To: Mrs Somerville, The Dower House, Rosemullion, Cornwall, England.
August 22nd 1945.
DARLING BIDDY I AM AFRAID SAD NEWS STOP BRUCE DUNBAR DIED DYSENTERY IN CHANGI JAIL 1943 STOP MOLLY AND JESS PERISHED WHEN RAJAH OF SARAWAK TORPEDOED IN JAVA SEA STOP TELEPHONED BOB IN COLOMBO STOP TOMORROW GOING ON MONTHS LEAVE AND STAYING WITH HIM STOP WILL WRITE FROM THERE STOP PLEASE DONT BE TOO UNHAPPY FOR ME STOP LOVE TO YOU AND PHYLLIS STOP JUDITH
From: Somerville, Rosemullion, Cornwall, England
To: Judith Dunbar c/o Rear Admiral Somerville, 326 Galle Road, Colombo, Ceylon.
August 23rd 1945.
TELEGRAM RECEIVED STOP DEVASTATED BY NEWS STOP GRATEFUL YOU ARE WITH BOB STOP ALL OUR LOVING THOUGHTS STOP PHYLLIS AND I ARE HERE FOR YOU TO COME HOME TO STOP BIDDY.
Rear Admiral's Residence
326 Galle Road
Colombo
Tuesday August 28th 1945.
Darling Biddy,
It has taken me a bit of time to get around to sitting down and writing a letter to you. I am sorry. Thank you for the cable. It made me feel much better, just hearing from you and knowing that, although we are worlds apart, we are thinking the same sad thoughts, and perhaps comforting each other. But I wish we could be together. The worst is knowing that they died so long ago and we never knew, and no sort of word ever came through. The conditions in Changi were unspeakable and how any man survived is a miracle. So much disease and little food and no proper care. Poor Dad. But I am assured that he had friends around him, so he wasn't totally alone at the end. As for Molly and Jess, I simply pray they were killed instantly, when The Rajah of Sarawak was torpedoed. To begin with, almost the worst was knowing I had nothing of them, no personal possessions, not a single memento. As though everything had been swallowed up into a great black abyss. And then I remembered the packing-cases, all the bits and pieces we stowed away, when we were still at Riverside and before Mummy and Jess sailed for Colombo. They're in store somewhere. When I finally come home, perhaps we can go through them together.
I think about Phyllis too, because she was so fond of Mummy, and am glad that you and she are together.
As for me, I am safely here with Bob. (Not Uncle any more, he says I am too old.) Living a life of untold luxury.
But I must start from the beginning.
First Officer broke the news to me, and she was just as sweet and sympathetic as anybody could be. I think she expected me to burst into hysterics of tears but I didn't do that until a bit later. She'd heard about Mummy and Dad and Jess through the Red Cross, who are gradually discovering what happened to everybody, tracing missing persons and clearing the prison camps, so it is quite official. She then said I had to go on leave, so we telephoned Bob from her office and he said, ‘She must come at once.’
First Officer arranged everything. Instead of travelling by train from Trincomalee to Colombo (terribly hot and dirty and sooty), I drove to Kandy in a staff car, leaving Trincomalee at six in the morning. Captain Curtice (HMS Highflyer,) and his secretary were going up there for a staff meeting at Allied HQ. They sat in the back of the car and I sat in the front with the driver, which was nice because I didn't have to talk. The drive is so beautiful, though even in a car it takes a long time, because the road is very windey, passing through roadside villages, tiny children waving to us, monkeys everywhere. Women sitting by their houses, weaving palm leaves into thatch, and men working with elephants. We stopped for lunch at a rest-house near Sigiriya (Captain Curtice stood me lunch very kindly). At Kandy I stayed the night in another rest-house, and then got another lift in another staff car down to Colombo. Got here about five in the evening, delivered to the door.
Bob wasn't at his office, but here waiting for me. As the car drew up he came out of the front door and down the steps, and as I clambered out of the car, in my rather dirty uniform, he simply took me in his arms and hugged me, and didn't say a word.
