by Joan Lingard
Bunty rolled her eyes. ‘Maybe it is time I was getting along. Anything else of interest?’
Willa shook her head. ‘They’re to be there for fourteen days, the longest stay of the cruise.’
Plenty of time to go dancing with a Canadian girl in a smart frock several times over and wander hand-in-hand at night through the dark streets. Willa felt an ache, an overwhelming desire to see and touch Richard, to smell his scent, feel the shape of his body against hers. She and Pauline had talked about going to the pictures that evening but if they did she didn’t see how she could abandon Pauline to go off with him. It was all right for Tommy wandering freely through the pleasure grounds of the world, far away from wife, mother and child. He usually ended his letters saying that he hoped Malcolm was getting on fine and he was looking forward to seeing his big boy in October. They’d have fun together! They’d play footer on the Meadows. He seemed to be unaware that Malcolm couldn’t walk yet.
And then, well, naturally, he would send Mother his love.
‘He says next stop is Frisco!’ said Willa.
We expect to have a whale of a time in that fair city! The boys have been looking forward to this for weeks. Just wait till we go through those Golden Gates! Wow-wee!
‘Frisco?’ said Ina.
‘San Fran,’ said Bunty, shaking her head at her sister’s ignorance.
Ina was frowning. ‘I thought you went through the golden gates to heaven?’
‘Pearly, Ina.’
With that, Bunty left them and Willa and Pauline took Malcolm out in his pram. This had become their routine in the mornings, once the cleaning or washing and ironing was done. Since her miscarriage Pauline hadn’t been delivering Bunty’s papers or cleaning Mrs Mooney’s flat and she seemed in no hurry to resume. Her National Insurance money had run out but her dad had had a big win on the horses and given her ten pounds. She’d become even more addicted to the cinema, going three or four times a week, often to the same film, and sometimes she took Willa with her, to the decent sixpenny seats, not to the fleapit where you could get in for tuppence. They’d rather stay at home than go there. Fleas might be the least of what you would pick up. Ten pounds would buy a lot of ice creams and visits to the cinema. That was all Pauline seemed interested in now, apart from Ernest. She was worried about him and sure that if it had not been for his accident he would have been in touch.
They went to their usual café on the Morningside Road and sat in the window so that Willa could watch for Richard should he come by. He often did, knowing they would be there.
Pauline had an ice-cream sundae with tinned peaches and raspberry sauce, which Malcolm eyed covetously. He was having to make do with his usual cone.
‘You’ll be putting on weight,’ Willa told Pauline. She already was. Her skirts wouldn’t fasten.
She shrugged and dug her spoon down deep to reach the peaches.
Richard didn’t come. Well, sometimes he couldn’t, Willa understood that. His mother might want him to do something for her, such as accompany her to a bookshop and carry her heavy parcel of books home. She might find all manner of excuses to keep her son tethered to her side. Willa wondered how she managed to buy so many books when her husband wasn’t earning much. But perhaps ‘much’ meant something different to them.
On their way back down the hill Miss Piper popped out of her shop. ‘I thought it was you! I recognised the pram.’ She turned to Pauline, who was looking embarrassed. ‘How are you, dear?’ Willa thought it possible that Miss Piper would not have realised what had happened to Pauline. ‘I’m so pleased to see you out and about again.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything more about the commercial traveller? Ernest Stapleton?’
‘As a matter of fact, I have! My customer was in again yesterday and she said he was improving.’
‘That’s wonderful!’
‘Is he a friend of yours too then?’
‘I just know him a bit,’ said Pauline hurriedly. ‘Is he in hospital still?’
‘Apparently. That must be quite a few weeks he’s been there now.’
‘Did your customer say which hospital?’
‘The Infirmary, as far as I know. It probably would be, wouldn’t it, after such a bad smash?’
