The Girl From the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘All right, we don’t need a political lecture, thank you, dear.’ Tilly waved an impatient hand.

  ‘I hope there is a war,’ eleven-year-old Mungo said in excitement. ‘I’m going to join the army as soon as I’m allowed and fight the Germans.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Jamie. ‘War’s a horrible thing, and you’re just a kid.’

  ‘Don’t be unkind; he’s only being patriotic,’ Tilly said, defending her youngest and putting a protective hand on his head of unruly red curls.

  ‘Idiotic,’ muttered Jamie, lolling back in his chair. At sixteen, Adela noticed, he was gangly and slightly clumsy, as if not sure what to do with his long limbs. His voice had deepened in the past year. Libby was still plump-faced and wearing her hair in girlish plaits, but her figure was developing. She kept crossing her arms self-consciously over her breasts, as if by doing so she could hide them. Adela felt a pang of pity for the awkward fourteen-year-old.

  ‘Anyway, I’m just here for the summer holidays,’ Tilly continued. ‘Ros has kindly invited us to stay at their house in Jesmond. It’s just two streets away from my old home – can you believe it? We’re going to spend a week in St Abb’s with Ros’s in-laws, and of course we’ll visit Mona at Dunbar, but most of the time we’ll be here in Newcastle.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ cried Adela. ‘We’ll be able to see lots of each other.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Tilly said, covering her hand and squeezing it.

  ‘You never came to see me at school,’ Libby said, giving Adela a steady look with her dark blue eyes.

  Adela flushed. ‘No, I didn’t and I’m sorry. It’s been a hectic year.’

  ‘I was really looking forward to it,’ said Libby.

  ‘Don’t be rude, darling,’ Tilly intervened. ‘Adela is a busy young woman.’

  ‘We’ll spend some time together this holiday,’ Adela said hastily. ‘I could take you to The People’s Theatre and introduce you to the cast.’

  ‘Is that the socialist theatre?’ Libby asked, her interest sparking.

  ‘I think so,’ said Adela. ‘It grew out of the Clarion Theatre.’

  ‘It is then.’ Libby smiled. ‘I’d love you to take me there. When can we go?’

  ‘Goodness me!’ Tilly exclaimed. ‘Stop badgering poor Adela. And do sit up straight; you’ll end up with round shoulders like me.’

  Libby flushed and sat back with a mutinous look.

  ‘We’ll go at the weekend, Libby,’ Adela promised, ‘just you and me.’ She turned to Tilly. ‘How is Mother coping? And what news of Sophie and Rafi? I want to hear everything.’

  ‘As expected, your mother is being a tower of strength,’ said Tilly. ‘She is coping amazingly well with the tea garden and the business side of things. And Harry keeps her busy too. I don’t know when she has time to sleep. Of course she has a very good undermanager in Daleep, and James gets across about once a month to make sure things are running smoothly. I usually go with him. The climate is so much better at Belgooree. I’m getting the most awful night sweats at Cheviot View, and on top of the prickly heat, I’m getting no sleep at all. I’m just not made for the climate in Assam. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to be back in Britain, where the wind doesn’t feel like a blast from a furnace.’

  ‘And Sophie?’ Adela prompted.

  ‘Oh, you know Sophie – enjoying the jungli life. We managed to meet up at Belgooree in the cold season so that James could join a fishing trip with Rafi and the Raja. Sophie went too, of course, while I reread Clarrie’s set of Dickens on your lovely veranda. But no doubt they both wrote and told you all about it.’

  ‘Yes, but not in any detail,’ said Adela. ‘Was . . . was Prince Sanjay on the trip?’

  ‘Oh no, he wasn’t invited. Rafi thought it might be difficult for Clarrie to have to entertain him – bring back memories of the ghastly tiger hunt.’

  Adela winced. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Sorry, dear girl!’ Tilly grabbed her hand and squeezed it. ‘Let’s not talk about the wretched prince. As far as I know, he’s not even living at Gulgat. Gone off to continue his playboy existence in Simla or Bombay.’

  Adela’s insides churned at the thought of Jay charming some other naive girl into his bed. She went hot with shame to think of how she had succumbed to him so easily. She turned to the others. ‘Enough talk about India.’ Adela forced a smile. ‘I want to hear all about you chaps and what you’ve been doing at school.’

