Titty chapter 2 …. And wondering

More extracts from letters

18th December 1938: Titty Walker to Dorothea Callum

Yes, the Christmas party went very well. The Principal let us clear out and decorate the biggest studio. Of course everyone said they would help with that, and in the end it was mainly the three of us doing it. The other two were so busy watching each other without seeming to that they didn't get very much done. We ended up with a lot of mistletoe somehow – I don't imagine there can be much left in Portsmouth! I took Roger with me in the end – under strict instructions not to make comments about anyone's clothes, hair or make-up or say anything at all about art. I think he managed to do all three within about the first ten minutes and to kiss about half my year group under the mistletoe during the course of the evening. Bridget, of course, had got his goat before we started by saying if he was going to a grown-up party while he was still at school, she should be allowed to go too. I got the giggles about it eventually I'm afraid. I thought probably we should stay to tidy up a bit at the end, but Roger got quite insistent that we should go home before Mother got too worried. Then he decided that we might have missed the second bus and should walk anyway. Of course it came swishing past us when we were between two stops, but we had quite a good time walking along sucking peppermints.

19th December: Roger Walker to Dick Callum

…..I went to Titty's Art School Christmas party. I was rather expecting loads of girls and a few token brothers dragged along under duress, but it was about a half and half mix. Titty seems very popular and introduced me around. I danced as much as I wanted to and she danced as much as she wanted to, so it was a success as far as that went. Everyone kept saying how well she had done with the decorations. (A couple of friends had helped her apparently, but I gather from what was said that it was pretty much all Titty's ideas.) Sort of the exotic east with lots of added mistletoe. She'd done a lot better than the group who had done the buffet, which was a bit sparse, I thought.

I'll post this on my way to fetch Bridget from her friend's Christmas party. No requirement for extra-strong peppermints there. (Not yet anyway.) I don't think Titty really intended to drink that much; it was just too many fellows fetching her drinks to start talking to her. The more sartorially peculiar they are, the more difficult they seemed to find it to talk about ordinary things. I must say Titty was very patient with them. (Worse luck).

London 23rd December 1938

"And Dick?"

He obediently peered back down over the bannisters into the narrow tiled hallway. His view of his mother's head was somewhat obscured by the holly Dorothea had put up.

"Yes?"

"Try to talk more about, well normal things. People don't understand."

Mother was just trying to be helpful; she just wanted him to be happy. It wasn't unreasonable. It was totally unreasonable. After all, his parents had been married for – Dick did a quick calculation - Dot was twenty, add on two years and a bit – no that was alright, they hadn't missed their parents' silver wedding anniversary. He wasn't quite sure what you should do for your parents' silver wedding anniversary – apart from obviously give them something made of silver (necessarily small). Dot might know.

Anyway, after twenty-three years married to Father, Mother was being quite unreasonable. Father mostly talked about archaeology. Of course, as most of the people who Mother entertained were archaeologists, it probably was normal to them. Bird- watching was a fairly normal hobby, and even if people didn't make a hobby of it they saw birds around. It was the same with stars. Geology, he would have to admit, wasn't everyone's cup of tea. Sailing though was surely quite a reasonable sort of thing to talk about. His tiresome little cousin was allowed to rattle on about her pony and hunting as much as she liked.

Mostly, Dick had a set routine for coping with these occasions. Ask if they'd been on holiday. Ask if they'd read anything they liked recently. Ask if they'd been to the theatre. Ask where their most recent dig had been. (He'd been letting his mind wander and asked the Professor of Chemistry that last New Year. Luckily, he hadn't minded, no-one else had overheard and they'd had quite a pleasant chat about skiing, on which the professor was keen, and the ice-sledge Dick and Mr Dixon had made.)

He had to be honest with himself. It wasn't Mother's comment that upset him; it was the possibility he was just another conversationally inept young man with whom Titty was patient. He grabbed Roger's letter from the chest of drawers and shredded it before dropping it into the waste paper basket. Dancing. Very popular. Lots of mistletoe.

"You haven't slightest chance with her." Dick said out loud to himself.