Continuing on down the hill Willa said, ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to try and see him in hospital. You might run into his wife.’ And four children, she wanted to add, but that would be cruel. But sometimes she thought Pauline might need a jolt to make her face up to reality and not think she was living inside a movie where, in the end, the lovers would come together and live happily ever after.
As they neared their door they saw Richard rounding the clock. He came running to meet them. Willa glanced up at the windows of their flat but Ina would doubtless be in the kitchen at the back.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Pauline. ‘Folk’ll think he’s with me. After all, I’m free. Ha, ha.’
‘I’m glad I caught you!’ Richard was out of breath. ‘Can I speak to you for a minute, Willa?’
‘Don’t mind me,’ said Pauline. ‘I’ll walk on with Malcolm.’
She took hold of the pram. Malcolm was well used to her by now and raised no protest. Willa and Richard went round the corner.
‘Could you get away this evening?’ he asked urgently.
‘I said I’d go to the pictures with Pauline. You could come and sit beside us, I suppose.’ They could hold hands. It would be better than nothing. Many things were, but they were not enough.
‘I’ve got something better to propose! My parents have gone on holiday, to Arran. They went this morning. I’ve just seen them off at Waverley. They’re to be away for a week, a whole week. Willa, we could have the place to ourselves! Wouldn’t you like us to spend a whole evening together, inside, where nobody could see us?’
‘Of course I would.’ She trembled at the thought.
‘Well then?’
‘I’ll talk to Pauline.’
‘She owes you a few favours, doesn’t she?’
He waited while Willa went back to Pauline, who straightaway said, ‘That’s fine by me. We’ll just tell Ina we’re off to the flicks and we can come back in together. She’ll never know the difference.’
Unless some busybody should happen to be there too. But Elma didn’t often go to the pictures, not to ones featuring glamorous men like Valentino or Fairbanks. She found most films distasteful. The cinema, as she saw it, was a place of temptation, a way of putting ideas into young girls’ heads. Some of the love scenes went too far, showing a man and a woman glued together on a sofa kissing passionately. They should fade long before they did.
Willa walked down Lothian Road to the Caley Cinema with Pauline, then she quickly crossed the road and took a detour round the back streets to emerge onto Lauriston Place.
As soon as she pulled the bell Richard came cascading down the stairs. He seized her hand and they ran up to the first floor together. He took her inside, closed the door and kissed her. And then they went into his room. She felt suddenly shy. All their courtship, for that was how she saw it, had taken place out of doors, with both of them half dressed. Now, suddenly, she was in a room with him, bounded by four walls, without the need for secrecy. No one could spy on them here. It was as if they were alone together for the first time.
She wandered round the room studying the books on his shelves and the pictures on his walls. He came up behind her and enfolded her in his arms.
‘I love you,’ he whispered into her ear.
‘I love you too,’ she said, turning to look him full in the face. It is true, she thought; I know it now for sure.
He had only a single bed but she was glad he did not try to take her to his parent’s bigger, matrimonial one. This bed was wide enough for them and Arabella Fitzwilliam would never have lain here. He pulled her down onto it.
The telephone rang somewhere in the nether regions of the flat. Hearing it, she smiled, thinking it might be Richard’s mot
her who, for once, could not come between them. Nothing could. Their lovemaking was feverish to begin with but as the evening light began to dwindle they realised that it need not be, for they had all the time in the world. Or so it seemed. From time to time the telephone rang but they heard it as if it were ringing in some far-off place on the other side of the world.
~ 19 ~
San Francisco, California
11th July, 1924
Dear Willa,
Frisco, at last! Whoopee! You’ d absolutely love it. We all do. We could stay here for ever. An aeroplane dropped a beautiful floral lley on the Hood on the opening of the Golden Gate, along with the following message:
‘This floral lley is a symbol of welcome to the Special Service Squadron and the city is at the disposal of the British Fleet.’
‘The whole city?’ said Ina. ‘At their disposal?’
‘Jings,’ said Bunty.
‘He sounds awfy excited,’ said Ina.
