Fields of Gold

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?’

  Jack shook his head in wonder. ‘You’re right. It’s exciting but daunting. I’ve never experienced anything like it.’

  ‘Everyone feels like that the first time. I certainly did. But one gets used to it soon enough and curiously it all begins to feel familiar, even homely, before long.’ He smiled kindly. ‘I know I’ve asked this before but what are your plans, old chap?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘I’m no closer to knowing. I’ve let all who need to know that I’m not going on to Australia – much as I’d love to remain onboard.’

  Henry slapped his arm, clearly delighted. ‘Good man! You won’t regret it. But what now?’

  ‘You got me into this, Henry. I suppose I’ll take your advice and head to the goldfields of Ko …’ He wasn’t sure how to pronounce it.

  ‘Kolar,’ Henry replied. ‘In that case you’ll need to go to Bangalore first.’

  ‘All right. I have no idea where that is.’

  ‘South. And you can now – thanks to dear old Britain’s industrial wizardry – get there by steam train.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Jack said, immediately liking the sound of that.

  ‘What’s more, we can travel together if it suits?’

  Jack felt a surge of relief. ‘Really?’

  Henry grinned, his right shoulder moving rapidly with excitement. He held up a piece of paper. ‘I’ve just got orders to go to Bangalore.’

  ‘You got your posting?’

  ‘No, not the one I want. This is just a short visit … yet another report to prepare on some of the hill stations in the south. But it means I can see you as far as Bangalore, perhaps look into an interview with the mines for you.’

  ‘Henry, that’s … well, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ He gestured to shore. ‘Welcome to India, old chap.’

  Later, sitting in the relative cool of a bar on Marine Drive, sipping a gin and tonic that he had acquired a taste for aboard ship, Jack reflected on the long day of sightseeing.

  Beyond the cultural sights, Henry had been proud to show Jack all the British buildings from the first cotton mill to the Grant Medical College and, of course, his favourite building – the central railway station known as Victoria Terminus.

  ‘It vaguely reminds me of St Pancras with its Victorian architecture and red brick,’ Jack had admitted and Henry had grinned.

  ‘That’s because it was modelled after it. We can’t ever fully escape London, can we? Glorious, isn’t it, with its amazing blending of the great gothic structures we know and Indian architecture? The engineer built it working from a watercolour made up by the draughtsman!’

  The city had impressed Jack enormously and now, as he looked out over the huge crescent-shaped beach that marked the shoreline of the Arabian Sea, he understood why flocks of English came to Bombay.

  It was an easy city to like if you enjoyed a hectic social life, the noise of people and the thrill of business. Jack didn’t. London had been a means to an end and certainly not somewhere he wanted to live. Bombay, as vibrant and colourful as it was, would not suit him either. He hoped that the small-town life of Kolar Gold Fields would offer something closer to the simple lifestyle of his beloved Pendeen, but feeling the droplets of sweat gathering at his forehead, he wondered whether he could ever get used to India.

  ‘In Bombay we have the luxury of the sea. We’re in the hot season now. May can be unbearable and then monsoon begins in June, when it will rain frequently – and I mean rain, Jack, but it’s brief and not unwelcome. Anyway, where you’re headed, you’ll enjoy a temperate climate. Bangalore has a high altitude and cooling breezes.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘You’ll love Bangalore. I’ll inquire about some train tickets in the morning. We may be able to take an evening train.’

  They raised their glasses and cried, ‘Cheers!’ in unison.

  19

  April 1920

  Ned travelled to Bangalore alone. For the first time since leaving England he didn’t have Bella at his side. His sister and Millie Grenfell had taken to each other instantly, and Millie was soon like a favourite aunt. Ned was relieved that Bella finally had a maternal figure back in her life. He’d had many sleepless nights worrying about how he was going to raise a young girl on his own.

