‘A little house of your own!’ It was a charming prospect. ‘Oh, do get one in the country. And then I could come and stay with you there.’
‘If you want.’
‘I'll always want.’
‘No. That's the funny thing. You mightn't. At your age, everything changes so quickly, and yet a year can seem like a lifetime. I remember. And you'll make new friends; want different things. And in your case, it's even more important, because you're going to have to make your own decisions and make up your mind about what you want to do. You won't have your mother around, and although you're bound to feel a bit bereft and lonely, in a way, it's a good thing. I'd have given the world to be shed of my parents when I was fourteen, fifteen. As it was,’ she added with some satisfaction, ‘I didn't do too badly, but that was because I took matters into my own hands.’
‘It's not very easy to take matters into your own hands when you're at boarding-school,’ Judith pointed out. She thought Aunt Biddy was making it all sound far too easy.
‘I think you must learn to precipitate situations, not be passive and simply let them happen to you. You must learn to be selective, about the friends you make and the books you read. An independence of spirit, I suppose that's what I'm talking about.’ She smiled. ‘George Bernard Shaw said that youth is wasted on the young. It's only when you get to be old that you begin to understand what he was talking about.’
‘You're not old.’
‘Maybe. But I'm certainly no longer a spring chicken.’
Judith popped a bit of sausage into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, ruminating over Aunt Biddy's advice. ‘What I really hate,’ she admitted at last, ‘is being treated as though I were the same age as Jess. I'm never asked about things, or told about things. If I hadn't heard you shouting at each other, I should never have known that you'd asked me to stay with you. She would never have told me.’
‘I know. It must be maddening. And I think you've got a genuine grievance. But you mustn't be too hard on your mother just now. At the moment, she's in a state of upheaval, and who can blame her if she does start twittering around like a wet hen?’ She laughed, and was rewarded by the beginnings of a smile. ‘Between you and me, I think she's rather in awe of Louise.’
‘I know she is.’
‘And you?’
‘I'm not frightened of her.’
‘Good girl.’
‘You know, Aunt Biddy, I've really loved staying with you. I won't ever forget it.’
Biddy was touched. ‘We've liked having you. Bob in particular. He said to say goodbye. He was sorry not to see you. Now…’ She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘I can hear your mother and Jess on their way downstairs. Eat your breakfast and pretend we haven't been having a heart-to-heart. And remember, keep your spirits up. Now, I must go and put some clothes on…’
But before she reached the door, Molly and Jess had come into the room, Jess now dressed in a little smock and white socks, and with her silky curls smoothed by a hairbrush. Biddy paused to drop an airy kiss onto Molly's cheek. ‘Don't bother about a thing,’ she told her sister, which was the nearest she could get to an apology, and then she was gone, running up the stairs to the sanctuary of her bedroom.
And so the quarrel was swept away, under the carpet, and the day progressed. Judith was so relieved that the air was clear between her mother and her aunt, and that no bad feeling hung about in the atmosphere, that it was only when they were actually at the station, standing on the windswept platform and waiting for the Riviera to arrive to take them back to Cornwall, that she had time to regret the absence of Uncle Bob.
It was horrid going without saying goodbye to him. It was her own fault, for being so late coming down to breakfast, but it would have been nice if he could have waited, just five minutes, and said goodbye properly. And she wanted to thank him for so much, and thanks were never the same written in a letter.
The best had been his gramophone. Despite her mother's girlhood yearnings to go on the stage and become a ballerina, neither she nor Dad were musically inclined, but those afternoons spent with Uncle Bob in his study had awakened an awareness, an appreciation the existence of which Judith had never even suspected. He owned a huge variety of records, and although she had much enjoyed the Gilbert and Sullivan songs with their witty lyrics and catchy tunes, there were others which had lifted her heart, or made her feel so poignantly sad that she could scarcely keep the tears from brimming into her eyes. Puccini arias from La Bohème, the Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto, Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet music. And, sheerest magic, Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade, the solo violin sending shivers down the spine. There was another record, by the same composer, which Uncle Bob referred to as the ‘Bum of the Flightle Bee, by Rip His Corsetsoff’, a joke which reduced Judith to paroxysms of giggles. She had no idea that a grown-up could be so funny. But one thing was certain, which was that she simply had to have a gramophone of her own, and then she could collect records, just the way Uncle Bob had, and whenever she wanted, play them and be transported, as though led by the hand, into that other and previously unimagined land. She would start saving up right away.
