‘I consulted with Doctor Brown. That was why. Because I did not know of such things, but he advised me. He fancied that the trees might breathe as we breathe and help to cleanse the filthy air in some way.’
‘What nonsense is this? Trees are not people!’
‘No, sir, they are not. But they are influenced in much the same way by the air that surrounds them.’
‘Exactly. Which is why they are yellowing and dying are they not? A waste of good resources as usual. And some of them seem to be damaged beyond saving.’
‘At least some of that is down to the young gentlemen.’
I couldn’t help but say it, couldn’t help but voice some of the anger I felt.
‘How so?’
‘They maraud about the gardens by night, breaking down trees and setting fires beneath them and God knows what else, in their drunken celebrations.’
‘Then you should find some way to curb them. If you do not attempt to curb their high spirits, what else can you expect?’
‘I? Curb their spirits?’ I must have stared at him in open-mouthed amazement for he had the grace to look away again. ‘Sir, they are very young, they are away from home and there seem to be few who will supervise them or even attempt to correct them. How can I tell them how to behave? If I do, they insult me, call me a common gardener, threaten me with dismissal. But they are responsible for a vast amount of damage and I will not be blamed for behaviour that I can do nothing whatsoever to address.’
He had to admit the truth of it. He could be a fair man when he chose, and I saw him nod, briefly. ‘There is something in what you say, and I will raise the matter with Faculty, Mr Lang. But all the same, I see that you yourself often leave the young gardeners, your brother included, all unsupervised, while you go stravaiging across country hunting for plants for Doctor Brown. And it will not do, I tell you. We are paying you to be here, and here you must stay and work, or suffer the consequences!’
I said nothing. If I had spoken at that moment there would have been even more harsh words between us and I could not afford to antagonise him further. He glared at me and then walked off, gathering his gown about him. He had said his piece and now he was leaving me to stew in the indignant juices raised by his words.
* * *
Later on, I told Thomas about the encounter. ‘Good God,’ he said. ‘Are they at this again? What have you ever done to Jeffray that he should take against you like this?’
‘I rather think that he dislikes me because you are so friendly with me and he considers it scandalous that a lowly gardener should form any kind of friendship with a doctor of medicine.’
‘You’re probably right. Not that you are lowly, but that our friendship scandalises him. But all the same, this could be serious for you, you know. You might write to them. Setting matters before them as they really are. I’ll help you if you like.’
‘Well, I’ll have need of help, for sure, so perhaps you could tell me what to say, since I’m so unlearned.’
‘William, I don’t mean to insult you, but only to offer you whatever help I can in this matter.’
‘Man, you’re gentry and I’m no and never will be!’
But when I had calmed down, I took Thomas’s advice and wrote a detailed letter to Faculty, stating my side of the case, not allowing the facts to be manipulated by the likes of Professor Jeffray. Once more, I can quote from the letter in full, because like so many things that I thought were gone forever, Thomas had written it all down in his commonplace book, copying the letter out in a fair hand, in among his expenses, his outgoings, his bills of sale, making a note of where and when it was written, who wrote it and how he had helped me.
I am reading my own words, which were half his words as well as mine, and I can picture us sitting together at his library table, labouring over the task. He told me I had a fine, neat hand, better and more legible than his own. The dominie had at least drummed that into me. I baulked at all that I had to say, at how much it was necessary for me to crawl before them, but Thomas encouraged me, not – he told me – because he agreed with them, but because it was necessary to ‘keep them sweet’.
‘Sometimes the ends justify the means. This is one such time.’
Gentlemen, I wrote, I have thought it necessary to lay before you a fair statement of facts respecting my conduct since my appointment as gardener to the University immediately upon my father’s decease. Gentlemen, when my father was appointed Gardener it was then observed by several members of Faculty, that the wages allowed were not sufficient for supporting himself and his family and therefore they granted him the liberty of occupying his vacant time in that way he thought best for the advantage of his family.
The struggles my father had are well known; his salary being small and having an inclination for educating his children, he found himself in circumstances somewhat straitened, so that he was not able to make any provision for his wife and family. At the age of eighteen I was left the guardian and protector of a mother and six other children, seven until the death of my youngest sister, the sole provision for them being the salary you allowed me.
This was not strictly true of course. Bessie was already a young woman when my father died, but all the same, the rest were too young to be of any help, and Thomas said that it might be prudent to stretch the truth a little.
During the summer, when the botanical lectures are going on, the garden furnishes very few specimens. It is therefore required of me to collect elsewhere whatever plants may be necessary for carrying forward the lectures, for which purpose I have to traverse the country in search of plants; and that, Gentlemen, almost every day during the course.
A great part of my time is occupied in this manner. And often-times, after I have travelled two or three miles from town, I have been disappointed in finding the individual plants wanted and must again set out to some other quarter to find them. As the number of students last season was upwards of thirty, it became necessary for me to provide more than thirty specimens of each individual plant. And as several hundred Genera and Species were examined last season, a great proportion of my time must be occupied in this manner. For the truth of the above statement I beg leave to refer you to Dr Brown.
