1960 The South of England
At the beginning of the school summer holidays Amy Denver phoned her sister, Dotty. They had a lengthy conversation and it was decided that Amy’s nine-year old daughter, Leila, should visit her for a while – a change of scene to hopefully clear her young mind of the unfortunate happenings in her village. Dotty and Fred lived where the landscape was much harsher. Instead of ripening strawberries on the slopes, there were sheep. Instead of softly undulating hills from the top of which could be seen the glistening horizon of the sea, there were gorse covered craggy mountains, sometimes shrouded in a heavy dank mist. Some public houses still held fast to the "Men Only" rule, and favoured spittoons and floors heavily sprinkled with sawdust.
The train journey took almost eight hours in total with the changing of trains and crossing London from Victoria to Euston. As the landscape changed, so did the temperature of the air blowing through the open windows of the carriage. As the train travelled further and further towards the north it became cooler and cooler. After five hours travelling the skies turned grey and the first raindrops spattered the windows, until finally the scenery blurred through the globules of water streaming down every pane.
Robert Denver sat opposite his daughter watching her carefully for any telltale signs. He was not sure that sending her away was such a good idea. Not that he thought that this was in any way encouraging Leila to run from her experiences exactly, but he hadn’t seen any sign of her harbouring any traumatic affects himself. But then he wasn’t at home all day as Amy was, so perhaps he had missed something.
Watching her now, she did seem deep in thought. He just hoped that those thoughts were not dwelling on anything unpleasant. Some woman at work had mentioned that sometimes these things do not surface immediately. It may take years, and then some minor happening, hardly related to the incident at all, could trigger off a memory and cause untold grief.
This had really upset him.
He’d had to leave the office and go for a brisk walk around the block to rid his mind of shocking thoughts of Leila’s future, when perhaps he may not be there to help her. This was really dragging him down. He was at a loss to understand how to best deal with this. He was just a simple ordinary man, not used to dealing with deep psychological dramas, least of all where women were concerned. They seemed to have a different slant on things, a different perspective.
He had always found that most of his inner turmoil, if indeed that was what he’d experienced, could always be soothed by a game of cricket in the summer, and football in the winter. His father had been a great advocate of healthy exercise – healthy body, healthy mind, my son. Nine times out of ten this worked for him.
Then of course, there was the other philosophy, which also worked for him most of the time – if you leave something long enough, it will sort itself out without any intervention from you. His mother had had a plaque on the wall in the front room next to the Grandfather clock that made a great impression on him in his youth, and formed the basis of his parents’ attitude to most things in life.
There are only two things in life to worry about, either you’re well or you’re sick. If you are well, then there is nothing to worry about.
Amy hated any form of exercise however, and had forcibly discouraged their daughter. Well, maybe not discouraged, simply not encouraged, and as she was always very voluble on the stupidity of grown men kicking a ball about in the mud in the pouring rain, or throwing a ball at a piece of wood in order to whack it to Kingdom Come, it was quite apparent that she was very far from encouraging. Especially as most of these grown men ended up with a multitude of injuries, some being muscular and not so obvious, but others were gruesome to see and caused permanent scars and considerable pain. "Do you really want your daughter to have a body like a patchwork quilt with bruises and scars all over her, not to mention muscles in all the wrong places?" It was difficult to point out the health advantages when he was sitting on the settee with his leg in plaster after he’d torn his Achilles tendon.
Leila was thinking about Rapunzel, and her long golden hair reaching down from her castle turret for the handsome prince to climb up and rescue her. Her mother had trimmed her hair in readiness for her holiday at Aunt Dotty’s, and Leila was rather concerned that perhaps it was rather too short, by an inch or two. Her father had returned home just at the wrong moment, when she had been telling her mother about the school nurse who’d arrived that day, with her sharp pointed comb and her bottle of disinfectant. The children had all lined up outside the secretary’s office where the nurse had stood, looking very official in her navy blue and white uniform, wielding her comb like a sword.
As each child then had their head held in her vice-like grip, she parted and sliced the hair searching for nits. Leila had never heard of any of the children in her school ever having been discovered with such, but the prospect immediately horrified her father and his philosophy of doing nothing was momentarily forgotten.
"Cut her hair shorter, just in case," he said. " Long hair will only encourage the spread. Cleanliness is next to Godliness." It was one of those rare occasions when Leila’s mother was swayed by his reasoning. However, Leila was sure that Rapunzel had never suffered from such problems, as she’d managed to grow her hair for years and years without the need for the school nurse, or suffering from anything so boring as nits.
Leila sat staring out of the carriage window, unconsciously pulling at her hair trying to stretch it in length. Her father was suddenly struck with the enormity of this action. People under great stress were inclined to pull their hair, he’d heard. In fact, people in asylums were known to actually pull it out at the very roots in their torment.
Perhaps Amy had been right after all, and Leila was suffering. Perhaps, being a mere male, he was just not tuned in to these things. He suddenly felt quite useless, and rummaged in his raincoat pocket for his pipe. Not to light it up. Just to be able to grip the stem between his teeth would make him feel more confident. It helped him to think, to concentrate. "You’re making that sucking noise, Dad," said Leila in mild rebuke. "It sounds like you’re finishing a milk shake and there’s nothing left in the bottom of the glass when you do that."
"Sorry."
He removed the pipe from his mouth and wiped the mouthpiece carefully with his handkerchief, blowing air out from his cheeks at the same time.
"What’s the matter Dad? You’re puffing and blowing like an old steam engine."
"Sorry," he said again. He shoved his pipe back in his pocket, and then started tapping his foot on the carriage floor. Leila stared at him, folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head on one side as though in question. He saw her looking at him and stopped immediately. "Shall we have a sandwich?"