  The summer passed quickly with Tilly and her family around for company. They were a comforting link with home, and Tilly was in high spirits to be back in Newcastle. Twice Adela went round to the Mitchells’ house in Jesmond for Sunday lunch – Ros was a quiet antidote to Tilly, and Duncan a genial host – and once they went on the train to the coast and played beach cricket. Libby was surprisingly quick and had a better eye for the ball than Jamie, and she was just as keenly competitive as her brothers.

  But the biggest revelation was taking Libby to The People’s Theatre. Away from her family, she lost her sullen expression and combative manner and became animated and good fun. When she laughed, her dark eyes lit up, and her chubby face was transformed. ‘Bonny’ was how Sophie would have described her. Even Derek was captivated by her enthusiasm for their theatre and her knowledge of the class struggle.

  ‘A little charmer, that cousin of yours,’ he said approvingly. ‘You can bring her again.’

  So Adela did. As the summer advanced, sometimes Libby would go to the theatre alone and help out. She was very organised and had a good head for numbers, so Derek put her to work in the office, sorting out their haphazard filing. Libby took to Josey at once, just as Adela had, and the actress mothered Libby in a way that Tilly didn’t. Rather than nag or criticise, Josey encouraged her. One time, when Adela and Libby went to Rye Hill together, the girl confided in Adela and Josey.

  ‘I wish I could live with you in Florence’s house, Josey. You treat me like a grown-up. Mummy still treats me like a baby.’

  ‘From what I hear, your mother is an angel compared to mine, believe me,’ Josey said, laughing.

  ‘It’s just that Tilly doesn’t want you to grow up too quickly,’ said Adela, ‘not while she’s thousands of miles away from you. She finds that very hard.’

  ‘It was her choice to have us go to school halfway round the world,’ Libby pointed out.

  ‘Probably your father’s,’ said Josey.

  ‘Well, she didn’t try to stop it, did she? And anyway I think she’s glad I’m so far away. It’s only my brothers that she misses. She’s always telling me off, but never the boys,’ Libby complained. ‘I can’t do anything right in her eyes.’

  ‘It’s a difficult age,’ said Adela.

  ‘You sound just like Mummy,’ snorted Libby.

  Adela laughed. ‘Sorry. It’s just I remember so clearly being your age and desperate to be taken seriously by adults. I was in such a hurry to grow up. But if I’ve learnt anything in the past five years, it’s that it’s best not to rush.’

  ‘Still,’ Libby said, sighing, ‘I can’t wait to leave school and go and live in a house full of interesting people like you, Josey.’

  Libby and Adela were at the theatre on a day in late August when alarming news broke of a non-aggression pact between Germany and the Soviet Union.

  ‘Stalin’s done a deal with Hitler,’ Libby said in disgust.

  Derek was incredulous. ‘I don’t believe it. Must be anti-socialist propaganda.’

  ‘It’s true, Derek,’ said Josey. ‘The Soviets have got into bed with the Nazis.’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Derek railed. ‘The communists hate the fascists more than we do.’

  ‘It’s obvious,’ said Libby. ‘Miss MacGregor warned it would happen. Both powers want to export their revolutions and dominate their neighbours.’

  ‘But not if it means supping with the devil,’ Derek protested. ‘The Left have always stood up to the fascists. Look at Spain. Even in Germany its
elf.’

  ‘And they’ve lost every time,’ said Libby. ‘This way both Stalin and Hitler get to grab land without the other interfering. Poland will be first. They’ll be carving it up between them just like in the last century.’

  Adela was astounded at the girl’s knowledge of current affairs. ‘But that was history. This is 1939,’ Adela exclaimed. ‘We won’t let that happen.’

  Libby’s dark eyes looked troubled. ‘No, we probably won’t,’ she answered, ‘and that means war.’

  Perhaps Adela had been too eager to ignore what was happening in Europe, so bound up was she in her new life in England. After the distress of her pregnancy and the shameful birth of her baby, all her energies had been channelled into forging a fresh existence with new friends and interests. If news came on the wireless in the flat, she would turn it off or retune it to popular songs or band music. She was always singing. ‘My little nightingale’, Lexy called her. When Adela sang, it made all other thoughts go away.