  While the death of their mother especially was an ever-present cloud, the Grenfells had brought a sense of tranquillity to the Sinclair children’s lives. Dr Grenfell lived in a large old bungalow within the boundaries of what was known as White Town in Madras. It provided the first secure accommodation Bella had known since setting sail for Rangoon five months earlier. Ned was old enough to understand that in her reckoning that period was a lifetime. He also appreciated that the large bedroom with its big shuttered windows and beautiful bed of clean white linen, the regular meals, the large garden to play in and the servants to do the chores was more than simply seductive.

  Ned had no reason to fear that Bella would mind if he went away to Bangalore. In fact, he was fairly sure his sister would hardly feel his departure. The Grenfells led a full, active and thoroughly pleasant life, but they needed someone to lavish with love. Bella easily accepted the mantle of being that beloved child and, during the weeks following their arrival, Ned watched his sister become comfortably entrenched in her new existence. There would be no withdrawing her from Millie’s loving clutches – and no need either, he had told a worried Dr Grenfell when he began making serious noises about moving on.

  ‘She is safe and happy here,’ he assured the good doctor when Grenfell finally asked if Ned was feeling obliged to leave Bella in their care. ‘I wouldn’t dream of disrupting her life again – so long as you are both happy to look after her. I really think I should be asking you and Mrs Grenfell whether you mind, rather than the other way around.’

  ‘Happy?’ Grenfell asked with gentle irony. ‘We’re overjoyed that she’s in our life. That goes for you too, Ned. We have come to love you both. Are you sure you have to leave?’

  ‘I must find Dr Walker. I promised Robbie I would.’

  ‘Of course. I understand and I’m glad that you have this respect for him. But will you return to Madras?’

  ‘I plan to. But would you forgive me if I say I’d rather not be held to that? Does that sound ungrateful?’

  Grenfell had smiled. ‘A little but only if it was taken out of context, son. I know you’re a restless soul. I suspect that with all that has happened to you you need to work something out of your system and I hope you find some answers on your travels. And you’re a man now. I left home at seventeen. I shake my head when I think of it now and how it upset my parents, especially my poor mother. Somehow that sounds so young. Of course it’s not and you must find your own way. Millie and I both understand. But I think it’s important to say this and for you to know that there is always a home here for you.’

  ‘I’m really at a loss to know how to thank you for all your kindness. Our clothes, our welfare – you’ve been so generous. Of course I will send money for Bella once —’

  ‘Oh, tosh! Bella will want for nothing. Now, listen to me, Edward. We want you to take this.’ He picked up an envelope from his desk and handed it to Ned.

  Ned froze momentarily when he realised the envelope was filled with rupees. ‘I can’t —’

  ‘You can, you will. This is not something I’m prepared to debate, young man. My wife and I have talked this over and if we must let you go, then we want to know you have sufficient money to cover your travelling expenses and incidentals.’

  Ned shook his head. ‘I can’t take this. You’ve already done so much, and keeping Bella safe means everything to me. I’ll make my own way.’

  ‘It’s a loan, then. I’ll not hear any more about it. When you can, you can repay it. But we have more important things to discuss than money, Ned.’ He handed Ned a folded piece of paper. ‘I think you’ll need this.’

  �
�Is this Dr Walker’s address?’

  ‘Yes, the address you had is correct. He lives in central Bangalore.’

  Ned’s eyes shone. ‘All I seem to say is thank you to you.’

  Grenfell held up a hand. ‘There’s more. I might as well come clean.’ He smiled to prevent the inevitable torrent of protest. ‘I have contacted Dr Walker.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I hope you don’t feel offended. I wrote to him. And he has replied to me. I have not told him about Robbie. That’s for you to do. But I mentioned you were trying to reach him. I kept it all deliberately vague.’

  ‘So he’s waiting for me, you mean?’

  ‘Indeed. He is expecting a visit and has offered to help find you some work, get yourself established … if that’s what you choose to do. Many people are making their fortunes here, young man.’

  Ned smiled. ‘Well, I’m in no hurry to leave India. My parents are buried here, my sister is happy. I might as well see what I can make of myself here where the work is plentiful … because it’s not back home.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. Well, young man, shall we go tell the ladies of your decision? And then I think we should immediately book your first-class carriage to Bangalore.’

