Читать книгу Rambles on the Edge - Wendy Maitland - Страница 10

CHAPTER 3

While we were still on the farm at Hartley, back at Forest Lodge in England during 1971 two weddings were held that year. The first was Ros and Gary’s wedding, which Fa did not attend, leaving Muz to preside with a reluctance and lack of enthusiasm that, Ros reported, had soured the whole proceedings. It was partly that Muz resented having to act as hostess without Fa to help and do his bit as father of the bride, but also because she strongly disapproved of a church wedding with Ros marrying in white after she and Gary had ‘shamelessly’ lived together for a number of years. ‘You have to be a virgin to wear white,’ she insisted. ‘It isn’t right to pretend.’

‘I’m not pretending,’ Ros told her. ‘I can wear what I like. No one takes any notice of those silly ideas any more. Hardly anyone is a virgin when they get married these days.’

‘Well, it’s scandalous how morals are breaking down,’ Muz said. ‘Soon people won’t bother to get married at all and will just go on living in sin.’

Due to such strained circumstances the wedding was necessarily a modest affair, but Muz had promised that she would arrange and pay for them to spend their wedding night in luxury at Gravetye Manor, as her wedding present to them. On the day itself, while going through the motions of a subdued ceremony and reception with just a few friends but none of the family except Muz (Elaine and Les were in Ethiopia), the highlight of the whole event for Ros and Gary was the prospect of Gravetye that night. It then came as a complete shock when Muz announced that she had changed her mind and no booking had been made. A wedding night at Gravetye was improper, she explained, since they had already been sharing the same bed for years, and moreover the wedding itself could not be a proper wedding in such circumstances. Her sense of satisfaction in having made this moral stand did nothing to ease the tension caused when there was no time to look for a suitable alternative hotel room. When Ros and Gary at last drove away from Forest Lodge that evening, they stopped at the first AA recommended roadside inn, glad to find somewhere half-decent for the night.

Muz’s behaviour may have been provoked by misgivings within herself, I realised, as the second marriage that year, to everyone’s consternation and possibly her own as well, was hers to Andy. He must have finally worn her down as there was no excitement or even pleasure in her letter telling me about the register office formality, followed by a honeymoon touring France. ‘Andy is never happier than when he’s behind a wheel, driving all day. He never stops to look at the view or learn the history of places where there are famous sights to see. He doesn’t even feel the need to stop and eat somewhere until I insist,’ she complained. ‘Worst of all, he refuses to think about where we might stay the night, with the result that we arrive after dark in a strange town to find everywhere closed. We then have to hammer on the door of any place with a light showing, pleading with them to let us have a bed for the night.’

None of this was any surprise to me, but I was surprised when Muz said that Forest Lodge was to be sold and they were moving to Suffolk. Andy had spent his childhood there and had fond memories of life in a small village where nothing much had changed for centuries. ‘He has always wanted to go back and recapture that idyll,’ Muz said, ‘and now we’re married we can share his dream together.’

‘What about Spindle?’ was my first question when I replied to her letter telling me this news.

‘He will be transferred to a hospital near enough for us to visit and have him home,’ she wrote back. Muz had it all worked out. ‘Ros and Gary can take the train from London to visit us, or they can drive up quite easily. The best thing of all will be the sense of liberation when Forest Lodge has been left behind with all its bitter memories. I can have a proper settled home at last and put down roots with Andy. It’s still possible at our age to make a whole new life together.’

All Andy needs for putting down roots is a deep armchair, I thought. He’ll be rooted to the spot for ever once they move, but if that makes Muz happy and, even more importantly, she takes her piano with her for comfort, it can be nothing but a relief all round.

