Saplings

  Dot had her mind full. She had a big job in W.V.S. She was worried about Henry, who would be seventeen this year and was determined to fly. She had been warned that already the supply of trained pilots was exceeding the demand. Henry was the sort of boy who would want handling carefully if his ambitions were thwarted. Paul was being sent overseas and, judging by his outfit, it was somewhere hot. Now that she had not got him under her eye Dot worried about Paul, and she knew she would worry a lot more if he was fighting the Japanese. A man who had thought he could make money out of hens and bees was obviously the sort to be fooled by the low tricks the Japanese were supposed to go in for. Apart from these major anxieties there was the daily round, which became steadily more complicated. Her only certain domestic help was a Miss Endwell, who insisted on the title ‘lady help’. This meant that she would not do any scrubbing, and often, unless she was having a lucky patch with a daily woman, Dot had to scrub floors herself when she got back from her W.V.S. work. She had the usual network of wartime arrangements. Picking up the rations on the way to do this, fetching, or hoping to fetch, the laundry on the way back from that, spending a precious half-hour in a queue for fish because Miss Endwell liked fish, only to find it sold out before she reached the counter. Every third Sunday she went to Greenwood House and twice a term to Wellington to look up Henry. When the holidays were pending she had to pass a lot of her W.V.S. work to her deputy and take over the cooking from Miss Endwell. This had not so far worked, as the deputy had a mother with a weak heart whose heart attacks were apt to coincide with the holidays, and Miss Endwell took the opportunity when Dot was about to do nothing at all. Somehow, because Dot detested mess and disorder, she kept her house running reasonably while doing her job in W.V.S. brilliantly, but it meant early risings, late bedtimes, and endless thought and contriving. She was a strong woman but she knew that she was living an over-strained existence for which one day she must pay. The little more might mean that the day for payment came nearer.

  Dot was not by nature a meddler, it went against her grain to probe into Lena’s life. She also had some thinking to do on her own account. Suppose Lena was drinking, and possibly had taken a lover, and their home was unsuitable for Alex’s children. What did she intend to do about it? As she drove about the country on her work she sifted her thoughts and came at last to a clear conviction. If Alex’s children were happy at home, and saw nothing wrong even though there were quite a lot wrong going on, she would do nothing. Her own home was a muddle compared to peacetime standards, and Paul was away. The children adored their father and it was bad, especially for Henry, that they were being brought up without him; but the children were all right, absolutely normal, doing well at school, no complexes about any of them, thank God. Dot put down this state of affairs partly to the way they had been brought up, partly to the solidity they had inherited from her, but mostly to the fact that they had kept their home. No chopping and changing, children hated being messed about.

  Dot, without excuse, could not visit the boys and question Martin Phillips. She had to get her information through Laurel and Tuesday. On her usual three-weekly visit she asked Alice for help.

  ‘Could you arrange for me to have a word alone with Laurel?’

  ‘I suppose so. What’s up?’

  Dot had known Alice would ask that.

  ‘I’m writing to Gran. She wants to know if I think Laurel happy at school.’

  ‘Well, I can tell you that. She simply hates it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She liked the other school she was at. I don’t think she’d mind it so much if she was allowed to wear uniform.’

  Dot saw reckless generosity in Alice’s eyes.

  ‘We can’t do anything about that. You’re the same size so you can’t pass down, and I haven’t enough coupons to dress you properly.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I don’t think Laurel minds school as much as she did. You see, having a puppy for the holidays makes all the difference. I wish we could have one.’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t. Just imagine what Miss Endwell would say.’ Dot gave Alice’s shoulder a pat. ‘You fix it that I get a word with Laurel without her knowing you’ve arranged it.’

  After lunch Alice took Maria and Tuesday to feed the rabbits which lived in the Inn garden. Dot said:

  ‘You stay and keep me company, Laurel.’ She lit a cigarette. ‘What sort of term are you having?’

  They were sitting at a table in the lounge. Laurel leant on it and spoke earnestly.

  ‘Not very nice. You see, I’ll be fifteen in May and I’m good at nothing. Just a low, rather meanish average.’

