The Book of Ebenezer le Page (7 page)

I have never been able to understand how Horace came to be a Guernsey boy. He was a born American. He was showing off and making a big noise from the moment he poked his head out. Raymond was a quiet boy. Sometimes I think he was born too good for this world. He worshipped the big Horace from a child; and Horace was quite willing to have him following along behind like a little dog. That is, if La Hetty and La Prissy was speaking. Of course, if they wasn't speaking the boys wasn't supposed to speak either; but there was no keeping them apart.

They both went to the Secondary School in Brock Road. At first it was the Misses Cohu's School at the Albion Terrace Raymond went to, and Horace was sent to the Capelles School for Boys. Prissy said she didn't want him to grow up to be a girl. There was no fear of that. Raymond was ten when he went to the Secondary, but Horace stayed on at the Capelles until he was old enough to leave school altogether; and Prissy only sent him so that Hetty couldn't say Raymond had been to the Secondary and Horace hadn't. He was put in the same class as Raymond. Hetty said to Prissy, ‘It isn't always the boys with the big legs got the big brains. Le Raymond will finish up working in a bank yet, you'll see!' Prissy said to Hetty, ‘It isn't those who work in the bank got the money. It's those put the money in the bank got the money. Le Horace is going to make plenty, you'll see!' For six months after, Le Raymond and Le Horace had to go different ways to school. Horace would go along the Vale Road on his bike and Raymond would go round Baubigny on his; and they would meet at the Half-way. Raymond was a boy who didn't like to do the slightest thing wrong, yet he would break any rule to be with Horace.

Cyril, the baby, grew into the most beautiful child I have ever seen. He looked like an angel. He had long golden curls Prissy wouldn't have cut off; and she was for ever having his photo taken. She adored him. I am sure he was the only creature in the world she ever adored. Nobody, not even his mother, could adore Horace. The funny thing was that Cyril really took after his father. Percy had been a good-looking young chap with fair curly hair; and he was of a sweet nature until he married Prissy and turned nasty. When Cyril was five he got diphtheria and died. The sisters wasn't speaking at the time, but they came very close together then; and the whole family went to the funeral. He had a small grave to himself in St Sampson's cemetery; and a small tombstone, and on it: CYRIL MARTEL. AGED 5 YEARS, 3 MONTHS. Prissy wouldn't have any words put under.

The worst schemozzle between the two sisters was over the planchette. They was never properly friendly again after. It wasn't that they didn't speak. It was worse. I remember once I was talking to La Hetty by her gate and La Prissy came out from round the back of Timbuctoo, going to the shop. She went out of her way to speak. ‘Ah, well I never, there you are, then!' she said. ‘It is such a long time I haven't seen you, I was beginning to wonder if it was that you was laid up for life!' La Hetty laughed. ‘Ah, but no, then: I'm fine, me!' she said. ‘I was saying to Le Harold only this morning: “It's such a long time I haven't seen that Prissy, I wonder if it is she can be dead!”'

To tell you the truth, I would have liked to have had one of those things myself; but if I had brought one into the house, my mother would have said I was trafficking with the Devil. I was earning the money and was the man in the house; but there was some things I wouldn't do to hurt the feelings of my mother. I'd seen the planchettes on show in the window of Le Cheminant's toy-shop in the Commercial Arcade, when me and Jim was in Town one Saturday night. He said, ‘Let's buy one each, eh?' but I explained to him about my mother and he said, ‘Yes, that would never do.' He bought one for himself and said, ‘You can try it to my house.' I was in and out of his house, as if it was my home and I always had supper there Saturday nights.

After supper he tried to make it work on a big piece of paper on the kitchen table. It was a funny thing, the planchette. It was a flat piece of wood made like a heart with a pencil through the point and two little wheels at the back of it for it to roll on. It said on the box that if you put your hand on it and asked it a question, it would write out the answer. Jim put his hand on it and said, ‘Planchette, Planchette, is it going to be fine weather tomorrow?' He wanted to know because it was Sunday, and we was going for a ride on our bikes after dinner. It didn't move. Jim said, ‘Well, I thought that was an easy one. It only had to write Yes, or No.' I said, ‘I'm going to ask it something harder.' I put my hand on it and said, ‘Planchette, Planchette, am I going to win the leg of mutton off the greasy pole?' The one thing I wanted to be able to say I had done was to have won the leg of mutton off the greasy pole at the Grand Havre Regatta.