My own situation was more pressing as attempts to prise Lulu out of our house continued without success, and what made it worse was that she and Adam seemed to have formed an attachment. Good grief, I thought, she’s another one. It may be flattering to have a husband who is admired by other women, as long as it doesn’t go beyond admiration, but to have one like this actually living with us, is really too much. Adam would often stay up late with her watching television on nights when she wasn’t working, while I went to bed too tired to bother joining them. There was an occasion when, waking up at midnight and finding his side of the bed empty, I got up and went to investigate. ‘Storming into the sitting room making a scene,’ Adam complained, ‘when all we were doing was watching the box together. I need to relax after a busy day driving round looking at bovines.’

‘And what I need is a house all to ourselves with that woman gone. Do you really think sitting on the sofa at midnight with an off-duty stripper is the kind of relaxation you need before getting up early next morning for another busy day at work. She’s got to go,’ I demanded.

‘Well, how do you propose achieving that?’

‘I’ll take the children to Fran’s and stay at the farm with her until the coast is clear to come back. Fran says I can have her guest house for as long as I like. You will have to choose between Lulu and me.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Louise and Simon are due to start school in a week. You can’t do that to them.’

‘You can’t go on inflicting Lulu on me.’

‘I’ll talk to her again. She knows she’s got to go. She’s waiting to hear about a flat she’s been to see.’

‘Why doesn’t she get the housing officer to find somewhere else for her?’

‘I think there was a problem with her tenancy here and she was given notice, so they are not keen to keep her as a tenant.’

‘That isn’t hard to believe. Why do you allow yourself to get taken in like this? She’s just another scheming woman, using flattery to get the better of you.’

‘She’s had a lot of knocks in her life. She deserves a break.’

‘Not at our expense. I’m serious about leaving and going to Fran’s.’

‘Please be a little more patient. She will be gone in days, I promise.’

Those few days went by and she was still there, drifting about in her pyjamas, giving orders to the staff and generally behaving as mistress of the house. So I took the children to Fran’s and when term started we all did lessons together with Fran’s children who were on an approved correspondence course. At first the children were excited to be back on a farm again, especially as Fran had horses and went riding every day, so we joined her, and mine were started on ponies. Of particular fascination was Fran’s swimming pool (empty of water after a shortage) where she kept snakes as pets. All this was engaging for a while, but inevitably the children soon wanted to know when we were going home, and so did I. Adam’s whole focus was on his new job, so that the situation with Lulu, coupled with my absence, seemed almost too much for him to think about. Each time I phoned to ask if Lulu had departed, he became more irritated with me, insisting that I was being unreasonable.

There had to be a solution to this impasse and Fran recommended a lawyer friend of hers for advice. I went to see him and he was able to assure me that I was not being unreasonable. He suggested starting with an informal approach. Fran would go to Salisbury and call at the house one evening when Adam was there, to have a friendly drink and introduce Mike the lawyer as a friend who had come with her, whom she would like Adam to meet. The conversation would gradually turn to Lulu, and if she was there Mike would be able to get a handle on the situation. All proceeded to plan, but it turned out to be one of Lulu’s working nights and she wasn’t there, so Fran and Mike took the opportunity to impress on Adam that the situation was untenable and he must force her to leave.

Fran reported all this to me on her return and was confident that Adam would be on the phone very soon to tell me that Lulu had gone and the house was ours. We waited a few days, and then a few more days, and when I phoned Adam for news it was as if no conversation between them had ever taken place. I asked him about this but he laughed it off as a social visit, saying how nice it had been to see Fran, and to meet Mike.

I went back to see Mike who was surprised at the lack of response and thought Adam was in a state of denial about the problem, because he didn’t know how to deal with it at the same time as focusing all his energies on a new job. This sounded entirely plausible and it was very helpful to have a common sense opinion offered. ‘In that case, what can we do about it?’ I asked him.

‘Since Adam and Lulu have been living in the same house, alone together for a significant length of time, whether or not there has been anything going on, you have grounds for divorce,’ he said.

‘I don’t want a divorce. I just want the woman to go and leave us in peace in our own home.’

Mike continued, ‘Although the threat of divorce sounds like an extreme measure, it is the only way to put pressure on Adam to get the woman out. As things stand, he is relying on you to relent and move back, accepting the status quo for the sake of the children.’

