Author's note:
Characters that are not recognisably by Arthur Ransome are my own invention. Captain Abby and Captain John is a real book that I have never read and I'm not absolutely sure it was published in the UK. I have not read the Happy Highwayman although I read plenty of other "Saint" books when I was younger. A description of Patricia Holm might possibly shed an interesting light on Roger's ideal girl-friend.
I should make it very clear that my own characters are exactly that. They may, of course, do or say or see or hear something that has happened to a real person, but they are fictional.
Chapter seven:
"So how are you spending Christmas, Tia Walker? Going back to your doubtless doting and protective family are you?" Like all Mr Mortimer's personal comments it unsettled her. Titty had been feeling, guiltily, that she was over-protected. Attack was the best form of defence. She had heard both John and Nancy say so. Titty could attack as swiftly as either of them she reminded herself, thinking of the night she capture Amazon.
"I'll see my mother and my sisters certainly, I hope. And how about you, Mr Mortimer? How will you be spending Christmas? Pleasantly, I hope?" It was not capturing the Amazon, but the best she could think of on this short notice.
"Pleasantly - I hope too. Not with a family – doting or otherwise."
"I hope not alone."
"Ah – feeling a little guilty are we? You can stop worrying – I expect to spend Christmas in very pleasant company."
It was not until she was in bed that night, with the candlewick bedspread pulled up to her chin, and her dressing gown spread on top of the bedclothes, that Titty realised that Mr Mortimer had after all not said he would be spending Christmas with anybody. Perhaps it had been unkind to carry the war into his camp in that manner.
"Pegs said she had a prior engagement – she didn't say with whom, so I expect it's someone from school." Nancy said.
So Nancy didn't know about Peggy and Dick either. Titty wasn't going to point out that since Nancy and Peggy had been to the same school, Nancy would know most of Peggy's friends. It hadn't been an especially big school, so far as she recalled from what Peggy had said. Surely Peggy would mention a school friend? Titty made some inquiry about Nancy's plans for Christmas.
"Everyone else wants leave at Christmas. And I'd rather have the leave when John has some, if I can wrangle it." Nancy prodded the last bit of scrambled egg on her plate and didn't look up at Titty. When she spoke again her manner was not so breezy. "We wasted so much time – I was so convinced he couldn't possibly be interested in me except as a friend that I didn't say anything at all to let him know how I felt. And with this," her expansive gesture with the fork narrowly missed a passing nippy, but Titty knew she meant the war, "it could easily have been too late."
Nancy looked up and caught Titty's eye. After a brief pause, the familiar cheerful Nancy manner slipped back into place.
"I expect it was made with powder egg. They're doing their best." she said, and added a forkful of egg later, "The GA has invited herself to Beckfoot for Christmas. Doesn't like the idea of rushing round trying to scrape up a Christmas dinner for herself, probably."
"I thought your mother had invited Mrs Mac."
"She has. It isn't as if there is any chance at all of Mac being back. Uncle Jim will just have to sleep on the sofa."
Titty drank the last of her tea and began to fish in her bag for her purse.
"No, you can pay next time." said Nancy, pulling a rectangular parcel out of her bag and handing it to Titty. "I hope it's as good as the reviews said."
Titty produced her own parcel. "If you think you might want to wear it before Christmas, you can open it."
"Shall we say this is the official start of Christmas and open them now?" Nancy suggested.
Captain Abby and Captain John, - it seemed to be a biography from the last century – sailing ships. Titty looked up to thank Nancy and thought for one moment she had made some terrible mistake in her choice of present. Nancy seemed to be looking through the red knitted hat at something that only she could see.
"Is it alright? Susan said you had had to throw the old one overboard in the Baltic."
"Yes. Yes, I'm just remembering. John said we should give it a proper sea-burial and not just chuck it." She smiled at Titty – and it was not the usual Nancy grin. "Let's get the bill. You've got to catch a train to Portsmouth." was all Nancy said.
Bridget had never been short of opinions. Four months as a guest in someone else's house – even someone as understanding as Mrs Blackett - had left her with a considerable backlog of opinions she needed to air.
"All the same there are plenty of rules that are plain stupid." Bridget said, waving her fork for emphasis, to the detriment of the tablecloth. "Take the post office for example. Miss Letty and the Hardmans know Peggy's new address, but if someone sends a letter to her at Beckfoot it has to be delivered at Beckfoot, then we have to re-address it and then it has to go back in the post again. Miss Letty isn't allowed to simply bung the right address on when they get it at the post office."
