Chapter one -Waiting

June 1938 – aboard the Sea- Bear, somewhere in the Baltic Sea.

"A nurse, like Susan?" Dorothea asked.

Titty shook her head vigorously. "I'm not like Susan at all, really. It's almost like Roger not wanting the Navy. He's not just being rebellious for the sake of it. He can see that John and Daddy do fit in and knows he's different and wouldn't fit really, not in the same way."

"You're good at knowing how other people are feeling, and you aren't squeamish – less than most people anyway."

"Too good, apparently. We all got interviewed by the Headmistress about careers, in the autumn, one by one. Terrifying, but actually quite useful. I thought I was pretty much invisible to her – not frantically academic but not badly behaved. She thought I might make quite a good nurse to begin with and in ordinary times but it would "wear me down because I was too sensitive". I told my parents I would make my mind up by the time we get home, but I've pretty much decided that I will do that Art course. It's only one year. I don't think I'll be good enough to actually make a living by selling pictures, but my art-mistress thinks I might be good enough for book illustration or something like that. What about you? After university I mean. Writing novels?"

"Or stories for magazines or whatever will sell."

The Lake: August 1938

Surely at some time he would find sometime alone with Titty. He hadn't said anything to Dorothea, but she had seemed keen to go off to Swallowdale for the day with Roger and so determined to get Bridget to accompany them that he had wondered if she had realised how he felt about Titty. Dick had comforted himself with the thought that if that was the case, Dorothea would surely co-operate in giving him some time alone with Titty. He wasn't entirely sure that Roger, good friend though he was, would approve of him as his sister's boyfriend. Dorothea would give the matter her whole-hearted approval, Dick thought. As the week wore on, he began to have second thoughts about Dorothea's attitude. He never seemed to get a moment alone with Titty. It was getting almost ridiculous. Roger seemed almost to be following him about. If Roger wasn't at his elbow, Dot was talking to Titty. They had always been close friends of course. Had they always spent so much time together?

The days followed each other swiftly, as they always did when they were camping. A telegram came from the Walker's mother in Australia. Nancy and John sailed Amazon to Wildcat Island early the next morning to tell Dorothea and Dick of their engagement. Dick was only surprised by how unsurprised he felt. Dorothea didn't say "I told you so". However much he was annoyed by her perpetual presence Dick had to give his sister credit to for that.

In another few days, John rejoined his ship, seen off at the station by Nancy and Nancy alone.

The day before, Dick had not been able to help overhearing a short but vehement conversation between Titty and Bridget. Why wouldn't people realise canvas didn't stop sound?

"It isn't fair. We've hardly seen John."

"We've seen him a bit of nearly everyday."

Extracts from letters

Bridget Walker to Elspeth, September 1938

We've been back at school for nearly a week. Mother is coming back on Friday and we are going to Southampton to meet her. It seems odd that Titty was in the sixth form only a few months ago and now she's writing an excuse note to the school. I wondered if the headmistress would take any notice, but she did. I was summoned to her study and told I could go. She said she was glad mother was back now, so even the headmistress must think there might be a war.

Titty started art school on Monday. It's two buses to get there, but she seems to like it well enough. She mostly seems to be still drawing things in pencil and charcoal though. I thought it would be stuff we don't use in school, like oil-paints. It seems strange to see her going off in ordinary clothes not uniform. She says she doesn't let people in her class call her Titty though – just tells them her name is Tertia. I thought Roger would laugh himself silly about that, like he did about her putting her hair up (not that it's really long enough) and wearing lipstick and that dress she made for herself, but he didn't for some reason.

Titty Walker to Dorothea Callum, October 1938

I'm beginning to make friends – so things don't seem as bad. At least, I would say I've made one friend (as in been round to her house and she's been round to mine) and I am friendly with a few other people. Of course Bridget managed to call me Titty right in front of her. Iris hasn't told anyone else – I would certainly have heard about it within a day or to if she had. She did suggest making "Tia" out of Tertia, which I thought was quite a good idea. So Iris started using it and a week later everyone else in the class is too. Iris is one of the people that people want to be like and be liked by. Not as much as Nancy, and she's not really like her, but the same sort of thing.