‘I can’t afford any legal costs.’

‘You won’t have any. I will ask Adam for a private meeting. A deadline will be set for the woman to leave with all her possessions and any hangers-on, never to return under any circumstances. I will explain to him that any failure to carry this out will result in instant divorce proceedings, indisputable grounds having been provided. If he feels unable to deliver an ultimatum to the woman, I can give him a letter to hand to her personally, to make sure she gets it. She will not argue. The last thing she needs in her line of business is anything to do with the courts.’

‘Do you think Adam will agree?’

‘Of course he will. I can guarantee it. He is in a hole, and I am offering him a way out, at no cost.’

‘Why are you doing this for us?’

‘Because you are a friend of Fran’s, and I will always do what I can for any friend of hers.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, feeling close to tears. ‘I don’t know how we can ever repay you.’

‘Go on being a friend to Fran,’ he said.

Mike was as good as his word and Lulu left in a puff of dust the very next day after Mike had spoken to Adam, and, as it happened, to her as well. Adam was puzzled at the haste of her departure. ‘She couldn’t wait to leave,’ he said on the phone to me, mystified. ‘Mike really put the wind up her. I don’t know what he said to her, but it was as if she’d got the law on her tail. All her things were flung into boxes and suitcases double time and she literally fled, bundling her poor blind brother into the car with her.’

‘Maybe there was more going on in the house than we realised, with so many people coming and going, and you were a good cover, until she was found out.’

‘We’ll never know, darling, but thank God you’re coming back. It’s been a nightmare. You’ve no idea how chaotic it’s been without you and the house being used as a drop-in centre. No one doing any proper cooking or organising any sort of routine. Just endless picnicking in the dining room and leaving a terrible mess for the servants to clear up. Do hurry back, darling.’

With Lulu and her tribe gone, it was bliss to return and settle back to the normal tumult of family life after such an unnerving experience. I was very relieved to find that the hiatus had not damaged us and I still had the same loving husband as before; his only fault that sometimes he was inclined to spread his loving nature too generously. Louise and Simon were excited to be joining Blakiston School just down the road, and best of all they had inherited second-hand bikes left behind by some of the younger members of Lulu’s tribe. They could go off by themselves on these, riding along quiet streets in our suburb, avoiding a busy highway which connected this enclave to the city centre a couple of miles away. It was a very convenient place to live, with a short commute to the Bowmaker office for Adam, and close to Baines Avenue where several medical specialists had consulting rooms and a clinic. I promised myself a job at one of the surgeries as soon as the children were settled in school.

Peter was ready for nursery school, needing the company of other children his age, and a small nursery called Treetops was also conveniently close. He wanted to have a bike like the others but was still small for his age so he had to make do with a tricycle and, much to his frustration, he was not allowed out onto the road. Traffic laws were quite strict in Salisbury and children on bicycles had to pass a safety test before using public roads, while tricycles were restricted to gardens. This didn’t prevent Peter trying to go out and making a dash for the gate whenever he saw a chance. Having hauled him back one day, I could hear the phone ringing in the house and went to answer it. It was Fran and we went on talking for some time until disturbed by the sound of a car arriving outside my house, loudly hooting its horn to indicate some kind of emergency.

The front door was open and a furious woman came running inside shouting at me, while dragging a reluctant Peter behind her. ‘Is this your child?’ she demanded. Not waiting for a reply, she went on, ‘He was on a tricycle in the fast lane of the highway. In the fast lane – do you hear? Just pedalling along, oblivious to all the traffic swerving around him. A miracle he wasn’t killed.’ She paused to draw breath. ‘It’s a very fast road. Very dangerous. If I hadn’t stopped to rescue him there would have been a terrible accident. No one else was stopping. I picked up the tricycle as well as him.’ She stood there red in the face, trembling with anger and shock, her voice coming in gasps with the effort of telling me this. Peter had already run off.

