After breakfast, they all went to chapel for an hour. By this time, the sky was getting light and the small east window of stained glass glowed red and blue and yellow. The chapel was freezing, being far away from any source of heat, and the girls were allowed to wear their coats and gloves. In spite of the cold, this was a favorite time of the day for Doris. She could stare at the window and put herself in a kind of trance in which she forgot her body and its discomfort. She felt lightheaded and pure, filled with a kind of ecstasy she assumed had something to do with God. Her body tingled and her eyes stung. She closed them and leaned her forehead on the chair in front of her. The priest intoned the matin prayers, and sometimes she slept.
Doris’s best friend at school was Grace, who had thick, curly red hair no amount of plaiting or pulling back could tame. It burst out of plaits and curled around her head like a halo. She was physically robust, and even the harshness of the school could not diminish her energy. Everyone liked her, even Mademoiselle and Miss Self, who deplored her zest but could not resist it.
“Grace, compose yourself,” could be heard throughout the day as she took the stairs two at a time and gulped down her tea. Her family lived near the school and visited at least once a week, taking Grace out for a meal and usually one of the other girls as well. This probably accounted for her superior health, as the meals at school were meager in quantity and quality. Lunch was usually a thin soup and then a steamed suet roll or pudding. Supper was sometimes an egg but more often sardines or potted meat on toast and a plain cake. Salads were unknown and vegetables were usually a stuffed marrow or overcooked carrots.
Everyone knew Grace was in love with Doris. Doris liked her friend but also enjoyed the power she had—laughing at Grace when she got all soppy about her. She knew Grace’s feelings were different from hers, different from the usual kind of crush one girl had on another. There was something very serious and intense about Grace underneath her boisterousness. Sometimes Doris caught her staring, and then Grace turned red and her freckles stood out. Sometimes when it was very cold, after the lights were out, they got into bed together.
“I love you,” Grace whispered.
“Be quiet,” said Doris. She was warm for the first time that day and wanted only to go to sleep.
Doris left school around 1907 when Edward had been king for six years and the country was affluent and full of confidence. She lived at home, drove her father to the station each morning and waited for a suitable man to appear. So far, only Bill Bennett had made an offer, and she had turned him down. Her father disapproved, but she was his favorite, and he could not force her to marry someone she did not want—not yet.
The older two children, Jesse and Vern, were already married. Vern had joined his father’s firm, and Jesse married Harold Pilbrow, an entrepreneur, who was making a name for himself in finance. Mother did not approve of Harold at first. His background was shadowy and his business philosophy daring—a “diamond in the rough,” she called him. But he wooed Jesse vigorously, with genuine feeling. Surprisingly, Daddy was in favor of the match. Mother pointed out, tightening her mouth, that his oldest and prettiest daughter was being pursued by someone who could turn out to be a ne’er-do-well.
But Harold loved not only Jesse but also her father, whom he respected. The older man treated him as a kind of protégé. So he and Jesse were married, and Harold consulted his father-in-law in all his business dealings. Even after the war, when Henry Pynegar lost everything in the Depression, Harold continued to consult him, although he no longer always followed his advice. Eventually, he and Jesse took Henry and Jane in and cared for them until they died.
Those days before the war were happy ones for the Pynegars. The younger boys were still in school, the older ones in business. Everyone except Vern and Jesse lived at home. Neighbors visited. There were parties. Doris was now the oldest girl, and she helped her mother run the house. She made Mother’s dresses by hand, carefully sewing tucks in the bodice, making the full sleeves, the snug cuffs.
When Gladys came home from school, she borrowed her older sister’s things and sometimes forgot to return them. The two girls had never been good friends, and Mother usually took Gladys’s part, or so it seemed to Doris. Gladys was very pretty and was having a good time with her own friends. She also had a very attentive suitor, but Mother thought she was too young to marry just yet, so she went to town with her friends and told Harry Horley he would have to wait. “You’re just jealous,” she taunted Doris when her sister complained of something she had done.
