The Suitcase In The Attic

by Daphne Neville

“No problem,” said Emma, “would Lottie like one too?”

  “Yes please,” replied Lottie who was in the sitting room, knitting, where she cast a quizzical look at her sister and Grace as they entered the room.

  “Lottie, this is Grace and she’s staying next door at Tuzzy-Muzzy for a few weeks, and Grace, this is my twin sister, Lottie.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Lottie stood up and shook hands with the visitor.

  “Likewise and what a lovely bright room,” remarked Grace as she glanced around, “I do like wooden floors they seem so much cosier than concrete.”

  “I agree, all the downstairs rooms are wooden except the kitchen which is solid and tiled. Sit down, Grace, anywhere you like,” said Hetty as Emma came in with a tea tray. Grace sat at the table near to the window where the sunlight caused jewellery she was wearing to sparkle.

  “I like your brooch,” said Emma, admiringly as she handed Grace a mug of coffee, “It’s quite unusual and what a beautiful shade of blue.”

  Grace lovingly touched the large brooch pinned on the lapel of her jacket. “Thank you, dear, it’s very special to me. It used to belong to my grandmother, you see, and was a present to her from my grandfather on their first wedding anniversary. Sadly I never knew her because she died many years before I was born.”

  “Is it a dragonfly?” Lottie asked, squinting to focus better from where she sat on the opposite side of the room.

  Grace nodded. “Yes, it is and I like to think of it as a lucky charm because in China people associate dragonflies with prosperity, harmony and as, I say, good luck.”

  “Really, I didn’t know that,” conceded Lottie.

  “Nor me,” agreed Hetty, “which is interesting because we’re thinking of making a pond in our back garden so that it’ll draw some wildlife. I had a small pond in my garden up-country and on several occasions it attracted dragonflies. They really are very beautiful.”

  “That’s a lovely idea,” Grace acknowledged, “I find the pond next door quite fascinating and sat beside it for some time yesterday afternoon watching the wildlife. I didn’t see any dragonflies though but must have another look when I’ve time to spare.” She laughed. “What a silly thing to say, I keep forgetting that I’m on holiday and have all the time in the world.”

  “Well if you want someone to dig a hole for the pond, Auntie Hetty, I’d be more than willing to do it,” said Zac, sitting on the floor dunking chocolate digestive biscuits in his coffee and then licking off the melted chocolate.

  “And I’ll help too,” smiled Emma, sitting down beside him, “I like doing physical work as it helps keep my weight down.”

  “Excellent,” chortled Hetty, “two volunteers. You can start as soon as we’ve decided where to have it.”

  Chapter Six

  On Sunday morning, the sisters’ next door neighbour, Alex from Hillside called round to see Hetty and Lottie to tell them what he had so far discovered.

  “I started by looking for the births of David and Peter Tregear and as you suggested they are indeed twins and were born in 1912.”

  “Twins, how wonderful,” exclaimed Lottie, “I feel quite attached to them now.”

  “I thought you might. Anyway, my next search was for Frank Tregear because we already knew through his tombstone that he died in 1915 and was born in 1886. I’ve now looked at the 1911 census and according to that he and his wife Florence ran the Pentrillick Hotel. There is of course no mention of the David or Peter on the census as we’ve already established that they weren’t born until 1912.”

  “The Tregears ran the hotel,” gasped Hetty, “how fascinating. So that’s why it’s down as David’s address on his identity card.”

  “That’s what I thought,” agreed Alex. “You learn something new every day. I’d never heard of the Tregears until you found the suitcase.”

  “But him living at the hotel doesn’t explain why David’s things were in our loft,” reasoned Lottie.

  “No, no it doesn’t,” agreed Alex, “but there is more. You see in 1925 Florence who was David and Peter’s mother and a widow, married again and her new husband was a chap called Harold Berryman, a widower who was also born in 1886. I’ve established through looking at birth records that he had two children of his own from his previous marriage: a son called George born in 1917 and a daughter called Polly who was born in 1919.”