I held out my hand to her in abject apology: ‘I had no idea he’d gone out onto the big road. How could he have got there? I thought he was in the garden where he’s supposed to be,’ I added lamely.

‘You were on the phone yakking to someone instead of keeping an eye on him,’ the woman said accusingly.

‘Yes, I know. But he also knows he’s not supposed to go out of the garden on his own.’

‘He’s only a child. Children his age have to be supervised.’

‘I know that, and I’m completely in the wrong, and mortified about what happened. Thank God you were there. How can I thank you enough? What can I do to make it up to you?’

‘You can thank God, like you said. And keep your gate closed.’

With that parting advice she returned to her car, extricated the tricycle from the boot, set it down and drove off before I had a chance to ask her name or thank her again. I needed to find Peter and make sure he understood the enormity of his foolishness in going for a ride on the highway, but he was already entertaining the staff with a graphic description of his exploit, making them laugh and clap so much for its audacity that I didn’t have the heart to be too cross. When he was told about it, Adam too was impressed, though not so much by my lapse in child care as Peter’s daring escapade.

‘He needs to go to nursery school instead of getting bored at home on his own,’ Louise remarked after this incident, and I agreed. It was time, too, for me to get a job, and I was taken on as nurse/receptionist by a partnership of consultant paediatricians: Doctors Zilberg, Sanders and Pichanick, at their Baines Avenue rooms. Working for these three outstanding child specialists was a very happy and rewarding time for me because it was a great learning experience as well as a privilege to be part of their team. Each morning when I arrived at the surgery, phones would be ringing and this filled me with anticipation for the day ahead. GPs dealt with routine conditions and referred anything that was complicated or evading diagnosis, so the cases seen at Baines Avenue were interesting and unusual. Two other nurses were employed in addition to a book-keeper and secretary, and when patients started arriving each morning the surgery became a noisy hub of activity with children and toys spilling everywhere.

It was a time when Vietnamese orphans were being adopted by kindhearted couples in different parts of the world, including Rhodesia. Some of these children had been through traumatic experiences resulting in disturbed behaviour which could be difficult to manage as problems became more evident. Other children brought for advice on disordered behaviour were often equally challenging, but the young patients whose conditions distressed us most were the child cancers. We became very involved with the parents and whole families in these situations for emotional as well as medical support, and when a child died it left all of us stricken. Bereaved parents often continued to come to the surgery for months or years afterwards, simply for the compassion and understanding of the doctors. Another group much in need of sympathetic care were refugees from Mozambique. They arrived destitute and speaking only Portuguese, as the battle for freedom in that country led to the disintegration of public services. The desperate plight of these people, who very often had sick children in need of urgent care, was met by Rhodesian relief agencies who made referrals to relevant professional specialities like ours.

Through all these varied demands the doctors dispensed kindness and expertise with a ready sense of humour, handed out with supplies of sweets from bowls in the waiting room and their consulting rooms. On Friday afternoons all three doctors left early, wearing prayer shawls, and the rooms went quiet, so the rest of us could clear up and put all the toys away that had been scattered around during the crowded week.

Unseen by most of us and for a time suppressed in national news outlets was that Rhodesia had its own liberation war, and this was gathering pace on northern and western borders. Young white men of military age were being called up to serve in the Rhodesian defence forces and when families began to lose sons killed in action, the truth of what was called the ‘Bush War’ began to be felt. Adam volunteered for the Police Anti-Terrorist Unit (PATU) which was a para-military force of civilian volunteers, requiring compulsory commitment to a set number of days on active service each year. It meant that he was often away, but all businesses and employers shouldered this burden willingly, in the cause of what they believed to be defence of the country against communist infiltration and takeover by a Marxist regime, as had happened in Mozambique. Prime Minister Ian Smith declared that Rhodesia stood as one of the last bastions against communism in Africa and this justification for the Bush War did not seem unreasonable at the time, since it was widely reported that insurgents were trained by North Korea and Russia. My own experience of the Mau Mau uprising which led to independence in Kenya, suggested to me that instead of war, a better strategy would be the inclusion of Africans in government, starting a process of integration. There were indications that Ian Smith may have considered similar options but his political party, the Rhodesian Front, was reported to be ideologically opposed to this.

