What Was Rescued Page 6
‘So, what are you doing with yourself?’ she asked after the tea had arrived (a silver tea service and a three-tiered plate with sandwiches and cakes). ‘Are you a doctor or a lawyer, or a sad little man in an office?’
‘I’m none of those,’ I said quietly, pouring the milk into the teacups.
‘Oh!’ She smiled benignly. ‘Milk afterwards, not before. So do tell.’
So I said, ‘I’m an aeronautical engineer.’
‘An engineer? How ghastly. Don’t they wear overalls and get covered in oil?’
‘I don’t wear overalls or get covered in oil. I design engines for aircraft.’
She looked confused. There were only two types of men in her experience: landed or professional, and the only professions allowed were medicine or law. She sipped her tea and then placed the cup back in its saucer purposefully. ‘So do you earn an awful lot of money, then?’
I shifted in my seat. I wasn’t used to this level of directness. ‘I’m doing very well, thank you. I’ve been able to save, and next year I’m hoping to have enough to put a deposit on a small house.’
‘A house? How wonderful. Is there a Mrs Arthur in the background?’
‘No.’ There she was again, direct as anything. ‘Not yet,’ I said.
‘Not yet? So they’re queuing up, are they?’
I didn’t like the way she had hold of the conversation. Back at the reunion she had seemed distressed, in need of me. Now she seemed to be laughing at me. I could be back at the pub talking to Dora. I wanted to be talking to Dora, to touch her, to hold her. ‘Well, you seem to have men queuing up. How many more of those diamonds have you got stashed away?’ I nodded at her ring finger.
‘I don’t like your implication.’ She looked genuinely indignant, then smiled coquettishly. ‘The trouble with women in my position is that men want you for all the wrong reasons. A woman has to protect herself. I’ll give the ring back, I suppose, but then again, I might just keep it.’ She munched defiantly into a smoked-salmon sandwich, and I thought it quite possible that she would.
‘Why did you want to leave the reunion?’
She thought for a moment, staring gravely at the tablecloth. ‘I find it so painful, remembering that time. Don’t you?’
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I think it’s good to remember it with people who were there, people who understand. I wasn’t quite sure what I’d make of it when I got there, but I found it . . . well, sort of consoling.’
‘Well’ – she reached across the table and stroked my wrist – ‘we can remember it together if you like.’ This was typical of Pippa. One minute she made you feel like a fool, and the next she would seem to need you more than anyone.
‘I can’t remember much about you on the lifeboat,’ I said. ‘You kept yourself very much to yourself.’
‘Well.’ She folded her lips together as though trying to prevent them from trembling. ‘It was a very frightening time.’
‘Yes, but we were all in it together. Don’t you feel that? Even Miss Prendergast admitted at the reunion that she had almost lost hope on that sixth day after the ship had turned tail. She did a great job of pretending, for our sakes.’
Pippa left her hand on the tablecloth, and I took it. We had been through this terrible thing together, and I wanted to talk about it. After that ship ignored us, we were all tested to the limit. And apart from one poor lascar, all of us survived, and that was an extraordinary thing. We were parched, we were starving, we were suffering from hypothermia. And yet we sang. We made plans to collect rainwater, but the weather turned beautiful, and we sat, on the most glorious late September day, adrift and miserable under a cloudless blue sky. I felt for the first time that I was going to die. And then, on the eighth day, when we were barely moving at all, one of the boys said there was a plane. No one took much notice, because we all kept imagining spots on the horizon or in the sky. But this other boy, he got all excited, and none of us had the energy to be that excited over nothing, so we looked, and at about the same time you could begin to hear the distant drone of the engine. It was a seaplane. The crewmen started trying to signal to it, and Miss Prendergast lent her petticoat so that it could be flown on the mast. One of the lascars even unwound his turban to wave madly, and everyone began to get excited. Then the pilot signalled with his Aldis lamp. It was a good job we had Jack Heggarty and his men with us, because we wouldn’t have been able to understand that signal: he was low on petrol, but would send a relief plane and a ship, which would be along in about an hour. Anyway, the plane dropped us a little raft with supplies on it, but we couldn’t row to it. That gives you some idea how exhausted we were: we couldn’t even row to the raft, which had food on it! But we were so happy. The mood change on the boat was remarkable. Suddenly we were going home. And by the time the relief plane came – a Sunderland – we were all waving our arms. It signalled to us that a rescue ship was on its way and it dropped supplies, and this time there was a long cord attached which fell next to the boat, so we were able to haul them in. I still remember those gulps of fresh water! Corned beef? Never been happier to taste anything! And there was a big red flare for us to use as well, but in any case that Sunderland kept circling us to make sure the ship didn’t miss us.
