Brave Faces

by Mary Arden

  Two weeks later, when Duncan was finally allowed to leave hospital, my parents insisted that he come to Hilltop House to convalesce, until he could be fitted with a tin leg. When he arrived my father told him not to hesitate to ask if there was anything he needed.

  ‘Well, a double scotch would be rather pleasant!’ Duncan joked.

  ‘I think we might be able manage that,’ my father chuckled, ‘actually I might have one too!”

  I was relieved to see that Duncan was almost his old self again and that he had no difficulty getting himself around the house on his crutches. However, when it was time for us to go to bed, the stairs were too hard for him to navigate using the crutches so he heaved himself up one step at a time on his backside instead.

  The following morning he offered to take Charlotte for a walk in the garden in her pram, but when he discovered that he couldn’t push the pram and hold on to his crutches at the same time, he found a rope, tied it around his waist and then pulled her like a horse. She squealed with delight and cooed at him, which made him laugh. It was wonderful to see him smiling again.

  Although we slept in the same bed and lay as closely to each other as we could, Duncan’s leg was still too tender to move, so we supported it on a pillow, but it was too difficult for us to make love without hurting his leg. I promised him I didn’t mind one bit, but he obviously did and became so stressed about it that I wondered whether it would be better if we slept in twin beds. When I suggested that idea, he whispered, ‘Do you find my stump so repulsive that you didn’t want to sleep with me anymore, Mary?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I told him, but I don’t think he believed me.

  I decided that I needed to talk to someone about this problem and decided that I would ask Archie McIndoe if he could help me, as I thought he would most probably know all about these sort of psychological problems, as his badly wounded patients had most probably had been in similar situations.

  Although ‘Uncle Archie’ was very busy operating all day on his burn patients, he agreed to come to Hilltop House after work, and told me to not mention to Duncan that I had spoken to him about our problem, and just say that he was an old friend that wanted to meet him and see our baby.

  When he arrived, he shook Duncan by the hand and then picked Charlotte up in his arms, kissed her forehead and told her she was even more beautiful than her mother. Duncan beamed with pride and offered Archie a whisky.

  After the second whisky, I could tell that the two men were enjoying each other’s sense of humour and getting on famously. I then overheard Archie say to Duncan, ‘I was wondering if you could do me a huge favour and spare the time to come to my hospital in East Grinstead tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but why?’ Duncan asked him.

  ‘Well, you see Duncan, my boys get rather bored stuck in the wards, so I try to organise something interesting each day for them to help pass the time. They are mostly RAF personnel, so they would be really interested to hear about your time as a Fleet Air Arm pilot and about having to order your unruly squadron boys to toe the line and not drink before flying, you know that sort of thing!’ he chuckled.

  Before Duncan had a chance to refuse Uncle Archie turned to my father and asked, ‘Will you drive him to us, or shall I send someone to fetch him? I’m sure that one of my recovering patients would be delighted for an excuse to drive a car again!’

  My father said that he’d be happy to drop Duncan off, if someone else could bring him back, as he had a meeting at the British Legion to help organise housing for the returning troops.

  ‘Good, that’s settled then!’ Archie said, turning to Duncan. ‘I will expect you at twelve sharp, which will give us time for a couple of drinks before lunch with the boys and then if you are still sober you can do your talk!’

  The following morning, Duncan put on his uniform, as it was the only suit that he had with him, and as I pinned the trouser leg up behind his knee on the side of his missing leg, he said that he might as well begin a new career giving lectures about the Fleet Air Arm, as it was obvious that he wouldn’t be accepted as a Forest Officer now. I had never heard Duncan sound so bitter before and hoped that a day with Archie’s ‘guinea-pigs’ wouldn’t be too much for him and make things worse.

  After Duncan and my father left to go to East Grinstead, I went to listen to Peter playing his viola. I had forgotten how talented he was, and wondered whether he would be able to earn a living playing in an orchestra now that he was back.