“Because of Harry?” Doris raised a heavy eyebrow. “Don’t make me laugh.” She went back to cutting up squares of cotton cloth to use for her monthly periods. She needed a lot because she bled so much and they had to be washed by hand. She tried not to go far from home at those times.
Gladys looked at the squares. She had just started menstruating at 16. “How long does it go on?” she asked.
“Forever,” said Doris, “except when you’re having a baby.”
“Does Mother still do it?”
“Ask her,” said Doris. She was still irritated at her sister for taking her stockings. She knew Gladys wouldn’t ask Mother. You didn’t ask your parents those kinds of questions. The only reason Doris knew her mother no longer had monthly periods was because she never saw any of these squares hanging up to dry.
CHAPTER 12
1917: England
One day, Doris went down the stairs, smiling to see Kemys and Rex lounging in the hall. They were laughing with a third man, who looked up as she approached.
“Here’s Heinrich,” Rex said. “He’s a Mason, like Daddy, and he’s going to hunt lions in Africa.”
“Heinrich Heyman,” the man said, bringing his heels together. “It’s a pleasure.”
He looked Vern’s age, she thought, heavier but the same height, with dark blond curly hair and a beard. His eyes were brown and his skin tanned. His clothes were older in style than her brothers’ and somewhat worn, giving him a dated, romantic look. She normally felt at ease with her brother’s friends. This one was different.
For a few minutes, no one said anything. Then Kem gave his sister a poke with his elbow. “Come on, Dor,” he said. “Give us a beer.”
They all went into the lounge while Doris went to the cellar for the drinks. She took a large beer and a small ginger out of their cool storage and put them on a tray with glasses and a bottle opener. Who was he and where did he come from? She felt more excited than she thought she should.
As they drank their beer, Heinrich answered Kem and Rex’s questions about Africa. A lot of Germans and Americans were interested in hunting game and paid high fees for being taken on a shoot. Heinrich had been born in Tanganyika on his parents’ farm, and he knew all about hunting. Later, the family moved to Kenya. He had friends among the young Masai men, each of whom had to kill a lion in order to become a man. “I’m going to start a safari club in Nairobi,” he said. “I’m looking for backers.”
Heinrich had spent 10 years growing coffee on the family farm, but the crops had been poor lately and he wanted to get out. “There’s just enough for the parents,” he said, “but not for me. Too much work and one day we’ll have to get out. It’s not really our land.”
“You’ve lived there all your life,” said Doris.
“I’m German,” said Heinrich. “It makes a difference. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to live there. It’s paradise compared to this country—or anywhere.”
Doris tried to remember what she knew about Africa. “Isn’t it very hot?” she asked. “And dangerous?” The picture that came to mind was a large pot with steam coming out surrounded by naked black men and tigers.
Heinrich smiled. “No one here knows anything about what it’s like. Nairobi is very high up and never hot. Some of the animals can be dangerous but only if they are frightened or starving. The Africans are no more dangerous than anyone else.”
“Tigers?” asked Doris
�
�There are no tigers in Africa,” said Heinrich. “They live in India. There are lions and leopards, but they won’t hurt you except in selfdefense, and we have guns.”
“You ought to talk to our brother-in-law, Harold. He’s in finance,” said Kem.
“I’d like to go,” said Rex. “I read Stanley’s description of East Africa. It sounds exciting.”
“Nairobi is a regular town now,” said Heinrich. “There’s a hotel where Stanley used to stay, called the Norfolk. Lord Delamere shot lions from the roof once. The old-timers still talk about it around the bar.”
Doris felt as if something had changed in her life. There was an hour ago when things were as they always had been, and there was now. Africa. She looked at Heinrich, who was talking seriously to Rex. He was different from the other men she knew, different even from her older brother, Vern. She thought she must be in love with him. She knew it could happen like this—suddenly, without any warning. But now that it had happened, what did it mean? She felt she had been handed some unknown object without any instructions. And suppose he didn’t want her? She thought of Grace and then Billy.
