by Sara Crowe
‘What sort of trap?’ said Aunt Coral. ‘You can’t just put a trap out, the fellow might get hurt. And what if it isn’t a tramp, what if the bag of clothing belonged to someone who stayed here once and left it behind when he went? Those clothes might have been there for years. Just because there are bumps in the night, doesn’t mean there’s someone living here. I’m certain no one’s been in that room for years and years and years.’
But the Admiral was inspired with all his hormones raging. ‘If he’s coming in and going out the same way as the rest of us, it should be relatively easy,’ he said. ‘It’s a question of surveillance, of sealing off the exits.’
‘But there are a hundred ways into Green Place,’ I said.
‘What about digging some traps in the woods like you see in the films?’ said the Admiral.
‘Where in the woods?’ said Aunt Coral. ‘And what if you catch a jogger?’
‘You would have to be careful that no one gets hurt,’ I said. ‘You have to act within the law.’
‘Baloney! The law’s an ass,’ said the Admiral. ‘Just look at what’s happened here.’
After a great deal of argument we agreed that in the first instance, Badger and Tornegus will dig some deep holes to act as traps, at vulnerable areas of fencing. To accommodate my safety concerns they will pad the holes with soft landings and leave out food and water in the unlikely event that a jogger or rambler should be caught in one by mistake. Plan B is surveillance. We will take it in turns to watch the exits, particularly at 2 to 3am, when the thud tends to happen.
And the greater plan is to re-erect the ceilings as quickly as is possible, and try harder than ever to raise some cash for all the work.
Meanwhile we have moved ourselves back into the West Wing, like refugees from disaster. This time I have the attic where Delia was doing her Italian. It has a skylight, and if I stand on my suitcase I can see out all across Egham. High above everything, from the elite vantage of my eerie I can see, to the left lies Titford and to the right lies Egham and to the front lie the armies of buddleia. The affluent borders sprawl beyond with their twinkling evening lights, where a hundred cars are sealed into a hundred sliding garages, and a hundred sets of car keys are cast on a hundred tables, and a hundred dinners are taken before a hundred fires, and a hundred hungry husbands rush and kiss their hundred wives.
Brackencliffe
Down in the dungeon, Cara’s guard was a good man and could see nae reason not to be nice.
‘What ails ye?’ he asked the maids, when he took in their dungeon meal tray.
‘I n’ery know where my beloved Keeper is,’ said Cara. ‘Last I saw he was held captive by the scruff of the neck.’
‘Whyfore!’ said the guard. ‘You mean Keeper the spaniel? Why, he is yonder in the dog house – the Master has kept him for sport.’
‘We must free him, please help us!’ said Cara.
‘The Missie will kill us all!’ said Fiona. ‘This dungeon ceiling, it pounds!’ For the weight of the Missie dancing with Knight Van Day above them was a fair threat to the building.
And so the guard took pity on them, and freed them under cover of darkness, reuniting them with their spaniel Keeper, whilst above them, Pretafer’s waltzing shook the earth.
Once they were free, they ran and they ran, Mistress Cara, loyal Fiona, and fleet Keeper, ran far, far away from Brackencliffe.
And as they approached safe haven, Fiona whispered gently, ‘Here lest I forget,’ and handed Cara her locket.
Coral’s Commonplace: Volume 3
Oxford, May 15 1947
(Age 24)
Telegram from Mother and Father:
More than shocked, as Mother didn’t know she was pregnant until she went into labour. She’s had what is termed a ‘surprise pregnancy’, which, though baffling, is apparently not totally unheard of. She continued her cycles all the way through, if a little irregularly, but that was the norm for her anyway these days, and she had no symptoms. Dr John says the baby was most likely carried very far back in her womb, and as she has always suffered with her digestion, it would have been hard to tell the difference.
What a total miracle, and the greatest possible shock! But she’s always wanted another.
I said I would come straight away, but they have put me off till the weekend because Mother needs absolute bed rest and Mrs Morris is caring for the baby.
