Saplings

  ‘It would be the deepest snow we’ll probably know in our whole lives, and us having to be in those awful tableaux.’

  Kim bounced up and down.

  ‘I don’t think they’re awful. I like them.’

  ‘You would.’ It was an inadequate retort. It was entirely due to Kim that they had to appear in the tableaux. A local woman, feeling passionately about the Finns, had planned tableaux and carols at Christmas to raise money to buy them comforts. ‘Just the dear, familiar carols,’ she had said, ‘and a crib and some yards of blue veiling and you can make the most beautiful pictures.’ It was after she had seen Kim that she grew ambitious. She had asked Elsa if she could borrow him and had been promised all four children. Tuesday and Tony were to be angels, and Laurel one of a group of kneeling peasant children, but Kim as Christ as a small boy was the high spot to which the tableaux led. Laurel and Tony, on hearing what was to happen to them, had accepted philosophically; the performances were towards the end of the holidays, and the end of the holidays, with the arrival of their parents and Christmas, so much nearer, had seemed æons away. But now there were two more days of rehearsals, and two days of performances, and they were happening on days when there was snow.

  Tony kicked at the window frame.

  ‘In our gum boots, wearing things tied over out heads, we shouldn’t get cold. We’d go out if Dad was here to say we might.’

  The Colonel, who was crossing the hall, heard what Tony said. He paused, caressing the head of one of the carved elephants holding the gong.

  ‘Who said you couldn’t go out?’

  Laurel came over to him and scratched the trunk of the other elephant.

  ‘Nannie.’

  ‘I thought Miss Glover had the arranging of the doings of you elder ones.’

  Laurel nodded.

  ‘She does but today’s different. Nannie’s cross because she has to take off Tuesday’s combinations and Tony has to take off his vest to be angels, and when she’s cross, which she hardly ever is, Gran and the Foxglove give in.’

  ‘And what would your father do?’

  Tony joined his Grandfather and Laurel.

  ‘He’d fix it somehow.’

  ‘It’s not only Nannie,’ Laurel explained. ‘It’s early lunch because of the rehearsal. Tony and I asked Gran if we need go to the rehearsal. There’s only six days of the holidays left and there’s another rehearsal tomorrow, and then two proper acting days. Most likely there won’t be snow after today and it seems a wicked waste not to use it. Of course Kim’s got to go to rehearsal but he likes them, don’t you, Kim?’

  Every second of the rehearsal was entrancing to Kim. He had so far behaved well, and was petted and admired and passed from knee to knee; however, if Laurel and Tony were going to feel ill-used he was not going to be out of it.

  ‘I wanted to make the most enormous snowman in the world.’

  Grandfather moved casually towards the stairs.

  ‘I will speak to nurse.’

  The children, wide-eyed, stared after him. Grandfather seeing Nannie! Grandfather, who always said, ‘Ask your Grandmother’ or ‘Ask Miss Glover’ or ‘Ask your nurse’ about everything! Grandfather never decided things, he wasn’t that sort of person. He was much loved but he was unimportant somehow.

  Just as deliberately as he had gone up the Colonel came down the stairs.

  ‘Get your things on. We’re going to the loft over the old stables. There’s some sledges there your father and your aunts had when they were children.’

  It was lovely shuffling across to the stables almost blinded by falling snow, but up in the loft it was cold and oiling the sledges hard work. Kim got bored. He tried to amuse himself and draw the interest of the other three by climbing about and attempting to swing from a beam. Laurel and Tony refused to pay attention to him. The Colonel bore with him for a bit, then suddenly he straightened up.

  ‘Come and do your share, old fellow, or you go in.’ Kim continued to jump at the rafter, the Colonel gave Tony a nod. ‘See him across the yard, and mind he takes those boots off by the side door. Don’t want a lot of snow in the house.’

  Kim’s day lay in ruins. The snow was no longer exciting, it was cold, and the flakes which before had seemed to stroke, now bit and slashed. Tears blinded his eyes and he stumbled. Tony gripped his elbow.

