by Joan Lingard
They parted at the clock at Tollcross.
‘It’s been a nice evening,’ said Richard. ‘Thank you for the ice cream, Mrs McGregor.’
‘Please call me Bunty! Everybody does.’
‘Good night, Willa,’ he said.
‘See you again, Richard!’ Bunty called after him. ‘Pop into the shop any time you’re passing and I’ll make you a wee cup of tea. What a lovely young man,’ she said to Willa while he was still in earshot. ‘I could have fallen for himself myself if I’d been thirty years younger. Or even twenty! What a pity his dad lost all his money.’
When Willa went in she found Malcolm fast asleep in his cot.
‘I’ve settled him for the night,’ said his granny, who was ready for bed with her curlers in and her stays up on the pulley. ‘I gave him a feed about an hour ago. Lapped it up so he did.’
He looked as if he had been overfed. His cheeks were puffed out and there was a spill of regurgitated milk on his sheet.
Willa went into the bathroom and expressed her milk into the sink.
~ 5 ~
Trinconmali, Ceylon
30th January, 1924
‘Isn’t that where the tea comes from?’ said Ina.
‘Some of it,’ said Willa and began to read.
Dear Willa,
We arrived here in a very heavy tropical rainstorm. You cannot imagine it! You never see rain like it in Edinburgh. It just buckets down relentlessly, flattening all the vegetation. It’s amazing how the flowers perk up afterwards. En route we joined up with the Dunedin and that completes our squadron. She had mail for us, including several of your letters. I was glad to hear that a good New Year was had by one and all and that Malkie is putting on weight. He sounds a great wee lad.
‘You are, aren’t you, son?’ said his granny, bouncing him on her knee. ‘Just a great wee lad, like your daddy says.’
‘Watch he doesn’t bring his feed up,’ said Willa. He’d guzzled at the breast until she’d had to force his mouth off her nipple and then he’d roared with rage. He wasn’t easily satisfied. A bit like his daddy there, too. Tommy would always want the world. Nothing less would do. And now he had it.
‘You fuss too much over the bairn,’ said his granny.
Willa took a deep breath and carried on reading.
The Dunedin reported that she had lost a man in the Red Sea. He fell overboard and quick as a flash a shark nabbed him. A boat was lowered but just as it was about to reach him he disappeared in a pool of blood.
‘Oh, dear God, think of his poor mother,’ said Ina. Willa thought of his poor wife, the ring at the door, the yellow telegram being handed in, the lurch in her heart as she stretches out a reluctant hand to receive it. ‘There’s times when I wish Tommy had never joined the Navy,’ Ina continued, ‘no matter what Bunty says about it being a great life. I asked him not to do it but by then it was too late. He’d already signed on and he said they’d sue him if he broke his contract or clap him in jail.’
‘Tommy would never fall overboard,’ said Willa, who was birling the globe round, looking for Ceylon. Ah, there it was, sitting tucked under India. They must have sailed straight across the Indian Ocean.
Ceylon, after a chequered history, became British in 1802 and has since remained so. It supplies a quarter of all the world’s graphite so you never know the lead in your pencil might have come from right here! Also to be obtained are tea, rubber, coconut, rice, ebony, satinwood, sapphires and rubies. Moonstones are dirt cheap.
‘Sapphires and rubies!’ exclaimed Ina. ‘I wonder if he’ll bring any home. I’ve always fancied a ruby.’
‘I doubt if he can just pick them up.’
‘How do you know? He might find them in rocks.’
‘It doesn’t sound very likely.’
‘Not to you, maybe.’
Willa desisted from retaliating. She mustn’t fall into the arguing habit, the way Bunty did with her sister. It could be only too easy.
‘Well, moonstones, then,’ insisted Ina.
Willa had a vague idea that moonstones were unlucky.
Two parties from the squadron went to Kandu by motor but I was not with them, fortunately for me, as one of the motors overturned taking a hairpin bend. Some of the roads leave something to be desire – this is not GB. Several men sustained injuries and a Petty Officer from the Repulse was killed, sad to report.
