My Father, My Son

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘No it wouldn’t,’ corrected her mother firmly. ‘Because by the time they arrived they’d be stale. Now eat them up, they’ll make your hair curl.’

  ‘They don’t make Lyn’s hair curl,’ argued Beany, indicating her sister’s straggly locks.

  ‘Maybe you’re applying them the wrong way,’ suggested Bertie. ‘Maybe you’re meant to wrap the hair round them and not eat them.’

  After Rebecca had finished laughing at her brother’s joke she said, ‘You know that Mrs Wilson down the street? She’s off to prison for not paying her rent.’

  ‘Rebecca,’ said her mother patiently, ‘gentlefolk do not discuss others at the tea-table… how do you know this anyway?’

  Pretty little dark-haired Rhona was whingeing, as was her habit, ‘Lyn’s stolen me bread, Mother. Mother-r-r! She’s got me bre-ad!’ when her tone changed and she pointed at the window. ‘Who’s that funny lady looking in our house?’

  All faces turned to the stooped figure who peered in at them, her head draped with a silk shawl and a very elaborate earring in one ear. Then Becky burst into giggles and jumped from her seat to the window. The others too, gave noise to their amusement and, ignoring their mother’s complaint about the din, rushed to the front door to haul the ‘woman’ into the parlour.

  They clamoured round their father as, with grinning face, he unhooked the bunch of keys from his ear, telling him how funny he was. Russ chuckled with them, handing the bunch of flowers to his wife before divesting himself of the silk and spreading it over a chair for Rachel to see. Next, he hung the bunch of keys on Rowena’s ear and finally he grabbed three-year-old Rhona, swinging her up, round and down again whilst sneaking a look at his wife to see if she had found his act amusing too. His spirits were bolstered by a rather reluctant twitch of her lips as she sampled the flowers’ perfume – enough to chance curling his arm round her and pressing a sincere kiss to her cheek. ‘D’you think your mother’s forgiven me, kiddlywinks?’

  The children, who had been well aware of their father’s fall from grace, waited alertly as Rachel picked up the dress-length and held it against herself… Then she reached up and gave her husband a soft bang on the face with the bunch of flowers and said by way of absolution, ‘Doesn’t your father know how to get round me?’ And everything was fine again.

  * * *

  On Sunday afternoon Rachel organized a picnic on Knavesmire, which illustrated to Russ that he had been completely forgiven. He was therefore in jovial mood as he and his wife, arms linked, strolled behind their brood across the expansive greenbelt in the direction of the woods. It was very hot and the habitual breeze was most welcome today. It rippled the woman’s straight gold skirt and the man’s cream- coloured trousers. Russ had already taken off his striped blazer; it was slung over his arm. Now, he lifted his boater to seek yet more relief, delighting in the feel of the breeze on his forehead.

  Oh! but it was great walking here – cleansing somehow. All his troubles were swept away. He looked across to his left, to the empty grandstand clearly defined against a blue sky, then let his eyes run along the white fence marking the racetrack, which encircled him and his family in a huge green triangle of meadowland. Someone had been cutting grass; it smelt lovely.

  ‘Rosalyn, try not to be so boisterous, dear!’ Rachel’s voice cracked the balmy silence as her nine-year-old daughter performed a cartwheel. ‘Remember what day it is.’

  The tomboy righted herself and untucked her embroidered, kimono-style dress from her knickers, stooping to pull up her stockings.

  From under the wide brim of her hat, Rachel smiled fondly at her husband to show how she, too, was enjoying this and how proud she was of them all. Seven healthy children – no wonder the Daws were green-eyed. She felt a wave of sympathy for the couple, then turned to check on the position of the maid. ‘Come along, Biddy, do! We don’t want to wait half an hour for you to catch up before we can eat.’

  Russ glanced back too, also experiencing a rush of compassion, only his was for the red-faced maid struggling with the picnic basket. He acted upon it. ‘Shall we rest here? If we get too near the woods there’ll be flies.’

  Rachel concurred and hailed the children. After pointing excitedly and waving at an aeroplane, they came scampering back to fling themselves on the grass around the cloth their mother had just spread. Rowena, in charge of the perambulator, arrived last and adjusted the baby’s bonnet against the sun before sitting her with the others.

