Coming Home (127 page)

Having tea with Biddy, she told me that your Uncle Bob has been posted to Colombo, and is already there. Isn't it funny that you have both ended up out there together? Or perhaps not so funny, as now the war in Europe is over I suppose just about the entire Royal Navy will be headed east. I wonder if you've seen him yet, Uncle Bob, I mean; I looked on the map and it's right the other side of the island from Trincomalee, so probably not.

And I wonder if Jeremy Wells will come your way as well? The last we heard of him, he was in Gibraltar with the Seventh Fleet. He spent so long battling to and fro across the Atlantic, it must be heaven to be in the Med. Lots of sunshine anyway.

News of Nancherrow. It's very empty and sad because about two months ago Athena and Clementina packed up and left, to go and live in Gloucestershire with Rupert. Either Mummy or Biddy or someone will have told you that he was dreadfully badly wounded in Germany just after the crossing of the Rhine, and had to have his right leg amputated. (Dreadfully cruel, when you think that he went the whole way in the Western Desert from Alamein to Tripoli, and then into Sicily and all that fighting without a single scratch, only to get clobbered so near the end of the war.) Anyway, he was brought home, and was in hospital for yonks, and then in a sort of rehabilitation place learning to walk with a tin leg. Athena left Clementina with Mary and Mummy, and was away for quite a bit, staying near the hospitals and being with him. But of course he couldn't stay in the regiment with a tin leg, so has been invalided out, and he and Athena are living in a little farmhouse on his father's estate, and he's going to learn all about running the place when his old pa finally turns himself out to grass. It was horrid saying goodbye to Athena and Clementina, but she wasn't too reluctant to go, and I think is simply thankful that he wasn't killed. She's phoned once or twice and says that Gloucestershire is very pretty, and the house will be pretty too, once she's had time to get her hands on it. A bit difficult with everything still rationed, you can't even get curtains or blankets or sheets without clothing coupons!

Nat misses Clementina very much, but on the other hand, likes having all the nursery toys at Nancherrow to himself, without her objecting all the time and hitting him over the head with a doll or a toy truck.

The war being over is a great relief, but everyday life hasn't changed that much, still only a trickle of petrol, nothing in the shops and food as tight as ever. We are fortunate being on a farm, as we can always slay a hen and there are still pheasants and pigeons in the woods, and of course the present of the odd fish. As well as the eggs. We live on eggs and have bought another two dozen white Leghorns to sweeten up the kitty. Digging the vegetable garden at Nancherrow got a bit much for poor Nettlebed, so we've turned one of the bottom fields of Lidgey into a communal vegetable garden, and Walter's father ploughed it up, and he and Nettlebed work it together. Potatoes, cabbages, carrots, et cetera. Lots of beans and peas. Walter's father hasn't been too well, chest pains and a bad cough. The doctor told him to take it easy, but he laughed hollowly (is there such a word?) and goes on as before. Mrs Mudge is still slaving away in the dairy, et cetera.

She adores Nat and spoils him rotten, which is one of the reasons he's so badly behaved. He can go to school when he's five. I can't wait.

Now I suppose I must wash up supper-things, which are all over the place, go and close up the hens, and get Nat to bed. There's a pile of ironing which I probably won't do. It's a fairly useless exercise anyway.

Heaven to talk to you. Do write back. Sometimes I don't think about you for days, and other times I think about you all the time, so much so that it seems funny walking down to Nancherrow and having to tell myself that you aren't there.

Love, love,

Loveday

In the exotic environment of the tropics, where the only change of season was the onslaught of the monsoon, and perpetual sunshine was apt to become monotonous, the days and the weeks and the months slipped by with alarming swiftness, and it was easy to lose all track of time. This sense of living in a sort of limbo was compounded by the lack of daily newspapers, or even the time to listen in to service news bulletins, and only the most serious-minded of girls made the effort to follow closely events that were going on in the world. The last truly significant thing that seemed to have happened was the star-burst of VE Day, and that was already three months ago.

Because of all this, the rhythm of the regular working week, broken into neat segments by the high spots of weekends, was even more important than it had been at home, and helped to instil a sense of normality into an essentially abnormal existence. Saturdays and Sundays took on a special significance, empty days of freedom much looked forward to, with time for oneself, and the choice as to whether one should do nothing, or do everything.

For Judith, the best was not having to get up at five-thirty in the morning in order to be at the end of the jetty in time to board HMS
Adelaide'
s first boat of the day. She still woke at five-thirty, her human time-clock being annoyingly reliable, but usually turned over and went back to sleep again, until it became too hot to remain incarcerated under her mosquito net, and high time for a shower and breakfast.

Breakfast this particular Saturday morning was scrambled eggs, and instead of the weekday snatched slice of bread spread with peach jam, she was able to eat these in leisurely fashion, and linger over cups of tea. Presently, she was joined by an eccentric Irish girl called Helen O'Connor, who hailed from County Kerry and had about her a most refreshing air of total amorality, being tall and rake-thin, with long dark hair and the reputation for collecting men as others collected stamps. She wore a gold chain bracelet heavy with charms, which she called her scalps, and if one went to the Officers' Club, she was always there, smooching under the stars, and always with a new, and passionately besotted, escort.

‘And what are you about to do today?’ she asked Judith, lighting her first cigarette of the day, and exhaling a long, grateful plume of smoke.

Judith told her about Toby Whitaker.

‘Is he handsome?’

‘He's all right. Married with two kids.’

‘You'd better watch out. They're the worst. I was hoping you'd come sailing with me today. I've let myself in for a day on the water, and I have the strange feeling I could be doing with a chaperone.’