  ‘It’s all right. You didn’t want to hang about cleaning sledges. You’ll like it much better in the nursery by the fire.’

  ‘He’s mean and I hate him.’

  ‘You’ll be all right this afternoon. You’re going to wear that white silk shirt thing and that halo.’

  ‘I expect he’ll stop me doing that too. Everyone stops me doing things I like.’

  They were at the side door. Tony opened it and pushed Kim on to a chair.

  ‘Rats. Give me your foot and I’ll pull your boots off. You’ll go all right. And all those ladies will make faces and pigeon noises and you’ll like it.’

  It was after Kim had left the loft that Laurel and Tony discovered their grandfather. It was queer, considering that they had always supposed they knew him, yet now it seemed it was a puppet that they thought they knew, moving and speaking like the real person, but having little of the substance of grandfather in its make-up. He was not always thinking of other things, or just walking away with his dogs to be by himself. He listened and noticed and, most surprising of all, thought differently from Gran.

  ‘Nuisance this acting business,’ he said, ‘but the snow will lie for days, shouldn’t wonder.’

  Their grandmother had thought acting in the tableaux would be fun for them, and, as well, children should help in time of war. Tony reminded the Colonel of this.

  ‘I suppose we ought to help the Finns.’

  Grandfather was busy getting some rust away from a runner with emery paper. He looked up with a smile that was almost a wink.

  ‘We’ve taken three tickets here at a guinea each. They could have had that anyway. Same goes for the rest of the tickets sold shouldn’t wonder.’

  Laurel gasped.

  ‘Do you mean to say I kneel for all those hours and hours singing “Once in Royal David’s City” and I’m not helping Finland?’

  The Colonel scratched with his emery paper.

  ‘Can’t be sure, but half the time those sort of shows are held because a pack of women want to dress up. Muddled thinking, you know.’

  Tony took his sledge to the window to see if it was clear of rust.

  ‘How can you be muddled about the people in Finland? They do need clothes, and they’ve been ruthlessly attacked by the Russians, we learnt that at General Knowledge.’

  ‘Can about anything. Mrs. Parker is about young Albert and Ernie, for instance.’

  The fact that Albert and Ernie had gone home still rankled in Tony. He spoke fiercely.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She didn’t get them home because she thinks the danger’s over but because she’s lonely without them.’

  Laurel stopped working and leant on her sledge.

  ‘I think that’s a very good reason. Mothers should miss their children. Ours does. Dad said she’d missed us so much she’s getting thin.’

  Grandfather accepted this with a nod.

  ‘What I meant was that the reason isn’t the one she thinks it is.’

  Tony had found another speck of rust.

  ‘You can’t give always the right reason. It would often be very rude. Lots of times I’ve heard Mum ask Dad to think of some reason why she needn’t go somewhere, and he did too. But it wasn’t the real reason which was that Mum hates being bored.’

  ‘But your mother knew the real reason and that’s the thing that matters.’

  ‘You mean,’ Laurel said, ‘that if when Lady Thomas was getting up the tableaux it was the fun of doing it and not Finland needing help that made her get them up, it’s all right as long as she knew it?’

  ‘That’s it. Very important not to fool yourself. Used to tell your fat
her that.’

  Tony put his sledge on the floor.

  ‘I bet he never does.’

  Grandfather laid down his piece of emery paper.

  ‘We’ll get the dogs and take these sledges up to the near field. Not much good while it’s snowing but we’ve half an hour before lunch.’

  Neither Laurel nor Tony spoke of this conversation to the other, but it affected them both. With the tableaux and the snow there was so much to do that the end of the holidays seemed to arrive as if the days had been concertinaed. Yet Tony managed to talk now and again to his grandfather, and from these talks he came away feeling more at home in the house. It was not that Grandfather said anything startling or interfered in any way, but he gave the impression that he was to be relied on. In a way Tony classed him with the pound note which he always carried on him. Laurel, too, from that moment, talked more to her grandfather. In her case it was not so much seeing more of him as drawing him into conversations and expecting him to add to them and embellish them. It amused Elsa. ‘You’re making quite a chatterbox of your Grandfather.’

