After You've Gone

by Joan Lingard

  ‘Come and look at this,’ she said to Ina and Bunty. They read over her shoulder.

  DINNER GIVEN BY THE CHINESE COMMUNITY OF TAIPING

  In honour of the Officers and Men of His Majesty’s

  Light Cruisers’ Squadron

  on 6th February 1924,

  at the Kwong Toong Wooi Koon, Taiping

  Inside, the menu was written in Chinese on the left-hand side, and English on the right-hand.

  1. Chicken Soup

  2. Sharks’ Fins

  3. Malayan Fish

  4. A’ La Suckling Taiping

  5. Broiled Chicken

  6. Fancy Rolls

  7. A’ La Fukien Mee

  8. Duck and Lotus Seeds

  9. Lichee Jelly

  10. Tropical Fruits

  GOD SAVE THE KING

  ‘I wonder if the Chinese knew the words of “God Save the King”,’ said Bunty.

  ‘God save Tommy’s stomach,’ said his mother, ‘if he ate through all that lot. It never took much to make him throw up when he was wee.’

  ‘He’s a big lad now though,’ said his wife.

  ‘A’ La Fukien Mee!’ said Bunty. ‘What on earth can that be?’

  ‘Enough to turn anybody’s stomach, I should think,’ said Ina. ‘The chicken might have been all right. At least it was only broiled.’

  ‘And the duck,’ added Willa.

  ‘But lotus seeds! What in the name would they be like?’

  No one had any idea.

  ‘Still,’ said Bunty, ‘they were obviously wanting to do the boys proud. That was real nice of the Chinese community.’

  ‘Ah well, it’ll be herrin’ in oatmeal for us the night,’ said Ina.

  Willa was reading on down the letter. ‘He says he burnt his mouth on some spiced meat and couldn’t get the burning feeling to go even though he ate bread and drank water.’

  ‘I knew it wouldn’t do him any good, all that funny stuff,’ said his mother. ‘I hope he’s all right.’

  ‘He must be, mustn’t he?’ said Bunty. ‘Otherwise he couldn’t have written the letter.’

  An ordinary English lunch would have been more to our liking but it was a novelty and an experience for most of the party.

  ‘Something’s dropped out of the envelope,’ said Ina.

  Willa picked it off the floor. It was a postcard on the back of which Tommy had written: Burmese Girl Singing a Song on Stage. Willa turned it over. The girl was not so much singing as writhing in a very tight, ankle-length skirt with her wrists splayed out at a funny angle. In the fingers of one hand she held a fan. Her mouth was closed.

  ‘He seems to be having a very interesting time right enough,’ said Bunty.

  The classical dances are very stately but others more lively in which the performers caper and twirl and twist about. Burmese girls for walking wear a long skirt with a slit up one side but for dancing the skirt is wrapped tightly round their legs and sewn together. This produces an effect of amazing slimness and enables her to use the skirt as a support while dancing, their knees being pressed against the sides. In the posturing dances the head and hands may be said to dance. There is little movement of the feet but skilful use of the hands.

  ‘Looks like they use more than their hands?’ Bunty winked. ‘He’s watched closely right enough.’

  ‘Give me Scottish country dancing any day,’ said Ina.

  ‘Aye, you can’t beat the “Dashing White Sergeant”.’ For once Bunty was in agreement with her sister. ‘I’m quite fond of the “Gay Gordons” and all.’

  Tommy had written screeds about the Malay Straits. Willa jumped over some of it, picking out the parts that might interest his mother and aunt.

  The entertainment committee had everything well planned for our stay and must have felt great satisfaction when they saw the enthusiastic manner in which the sailors accepted and enjoyed every outing. There were trips to the Snake Temple, a run up the Penang hills, concerts, dances, games, picnics, swimming parties, as well as an excursion to Alor Star, Ipoh and Taiping.

  ‘I hope he didn’t go too near the snakes,’ said his mother.

  ‘I expect he wrapped one round his neck,’ said Bunty. ‘A cobra, for choice. What do you say, Willa?’

  ‘Or maybe an anaconda. I’ve a feeling it’s even longer.’