"It won't happen that much, surely, and Mrs Blackett could tell the person Peggy's new address." said Susan.
"It's happened three times so far with the same person, and Mrs Blackett doesn't know the writing. Elspeth says she thinks it's male rather than female handwriting, although I don't know how she thinks she knows. It isn't John or Roger anyway, and the letters have come since Captain Flint came home."
"Timothy?" was there a slight suggestion of a smile on Mother's lips. Titty was surprised by how much the possibility cheered her.
"Captain Flint says he'd recognise his writing – and it isn't his." Bridget said. "It seems to have stopped now anyway – Peggy must have told him."
Titty glanced across at her other sister. Susan's face was particularly quiet and thoughtful. Susan said nothing. Titty felt a little sick, though she had not really eaten much more than usual.
Dear Titty,
Thank you for the "Happy Highwayman" which I am enjoying. It is handy having something I can pick up and put down. Patricia seems to be missing – although I'm only half-way through the third story so she may turn up – I hope so.
Your neighbour very kindly sent me a pair of very short socks, so I will write and thank her.
Happy New Year,
With love, Roger
Dear David,
I hope your Christmas was good – or at least as good as it can be under the circumstances.
I thought quite a bit about what you said. I do like you a lot. But – it's easy to hurt someone by only liking them if they felt more than just liking. I don't want to hurt your feelings. Perhaps someday I could care for you in the way I think you'd like me too – but I can't promise it. We are friends, so please don't stop writing. You don't have to make your letters "flippant" or write only to amuse me unless that's what you want to do. Even "only friends" can write about serious things to each other.
We could, if you liked, pretend we had been to plays and so forth together and discuss them – although we'd have to choose carefully. I haven't been to much by Gilbert and Sullivan. I have seen "HMS Pinafore" and enjoyed it very much. Which one do you think we should go to next? I'm not terribly high-brow in my tastes – at least if by high-brow you mean the sort of thing where people talk for hours about their feelings and do nothing much. Nancy and Peggy's aunt took Susan to a few like that. I do like Shakespeare, but I don't think anyone could accuse him of writing plays with nothing happening. But perhaps next I'd prefer it if you took me out to tea or even dinner if you liked and I asked you more about your family. You've met mine.
With best wishes for the New Year,
Titty
Dear Titty,
I can promise you I won't stop writing, although it might get difficult at times.
I'm sure we both enjoyed "Pinafore". I walked you home afterwards, I'm sure, and evidently I did pluck up the courage to invite you to dinner. Did I dare to kiss you on the cheek when I said goodnight? Or did we just shake hands? Or did you keep me very coolly at arm's length?
You asked about my family. I have to admit straight away that I have a much less interesting family than yours and a much smaller one – at least as regards brothers (one) and sisters (none at all). I do have a seemingly endless supply of aunts and cousins. I used to rely on my parents for briefings before visits involving the more distant cousins! Most of them live in North Wales or Liverpool or London. Nowhere exciting like Australia. Except for the last war, I think I'm the only one who has ever been overseas. Do you ever think of visiting Australia after this is all over?
Dad died two years ago. My older brother is also called John. He takes after Dad and is the brainy one – went to Oxford, and is a currently schoolmaster – not for much longer if he has his way. He's three years older than me and we get on pretty well – although no-one lets him forget he tried to swop me for a puppy when I was a baby.
As for the next step in your G+S education, you might like to see "The Mikado" next. I'd agree with you mostly about Shakespeare, but had the misfortune to see "Love's Labour's Lost" a few years ago. Talk about something and nothing!
Ah well, I suppose I had better walk you home before your mother starts to worry. I'm very tempted to take a longer route home so I can talk to you for longer, but I think you might notice. Where would you like to go next? Now, will you be offended if I kiss you on the cheek this time?
Happy New Year!
With very, very best wishes,
David
Dear David,
Thank you for taking me to dinner. I had a lovely evening, although mysteriously I can't remember exactly where we went or what we ate. (Actually it was vegetable crumble – sounds odd but was really rather decent.) Thank you, too, for walking me home. I think we shook hands after " HMS Pinafore". I'm not sure about after the dinner – but if you did I wasn't offended.
I'm afraid we probably can't go and see "the Mikado" until I actually do see it, but perhaps we could spend an afternoon in an art gallery and then have tea. Some pictures are being evacuated and so forth, so we might be lucky enough to find an art gallery with some of your favourite paintings and some of mine in it.
I wish there was something between "Best wishes" and "Love from" to put.
