Dragon Land (23 page)

‘The house in Garland Place where we stayed was my grandfather’s house? I didn’t know that.’

‘There was a lot of things your Mum hid away, one of them being this wedding photo.’

‘Well, it’s not going to be hidden away any longer: I’m going to buy a picture frame for it and put it beside my bed. After all, Dad was taken away from us when I was six, so I want to have this to remind me of you all.’

Margaret stood up and went over to the sideboard. ‘I never usually have more then one gin and tonic, but I’ll make an exception tonight. It’s looking back on all these memories that’s so sad.’

I looked at the photo again. It was obviously taken in a studio because they all looked so formal, standing beside a potted palm with a misty background of hills. ‘Who is the best man?’

Margaret put on her spectacles again. ‘I can’t remember his name, but he was one of Peter’s tennis-club friends. What I do recall, however, is the slight feeling of envy I felt when Beth married such a lovely, handsome man. But I was pleased for them, as they were so much in love.’

‘Were you married to Gerald when the photo was taken?’

‘No, I met Gerald a year later at a dinner party in Edinburgh. At the time I was headmistress of a private school for girls. We liked one another right away. He had just returned from Belgrade, where he was with the British Diplomatic Service, and he told me his next posting was to Rio de Janeiro. A few weeks later I mentioned to him how much I had wanted to visit Rio, and soon after he proposed to me. I accepted and we both sailed off for South America.’ She turned the page of the album. ‘This is Gerald.’

He was standing in front of a building, looking so upright and distinguished, with dark, swept-back hair and with a serious expression on his face, which no doubt was the usual expression of a diplomat.

Margaret showed me more pictures taken in Rio and he looked the same in every one. I didn’t want to comment on this, but she laughed. ‘Gerald’s face never changes, no matter what the circumstances are. I used to tell him that even if he was in a custard-pie fight with Charlie Chaplin he would just look like he was sucking a lemon.’

She had such a fond look on her face when she said this that I said, ‘You’ll be glad when he comes here to stay.’

‘Yes, I will, but I sometimes think he’ll never want to settle down with his slippers and pipe. He was born in India, where his father worked for the British government. He was sent back to Scotland for his schooling and he spent his holidays with his maternal granny in North Berwick. However, he loves living abroad and I can’t see him being happy settling down here, although he said that’s what he wanted.’ She closed the album. ‘That’s enough memories for tonight, I think.’

She looked so sad that I suddenly felt sorry for her.

The next day I went into the town and bought two picture frames from the small gift shop on the high street. I put the wedding photo in the larger one and the photo of Dad with his swimming trophy in the other. As I placed them next to my bed, I felt so happy looking at them, and I had a warm feeling that maybe I was in the wedding photo as well – that is if the rumour was true about Mum’s pregnancy

It was in September when the stonemason added Mum’s name to the gravestone. It said ‘Beth Flint, daughter of the above Eliza and William, born 1890 died 1932’.

As we walked away after leaving more roses on the grave, I said to Margaret, ‘I hope she is with my dad now.’ I had mentioned Mum’s cry at the end of her life, and Margaret had said that a lot of people believed in an afterlife and that she had witnessed scenes like this in Rio and Lisbon.

I hoped there was an afterlife and that Mum and Dad were now reunited, but even if there wasn’t one, at least she was at peace.

Margaret gave a backward glance at the stone. ‘What we should have had inscribed is “A Victim of the Great War” because it’s not just the men on the battlefield who die but also their loved ones. I know I’ve said it before, but there is never a truer word. It’s a different kind of death from being blown up with a mortar shell, but dying of a broken heart is every bit as fatal …’

October started with an autumnal storm. The rain battered against the windows and the sea was rough, with huge waves pounding on the beach. I was so restless in the weeks following Mum’s death, but I knew I had to go back to work or I would go mad.

Margaret had made quite a lot of friends in the town and she was often out visiting them or having a coffee with them in the small café on the high street. She did ask me to come with her, but to be honest I didn’t feel like company or indulging in the local gossip. As we were having breakfast one morning, I said, ‘I’ll have to go back to Dundee and try to get another teaching job, Margaret.’