‘I hope it’s all it’s cried up to be,’ said Bunty. ‘San Francisco here I come…’
And so we passed through the Golden Gate and anchored in a large bay. There were a number of US ships already berthed there, among them the USS Mississippi, which 17 days earlier had had a big gun accident on board, with two men being killed. We sent a wreath and a message of condolence.
‘That was nice of them,’ said Ina. ‘But a big gun accident?’
‘I’m sure they’re more careful on Tommy’s ship,’ said Willa.
‘They seem to be doing all right,’ put in Bunty. ‘They haven’t had anybody eaten by a shark either, not so far.’
Tommy had written pages about San Francisco and Willa began to think that he might have made a career as a journalist after all. Sometimes she thought he was writing as if he had the Evening News in mind.
Ocean Beach, with three miles of sandy beach, is very fine, rivalling the Golden Gate Park in its popularity with Franciscans and visitors. High above the northern end is Cliff House where millionaires of mining days, kings and lords have wined and dined and watched the sea lions at play.
How was it that everywhere else in the world, Willa wondered, seemed to be built around leisure and pleasure? How would one not want to go and live in America or Canada or Australia? Why would anyone want to stay in a place where the streets were grey and the tenements were grey and even the sky was grey a lot of the time?
Golden Gate Park itself is truly wonderful, with seventeen miles of driveways bordered by flowers and shady trees. Lake Stow, which circles around Strawberry Hill, is spanned by picturesque stone bridges and studded with small islands. The park also embraces the Japanese Tea Gardens where one can have tea amongst surroundings of dense greenery and lily ponds containing fat goldfish accompanied by the haunting odours of flowers of Japan: climbing wisteria, petalled iris and pink and white cherry blossoms. We drank tea under shady trees served by dainty Nippon maidens attired in satin kimonos patterned with brighter flowers than grow in any garden.
Surely some of that had come out of a book, thought Willa. Haunting odours of flowers…
‘It would be a real treat to get your tea served like that,’ said Ina wistfully.
‘By a dainty Nippon lady?’ said Bunty.
‘Who are they anyway?’ asked Ina.
‘Japanese,’ said Willa.
The bell rang and Pauline got up to go and let the caller in.
‘If it’s Mrs Begg tell her we’re busy,’ Ina called after her.
‘That wouldn’t stop her,’ said Bunty. ‘Say we’ve got the plague.’
Pauline came back with Elma.
‘Sit yourself down, Elma,’ said Ina. ‘Willa’s reading to us about Frisco.’
‘Frisco?’
‘Tommy’s been having tea with dainty Nippon maidens,’ said Bunty.
‘What on earth…?
‘Shush,’ said Ina.
On Wednesday, July 9th, a dance and reception was held at the very fine Civic Auditorium for about 10,000 people, 6,000 of whom were seated in the gallery and the remaining 4,000 on the floor, with 3 bands in attendance, so that there was continuous dancing.
‘You can be sure Tommy was on the flair all evening,’ said Bunty.
‘I don’t know why you should say that,’ said his mother.
‘Can you see him sitting in the gallery?’
‘You must be joking,’ said Pauline, which earned her a frosty look from Ina, in spite of which she went on to say, ‘No show without Punch.’
On Thursday, July 10th, 1,200 petty officers (myself among them) and men were entertained in Oakland across the Bay. After crossing by ferry we were met by a cavalcade of 500 motor cars waiting to drive us around. The streets were lined with people, everyone in great spirits and wishing us well. We were lustily cheered, which was very nice, considering the US does not belong to us.
‘More’s the pity,’ said Bunty.
‘Who does it belong to?’ asked Elma.
‘Themselves,’ said Willa.
‘Fancy, lusty cheers,’ said Bunty. ‘Tommy’ll be coming back thinking he’s the next best thing to Valentino,’
‘What’s it all about anyway?’ asked Elma. ‘What are the people cheering for?’