  ‘You’d better go help Biddy, Robert,’ muttered Rachel. ‘Or the silly girl won’t get here till Monday.’

  Bertie sprang up and pelted towards Biddy. ‘Away, Bid!’ He tugged at the handle of the wicker basket. ‘Everyone’s waiting for grub.’

  ‘Sure, your mother made me pack enough to feed the whole o’ the British Empire,’ grumbled Biddy, allowing him to take it and pushing away the wisps of hair that clung to her streaming brow. ‘’Tis heavier than the sky before a storm.’

  ‘Oh come on, let a man take charge!’ He hoisted the hamper onto his shoulder and strode ahead of her. Though the wicker and its heavy contents cut into him, he pretended the task was effortless. A perspiring Biddy still dawdled behind him. When she finally arrived the sandwiches were under attack.

  ‘Oh, this is lovely!’ Rowena narrowed her eyes against the dazzling sun and presented her arms to the sky – then lowered them quickly to discourage the baby from eating grass. ‘I wish it could be like this every day with no school.’

  Her father showed surprise. ‘I thought you liked school, Wena?’ She had always displayed such studious characteristics, searching out an unoccupied corner of the house to be alone with her books. He didn’t realize that it was to escape the others. In truth, Rowena would have been more fitted to being an only child. But then her father wouldn’t realize, for she showed her siblings such devotion; she had that kind of nature.

  Rowena gave a wan smile and shook her beribboned head. Russ asked why. ‘Because… oh, I don’t know. I just wish I could stay at home like Mother. I can’t wait to grow up and be married.’

  Both her parents laughed – then were diverted as Becky gave a scream of pain. The finger she produced for their inspection was red and swollen. A bee lay dying in the grass. ‘She kept prodding it,’ announced Robina over her sister’s sobs. ‘I told her not to.’

  ‘Oh, Rebecca!’ chided her mother, tugging at the finger to locate the sting. ‘Don’t you know better than to antagonize a wasp?’

  ‘It isn’t a wasp, it’s a bee.’ Bertie was studying the corpse. His mother, rooting in her bag for a pair of tweezers, told him not to contradict. ‘But…’

  ‘Robert! If I say it’s a wasp then I think we can assume it is one.’

  Bertie turned to his father. ‘Father, have a look at it…’ Russ said diplomatically that he didn’t know the difference. ‘It was a bee,’ muttered the boy with a defiant look at his mother. ‘Bees always die when they sting. Wasps can sting you as many times as they like.’ Russ suddenly noted to his great amusement that the bodice worn by his wife had gold and black stripes. He made signals at Bertie to draw attention to it. His son frowned… then, interpreting the message, was forced to laugh. It was some minutes before either male felt able to speak without spluttering his mirth.

  The finger was dealt with and the picnic resumed. After most of the food had been devoured, Russ suggested a walk in the woods. Bertie and three of his sisters accepted eagerly but little Rhona complained that she was too hot and wanted to go home.

  ‘Oh, we don’t have to go because of her, do we?’ begged Robina. Then to her sister, ‘Mona, Mona, you’re always moaning!’ The smaller child denied this. ‘Are! You spoil everything!’ A buttoned shoe was stamped in temper – it took very little to throw Robina into a rage.

  ‘Stop that at once!’ commanded Rachel, then erected her lace parasol and handed it to the complainant. ‘Here, take this.’

  ‘But do we have to take her?’ Robina entreated her mother, but
was glared into silence.

  Rachel decided she would sit here until the party came back. ‘Rosalyn, come here and let me tie your hair ribbon, you look like a gypsy’s child.’ Rowena excused herself too, saying she would be bitten to death by flies in the wood.

  Russ left his jacket in the care of his wife and with five of his children made the expedition to the woods. It was cooler here and quite dark. The ground was spongy and carpeted with parings from the various trees, which clung to their shoes as they walked. There was the smell of greenery, and the occasional whiff of fox. Bertie, walking side by side with his father, asked why his mother had said the bee was a wasp. ‘It was a bee, I know it.’

