The House by the Dvina (5 page)

Lunch over, all adjourned to the drawing-room. Gherman, not wishing to overstay his welcome, rose to take his leave, but was persuaded to remain for tea.

In a house where a strict Presbyterian rule never permitted any music other than psalms or hymns to be played on a Sunday, the family were amazed to hear their father asking Nelly to play some Scottish airs. She obediently sat down to accompany Mary, who had a fine contralto voice. One by one all gathered round the piano. My father, who possessed a good voice and was by now familiar with the well-known songs of Scotland, joined in the singing. Later Nelly played some of the favourite pieces she knew by heart. Gherman was surprised and delighted, for she had never mentioned that she had this accomplishment. Back in the dining-room they all sat down to a Scottish tea. The table was laden with home-baked scones, cream cookies and cakes. A friendly relaxed atmosphere prevailed. Gherman began to feel as if he had known them all for a long time. After tea, the girls, along with Stephen and Henry, prepared to set off for the evening service in the church.

Father bowed and thanked my grandparents for their hospitality. They in turn invited him to come back again and to treat this house as his second home. “Haste ye back,” my grandmother said, dropping her habitual aloofness and reverting to the homely vernacular.

Gherman walked with Nelly behind the others. They said goodbye at the church gate and my father continued on his way back to his lodgings. A fortnight later he approached my grandfather and asked to marry his daughter. Permission was granted. According to the Scottish custom he bought a diamond ring. He and Nelly became officially engaged.

There were several aspects of a Russian-Scottish marriage that had to be explained and eventually agreed upon. Letters were exchanged between the British Embassy in St Petersburg, the head Russian Consulate in London, and my grandfatherТs lawyer. According to the marriage laws of Russia my mother had to have the consent of her parents before any marriage could take place. By marrying my father she would automatically become a Russian subject. Any children of the marriage would likewise be Russian subjects and be baptised in the church of that country and of their father. My mother was a Presbyterian. My father belonged to the Russian Orthodox Church. In deference to his church he wrote to the Arch-Priest Father Evgeny Smirnoff, chaplain to the Russian Embassy in London. “My son,”

replied Father Evgeny, kindly explaining that while there was no objection to a Presbyterian service, the Orthodox Church would consider the marriage invalid unless it was solemnised in the Russian church as well. One of the important rituals in the ceremony is the crowning of the bride and bridegroom, when the two groomsmen, standing behind the couple with outstretched arms, hold the heavy golden crowns above the bridal pair and follow them as they are led by the priest three times round the lectern.

The church also did not approve of any wedding taking place during the period of Lent, when the great fast of seven weeks begins around the end of February and lasts until Easter Sunday.

If my grandparents had any misgivings about their daughter becoming a subject of that vast, and to them unknown, country, they tried to brush them aside. After all, some members of the family were already scattered to the far corners of the Empire, others were soon to follow, so why not Russia? As for my mother, she did not mind any laws or rules and would have cheerfully followed my father into the very depths of China if need be. She remained throughout her whole sojourn in Russia a Presbyterian, but attended the most important services of the Russian church where she enjoyed the magnificent singing of the choir, and especially the deeply moving ritual of the Easter service.

Meanwhile a steady flow of letters was pouring in from Russia. My grandmother and my fatherТs guardian asked many questions. In the end Gherman decided he would go to Russia during his vacation in the early summer, where he could discuss the various aspects of his future. He was now anxious to curtail his stay in Scotland, for he saw no reason for a prolonged engagement. He was possessed by an impatience to get married, take his bride to Russia, begin his new life and become established in his business. Nelly had never been so happy. There was a new sense of freedom she had never known before. This was her spring. Life was new. Life was wonderful. I have often heard my father say, echoing the sentiment expressed by other foreigners, that Sundays in Scotland could be dull as opposed to those in his own part of the world. There was nowhere to go to except church or to pay calls on friends or relatives. Now it was different. As the days became longer and clearer he enjoyed walking with my mother, exploring for the first time the lovely outskirts of the town as yet unspoilt by the sprawling buildings of roads and houses. At other times they joined the throng of young people strolling on the promenade or listening to the band in the park.

