Dragon Land (2 page)

I would have liked Mum to get out for some fresh air, but it was far too cold. Also there was the difficulty of trying to get her downstairs. Up till a few weeks ago she had been able to negotiate the stairs slowly, but not any more. I realised sadly that her illness was getting worse.

Dr Bennett had been my grandparents’ doctor, but Mum and I knew him well. He had a surgery in his house in Constitution Terrace where we would go any time we needed treatment, but now he came every week to see us.

He had been frank with me about the tumour in her breast, but Mum, in her usual mode of denial and general vagueness, had dismissed his diagnosis.

‘That’s rubbish,’ she said, waving her white hands in a fluttery motion that was typical of her attitude to anything unpleasant.

Sadly it wasn’t rubbish. I could see her life slowly going downhill and I didn’t know how to cope with her denial.

Dr Bennett arrived a few days after I gave up work. He was well wrapped up from the cold. In his early sixties, he was a tall, thin man with a grey beard and a cheery manner. I always thought he looked more like a stage actor than a doctor.

He sat by the side of Mum’s bed and opened his black bag. ‘How are you today, Mrs Flint?’

Mum denied there was anything wrong with her and asked when she could get up and go back to work.

He jollied her along. ‘Not for a wee while.’ He looked out of the window. ‘Anyway, it’s not the kind of weather to be outdoors. No, you mark my words, Mrs Flint, you’re better off inside the cosy house than traipsing through the snow.’ He closed his bag and refused a cup of tea. ‘I’ve another three patients to see, Lizzie, so I’d better get a move on. There are a lot of influenza cases going about.’

I saw him to the door and he stood on the landing. ‘Your mother isn’t in any pain at the moment, but when she is I’ll be able to give her something to relieve it.’ He saw my worried face and he took my hand. ‘Just keep her warm and comfortable and I’ll be back in a few days to see her.’

My stomach was churning as I went back inside. Just as the clock chimed twelve o’clock, Mum propped herself up on her pillows. ‘He says I’ve got influenza, Lizzie, so it won’t be long till I’m on my feet again.’

I had to turn away in case my face betrayed the emotions that were somersaulting through my head, and I went to heat up some soup for our dinner.

Mum barely touched hers, even although I tried hard to spoon more liquid into her mouth. ‘I’ve had enough, Lizzie. I’m not really hungry.’ She picked up the book lying on her quilt. ‘I’ve finished this story. Can you go down to the library for another book, Lizzie?’

‘Yes, I’ll go now and get something for the tea,’ I said, picking up the book, which I knew she hadn’t read.

I called in at Maisie’s house and she went to sit with Mum till I got back.

The snow had turned to a wet slush when I reached the street and it was difficult to keep away from the passing tramcars and carts as they sent sprays of icy water onto the pavement. I was grateful I had put my galoshes over my shoes as I hurried towards the library.

I loved books and always enjoyed being in the quietness of the library. After picking up a romantic-fiction book for Mum, I wandered over to the travel section and spent half an hour looking at travel books about distant countries. I chose two and carried my small bundle to the desk.

The middle-aged woman at the counter stamped them and smiled as she handed them over. ‘Isn’t it terrible weather for this time of year? What a pity we don’t live here,’ she said, pointing to one of my travel books – the one entitled
A Journey through China
.

I agreed with her and hurried out onto the windswept pavement. Before going home I decided to make a detour to Keiller’s baker’s shop to buy some cakes for tea. Mum loved fruitcakes and I smiled as I recalled Dad calling them ‘fly cemeteries’. However, he never said it to her face.

Mum was looking out the window as I approached the house, and I waved. Maisie was chatting to her as she knitted another small garment, but when I came into the room, she stood up, gathered up her needles and wool, and placed them in her roomy bag.

‘Please stay for a cup of tea, Maisie. I’ve bought some cakes.’

Mum said, ‘I hope they are fruitcakes, Lizzie.’

I laughed. ‘Yes, they are.’ I was pleased that Mum seemed more alert. Maisie also appeared glad of the opportunity to stay, but I was puzzled by a feeling the two women had changed the subject when I entered the room. But as I made the tea I decided my mind was playing tricks.

However, later Maisie confirmed my suspicion when I went with her to the door.

‘Thank you for coming in to sit with Mum, I’m really so grateful.’