  “Ah, so do you think it’s possible that the Berrymans lived here in this house?” Lottie asked.

  “Yes, I do,” said Alex, “and if that’s the case then it’s likely that David’s things were put into the loft after his death by either George or Polly. They would after all have been step-siblings and probably very close because the Berryman children would only have been twelve and nine years old respectively when their father remarried and David and Peter would have been thirteen years old.”

  “So what happened to David?” Lottie asked. “I mean, if his things were put in the loft because the memory was too painful or something like that then he must have died.”

  “That’s what I’m assuming,” said Alex, “although it might be a little too presumptuous of me.”

  “But why put them in our loft and not somewhere at the hotel where his mother lived?” Hetty added.

  “Good points which sadly I’m not able to answer. I mean it’s possible that if David had died young then his stepbrother or stepsister may have offered to look after his things because the sight of them was too much for his mother Florence to bear. Remember she had after all already lost one of her sons due to the war. The problem is I can find no record of David Tregear dying either here in Cornwall or anywhere else for that matter and I’ve tried every year between 1940 and the year 2000.”

  “So what happened to him?” Lottie frowned, trying to think.

  Alex shook his head. “I don’t know but I’ve just remembered something else. I found a local newspaper article on-line regarding the funeral of Peter Tregear who you’ll no doubt remember died in 1942 and his brother David is not listed amongst the mourners.”

  “What! So where was he?” Lottie asked. “I mean, why on earth would he not attend his twin brother’s funeral?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “Are there not any records of people who worked on the railway?” Hetty asked.

  “Yes there are and I did look but sadly I could only find records that went back to 1947 when the railways were nationalised.”

  “In which case,” sighed Hetty, “it looks as though he must have volunteered to go to war and died while on active service.”

  Lottie shook her head. “No, no, he didn’t, Het. Remember his name’s not on the war memorial so there’s no way he died in conflict because if he had he’d definitely be there.”

  “Very good point,” Alex agreed.

  “Yes, yes, you’re right and I’m just grasping at straws.”

  “Yet there must be a way of finding out what happened to him,” reasoned Lottie, “I just can’t think of one.”

  Hetty agreed. “Yes, we need answers but who can we ask? We’ve not come across anyone who remembers the Tregears and as far as we know neither David nor Peter had children anyway.”

  “It’s just a thought,” said Alex, “but it might be worth looking at the Berrymans. I mean, it’s possible George or Polly had children and so if you can find their descendants they’ll no doubt be able to put more pieces in the puzzle.”

  “Good thinking, Alex. Well done.” Hetty’s smile stretched from ear to ear.

  “My pleasure. Now if you’ll excuse me I must be off to give one of my pupils a driving lesson.” He rose to leave.

  Hetty nodded. “Yes you must get going but before you go, out of curiosity, do you know what line of work the Berrymans were in?”

  Alex smiled broadly. “Harold was a funeral director. At least that’s what it said on the 1911 census. George and Polly of course weren’t born then so whether or not they took on the business in later years I’ve no idea. Perhaps you’ll be ab
le to find out.”

  “We’ll do our best,” chuckled Hetty, gleefully rubbing her hands together. “Thank you so much, Alex for your help. We really appreciate it.”

  “It’s been a pleasure. I’ll leave this piece of paper with the details of my little discoveries with you and please let me know if you find anything else of interest.”

  Hetty took the sheet of paper from Alex as she and Lottie walked with him to the front door. “We will,” said Lottie, “In fact we shall get to work straight away, won’t we, Het?”

  “Yes, I’m raring to go and I think the first person we must visit is Kitty since she’s lived here in Pentrillick all her life.”

  “Good choice,” agreed Alex, as he stepped from the doorway, “and good luck.”