14th February

The postmark said Middlesborough. Titty knew no-one in Middlesborough. She wondered if it was some elaborate joke by Roger. When she read the poem, she realised it could not possibly be anything to do with Roger. He would not use a poem like that as a joke. All the letters had been cut out of a newspaper individually and stuck down very neatly. Titty spent the rest of the day watching her fellow students with speculative eyes. No-one showed the slightest self- consciousness or looked at her with any more than the usual interest. Iris and Leslie, on the other hand, watched each other almost obsessively.

Portsmouth: February 1939

"He won't have any time for us. You'll see. With Nancy here he'll spend all his time with her and we won't see anything of him. It's completely unfair."

"It's always been Nancy first, really, ever since we met them." Roger scowled as ferociously as his younger sister.

"Not always. John stuck to the mapping when we met the Eels, for instance. And I'm sure it won't be that bad. Suppose it was someone we didn't even know, someone who didn't even like sailing for example." Titty (she had given up on trying to get her family to call her anything else) was trying to be reasonable, but Roger and Bridget just seemed determined to grouse. "You're complaining about something that hasn't even happened yet."

"Green fingernails and soppiness, that's all you're learning at that place." was Roger's parting shot as he stalked out of Titty's bedroom.

"You didn't seem to mind green fingernails on Audrey Brown at the Christmas party." Titty called after him.

"Who's Audrey Brown?" Bridget asked. This might be enough for retaliation against any teasing for months to come.

"Off you go, I need to work." Titty told her little sister. Roger and Bridget managed to be unbelievably irritating on a daily basis. She hoped they would grow out of it soon.

Letter from Roger Walker to Dick Callum 27th Feb 1939

… still can't make up my mind. Maybe my Highers will make them up for me. Not that I'm getting as much work done at home as I intend. John had few days leave, so Nancy has been staying for a week too. Mrs. B came at the same time, so she's in the kitchen room nattering with Mother; the drawing room is full of my-brother-and-his-intended staring soulfully into each other's eyes or whatever. Probably whatever. I annexed the dining table for a couple of days, but now two of Titty's art school chums come round to pour out their souls to her (alternately – so it takes twice the time.) I did ask Mother why Titty couldn't talk to this Lesley in her bedroom. Mother looked a bit shocked. It turns out this Lesley is a Leslie. A bit of a wet lettuce, but even John admits there doesn't seem to be any harm in him. Still, the exams aren't for ages yet. Plenty of time to catch up. The best thing about having not worked hard for all these years is that the masters are quite impressed when I do put the effort in. ….

Ist March 1939

Dick Callum tore up the letter, and threw it into the JCR fireplace with some vigour. He then had to scrabble around for the few pieces that had fluttered into the coal scuttle, rather spoiling the effect. Smith looked up from the unholy mess he always made of the cross-word (and in pen too).

"Did she chuck you?" he asked Dick, sympathetically.

Ever the optimist, thinking in platitudes, heading cheerfully for a sportsman's degree; there would always be a place for the Smiths of this world. Dick darkly suspected Smith believed all mental turmoil to be a result of faulty digestion, because his nurse had told him so. Still, he was the most consistently good-natured of all the third-year men. Dick should be civil to him.

"She never was my girl in the first place. Anyway, she's taken up with some wet lettuce from an Art School, according to her brother."

"Terrible chaps these artists. Unreliable. Still, plenty more fish in the sea."

"Not one like her." Despite himself, Dick could not help smiling at his memories. Titty rowing the folding boat to the little island in the middle of the loch with the precious cargo of Diver's eggs; Titty persuading the German airman out of the water; Titty, still dripping wet, running barefoot over the sand dunes and tumbling into the dinghy with seconds to spare. He couldn't bear to hear another word from the amiable Smith and took himself back to the library. No-wonder the little poem in carefully pasted letters had got no response.

3rd March - Portsmouth

"Why don't you just tell her?" Titty hoped her exasperation wasn't too evident.

"Won't she wonder why I didn't say anything before?"

"She'll just think you were getting to know her as a person first, not just caring about her looks. Look here, Leslie, Nancy and John have known each other for nearly ten years. They've been engaged since last summer. I bet they weren't arguing about why neither of them said anything earlier."