Her feet were frozen. She tried to stamp some life into them, marking time on the greasy platform. Aunt Biddy and Mother were chatting inconsequently, as people do, while waiting for a train. They seemed to have run out of important things to say. Jess sat on the edge of a trolley and swung her white-gaitered fat legs. She hugged her golliwog, that revolting toy she took to bed every night. Judith was sure it must be filthy, but because it had a black face it didn't show the dirt. Not only filthy, but full of germs.
And then something really good happened. Aunt Biddy stopped chattering, looked up over Mother's head, and said, in quite a different voice, ‘Oh, look. There's Bob.’
Judith's heart lifted. She swung around. Frozen feet were forgotten. And there he was, a huge unmistakable figure in his British warm, coming down the platform towards them, with his brass hat cocked, Beatty fashion, over one bristling eyebrow, and a great grin on his craggy features. Judith's feet stopped feeling cold, and she had to stand very still to keep herself from running to meet him.
‘Bob! What are you doing here?’
‘Had a moment or two to spare, decided to come and see our little party on board.’ He looked down at Judith. ‘I couldn't let you go without saying goodbye properly.’
She beamed up at him. She said, ‘I'm glad you came. I wanted to say thank you for everything. Especially for the clock.’
‘You'll have to remember to wind it.’
‘Oh, I will…’ She couldn't stop smiling.
Uncle Bob cocked his head, listening. ‘I think that's the train now.’
And indeed there was a sound — the railway lines were humming, and Judith looked and saw, around the distant curve beyond the end of the platform, the huge green-and-black steam engine surge into view, with its polished brass fixtures, its billowing plume of black smoke. Its approach was majestic and awe-inspiring as it crept alongside the platform. The engine driver, sooty-faced, leaned down from the footplate and Judith had a glimpse of the flickering flames of the boiler furnace. The massive pistons, like a giant's arms, revolved more and more slowly, until finally, with a hiss of steam, the monster stopped. It was, as always, dead on time.
A small pandemonium broke out. Doors were flung open, passengers alighted, lugging their baggage. A certain urgency prevailed, a flurry of departure. Then the porter heaved their suitcases on board and went in search of seats. Uncle Bob, with seamanlike thoroughness, followed him, just to make sure the job was done in a proper fashion. Molly, panicking slightly, lifted Jess into her arms and hopped up into the train, and had to lean down to kiss her sister goodbye.
‘You've been so kind. We've had a wonderful Christmas. Wave goodbye to Aunt Biddy, Jess.’
Jess, still clutching Golly, flapped a little white-furred paw.
Aunt Biddy turned to Judith. ‘Goodbye, dear child. You've been a litt
le brick.’ She stooped and kissed Judith. ‘Don't forget. I'm always here. Your mother's got my telephone number in her book.’
‘Goodbye. And thank you so much.’
‘Quick. Up you get, or the train will go without you.’ She raised her voice. ‘Make sure Uncle Bob gets off, otherwise you'll have to take him with you.’ For a moment she had looked a bit serious, but now she was laughing again. Judith smiled back, gave a final wave, and then plunged down the corridor after the others.
A compartment had been found containing only one young man, who sat, with an open book on his knee, while the porter piled luggage in the racks over his head. Then, when all was stowed, Uncle Bob tipped the porter and sent him on his way.
‘You must also go, quickly,’ Judith told him, ‘or the train will move, and you'll be caught.’
He smiled down at her. ‘It's never happened yet. Goodbye, Judith.’ They shook hands. When she drew her hand away, she found, in the palm of her woollen glove, a ten-shilling note. A whole ten shillings.
‘Oh, Uncle Bob, thank you.’
‘Spend it wisely.’
‘I will. Goodbye.’