‘If it’s not one thing it’s the other!’ Ina shook her head. ‘The men are going down like ninepins.’
‘There’s quite a few to go, though. Didn’t Tommy say 470 on each ship? That’s over 3,000 in all.’
‘Must be quite a sight, the lot of them going ashore in their whites.’
‘A bit like an invasion.’
‘It’s not war they’re waging.’
‘I never said—’ Willa stopped.
The harbour is too dangerous for bathing. The natives have to be careful when they’re paddling their canoes. One false move and they’ d provide a tasty meal for the sharks.
‘I don’t think it was very nice to say tasty,’ said Willa, shuddering at the image it conjured up.
His mother ignored that. ‘Are they all black in the countries he’s going to?’
‘Not in Australia, as far as I know. Or New Zealand. He’ll be going to both countries.’
‘Elma’s neighbour, Mr Gilchrist, had a cousin who came over from Australia and he was white.’
‘I imagine he would be,’ said Willa. ‘After all, Mr Gilchrist is white.’
Must sign off now. Work to do. Must get everything shipshape! We are about to set sail for the Malay Straits.
Give Mother my love.
Yours fondly, as ever
Tommy xxx
P.S. And a kiss for Malkie too. He’ ll be a big boy by the time I get back.
‘He will,’ said Willa, tucking the letter back into its envelope. Tommy wanted the envelopes kept as well, and their stamps. He had a stamp album that he’d started when he’d joined the Navy. She enjoyed browsing through it herself. The stamps looked so exotic, from places like the Gilbert and Solomon Islands, compared to their dull ones of the king’s head. ‘I think I’ll go to the library.’
‘I’ll take Malkie for a walk up to Marchmont to see how Elma’s getting on for tonight.’
It had become accepted now that when Willa went to the library Malcolm’s grandmother would look after him.
‘You’re remembering we’re going to Elma’s for our tea, aren’t you?’ asked Ina. It was Elma’s birthday, her sixtieth.
‘I’d better get her a present.’
‘Nothing too dear, mind. You should be able to find something for a shilling. She won’t expect much. You could try Parker’s Stores. Oh, and while you’re there you might get me some new laces for my stays. The old ones are wearing through.’
Willa escorted her mother-in-law and her child down the stairs, then she headed for George IV Bridge. Every time she passed George Heriot’s school and saw the boys out in their navy-blue uniforms she thought of Richard. The building looked a bit like a castle and had nice grounds. It must have been a pleasant place to go to school, a lot less dingy than Tollcross Public.
Richard was already in the library. She no longer made a pretence of not seeing him; that would seem daft after having sat together in the pictures, along with Bunty, of course, and gone to the café afterwards. After all, they were just friends who liked to talk about books. They had nothing to hide. He looked up from the exercise book he’d been writing in and waved and she waved back.
When she went into a bay to look for books, he got up and followed her.
‘Do you want me to recommend something?’
He pulled out Chrome Yellow, by Aldous Huxley. ‘He’s quite new. I’ve just read this myself. It’s a satire, set in a country house, quite cynical. I’m not sure what you’ll make of it.’
‘I’ll try it. How many books do you read in a day?’
‘Just one,’ he said, a bit embarrassed. �
��Unless they’re short,’ he added. He was still having no luck with his job-hunting.
For her second book, Willa chose Dorothy L. Sayers’ Whose Body.
‘Did you like Emma as much as Pride and Prejudice?’ asked Richard.
‘Perhaps not just quite as much. But I did like it. A great deal. I could have kicked Emma, though, she seemed so annoying, and Mr Knightley seemed so nice.’
The sour librarian came by with a bundle of books that she was stacking in the shelves. ‘If you want to talk you’d best go outside,’ she said.
‘Shall we?’ said Richard.
Outside, they stood on the steps, in the shelter of the doorway. The rain had come on again, not heavy like it would be in the tropics, lashing down and drenching everything, but enough to wet your head and shoulders in a few minutes. They could not stand there all morning for people were coming and going and they kept having to move out of the way.