Titty
Dear Dot,
Thank you for the Christmas card. I hope you had a good Christmas. Did you all manage to be all together for Christmas? We didn't manage it quite because John wasn't there and Susan only had a few hours with Daddy and only met Roger at the station. It might well be the last time we are (mostly) all there until the end of the war. Mother says the lease on the house is coming to its end and coal will be difficult to get, so she's look for somewhere smaller, and possible in Plymouth. Mostly she's there by herself. It will seem strange – although as Susan says we've moved before lots of times and it always has been alright – only then we were all together.
Titty wondered if she should mention the letters from David. Should she ask about Dick? Suppose she got letter from Dorothea joyfully telling her about Dick and Peggy? Suppose Dorothea didn't know about Peggy and Dick? Dorothea was her friend, but so were Peggy and Dick. It would be disloyal to discuss this with anyone else.
I hope things are going well at Oxford. Only five months left.
With love from Titty.
Dear Titty,
As for serious things – if I get some leave (more than a couple of days), I would really like to see you. Rosyth is a long way from the Home Counties and I'm not asking you to travel that far, but do you think you could travel as far as Liverpool? It seems very unreasonable to ask this of you, but it also seems very unfair on my mother for me not to see her. She's been on her own ever since Dad died and since my aunt now has evacuees billeted on her it's hard for her to visit Mum or the other way round.
Mum isn't one to put two and two together and make twenty six, and she isn't likely to do or say anything to make things awkward. I think you'll like each other by the way. Mum is always happy when the spare room is in use. Even if you couldn't get any time off and could only come for the weekend I would very much like to see you. I would quite understand if you didn't feel quite comfortable coming by yourself, so if you'd like to bring a friend with you I quite understand. The spare room has two beds! It seems rather strange and bad-mannered to invite you without saying when – but when I do get leave I don't know how much notice there will be. Of course if you don't like the idea I could come and visit you for a day or two if you prefer. There's bound to be somewhere I can put up near the film studios. And if you don't like either idea I can understand. (I'll just mope, that's all!).
I just wanted to give you time to think about the idea before I sprang it on you.
As for the our visit to the Art Galley – I'm feeling a bit embarrassed because you know a lot more about the subject than I do. I will admit to liking pre- Raphaelite paintings – not always ones with figures, but certainly the landscapes where the colour seems so vivid and you can see each little plant in a hedgerow. I also like seascapes and if they have sailing ships in them so much the better. Which paintings did you like best? It may of course be Constable, whom I know I'm meant to admire, and can't. I'm perfectly willing to make another effort at it if he is one of your favourites and you'd like to explain, however.
And I completely agree with you about the something between best wishes and love from. The number of times I've tried not to laugh at your brother, seeing him write a long letter without a pause and then sit staring at the bottom of his paper for about ten minutes! I suppose they were to Nancy. I'm glad now I was soft-hearted enough not to pull his leg about it!
Oh blow it! Just because I write it, it doesn't mean you have to! It's true anyway.
With love, David
Dear David,
Yes, I would like to see you, and if it's possible I'm quite prepared to travel to Liverpool. As for bringing a friend with me it's very kind of you to think about it, but I don't think I should. It's bound to get very tricky with ration books would not fair to your mother. I'm so new that time off work could be a problem, but I should be able to manage a weekend. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it.
I know what you mean about not admiring artists you know you are supposed to admire. I'm not that keen on Constable either, but should you mind my showing you a lot of impressionist paintings? I think I showed you "Lavacourt in the snow" and explained how much I liked the different colours in the snow and how it reminded me of the snow on the fells behind the igloo the winter Nancy got mumps and we were in quarantine and couldn't go back to school for ages. And because you like seascapes, I would show you the one of the rock arch (I've never seen it myself – only a print but I would like to.) and one of the ones with sunlight on plants with dappled shade. All very different from the pre-Raphaelite paintings you showed me – but I enjoyed them a great deal too.
I still want to write something between best wishes and love from,
I'm sorry.
Titty
Dear Titty ,
Don't be sorry! It would be a pretty poor repayment for your wonderful letters, if writing them made you unhappy.
And I did enjoy the Monet paintings. It's rather encouraging that we both seem to like outdoor things better than indoor. When you come to Liverpool I'd like to take you to Formby and we can walk on the sand dunes and the beach itself. Lots of people do that in summer, but I like it better in winter. If there is a bit of wind and the sun if low in the sky, the sand seems to shimmer as it blows along at ankle height. It makes a strange noise – not exactly a whispering sound, but I don't know a better word to describe it.
If I don't finish this now it won't reach you!
With love, David.