He was gone. A moment later, he and Aunt Biddy reappeared again, standing on the platform below their window. ‘Have a good journey.’ The train began to move. ‘Safe arrival!’ It gathered speed. ‘Goodbye!’ The platform and the station slid away behind them. Uncle Bob and Aunt Biddy were gone. It was all over. They were on their way.
The next few moments were taken up in getting themselves settled. The other occupant of the carriage, the young man, sat by the door, and so they had the window-seats. The heating was on full blast, and it was very warm, so gloves, coats, and hats were removed by the children; Molly kept her hat on. Jess was put by the window, where she knelt on the prickly plush and pressed her nose against the smutty glass. Judith sat opposite her. Her mother, once she had folded coats and stowed them in the rack, and then delved into her travelling bag for Jess's drawing-book and coloured pencils, finally sank down beside Jess and let out a sigh of relief, as though the whole operation had been almost too much for her. She closed her eyes, but after a little they fluttered open again, and she began to fan her face with her hand.
‘Goodness, it's hot,’ she said to nobody in particular.
Judith said, ‘I think it's rather nice.’ Her feet hadn't even started to thaw.
But her mother was adamant. ‘I wonder…’ Now she was addressing the young man, whose privacy and peace they had so rudely disturbed. He looked up from his book, and she smiled disarmingly. ‘I wonder, would you mind if we turned the heating down a little? Or even opened the window a chink?’
‘Of course.’ He was very polite. He laid aside his book and stood up. ‘Which would you rather? Or, perhaps, both?’
‘No, I think a little fresh air would do the trick…’
‘Right.’ He moved to the window. Judith tucked her legs out of the way and watched as he unloosed the heavy leather strap, let the window down an inch, and then fixed the strap again.
‘How's that?’
‘Perfect.’
‘Be careful that your little girl doesn't get a smut in her eye.’
‘I hope she won't.’
He went back to his seat and picked up his book again. Listening in to other people's conversations, watching strangers and trying to guess their lives, were two of Judith's favourite occupations. Mummy called it ‘staring’. ‘Don't stare, Judith.’
But Mummy was reading her magazine, so that was all right.
Covertly, she studied him. His book looked both large and dull, and she wondered why it so absorbed his interest, because he did not strike her as a studious type, being broad-shouldered and solidly built. Quite tough and fit, she decided. He was dressed in corduroys and a tweed jacket and a thick grey polo-necked sweater, and draped around his neck was an extremely long and startlingly striped woollen scarf. He had hair that was no particular colour, neither fair nor brown, and it was rather untidy and looked as though it needed a good cut. She could not see the colour of his eyes because he was reading, but he wore heavy horn-rimmed spectacles and there was a deep cleft, too masculine to be called a dimple, bang in the middle of his chin. She wondered how old he was and decided about twenty-five. But perhaps she was wrong. She hadn't much experience of young men, and it was hard to be sure.
She turned back to the window. In a moment they would be going over the Saltash Bridge, and she didn't want to miss the sight of all the naval men-of-war at anchor in the harbour.
But Jess had other thoughts. She was already bored with looking out of the window, and now searched for some different diversion. She began to jump up and down, and then scrambled down off the seat in order to be able to scramble up again. In doing so her shoe kicked Judith's shin, quite painfully.
‘Oh, sit still, Jess.’
Jess responded by flinging Golly at her sister. For two pins, Judith would have posted him out of the open crack at the top of the window and horrible Golly would have gone forever, but instead she picked him up and threw him back. Golly hit Jess in the face. Jess howled.
‘Oh, Judith.’ Mother took Jess on her knee. When the howls had subsided, she apologised to the young man.
‘I'm sorry. We've disturbed your peace.’
He looked up from his book and smiled. It was a particularly charming smile, revealing even white teeth as good as a toothpaste advertisement, and it lit up his homely features and completely changed his face, so that quite suddenly he was almost good-looking.
‘Not at all,’ he reassured her.
‘Have you come from London?’
She was obviously in a conversational mood. The young man, as well, seemed to realise this, for he closed his book and set it aside.
‘Yes.’
‘Have you been away for Christmas?’