  On the morning when she was to return to school Laurel was in the hall early, and met her grandfather about to set the barometer. He kissed her.

  ‘Sorry you have to go today. I shall miss you.’

  ‘Will you? I think that shows a very nice nature. It must be nicer really having the house to yourselves, isn’t it?’

  ‘Never did much. If your Aunt Dot wasn’t here with Henry, Alice and Maria then your Aunt Sylvia came along with her family.’

  ‘Bringing Uncle Andrew.’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘And then you had morning prayers.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And, of course, sometimes you had Aunt Selina with Bertie and Fiona.’

  He chuckled.

  ‘Your Aunt Selina was always determined to have swans and she had them.’

  ‘Instead of ducks, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Laurel considered themselves.

  ‘I’m certainly a duck, and so’s Tony, and so’s Tuesday but I think Kim’s a swan.’

  Grandfather put a hand on her shoulder and led her towards the dining-room.

  ‘So, as you see, one way and another there was a lot of coming and going.’

  ‘So you don’t mind having us.’

  ‘No.’ He paused. ‘You happy?’

  She stared at him.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘You weren’t last holidays. Better now?’

  Laurel considered her condition. They had been pretty good holidays. Dad and Mum had come for a week. She had her room back. There had been tobogganing and learning to skate. It was not home, but it was the next best thing.

  ‘Except for missing Mum and Dad and, of course, our house, it’s been super.’

  He pressed the shoulder on which his hand lay.

  ‘Good.’

  XIX

  Evacuation had almost doubled the number of boys at Tony’s school. To grapple with this emergency new and younger boys had to share desks. For half the term Tony kept his desk to himself, then another new boy arrived and Tony was told to shift his belongings to make room for the newcomer. Tony would have taken this calmly if his desk had been the right choice, but there was a boy who had come to the school half a term later than he had but who still had his desk to himself. Tony explained this to his form master, taking it for granted that a slip had been made and would be adjusted. The form master was overworked and, though he was fond of Tony, not in the mood to be badgered about small matters.

  ‘I dare say Andrews did come half a term later, but you weren’t there for most of the term.’

  Tony, in common with all the younger boys affected, considered that desk sharing had clearly defined rules, the most important of which was that you had to share according to when you first came to the school. Naturally there was luck in who was picked when there was a bunch who had all joined the school together, but beyond that it was a perfectly fair system. Tony knew he was next on the list after Andrews. He had been the only new boy in his term and so it must be he. He persisted, sure that his form master had made a mistake.

  ‘But, sir, I joined first and that’s what counts.’

  The form master gave him a friendly push.

  ‘Run along, Wiltshire, and get your stuff moved. You may have joined the school but you weren’t here.’

  Tony had not before met what he considered injustice. It made him fighting mad. The new boy, a harmless, homesick child called Perkins was waiting with his few belongings by Tony’s desk. Tony, his words tumbling over each other, shouted at him.

  ‘You’re not sharing my desk. I’ll throw everything on the floor if you try. You put your stuff in Andrews’ desk where it belongs.’

  From that moment a battle began. Andrews insisted that it was his luck he had not been picked, and he was not going to share. Tony threw Perkins’ books on the floor each time when, much against his will, the unfortunate child was ordered to put them away. By ill-luck it was a garbled version of what was happening which reached the headmaster. In ordinary times he would have had a talk with Tony and sorted the affair out, but he was rushed and anxious, some of his staff had been called up and there were domestic troubles. He did not give Tony a chance to defend himself.

  ‘I won’t have bullying. I hear you’ve made a dead set at Perkins, a new boy far younger than yourself, throwing his books about and generally behaving like a cad.’

  He gave Tony a good caning and told him that if there should be any more trouble he would have no desk and Perkins should have it to himself.