  His father laid an arm across his shoulders. ‘You shouldn’t argue with women, Bertie. You see, they’re not the same as us… it’s best just to humour ’em.’ Bertie agreed and said this outing would have been better spent with just the two of them. Russ smiled. ‘Ah well, we’ll have a few days out together in the school holidays – just you and me. Maybe we could take the tent and camp out – be grand that, wouldn’t it?’ Bertie said it certainly would. Then his father was detoured as an argument developed between Robina and Rhona. He grabbed the youngest and hoisted her onto his shoulders. Her frilly petticoat caught on his head, changing bad temper to hilarity. ‘Oh, do you like my new bonnet? Best pull it from over me eyes though else we’ll be falling down a rabbit ’ole’.

  ‘Ooh, d’you think we’ll see a rabbit, Father?’ Lyn ambled at his heels, stockings sagging once more and the ribbon slipping from its bow.

  Russ said yes, they might catch one for tomorrow’s dinner. As they walked, Becky tried to take hold of Bertie’s hand but he shook her off. She was always trying to tag on to him. Undeterred, she continued to prance alongside her brother, though he took big strides to evade her. Secretly, though, he was proud of this hero worship. Within the family he might scorn them, but outside he guarded his sisters with the possessiveness of one who owns a harem – and his duties as only son did not go unrecognized. If ever one of the girls was being tormented by an outsider, Bertie was always the defender. And although he may not be generous with his compliments, he always remembered each sister’s birthday – even the ones he most detested – saving all his pocket money to buy a gift. It was Robina’s birthday soon. He had almost accrued a shilling. As yet, he hadn’t decided what to get her, but was waiting for her to mention something she liked so that he could surprise her with it.

  However, Robina was about to spoil her chances. As they sauntered, cracking twigs underfoot, she set up a recitation. ‘The owl and the pussycat…’

  Bertie stiffened. ‘Don’t you dare!’

  ‘Went to sea…’

  ‘Father, make her shut up!’

  ‘In a beautiful pean-green boat.’

  ‘Aargh!’ Bertie’s hands flew to his ears and he bellowed his rage.

  ‘Goodness, what’s to do?’ Russ looked about in bewilderment as his son grimaced and gnashed his teeth.

  Lyn explained, jumping off the fallen log. ‘He doesn’t like it when she says them words.’

  ‘What words?’

  ‘You dare!’ yelled Bertie.

  ‘Peeean green!’ emphasized Robina in delight.

  Russ shook his head and marched on. ‘You’re a queer bunch to have as children and no mistake – and it’s not “pean green”,’ his son winced, ‘it’s “pea green”.’

  Robina delivered a happy retort, ‘Well, I like “pean green”,’ making Bertie squirm again.

  ‘She just does it to annoy him,’ said Lyn, who was not averse to doing this herself. ‘And she bites her velvet dress.’

  Bertie yelled his outrage at the very thought of his sister’s teeth on velvet.

  ‘Stop tormenting, you two,’ said Becky and touched her brother’s arm. ‘Take no notice, Bertie.’

  ‘Oh, get off, you!’ The last thing he wanted was to be pitied for his weakness by a girl. To Robina he snapped, ‘That’s your birthday present up the spout, Beany!’

  At her wail, Russ sighed, ‘Eh, I don’t know! You’re always scrapping. I wonder if there’s any vacancies at the Marmalade Home.’

  ‘Send them two,’ sulked the boy.

  ‘The owl and the pussycat…’

  ‘Now stop that! Else we’ll be sending the lot o’ you.’ Russ attempted to divert them. ‘Eh, look here, I think we’ve found a nest.’ Bertie came immediately to his side, edging Rebecca out of the way. Russ stretched his arm into the bush. ‘Oh sorry, nothing in this one… just a minute, what’s that clucking noise?’ He put on a quizzical expression. ‘I think it’s coming from our Becky. Why… look at this!’ He reached behind her ear and produced a blue-speckled egg. ‘Would you believe it?’

  ‘Ooh, can I have it, Father?’ asked Bertie, having inherited his father’s passion.

  ‘Oh, why does he always have to have everything?’ wailed Lyn as the egg was placed on her brother’s palm.

  ‘Because I’m the boy,’ replied Bertie pompously and was aided by Rebecca, who said that as the egg had come from her ear she wanted him to have it. ‘Anyway, what d’you want with an egg? You haven’t got a collection.’ Lyn said that she would start one, lower lip thrust out like a shelf. ‘We’ll see if we can find another,’ soothed her father. Unfortunately, Bertie’s was the only egg to be found, which intensified his pleasure but drove Lyn to sulks. However, her good humour was restored when accident-prone Becky tripped and fell, reaching out for support as she did so and smashing the egg in her brother’s pocket.