‘I’m just pleased to be able to help you, Lizzie. I did think Beth was looking a bit better today and she didn’t sleep as much as she usually does.’ She hesitated. ‘There is just one thing. When you were out, Beth was looking out of the window and she said she saw your father walking up the street. When I went to look, she said he had walked past the close.’ Maisie’s round, homely face looked distressed. ‘I hope you don’t mind me mentioning it.’

Suddenly my previous feeling of hope vanished, but I didn’t want to upset our neighbour. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘You know she sometimes gets these strange feelings.’

Maisie looked relieved.

I went back into the living room. Mum was propped up on her pillows with her book, but I knew she wasn’t reading it. I sat beside her and took her hand. She laid the book down and sighed.

‘I was just saying to Maisie that you’re looking a lot better today.’

She waved her hand as if annoyed. ‘I’m not ill, Lizzie, it’s just a bad bout of influenza.’

I wasn’t going to be fobbed off. ‘Maisie said you enjoyed looking out of the window.’

Mum nodded, but I could see a flash of evasiveness in her eyes as she turned her head away.

‘She said you thought you saw someone you knew walking up the street.’

Suddenly she turned and glared at me. ‘Well, I didn’t mention it because I know it annoys you. I saw your father, but he passed the close and didn’t come in.’ She sounded vexed and tearful and I was annoyed with myself for bringing up this painful subject, but before I could go on, she said, ‘I know you and Granny always thought I was mad whenever I mentioned that your dad hadn’t died in the war so now I don’t tell you any more.’

She lay back on the pillows and turned her head away from me. I couldn’t bear seeing her so distressed. Although I didn’t believe it, I said, ‘If Dad’s still alive, then he will come back to us.’

Her eyes were bright as she turned to face me. ‘Yes, he will, and one day he’ll walk back through the door. I think he has amnesia and one day his mind will clear and he’ll remember us and come home.’

I stroked her hand. ‘Yes, of course he will.’

I hated lying to her, but I couldn’t bear to make her face up to the truth about my father. Before she died, my granny had tried to make her accept his death but hadn’t succeeded and I knew I couldn’t make her see sense.

Later, I lay awake with the glow from the fire making patterns on the wall and I recalled the sadness from the past.

The telegram arrived on my sixth birthday, in August 1917. I was almost bursting with excitement because Mum had arranged a small party for some of my school friends, so much so that I had received several warnings from her about the noise I was making.

‘If you don’t behave, Lizzie, I will cancel your party.’

Prophetic words, although we didn’t know it then.

I was wearing my new dress, a present from my granny Flint, and a new pair of shoes. I ran to Mum’s bedroom to admire myself in the triple mirror of her oak dressing table, looking at myself from three angles before brushing my dark curly hair with her hairbrush. I had my own brush, but I knew she wouldn’t mind me using hers because it was my special day.

We lived one stair up at 10 Garland Place, almost next door to Barrack Park, where Mum had promised to take me after my party. I was so happy I felt I would combust with joy.

The doorbell rang. Mum looked a bit annoyed as she looked at the clock. ‘I hope it’s not one of your small pals arriving early. I haven’t finished putting the candles on your cake.’

She went to the door and I followed, eager to see who had arrived, fully expecting to see my friend Emily, who still couldn’t tell the time, even though Miss Price, our teacher at Rosebank School, was always trying to drum numbers into our lethargic brains.

But it wasn’t Emily. A young telegram boy stood on the doorstep. He looked unhappy as he handed over the telegram. Mum took one look at it and she slumped to the ground with a sound I had never heard before, a cross between a howl of rage and a scream.

Paralysed with fright, I could only stand and stare. The telegram boy ran to help her, while Mrs Murphy from next door came out to investigate the noise.

‘Oh dear Mary, Mother of God,’ she said as she tried to help my mother into the room that held all the party food on the gateleg table. ‘Please sit down, Mrs Flint, please.’

Mum held up the telegram, while the young lad looked sad. ‘It’s Peter, Mrs Murphy. He’s been injured, I know it.’

Although Mrs Murphy tried to placate her, both women knew there were hundreds of households in the city that had received telegrams with bad news from the Western Front. Mum tried to open the flimsy letter, but her hands were shaking so badly that she handed it over to Mrs Murphy. ‘Please read it for me.’