Leslie might act as if he was daft sometimes, but he wasn't actually stupid. "You say they're about three years older than you? Most of those ten years they would have been just kids really. And I'm not actually sure yet I want to marry Iris."

"No one's asking you to be. Just ask her out for tea and cakes at a corner house, or for a walk." Titty glanced towards the window. Iris was not really an outdoor person. "Or take her round an Art Gallery or something. It doesn't matter if it is one you've both seen already." Titty sat back in her chair. "I don't think there is any more advice I can give you, Leslie. You know where she lives. It's not that late. Go round and ask her now. It's better than 'phoning anyway."

Titty stood up. "Go round there now. I'll be asking what happened tomorrow, so you better get on with it." She warned. There was no need to tell him that Iris would most likely tell her all about it too. Besides, Iris had sworn her to secrecy just as solemnly as Leslie had.

Putting up his umbrella once he was outside the front door, Leslie looked back at her.

"You'd have no problem saying something if you were me." he said admiringly.

"You'll have no problem." She said as encouragingly as she could and shut the front door before Leslie changed his mind again. If only she could manage to take her own advice.

The Lake – August 1939

"I thought you'd like to see them." Dick indicated the mice, bumbling around and squeaking at the bottom of the downpipe. "I think they've only just left their nest."

"Too young to know they should be afraid of people." Titty's voice was low. "I wonder how they learn."

"Maybe they see bad things happen to other mice."

"Maybe it happens automatically as they get older."

"It can't be bad experiences – they would only happen once, probably, to a mouse."

"Titty?"

"Yes?"

"Can I take your photograph, please? Here. With the Lake in the background." It hadn't been what he was going to say at all.

Titty stood patiently, waiting while he made sure he had everything set up right.

"It's Nancy and John's wedding. Shouldn't you be taking photographs of them?" she asked.

"You look lovely."

It made her smile a little warmer. He hoped he had caught the moment. He still couldn't find the right words. Perhaps words weren't the most important thing. He moved closer to her.

"Titty?" She turned her head.

"Titty!" Sisters! If it wasn't Dot it was Bridget. "Susan said to tell you to come and say hello to the Blacketts' aunt. And more people are arriving and hadn't you better come and " ush" them Dick, if you're an usher?"

A few days later

If she was honest with herself, Titty had to admit that the few tears that she shed (decorously into a daintier than usual handkerchief – Susan thought of everything) may have had less to do with her happiness at her brother's marriage than everyone thought. She really had thought that Dick was going to say something standing beside the Lake next to the little church. Later,he had looked as though he was about to ask her to dance, but had danced instead with Susan. She shouldn't have minded.

She didn't mind, not really. She had seen Jim Brading heading determinedly toward her elder sister, seen the tightness and panic on Susan's face. Whatever had caused Susan's silent misery last summer had been something to do with Jim Brading. Titty had wondered then if Susan was less happy at John's engagement to Nancy than she pretended, until she noticed how carefully Peggy and Susan had plotted to give their captains time together before John had to go back to his ship.

Titty had to admit that she had been happy enough dancing at the wedding with whoever asked her, and had been rather flattered by the obvious admiration of John's friend, David Williams. He had danced well too. Dick had danced with Peggy after the dance with Susan, and then Bridget, then Lady Peter Wimsey, then Mrs Blackett. After that Titty was not sure. Well, it really was no business of hers who Dick danced with. If she was glad that Jim Brading had started to monopolise Peggy, perhaps she was just glad about anything that might lessen the feeling of tension between her sister and their old friend.

She had enjoyed the waltz with Dick and she had rushed down the Beckfoot lawn with Dick's camera so he could take the last photograph of John and Nancy departing for their honeymoon in Amazon. Dick was an old friend. No one watching would think that she thought about Dick any differently than she did about Dot or Peggy. True, she had thought Nancy's eyes had met hers for a moment before Nancy had closed them and thrown her bouquet. Someone had spoken to Titty at just that moment and by the time she had looked back Dot had caught it. Perhaps Nancy had been aiming at Dot all along. Perhaps she had not been aiming at all. Surely not even Nancy would think she could aim something as unwieldy as a bunch of flowers from a moving boat with her eyes closed.