  By five o’clock I started to get worried, as Duncan still hadn’t returned home but a quarter of an hour later he breezed in with a young doctor by his side, both drunk as Lords, having gone to the local pub on the way home to top up a very boozy lunch. When Duncan introduced his new friend to me, there was something different about him but it took me a while to work out what it was. And then it struck me, he sounded happy.

  Later that evening at dinner, my father asked Duncan, ‘so how did it go with McIndoe today?’

  ‘Guess what he said about my leg?’ he asked. We all looked at him, waiting for the answer. ‘He said that I can hide my tin leg inside a trouser leg, but his poor chaps can never hide their faces and some of them can’t even remember what they looked like before they were burnt, poor sods. I feel so lucky compared to them.’

  Meeting Uncle Archie had obviously had a positive effect on Duncan, and I decided that I would write a very grateful letter to him the next day.

  As I went upstairs to get ready for bed, I overheard Duncan talking on the phone to his father, and when he said, ‘I think its time I started thinking about coming back to Perth and begin swotting for my degree, if I’m going to become a Forest Officer, don’t you?’ I knew everything was going to be all right.

  Before we left Hilltop House, Duncan spent a few hours every day with my father inspecting the hedges and ditches, as well as the farmland fences and boundaries. He then told the P.O.Ws how to get everything in good working order and how to produce fresh fruit and vegetables, so that they could be sold in the W.I village market.

  As Duncan was unable to drive, at least until he had been given his artificial leg and learned how to drive one of the new specially designed cars for the disabled, I thought that it was the right time for me to learn to drive and the task fell to my brother, Peter. I was fairly confident in broad daylight, but it took me a little longer to get used to driving at night, despite my experience as a Night Vision Tester.

  When it was time to leave my parents and go to Perth, my father insisted on driving us to London to catch the train. He had also made sure that Duncan had booked a first class sleeper with two lower births, which I was very glad about, as it meant that we could both sleep opposite each other and I wouldn’t have to clamber up a ladder. However, Charlotte stayed wide-awake until after midnight obviously thinking that this was the perfect opportunity to ‘talk’ to her Daddy. ‘Bow wow, cheep cheep, miaow’ and so on mixed up with ‘Dada’ or ‘Mama’ and with squeals of laughter inbetween. Duncan loved every minute of it, but as I had got up at six am and it was now early morning, I was not amused and felt like throttling the pair of them.

  Janet’s husband, Bertie, had kindly come to pick us up at Perth station, and as Duncan wriggled himself into the front seat of the car, I took his crutches and put them on the back seat next to me and Charlotte, while our brother-in-law with the help of a porter stowed our luggage in the boot and on the roof-rack, as there was so much of it.

  When we arrived, Duncan got out of the car and hobbled towards the house on his crutches. Granny Bumble was waiting to greet us but when she saw him, she immediately burst into tears. I could see her shoulders heaving, as she embraced her son. It must have been heart breaking for her, and although I knew Duncan didn’t want her to pity him, he obviously understood that she needed to let her emotions out. However, later that day after she had fussed over him every time he struggled to get up, he finally snapped at her, ‘I can manage, Mother!’ This fussing went on for a week unt
il she reluctantly accepted that not only could he manage, but that he would have to.

  Once we were settled, Duncan and his father started searching the ‘To Let’ columns in ‘The Scotsman’ to see if there were any suitable houses, or ground floor flats to let in Edinburgh but they were all far too expensive. I began to get worried, as we couldn’t stay with Duncan’s parents forever.

  ‘Why don’t you and I go into the City and talk to the Estate agents?’ Grandpa John suggested to me, ‘and while we are there we can look for a B&B for Duncan to stay at when he has to go up for his interview.’ So the next day we caught the early train to Edinburgh, promising Duncan we would be back before he noticed we had gone. But instead of finding a B&B, we found a small hotel that had a ground floor room, which would mean no steps for Duncan to have trouble with, and it was right on a bus route to the University, which would make it far easier for him to go back and forth to his studies. It was perfect.