  ‘You and Alice are in the same form and I’m quite satisfied with her.’

  ‘But Alice is marvellous at games.’

  ‘I don’t suppose your mother’s disappointed in you, is she?’

  ‘Mum! She doesn’t care for schools. She’d like us to be at home always.’

  ‘Would you like that?’

  ‘Would I! With the Foxglove to teach us. You remember Miss Glover, who was our governess?’

  ‘It’s a charming house you have, Alice tells me.’

  ‘Absolutely perfect. Did she tell you about Stroch?’

  ‘Yes, and the American.’

  ‘Uncle Walter. He’s the most awfully nice man. I simply dread him being sent to fight somewhere.’

  ‘How’s your mother?’

  ‘Very well indeed, thank you. She’s spent her coupons on an absolutely lovely frock. They’ve taken four months making it. It came in the holidays. She’s promised to wear it when she comes at half term.’

  ‘Tell me about the house. I’ve never seen it, you know.’

  Laurel burst into a eulogy on her home. The rooms and the garden. Mustard, Mrs. Oliver, Nannie, Walter, Lena and Stroch each had their own tone of voice which, as news of them was repeated, helped to build up a psalm of praise.

  Dot, who was nothing if not thorough, had a talk with both Miss Clegg and Mrs. Fellows before she left. She got nothing from Miss Clegg, who supposed no mother wished to discuss any children but her own. Alice was just the sort of girl she liked, satisfactory in every way, it was a pleasure to talk to her mother and tell her so. She had not got over her idea that Laurel was inclined to sulkiness and badly brought up. She felt it was partly Laurel’s fault that she had none of the school uniform, if she had pressed her mother she could surely have talked her round. She did not care for Lena, comparing her unfavourably with Dot. Lena was charming to Miss Clegg, but Miss Clegg distrusted charm, especially when it was allied to a frivolous attitude to education. So each of Dot’s attempts to discuss Laurel she dismissed. ‘Laurel? Yes, she’s getting on all right, not at all outstanding, you know. . . . Now Alice...’ ‘Laurel happy? I’m sure she is, all my girls are happy. We’re so proud that Alice...’

  Mrs. Fellows was helpful. Her sitting-room was the room of a mother more than a house mistress. There was a shabby teddy bear waiting to have a leg repaired lying on a table, and her daughter’s picture books in the shelves. On the mantlepiece was a large photograph of her prisoner of war husband. In a moment Mrs. Fellows grasped that it was the welfare of her nieces that Mrs. Enden had come to discuss. She picked up the teddy bear.

  ‘Do you mind if I mend this? It’s my daughter Viola’s bed companion and I’ve promised to have him mended by tonight.’

  Even to this nice Mrs. Fellows Dot could not ask point blank if Tuesday spoke happily of her home.

  ‘My father and mother want news of the Wiltshire children. My brother was their only son. How is Tuesday really getting on?’

  Mrs. Fellows dug her needle into the teddy bear’s hip.

  ‘Very well. She had been a bit babied before she came here, she’s outgrown it. A most responsible little person. She needs care, she’s a nervous little thing. She had a lot of jumpy tricks when she came to us.’

  ‘You’ve got rid of them?’

  ‘Not us. I put down the improvement to settled home co
nditions.’ Dot made an interested querying sound. Mrs. Fellows gave the bear’s leg a pull to see if she was stitching it on straight. ‘More than half the children in my care have either lost their father for good or they haven’t seen him for months. It’s been my experience that if the mother makes a decent home not much harm’s done. This sitting-room and a bedroom upstairs are all the home my daughter has, but she’s fine. It’s a background and it’s secure, she doesn’t notice that it’s only two rooms.’

  ‘She’s got all the rest of the school.’

  ‘Yes, but these two rooms are home and certain times of each day and, of course, all the holidays, she can have me and my attention. It’s not the children who have lost a parent, either temporarily or permanently, that worry us, it’s the homeless ones. There are so many living in other people’s houses. They need a lot of handling.’

  ‘Evacuated, you mean?’

