Authors: Victoria Hislop
Tags: #British - Spain, #Psychological Fiction, #Family, #British, #Spain - History - Civil War; 1936-1939 - Social Aspects, #General, #Granada (Spain), #Historical, #War & Military, #Families, #Fiction, #Spain
The Return (57 page)
Carmen was the only one of the group who spoke any English. The children had learned a few words since they arrived, but could not make conversation.
Mercedes knew only ‘Hello’ and ‘Thank you’. Both of these were useful in this situation and she managed to splutter them out.
Lady Greenham remained at the top of the steps, eyeing them all coolly. It had not been her idea to invite the refugees here. It was her husband’s whimsical notion. He was a distant relative of the redoubtable Duchess of Atholl, who had established the Basque Children’s Committee; now that they had been dispersed from the camp she helped them to find homes around the country. Lady Greenham remembered clearly the first time she had heard of her husband’s plan to open up their home. ‘Oh, do let’s help these poor dears!’ he had exhorted. ‘It won’t be for long.’ He had just returned from a meeting in London where the ‘Red Duchess’, as she was known, had canvassed for support.
Sir John was a kind-hearted man and could think of no reason why they should not invite a group of harmless young Spaniards to fill some of their dusty rooms. They had never had children of their own and it was a long time since the corridors of the house had been filled with any kind of life, apart from the occasional mouse.
‘Very well, then,’ his wife had reluctantly agreed. ‘But I’m not having boys. Only girls. And not too many of them.’
‘I’m afraid we can’t do that,’ he answered firmly. ‘If there are siblings, they have to stay together.’
Lady Greenham was full of resentment right from the beginning. Though it was in a state of dusty decay, she retained a strong pride in their home. They had long since dispensed with the servants, who had kept the place immaculate, and now only had a short-sighted housekeeper who occasionally flicked a duster at the cobwebs. Even so, Lady Greenham had a strong awareness of the house’s past grandeur and her social standing as its chatelaine.
The children filed up the steps and into the hallway, their eyes as wide as saucers. Dark portraits looked down at them. Paloma giggled.
‘Look at him,’ she whispered to Enrique, pointing at one of the ancestral paintings. ‘He’s so fat!’
She won herself a disapproving look from Carmen. Even though she was sure that their hosts did not understand what she had said, it was obvious what had amused her.
Lady Greenham’s rather fixed smile faded. ‘Now, children,’ she said, not the slightest bit perturbed that they did not have any idea what she was saying, but raising her voice in case it helped their comprehension. ‘Shall we just establish a few rules?’
They gathered in a circle around her. For the first time Mercedes took a closer look at the Englishwoman. She seemed about the same age as her mother, perhaps forty-five. Her husband, who had strands of reddish hair brushed ineffectually across his bald head, was probably a few years older than she. His complexion was densely freckled and Mercedes tried not to stare.
Carmen translated as Lady Greenham spoke.
‘There is to be no running up and down the corridors . . . Shoes will be taken off before you come in from the garden . . . The drawing room and the library are out of bounds to you . . . You must not over-excite the dogs.’
They listened in silence.
‘Boys and girls, do you understand all these rules?’ said Carmen, to try to break the tension.
‘
Sí! Sí! Sí!
’ they all agreed.
Sí! Sí! Sí!
’ they all agreed.
‘Now I shall show you where you’re going to sleep,’ said Sir John.
The children’s feet clattered up the bare broad staircase after their hosts.
Lady Greenham stopped and turned round.The children halted too.
‘I think we have already broken a rule, haven’t we?’
Carmen flushed. ‘Yes, they have. I’m so sorry,’ she said apologetically. ‘Now, children, go back down the stairs and remove your shoes, please.’
They all did as they were told and their dusty shoes now formed an untidy pile at the foot of the stairs.
‘I’ll show you where to put them later,’ said Lady Greenham. Her own court shoes hammered along the corridor now as the walk to their bedrooms continued.
One thing Mercedes had observed was that, in spite of the temperature they had been enjoying earlier, as soon as they had stepped over the threshold of this house, all the warmth of the day was left outside.
The boys were to be accommodated in a room on the first floor, which had high ceilings, huge sash windows, and a large faded Persian rug, and the girls were to be divided into two separate musty-smelling rooms in the attic, which had once been servants’ quarters.There were several beds in each and they were expected to share in whatever way they could. Carmen and Mercedes would sleep top to tail with the girls.
It was suppertime. Initially the housekeeper, Mrs Williams, was as unwelcoming as her mistress. In the kitchen she gave them a series of ‘don’ts’.
‘Don’t leave your plate on the table. Don’t bang your cutlery. Don’t waste food. Don’t let the dogs eat any scraps. Don’t let any peelings go down the sink. Don’t forget to wash your hands before meals.’
Each one was delivered with a mimed demonstration of what they ‘Must Not Do’.Then she smiled - a broad smile that involved every muscle in her face, including her eyes, her mouth and the dimples in her cheeks. The children could see that this woman had warmth in her heart.
In the grand dining room, where grimy crystal chandeliers hung down from the ceiling, the long table was incongruously laid with green china from Woolworths and tin mugs. Lady Greenham was hardly going to use her finest porcelain for these little foreigners.
Their first meal was a dish made from mince followed by tapioca pudding. Most of the children managed to force down the fatty first course but the tapioca was more of a struggle. Several of them gagged violently and Paloma was profusely sick on the floor. Carmen and Mercedes rushed to clear up the vomit. It was imperative that Lady Greenham did not get to hear of it, since this was the sort of calamity that might prove her husband’s folly in inviting these children here.