He removed a package neatly wrapped in greaseproof paper from the holdall stashed behind his feet and handed it to Leila. She peeled the paper back and took one, then handed the rest to her father. He noticed that she ate heartily enough, and in his limited experience this was always a good sign. People under stress don’t usually eat well, so she must be recovering …she must.
Leila studied the rim around the large square window, thickly encrusted with grime. She was tempted to run her finger along it just to see how much grime would smear onto her finger, but she knew that her father would disapprove and she would have to ruin her perfectly folded clean white handkerchief that was thrust into her coat pocket before she left home.
Just in front of her, at hand level, was an empty ashtray fixed under the window, next to a small table in the shape of a semi-circle. On the opposite side was another ashtray for her father’s use. She peered into the dusty interior wondering if it was ever cleaned out with soap and water or just tipped upside down, the contents dropping into the waste bag used by the cleaner at the end of each journey. Perhaps she could tip it upside down herself, just to see how it works and watch the grey dust particles float to the floor. Her father coughed, and she looked up to see recognition in his eyes. They flashed a warning, as though he’d read her mind and was not impressed with her thoughts.
This was going to be a long and tedious journey if he intended to be so vigilant. Perhaps he might fall asleep soon. The train was making its usual hypnotic music as it thundered rhythmically over the points. She could close her eyes and then he might follow suit, as people often did, for some reason. She therefore shut her eyes tightly and dropped her head back against the seat. After a few minutes, she tentatively half opened one eyelid and peered cautiously through a veil of dark eyelashes, but her father was still staring out of the window, and frowning.
She soon gave up this idea and stared lethargically at the map above her father’s head. It was a map covering the area of their journey, from London to the North of England, and was securely encased in a glass-fronted frame. Her eyes noted the long list of stations that they would pass through on their way to Aunt Dotty’s, and once that was completed her gaze passed wearily across at the advertising hoardings, that meant nothing to her except further boredom.
She yawned loudly and her father stirred. He leant down to his bag and removed a flask. He unscrewed the top and placed two white cups on the small tabletop.
"Have some coffee Leila," he said, "that’ll stop you feeling tired."
She sipped the sweet liquid reluctantly wishing it were orange juice instead, but was conscious of feeling revived once she had emptied the cup. There was no chance of not emptying the entire contents of course, because her father needed to place the tops back on the thermos flask, and there was nowhere to empty any residue – so finish it she must. The train was travelling much too fast to be able to open the window and throw any liquid out. It would end up being splattered down the windowpane of their compartment, and her father was in no mood to suffer that embarrassment. "Why don’t you read your book?" he asked and rummaged further down in his holdall, his hand emerging with the Famous Five book that she had been enjoying at home.
Leila was then lost in their adventures, page after page, and the story kept her engrossed for the rest of the journey. Her father continued to suck on his empty pipe.
Leila had seen her aunt and uncle through her carriage window. They were both dressed in their matching beige raincoats, Aunt Dotty carrying a small brown umbrella, and Uncle Fred a very large black one. Both were dripping onto the platform leaving greasy puddles.
She waved at them frantically as the train passed them by, stopping further up the platform. As soon as her father had opened the door she flew out to greet them, leaving him to deal with the bags and suitcase.
The atmosphere in the station was heavy with a cool dampness, and the skies were grey and leaden with drizzly rain. People were dressed in raincoats and wet weather shoes or Wellington boots, huddled in small groups to avoid the sections on the platform where the rain dripped though cracks in the roof.
Dotty and Fred moved forward on seeing her, Dotty with outstretched arms and tears in her eyes. Fred carried on past, leaving them hugging each other, towards Robert, shaking his hand, exchanging pleasantries and taking the suitcase from him.
As they were about to leave the station, Robert bent over and kissed Leila’s cheek, lifting her off her feet in a gentle hug. "Just remember to phone your mother every other day, and reverse the charges or she’ll be worried about you. And make sure that you behave yourself and do as you’re told." He cupped her smiling, upturned face in both his large trembling hands, and swallowed hard. He was vaguely aware of the whoosh of trains arriving and departing from the various platforms, the hustle and bustle of many bodies clambering in and out of carriages and the slamming of carriage doors, and a tinny voice echoing from a loudspeaker announcing indiscernible messages.
He was acutely aware of the innocent face looking up at his, the intelligent and receptive young mind that could be perma- nently scarred by the events that she had recently witnessed, and his wholehearted wish that such memories could be instantly erased.
This was the first time that he had left her in the care of someone else, the first time that she had spent any length of time away from home. He was frowning with anxiety. He stared into the faces of the two adults in front of him, assessing their commitment, and saw two people already smiling and seemingly happy at the prospect of looking after his child. She also looked very happy, radiating excitement and anticipation. There was no need for concern, and Amy was positive that this was the best thing to do. And she was usually right…about this sort of thing, anyway.
"Have a good time," he said finally, fighting his reluctance to let go.
Leila left the station arm in arm with her aunt, talking nonstop about the journey, her mind full of happy thoughts, while Robert sat alone on the cold iron bench on the platform, his head bowed, sniffing his tears away and rummaging in his raincoat pocket for his handkerchief. As he tugged at it, another object flew out and across the platform, landing under the highly polished heavy black boot of a Railway Policeman. To Robert’s horror, the officer stooped down, picked up the pieces and handed him his pipe in three separate sections. "Sorry mate," he said. "Smoking’s bad for you anyway." Having safely delivered his daughter into the very welcoming arms of her aunt and uncle eagerly waiting on the platform, he caught the return train for the exhausting journey back home, crossing London again and eventually arriving on the early morning milk train.