We had got so far with the letter when I said, ‘What about the conduct of the scholars?’
He pursed his lips. ‘Do you think you should mention it?’
‘They are half my trouble!’
‘But it may not go down well with Faculty. The scholars are their bread and butter, for all that they sometimes wish them gone to the devil.’
‘I care not for their bread and butter. But I do care for justice, and I am determined to point out that the scholars do great damage to the plants.’
‘Well, if you must, you must,’ he agreed.
And gentlemen, I continued, During the winter season, when the students are permitted to amuse themselves in the College Garden, it really becomes very difficult to keep them from doing mischief of one kind or another. Which tends much to hurt the appearance of the Gardens. I have brought this matter to the attention of Professor Jeffray himself and he agreed that I cannot be held responsible for the damage.
However, Gentlemen, I shall, so far as I am able, endeavour to do all which my station may require. I am, Gentlemen your most Obedient and Humble servant, William Lang.
Thomas read what I had drafted, corrected and added to it, trying to achieve something that looked as though it might be wholly written by me. We were in his library with, as far as I remember, Jenny working at her sewing beside the fire. I have a memory of her sitting quietly there, listening to us wrangling gently about the text of the letter and sometimes humming some old melody under her breath. I have a memory too of being happy, in spite of the precariousness of my position in the college. Jenny was there because Thomas and Marion had engaged her to do some more needlework for them, an ornate waistcoat for Thomas and a sprigged gown for Marion. She was spending some hours each week in their house now and I t
hink they were paying her well. When I could find the time, I would accompany her, walking the miles home with her and stealing a kiss or two on the doorstep. Her father would bring her and collect her when he could, but sometimes, when the weather was particularly dismal, Thomas would send her home in his own carriage. Winter was fast approaching and the days were growing shorter.
‘Do you know, I think I have a solution to all our troubles,’ said Thomas, suddenly, looking up from where he was scratching away at my somewhat blotted original, erasing a word here and there, adding a suitably penitent phrase.
‘What’s that?’
‘I think,’ he said, glancing across at Jenny, ‘That maybe we should have Jenny here stitch flowers for specimens for the students. Hers are so lifelike and real that I’m sure none of them could tell the difference and then we could use them all over again next season!’
Jenny looked up at him and smiled, white teeth, rosy lips and cheeks. I watched her hair, gleaming in the firelight and I remember noticing, momentarily, that she was changed in some subtle way. The only way I can describe it is to say that there was a gloss about her. She seemed burnished, shining with cleanliness, her dress neat, her shawl pulled about her white arms, her fingers no longer the fingers of somebody who worked in the garden but neat and nimble and – apart from the nails, which were still a wee thing broken – they looked like the hands of a lady. I noticed all this and was glad of it. They were easy on her in that household and she was thriving there.
I loved her dearly at that moment, and there is some part of me that has never stopped loving her. She was my first thought each morning when I awoke and my last thought each night before I fell asleep, however exhausted with the day’s efforts. I would have dreamed about her constantly if I could have manipulated my sleeping thoughts, and I did dream about her often. I was full of hope for our shared future. I believed that, with Thomas’s help, I had written so eloquently on my own behalf that my position as gardener would be safe. Jenny, ever the optimist, believed so too and Thomas declared that he was certain of a favourable outcome.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dismissal
It was not to be. Only a little while after they had received the letter, I was informed that Dr Jeffray had renewed his complaints about me and, of course, he won in the end. My appointment was to be terminated, although, mercifully, I was to be allowed a full year to make other arrangements and was also allowed to remain in possession of the land during that time. This meant that I could sell the grass and whatever else I could grow. My family would not be entirely destitute.
I think I had Thomas to thank for my year’s reprieve. He had told Faculty in no uncertain terms that if they didn’t see fit to give me time to find a new place of work and a new home for my family, he would have to consider his own position in the university. I was touched that he would put his livelihood at risk for me. But in truth, there was small risk to him in such a stand and he knew that they would never let him go. Even Jeffray had not expected this and was appalled at the thought of having to resume his botanical lectures again, when he had so much else to occupy him, so he was forced to swallow his prejudice and make some kind of grudging representation to Faculty on my behalf. Or so Thomas told me, relating the events with a kind of glee, pleased with his own machinations on my behalf. The result was that I was given my year’s grace.
‘Don’t worry, William. We’ll think of something,’ said Thomas. ‘There’s plenty of work for a man of your skills and intelligence.’
‘But not here.’
‘No. Not here, that’s for sure.’
‘They’ve said that they will let my mother and the younger ones stay on in the house for a while if need be, even after the year is over, but I shall have to make some provision for them. I need work. Real work.’
‘And what will I do without you to collect specimens for me?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘If we can find you some gardening work in the town, perhaps you could continue, and I could pay you for whatever you provide.’
‘Perhaps so.’
But I could foresee only more hard work and a neglected garden all over again. He heard the reluctance in my voice.
‘You know I would like nothing better than to work for you, all day, every day,’ I continued.
