The Hamiltons of Ballydown

by Anne Doughty

  ‘Ach Ma, that’s desperate,’ he said, dropping one hand awkwardly on her shoulder. ‘An’ Thomas dying about the wee thing. Sure he mentions her every time he writes.’

  She nodded and wiped her tears on a corner of her apron.

  ‘Your Granny Hannah used to say that children are only lent to you,’ she said looking up at him. ‘You have to give them back sooner or later but two is much too soon. They’ll be in a bad way,’ she said taking out her handkerchief. ‘I’ll have to write to them this afternoon.’

  ‘Maybe there’s better news from my Uncle,’ Sam said, nodding towards the familiar airmail envelope with its brightly coloured stamps.

  Without considering at all, Rose reached for her brother’s letter. As she lifted it, the remaining envelope lay revealed, smaller and squarer than the airmail, but more substantial than the delicate, black- edged missive. Her first glance told her it was addressed in her own hand to Mr Jamie Hamilton. She stared at it, puzzled by the strong, dark lines that had been drawn firmly through the Belfast address. To the right of the deleted address in a small, well-shaped hand she read: Mr and Mrs John Hamilton, Ballydown, Corbet, Banbridge, County Down.

  Jamie had returned their letter unopened.

  Rose decided that the very worst thing about bad news was having to pass it on. They were all sitting at lunch when John asked about the morning post. There was nothing for it but to tell him what everyone else already knew. Over little Sophie Scott, he was upset and angry. He said a few harsh things about a police force that didn’t know when to use a gun and neighbours who hadn’t paid proper attention to such a real danger.

  It was harder for her to see just how Jamie’s returning their letter affected him. When she told him, he said nothing, but there was a tightened of the lips and the whites of his eyes seemed suddenly more obvious. She wondered if she detected even a hint of relief, as if, having made the effort, he need struggle no more. As he picked up his cap and headed back to Rathdrum without a word, she decided that only time, or the quiet of the night, would reveal what John really thought.

  ‘Ma, are Elizabeth and Hugh coming for a meal on Friday?’ Hannah asked, as they cleared the table after lunch.

  ‘Well, I hadn’t thought that far, Hannah,’ she said honestly. ‘I expect they’ll be tired and Mrs Lappin will be expecting them. But it’s a nice idea. Would you like them to come?’ she asked, as she filled the washing up bowl at the stove. ‘It’s your last evening at home, remember.’

  ‘Ma, they can’t come for a meal,’ said Sarah urgently. ‘I’ve nothing to wear except what I’ve got on and I cleaned out the stable this morning.’

  ‘Oh, we could shake lavender water over you,’ said Hannah laughing, ‘you look all right to me.’

  ‘Would you really like us to have them for a meal in the evening, Hannah?’ Rose continued. ‘They’ll have had a rest by then and we could do a cold supper with roast chicken and ham, or something like that.’

  ‘Yes, I really would, Ma,’ said Hannah nodding. ‘But only if you let us do the work. You’ve had enough to do this week and you still haven’t got out to weed your border.’

  ‘Oh Hannah, we can’t do a special meal and me turn up in my oldest dress,’ protested Sarah.

  ‘Well, I’ll lend you one of your own back,’ said Hannah soothingly. ‘I can pack it again before we go to bed.’

  ‘I think I’ve got a better idea,’ said Rose smiling, as inspiration came to her. ‘Why don’t you both wear your best dresses? Elizabeth was away the day they came and they were packed the next day when she came to say goodbye. Why don’t we leave her a note and tell her we’re dressing up as it’s Hannah’s last night so she can do the same,’ Rose went on enthusiastically. ‘We’ll make it a proper double celebration, a Welcome Home for Elizabeth and Hugh and a Bon Voyage for Hannah.’

  Sarah’s eyes lit up at the thought of wearing her blue silk dress.

  ‘What about Sam? What can he wear?’ she demanded.

  ‘A nice clean shirt is all he needs, his trouser-and-a-half won’t show when he’s sitting down,’ said Rose laughing. ‘You could always put bows on his crutches.’