‘They’re welcoming the British Special Service Squadron,’ said Ina scornfully. ‘You ken fine Tommy’s serving with it. You seem to have left your brains in bed this morning, Elma.’
We visited Berkeley University, one of the largest in the world, so we were told, occupying a site which slopes gradually down towards the high hills and commands an excellent view of the Golden Gates. An hour and a half’s drive brought us to the house of our hosts where an excellent dinner was served and after that we went to a dance in a civic hall which had an excellent floor and could accommodate 2,000 dancers.
‘They seem to do everything in large numbers,’ observed Bunty.
‘It’s a big country,’ said Willa, thinking of the hard lives lived on the plains of Nebraska, so different from this west coast playground or sophisticated downtown New York that she’d encountered in Edith Wharton’s novels. How could it be that this was one country?
It has been truly wonderful to spend time, however short, in the beautiful state of California.
‘Oh, well,’ said Bunty. ‘It’s all right for some.’
Willa sensed, like herself, that the others felt deflated after hearing one of Tommy’s letters read out. They seemed to say who would want to live in a dump like Edinburgh when you could enjoy such pleasures in better climes?
‘It seems a nice place, California,’ remarked Elma.
No one responded.
Willa folded up the letter, Bunty rose from her chair and Ina turned her attention back to her grandson who was amusing himself perfectly well without her. He had found a clothes peg to chew on.
Willa went through to her room and stared at the wedding photograph on the dresser showing herself and Tommy standing side by side, awkwardly posed, she in a navy-blue costume with a little navy hat with a half-veil, he rigid in his naval uniform holding his cap, po-faced, quite unlike the Tommy she’d met in the Palace ballroom. There was no life in that face. Or in hers, either. Willa thought that he looked bleak, as if he had been dragooned, dragged into this against his will, yet he had wanted to marry her. Or so he’d said. But had he?
She turned as Pauline came in.
‘Will you chum me up to the Infirmary this afternoon, Willa? I’m feart to go alone.’
Willa was about to ask if this was wise but desisted. She feared it would be a mistake but recognised that Pauline would have to go.
They told Ina they were going to see a friend of Pauline’s in the Infirmary at the afternoon visiting hour. Ina was not particularly interested. She was absorbed by her grandson.
‘She’s fair gone on that child,’ said Pauline, as they set forth. ‘She dotes on him.’
‘I know,’ said Willa gloomily.
‘I don’t know how you stand it.’
�
�Neither do I.’
Approaching Richard’s door Willa felt a quickening of excitement, but there was no sign of him. They had had a wonderful week, a week to remember, while his parents were away. She had gone there every day at some time or other and they had shut the rest of the world out. What they had together was too much to lose, Richard had said.
‘Will you see him today?’ asked Pauline.
‘Probably later.’
If they didn’t meet during the day he would come and stand on the pavement across the street in the evening and she would find an excuse to go out so that they could at least spend a few minutes together. He said that he couldn’t sleep at night unless he had seen her.
A swarm of people was moving through the Infirmary gates, anxious to arrive for the start of visiting hour. They joined it and went first to Reception where Pauline, after clearing her throat a couple of times, managed to ask which ward Mr Ernest Stapleton was in.
‘Are you relatives?’
‘No, just friends. Close friends.’
‘You’ll need to speak to Sister.’ She told them the number of the ward.
They made their way up the stairs and Willa said it might be better not to speak to Sister. They found a nurse instead. She was coming out of the ward carrying a covered bedpan.
‘We were hoping to see Mr Stapleton,’ said Pauline.
‘He’s got someone in with him.’
‘Is it his wife?’ asked Willa.
‘Oh, no, I don’t think he’s married. I’m pretty sure he’s not.’
‘He’s not?’ cried Pauline.
Willa saw that Pauline was about to jump for joy and put a hand on her arm, fearing her exhilaration might be misplaced.
‘No, he’s got a lady friend in with him.’
‘Maybe it’s his sister?’ said Willa.