  The first Estate agent we found was a rather serious young man who told us that we would never find anything affordable that would suit our needs in the City. He then suggested that we look for a house way outside Edinburgh instead, ‘I’ll be sending you whatever comes in, but having a new young baby makes it far more difficult, as you’ll be needing a garden to hang out the nappies and somewhere to put the pram and so on. But I’ll do my best I promise.’

  When Duncan was given a date for his interview to continue his BSc at Edinburgh University, I told him that I would come with him to help carry his overnight bag to the hotel, and then when he went for his interview I would ‘do my own thing’ and meet up with him again later for our evening meal. To my surprise Duncan didn’t object. In fact he seemed relieved to have someone with him. It then occurred to me that, as he hadn’t gone anywhere completely on his own since his amputation.

  That night I felt Duncan tossing and turning, so I pulled his head onto my breast and held him close, just like dear Uncle Archie had once told me that ‘good wives’ should do, using their bosoms as a pillow to comfort their husbands. It worked and he soon relaxed and fell sound asleep.

  After his interview, Duncan told me that his Professor had told him that even if he personally had to sit the examinations for all his old students himself, every single one of them who had served their country in the war would pass. He had also promised Duncan that he would give him extra tuition, if he needed it. I could see the relief on my husband’s face. He would get a place at University after all.

  A week before the term started, Duncan went into Edinburgh for a day with his father to visit the hospital to have a fitting for an artificial leg. While they were away, Celia and I decided that we would go for a walk with our babies that afternoon. As they had said they wouldn’t be back until five, we were surprised when we got home from our walk to see that the men were already back. As soon as I opened the back door and saw Duncan’s face, I knew something was wrong. He had been told that there was no way he would be able to use an artificial leg for a long time yet, as his ‘stump’ was taking longer to heal than expected, so he would have to go back to University on crutches.

  ‘So what?’ I said trying to sound positive. ‘At least you have been accepted. I’ll buy you a new fishing bag for your books and you can put it over your shoulder like a school satchel!’

  ‘Oh Mary!’ he chuckled. ‘What would I do without you?’ So that’s what we did and I bought him a whole new set of pencils, rubbers and a fountain pen to go in his new ‘school bag’.

  The following morning a large envelope plopped onto the doormat, addressed to Duncan. Thinking it was just a formal letter from the hospital to confirm what they had already told him, he left it on the study table to read later. When he eventually got around to opening it at lunchtime he said, ‘Well, that could be interesting.’

  ‘What could be darling?’ I asked him.

  ‘The young Estate agent has sent us the details of a house he thinks might be suitable, but it’s not in Edinburgh, it’s in Peebles, which would be an hour’s commute each way.’ Duncan then checked the monthly rent, ‘Good heavens Mary! The rent for the house is unbelievably low, so we can afford it!’

  When Duncan read the description of the fully furnished house to me, he said that there were four bedrooms, a decent sized sitting room and a dining room, a kitchen plus a scullery and a walk in larder. The garden was well kept and had a stream that ran along the bottom boundary. There was a coal shed and a garden shed but no garage. As we didn’t own a car yet, that was not going to be a problem. However, I thought that there must be something wrong with this house, as it was just too good to be true, especially if it was going to cost so little.

  When we told Grandpa John he said, ‘I’ll drive you down there to see it Duncan, as I haven’t been to Peebles for years and would love to see it again. I remember the town as being delightful and rather pretty. It was very prosperous at one time having busy wool mills and a cattle market, if I remember correctly.’

  A few days later Duncan and his father went to view the house and when they returned Duncan warned me that it was rather old fashioned but the furniture was quite tasteful and the house looked clean.

  ‘But you’d better see it for yourself before we sign an agreement,’ he added.

  ‘Is it right next to the gas works?’ I asked him still a bit concerned that the rent was so cheap.

  ‘No, of course not!’ he replied.

  ‘A sewage farm?’ I asked.