  There wasn’t any possibility of forgetting what had happened at their last celebration, but on Friday afternoon at least Rose could be sure everyone who would sit round the table in the parlour would behave properly. The guests were bidden for six o’clock, an unusually early hour for an evening party, but Hannah and John had to make an early start for Dublin the following morning.

  All but one of Hannah’s cases were closed and left ready in Jamie’s room. Beside them sat John’s overnight case, the outcome of an unexpected but most courteous letter from Lady Anne’s sister, Lily. The journey was tiring, she said, far too much to have to return on the same day. She would be pleased if John would stay the night in Dublin. Besides, as they were so soon to be so closely related, she would like to renew her acquaintance with him, as well as meeting his daughter.

  John himself arrived home earlier than usual on Friday evening and offered to don his best coat for the occasion. He was much relieved when Hannah pointed out that if he wore his coat then Hugh wouldn’t be able to remove his. On such a pleasant, warm evening with seven people round the table, they’d both be far too hot.

  Just before six o’clock, Sam was seated by the stove with his newspaper looking as if he had polished his large, squarish face. His clean shirt gleaming from Hannah’s careful ironing. As his sisters came downstairs one after the other, he eyed them, looked them up and down and nodded his vigorous approval. A little later, Rose appeared in her wine coloured silk, her hair expertly piled up by Sarah, who’d never let Betty do her hair, but watched most carefully each time she’d dressed Hannah’s long, fair tresses. When Sam caught sight of her, his eyes filled with such tenderness he could think of nothing whatever to say.

  Watching him from the kitchen table, where she was adding a handful of newly arrived pictures to her album, Sarah suddenly thought of Jamie. If she had to lose a brother, she could much better spare Jamie. Sam was far too dear to her.

  John appeared last, freshly shaved and very tidy and stood with his back to the stove where he could admire the rest of his family. The clock now pointed to six.

  ‘It’s not like Hugh to be a moment late,’ he commented, as he cocked his ear for the sound of the brougham.

  At that very moment, Elizabeth appeared in the doorway wearing an elegant grey silk dress with a flower pinned to her shoulder.

  ‘Elizabeth, come in, come in,’ Rose cried. ‘Welcome home.’

  She crossed the room and hugged her, followed by Hannah and John.

  Sarah prepared to follow after, but stopped dead as she stood up. Behind Elizabeth appeared a tall, handsome man, waiting courteously till she moved further into the room.

  His face was bronzed and he held a walking stick in his right hand. It was only as Elizabeth moved away to bend down and kiss Sam that the unfamiliar figure smiled warmly at her and she found her tongue.

  ‘Hello, Hugh,’ she said shyly. ‘Welcome back. Did it hurt?’ she added after a tiny pause.

  ‘My dear Rose, I think your daughter is trying to embarrass you again,’ he declared, as he turned to greet her, ‘just as she did the very first time we met?’

  ‘How so, Hugh?’ she said, as he kissed her cheek.

  ‘She’s just asked me if it hurt.’

  She laughed in her turn, remembering how very awkward she’d felt that first evening when Sarah had thrown out her questions in her usual direct way.

  ‘And did it?’ she asked, more soberly, glancing at Sarah whose eyes were shining with delight.

  ‘Yes, it did. It still does,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But if I’m a good boy and walk every day, it will stop. Then maybe Sam and I can start kicking a football,’ he said, clasping Sam’s hand and shaking it vigorously.

  The meal was a great success. Everyone was hungry and Rose was amused as the platters of cold meat, so prettily arranged by H
annah, were soon reduced to fragments of parsley and sprigs of mint. Extra bowls of potato salad, chopped beetroot and apple in raspberry jelly and marinaded mushrooms had to be fetched from the larder.

  By the time they reached dessert and John fetched glasses to sample the bottle of Elizabeth’s pear wine she’d brought for them, everyone was in the best of spirits. Even the anxieties and troubles of the last two months past were recounted with a certain humour.

  ‘My dears, when he started getting these dreadful pains in the chest I thought all was lost,’ said Elizabeth gazing round the table. ‘They were dreadful, weren’t they Hugh?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll admit to that,’ said Hugh beaming.