She poured out another cup of tea and nodded. ‘Yes, I think it’s time for you to get back into the routine again, Lizzie.’

‘I’ll stay at Victoria Road and hopefully there will be a job in some school. Laura is still at Tay Street and Pat at Hill Street. It would be great if there was an opening at either of them for me.’

Margaret looked thoughtful as she took a letter from her pocket. ‘I got this letter the other day from two of my ex-colleagues from Edinburgh. Marie Macbeth and Sandy McFarlane now run a school in Hong Kong and they have a teacher called Jean who’s planning on coming back to Scotland at the Christmas term.’ She looked at me over the top of her spectacles. ‘Would you be interested in going there? It’s mostly British pupils in the school, but there are also some Chinese students.’

I almost choked on my toast, and after I had stopped coughing, I said, ‘Hong Kong?’

Margaret nodded. ‘Well, you always said you wanted to be a pirate or an explorer, and although at Marie’s school you’d be neither, at least you’ll be in a different country. Just like your travel books from the library.’

Hong Kong! After getting over the shock, I was beginning to like the idea.

‘I haven’t been teaching for very long, though, and maybe they want someone with more experience.’

Margaret was pragmatic. ‘No, I don’t think they do. You’ll probably get experience as you go along, and Marie will help you, as will Sandy.’

‘I’ll think about it, Margaret.’

Margaret went back to reading her newspaper and said, ‘That’s fine, Lizzie.’

That night in bed my mind was in a turmoil over my future, and the more I thought about Hong Kong the more I liked the idea. Next morning I said I was interested in going abroad, and Margaret said she would write a letter and get it posted that morning.

We were well and truly into autumn now, and the garden, which had been such a joy during the summer, was looking windblown, with just a few hardy flowers still blooming. I was full of nervous tension, wondering if the job was still vacant. What if Marie Macbeth advertised locally for a new teacher? Margaret had told me Britain had leased the island from China and it had a cosmopolitan population, so no doubt there must be teachers living there.

I had almost given up hope about hearing when the postman delivered the letters one dark and rainy November morning and I saw the airmail letter with the foreign stamp. I took them through to Margaret and she held up the letter.

‘
Voilà
,’ she said. ‘Greetings from Hong Kong.’

I held my breath as she slit the top of the envelope with her silver-handled letter opener.

‘I’ll not keep you in suspense, Lizzie. Marie says you’ll make an excellent teacher and you can travel out when it suits you.’

Now that I knew I had the job, I was suddenly filled with nervousness. Margaret noticed this. ‘You’ll be fine, Lizzie, so stop worrying.’

‘I’m not worried,’ I said. Then, looking down at my hands, I noticed I had twisted the corner of the tablecloth so tightly that it now lay curled up in an untidy ball.

Margaret laughed. ‘Oh yes, I can see you’re not worried, but the poor tablecloth has other ideas.’

It was then arranged that I should travel to Hong Kong as quickly as possible, but first I had to get a passport and have inoculations against foul-sounding diseases. I seemed to spend the following weeks in a blur of activity, but then everything was arranged. I had my passport and passage on a ship from the P&O shipping line, plus all my medical checks.

A few days before leaving I met up with Laura and Pat, and we went out for our tea to Franchi’s tearoom in the Overgate.

Laura sounded unsure about my new job. ‘I hope you’re not going into the white slave trade, Lizzie.’

I laughed. ‘Don’t be daft, Laura. The teachers at the school are Margaret’s ex-colleagues, and anyway, I think I can look after myself.’

Pat remained silent, but as we were leaving, she said, ‘Laura’s right to be worried, Lizzie. After all, you’re heading for the Orient, and none of us know anything about the Far East except what we’ve read in the geography books.’

I said I would be fine and that if anything was not as it should be then I would come straight home.

We said goodbye at the train station, promising to write often to each other, but as the train drew away from the platform I suddenly felt a pang of wanting to cling on to the tried and trusted. Margaret was waiting up for me with hot cocoa, and as I went off to bed the nervousness returned. I didn’t want to leave Margaret or Scotland behind, but I was committed and there was no way back.

I broached the subject of not leaving the next morning. ‘Margaret, I really don’t want to leave you here by yourself. I can easily cancel all the arrangements.’