Green Place, May 21 1947
Buddleia waved her arms in the air for a few moments this morning like she was conducting an orchestra on the ceiling. The rest of the time she has only woken up to feed, before falling back to sleep again while she is still on the job. She is tiny, not even as long as Father’s forearm. She looks like a little tadpole.
Apart from the obvious physical stresses, Mother is overjoyed. Father is somewhat distracted and Cameo is very quiet. She has been in bed most of the time since I’ve been here – she says she is feeling coldy. But I think it’s more than that, I think she is nursing a broken heart. She’s not been herself since Major Laine ended their relationship shortly before Christmas last year. He moved away with his wife, saying he could never leave her. I never thought he was going to anyway, but it was easy to pull the wool over Cameo’s eyes. She’s only nineteen so she believed in all his rubbish. Cameo could have any man she wanted. I wish she hadn’t fallen for him.
I’ve tried to comfort her but it has been terribly awkward because nobody knows here except me. To his friends who know, he will be that poor chap who some young girl got smitten with, and didn’t his wife give him stick, and poor fellow he’s trying to do the right thing. But to me he is less than a bastard.
Other news:
Johnny Look-at-the-Moon’s Father, Jackie Isles, called in again to tell us they plan to go back to Ireland. My heart did a back flip when I heard his voice, because I thought Johnny might have come too. Sadly, though his health has improved, he wasn’t able to come today. I am disappointed not to see him. That is a fact.
Mr Isles says he is getting out of the coal business, as there’s too much competition from gas. He plans to try his luck with a small-holding in Donegal where he hopes that his family will have a higher standard of living. Father asked him in and they enjoyed a smoke together with Dr John. The war’s been a great leveller!
Jackie wouldn’t take the third light, so Father had to light another match. I asked Dr John about this later and he told me it is considered bad luck for three to share a light from the same match, because when in trench warfare, at the first light the enemy can see you, at the second they can take aim, and at the third light they fire. But Dr John said it’s rubbish; you can’t be seen in the trenches, that’s the whole point of them. It’s because some fellow wants to sell more matches – he must work for Lucky Strike.
Mrs Morris will be retiring to the seaside at Eastbourne at the beginning of August. Losing Daniel has knocked all the stuffing out of her. She truly loved that poor boy, had her life mapped out around his. Without him she seems somehow unhinged, unrooted. Mother and Father are providing a handsome pension. I know they would have given even more if it hadn’t been for the new baby.
Despite her sadness, she (Mrs Morris) somehow found time to update her log book. There have been no such additions to the family names in the log for the last 19 years! Normally she only puts in a new entry when we move rooms or have guests to stay (in case Mother can’t remember where they are).
She has also given Buddleia a gift – Granny Morris’s copy of The Poetical Works of Mrs Felicia Hemans. Felicia Hemans was a late-romantic poet, but Buddleia’s a bit young for it yet!
Sue
Tuesday Sept 15
I SHOULD HAVE known that there wouldn’t be much of a market for chivalry. Today, with only four days to go till the workshop and half the building under scaffolding, there were only two places booked, and those to Tornegus and Badger on freebies from the Admiral, promising great results with women after attendance on the course. And I still haven’t had
time to approve Aunt Coral’s budget, which is sure to be inflammatory. I do wish she’d hand it in.
Thursday Sept 17
We are now up to five students, which is an improvement but still a bit embarrassing. Aunt Coral has invited Joe of course, for he is her own young protégé. Then there will be Badger and his son Tornegus, and also two pest control men, Derek and Pigpen, who I propositioned in the toilets at the Toastie earlier on.
Friday Sept 18
There are still only the same five students booked on the chivalry workshop. Unless a bus-load of boy scouts gets lost up the drive, it looks like that will be it. I’m sure if we were better business people we would cancel and not continue, but it isn’t the Green Place way, plus Delia has got carried away and has invited Nigel from the Herald, which will at least mean good publicity.
We’ve decided that the press launch, (which is what Delia’s calling it!), will be a two-pronged event, with a special women’s EHG to run in conjunction with the workshop, and then the men and the women will meet over luncheon so that the men can practise their skills. Chocs away!