  ‘They thought his heart was about to fail after the strain of surgery,’ she went on. ‘One of his nurses more or less told me I ought to see about mourning. She was quite upset when I told her Quakers don’t wear mourning. She seemed more upset over my failure to buy a black dress than about her patient expiring,’ she said, shaking her head helplessly.

  ‘So what happened then, Elizabeth dear,’ Rose asked, reassured by Hugh’s lively presence and the fact she had never seen him in such good spirits before.

  ‘Well, fortunately the surgeon who had done the work on his leg observed that the pain went away when Hugh bent over. Providing he walked crabwise, there was no pain at all,’ she said, laughing wryly.

  ‘So, it wasn’t the heart?’ said John thankfully.

  ‘No, it was the muscles in his shoulders and upper back,’ she continued reassuringly. ‘They’d adapted to the way Hugh walked and they complained when he stood up straight. What I didn’t know is that if the muscles in the back are upset the pain frequently comes out round the front. Quite a useful thing to know, isn’t it?’

  ‘So, how did they get you straightened out,’ Sarah demanded, as she moved her empty plate and leant on her elbows to study him carefully.

  ‘Well, first they rubbed me with something that smelt like axle oil, then they took it in turns chopping me in slices with the sides of their hands. After a few days chopping, they found an ancient instrument of torture and tied me to that. Bit like being on the rack, I imagine,’ he said laughing. ‘I was waiting for the thumb screws, but they didn’t have any in stock. So they made me do more exercises instead.’

  ‘Oh, poor Hugh,’ said Hannah, smiling at him sympathetically.

  ‘No, Hannah dear. Rich Hugh. All that care, all those people doing their best for me. And your good father here carrying all my problems on his shoulders for five weeks, when I’d only asked him for two. He and I have a bit of settling up to do, next week,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘Ach, not at all, man,’ said John dismissively. ‘Amn’t I only too glad to be of use?’

  ‘Rather more than that, John, if I hear rightly. Has he told you all about the singing doffer crisis?’ he asked, looking round the table.

  ‘Was there a stoppage?’ asked Sarah, promptly.

  ‘There would have been if it hadn’t been for your father,’ he said, nodding to her. ‘I had a report from the manager waiting for me when I got back,’ he went on, smiling across at John. ‘Apparently one of the doffers was told off for singing. She goes on singing and gets a warning she’s to be laid off. Whereupon all the other doffers start singing. Unfortunately, they’re not so competent, they couldn’t both sing and doff so there’s a sudden short fall in the spindles going over to Lenaderg for weaving. So they send for the boss. And the boss is John, poor man. And away he goes and in a twinkling he’s got it sorted out.’

  ‘How did you do that, Da?’ Sarah asked, as John looked sheepish.

  ‘He’ll not tell you, Sarah, so I will, said Hugh cheerfully. ‘First he goes and talks to the Manager whose getting all the complaints from Lenaderg and he asks why the girl was told off in the first place. Because you can’t sing and work, says he. So your Da asks to see the production schedule and finds out that this wee singing lassie is one of the best workers. Production only dropped when she was warned and the other lassies started singing. The Manager takes the point well enough, but now he wants to know what he’s supposed to do when the minute he appears all the doffers start singing at him.’

  Everyone laughed as Hugh mimicked the face of the unfortunate Manager who couldn’t make himself heard over machinery and singing.

  John was now blushing slightly.

  ‘So what did John do, Hugh?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Well, I can only tell you what I’ve been told,’ he replied, grinning. ‘It seems this man of yours went into Banbridge and bought a songbook and came back and gave it to the wee singer. He said there’d be no more objections to her singing, but maybe she’d have a word with her friends who didn’t sing quite as nicely as she did.’

  ‘And did they stop their singin’ at the Manager?’ asked Sam.

  ‘They did indeed and production is back to normal. I doubt if we’ve ever had a labour dispute solved for the price of a songbook. I’ll have to see he actually claimed the cost of it from the petty cash. I wouldn’t put it past him not to bother,’ said Hugh, with a shake of his head.

  The glasses were filled and Elizabeth’s pear wine raised. Hannah was toasted for her journey and her engagement, Sam for a speedy return to the use of both of his legs. Then a toast was drunk to old friends and new. The wine was delicious and somewhat more powerful than anyone quite expected.