  ‘Oh, bloomin’ Nora,’ muttered Russ, dashing up to extricate the mess from his son’s clothes. ‘Let’s get that sorted out before your mother sees it, else she’ll make scrambled egg of the lot of us.’ Using his handkerchief, he scraped the none-too-fresh yolk from Bertie’s jacket.

  ‘You bloody dummy!’ the boy reprimanded his guilty sister who sobbed, as much at his words as at her sore ankle.

  ‘Eh! Now that’s swearing, Bertie, and I won’t have it! A gentleman doesn’t swear in front of ladies.’ Bertie apologized to his father, but still glowered threateningly at Becky when Russ wasn’t looking.

  ‘I know how disappointing it is,’ his father’s fingers dripped albumen, ‘but never mind, I’ll let you have a nice long look at my collection before bedtime – how’s that?’

  To Bertie this was the biggest treat imaginable, other than actually owning the eggs, and he soon revived his spirits. With order restored, Russ said they should return to the others. Something always happened when he tried to give his children a good time – but then, it could have been partly his fault for favouring Bertie so much. He watched as Lyn set off at full pelt, ‘Race you!’ and the others hared after her, all except Bertie who, seeing his sister’s ten-yard start, decided not to enter the race. ‘I’m not running, it’s too hot!’ and walked beside his father.

  ‘I won!’ bawled Lyn as the girls burst upon their mother’s reverie and earned a telling off. Robina stated that it was a draw but, ‘I won,’ declared an obstinate Lyn. ‘Bertie, I beat you!’ she announced proudly as her brother came up in an affected saunter.

  ‘I told you I wasn’t taking part.’ He assumed a lazy, uncaring stance.

  ‘Huh! You’re just saying that because you lost!’

  ‘Will you kindly all stop arguing!’ ordered their mother, grabbing Lyn to retie her bow. ‘Now, would anyone care to finish the food so we don’t have to carry it back?’

  We carry it back, thought Biddy acidly and fanned her face with her hat.

  Becky studied the plate. ‘Oh, look, the sandwiches are smiling at us!’

  Russ laughed at his daughter’s observation and helped himself to one of the curled-up sandwiches as the children satiated their renewed appetite. After spending a while longer enjoying the glorious sunshine, the family made for home. Biddy, in addition to the hamper, was now left to push the cumbersome pram and so fell further and further behind while the children, still brimming with energy, gave each o
ther piggybacks and skipped and danced.

  Russ took his wife’s arm, threaded it through his and looked into her face as they retraced their tracks across the grassland. ‘Have you enjoyed yourself, then?’

  ‘It was absolutely lovely.’ She put up a hand to pat the one that held her other. ‘Such a happy day – such a happy year. What a shame it is only a year. I’ve quite enjoyed playing the lady up to now.’

  ‘You always will be a lady,’ came the kind compliment.

  ‘Flatterer… it would be nice for it to last forever though.’

  ‘Well, I expect we’ll get invited to a few parties even after I’ve handed in my Sheriff’s hat.’

  She smiled up at him. His eyes were bright blue and shining in the sun-tanned face, making him even more attractive than usual. A burst of love caused her to reveal, ‘I was so proud of you that day, you know. I watched you march majestically along and thought, that’s my husband! It was a wonderful feeling. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.’

  He gave voice to his fondness of her. ‘I hope I can give you a lot more days like that, Rachel love.’ And their faces met in a kiss.

  On their return home, Rachel ordered the children upstairs to wash hands and faces, telling them they could sit and read for the remainder of the time before bed. Instantly, Bertie complained that his father had promised to let him see the egg collection.

  ‘Later,’ countered his mother firmly. ‘I think your father and I deserve a cup of tea and a little solitude after tolerating your antics all afternoon. Biddy, go put the kettle on then see that these children wash properly – and fetch the baby in.’ The pram had been left by the front door. ‘She’ll want changing.’ Poor, overworked Biddy put the hamper down. ‘For goodness’ sake, don’t leave that there! One of us will fall over it and break our neck.’ The maid returned to lug the hamper into the kitchen where she quickly revived herself from a bottle hidden among the lumps of coal in the scuttle – just one of many hiding places.