Saturday 19 September
Chivalry Weekend Special Ladies’ Egham Hirsute Group
This morning found we women in the conservatory commencing our special group. The day was sticky and close, every glass panel intensifying the heat and making you wish to run outside and throw yourself in the pool. For the gentlemen the day had already begun with some basics such as jousting, for the purpose of which the Admirals had hired a pony. It was lucky to be outside in the paddock under refreshing spits and spots of rain.
‘Welcome, Ladies, to the special chivalry EHG,’ began Aunt Coral. ‘Who can tell me, what is the most famous example of chivalry?’
We all put our hands up.
‘Sue?’ said Aunt Coral.
‘Walter Raleigh’s cape,’ I said.
‘Excellent Sue, Walter Raleigh is correct. Any others?’
We all put our hands up again.
‘Sue,’ said Aunt Coral.
‘The rescuing of Rapunzel,’ I said.
‘Excellent Sue, Rapunzel, yes. And Delia?’
‘Prince Albert taking the bullet for Queen Victoria,’ she said.
‘Excellent Delia, yes. Prince Albert. And Loudolle?’ Unfortunately Delia had asked her along for the special.
‘I’ll take Prince Albert,’ she said, misunderstanding the concept.
‘Thank you Loudolle, not quite, you’ll need to listen more carefully.’
Tensions between we ladies were at slightly unchivalrous levels!
The men outside had moved on to a lecture, and we caught their voices through the open conservatory doors.
‘Ladies do not need to be pulled out of cars, but they may require some easing,’ said Admiral Little.
‘Good. Now …’ said Aunt Coral, pulling our attention back, ‘I want you to write a short piece on the most romantic offer you have ever had.’
‘The purpose of the exercise,’ said Aunt Coral, ‘is to let your imagination run free, so be as far-fetched as you’d like, as you would be in your dreams.’
We jotted down our thoughts and then stood up to share them.
‘“I did not know my destination, but was to collect my ticket at the airport. ‘Venice’, it said on the envelope, and when I opened it there was a note: ‘Marry me tomorrow,’ it said. The note was signed ‘Count Jason’.”
‘Excellent Sue, really excellent, well done,’ said Aunt Coral, ‘my goodness me, Count Jason . . . And Delia?’ she continued.
‘“Ciou Caramia Deliaissima,
Amore Signomi Vittorio, amore, amore, amore. Amore grande, mi dispiace amore amore amore.
Vittorio”’
‘Excellent Delia, goodness, how romantic.’
‘In the event of an argument remember, NEVER SHAKE A LADY,’ said Admiral Ted from outside.
‘And Loudolle?’ said Aunt Coral.
‘I’ll take Count Jason,’ she said, misunderstanding again.
‘Thank you Loudolle, but you’ve missed the point, never mind, we can’t all be Einstein.’
You can imagine that this remark put the cat among the pigeons, and several daggers flew across the conservatory while we took part in silent clashes. I think Aunt C was trying to be funny, but it didn’t go down that way!
Loudolle did not show any reaction but was certain to be hiding a vengeance which would be sure to come out later in the day and explode all over the workshop. It appeared that the real jousting that day was taking place at Group.
‘Now, chivalry is a tradition, a defence, and an honour. A truly chivalrous man would give up his life for the lady he loves,’ said Aunt C.
‘Stand when she leaves the table, and finish her food if she can’t,’ said the voice of Admiral Gordon.
‘Which leads me on to favours,’ said Aunt Coral looking rather disappointed that the chivalry of English men was more ordinary than she had hoped.
‘Favours were traditionally a hanky or a garter, which would be given to a man to wear before he jousted for good luck. It was also a sign to all the world that the man had a special feminine friend. You might have a little think about who you would choose to give yours to!’
This caused somewhat of a rustle amongst the group!
‘Always attend to the taking off and putting on of a lady’s coat,’ came the Admiral’s voice from outside. ‘Some ladies like to have their bonnets taken off too.’
Aunt C looked dangerously wistful. No surprise who she would choose for a favour, for she gazed with such longing out the window at the Ad, standing on the lawn in his full naval uniform, (bar his sandals). I sensed her wanting to abandon Group to go and fetch a bonnet and she almost ran out of the room a short while later when Mrs Bunion rang the lunch gong.