Dorothea Callum to Titty Walker, October 1938

Oxford seemed unreal when we were on Sea Bear this summer. Now the summer seems unreal. I'm glad you are enjoying art school. Tia sounds a good shortening, and it is after all really your own name or part of it. I know what you mean about people that people want to be like. You have always been one of those people for me. You have no idea how much I wanted to be with you that day you were signalling from Wild Cat Island to the rowing boat. I was so nervous that I couldn't actually speak when you all came up the hill towards us after all that signalling to Mars. I had told Dick that I would do the speaking. I think he probably felt about the same really only he shows it differently. You can see it in the way he watches John and Susan and Nancy and Peggy when they do things, to see how they do them.

Cambridge, October 1938

Of course there was a perfectly reasonable solution. He could simply write to her. One thing he was certain of – she wouldn't laugh. He was fairly sure she wouldn't tell anyone else. She always did seem to tell her mother everything though, eventually. Mrs Walker didn't seem as though she would laugh, but she might be annoyed. If he upset Titty, and that was not all that unlikely, Mrs Walker would have every reason to be annoyed.

He could picture Titty sitting and the breakfast table in Portsmouth, opening his letter. John and Dick had a regular, if concise, correspondence. Roger's letters were more irregular and amusing. Dick's handwriting on the envelope would be recognisable. Of course someone would ask what news he had; why he was writing to Titty when he had never done so before. Would she in all innocence start to read it aloud before she had read it through herself? There was no reason why not. Dick could picture the embarrassment creeping up on her as she realised what the letter was saying.

And why, after all, had should he think that she might want to be his girlfriend. She had cried on his shoulder. She had after all every excuse. She would have done so just as comfortably, perhaps more so, if he had been John or Susan or Peggy or….

Dick found he was pacing about his room and sat down again. He had to do something. He began to write a perfectly ordinary "how are you?" letter. It would be a short one, without much news to tell. Still she might write back, which would be something.

Portsmouth, October 1938

"What does he say?" Roger asked, toast and marmalade poised in front of his mouth.

"Not a great deal of news. Hopes we are all well. New term has started well. Quite interesting lab work. Wonders how we all are. Have we heard from the Macs? Any news from Beckfoot? Ordinary sort of letter." Titty thought her voice sounded quite calm. "See if you like."

She handed over the letter.

"I thought Roger was usually the one who wrote to Dick." said Bridget.

"Not usually more than once or twice a term." said Roger, swallowing his toast and marmalade hastily and not properly chewed, but getting away with it, just.

"And when did you last write?" Mother asked.

Roger's grin seemed a little forced. "April."

"And when did he last write?"

"About a month ago. I'll do something about it this weekend."

When Titty had reclaimed her letter, stuffed it in her coat pocket and set off for Art School she tried to give herself some sensible advice. What had she been expecting, really? Of course he had put his arm around her as she cried. What of it? Anyone would. And yes, he had called her sweetheart. That wasn't the sort of endearment that necessarily meant romantic feelings. She had heard Professor Callum address Mrs Callum that way, the summer they had been learning to sail. Well, perhaps that didn't prove the point; she had heard Mrs Callum call Dorothea sweetheart, which did.

Titty gave such a gusty sigh that she collected some strange looks from other passengers on the 'bus. She would just have to think about him as little as possible and get on with everything else. Caring about him wasn't going to make him care about her in the same way.

Dear Dick,

Thank you very much for the letter. Yes, I'm enjoying the course, although as you say, summer seems a long time ago. Most of the work I'm doing is still in pencil, charcoal etc., but I am learning a lot.

Mother had a good, although sad journey back. She says she made some friends on the boat and that helped a great deal. Bridget writes to Elspeth and it seems that the "Macs" are all well. Roger is working harder at school than he has done before. Maybe he has changed his mind (again) and decided that university is for him after all.

I hope you are continuing to enjoy the second year.

Best wishes,

Titty

She used to have no trouble with writing letters. She still had no trouble with most letters. Asking herself why this letter was so difficult was pointless; she knew exactly why. It would have to do.