  “Berrymans,” muttered Kitty, as Hetty and Lottie sat down beside her on a bench in the front garden of Meadowsweet, “Yes, I do remember a family of that name but can’t really tell you much about them except that they had a son called Simon and lived in your house. Simon was of a similar age to me and I used to call for him and we’d walk to school together.” She smiled at the memory, “He was so sweet when he was little. I can see him now in his short trousers and his clumpy shoes. He was a couple of weeks younger than me and so I took it upon myself to look after him. Sadly we lost touch when we were older and went to secondary school because he was in a different class to me. We each had our own friends anyway and I suppose that’s life. I’ve not thought of him for years but just hearing mention of his name has brought it all flooding back.”

  “So you’ve no idea then where he is now?” Hetty asked.

  “No, I haven’t but if you go and see Maisie or Daisy at the charity shop you can ask them if they know anything. I can’t remember which but one of them had a brother who was friends with him at secondary school. Probably even best friends. He was a handsome looking lad in those days, Simon that is, not Maisie or Daisy’s brother, although I’m sure he was nice looking too. But Simon had lovely thick wavy black hair although I daresay it’s a lot thinner now and several shades lighter as well.” Kitty laughed, “He used to call me Kitty Kat.”

  “Wonderful,” said Hetty, writing down the name Simon Berryman, “We’ll look into that.”

  “How about the rest of the family?” Lottie asked. “Do you remember his father? Was his name George? And did he have an aunt called Polly.”

  Kitty drummed her fingers on the arm of the bench. “I don’t remember an Aunt Polly at all and I don’t know if Simon’s father was called George. He was a stranger to me really because I didn’t see him very often. To me he was Mr Berryman. He was an undertaker and I thought that was a bit sinister.”

  “An undertaker!” shrieked Hetty, “sounds like we’re on the right track then because according to the 1911 census Harold Berryman, the man who we know to be George and Polly’s father was a funeral director.”

  “How about Simon’s mother?” Lottie asked, “Do you remember her at all?”

  “Oh dear, yes, yes, I’d forgotten all about his mother. She was lovely and I saw her often when I called for Simon.” Kitty sighed. “Sadly the poor lady died when Simon and I were very young. It was terrible. I believe she fell down the stairs or something like that. I remember my parents going to the funeral and I remember sometimes that Simon would cry in class when people spoke of their mothers.”

  “Poor Simon,” said Hetty.

  Kitty suddenly raised her hands. “Yes, he was called George. Mr Berryman that is because I remember now hearing my parents say poor George. You saying poor Simon, Hetty, triggered a memory.”

  Lottie sighed. “We seem to be unearthing one tragedy after another. First we find Peter Tregear died during the war and now George’s wife died young. I hope there are going to be a few happy stories in our findings.”

  Kitty smiled. “Oh, I’m sure there will be and most families have a tale or two of woe to tell.”

  “So our next stop must be the charity shop,” declared Hetty, in a practical manner, “and then if we can find out where Simon is we can perhaps pay him a visit.”

  Kitty grinned. “And I wish you luck. It’ll be nice to know what he’s doing although whatever path he took in life I daresay he’ll be retired now.”

  “Time will tell,” said Hetty, “and we’ll either ring you or come and see you the minute we know what’s what.”

  Grace called round in the afternoon and so they showed her the suitcase and its contents and told her of Alex’s discoveries, their enquiries and the latest developments. Like Hetty and Lottie, she was very moved by the postcard sent by Peter.

  “I see this was posted on January 2nd 1942 and now you tell me he died on February 7th that same year. So sad. Little did the poor man realise when he wrote it that he had just a whisker more than a month to live. I find that terribly upsetting.”

  Lottie sighed as Grace handed back the card. “Yes, we feel the same way and I think it’s probably because of the obvious closeness of the twin brothers that we’re so determined to find out what happened to David.”

  “Well let’s hope you can track down this Simon Berryman and he can answer some of your questions.”

  “Fingers crossed,” said Hetty, “but it’s a pity we can’t go down to the charity shop today. Still never mind we’ll go tomorrow.”

  “Why can’t you go down today?” Grace seemed eager for the sisters to discover more.

  Hetty tutted. “Because it’s Sunday, Grace, and so they’re closed.”