During the early years of the seventies, the war still seemed far away and Salisbury was vibrant with social life. Adam soon became popular on the party circuit; his gift for mimicry and entertainment made him a favourite with hostesses so we were never without invitations and he was always ready for an evening out. It was a time of bottle parties when guests took a bottle and plate of finger food, providing a cheap way to get together at someone’s house where the principle activity was dancing and circulating. More elaborate parties were given by a friend whose family owned estates in both Rhodesia and England, and although she was titled she had no pretensions and was refreshingly scatty. An invitation arrived from her in the flamboyant handwriting style that went with her personality; this time for a fancy dress ball in one of the grand rooms of a mansion hired for the occasion. Fancy dress was one of my least favourite party themes, but Adam loved dressing up. We couldn’t afford to hire costumes so it had to be something homemade or borrowed. Adam was already in a theatre group where they had been staging a production of South Pacific and had a selection of grass skirts, shell necklaces and gaudy flower garlands made of paper. Adam thought it would be fun to wear these and grass skirts could be twirled impressively during the dances.

When we arrived for the ball, our invitation was scrutinised and we were escorted by an attendant to meet the master of ceremonies who was announcing names of guests as they entered the ballroom. That is when we noticed that everyone else was wearing evening dress. Our hostess, who was greeting people, quickly took us aside. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, ‘there’s been a mix-up. At the last minute my dad arrived unexpectedly on a visit from London and brought with him a couple of cronies from the House of Lords. When he heard about the party, he insisted that some of the ministers in government who are friends of his, should be invited. Of course I couldn’t refuse. But fancy dress had to go out of the window as soon as lords and ladies were to be present. I phoned in a mad panic all the people I could reach, but you must have got missed somehow.’ She started giggling, and continued in a stage whisper, ‘I love it though. You’re not the only ones who didn’t get the message. Come over here.’ Huddled behind some potted palms we found others lingering in embarrassment, like ourselves dressed in ludicrous costumes. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘everyone will think you are the cabaret waiting in the wings. I’ll make sure you have your own waiters looking after you with loads of drinks and food.’ Adam, seizing on the idea of a cabaret with a chorus line already to hand, rehearsed us in an improvised comedy act hidden behind the palms while dancing was underway out in the grand room. After the inevitable speeches had been made and formality loosened with quantities of alcohol among the guests, we emerged from the palms with a piece of exotic folly that drew such gratifying applause, we found ourselves being congratulated instead of shunned as freaks.

To compensate the children missing out on parties when they either slept in the car or stayed at home with a babysitter, we took them to the drive-in cinema: a treat for all of us. It was an ideal family outing as we slumped in our seats with paper boxes of chicken and chips served from a café on site. The mess of greasy fingers and crumbs spilt everywhere was ignored as part of the evening’s release from daytime cares, and if anyone fell asleep that was normal too. Our car had a bench seat in front so all of us could squash together, and in the interval the children ran around meeting friends from school. ‘It’s lekker having a drive-in,’ they would say breathlessly, running back before the film started again. ‘Not even England has one. I’m glad we’re here.’

‘They can’t have them in England because of the rain,’ Louise pointed out.

‘Can I have a Lucky Packet?’ Peter asked. His speech had improved noticeably since starting at Treetops where I could drop him off on my way to work each morning. Lucky Packets were another Rhodesian speciality much cherished by children. For fifty cents a small sealed packet could be bought and when opened there was a surprise object inside. This might be a miniature plastic animal or other cheap toy, or just a sweet, but it was the surprise element that appealed. As well as Lucky Packets there were Monster Packets of the same size and just as popular. Inside would be a small plastic monster of hideous deformity, thrilling the recipient, and many children had collections of these. Most shops sold the packets but I have never seen them anywhere else except in Rhodesia.