  ‘Might get it wrapped round twice then,’ said Bunty.

  Ina gave her a sour look.

  I went to Taiping. We left at 6 a.m. on a ferry for Prai and were then taken by train through forty miles of plantations. The natives working in the fields were just as curious about us as we were of them. Arriving in Taiping (11 a.m.) we were met by motors that took us to the King Edward School, which had rigged up accommodation for us. We were given refreshments and everyone felt jolly and happy in the sunshine. The following day we were driven to the outskirts of the jungle and were met by a party of elephants. Half of us mounted, the others walked alongside.

  ‘Are elephants not meant to be dangerous?’ asked his mother.

  ‘I don’t know if they’re meant to be,’ said Bunty, ‘but I believe they sometimes trample folk to death. They’ve got muckle big feet. But they wouldn’t walk over our Tommy. He’d be too tough for them.’

  ‘What do you mean by tough?’

  ‘Nothing, Ina.’

  ‘He says they had to watch that their legs didn’t crash against the tree trunks as they went by,’ said Willa. ‘Or they might have got torn off.’

  ‘God Almighty!’ exclaimed his mother, placing her hand over her heart.

  ‘I expect he’s just trying to wind you up,’ said Bunty. ‘He likes his bit of drama, does Tommy.’

  We also saw a tiger trap. It is similar to our mousetrap, the difference being that when the tiger steps on the platform to eat the bait it is shot by a rifle mounted on the trap. We weren’t lucky enough to see one for ourselves.

  ‘Tigers as well,’ said Ina.

  ‘No lions?’ said Bunty. ‘There must be some prowling around.’

  The concert commenced at 10 p.m., after we had dined with the Burmese community (rather weird food again, but we managed to eat it, though give me good old fish and chips with salt and brown sauce any day of the week!) and continued until half-past midnight. During the singing and dancing all kinds of cigars and cigarettes, as well as drinks, were freely passed around. They were most generous.

  ‘Want to keep in with the British, that’s what it is,’ said Ina, nodding her head. ‘They’ll know which side their bread’s buttered on.’

  ‘If they eat butter,’ said Bunty.

  The true Malay comes from the island of Sumatra, separated from the peninsula by the Malacca Straits. Most people probably do not know that the expression ‘to run amok’ is a term used when a Malay suddenly dashes down the street with a ‘Kris’, a large native knife, in his hand until he himself is killed.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Ina.

  ‘You didn’t know that, did you, Ina?’ said Bunty.

  ‘Did you?’ demanded Ina.

  ‘But you’ll be pleased to hear that this undesirable trait is no longer so common as Malays have not carried knives in the street since 1890,’ said Willa.

  ‘The Lord must be looking after your lad, Ina,’ said Bunty. ‘He must hear your cries in the night.’

  Ina ignored that remark. She said, ‘When all’s said and done, there’s nowhere like Scotland. It’s bonny. And we’ve no snakes or tigers lurking round corners waiting to pounce on you.’

  ‘That’s more or less it,’ said Willa, putting the letter back in the envelope. She thought she might take it up to the library and read it to Richard. He would be interested in the descriptions of the native villages and the flora and fauna of the jungle, which clearly Tommy’s mother and aunt were not, or, at least, only marginally. They never gave her peace to read a letter right through, they had to keep interrupting.

  ‘Fancy chumming me up to Bruntsfield, Ina?’ asked Bunty. ‘I’ve to get a fitting for my new
skirt.’

  ‘Aye, I’ll do that. We could take the wee one with us.’

  Willa saw them off and headed in the opposite direction.

  Richard was very interested in Tommy’s letter and listened attentively while Willa read it to him. She omitted only the ending about Malkie and giving mother his love and your fond husband and the kisses. They were the only customers in the café and the waitress had gone through to the back so Willa was able to read aloud without anyone listening. Not that it would have mattered if they had been; there was nothing private or intimate in it to reveal.

  ‘He writes very well,’ said Richard. ‘Especially—’ He stopped for Willa had given him a sharp look. He cleared his throat and went on awkwardly. ‘I was only going to say, especially since he left school at fourteen, didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘So did I,’ said Willa, ‘leave school at fourteen. We’d no chance to do anything else.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to imply anything.’