  After what had felt like an endless series of train carriage changes and long waits at stations in the middle of nowhere, Ned finally found himself standing on the platform at Bangalore. The scenery he’d moved through had been one constant vision of dusty, dry tan earth. Flashes of colour erupted as the trains had passed through level crossings where people, carriages, heavily laden bullock carts and waving children waited for the train to chug by. At one point Ned had undone a window to half hang out of it as he looked around to get his bearings. He noticed, with shock, a pile of scruffy male passengers were travelling open air, on the top of the train.

  It was early evening and the Bangalore City Station was teeming with people, many of whom were soldiers. Ned had learned that Bangalore was essentially a military base but it was the military that had turned the city into the elegant, party city it now was. The British military, their wives, families and the huge civil service that had grown up around it during the heyday of the British Raj enjoyed an enviable lifestyle in this city, cooled by late-afternoon breezes due to its high elevation. Bangalore was the first city in India to be electrified and that meant a sophistication in its daily life that was unrivalled throughout the rest of the continent.

  While Rangoon had been a surprise in more ways than one, Ned had not had the opportunity to appreciate it as he’d been able to with Madras. And his time with the Grenfells had prepared him for crowds, beggars, traffic, noise, filth, colour and wonderment at almost every turn.

  Now, as he pushed his way through the hordes clamouring for his attention at the station, he did his best to ignore the beggars without sight, without limbs, some so hideously maimed it hurt to look at them. Experience had taught him that to dig into his pocket, even for just a few coins, and give it to one of the needy, meant he would be set upon with fresh urgency by others determined to win his favour. However, a quiet young girl – far too young to be a mother – leant against a pillar with a near newborn cradled in one arm. Her free hand was extended, palm cupped, but her eyes were cast down; it was actually an exuberant puppy dancing around her toes that caught his attention and his sympathy was pricked into action. He reached into his inside pocket, where he’d taken the precaution to leave some loose change, and carefully dropped the equivalent of a rupee into her hand. He knew it was a small fortune to her.

  Using one of the few phrases he’d picked up from Dr Grenfell, who’d found it very hard to pass beggars, he whispered ‘feed yourself’ in Tamil, hoping she would understand.

  Presumably she had, for she put her hand containing the money to her heart and muttered something, still not raising her eyes. When her hand opened again, the money had disappeared. Ned smiled inwardly. She might be young and desperate, but she was smart enough to know how to hide her money from the other equally hungry or desperate people.

  He walked on, steeling himself against the throng of beggars who just stopped short of jostling him. As he neared the exit of the station, he risked a look back and noticed that the young mother had gone. Emerging into the main street, Ned caught the delectable smell of fresh peanuts being roasted and it reminded him that he was famished; he was tempted to buy a small cone, fashioned from a piece of newspaper, but his belly was just becoming accustomed to the spicier foods, and he was not prepared to risk the consequences of the street seller’s goods on his still-fragile gut. He’d already lost a stone since leaving Scotland and his frame now looked hollow. He shook his head at the young man cutting up guavas at the roadside using a vicious-looking knife that he expertly dipped in salt and chilli powder. With a mouth still watering from the offer of food, he hailed one of the throng of rickshaws, and clutching to his knees the small leather bag the Grenfells had given him, he gave the wiry old runner the address in nearby Sheshadri Road.

  With a lurch and a yell at the traffic, the man took off and Ned, trying not to feel self-conscious at being dragged around by a man who looked old enough to be his grandfather, sat back beneath the canopy and let his first impressions of the garden city of Bangalore wash over him.

  20

  Dr Walker was every bit as welcoming and charming as Robbie had painted him and his shock of steely grey hair and deep voice gave him a distinguished manner that suited Ned’s vision of him. Ned had been ushered across the threshold of the large, whitewashed house on the quiet, tree-lined boulevard and taken into the spacious sitting room that could have been dark if it wasn’t dominated by three tall arched windows, where he was now introduced to Walker’s wife.