  But after the discussion at the theatre that day, everything seemed to move with dizzying speed. Within a week Hitler was threatening to march on Danzig in Poland, and Britain and France had restated their pledge to protect Poland’s independence. Emergency powers were introduced to put the country on a war footing. Schools practised evacuating children to the countryside, kerbs were painted white in anticipation of night-time blackouts, gas masks handed out and restrictions put on carrying cameras in certain areas. Each day the newspapers and newsreels carried instructions to civilians, while soldiers and sailors had leave cancelled and hurried to report to barracks and ports.

  Tilly came round to the café in a panic. ‘They’re saying the Admiralty is stopping British shipping from entering the Mediterranean. It’s out of bounds. What does that mean for boats to India?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Adela said, trying not to show alarm, ‘but we could go down to the shipping offices on the quayside and find out.’

  On the way they noticed the frantic activity. People were sandbagging buildings, and throngs of men in uniform were milling about the lofty entrance to Central Station. The offices of the shipping lines were besieged by people wanting to know about sailings across the Atlantic to America and Canada, as well as to the East. Adela steered Tilly away after a harassed clerk suggested that they’d do better going to India by aeroplane.

  ‘You can fly to Karachi in four days via Cairo and Damascus,’ he said. ‘That’s what I’d do if I wanted to get back out to my family.’

  Adela’s stomach clenched in fear. It all seemed like a bad dream. But the man’s anxiety was infectious. War was coming. Neither woman spoke as they toiled back up steep Dean Street into the town. Adela steered Tilly into a café and ordered them coffee. The older woman was perspiring, her brow creased in worry.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ asked Adela. Her mind was in turmoil. She couldn’t think.

  Tilly stared at her coffee, stirring it with a spoon though she’d forgotten to put in sugar. Finally she glanced up and met Adela’s look. ‘My family is here,’ she said quietly. ‘I won’t go back to India without them.’

  ‘And what about Uncle James? He’ll be expecting you back.’

  Tilly gave a small shrug. ‘He will cope, like he always does. Besides, this whole thing might still blow over. I wasn’t due to go back till after the children start school again in mid-September.’

  Tilly put a hand out and covered Adela’s. ‘What about you?’

  Adela had refused to think about her situation up till now. She had been sure that war would be averted – somehow, by someone – but she could no longer ignore what was happening. If war was coming, her mother would want her to come home, wouldn’t she? India held those most dear to her – her mother, her brother, Sophie and Rafi, Aunt Fluffy, and somewhere in the mountains Sam lived his life. She felt the familiar hollowness inside at the thought of him. He seemed further away now than ever.

  Yet if Tilly was to stay . . . ? Here in Newcastle, Adela had her new life and friends, and she felt she owed them her loyalty too. She had a feeling that to turn her back and run away to safety in India would be a betrayal of these people, who had opened their hearts and homes to her: Lexy and the waitresses, Josey and the players, Maggie and Ina, her Brewis cousins and Uncle Jack. Even if Aunt Olive had found it difficult to love her, the others had shown her friendship and support. She held on to Tilly’s hand.

  ‘I feel so torn,’ Adela admitted. ‘I’m not sure what to do.’

  Tilly squeezed her hand. ‘I understand. You need time to think about it. It’s different for me. The children are my first priority.’

  They left the café, their coffees cold and half-drunk. On the walk back to Tyne Street, Adela wrestled with her thoughts. Tilly’s fierce protectiveness towards her children plagued her. Deep down Adela had another reason to stay in England that she could hardly even admit to herself. Her baby. John Wesley was a quiet, insistent pull on her heart. She knew it was irrational, for he could never be hers. How could she even acknowledge that she’d ever had a son? She had no idea if he was still in the country – most likely not – yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave this place where he was born. Those strange intense weeks with the women at Cullercoats and the few days with the baby were dreamlike now, but they tied her to the area. Adela drew comfort from living with Lexy, who knew what she’d been through and what she had given up, and that she had once been a mother. None of this she could ever say to Tilly, but by the time they reached Herbert’s Café, Adela had made up her mind.