‘No, I was working over Christmas and the New Year. I'm taking my holiday now.’
‘Goodness, what a shame. Fancy having to work over Christmas. What do you do?’
Judith thought she was being rather nosy, but the young man didn't appear to think so. In fact, he looked quite happy to talk, as though he had had enough of his boring book.
‘I'm a houseman at St Thomas's.’
‘Oh, a doctor.’
‘That's right.’
Judith was terrified she was going to say, ‘You look much too young to be a doctor,’ which would have embarrassed everybody, but she didn't. And it explained the reason for his solid, heavy book. He was probably studying the symptoms of some obscure disease.
‘Not a very amusing Christmas for you.’
‘On the contrary. Christmas in hospital is great fun. Decorations in the wards and nurses singing carols.’
‘And now you're going home?’
‘Yes. To Truro. My parents live there.’
‘We're going further than that. Just about to the end of the line. We've been staying with my sister and her husband. He's a captain at the Engineering College.’
It sounded a little as though she were bragging. To divert attention Judith said, ‘Here's the bridge coming now.’
Rather to her surprise, the young man seemed as excited about this as she was. ‘I must have a look,’ he said, and he got to his feet and came to stand beside her, steadying himself with a hand on the window's edge. He smiled down at her, and she saw that his eyes were neither brown nor green, but speckled, like a trout. ‘It's too good to miss, isn't it?’
The wheels were slowing. The iron girders clanked past, and far below gleamed cold winter water, crammed with sleek grey cruisers and destroyers, and pinnaces, and small, busy launches, and ships' boats, all flying the White Ensign.
She said, ‘I think it's a special bridge.’
‘Why? Because it takes you over the river into a foreign land?’
‘Not just that.’
‘Brunel's masterpiece.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Brunel. He designed and built it for the Great Western
Railway. The wonder of the day. Still is pretty wonderful, for that matter.’
They fell silent. He stayed there until the train had crossed the bridge and steamed into Saltash on the Cornish side of the Tamar, and then he went back to his seat and picked up his book again.
After a bit, the man from the restaurant car came along to tell them that afternoon tea was being served. Molly asked the young doctor if he would like to join them, but he declined politely, so they left him on his own and made their way down the rackety, lurching corridors of the train until they came to the restaurant car. Here, they were ushered to a table covered in a white linen cloth and set with white china. There were little rose-shaded lights, and these had been turned on, which made it all very luxurious and cosy, because outside the winter afternoon was darkening to twilight. Then the waiter came, with tea in a china teapot, a little jug of milk, and a jug of hot water and a bowl of sugar lumps. Jess had eaten three lumps even before her mother noticed. And then another waiter appeared and served them sandwiches and hot buttered teacakes, and slabs of Dundee cake, and Jacobs chocolate biscuits wrapped up in silver paper.
Molly poured from the teapot and Judith drank the strong hot tea and ate the buttered teacakes. She gazed out into the deepening darkness and decided that, after all, it had not been such a bad day. It had started a bit gloomily, waking up and knowing that the holiday was over, and had become very nearly disastrous over breakfast time, with her mother and Aunt Biddy having that terrible row. But they had patched it up, and gone on being nice to each other, and out of it had come the good knowledge that Aunt Biddy and Uncle Bob actually liked Judith enough to want to have her to stay again, even though it didn't seem that she was going to be allowed to. Aunt Biddy had been particularly kind and understanding, talking to Judith just as though she were a grown-up, and giving advice that she would always remember. Another good thing had been Uncle Bob appearing at the station, come to say goodbye and see them off, and leaving Judith with a ten-shilling note in her hand. The start of saving to buy a gramophone. And finally, talking to the young doctor in their compartment. It would have been nice if he had joined them for tea, but perhaps they would all have run out of things to say to each other. Still, he was pleasant, with his easy manner. As they crossed the Saltash Bridge, he had stood very close to Judith and she had smelt the Harris tweedy smell of his jacket, and the end of his long muffler had lain across her knee. Brunel, he had told her. Brunel built this bridge. It occurred to her that he was the sort of person one would like to have as a brother.