  ‘No, I’m sure you didn’t.’

  To hide his embarrassment Richard bent down and lifting up his briefcase he took out The Scotsman.

  ‘There’s something in here that might interest you.’ The newspaper was folded back. ‘The new franchise bill to give women the vote had its second reading at the House of Commons yesterday and was passed by a majority of 216.’

  ‘That’s great!’ said Willa.

  ‘Well, maybe. But it goes on to say that even its Socialist authors were doubtful about its chances of going any further as some of the MPs thought it smacked too much of the extreme feminism of the suffragettes. It was a private member’s bill. My mother supports the suffragette cause,’ he added.

  ‘So do I,’ said Willa. ‘But how are we ever to get the vote?’

  ‘My mother believes that you will, one day.’

  ‘One day,’ sighed Willa. One day the moon might turn blue or she might go to Penang and eat duck and lotus seeds.

  ‘My mother says it’s only a matter of time and keeping up the pressure. She says the tide turned for women with the war.’

  ‘She sounds a strong person, your mother?’

  ‘Oh, she is. She never gives up if she thinks something is worth fighting for.’ Richard spoke with pride. ‘She went out on a demonstration to support the miners. I went with her. Their conditions are deplorable. Did you know that one in six is involved in an accident every year? It’s absolutely disgraceful, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ agreed Willa, feeling that she, like Richard’s mother, should be doing something about it.

  She picked up the menu to put it in her bag.

  ‘It makes you think it might be worth joining the Navy,’ said Richard, pointing at the menu.

  ‘To get a Chinese meal?’

  They laughed.

  ‘You’re not really considering the Navy, are you?’ said Willa, though if Richard were to join he would probably start off as a commissioned officer, not as an able seaman, the way Tommy had. She would miss her chats with him if he were to go away. She’d come to depend upon him being in the library when she went in. A friendly face. A ready wave. Someone to suggest a new book. Someone to talk to, really talk to. She’d often save something up to tell Richard, something that had happened, or had crossed her mind, or she’d read in the paper and wondered what he’d think about it too. You couldn’t call her exchanges with Ina and Bunty really talking. There was no point in asking either of them what they thought about Ramsay MacDonald or what the Labour Party, now that it was in power, was going to do about unemployment.

  ‘I don’t think I’d be any use as a sailor.’ He made a wry face. ‘I got seasick going over to the Bass rock from North Berwick.’

  She laughed. ‘Anyway, you might not get to go to all those exotic places and be treated to all those banquets. This is something unusual that Tommy is on with the Special Service Squadron. A once-in-a-lifetime trip, he called it.’

  ‘I’ll have to do something. I had an interview yesterday. Junior clerk in a lawyer’s office.’ Richard shrugged. ‘The man who got it had four children. He needed it more than I did.’

  ‘That’s generous of you, thinking that way.’ Willa liked the idea that he had principles. She supposed his mother had encouraged that. She was obviously an admirable, highly principled woman, giving so much of her time to good causes; and it was nice that her son appreciated her.

  ‘My father’s managed to get a job, down in Leith, looking after a wheelwright’s books. Doesn’t pay much but it’s better than nothing.’

  ‘Not enough to let you go back to university?’

  ‘Nowhere near. I’ve got to be self-supporting.’ Richard had got some work tutoring a Heriot boy in English and Latin a couple of evenings a week but the money from that wouldn’t go far. ‘Still, never mind, something will turn up, as our friend Mr Micawber used to say!’

  They were back on happier ground, talking about books again. Willa was keeping an eye on her watch, however, mindful of the fact that she couldn’t be late every time she went to the library. Ina might start to be suspicious.

  She paid for the tea today; she insisted.

  ‘I’ll do it next time then,’ he said.

  It was pleasing to think there’d be a next time. She put the letter and menu back in her bag and he picked up his folder from the table. He’d been writing when she arrived at the library.

  ‘At least you’re getting some time for your writing,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘I’ve started a novel.’