  ‘Some of them. Worst of all, of course, children of broken marriages.’

  ‘Have you any orphans?’

  ‘Two. They’ve been adopted, they do at least know where they belong.’

  ‘You are a great believer in a home?’

  ‘Of course. Who isn’t? A home and, if possible, both parents, but anyway one.’

  ‘In my work I come across all sorts, sad stories sometimes. Parents who aren’t fit for one reason or another to have charge of their children.’

  Mrs. Fellows cut her thread. She exercised the bear’s repaired leg.

  ‘It would have to be a very bad parent before I agreed that he or she wasn’t fit to look after their own children. I’d rather slave at educating a bad parent than take children away from their ordinary background.’

  Dot got up.

  ‘Well, I must be going or I’ll miss the station bus.’

  Having seen Dot off Mrs. Fellows went upstairs to put the bear in Viola’s bed. ‘I wonder,’ she thought, ‘what exactly that pretty, silly Mrs. Wiltshire’s been up to. This Uncle Walter we hear about I suppose. Well, pray God I tipped her off from meddling.’

  Dot was still worried. The home was happy, the girls were all right. What about the boys? Fatherless boys were a problem. In the end she wrote to the Colonel. She said she wanted to see him privately. When would he next be visiting his club?

  They met in London a week later. The Colonel detested the bungalow, he was working too hard at a dozen war tasks, and Elsa was working harder. There was no comfort for the old these days, they got no privileges, if they were to survive they must work. None of these things were mentioned. The Colonel was as straight-backed and as groomed as ever. There was nothing about him to show that he had started the day by helping to get his own breakfast, that he had with difficulty secured foot room on a crowded bus, and had then travelled one of fourteen in a railway carriage, unable to unfold his newspaper or fight his way up the corridor. Only he was greyer, and thinner and had a tendency to accept little rebuffs and discomforts almost with eagerness, as if to say, ‘I don’t mind. Old people mustn’t expect anything. Very fortunate really to be allowed the same comforts as more useful members of society.’

  Dot knew her father detested gossip and malice, for he had brought them up to despise it. She told her story simply and finished with her findings at Greenwood House.

  The Colonel listened in silence. There was a pause when Dot finished. He was wondering whether he would tell her about Tony. How John had brought him to him. He decided against it. Tony had been half-cured of his obsession before he saw him. There had been no need to say much, by now he should be himself again. He had, however, wondered if he would go and see Martin Phillips to find out how the boy was doing. He saw no reason why he and Dot should discuss Lena any further.

  ‘I’ll have a look at the boys. You’ll keep this to yourself, of course. No need to upset your mother. Dare say there’s nothing in this business, Maria’s only a baby. Difficult time for Lena. I always liked the little thing.’

  Martin Phillips was delighted to see the Colonel. He wanted to talk about Tony.

  ‘You must have a look at him. He’s a different boy. Afraid I can’t offer you a drink, my little bit’s late this month.’

  ‘It was a pity we none of us cottoned on to the trouble earlier.’

  Martin nodded.

  ‘I’ve gone over every step. Perhaps we ought to have called in a psychiatrist, but it never struck me.’

  ‘He’s quite himself now?’

  ‘Too late for him to make up the ground he’s lost. But he’s looking fine. Matter of fact, I’m giving him a bit of extra coaching myself. Want him to do all right at his entrance exam. Lucky really he’s leaving us this year. I was wondering whether his mother would consider sending Kim to a different place when the time comes. Don’t want poor old Tony dogged by a younger brother passing over his head. Not that it need happen. Tony ought to do all right now, nothing wrong with his brains. Sort of boy who comes on well when he gets to his public school.’

  ‘Bad luck on the boys having no father.’

  ‘Too much of it these days, but Mrs. Wiltshire seems to make a good job of them. Both Tony and Kim came back full of their holidays.’

  The Colonel got permission to take the boys out to lunch. Tony was rather silent at first, self-conscious because of the last time he had seen his grandfather, but when it became clear that the Colonel considered the subject of Alex’s death closed he relaxed. Going out to lunch in the middle of a week was an unexpected treat and their spirits soared. Kim gave an imitation of the reactions of the master who was teaching him and of all his class, when the news arrived.