  Obligatory ceiling fans revolved slowly above them and the room had a pleasant, comforting smell that hinted at flowers and tobacco, spice and perfume, wax polish and oiled timber. He felt instantly at ease with the rhythmic tick of a rather grand old mantel clock, the flowery fabric on the sofas and the worn rug beneath his shoes.

  ‘This is Flora,’ the doctor beamed as a round, darkish-skinned woman rose to greet him with a wide smile. Even though Ned was not especially tall, he towered above her hair that was pinned up in a bun and shot through with threads of silver. She had to be in her late fifties, Ned guessed, but her gentle plumpness and unlined face made her seem ageless.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Edward,’ she said in perfect English flavoured by an Indian accent. ‘I imagine you must be very tired after your long journey.’ She nodded to the hovering servant, who held out a tiny glass on a tray. ‘Sherry?’

  Taken by the warmth in Flora’s smile and the genuine concern in her voice, Ned took her hand and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Thank you so much for making me welcome.’

  ‘Please, sit,’ she said, gesturing towards the wide, heavy-based sofa and pile of cushions that he sank into.

  ‘Get this down you,’ Walker urged. ‘You look as though you could use some.’

  Ned grinned and joined in the cheers, raising his sherry to his hosts, mentally pinching himself to check he was actually still in India and not in some quaint drawing room in England.

  ‘He likes to be called Ned, dear,’ Walker explained.

  ‘Ned it is,’ Flora agreed. ‘But you look half starved, child. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Famished,’ he admitted.

  With that admission he watched Flora switch effortlessly into one of the local languages. In amongst instructions to her servant, she glanced his way. ‘I’m organising supper to be brought forward. No one goes hungry in this house, Ned,’ she said, with a soft glare at her husband. ‘Now, no more of that sherry, Harold, until this boy has some food inside him. Please excuse me,’ and she was gone with a second flurry of Tamil to the tall manservant who opened the door for her.

  Walker laughed at Ned’s look of surprise. ‘We’ve been married for nearly thirty years and she never tires of organising me – or indeed anyone else, so don’t say
I haven’t cautioned you,’ he said, sipping at the final dregs of his sherry.

  ‘I’ll consider myself warned, Dr Walker.’

  Ned looked around him and took in the heavy wood panelling and matching dark furniture. Beautiful well-used rugs hugged the rich brown timber floors. The trio of windows framed a pretty garden he hadn’t noticed as he’d approached the house down its short pathway from the street. Now he saw the large English trees alongside exotic plants he couldn’t name.

  Dotted around the room, on the mantelpiece, in fact on every flat surface, including the walls, were framed photos. From a distance he could see that there were lots of family group shots, pictures of the Walker family as they grew up. They looked happy and playful in every one – he envied them.

  Walker was pouring himself another tiny measure of sherry at the great oak sideboard. ‘So, you’ve been in India for how long?’ he asked, turning to offer Ned one.

  Ned shook his head to decline. He wouldn’t dare after Mrs Walker’s warning. ‘I was in Rangoon first, that’s how I met Robbie, and Dr Grenfell and his wife took in my sister and myself after we arrived in India about six weeks ago. I suppose Dr Grenfell has told you of our situation?’

  ‘He has. We were very sad to read of your losses. Finding the right words is …’

  ‘There are none, Dr Walker. It was a shock and we’re coming to terms with it. It’s been easier to bear since arriving in India.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  Ned had been dreading this moment but it had finally arrived and he knew he could not avoid it. ‘I’m feeling rather guilty actually. Leaving my sister behind was not easy and yet I know she is happy and secure there. At the same time, I do feel relief at no longer having to worry about Bella’s safety.’

  ‘Perfectly natural, son,’ Walker replied.

  He’d needed that assurance. ‘Dr Walker, there is a reason that I’ve travelled to Bangalore to see you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I promised Robbie I would.’