She was adamant that I should leave. ‘Gerald will be coming back soon, so I won’t be on my own. Just go, and if you don’t like it then you can always come back here.’

When I made up my mind to go abroad, I had suggested to Margaret that I should give up the house in Victoria Road. ‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’ I asked.

She gave this some thought. ‘Yes, I think you should. After all, when Gerald and I aren’t here any longer this house will be yours.’

‘Oh Margaret, don’t speak like that, not when I’m going a thousand miles away from you.’

‘Well, these things happen, Lizzie. I just want you to know you will be well provided for.’

I almost burst into tears when she said that.

It didn’t take too long to give the house up. It was rented so I didn’t need to put it up for sale, and Margaret took most of the furniture to Carnoustie, which pleased me, as I didn’t like the idea of Granny’s things going to strangers. I asked Maisie to come and take what she wanted. She said she’d always loved Granny’s Lloyd Loom wicker chair and ottoman, and along with household items we carried them into her flat.

Maisie cried when I said goodbye. ‘I remember you coming to stay here all those years ago when you were a wee lassie. I felt so sorry for your poor mother, God rest her soul.’

‘I’ll write to you, Maisie, and give you all my news, and maybe I’ll not be away too long.’

After she left I gazed around the empty room, remembering how sad Mum and I had been on coming to stay here. I knew Granny had been good to us, and even if Mum had never really forgiven her, I do know she had done her best for us, and in her own way had spent her life making up for the cruel things said about my birth.

The noise from the street filtered up into the room, and for a moment I was filled with such sadness at the memories. I then turned and walked out, locking the door and leaving my childhood behind.

My last two visits were to the Balgay and Eastern cemeteries. I carried two bunches of chrysanthemums to lay on both graves, and I stood in the cold November chill and said my goodbyes to the two most important people in my life.

Margaret was waiting at home when I arrived back, but she didn’t need to ask me where I had been. She saw it in my face. She had given me one of her large travelling cases and all my clothes were already packed. I had placed my passport and essential documents in my money belt, the one I had bought to go on the cycling holiday, which seemed so long ago now.

When Mum died, I had wanted her to be buried with the gold bangle that Margaret had given her, but my aunt had persuaded me to keep it. ‘If you ever go abroad, gold is the same as having money, Lizzie. Keep it safe, along with your own bangle, and I’ll feel happier knowing you have something to fall back on should you need it.’

So both bangles were also now in my money belt. I couldn’t believe how quickly the time had gone, and it was now my day of departure. Margaret had booked me on the sleeper train to London and I would take a taxi to the dock, where I would board the ship.

It was a typically drizzly November evening when I left the house. Margaret came with me as far as Dundee. She had originally wanted to come to London with me, but she had developed a bad cold a few days earlier, so I told her it wouldn’t be wise to travel and she reluctantly agreed.

We had to get from the East Station to the Tay Bridge Station to catch the sleeper, but Margaret had organised a taxi to be waiting for us, so it only took a few minutes to travel the length of Dock Street. For a brief moment as we stood on the platform, I suddenly got cold feet and decided I wanted to stay.

Margaret said not to be foolish. ‘You must go and live your own life, Lizzie. If you’re unhappy in Hong Kong, then do come home, but if you stay here you will regret it all your life.’

I held onto her as the train drew in and didn’t want to let go. She pulled my arms away from her and she gently pushed me onto the train. ‘Now mind and write to me often, as I want to hear how you are. Will you promise me?’

The guard blew his whistle as I called out, ‘I’ll write every week, Margaret. Thank you for everything.’

The steward took my case to my sleeping quarters, where I sat down and cried. ‘What have I let myself in for?’ I said quietly through my tears. Once in bed, however, the rocking of the train soon sent me to sleep, and the next thing I remembered was the steward bringing me my morning cup of tea.

‘We’re just coming into London, Miss.’

For a minute I couldn’t think where I was; then the full realisation struck me as I stumbled out of the berth and had a quick wash just as we pulled into the station. A porter took my case to the waiting taxi, and I looked out onto the foggy London streets as we sped across the city towards the docks.