‘And you must know that I would like nothing better than to work with you. But as yet I have no proper place of my own. This is a rented house with a small patch of garden and a few miserable apple trees with codling moth at the heart of all the fruit. As the younger son I am not a rich man.’
‘Nor a poor one, either.’
He frowned. ‘Well, as it happens, I do have an idea of sorts, but I am very unsure as to how you will receive it!’
‘Tell me. What idea? I’m desperate, Thomas, and will consider anything.’
‘Oh, this is a little better than a counsel of desperation, I think. You have often heard me speak of my uncle in Ayrshire?’
‘Aye, I have.’
‘He has a large estate there. Larger than he needs. His wife died some years ago. They rattle around that cold, old house, himself and his son.’
‘And the house has a garden?’
‘More than that. It has extensive grounds. A walled garden. A park. All you could wish for. I could have a word with him. I am something of a favourite with him. He is very cautious of his own health, although he is as robust as I am, but his son, my cousin, is very sickly, a little like your wee Rab, and I do the best I can for him whenever I am there. Would you perhaps think about travelling to Ayrshire? If I could get you a position there?’
‘Of course I would. But how could I desert my mother and the boys? And it would be a long way away from Jenny.’
‘I have already thought of that. There is a great deal of land, and you would not be head gardener or not yet a while, but you would certainly have a position of some seniority, William. Coming from the college, and on my recommendation too. You see, the head gardener is knowledgeable but old and rather frail. He needs help and my uncle knows it.’
‘I would certainly go wherever there was work to be had, if only I could make some arrangements for those who depend upon me.’
‘Well, perhaps there would be a house for your family. That is what I have been thinking. I know that there are cottages on the estate. And if none was suitable, one might be built. And I would be prepared to make the request on your behalf. Would your mother be willing to move, do you think?’
‘I think she would. Needs must. Although it would be hard for her to be so far from the girls, Bessie especially.’
Jean and Susanna were both in service now. But I knew that Bessie would keep an eye on them. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea.
‘Perhaps James could work in the gardens too. Or get work on a nearby farm maybe? Or is there a home farm, perhaps? He’s strong and willing. And the wee lads would surely find seasonal work in the country.’
‘I think they would. Do you want me to ask?’
‘I’d be grateful. And will you ever be there, Thomas?’ I asked, hesitantly.
He smiled at me. ‘Aye. To be sure I will. I ride down there from time to time. If you are there, my friend, I will have even more reason to go! And I would be glad to speak to my uncle for you. He’s very careful of his own health so he is always pleased to see me. There is aye something wrong with him, be it his head, his stomach or his legs. In reality he is as strong as myself, although I could not say the same about my cousin. But my uncle is fond of his garden. Almost as fond of his green and growing things as you are, William. Although if there is a fault with the estate it is that there are by no means enough trees. I think maybe we could persuade him to plant more. Broadleaves of all kinds, some native and perhaps some more exotic specimens.’
‘I think I should like that very much. And what of Jenny?’
‘Ah, Jenny,’ he said. He paused, gazing at me with a quizzical expression. Jenny was sti
ll visiting his house often, still doing her fine sewing for the family. ‘I suppose you have some thoughts of marrying your Jenny?’
‘Some day. But if I wait as long as I may have to, I’ll be too old to enjoy my wedding night!’
‘Oh, William, we can’t have that, can we?’
‘I’m powerless to remedy it.’
‘Well, it might be arranged.’
‘How? I would be an under-gardener with no resources and a family to support.’
‘You cannot waste your whole youth supporting your family, William. The sacrifice is too great. I won’t let you do it.’
‘I don’t see how you can prevent it!’
‘Listen to me. The older children are almost self sufficient. There is no reason why, once you are established in Ayrshire, you should not marry your Jenny – if her father will spare her – and bring her down to keep house for you. Your mother is fond of the lass.’
‘She is. But two women in charge of one house?’
‘Although you may not want to admit as much – forgive me – your mother is no longer young and will not always be there. And who knows? Maybe we could persuade my uncle to find two cottages instead of one. In fact, I have in mind two wee houses that stand side by side, a little tumbledown and battered by the elements to be sure, but not beyond rescue by a strong young man such as yourself. And your brothers would help. There will be plenty of work at the big house for a young woman with Jenny’s talents. Although we will be very sorry to lose her here in Glasgow. Very sorry indeed. But of course the connection will not be broken. No, it will never be broken. For I am in the habit of visiting the house often.’
* * *
It all seemed possible when he outlined it to me. Not just possible, but desirable. Those big lowland estates were in the nature of villages. Even when the families who owned them were as small as was this one, consisting of a widowed man and his ailing son, they would offer shelter to a large household of servants, with a few poor relations thrown in for good measure. There were usually many cottages that had sprung up around the central house like so many mushrooms at the foot of some venerable tree. Tumbledown and damp and uncomfortable most of them were, to be sure, unless there was some enlightened landowner with an interest in building. But a deal of work would remedy matters and the house we had lived in for so many years was no palace either.
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