“Dor,” Kem was waving at her. “Wake up! We’re going to show Heinrich the village.” He meant the pub.
As they were leaving, Mother showed up and was introduced. She looked hard at Heinrich. “Come for dinner and meet Mr. Pynegar,” she said. “He would like to hear about your adventures.”
“Thank you,” he said. “it will be a pleasure.” He took Doris’s hand. I like you, his eyes said.
Doris could have hugged her mother, but she didn’t. Displays of affection were not encouraged. “What do you think of him?” she asked when the men had gone.
“I’m not sure,” said her mother. “He’s older and looks experienced. That pretty face could hide a lot of things. We’ll see what Da thinks.”
“Of course he’s different. He lives in Africa.” Doris heard the sharp tone in her voice and knew her mother wouldn’t like it.
“Don’t be rude to me, miss,” Mother said, “You read too many books for your own good. Mr. Heyman looks the sort who could ruin a woman’s life.”
That evening they all gathered around the dining room table. It was Sunday, and Daddy sharpened the knife to carve the joint. Jesse and Harold were there, and Heinrich showed up with a bottle of wine for Daddy and a huge box of chocolates. He had changed into what looked like new clothes—fashionably cut and made of the finest worsted cloth. Doris saw her mother examining him as he talked to Harold about investments. Doris sat on his right side next to Kem.
“What do you think of our new friend?” Kem asked as they watched the plates of lamb and roast potatoes go around. Kem was her favorite brother—even closer than her twin, Rex. He was less boyish in some ways than his brothers, not the first to jump up for a game of football but happy to sit and talk with Dor and Mother. He never said, Come off it, Dor—why not have Billy Bennett?—the way Reg might do. Kem knew Billy was wrong for her, as nice as he was. Too nice, said Kem, you’d make him miserable.
“He’s good looking,” said Doris in a low voice as she handed Kem the bowl of Brussels sprouts. “When is he going back to Africa?”
Kem shrugged, “When he raises some money.”
“Mother thinks there is something odd about him.”
“You grow up in Africa, and there might be something odd about you. He’s just a little different. Sees the world from another angle, you might say.”
Before she could ask more, Heinrich turned to her with a smile, as if he knew he was being discussed. She noticed how white his teeth were and that his beard had a lot of red in it. She thought of how the sun came through the stained glass window in the chapel at school. One of the squares had been the color of his beard. He must have seen her face change because, when she looked at his eyes, they knew something even she was only just aware of. In that moment they stopped being strangers.
Doris put down her knife and fork. “Tell me about Africa. What is it like?”
“For a woman?” asked Heinrich, as if he knew the real reason for her question. “If you have any adventure in you, you would love it. My mother says she will never leave. In fact, she likes it more than my father, who misses the European countryside.” He helped himself to some more meat.
“Adventure,” said Doris. She felt something flutter up into her throat. “I like going to Paris,” she said.
He smiled. “It’s not like Paris. It’s much larger and more beautiful. When you ride out across the plains, you can see the sky from one end to the other. There are all kinds of flowers and animals to look at, and not many people.”
“Wouldn’t it be lonely?” she asked, thinking of her family.
“Not if you are with someone you love.”
The table was being cleared and the deserts brought in. There was a rhubarb fool and an apple tart and a rice pudding. No matter what else there was, Daddy always finished with rice pudding. He said it filled up the cracks. Afterwards they went into the lounge for coffee, and Daddy beckoned to Heinrich. Doris helped her mother put away the food and listened to her instruct the cook. She noticed that Harold had gone over to talk to her father and Heinrich. Her father was smoking a cigar and saying something to Harold. Heinrich stood on one side.
“Do you think Daddy likes him?” Doris asked her mother. She knew she should keep quiet but she couldn’t help it.