  ‘Mr. Jones, he speaks in a squeaky voice like this and he hasn’t been called up because he’s got flat feet, well, he said: “Indeed! Are you sure?” and then he looked at me as if I was something nasty he’d spat out and he said, “Wiltshire Minor, you are to wash and tidy, you will be lunching with your grandpapa.”’

  ‘I bet he never said grandpapa,’ Tony broke in.

  ‘Almost he did, you know what a wet he is. And this is the face all the other boys made.’

  The Colonel led the conversation to their home. He at once heard about Stroch. Kim, in spite of being at the dining table, gave an imitation of the puppy.

  ‘He looks as if he was a widow crying over a grave, like this, and really he’s never known a minute’s sorrow.’

  ‘It’s just the country for a dog,’ Tony broke in. ‘Wild wood everywhere, but we don’t let him out of our sight much in case of traps.’

  ‘How’s your mother?’

  Neither Tony nor Kim supposed this was a question requiring an answer. Tony, thinking of traps, had his mind on Mustard.

  ‘He’s a simply marvellous gardener. Do you know, we had more raspberries than we could eat. Knowing us you wouldn’t think that possible, would you?’

  Kim stuck out his chest.

  ‘And I wish you could see Mrs. Oliver, she sticks out like this.’

  ‘Got any friends round there?’

  Tony nodded.

  ‘Quite a lot. Our best friend is Uncle Walter, but he’s stationed in London. He comes down when he can.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  Tony answered.

  ‘You wouldn’t think it seeing how nice he is, but he’s a friend of a friend of Mum’s-Mum. And do you know, Mum’s-Mum has still got those awful yapping little dogs. If I was the American Government I wouldn’t have let them land.’

  ‘Nice for your mother to get news of her mother.’

  ‘And nice to get all the presents she gets,’ Kim added. ‘Lipstick and nail-varnish and stockings and lots of tins of food.’

  ‘Sent over from your grandmother in America?’

  Kim spoke with a pseudo-American accent.

  ‘I’ll say not. I’ve gotten something right here in my pocket you might find a use for.’

  Tony explained.

  ‘Mum and Uncle Walter are great friends. He gets things she needs sent from New York. You can’t buy the lipstick Mum li
kes over here now.’

  The Colonel wrote to Dot that night. He said he had seen the boys, who looked splendid. They were clearly happy at home. He finished up: ‘I feel this is an occasion for masterly inactivity.’

  XXXVIII

  Lindsey had been lecturing. She was a clear and amusing lecturer, and could produce any amount of charm. Never for a moment did she forget her position as a well-known novelist and so nobody else could forget it, which made those responsible for any meeting at which she spoke feel it was an occasion, and kept them on the fidget lest the audience was not large enough or the applause too feeble.

  Everything had gone off nicely. The Women’s Institute members had turned up splendidly. Lindsey had spoken admirably. Her subject, ‘The next generation’, had real appeal. In a glow of satisfaction the President and the Secretary took Lindsey across to the hotel where she was spending the night. Over cigarettes and weak cocktails they relived the afternoon. The Secretary cooing with joy that in spite of bus troubles so many members of other Institutes had been able to turn up. The President, who in spite of the changing conditions of wartime had managed in her village to retain the right of the wife of an Earl to have unarguable knowledge on any subject, explained to Lindsey how absorbing her talk had been though she had not produced one idea which the President had not gone into thoroughly before. Lindsey was in a state of tiredness, mixed with a glow that came from knowing that she had found the words to say exactly what she wanted. She did not interrupt the President or Secretary more than to murmur occasionally, ‘I’m so glad’ and ‘They did seem interested in that, didn’t they?’ She hoped that she was to be spared book talk. She refused private hospitality to avoid it. She knew from long experience that the President was the sort of woman who would ask if Lindsey had to pay her publisher much to get her books printed. Suddenly the Secretary leant forward and tapped her knee.