‘Would you like to go for a cup of tea?’ offered Richard.
Willa thought for a moment before answering. ‘All right. Where could we go?’
‘There’s a wee place in the High Street, not far.’
Their hair was dripping wet by the time they arrived there, even though they’d run most of the way. They laughed and shook their heads free of the worst of the water and chose a table in the corner away from the steamed-up window. Willa led the way. The window might be fogged up but if it were to clear she would not want to be sitting in full view of the street. Not that she was doing anything wrong, she reasoned within herself yet again, but a married woman taking tea with a young man might be misread by some, by women like Mrs Cant who had needle-sharp eyes and snapped up any titbit she could find to gossip about. Mrs Cant was not a nasty woman – she could be kind and had been to Willa when her mother died – but she couldn’t pass up the chance of gathering material for a good blether.
They ordered two cups of tea and Richard insisted on paying. No, said Willa, she didn’t want anything to eat, she wasn’t hungry, though, in fact, she could have eaten one of the home-baked scones. They looked and smelt tempting but she knew Richard had little money to spare. It must be wonderful to be away on a ship for a year and know that you needn’t think about money or where the next meal was coming from.
They warmed their hands round their cups and Willa noticed that hers were looking chapped and red. She withdrew them and put them on her lap out of sight. She must buy some hand cream at the chemist’s on the way back.
‘It’s great to have someone to discuss books with,’ she said. ‘I used to, with my mother, until she died.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s a while ago.’
He fiddled with his teaspoon. ‘What about your husband? Does he not read?’
‘Oh, he does, but adventure stuff mostly. Bulldog Drummond. Not the kind of thing you could talk about much. At least, I wouldn’t think so.’ Tommy wouldn’t have any time for Jane Austen. There wouldn’t be enough action in her novels for him, apart from the fact that his patience would soon run out with the goings-on of women like Mrs Bennet. Willa added, ‘He’s in the Navy so he’s away a lot.’
She went on to tell Richard about the world cruise of the Special Service Squadron and how Tommy was writing from each port of call describing the place and the people.
‘I’d love to see the world,’ said Richard. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
‘I suppose, but I’ve got a baby to think of.’
‘His letters sound interesting. Where has he been so far?’
Willa began to talk about the places the fleet had visited, relating as much as she could remember of the contents of the letters. Richard prompted her and asked questions. She stayed longer than she had intended.
‘I must go!’ She felt it was her perpetual cry. She jumped up. She was going to take the tram – she could get a 27 or a 23 from George IV Bridge – as it would be quicker and would save her from getting wet again. He walked her to the stop.
‘See you soon,’ he said, as he handed her up onto the step. He waited on the pavement until the tram took off. She was glad that there was no one she knew on the tram. As she took a seat she reminded herself yet again that she had nothing to feel guilty about.
They had gone only two stops when she remembered Elma’s birthday present. She hopped off at the Infirmary and cut through George Square to Parker’s Triangle on the corner of Crichton Street. She had to run all the way. She found a crêpe de Chine silk scarf for eleven pence and hoped the shade would not be too bright for Elma.
She was out of breath by the time she got home.
‘Where on earth have you been?’ demanded Tommy’s mother. ‘Does it take that long to pick two books? The dinner’s near dried up.’
‘I got Elma a scarf.’ Willa took it out of its bag.
‘Elma never wears green. She says it’s unlucky. Gerry’s aunt was wearing a green coat when she got knocked down by a motor cycle.’
‘That doesn’t prove anything. Anyway, she was ninety-two and blind.’
Ina sniffed. ‘I hope you remembered the laces for my stays?’
Willa had not.
They walked up to Marchmont at six o’clock for the birthday tea. Malcolm was wide awake in his pram, propped up on his pillows, fascinated by the streetlamps. The nights were beginning to lighten a little, Willa noted gratefully. She had had enough of long dark evenings shut up in the flat. On a light evening she’d be able to push the pram down to Princes Street and have a walk in the gardens.