HMS Anthony. That’s a ship I’ll never forget. She came right up beside us, and it was an odd mix of feelings then, because it was so reminiscent of the last time we had been right next to a huge ship, being lowered into a raging sea – so frightening, you know – but at the same time we were thrilled to be rescued. We were just so glad to see it. The sailors put these nets over the side of the ship for us to scramble up, but of course, none of us was up to it. Not one of us – not even the men – could climb. We had trench foot, you see. We all had to be carried up one by one by the sailors. I remember being slung over a sailor’s shoulder, and it was a long climb up like that!
Pippa didn’t seem to remember any of this – or, at least, she didn’t want to. She made that very clear. I was still reminiscing when her eyes filled with tears. ‘Stop, please! I can’t bear it!’
‘I’m sorry. I should have thought . . .’ I handed her a newly pressed handkerchief. ‘Look, I won’t mention any of it again. Is there something I can do?’
She held the handkerchief to her nose and shook her head. Now that the tears had come there seemed to be no stopping them; they spilt over from her pretty green eyes and rolled down into the white cotton. She was really distressed, so I shuffled my seat around to hers and put my arm around her. She melted into me, leaning her head on my shoulders, as if that was what she had wanted all along. I rested my cheek on her perfumed hair and felt blessed. This was Pippa: the girl at the heart of so many of my teenage fantasies. Here she was, pressed up against me, vulnerable and fragrant. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do? Would you like some fresh air?’ In truth, I didn’t want to move her from this position in case she never held herself against me again, but I was at a loss, having not seen this coming at all.
‘Don’t leave me!’ she whispered urgently, turning her face towards mine. ‘Stay with me.’
My strong feeling of unease at having left the party in such an underhand manner resurfaced suddenly. I really ought to get back there before people started to go home. I calculated that I could probably just about make it back there with Pippa, without it looking too rude if we left now. The bill arrived. I willed myself not to look at it, but squeezed Pippa closer to me. ‘I won’t leave you. But we should be getting back to the party.’
‘No! Don’t make me go back there, Arthur.’ The use of my name sent a shiver down me. ‘Stay with me tonight.’
I couldn’t think of anything to say. I couldn’t believe she was inviting me to bed with her. Women didn’t do that sort of thing in 1950, at least not any women I’d ever met. Was she suggesting we got a room? Would I be able to pay for one? Did she live nearby? Did she have twin beds, by any chance?
‘You’re upset.’ I held her shoulders gently and turned her towards me. ‘I�
�m not sure you realize what you’re saying.’
‘I want you to stay with me tonight. We’ll get a room. Stay with me. I want you with me.’
I was so out of my depth, I can’t really believe I said anything sensible, but I do know I was determined to do the right thing. It wasn’t easy, though, because I didn’t want her feeling rejected. ‘Dear, sweet Pippa, I don’t think you realize what you’re asking of me. I couldn’t spend the night with you without . . . I couldn’t possibly . . . you would regret it in the morning. I won’t take advantage of you like that.’ She looked down at the tablecloth and began to breathe deeply. ‘I don’t think you’re in a very good state to make the right decision now, so I’m making it for you.’
‘I see.’ Her face was inscrutable.
‘I’ll pay the bill, then I’ll see you to your train.’