The housekeeper, loyal as she was to her employers, did not want the new arrivals to get into trouble so she helped clear up and promised not to mention what had happened. She would serve something called semolina from now on, rather than tapioca.
The following day, after a breakfast of bread and margarine, the children were allowed to explore outside.They were baffled as to where its limits lay. There was a formal garden with overgrown lawns and brick-edged parterres, where weeds seemed to grow in greater profusion than the roses, against whom they waged an impressive battle. Rather mystifyingly there was a huge sunken space; they deduced from the presence of a now bottomless rowing boat that was stranded in the middle, its oars sticking out of the mud like flagpoles, that it had once been an artificial lake. Some of them walked around it, but found the pathway overgrown and impossible to negotiate. Beyond the lake in one direction was woodland and in the other there were fields, some of them grazed by cows.
There was a little folly in the garden, which had obviously been a retreat for someone who enjoyed painting. It was circular, so that the light could come in from all sides. An easel leaned against the wall, and the old table was covered with daubs of oil paints, tubes of which still lay on the surface. Paintbrushes stood, tips down, in a cup. No one had been in here for years. Two of the older girls, Pilar and Esperanza, were entranced by this secret hideaway and found some paper and scraps of charcoal. The paper was damp but useable and they began to draw. Hours later they were still there, utterly absorbed.
Mercedes was drawn to a wooden summerhouse by the lake and pushed open the door. It was full of old deck chairs.
‘Let’s put some of them out,’ said Paloma, who was exploring the estate with Mercedes. She dragged one of them into the sunshine, only to discover that the canvas had rotted.‘Never mind,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Perhaps we could mend some of them.’
Later that week, that was exactly what they would begin to do.
Some of the children found the walled area where a few vegetables were still growing. In the past they had been cultivated in industrial quantities, but now only a few onions and potatoes grew. One of the girls went into the greenhouse and found some strawberries growing in a trough. She could not resist eating one and was in a state of anxiety for the rest of the day over whether Lady Greenham had counted them and would notice the missing fruit.
Other children had discovered a disused tennis court and, in a nearby pavilion, the old, rolled-up net. Carmen, with some of the older boys, was now attempting to erect it. The lines were still just about visible, and once they had rooted out some old rackets, all with a string or two broken, a few had begun to pat a ball back and forth across the net. It had been many, many months since they had had fun like this.
At lunchtime Sir John came to find them. He could hear their laughter and found a group of the children trying to keep a ball in play.
‘What’s this?’ asked Carmen, holding out a giant wooden hammer for him to identify. ‘There are several of them in a box.’
‘Ah,’ he said smiling. ‘That’s a croquet mallet.’
‘A croquet mallet . . .’ repeated Carmen, none the wiser.
‘Shall I show you how to play after lunch?’
‘It’s a game, then?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘and we used to play it on that lawn.’ He pointed to a huge flat sweep of grass that was now covered in patches of moss. ‘It’s a bit bumpy now, but no reason why we shouldn’t have a go.’
After a lunch of potato soup, some bread and a lump of cheese that the children thought rubbery but quite enjoyed, they were back in the garden. There was a croquet lesson. Sir John had set up the hoops and now taught a group of them the strange and quirky rules of the game. Even the boys were dismissive of the option to drive another player off the lawn, and adopted a more gentle strategy. They had witnessed enough aggression in their short lives.
The delightful romance of all the garden’s different spaces captivated everyone, and on this perfect English summer’s afternoon, they all temporarily forgot about the past and enjoyed the present. There was the freedom to run around and the opportunity to sit quietly too. A few of the younger ones had found a bench in the sunshine and started to draw.
Carmen had kept in touch with some of the other teachers, and conditions in some of their colonies made her appreciate more than ever their good fortune in being at Winton Hall. At one place, the children found themselves being used as free labour in a laundry, and at some of the Catholic-run homes, the nuns did not hesitate to punish misdemeanours with beatings.
Those who were in Salvation Army camps seemed to have most complaints:‘The stern faces of women in bonnets who make us sing English hymns only remind me of why we had to leave Spain,’ wrote Carmen’s friend. ‘People in uniform forcing us to conform to their religion! Doesn’t that sound familiar?’
It seemed to Mercedes that though their actions were often well meant, some of those who ran the colonies failed to appreciate what these children had suffered.
Chapter Thirty-six
ONE WARM SUMMER’S day passed after another and the mood at Winton Hall was generally one of content. Many of the children had recently received letters from their families in Bilbao. Enrique and Paloma were among the lucky ones and now knew that their mother and little brother and sister were all safe.
In the mornings, the children had a few hours of lessons but afternoons were for recreation. One day a group of them were trying to recall the words of their favourite songs and the steps of some traditional Basque dances. It mattered so much to them that they should not forget the good things about home. Over the coming days they rehearsed until they were word- and step-perfect. They would perform them to Sir John and Lady Greenham and Mrs Williams, if they were interested.
That night after supper, they put on a performance. Even Lady Greenham managed to applaud. Sir John’s enthusiasm bubbled out of him.
‘That was marvellous,’ he said to Carmen. ‘Really marvellous.’
‘Thank you,’ she said beaming.
‘And I’ve got an idea! I think you should put on a show in the village!’
‘Oh, surely not,’ Carmen replied. ‘I think the children would be much too shy.’
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