  ‘Mary, as if I would ever think of putting you and Charlotte near a sewage farm! No its just inexpensive because it’s eh well, as I said… rather old fashioned!’ Duncan said rather sheepishly.

  The next day we left Charlotte with Granny Bumble, Celia and Christopher, while Grandpa John, Duncan and I took a private taxi to Peebles for the day.

  The minute I saw the wide high street and the lovely shops, I thought Peebles would be a perfect place for us to live. We drove over a bridge that crossed the River Tweed, up a steep hill and then the taxi pulled up outside a large Victorian house in a street lined with trees.

  Grandpa John told the driver that we wouldn’t need him for at least two hours and they agreed a time for him to collect us later.

  As the agent wasn’t due to meet us with the key for another ten minutes, I asked Grandpa John if he thought I could have a quick peep through the little gate at the side of the house. He nodded and said, ‘I think you’ll be pleased’.

  Pleased? I was thrilled. The garden wasn’t very big but it was long and I could see a stream running along the boundary at the bottom of the lower terrace. The top terrace was covered in grass and had two posts, which would be ideal for a washing line, and on either side of the lawn there were flowerbeds with a mixed border of late summer flowers.

  When I returned to the front of the house, the estate agent had arrived and ushered us inside. We went into the drawing room first, which to my delight had an open fire and in the grate was a beautiful old-fashioned coal bucket made of brass and a matching poker and tongs. I was glad to see that the carpet was clean and the sofas and armchairs looked very comfortable. The dining room was big and had a sideboard full of cutlery and glass. The agent told us that the gas fire worked well but being gas was on a meter that took shillings. The kitchen had an old stone sink and a big range, which also heated the hot water for the house. There was also a gas cooker, which the agent told us the previous family had found far easier to cook on. Thank goodness for the extra cooker I thought, as the range looked terrifying. There were some saucepans on a shelf but as they looked rather well used, I thought we could use the ones we were given as a wedding present instead. As I opened a door at the back of the kitchen, I discovered that it led to a big walk in larder, which was full of china and then I opened another door that led to a rather damp spider-ridden outside lavatory. Only to be used in an emergency I thought to myself, as I quickly shut the door again.

  Duncan said that he’d wait downstairs for us, as he’d seen the bedroo
ms already, so I followed my father-in-law and the agent up the wide staircase to the upper floor. Two of the bedrooms had double beds, another one had a single bed and the last one was empty except for a chest of drawers. The walls all had pretty wallpaper and the rooms smelled clean and thankfully there was no sign of any rats or mice so far. The bathroom was quite large and had a big linen cupboard with a hot water tank in it, so the bathroom would be lovely and warm. Bliss! So far so good, I thought.

  ‘How do we heat the bedrooms?’ I asked the agent. There was silence for a moment and then the agent replied, ‘Well Mrs Ogilvie, I believe the previous tenants used paraffin heaters and carried them from room to room in the winter. They are economical to use and just need the wicks trimming regularly.’ Fortunately, I had used one at the Ugadale Hotel, when I was based at Machrihanish, and understood all about having to trim the wicks, so that wouldn’t be a problem.

  When we went downstairs again, I looked at Duncan’s grinning face. He was obviously ready to sign on the dotted line, relieved to have found a home for his family so quickly, but first, I had to know why the rent was so low for such a big house.

  ‘Excuse me asking,’ I said, ‘but why is the rent so much lower than one would expect for a house of this size? There must be a good reason.’

  ‘Oh I’m sorry, I must have forgotten to tell you,’ the agent said rather sheepishly, ‘there is no electricity in the house, it’s all run by gas.’ And there it was!

  ‘Gas?’ I said stunned, ‘how on earth will we see to read and get around in the dark?’ I looked at the ceiling and saw no familiar hanging shades but when I glanced at the walls, I noticed some pretty iron brackets holding small glass shades. I took a closer look and discovered they had tiny pieces of what looked like gauze inside them.