I had the feeling that I had annoyed her – humiliated her even – although in later years she would tell me she had loved me for that decision (and in later years again, that she had hated me for it). I glanced at the bill and mustered all my effort not to look shocked. Could this be right? Two guineas for tea? We’re talking about I-don’t-know-what in today’s money – enough to buy a good pair of shoes at any rate. And then there was the tip – I was expected to leave a tip as well. I had less than three pounds left in my wallet – which I had hoped would last me all week – and I placed two pound notes and a half crown on the little silver dish with the bill.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, recovered from her tears, ‘I’m staying in town, anyway. Just get me a cab to Knightsbridge.’
The change was placed on the table with two complimentary mints. I left a shilling as a tip, and she instantly told me it should be ten per cent. Two shillings! More still if you took into account they’d asked for guineas rather than pounds. I fumbled clumsily in my pocket for another half crown and added it casually to the dish. She stood up and didn’t wait for me as she started walking towards the entrance lobby. I caught up with her and went to open the front doors, but I was beaten to it by a footman. No doubt he expected a tip too, but I followed her through the doors. I could see a free taxi hovering in front of the hotel and saw her hesitate briefly before making her way towards it.
‘Pippa,’ I said, holding on to her arm, and I could feel a thrill as I came into contact with her warm skin once more. ‘I’d like to see you again.’
She turned by the taxi door. ‘Well, you’d better play your cards right, then.’ It was more coquettish than sulky, and when I had given the taxi driver a ten-shilling note in advance, she looked at me from the back seat with those heart-stopping green eyes and smiled knowingly. She knew full well she would see me again.
I stood on the pavement and watched her go, slowly aware that I didn’t have enough change to get back to Shepherd’s Bush. I would have to walk – no, run – all the way. What were my chances of seeing Dora before she left?
RESURFACING
10
DORA
From the moment I saw Pippa again, I knew life was going to take a strange turn. Even so, I had no idea quite how far she would go.
It wasn’t easy to start with. Daphne Prendergast gave me Arthur’s address, but there seemed no point in contacting him, not after he’d disappeared with Pippa. I mean, if he’d wanted to speak to me as much as I wanted to speak to him, he would’ve stayed at the party. In fact, leaving like he did was nothing short of rude. He didn’t even say goodbye to Daphne, and she had been looking forward to catching up with him. There was also a crewman from the rescue ship – the one which picked up the other boats – who had wanted to speak to him about something.
Then, out of the blue, I had a letter from him a week or so later:
Dear Dora,
I’m so sorry we didn’t have time to chat much at the reunion. I had been really looking forward to a good old chinwag with you! It was my fault, of course, and I apologize. Pippa was feeling unwell and needed escorting home, and then I found myself on the wrong side of town with no money for a bus! I did go back, but only found Daphne and Jack Heggarty. I hope you don’t mind, I asked her for your address.
Well, let me know your news. Are you going to college? Are you planning to stay in South Wales? I’m in London at the moment, but expecting to be sent to Bristol very soon, so you can write to me at the above address (my parents’) if you like. I’d like that very much.
Warmest wishes,
Arthur
I had had some time to wonder about the implications of his leaving with Pippa. My fears varied from what she might tell him about me, how she might tell her version of events, to full-blown seduction on her part. And there was also the fear, which I had tried not to dwell on, that he might actually have planned to leave with her, that he had had his eye on Pippa all along. I was consoled by his letter – more than consoled. I examined his handwriting, touched the paper that he had touched, held it to my cheek, to my nose, to my lips. I kissed the stamp that he had licked. I memorized his parents’ address near London. I looked at the brochure of teacher training colleges at school, and I decided to apply to Cheltenham and Bristol so that I could be closer to him. I know it’s just a letter, well-worn and a bit raggedy now. But there’s something almost primitive about a letter: it can have a powerful physical impact on you. The words are not just words but marks made by someone’s hand, in a way that only they can make them. They choose the pressure of the pen, the width of line spacing, the slant of the words. It is something precious and unique. Here’s my reply:
Dear Arthur,
Thank you for your letter. We did wonder what had happened to you at the reunion. There was a crewman from HMS Alexander – the ship that rescued all the other boats – who was looking for you. Anyway, it’s good to hear from you, and I’m glad that you managed to get back from your adventure in time to catch Aunty Daphne. Did she fill you in about the crewman?