On the way into the dining room I overheard Aunt Coral discussing menus with Mrs Bunion, and was staggered to learn that they weren’t discussing lunch for the workshop, but what food should be served in the trespasser traps. However Mrs Bunion had excelled herself with the cuisine for lunch and came in bang-on budget with a banquet of chicken and oatcakes and a four o’clock mug o’soup.
Nigel, the Head of Events at the Herald, arrived in time to eat, and was given lashings of wine to encourage a good review.
Afterwards we gathered together in the garden, so that the gentlemen could walk the ladies, blessed by a rare appearance of the sun. I pinned my proverbial favour to Tornegus, which caused a hundred million opinions.
‘This is the correct way to lead a lady when walking along, and should prevent any tantrums. And remember to speak softly to ladies, they like deep resonant voices,’ said Admiral Ted, demonstrating with Mrs Bunion by placing one hand in the small of her back and the other under her elbow, and gently encouraging her with a barotone, ‘There now, that’s the way.’
Tornegus put his hand in the small of my back as we walked, and encouraged me along as per the Admiral’s advice, as if I were a dog. None of the ladies I know need to be encouraged to walk along, not even the Nanas who admittedly tend to drift.
‘If your stride is a good deal faster than a lady’s, never walk off and leave her,’ said the Admiral. ‘And never take a lady for a walk when it’s windy, she may fall over.’
Tornegus and I walked into the orchard, and as soon as we couldn’t be seen, he stopped being chivalrous and seized both my hands spontaneously. One minute he was standing opposite me and a nanasecond later, he had pinned me up against a tree. The moment was rather steamy.
‘That’s not very chivalrous,’ I said, with a twinkle, for I found myself getting arouselled.
‘I wondered if …’ he trailed off, and then he totally lost his patter.
I didn’t understand why he had dried up until I heard footsteps from behind my tree. I think Tornegus had been just about to try and kiss me, but he had spotted his Father come looking for him! And so we sprang apart and he abandoned his advance, for we were now in full view of the approaching Badger.<
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‘This one will need pollarding before Spring,’ said Badger as he joined us, referring to the very tree I had been up against.
‘I’ll say,’ I thought quietly to myself. I almost got a kiss.
We all walked back to the house together to find romance flooding the place at every single corner. Nigel was running around the garden, pretending to be Victorian; Derek and Pigpen were in the conservatory writing poetry to their wives; Admiral Ted was in the kitchen attending to Mrs Bunion; and Delia and Admiral Gordon were upstairs talking Italian. The sun teased the dust into kaleidoscope tendrils of love.
Aunt Coral was busy fiddling with her bonnet, temptingly near to the Ad. He was as amorous as he was able to be whilst filling out forms he’d requested for loans on listed buildings.
‘We might just qualify,’ he said.
‘We might,’ said Aunt C throatily, incorrigibly playing with her bonnet.
It hardly mattered when, as expected, Loudolle retaliated over the earlier slights with another ransom demand. I found that the prospect of giving her money didn’t bother me as much as before. Maybe because I felt rich, not in money but in moments, and my moment amongst the apples was mine for ever; it could never be stolen away.
Of course Tornegus is no match for Icarus but he has given me a new perspective, which is a blessed relief. And he took my hands in the orchard, in a flash of rare sunshine and apples; it was not the hand of the man I love, but that of a traveller along the way.
Later
Very late this evening, when everyone was in bed, Aunt Coral came up to the attic.
‘I didn’t want to spoil your day,’ she said. ‘But is it what I think it is?’ And she handed me a card addressed to me in my father’s writing and bearing the Titford postmark. I didn’t need to open it. The bad news inside burned through.
If only life could be like the films, where painful nights just melt away into rapid changes of season, to ‘two years later’ or ‘in the end’. If only the pages of the calendar could be blown away by the wind and jump-cut to the happy ending. But not so life. You have to live through every heartbeat; there’s no escaping the bad bits.