One Sunday in the early summer they decided to have a small expedition to the opposite side of the river. They took the train to Dundee and from there crossed on the ferry affectionately nicknamed the Fifie to Newport.

From there it was possible to stroll back along the road on the Fife coast to a point directly opposite Broughty Ferry. From this small port, known as Tayport, they planned to cross on a second ferry, called the Dolphin, back to Broughty Ferry, thus completing the round trip. The day was very warm. They strolled leisurely in easy stages, halting to admire the neat and tidy gardens, the flowers and trees in full blossom.

When they eventually reached the pier they found to their dismay that the Dolphin had left a few minutes earlier and was now in midstream. There was nothing they could do but wait until it returned. They walked back down to the beach and settled on a grassy bank. By now it was late afternoon. All was peaceful. From the opposite shore a small boat was crossing the river.

They watched it idly. The rower appeared to be in a hurry. As the boat drew nearer they were astounded to recognise the stocky figure of my grandfather. They had forgotten that on an afternoon such as this, when there was neither mist nor rain to disturb his vision, Grandpa, glued to his telescope, was having a field day. He had seen the Dolphin leave the pier in Tayport and watched my parents walking down to the shore, sitting on the grass and perhaps, who knows, exchanging a few kisses. That was enough. He had rushed to the beach to the boating shed, housing his yacht and dinghy, dragged the dinghy down the slipway and raced across the river. My parents hurried to the waterТs edge to meet the approaching dinghy. Grandpa leaped out and dragged the boat on to the shingle. His face was crimson with rage and exertion. All efforts to help were brushed aside. “Get in that boat,” was the short and curt reply when Nelly, for once defiant and indignant, had enquired what he thought they had done.

Gherman was ordered to follow suit.

Later, perhaps realising that he had gone too far, my grandfather explained his action by pointing out that by bringing them back direct to the beach so near the house they were spared the long walk from Broughty Ferry. If so, why did he display such anger? It was difficult to understand the workings of such an eccentric mind. Much easier to accept his belated explanations and ignore the rest.

Soon after, my father left for Russia. He was accompanied by Stephen. My grandparents had approached Gherman, tentatively suggesting that if possible it would be a good idea if Stephen, who had never travelled before, went with him. Behind this request, of course, was an opportunity for a member of their family to observe everything and draw his own conclusions. My father understood this and readily agreed. By now the northern Dvina was free from ice. They sailed direct to Archangel in a cargo ship.

Six weeks later they returned to Scotland. On Stephen these few weeks in Russia left a lasting impression. He liked the people. He was overwhelmed by the hospitality he received everywhere he went. There were endless dinner parties lasting into the early hours of the morning;midnight picnics down the river to the islands; an excursion up river of a few daysТ duration on one of the paddle steamers that sail up and down the Dvina during the summer months. The Dvina meanders for hundreds of miles until, eventually spreading herself around all the islands at the mouth of the river, she flows down to the sea. Churning up the sparkling spray the steamer paddles along for days on end, nosing her way through the oncoming timber islands that float down to the mills. Skirting around the ever-changing coast through deep or shallow waters, it sails past sandy shores where splashing children wave their hands.

The town itself, Stephen thought, had a certain charm. The cobbled streets were wide, flanked by raised wooden pavements. There were many fine old churches and buildings dating back to the days of Peter the Great. Most of the privately owned houses are built from timber and varied considerably from the solid handsome buildings of the prosperous citizens to the grey, shabby cottages of the poor. There were leafy parks and tree-lined avenues on the river front. He saw no high tenements darkening the streets. Yet in many aspects, he continued, there were moments when he had the impression he was transported to a bygone age. There were no tramcars. People either walked or travelled by horse. In the best houses, in spite of parquet flooring, rich furnishings and electricity, every drop of water had to be brought in from the river.