  ‘Auntie Tilly, if you’re staying,’ she said tentatively, ‘then I think I will too. At least for the moment, while things are still uncertain. Like you say, it might all blow over.’

  Tilly brightened. ‘Are you sure?’

  Adela nodded.

  Tilly’s face broke into a smile of relief. ‘Oh, darling girl! That’s what I hoped you’d say.’

  The following day the prime minister, Neville Chamberlain, announced over the airwaves that Britain was at war with Germany.

  CHAPTER 23

  Belgooree, India, August 1940

  The hills beyond the veranda were wreathed in mist, the air heavy with moisture after a torrential downpour. Clarrie, newly returned from supervising the monsoon pickings, stood dripping on the worn wooden floor, reading Adela’s latest letter and ignoring Mohammed Din’s entreaties to change out of her wet clothes.

  ‘In a minute I promise.’

  The thin blue airmail paper was turning soggy in her hands, but she eagerly read it from start to finish and then read it all over again, as if she could somehow conjure Adela to her by memorising the words.

  Dearest Mother,

  I don’t know what news you are getting at home, but you mustn’t worry. It really hasn’t been bad here at all. Of course we get air-raid warnings, but that’s just part of life now. We all know what to do and where to go and life goes on.

  Now for the really exciting news – we had auditions last week for Pygmalion and guess what? Derek has picked me for Eliza Doolittle!! I’m so thrilled to finally get a big part. I’m sure if Josey had been here she would have got the part in a flash. We were all very worried about her for a while. I probably told you in my last letter, but no sooner had she joined the Entertainments National Service Association than she was sent to France. What with all the confusing news about Dunkirk and not knowing who’d got safely back across the Channel, we just kept praying she hadn’t been captured.

  But two weeks ago I got a letter to say she was back in London – she’d got out on a cargo ship from Saint-Malo and sounded as chirpy as ever. She couldn’t say where she and her troupe are going to be sent next, but I know if she comes anywhere near Newcastle she’ll pop in to see us. Derek pretends he doesn’t care – he’s still annoyed that she volunteered for ENSA instead of helping to keep The People’s going. He said munitions and factory workers and miners deserve entertainment as much as the forces. But I know he really misses her.
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  Libby is helping out again at the theatre over the summer holidays, despite Tilly wanting her to stay at Mona and Walter’s farm with her and the boys. Lexy said she could sleep at the flat if I’d be responsible for her. She’s such a plucky girl and helps me at the station canteen. It’s been busier than ever since the troops came back from France. We get everyone passing through, from Polish sailors to Free French airmen, as well as our own boys. Libby is cheery to them all, though she can get on her high horse at times and give them a history lesson.

  I hope this finds you well. Give Harry a kiss from me – and a big one for yourself. Tell Uncle James that Tilly and the family are safe and in good spirits (perhaps you shouldn’t mention about Libby being in Newcastle without her mother – just say they are all well, which they are).

  All my love,

  Adela xxx

  Clarrie’s eyes smarted at the tender farewell. Her daughter was safe and sounded happy. She noted the date. It had been written a month ago. Her stomach clenched in fresh anxiety. Anything could have happened since then. She knew from crackling bulletins on the wireless that since the fall of France in June the Luftwaffe had begun dropping bombs over British cities. Tyneside had been mentioned.

  It amazed Clarrie that any letters got through these days. Now that Italy had declared war on Britain, no ships coming through the Mediterranean were safe from attack, and flights were now almost impossible. Mail came by sea around the Cape, but how much mail had been lost along with devastating numbers of merchant shipping? Adela had referred to some earlier letter about Josey joining ENSA that she’d never received.

  For an instant she felt again the hurt that her daughter had chosen to stay in England instead of returning to India and safety. At first she had been disbelieving and then angry at the decision, wondering unfairly if Tilly had put pressure on her to stay. But her anger had turned swiftly to guilt. She had pushed Adela away. Was it any wonder that she hadn’t come rushing back to her? For a time she had worried that her daughter was unhappy in Newcastle – for a couple of months the previous year Adela had not written to her at all – but since the outbreak of war her spirits appeared to have revived. Perhaps she had a new sense of purpose.