Mrs Murphy was uncertain, but she was saved from this awful task by the arrival of my granny Flint, with Emily and her mother, Mrs Whyte, following behind her. My friend was clutching a small box in her hands. Emily’s mother quickly took in the situation and came over to my side, as Emily’s small voice piped up, ‘What’s the matter, Mummy?’

Meanwhile, I hadn’t moved an inch. I could feel the sharp corner of the hallstand dig painfully into my back

‘Come with us, Lizzie,’ Mrs Whyte said. ‘You can play with Emily in our house.’ She glanced at the women and Granny nodded to her.

I was putting my coat on when I heard Mum crying again, huge deep sobs that made me want to run to her and cuddle her, but Mrs Whyte ushered us out through the front door, with Emily still asking what was wrong.

‘Is Lizzie not having a birthday party, Mummy?’

Mrs Whyte said no, not today, but maybe it would take place some other time.

Because Emily was hanging back and asking questions, I heard Granny Flint say, ‘… Regret to tell you Private Peter Flint is missing in action.’

I rushed back into the room, almost colliding with the telegram boy, who was making his way out.

Mrs Murphy was crying and Granny Flint was holding a glass of water. My mother had fainted and lay motionless on the floor. I tried to run to her side, but Mrs Whyte quickly took my hand. ‘Come with us, Lizzie.’

I let myself be guided down the stairs and out through the close, into the sunshine. The park was busy with people out for a stroll on such a lovely day and I remember thinking that we wouldn’t be going to the swings after the party.

Emily lived around the corner from us, on Constitution Road, and normally I loved going to her house, which I often did after school. I liked the cosy, untidy kitchen and Emily’s bedroom with her doll’s house and the pram with the two dolls, but not today. I felt bewildered and frightened by this unexpected turn of events.

I knew my father had enlisted in the army earlier that year, but I knew little about war or what was being fought for in France and Belgium. When I had asked Mum about it, she said he would be home soon and that we weren’t to worry. I had believed her with that childish faith that children have in their parents knowing what is right and wrong.

Mrs Whyte ushered us both into Emily’s room. ‘Now, go and play with the toys while I make the tea.’

Emily began to arrange the furniture in the doll’s house, but I stood beside the door, feeling, for the first time, like a stranger. Suddenly Emily turned.

‘Is your daddy dead, Lizzie?’

I burst into tears, loud sobs that soaked my face and the neck of my new frock. Mrs Whyte came in and took her daughter out into the lobby.

‘I want you to behave, Emily, and not upset Lizzie. Do you hear me?’ She looked angry and Emily nodded. ‘If you don’t do as I say, you will go to bed without your tea.’

Emily appeared back in the room and, without looking at me, went over to the pram, where she began to sing to the two dolls: ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’. This was one of our favourite hymns, which we sang in the school. Meanwhile, I silently wondered what had happened to my golden day, which had begun with such joy and promise.

Later, we had beans on toast, sitting at the large kitchen table with its bright checked oilskin cover, which Mrs Whyte cheerfully wiped over with a soapy cloth. It was so unlike our white starched cover at home. Still, Mum always placed a large mat in front of me, which meant it didn’t matter if I spilled some gravy from my mince or custard from my pudding.

After tea, we sat on the squashy settee and read Emily’s books until her father appeared from his work. A tall, well-built man with short hair and a ruddy face, he was the foreman at a boilermaker’s factory in Dock Street.

Emily jumped up. ‘Daddy, Lizzie …’

Mrs Whyte ushered us back into the bedroom. Although still bewildered, I knew I had to find out what had happened. I went back and stood outside the kitchen door.

‘Oh, it’s terrible news, Albert. Peter Flint is missing in action. Beth got the telegram this afternoon and she’s in a terrible state. Lizzie’s granny is there, along with Bridget Murphy, and they’ve sent for the doctor.’

Albert’s voice was angry. ‘This bloody war, Jean, has a lot to answer for.’

‘Don’t swear, Albert, the girls will hear you.’

‘Well, it is carnage. Look at the hundreds of people in this city alone who have received telegrams about their husbands, sons and brothers. We had eight young lads who worked with me who all joined up at the start of this war and they’ve all been killed. Then there were a dozen others from the foundry who all perished at Loos.’