Every morning he watched the horse cantering down to the pier with the empty barrel jolting in the cart and later dragging the heavy load uphill back to the kitchen door. From there it was emptied into a second barrel standing in the passage adjoining the kitchen. The water was then carried into a boiler in the kitchen and distributed round the house. All refuse in turn had to be dumped into a pit, discreetly hidden behind the stables.

Upstairs in the house were two adjoining small rooms. In the first one there was a marble-topped table with ewer, basin, mirror, soap and other requisites. In the second room were two lidded seats of different sizes built over a chute some twenty feet deep, partially buried in the ground.

In the early spring men came along, cleaned and removed all refuse to a certain part of the river. Later, when the river moved, the ice floes carried everything out to sea.

Overall Stephen believed his sister would be happy. It was a close community, friendly and hospitable. Life in this small but busy port could be very gay. There were clubs, gatherings, dances, plays and operas, all in their season. Above all, he knew all the relatives were prepared to welcome her into their circle and do their utmost to make her happy.

I will never know what talks transpired between my father, his mother and guardian. Many years later I was given a small hint by one of his cousins, by now a very old lady. “I will have her and no other!” my father was reputed to have said at the end of a lengthy discussion. Perhaps they had questioned the advisability of bringing a young bride to a country where she had no relatives or friends of her own. The language was difficult, the customs, the harsh winters and the whole way of life so vastly different to what she was accustomed. They did not of course know my mother and were not aware that she, like most Scots, had the inherent quality of being able to adapt herself to any conditions. In any case, it did not matter what each side of the family thought or said. The wedding was fixed for 18 January 1905.

From the moment the date was finalised the house became a hive of great activity. Grandfather, determined his daughter should have a wedding worthy of himself, gave my grandmother a free hand to order all that she considered was necessary for her daughterТs trousseau. My delighted granny, who had come from a humble home and whose mother had been a widow, embarked on a great shopping spree.

Bundles of blankets, embroidered sheets, linen of every description from the damask tablecloths down to the humble kitchen towels were delivered in a steady stream to the house. A sewing maid was engaged to make the special square pillow-slips used in Russia. Nelly and her sisters spent hours embroidering and marking every article with her initials.

There were constant excursions to shops and dressmakers. One well-known furrier was commissioned to make a furlined shuba with fur hat and muff to match. This was necessary, but in spite of my fatherТs assurance that the houses were warm and that Nelly was not embarking on an expedition to the North Pole, Granny, undaunted, ordered two old ladies, who kept a wool shop in the town, to knit endless pairs of thick woollen stockings, shawls, scarves and other garments. The two ladies sat knitting feverishly all day long right up to the day before the wedding. From Archangel came the glad news that my Russian grandmother would come to the wedding. She was happy, she wrote, to be able to attend her sonТs wedding and looked forward to meeting her future daughter-in-law and her family, and to seeing Scotland for the first time.

To the festive atmosphere of Christmas was added the exciting anticipation of the wedding now a mere three weeks away. A few days later a telegram arrived. GhermanТs grandmother had suddenly taken a stroke and was not expected to recover. His mother, who had been happily preparing for her departure, had to cancel all arrangements. It was impossible to leave her mother and in the end she never saw Scotland. Gherman was very attached to his old grandmother. When he saw her last during his summer vacation there was no trace of any illness. She talked to him for a long time, asking many questions about his Scottish bride and in the end blessed him as he was leaving again for Scotland. She died early in January, adding to the bitter disappointment that his nearest and dearest relative would not be present at the wedding.

The following day, Henry, who was leaving for India a few weeks after the wedding, received instructions from Calcutta informing him that his sailing date had been brought forward. He left for India on the eve of the wedding. He was my motherТs youngest and favourite brother. Eight years and more were to pass before she saw him again.