I don’t have much news, but yes, I am hoping to go to college in September. I’m applying to Cheltenham and Bristol, so you never know, we might bump into each other! How is your work going? I saw a huge plane fly over our house yesterday and wondered if you had designed it.
Love,
Dora
I rubbed a little L’Aimant scent on to the envelope and hoped I hadn’t gone too far.
We wrote to each other like this for a few months, exchanging information in a friendly and inquisitive manner. I think there was little doubt that we were interested in each other, but although I picked up on the clues from him – hungry as I was for them – I was far too lacking in confidence to acknowledge the evidence. I just kept writing back innocent, newsy letters in the hope of a breakthrough of some kind, although I wasn’t quite sure what nature it could take. I spent a good deal of time daydreaming about romantic meetings on cliff tops and in exotic places I’d seen at the pictures, like Capri, Casablanca and Devon. And then, in July, after my eighteenth birthday, there was this:
Dear Dora,
I’ve been looking at the train and bus services and realize that you are really not that far away from me. I thought it might be nice to pay you a visit. What do you think? I’ve never been to Wales and think it’s about time I did! Are you free next weekend?
I could arrive on the 10:30 Joneses’ bus from Newport, which, according to the timetable, will take me all the way to Gwern Road. Please don’t worry if this is inconvenient. Don’t trouble your mother about food or anything. If the weather’s nice, we can take a picnic somewhere, and if it’s not, I could take you to a cafe.
Love and good wishes,
Arthur
You can see how many times I’ve read this letter – it’s falling apart. It was the first use of the word ‘love’ in his letters. Of course, I was on top of the world, but I was terrified too. There were no cafes where I lived, only the workingmen’s club by the Co-op. There wasn’t anywhere I could imagine taking a picnic to either, unless he wanted to sit in sheep droppings with a view of the coal tip. It was a far cry
from Casablanca. I would have to improvise.
He came.
Our Mam put on lipstick and wore a fake pearl necklace. She put us in the front room, which smelt musty because it hadn’t been used since Siân’s funeral. The house was one in a long terrace, which ribboned along a mountain. It was on two floors at the front and three at the back. Downstairs at the back was the kitchen and parlour, which looked out over the valley to the tip on the mountain opposite. It was a bright room, but the chairs were covered in newspaper to stop Our Dad’s coal dust getting everywhere, and the other furniture was covered in coal dust and laundry. It was unthinkable that Arthur should see our parlour, so Our Mam had put a little vase of flowers up on the table in the front room along with the best china.
If Arthur was disappointed with our humble house, he didn’t show it. In fact, he was really polite about everything, and of course that went down well, as you can imagine. I’m afraid to say, though, that I was probably a little bit ashamed of my parents. They were trying too hard and it made me feel awkward. Mam kept bobbing in and out with trays and a huge red-lipsticked smile, and Our Dad, who had been sleeping after a late shift, came downstairs with a tie on to say hello. He shook Arthur’s hand, which I’d never seen him do to anyone before, except the pastor. I suppose I’d never seen them through anyone else’s eyes before, but suddenly my father’s hands were nicotine-stained and his clothes reeked of smoke, and my mother’s hands were red-raw and her cheeks were ablaze with tiny blood vessels and she said embarrassing things about me.
‘Our Dora made these. She’s a good cook, Our Dora.’ She might as well have added, ‘And would make someone a lovely wife.’ In fact, I was convinced she would if she were allowed to stick around long enough. I knew she meant well, but her constant trays of tea had two very bad consequences. The first was that – at least, as I saw it – Arthur would think I was incapable of making tea myself, and that I was still a baby whose mother did everything for her, which was not true. The second consequence was a little more dire: all that tea meant that Arthur had to pay a visit ‘to the bathroom’. Not only did we not have one, but also the lav was outside the back door, and to get to it you had to go downstairs and through the parlour.