You know, Biddy, better than anybody, how huge and comforting his hugs are, all smelling of clean shirts and Royal Yacht hair lotion. And it was at that moment that I fell to pieces and bawled like a baby, not so much for poor Mummy and Dad and Jess, but because I was so tired, and it was such a relief just to be with him, and knowing that I was completely safe, and didn't have to think or plan or be brave on my own any longer.
He is looking wonderful. A few more white hairs perhaps, and a few more lines on his face, but otherwise unchanged. No fatter, and no thinner.
His house is lovely, a bungalow but enormous. Gates with a sentry, and lots of servants. It is not on the seaside of the Galle Road, but the other side, and has an enormous shady garden, filled with beautiful flowering trees and shrubs. About six houses down the road is the WRNS Quarters, and almost directly opposite, the house where we used to live before Dad went to Singapore. Isn't that the most amazing coincidence? I don't know who lives there now, I think some Indian Army family.
Bob's house. You go up the steps and into a large hall, and then double doors into a great big drawing-room. This has doors leading out onto the veranda, and beyond again a very large and beautiful garden. Bedrooms and bathrooms on either side. (I have a lovely cool room with marble floor and a shower and lavatory of my own.) As you probably know, he shares the house with a man called David Beatty, a civilian working with the Government. He looks a bit like a professor and is frightfully clever and erudite and speaks at least six languages, including Hindi and Chinese. He has his own study and spends a lot of time working in there, but always joins us for dinner in the evenings, and is very nice and quite amusing in a rather dry and scholastic fashion.
As I said, servants everywhere. The butler is a lovely man, a Tamil called Thomas. He is tall and dark-skinned as a raisin, and always wears a flower behind one ear. He has a lot of gold teeth. He brings drinks and serves at meals, but there are so many lesser servants, he doesn't appear to do very much else. And yet, should he not be here, I am perfectly certain that the entire establishment would fall to bits.
As well, he is renowned for concocting a secret magic potion which is guaranteed to cure hangovers. A useful accomplishment.
To begin with, I didn't do anything for about three days, just slept a lot and lay on the veranda and read books and listened to lovely music on Bob's gramophone (memories of Keyham Terrace, so long ago). He and David Beatty go to work every morning, of course, so I have been on my own, but that was very peaceful, with Thomas hovering, and bringing cool drinks.
I didn't have to stay here doing nothing, because Bob has got two cars and two drivers. A naval staff car, with a seaman driver, appears every morning to take him to work and brings him home in the evening. But as well he has his own car with a driver called Azid, and he has said that any time I needed to use it, to go shopping or something, I could. But I didn't feel much like doing anything that required planning or energy.
In the evenings, after dinner, with David Beatty returned to his study, we have talked a lot. Going all the way back and remembering everything and everybody. We talked about Ned and we even talked about Edward Carey-Lewis. And he told me that he's laying plans to leave the Navy. He says he's fought through two World Wars and that's enough for any man, and he wants to have a bit of time to spend with you. As well, the atom bomb has changed the face of the future, sea power will never again be so vitally important, and the Royal Navy, as he has known it all his life, is bound to be cut back, modernised and totally changed. He said that you've been thinking for some time of selling up in Devon and moving to Cornwall. I don't want you to do this on my account, but can think of nothing that would be more wonderful for me. But please don't leave The Dower House until I come home!
This letter seems to be going on forever!
On my third evening, Bob came home and said I'd had enough of sitting about on my own and he was going to take me to a cocktail party on board a visiting cruiser. So I had a shower and put on a suitable dress and off we set, and it was great fun. On the Quarterdeck, and we cros
sed the harbour in a spanking pinnace. Lots of new faces, people I'd never met before, civilians and Army — a real mixture.