  ‘Would you like to see the pictures we brought back from our holiday, Hugh?’ Sarah asked, as Hannah helped Rose to carry the small remains of the feast back to the dairy and Elizabeth settled herself with John and Sam to hear about his accident.

  ‘Did you take these, Sarah?’ Hugh asked soberly, as she turned the first two pages.

  ‘Yes, I did. Teddy showed me how on his big plate camera and then he gave me one of his Kodaks.’

  ‘These are very, very good,’ he said slowly. ‘No, no. Stop. You’re going too fast. I want to look at each one,’ he protested. ‘You’ve just caught the right moment,’ he went on, ‘that old gardener picking the peach. And isn’t that Hannah with someone reflected in the glass.’

  ‘Yes, that’s Teddy. You’ll see more of him later,’ she said, blushing with pleasure at the concentration with which he studied each page.

  ‘Did you keep that diary you were planning when you went?’

  ‘Yes, but I gave it up when I started to take pictures. The pictures say so much more.’

  ‘Yes, of course they do,’ he agreed. ‘To you. Even to me, perhaps, but that’s because I know about this place and these people. How would it be if I were a stranger and didn’t know England or the life of a big house? What then? You need words as well, Sarah. Just think how much more the two together would say.’

  Sarah paused and looked up from the pictures to regard him directly. She couldn’t help but remember sitting here only last Sunday with Jamie, who could only mutter and grunt, his only comment to ask Hannah who her boyfriend was. How very silly he’d been, she thought now. How childish and immature.

  ‘I did think, Hugh,’ she said soberly, ‘that I might take some pictures in the mills.’

  ‘That’s an excellent idea,’ he responded promptly. ‘It’s just possible pictures might reveal things I don’t know about,’ he went on thoughtfully. ‘But you must write down your own impressions to complement them. You’ve given me an idea, Sarah, but we must wait and talk about it more next week,’ he said, smiling as he stood up. ‘Right now, I must give this seat to Elizabeth. I want her to see what a marvellous job you’ve done.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘You won’t be lonely, will you, Sam?’ Rose said, as she put her sewing things in her basket. ‘I’ll be back by twelve to lay the table for Da coming in to his lunch,’ she added, as Sam emerged from his newspaper to watch her. ‘Is there anything I can fetch for you before I go?’

  Sam shook his head at the idea of his being lonely, thought for a moment and made up his mind.

  ‘Would you leave me out some writi
ng things?’ he said slowly. ‘There’s a job here in the paper I might write about. I think they want someone older, but there’s no harm in tryin’.’

  ‘None at all, Sam,’ she said encouragingly, as she went to the drawer in the dresser. ‘You might write a few lines to Hannah while you’re at it, you’ll have to keep your hand in now,’ she said lightly, as she dropped a kiss on his shiny forehead.

  ‘Rose, my dear, come in and sit down,’ said Elizabeth warmly as she heard her friend’s step and pulled open the back door. ‘How lovely to have you here again.’

  She sat down and ran her eyes round the bright, plant-filled conservatory that was Elizabeth’s pride and joy. Only when she saw a row of flourishing pelargoniums, tiny cuttings when she’d last come, did she recall the February morning she’d packed her basket but couldn’t get further than the chair by the stove.

  ‘It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it?’ said Elizabeth, seeing the look that crossed her face as she settled herself in the chair opposite.

  ‘And it’s not over yet,’ Rose said, laughing ruefully. ‘Goodness knows what’s in store for us next,’ she went on, unrolling her sewing from its cover. ‘But I can’t complain at what life throws at me, can I? You know better than anyone I’ve been given back life itself.’

  ‘You had a close call, Rose,’ her friend replied. ‘Do you think it’s changed you?’

  ‘Lady Anne asked me that about a month ago and I wasn’t sure what to say then. I’m still not sure, but I get closer,’ she began quietly. ‘I must tell you about this business over Jamie. It’s really set me thinking. I hope you’ll tell me if you think we’ve done right.’

  Elizabeth sighed and shook her head.