‘It moved!' said Jim. It did move, damme; and made a small mark on the paper: but you could hardly see it. ‘It's the electric in you!' he said. I don't know if it was the electric in me; but I swear I didn't push it on purpose. Old Jim was always willing to give me best and I wouldn't have played a dirty trick like that on him. I said, ‘Planchette, Planchette, is that all you can do? Are you really able to answer any questions? Say Yes, or No!' It didn't move at all. I said to Jim, ‘A pity you throw away a shilling for nothing. I'll pay half,' but he wouldn't let me.

Of course Le Raymond had to have a planchette because Le Horace had a planchette; and Le Horace had to have a planchette because Le Raymond had a planchette. Le Raymond was unlucky like Jim. It wouldn't move at all for him; but for Horace it wrote out answers for every question he asked. La Prissy was cock-a-hoop and invited herself and Percy and Horace to Wallaballoo on the Sunday evening to show what wonders the planchette could do. She went so far as to say that Horace would do it with Raymond's planchette, just to show that everything was open and above board. Raymond tried again and nothing happened. ‘Ah well,' said Prissy, ‘it isn't everybody have got the gift.' It behaved wonderful for Horace that night. He asked it his name, and it wrote it out; he asked it his birthday, and it wrote it out; he asked it where he lived, and it wrote out his address long: Timbuctoo, Braye Road, St Sampson's, Guernsey, Channel Islands, British Isles, Europe, The World; and when he asked it if he was ever going to leave Guernsey, it wrote that he was going to America and make millions.

‘There, you see!' said Prissy. ‘The planchette know. Horace is going to be somebody. It isn't working in a bank he is going to be, and earning less than if he was working in the greenhouses and think he is one of the gentry because he is wearing a white collar and a tie.' ‘The planchette write big,' said Hetty. ‘That only go to show that it is the planchette who is writing, him; and not Horace,' said Prissy, ‘because Horace, he write small.' ‘It don't spell very well,' said Hetty, ‘I've always thought the word millions have two l's, me.' ‘Well, you can't expect a piece of wood to know everything,' said Prissy. ‘It is not the planchette who do not know how to spell,' said Hetty, ‘it is Le Horace who do not know how to spell. Do he think we are all fools that we cannot see him pushing it?' ‘Well, if THAT is what you think!' said Prissy; and she got up on her two feet. I can just see her standing there with her thin lips together. ‘After we have been sisters for so many years, I thought we was going to be sisters for the rest of our lives,' she said. ‘Come Horace, come Percy: we are no relations!' and they both followed her out like sheep through the gap in the hedge to Timbuctoo.

My mother had to listen to the sad story a dozen times from the one and the other. I don't know why they came and told everything to my mother. I never told my mother anything. She didn't say much. She would listen with her big white face and go on with her work. ‘Ah, la, la,' she'd say, ‘mais es-che comme chonna, donc? Es-che la véritai?' She didn't take sides. She only wanted to know the truth. Prissy said, ‘Well, even if Horace did push it, Raymond could have pushed it too. He'll never get on in the world, that boy, if he don't learn how to push!' When Hetty's turn came, she said she was glad it had happened; for it meant that at last Horace wouldn't come bothering Raymond any more. From the time Raymond was a little boy the big Horace was always around the place, breaking his toys and climbing over the roofs of the sheds, and Raymond would try and follow and make holes in his trousers. ‘It's all for the best,' she said.

She was wrong about Raymond. Unbeknown to her, they often came together of a Saturday afternoon for a bathe in the little bay under Les Moulins. That is a thing I would never have thought of doing, me: to wash myself all over in the sea. Once when Horace was undressing, I saw he got some bad marks on his back. I asked him how he got those marks. ‘Oh, it's my old man with his belt,' he said and laughed. I'd have never thought Percy would do that with his soft ways. I took the two of them out in my boat with me a few times. Raymond wasn't much use, but he liked to sit looking at the sea and the rocks. ‘It's nice here, eh Uncle?' he'd say, and smile. I was only his cousin really, but I was so much older he called me Uncle. I liked Raymond. He was weak and sickly when he was a child, but by the time he was twelve or thirteen, he was quite healthy and strong. He wasn't big built but had a well-made young body and an old-fashioned face with fairish hair and bright blue eyes that looked at you very straight. He was serious for a young boy, but had a nice smile and sometimes he'd wrinkle up his face laughing at something all to himself. He was no fool.

