The House by the Dvina (6 page)

As the wedding date drew nearer, there was great interest in Broughty Ferry in this Scottish-Russian union. Of special attraction was the wedding cake displayed in the window of the bakers in Broughty Ferry renowned for their artistry and quality. Instead of the usual floral decorations on the top tier, the cake had two silver and gold-fringed flags. Against the royal blue brocade, embroidered in silver, was the double-headed eagle of Russia and beside it the gold and scarlet of the Lion Rampant. The marriage service took place in the parish church of St StephenТs in Broughty Ferry. There was even a faint touch of spring in the clear sky. Serene, completely composed and lovely, Nelly, her long train and veil trailing behind her, walked down the aisle, her hand resting lightly on her fatherТs arm. Her three sisters walked behind her. To her surprise she noticed her father was strangely agitated. His arm trembled visibly as he handed his daughter to her bridegroom. The church was packed and there was a big crowd of onlookers outside. Among them there stood a lady who by some strange quirk of fate was to become my mother-in-law.

The reception was held in the house and the numerous guests spilled over all the rooms downstairs. A glimmer of pale sunlight allowed a family photograph to be taken on the porch outside. The reception had to be curtailed as in the late afternoon the bridal party, some relatives and friends had to embark on a train journey for the second church ceremony.

Years later my aunts and mother used to recall this journey. From all accounts it was hilarious. Bertram Luhrs, my fatherТs groomsman, had brought aboard a case of champagne. While the older members of the party sat quietly resting in their compartment the young people crowded in beside the newly-weds and continued the celebration until they arrived in Newcastle. There the whole party put up in the Station Hotel. The following morning after breakfast the party continued their journey to London. Tired and weary, and some more weary than others, they were all glad when the train steamed into London. They all stayed in the Langham Hotel in Portland Place. There they were joined by another cousin, who had just arrived from Russia. Adya Scholts, who was to be one of the crown bearers, was a handsome, debonair young man. He joined in wholeheartedly in all the activities of the next few days. There were luncheon parties, dinners and theatres, shopping and sightseeing and on the last evening a big party in the Hungarian Restaurant where the orchestra played gipsy music and Russian folksongs.

On 23 January, Nelly, by now having been married for five days, donned once again her bridal dress and veil and set off for the second marriage service to be held in the Russian church in Welbeck Street. She carried no flowers, for in the Russian Orthodox Church the bride and bridegroom stand together holding lighted candles entwined in orange blossom.

The marriage rites of the Russian Church are impressive. The singing of the unseen choir deeply moving. The ritual of exchanging rings moves on to the circling round the lectern led by the priest and followed by the groomsmen holding the crowns over the heads of the bridal pair and adroitly sidestepping the train and veil. The chanting of the priests, the singing, the flickering lights of the candles and the saintly faces of the ikons had a strange dreamlike effect on my mother. As they slowly moved behind the priest, the inner tension, the unaccustomed odour of the incense wafting all around her, proved too much. She was overcome and had to be taken to the vestry. Shortly after, Father Evgeny sent the deacon to enquire if “Miss Cameron” was able to proceed with the service. “Miss Cameron” pulled herself together and went back to complete the ceremony which in the eyes of the Russian Church gave her the right to be recognised as a married woman.

In the afternoon, after tearful partings from the family, they embarked on another journey by train to Hull. There they had to join a ship which would carry them across the North Sea and through the Baltic to Finland.

In Helsinki they were met by my fatherТs sister, Olga Aleksandrovna, and her husband, Oscar Semyonovich Yanushkovski. Aunt Olga embraced and kissed Mother on each cheek. From that moment they became great friends.

Throughout her life my mother held a deep affection for her kind and slightly eccentric sister-in-law. Oscar bowed and lifting my motherТs hand pressed it to his lips. To Nelly that was a novel experience. Two sledges awaited them. Oscar helped Nelly into the first sledge and tucked the apron around her knees. They travelled together. The language barrier was overcome by OscarТs knowledge of a few English words and a charming manner. He succeeded in putting Nelly at ease by pointing out various landmarks as they raced along the clean white streets of Helsinki. She never forgot that first drive in a sledge. All was so new, strange and exciting.