  Tony was no letter writer but he felt he must see his father. Dad would understand and see the head and everything would be all right. Letters were written on Sunday afternoons. A joint letter in most cases to both parents. Tony did not feel he could explain what was wrong on paper so he wrote his usual dreary, ‘It is only four weeks to Easter we played Cadman School at rugger this week and won. . . .’ but he added, ‘will you please come and see me Dad the first minute after you get this it is something speshull.’

  Tony’s letter never reached Alex who was up in the North organising the start of a new factory. Lena had remained in London and kept the children’s letters for Alex to see, but by the time he returned there had been another letter from Tony and that was the one he read. The second letter was full of a boxing tournament and made no mention of the previous letter, except to say, ‘Which Sunday are you coming?’, a query that finished all Laurel’s letters and most of Tony’s. Alex was tired and worried. His factories were on most important work, he could not find exactly the man he wanted to run his new place in the North, he was quite prepared for a certain amount of travelling but he had to be in London for continual conferences; he saw that he was going to get very little leisure and decided it was better to break this to the children. In his letters to both Laurel and Tony he said, ‘I shan’t be able to get down to see you this term as I have important things which must come first, but I will manage at least one night during the holidays.’ Laurel, though disappointed, was not upset. She was happy at school. It had been nice at Gran’s and Grandfather’s last holidays. She had her room back. It was hateful not seeing Dad and Mum but the war would not last long. All her form said so. To Tony, Alex’s letter read as a kick. He had been hurt by what he had taken as his first reply because it had made no mention of his request, and had actually been written by Alex in the train; but now Dad had answered and a most hateful answer it was. Dad knew he would not say something was special unless it was special. If he had replied he was sorry about the special but the war had to come first, that would have been miserable but understandable, but not to answer him at all, just to ignore what he had said as if he had never written! That was too mean. Not to his best friends or anybody could Tony talk of his trouble. Dad was not to be criticised, so he endured his hurt by himself. He became as the cat that walked alone. He avoided his friends. He wanted the l
ight out in the dormitory so that he could mutter without anybody noticing, ‘It’s mean. Everybody’s hateful and mean.’

  XX

  Elsa and the Colonel were at breakfast. Elsa threw a letter across the table.

  ‘We shall have to get Alex and Lena to fix an hotel or something for the children for the Easter holidays. Read that.’

  The letter was from Dot. She was taking on a big job for W.V.S. as soon as the holidays were over. It was the last chance she had to bring the children to see their grandparents. Could they make room? The Colonel folded the letter and put it back in its envelope.

  ‘Mistake to shift the children. Settling down.’

  ‘I know, but a change will do them good.’

  ‘Not Laurel or Tony. They want a home.’

  ‘I dare say, but we ought to consider Dot too, it’s lonely for her with Paul away. She ought not to take on a job, she has more than enough to do running her house and looking after the children.’

  ‘Well, send away Nurse and Kim and Tuesday. That gives you two rooms.’

  Elsa looked at him with grim amusement.

  ‘How like a man! You make it all sound so simple.’

  ‘You could fix it.’

  Elsa was thinking ahead.

  ‘Lena and Alex could find a nice quiet hotel somewhere which specialises in nursery parties, I could move. . . . Well, we’ll see.’ The arrangements for Easter happened suddenly. Lena heard of a most suitable hotel in Devon, and Elsa had an attack of bronchitis. Lena came down to see her and, finding her worried by her household, packed Ruth, Nannie, Kim and Tuesday off at a day’s notice. Dot and her children were to be put off, and, if Elsa had not entirely recovered, Laurel and Tony would be sent to the Devon hotel with the rest of the family. Elsa made a good recovery. She thought seeing Dot and her children would cheer her up, and she set about arranging the house for Easter. She suspected that she was still lackadaisical and lazy-minded, so, to get herself up to the mark, refused the simple way of doing anything. It was too easy to leave Laurel’s and Tony’s things where they were, and not fair to Dot to push her girls up into the night nursery, they were all grandchildren and must not feel that one family was more favoured than another.