I suppose Horace was a good-looking boy: everybody said he was, but I couldn't see it myself. He was big built with heavy shoulders like his Uncle Harold, and he had thick black hair and very dark eyes and full lips and a mouthful of big white teeth he liked to show when he smiled; but when he smiled, you could bet your bottom dollar it was because he wanted to get round you for something. He started to throw his weight about the moment he got in the boat. He wanted to show me how clever he was and had no more idea than the man in the moon how to handle a sail. If I'd let him have his way, he'd have had us capsized in two shakes. ‘Now you just sit where I tell you; and do what you're told!' I said to him. He was already bigger than me and looked quite surprised. He put on his smile; but I didn't smile back. ‘I mean it!' I said. ‘If you get yourself knocked overboard, who is going to fish you out? I won't.' I couldn't swim. He couldn't swim far. Raymond was a much better swimmer.

It was the only thing Raymond could do well as far as sports go. Horace played football for the Secondary School and was captain of the first team Raymond kicked a ball about in the second. I saw the school match against the High School once. The Secondary won, but more by luck than good management. Horace was no good as a footballer really. He played half back but was always getting off-side and would keep the ball to himself when he ought to have passed it to the forwards. He wasn't out for his team to win. All he wanted was to show everybody that Horace Martel was the best footballer on the field. I know perhaps I'm not being fair to Horace. Well, he's gone now. He was the way he was made.

Perhaps things would have turned out better for Raymond if it hadn't been for his mother; yet I don't like to throw the blame on Hetty altogether. She suffered. I know she did wrong. By rights, it was Jack Bourgaize who ought to have been Raymond's father; but then Raymond wouldn't have been Raymond. He was one of those who ought never to have been born; but, at that rate, I wonder how many of us ought to have been born?

At least, as far as Raymond was concerned, Hetty did everything she thought was for the best. It was a pity she didn't know her boy. I came to know much more about him than she ever did; but even now I can't pretend I understand Raymond. She gave him everything he wanted, or that she thought he wanted, or ought to want. He was well fed and clothed and cared for; he was given a good education; he was taught to play the piano, first by Miss Annette Cohu and then by Mr Pescott from the Vale Avenue, who was the best pianist on the island; and he always had plenty of money in his pocket, though he wasn't one to spend much. At least, he never had to worry where his next penny was coming from. Yet, if she had only known it, she kept him in a cage. I wish I could think he got out of that cage in the end; but, if so, it was not in this world, though perhaps he did die happy.

Nothing could have turned out more different from how she planned. In her mind she had it all arranged. Harold was years older than she was and was going to die first. The house and everything would be hers. Raymond would live with her until she died; and then the house and everything would be his. There might be a wife: she had thought of that. ‘I don't want my Raymond to grow up to be a funny old bachelor like some people I know,' she said to me once. I wondered where the wife was coming from who would satisfy Hetty. She would have to come of a good family and have money and, of course, be a good-living girl and no gad-about; and she would have to be willing to live with her mother-in-law and give her first place. I didn't think there was a girl in Guernsey, or in the world for that matter, would have done. I remember Raymond telling me years later how when he lived at home, if his mother heard he had been seen as much as talking to a girl, she would kick up a dido. I am willing to bet they wasn't talking about nothing but books. He belonged to the Guille-Allès Library, and you never saw him about without a book under his arm. I am not sure all that reading do a fellow much good. Me, I used to read the
Gazette
, and now I read the
Guernsey Evening Press
, and I have read
Robinson Crusoe
.

Raymond didn't go into a bank, after all. He could be very stubborn when he wanted to be. He said he didn't want anything to do with figures. It is true at the Secondary School he hadn't been all that good at sums. It was History and Literature he was good at. Anyhow, he got his own way and went as a clerk to the Greffe. He didn't earn much, but that didn't matter then; and he got to know about the Court and the States and the Advocates, and rummaged among the old papers that had to do with the past history of the island. Hetty was quite pleased, as it turned out. She could say ‘My son is in the Greffe,' and it sounded as grand, if not grander, than ‘My son is in a bank.'