Behind them in the second sledge sat my father beside his beloved sister.

After a long absence they were happy to meet again and were eagerly exchanging all their news. Three years his senior, my aunt had a protective attitude towards her brother. At a tender age they had tragically lost their father and perhaps on this account developed a strong mutual affection which never weakened even when they were apart.

During that period and up to the time of the revolution Finland belonged to Russia. Uncle Oscar held an important position as Councillor of State in the Russian Civil Service in Helsinki. They lived in a pleasant house in one of the main streets in Helsinki. When they arrived and entered the house Nelly was mildly astonished to find the walls of the hall and all the main rooms lined with display cabinets. Each shelf was packed with a great variety of fine old porcelain and other antiques. His sister, my father explained, was a renowned collector of antiques and especially porcelain. Aunt Olga was a loving but at the same time a careless mother.

She displayed no interest in any form of housekeeping, her only concession being the dusting of her precious ornaments, a task no one else was allowed to perform. She knew nothing of cooking and there were sad instances when, after a cook suddenly giving notice, the whole menage would depart for the nearest restaurant.

Yet at the same time she desperately longed for a son and regularly year after year with undaunted optimism set off on another pregnancy. Still only in her twenties, she already had six daughters. One more was due to arrive in a few months. Each child, with the lightheartedness of a cuckoo, was passed on to the care of a wet nurse, a nanny and later a governess.

At last, years later, she was delivered of a longed-for son, followed by another two daughters. The son, cherished and adored, turned out to be a source of sorrow and anxiety. The daughters, energetic and resourceful, made their way in the world. Shortly after their arrival my parents were taken to the nursery to meet the children. It was a large room with many windows, light and warm, but rather austere. Cots and cradles stood against the whole length of the wall. There were also, it seemed to my mother, as many women as children milling around the nursery. An old nanny who had once suckled my aunt reigned supreme over this female kingdom.

Aunt Olga was attached to her old “mamka” who, unable to bear the separation from the child she had nursed, followed her to Finland. It was a noisy and cheerful company but as soon as they became aware that they were observed, everything stopped. The women stood up and bowed. The children ran to their mother, glancing curiously at their new visitors.

They were all dressed alike and very pretty. All in turn were introduced to their new aunt and curtsied politely. The eldest child, Militza, was a fair-haired little girl, eight years of age, who in time was to develop into a very attractive young woman and acquire no less than three husbands. Marina, Aunt OlgaТs second daughter, with large expressive eyes, came over and took my fatherТs hand. Marina, Father explained sadly as he picked her up in his arms, was totally deaf. When barely two years old she contracted scarlet fever. Complications followed and when she recovered it was discovered that her hearing was destroyed. She had entered a silent world where she was to remain for the rest of her life. My parents did not stay long in Finland. They had planned to go to St Petersburg. Oscar suggested that he and Aunt Olga should join them. Oscar was brought up in St Petersburg and had many friends and connections there.

St Petersburg. No one but Peter the Great, whose genius and imagination equalled his stature, could have conceived the gigantic scheme of building his second capital five hundred miles to the west of Moscow. With a determination that brooked no opposition, unspeakable cruelty and the bones of all the countless thousands who laboured, he laid upon a treacherous swamp the foundation of one of the most beautiful cities in the world. St Petersburg, during my parentsТ honeymoon, was at the height of its season, or so it appeared to them. A mere fortnight earlier there was the tragedy of “Bloody Sunday”, when hundreds of citizens were trampled and mown down during a harmless procession to the Winter Palace.

The Japanese had also inflicted terrible reverses in the East. There were distinct rumblings of the approaching storm, but on the surface these events did not seem to cause much concern or apprehension.

My mother fell in love with St Petersburg. The graceful spires glinting in the winter sunlight, the great domes of the cathedrals, the palaces, pastel-coloured mansions, canals and bridges and the silver ribbon of the frozen Neva all combined to present a scene of unsurpassed elegance.