In the midst of all this socialising, Bob introduced me to a man called Hugo Halley, a lieutenant-commander RN who also works in the C in C's office, and when the party was over, about eight of us (including Hugo) went ashore and had dinner at the Galle Face Hotel. Everything exactly as I had remembered it, only a good deal more crowded. Last Sunday Hugo came for lunch, and then he and I drove down to Mount Lavinia; we meant to swim but the waves were enormous, and a terrific undertow, so we sat on the beach for a bit and then came back to Colombo and swam in the pool at the Officers' Club. There are tennis courts there as well, so maybe one day we'll play tennis. I know that if we were together your ears would be pricking up and you'd be mad for details, so here they are. Hugo is very nice, extremely presentable, is blessed with a dotty sense of the ridiculous and isn't married. Not, at the moment, that this matters at all or would make any difference. It's just that he's a very companionable person to do things with. So please don't start weaving fantasies, and dreaming up a white dress designed to look well from the back! Anyway, he has asked me to another party on yet another ship, so I am going to have to do something about my wardrobe. Colombo ladies are very chic, and my washed-out Trincomalee garments make me look like a poor relation.
I've come to the end now. It's funny but I'm just beginning to realise how heavy was that great load of uncertainty, never knowing for sure what had happened to Dad and Mummy and Jess. Now, at least, I don't have to lug it around any more. The void their going has left is unfillable, but gradually some sort of a future is starting to be possible again. So I'm all right. You're not to worry about me.
The only thing is, I'm twenty-four now and it's a bit depressing to realise that in all those years I don't seem to have achieved anything. I haven't even been properly educated, because of never getting to University. Getting back to England, and picking up the threads, will be a bit like starting all over again, at the beginning. But the beginning of what, I haven't worked out. However, I suppose I will.
Lots of love, darling Biddy, to you and everybody,
Judith
Seven in the morning; pearly and still, the coolest hour of the day. Barefoot, wrapped in a thin robe, Judith emerged from her bedroom and made her way down the marble passage, through the house and so out onto the veranda. The mali was watering the grass with a hose, and there could be heard much twittering of birds, over a distant hum that was the traffic in the Galle Road.
She found Bob already there, breakfasting in peaceful solitude, having eaten a slice of papaya and now onto his third cup of black coffee. He was glancing through the early edition of The Ceylon Times and did not hear her come.
‘Bob.’
‘Good God.’ Taken unawares, he hastily laid aside his paper. ‘What are you doing, up at this hour?’
She stooped to kiss him, and then sat facing him across the table.
‘I wanted to ask something.’
‘Have some breakfast while you're asking!’ Thomas, hearing voices, was already on his way, bearing a tray with another dish of papaya, freshly made toast, and Judith's pot of China tea. This morning it was a frangipani blossom that he had tucked behind his ear.
‘Thank you, Thomas.’
Gold teeth flashed a smile. ‘And a boil' egg?’
‘No. Just papaya.’
Thomas arranged the table to his satisfaction, and retreated.
‘What do you want to ask?’
Grey-haired, deeply tanned, showered, shaved and dressed in clean whites, with his Rear Admiral's epaulettes heavy with gold braid, Bob both looked and smelt incredibly toothsome.
‘I must do some shopping. Would it be all right if I borrowed the car, and Azid to drive me?’
‘Of course. You didn't need to get up so early to ask.’
‘I thought I'd better. Anyway, I was awake.’ She yawned. ‘Where's David Beatty?’
‘Already left. Got an early meeting this morning. What are you going to buy?’
‘Some clothes. I haven't a thing to wear.’
‘I've heard that one before.’
‘It's true. Hugo's asked me out again and I've run out of dresses. Something of a problem.’
‘What's the problem? Haven't you got any money?’
‘Yes, I'm all right for cash. It's just that I've never been much of a shopper, and I don't know if I'm very good at it.’
‘I thought all women were good at shopping.’
‘That's a generalisation. Everything needs practice, even shopping. Mummy was always a bit timid when we had to go and buy things, and she never had much to spend at the best of times. And by the time Biddy and I were living together, the war was on and it was all clothes coupons and horrible utility frocks. Much easier to make do and mend.’ She reached for the pot and poured a cup of scalding tea. ‘The only person I ever knew who was really experienced and expert was Diana Carey-Lewis. She used to whiz through Harvey Nichols and Debenham and Freebodys like a hot knife through butter, and the shop assistants never got cross or bored with her.’