Judith laughed. ‘Thanks a bunch, but I'm afraid you'll have to find another gooseberry.’

‘They're thin on the ground. Oh, well…’ She yawned and stretched. ‘Perhaps I'll just take my chance. Fight for my virginal honour…’ Her blue eyes glittered with amusement, and Judith was reminded of Loveday, and suddenly liked her very much.

After breakfast, she went down to the cove and swam, and by then it was time to get ready for Toby Whitaker. She put on shorts and a sleeveless shirt, and a pair of old tennis shoes, and packed a basket to see her through the day. A ragged straw sun-hat, a bathing-suit, and a towel. A book, in case there should fall a pause in the conversation, or Toby should decide to take an afternoon siesta. As an afterthought, she added khaki slacks and shirt and a pair of thong sandals, on the off chance that their day should continue on, through to dinner and the hours beyond.

With the basket slung on a shoulder, she made her way down through Quarters and to the Regulating Office and the gate. She was a bit early, but Toby Whitaker was already there, waiting for her, and the brilliant surprise was that he had, some way or another, laid his hands on a Jeep, which he had parked in a patch of shade on the far side of the road. In this he sat, behind the wheel, peacefully smoking a cigarette, but when he saw her come, he climbed down out of the Jeep, disposed of the cigarette and crossed the road to meet her. He, too, was dressed in casual gear, blue shorts and a faded shirt, but he was one of those men who, out of uniform, looked a bit diminished, undistinguished. Suitably attired for his day out with Judith, she decided that he resembled nothing so much as a conscientious family man setting out for the seaside. (At least he wasn't wearing socks with his sandals, and hopefully wouldn't knot the corners of his handkerchief and wear it as a sun-hat.)

‘Hello there.’

‘I'm early. I didn't think you'd be here yet. Where did you get the Jeep?’

‘Captain Curtice lent it to me for the day.’ He looked very pleased with himself, as well he might.

‘Brilliant. They're like gold dust.’

‘He said it wasn't being used today. I told him about you, and he said that climbing into a lorry was no way to take a girl out for a date. I've got to return it this evening.’

Looking inordinately pleased with himself, he took her basket from her. ‘Let's go.’

They piled into the Jeep and set off in the customary cloud of dust, out and along the harbour road that circled the wide curve of the shoreline. Their progress was not fast, because there was a good deal of ill-assorted traffic about: naval trucks and lorries, bicycles and rickshaws and bullock-carts. Gangs of men were working on the sea-wall, and barefoot women, wound in cotton saris, made their way to the market, carrying tiny babies, leading strings of bare-bottomed children, bearing baskets of fruit on their heads. Beyond the sea-wall, the harbour lay filled with the sleek grey warships of the Fleet. Flags snapped at mast-heads, white awnings drummed in the hot wind, and the bugle calls of piped orders floated clearly across the sparkling waters.

But it was all new territory to Toby. ‘You'll have to be navigator,’ he told her. ‘Give directions.’

Which she did, guiding him away from the harbour, down the rutted tracks which led through the village, past the Fruit Market, and through the Pettah. They left behind them the bulk of Fort Frederick and Swami Rock, and then were out on the coast road that led the way north to Nilaveli.

No more traffic now, and they had it all to themselves, but it was impossible to put on much speed, because of all the ruts and ditches and stones. So, onwards they trundled.

Toby said, raising his voice so that he could be heard above the sound of the Jeep's engine and the general confusion of wind and dust, ‘You promised to tell me about the lady who runs the YWCA.’

‘So I did.’ It would have been easier not to talk, but perhaps a bit rude to tell him so. ‘Like I said, she's a great character.’

‘What's her name again?’

‘Toddy. Mrs Todd-Harper. She's the widow of a tea-planter. They had an estate up in Banderewela. In 1939 they were due to go home, but then the war broke out and the seas were full of submarines and there were no ships, so they stayed in Ceylon. And then, a couple of years ago, Mr Todd-Harper had a heart attack and died, so she was left on her own. She handed the tea-estate over to some overseer or other, and joined the equivalent of the Women's Voluntary Service out here. She wanted to join the Wrens, but she was too old. Anyway, she ended up being posted to Trincomalee, and told to run the new YWCA. End of story.’

‘How do you know so much about her?’

‘I lived in Colombo until I was ten. The Todd-Harpers used to come down from the hills from time to time, to stay at the Galle Face Hotel, and socialise with all their friends.’

‘They knew your parents?’

‘Yes, but my mother and Toddy didn't have much in common. I don't think my mother approved of her. She used to say she was very
racy.
Total condemnation.’

Toby laughed. ‘So, after all the years, you and she met up again.’

‘That's right. She was already here when I arrived about a year ago. We had a great reunion. It makes all the difference having her around. Sometimes, if there's a late party and I've got a sleeping-out pass, I stay the night at the hostel, and if she's run out of bedrooms, she gets one of the boys to put a bed and a mosquito net out on the veranda for me. It's heaven, waking in the cool mornings and watching the catamarans sailing in with the night's catch.’

Empty country now. Ahead the coastline, fringed with palms, was hazed in the noonday heat. To the right lay the sea, jade-coloured, clear and still as glass. After a bit, the YWCA hostel came into view, a long, low building pleasantly situated between the road and the ocean: palm-thatch roof and wide verandas, deep in the shade of an oasis of palm trees. The only other habitation in sight was a group of native huts about half a mile farther up the beach. Here, smoke rose from cooking fires, and the fishermen's catamarans were pulled up onto the sand.