  “Is it? Oh, silly me. Being away from home and not having a routine I don’t know what day it is.”

  “Anyway, I think our brains have had quite enough names and dates to cope with for one day.” Hetty put David’s things back in the suitcase and closed the lid.

  Grace smiled sweetly. “I can understand you getting muddled with names because I’ve contemplated looking into my family history since Mum went but it looks too confusing and I don’t think I’d get very far.”

  “Why not?” Hetty asked.

  “Well, I might be alright on Dad’s side because Dunkerley is hardly a common name but my mother was a Smith, Anne Smith would you believe, so I can’t see getting very far with that.”

  “Hetty chuckled. “Yes, I see your point.”

  “Anyway, what about the pond? Have you decided where to have it yet?”

  “No we haven’t.” said Lottie. “We’ve discussed it but got no further than that. Perhaps we could sort it out now.”

  Hetty stood up. “Yes, no time like the present.”

  “Where would you put it if it were your project?” Hetty asked Grace, as they walked through the kitchen and out into the back garden.

  “Well, it needs to be away from trees to avoid leaf fall in autumn and if you want to attract things like dragonflies it will need to be in full sun because they like to be warm.”

  “I know the feeling,” said Hetty.

  Grace laughed. “And another thing, ideally ponds look best when in the lowest part of the garden but as your garden is pretty level that’s not possible.”

  They wandered around and finally decided on a patch where no flowers grew and the area was a mass of weeds.

  “I should imagine this at one time was a vegetable plot,” reasoned Grace, “seeing that nothing cultivated is growing here.”

  Lottie nodded. “Yes and that’s why we’ve not bothered with this area because we did think of having vegetables here too but to be honest neither of us could raise the energy to dig it over and so a pond is a much better idea. Don’t you agree, Het?”

  “Absolutely, we want the garden to be as low maintenance as possible because we’re neither of us getting any younger.”

  “Are you planning the pond?” called a voice from behind. They all turned to see Zac approaching.

  “Yes, and we’re having it here.” Lottie pointed to the overgrown mass of weeds.

  “Cool,” said Zac, “it’ll look great there and I’ll be able to see it from my bedroom window w
hen I get back in there.”

  “Sounds like we’d better get on with it then,” laughed Lottie, “so that you can see it finished before you go home.”

  “Well now you need to decide what shape you want it and how big,” said Grace, as she walked around the mass of weeds, “and then you can mark it out.”

  “There are some old tins of spray paint on top of the old table in the garage.” Lottie revealed. “They were here when we moved in but I don’t know whether or not they have any paint in them.”

  “Ideal if they have,” said Grace.

  “I’ll go and check,” Zac turned towards the garage.

  “Just a minute. Before you go, Zac. Do you ladies have a strimmer?” Grace asked, “Because it would be much easier to mark out and dig if the weeds were chopped down.”

  “We do,” Lottie answered promptly, “It’s also in the garage.”

  “I’ll get it and I’ll see if there’s any paint still in the tins as well,” said Zac.

  “The strimmer’s hanging on the wall behind the door,” Lottie called after him.

  “Let’s bring the bench that’s in the front garden round here,” suggested Hetty, “it’ll be somewhere to sit then while the pond’s being done and afterwards too of course.”

  “Good idea.”

  As Hetty and Lottie arrived with the bench and searched for a level spot on which to place it, Zac emerged from the garage.

  “Why’s there an old carpet in there?” he asked, as he laid down the strimmer and a rake and shook a near full can of paint.

  “Oh that: it’s from your room,” said Lottie, “but we’ve not got round to taking it to the dump yet.”

  “An old carpet. Ideal,” enthused Grace, “You can use that to line the pond before you put the liner in.”

  Hetty frowned. “Why would we do that?”

  “To stop any stones left in the earth from puncturing the liner.”

  “Oh, I see, what a good idea.”

  “Shall I do the strimming?” Zac asked.

  “Please do,” said Hetty, as she sat down on the bench where she was joined by Lottie and Grace.