He was laughing at her. ‘Do you think they're going to get cross and bored with you?’
‘No. But it would be nice to have a really resolute girlfriend to come with me.’
‘I'm afraid I can't oblige, but I am sure that despite your lack of experience you will do very well. What time do you want to start?’
‘Before it gets too hot. About nine?’
‘I'll tell Thomas to tell Azid. Now, my car will be waiting, so I must go. Have a good day.’
Her memories of the streets and shops of Colombo were vague and their precise location even vaguer. But she told Azid to take her to Whiteaway & Laidlaw, the store that Molly had used to patronise, gravitating in its direction much as ladies, in London, gravitated towards Harrods. Once there, he unloaded her onto the hot and crowded pavement, and asked when he should return to pick her up.
Standing in the blazing sunshine, bumped and barged by passers-by, Judith considered. ‘About eleven? Eleven o'clock.’
‘I will be waiting.’ He pointed down at his feet. ‘Here.’
She went up the steps, under the shade of the deep awning, and in through the doorway. At first, confusion. But then she got her bearings and climbed the stairs, and found her way to the dress department, an Aladdin's cave of mirrors and models, racks and rails and an overwhelming profusion of clothes. She couldn't think where she should start, and was standing dithering, in the middle of the floor, when she was rescued by the approach of a salesgirl, neat in a black skirt and a little white blouse. A bird-boned Eurasian, with huge dark eyes and black hair tied back in a ribbon.
‘Would you like me to help you?’ she asked diffidently, and after that things got a bit easier. What did you want to buy? she was asked, and she tried to think. Dresses, to go to cocktail parties. Perhaps a long dress for dancing. Cotton dresses for daytime wear…?
‘We have everything. You are very slim. Come, and we will look.’
Garments were scooped at random from racks and cupboards, piled on the salesgirl's arm. ‘You must try them all on.’ In a curtained changing room Judith stripped off her shirt and cotton skirt, and suffered dress after dress to be slipped over her head, admired, considered, and then removed as yet another was produced. Silks and cottons and fine voiles; brilliant peacock shades, and pastels and the stark simplicity of white and of black. A ball gown of Indian pink sari silk, with gold stars embroidered around its hem. A cocktail dress of azure blue crêpe de Chine, splashed with huge white flowers. A sheath of wheat-coloured shantung, very simple and sophisticated; and then a black dress, made of mousseline-de-soire, its gauzy skirts lined with petticoats and a huge white organza collar framing the deep neckline…
It was agonising to have to choose, but in the end she bought the ball gown and three of the cocktail dresses (including the irresistible black with the white collar). As well, three dresses
for daytime and a sun-frock with a halter neck.
By now all reservations had melted, and Judith had the bit between her teeth. New dresses necessitated new accessories. Purposefully, she set off in search of the shoe department, where she bought sandals and brightly coloured pumps, and a pair of wicked black sling-backs with four-inch heels, to wear with the black dress. Moving on, she found handbags, one gold and one black for evening, and a beautiful soft red hide shoulder-bag. Then scarves and bracelets, a kashmir shawl, dark glasses and a brown leather belt with a chased silver buckle.
Back on the ground floor now, the cosmetic department, scented and glittering with seduction, counters stacked with pastel-coloured boxes and jars, cut-glass bottles of perfume, golden lipsticks and jewelled compacts, and swansdown powder-puffs set in drifts of chiffon. Mouth-watering. She had long ago used up the last of her supplies of Elizabeth Arden, and Trincomalee did not boast so much as a proper chemist's shop. So she bought lipsticks and scent, and talcum powder and soap, and eyebrow pencils and eye-shadow and mascara, and bath-oil and shampoo and nail varnish and hand-cream…
She was late for Azid, but he waited there, as she staggered forth into the street, laden with boxes and bags and parcels. Seeing her, he sprang forward to relieve her of her baggage, stow it all in the back of the car, hold the door open so that she could climb in, to collapse wilting onto the sizzling leather seat.