OscarТs friends opened their doors with true Russian hospitality. There were invitations to dinner parties. They attended the ballet and opera.

Shortly before they left St Petersburg, their hosts booked a box for GlinkaТs opera “Zhizn za Tsarya” … “Life for the TsarТ5 nowadays renamed “Ivan Suzanin”. From their box they had a clear view of the Royal Box occupied by one of the Grand Dukes and his entourage. Every seat was occupied and the whole theatre was ablaze with light and colour. The cream of St PetersburgТs society was present. The silver and gold of the uniforms, the sparkling jewellery on the bare shoulders of the women, the rich gowns and furs all fused into one glittering scene never to be forgotten. In the front stalls, occupying a whole row, was a group of handsome men dressed in black and silver uniforms Ч the famous Death Hussars, often referred to as the Black Hussars, most of whom were bachelors, men completely dedicated to the service of the Tsar.

There came a stirring moment when the orchestra struck the first chord of the national anthem. The actors on the stage, the Black Hussars and every member of the audience stood up and, turning towards the Royal Box, sang in magnificent unison that most moving anthem, “Bozhe Tsarya Khrani” Ч

“God save our Tsar”.

Outside in the bitter cold and snow the coachmen waiting for their masters stamped their feet and waved their arms in an attempt to keep warm. Groups of onlookers watched the wealthy patrons setting off in their carriages and sledges to their homes and palaces, to the islands, to some private, gay, intimate parties. This was the zenith of high living for the favoured few. In the short space of twelve years all would vanish, never to return.

They did some sightseeing of famous and historical places, but my aunt, who had seen it all before, preferred to indulge in her favourite pastime of haunting the streets in search of her beloved antiques. In her new shuba and fur hat perched on top of her pretty head, Nelly trotted happily beside her sister-in-law. Aunt Olga, well known in the world of collectors, was welcomed in many fine establishments. Long years after, my mother used to describe one in particular. A high-class place where it was possible to acquire objects that were unique and of great artistic beauty.

It was there that her sister-in-law, after a long scrutiny, bought a small ornament. She had it carefully wrapped up in a small box. Somehow Mother could never remember the name of that unusual establishment.

The following day my parents left for Moscow. Aunt Olga and Oscar came to the station to see my parents off. As they embraced just seconds before the train left, Aunt Olga handed to my mother the small box she bought the day before. This ornament was a small tumbler carved out of rock crystal and gave the impression it was half filled with water. In the centre was a small twig of willow catkins. It was perfect and very simple. Mother kept it for many years and wherever she went she took it with her. Some thirty years later she passed it on to me as I was leaving for India. After my motherТs death I discovered that the “fine establishment” mother described, long since vanished, was that of the legendary Carl Faberge.

The little tumbler and the catkins are still in my possession.

In Moscow there was a constant coming and going of friends and relatives, all eager to meet the young “Anglichanka”. The cheerful humming of the samovar never ceased except when it was removed from the table to make room for lunch and dinner. The meals were endless and no sooner was the last course finished and the table cleared than the samovar appeared again Ч a signal to begin another discussion.

Moscow to St Petersburg is like an older cousin, simpler in her approach and bigger hearted than her younger and more sophisticated cousin in the West. At that time it was the manufacturing centre of Russia. My parents spent many hours shopping. They ordered furniture, carpets and a piano. As a very special gift for Nelly, Gherman ordered a dinner service for the “Easter Table”. It was a beautiful set in gold and crimson with my motherТs initials marking each plate. There were wine and liqueur glasses to match. Who knows, perhaps it is still gracing some table in a house or cottage! I do not regret Mother being unable to bring it out. It helped my father to survive when he had to exchange it for food.

Their stay in Moscow was now drawing to a close. The distant north was beckoning …

I have sometimes wondered what were the thoughts of this young woman so far removed from her own homely scenes, sitting trustingly beside her husband, travelling through a vast alien landscape of drab little villages, snowdrifts that grew higher and the forests darker with every hour, as the train rumbled on further and further to the north.