  ‘You have! That’s fantastic! What’s it about? Or do you not want to talk about it?’ Willa had read somewhere that writers often didn’t like to talk about their work in progress. They felt it might make their ideas evaporate into thin air before they gelled.

  ‘I’d rather not. I’m not sure if it’s going to work out or not.’

  She didn’t press him.

  They accompanied each other along the road though Willa kept a bit of space between them so that if they were seen they wouldn’t appear to be actually together. He seemed to understand and didn’t try to reduce the gap. They always parted halfway down Lauriston Place now; he didn’t offer to escort her as far as the clock.

  ‘See you soon!’

  Willa walked on down the hill and met Bunty coming out of the Clydesdale Bank on the corner. She didn’t actually see her until she’d almost bumped into her.

  ‘Hey,’ said Bunty, ‘you nearly walked right into me! And me with a new pair of shoes on. Just bought them at Baird’s up the street. Grey suede. What do you think?’ She held up one foot and put a hand on Willa’s arm to steady herself.

  ‘They’re lovely.’ Willa fingered them. She often wondered how Bunty could afford so many new clothes. Ina had hinted that Mr Parkin had deep pockets. What he did to fill them was still mysterious. Bunty had said when questioned that it was something to do with money and Ina had said tartly that that was obvious, wasn’t it?

  ‘Where have you been?’ said Bunty. ‘You looked as if you were away in a dwam coming down the road there!’

  ‘I was just up at the library.’

  ‘Amazing the effect books seem to have on you, Willa!’

  ~ 7 ~

  Singapore, Malay States

  16th February, 1924

  Dear Willa,

  Singapore, the chief town of the straits, situated at the tip of the Malay Peninsula, has a population of about 350,000, 7,000 of whom are European. The island was acquired for Britain in 1819 by treaty from the ruler of Jahore.

  ‘Britain seems to have been able to snap up any country it fancied,’ said Ina.

  ‘I don’t know why they did fancy it,’ said Willa, her eyes travelling further down the page. ‘Tommy says much of the land is low lying and swampy, which means mosquitoes, and the climate’s not great. Pretty hot and steamy.’

  It was certainly not that here in Edinburgh. Her bedroom was like an ice box. There was a skein of white on the window panes in the morning. The only room that was
warm enough was the kitchen where they hugged the range from morning till night. There’d been heavy frost and snow all over the country and roads had been blocked. A man in Aberdeen had been found frozen to death by the roadside. In the midst of so much cold, Willa found it difficult to imagine steamy heat.

  ‘I hope he’s not got another of those heat rashes,’ said Ina.

  Willa read on before her mother-in-law could start worrying about mosquitoes as well.

  It is a regular port of call for liners and a host of smaller craft collect the produce of the east and store it here. A great argument is in force as to whether it should become a great naval base with the view of protection of our colonies as Singapore is in a good position to guard Australia in particular.

  ‘What would they be wanting to protect Australia for?’ asked Ina.

  ‘They must think it could be invaded.’

  ‘Who by?’

  Willa shrugged.

  Personally I hope it does not for climactic reasons. I would not like to be stationed here. It has rained continuously since our arrival. Crocodiles lurk in the swamps. After killing their prey, whether man or beast, they do not eat the meat fresh but hide it away until it has gone rotten. You can buy stuffed crocodiles but I doubt if Mother would like one in her kitchen grinning at her.

  ‘The very idea!’ Ina shook her head. ‘Well, I don’t know – first, sharks, now, crocodiles. They’d be safer staying on the ship.’

  ‘But think of the fun they’d miss,’ said Willa.

  There is a famous hotel here called ‘Raffles’, favoured by those travelling in the East. Bill and I went in but as soon as we saw the prices we skedaddled. We went on an interesting motor run round the island. Some of the Jap and Chink houses were very nice with beautifully carved furniture but others were filthy beyond description. All kinds of races live here, the yellow predominating. There are many curios for sale, such as Chinese brass gods and tea sets. After much haggling I bought a bamboo and ivory mah-jong set. Lovely stuff, ivory. Nice to handle.