“Careful, or you’ll make a fool of yourself.” Her mother sounded angry, but Doris knew she was only worried. She thought Doris was too interested in men for her own good. A girl like that could wind up with a baby and no husband. Why wouldn’t her father like him? thought Doris. He liked most of her brother’s friends. Heinrich had no obvious faults. Yet there was something too vigilant in her mother’s attitude. Nothing had happened, yet Doris felt events were moving beyond her control.
After that day, she saw a lot of Heinrich. They went walking into the village for tea, and sometimes she met him in London after she did her shopping. He took her to lunch and they spent some hours at Kew Gardens or visiting an exhibition. For the next six months, he became a regular visitor at Tamar.
When he was not with her, Heinrich was trying to raise money for his company. Harold put him in touch with some influential men with access to the kind of funds Heinrich needed. He consulted Henry Pynegar and discussed the nature of his idea with Reg and Kem. Reg thought he might return to Kenya with him. Within six months, Heinrich became a member of the family. No one said anything, but there was acceptance of Doris and Heinrich as a couple. There was no doubt they were in love. She was 19 and he was 10 years older. They were not children. Doris, who had always thought herself different from her sisters and her friends in school, felt that at last her life was on the right path. Unlike many young women of her class and age, she wanted something more than the boy next door and a comfortable life. She was discovering that she wanted adventure. The prospect of leaving home for Kenya excited rather than frightened her. She pored over the maps Heinrich brought.
He told her everything he could of life in the highlands above the Rift Valley. It was a hard life, he told her, in spite of the servants and the climate. The weather was unpredictable, as were the people. For this reason, he wanted to start a business in traveling and game hunting rather than farming the land. These were less subject to the weather and would help the economy by employing local labor.
And what about the Germans? Kem finally asked the question. Heinrich replied there were many Germans in East Africa. They had farms in Tanganyika, and others came to Kenya to hunt. But now no one wanted to invest in a business in Africa, no matter what a good idea it was. After six months, Heinrich was no further along than he had been when he came, except that he knew a lot of people and he was in love. His money was running out, and his father wired him twice to return home to help with the farm.
Doris knew her father would not let her go, even before anyone asked. Her mother was torn between sympathy for her daughter and ange
r at what she saw as Heinrich’s irresponsible behavior.
“He should be thrashed,” she fumed, “insinuating himself into the family and all but proposing to a young girl before he has anything to offer.”
“He didn’t know there was going to be a war,” said Kem, defending his friend.
Heinrich and Doris knew it was over. They saw each other once or twice more. Doris was prepared to go with him, but he had no money left—his father had to wire him enough for his own passage. She had no resources of her own and no one would have backed what would have been seen as a suicidal move. Playing her last card—the affection her father felt for her—she begged him to let her go. She succeeded only in feeling the force of Victorian patriarchy. He was furious, and for months would have nothing to do with her.
Heinrich’s idea for a safari business in East Africa came of age later, between the two world wars. Perhaps Heinrich became part of it if he was not killed in the war. They never heard of him again.
World War I came to England like the Black Death of the Middle Ages. It lasted four years and took almost an entire generation of young men. Like all other patriotic Englishmen, the Pynegar brothers enlisted to fight the Huns, to teach the Kaiser a lesson. Two died: Kem, the funniest, and Sylv, the youngest. Vern, the oldest, died 10 years after the armistice, perhaps of gas or war wounds. Sylv, who could not have been more than 15 or 16 in the early days of the war, lied about his age after some boys sent him a white feather, implying cowardice. This goaded him into enlisting. He died in the first days of trench warfare. Kemys died of the flu after armistice was declared.
Doris rolled bandages for the hospital and tried to help with surgery, but always ended by vomiting into some of the clean linen and having to be taken out. Gladys was better at it and helped Jesse run one of the local auxiliaries that provided bandages and collected gloves and socks for the men at the front.
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