get down!” he shouted as he saw his friend swinging his bayonet blindly and wildly in the air. “Get down!” he called again as he fought his way frantically toward Tom. Then he saw that one of the Sikhs had also noticed Tom’s quandary, and was swiftly moving in his direction. Keith reached Tom a split second after the Sikh swung his kirpan, and, though he ran the fellow through, it was too late. Tom and the Sikh fell to the ground together.
“No!” Keith shouted, as he fell to his knees beside Tom’s body. Then, seeing no sign of injury, he was permitted a brief moment of hope before reaching over to put his arm under his friend’s shoulders. To his horror, Tom’s severed head dropped from his body like a cut of meat from a tipped platter, and hung from his neck by a mere portion of skin—a sight so grotesque that Keith opened his mouth to scream, but all he could utter was a pitiful whimper. In a state of shock, the battle was forgotten; Keith was unaware of his slayer’s approach.
When the battle was over, Keith’s lacerated body was found with an arm still under his dearest friend.
The battle had lasted only ten minutes before Littler and his army were forced to withdraw, and in that short time, they suffered 160 casualties.
Chapter Nineteen
Tom’s long awaited letter arrived the same day as the official notice that he had been killed in the Battle of Ferozeshah.
Gladys felt as though her heart had been torn from her breast and no amount of kindness, love, or sympathy was able to fill its empty chamber. Even the happy gurgles of her baby daughter failed to dispel her depressed state. Perhaps because of her grief, she could no longer lactate and she was forced to hire a wet nurse. The rest of Dolly’s care she performed efficiently, in a daze and with an attitude of indifference, her mood as sombre as her mourning apparel.