They presented Elma with a tin of lavender talcum powder that Tommy had given Willa for her birthday and which she’d never opened. She wore the green scarf herself.
‘That colour suits you, Willa.’ Bunty nodded her approval. ‘It sets off your hair.’
‘Wouldn’t catch me dead in green,’ said Elma.
They drank her health in sherry. She had her usual sip; the rest had refills.
‘Any excuse,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It doesn’t take much to set the lot of you off. I knew this would happen.’
‘Ah, come on, Elma,’ said Gerry. ‘Let your hair down! You’re only sixty once in your life.’
‘Thank goodness for that.’
The sisters’ cousin Betty had also been invited to the party. Betty’s attitude to alcohol was the same as Elma’s except that she was totally teetotal and would not permit her lips even to graze it. She belonged to a Temperance Society and went round public houses with leaflets. Gerry said it was a wonder she didn’t emerge from some of the rougher ones with a black eye. She even did the pubs down Leith Walk. Somebody had spat at her once but that was the worst she’d had to endure apart from verbal abuse and she hadn’t let that deter her. She was powered by the Lord and convinced that if everyone in the world stopped drinking alcohol there would be no more broken homes and no more wars.
‘Can’t tempt you, Betty?’ asked Gerry, waving the bottle at her.
‘I can enjoy myself without, thank you very much, Gerald. I don’t need it.’
For tea, they had an excellent steak and kidney pie with rich brown gravy, made in Gerry’s own shop, and for pudding, sherry trifle, with another wee glass of sherry on the side to help it down, as Gerry put it. He had opened a second bottle.
‘I like your idea of wee,’ said his wife.
At the end of the meal, Ina announced that she thought she would burst.
‘For God’s sake don’t do it here!’ cried Gerry. ‘It’d make an awful mess of Elma’s best cloth.’
‘Away and loosen your stays,’ advised Bunty.
Ina looked offended, but a few minutes later she went without a word to the bathroom and seemed somewhat relieved on her return.
Gerry cranked up the gramophone and put on ‘Limehouse Blues’.
‘Who’s for a wee jig? Willa? You love dancing, don’t you, hen, and your man’s away?’ He held out his arms to her.
Willa got up to partner him. She liked Gerry though she wasn’t totally sure about hi
m. Sometimes she thought he liked to run his hands up her back too much but maybe that didn’t mean anything other than that he liked to have physical contact with people. When he was addressing Bunty or Ina he often put his hand on their arm. She noticed that he never touched his wife, not in public, anyway. Bunty said it didn’t surprise her that they’d never had children. Elma was reputed to dress and undress underneath her nightgown.
After watching Gerry and Willa for a few minutes Bunty couldn’t sit still. She jumped up.
‘Come on, Ina! You used to like dancing.’ It was in a dancehall that Ina had met Roberto Costello, the father of Tommy.
Ina, while protesting, allowed herself to be pulled up. For a heavy woman, she was light on her feet. It wasn’t long before they were all laughing; the dancers, at least.
Elma and Betty decided to go to the kitchen and wash the dishes. They closed the door firmly behind them.
‘Turn up the music!’ cried Bunty.
It was late by the time they took the road for home.
‘Nothing like a bit of family fun, eh, Willa?’ said Bunty, who was walking on one side of her, a hand on the pram. Ina had a hand on the other side, while Willa was in the middle. ‘I can’t imagine how Gerry came to marry our Elma.’
‘You can never understand why anybody marries anybody,’ said Ina.
~ 6 ~
Penang, Malay States
7th February, 1924
Dear Willa,
I enclose a Menu for a dinner given to us by the Chinese Community. (Please keep safely.)
It was a big bulky envelope this time, with a rash of brightly coloured stamps strewn across the top. She was always careful when opening the envelope not to tear the stamps.
The menu was printed on a cream-coloured folded card, measuring about six by four inches, with the crossed flags of the Union Jack and the Red Ensign at the top of the front page.