Adam’s elevation to city slicker status (as he saw it) with a job in finance had not in reality enhanced our financial situation very much at all. We had a subsidised house and my own wage from the surgery, but we still struggled and there was nothing left for holidays or luxuries. Medical insurance was a big cost as there was no free health service, but it had been the same in Kenya. We had never needed any expensive treatment or thought about serious health problems until Louise unexpectedly became ill. For more than a year she’d had recurrent abdominal pain, but on numerous visits to our GP he said he could find nothing wrong and it was probably just a grumbling appendix.

As time went on, with more visits to the GP, I asked for a referral to the paediatric practice where I worked. I had already spoken to Dr Zilberg about Louise’s problem and asked him, or one of the others, to see her, but these doctors had a strict ethic and would not see any child without a referral. In desperation, on a day when Louise was ill again, I took her to the surgery with me, and Dr Zilberg relented. After examining her, he admitted her to hospital straight from the surgery, and when tests were done these showed a serious kidney condition (hydronephrosis with bilateral reflux). Dr Zilberg explained this was due to congenital abnormalities which needed complex surgery. He recommended taking her to London for this to be done by an eminent surgeon, Sir David Innes Williams. ‘The best in the world for this type of surgery,’ he told us.

Instead of being alarmed by this news, Louise was excited to be going to England. ‘We can see Gran, can’t we? And go to stay at her new house, and Ros, where she lives in London. We can go to the fun fair and the zoo. The boys won’t come with us. It will be just me and you, and then I can have the operation and get better.’

Ros and Gary had bought a flat in a terraced house in Battersea where houses still had pre-war features such as zinc tubs hanging on the back wall, and outside privies. By the time Louise and I arrived to stay, they had installed an indoor bathroom and modern kitchen/living room combined with two comfortable bedrooms; all very bijou and arty as would be expected. During this time traditional Battersea life continued as before with the rag and bone man calling ‘Rag-Bones’ as he drove his horse and cart along the street, to collect broken furniture, pots and scraps of anything that could be sold on. The paraffin man was another regular, filling cans from a tank on wheels to supply all household heating as well as some cooking stoves and even the occasional lamp. The fumes given off by burning paraffin permeated the interiors of these houses with an oily smell, always there, as familiar to household aromas as tobacco smoke.

One morning I noticed that all the windows in the street had their curtains drawn and Ros said there must have been a death, as, when this happened, curtains would stay closed all day as a mark of respect. We were still in the seventies and many of the old ways carried on, slowly.

Too slowly it seemed for Muz who, having moved into her dream cottage in Suffolk, found herself exasperated by its many age-related drawbacks after leaving behind the modern comforts of Forest Lodge. The cottage, in a small village, was several hundred years old, thatched and quaint to a degree that looked more suited to occupation by the Seven Dwarfs than real-life people. It had been built by Flemish weavers escaping persecution in their own country, and in honour of this connection Muz named the cottage ‘Flemings’. Ros seized on this and insisted on calling it ‘Phlegms’, which she remarked was appropriate since Andy had become even more of a slob since marrying Muz, no longer needing to keep up appearances now that she was his.

‘After they were married,’ Ros reported, ‘Muz discovered he hardly ever changes his underwear. He only has a bath when Muz insists, and due to a phobia about getting his head wet he can’t bear to have his bald head washed, so it pongs.’

My own observations when Louise and I arrived at the cottage, were more concerned with its impracticalities as it had no modern heating and was very cramped inside. A staircase of steep twisting steps was poked into one corner of the sitting room with a ceiling so low that we were forced to ascend in a crouching position like hunchbacks. ‘How did you ever get any furniture upstairs?’ I asked Muz, and she explained that all the beds and cupboards had to be taken apart to enable this feat. ‘After a great struggle dismantling them and getting them upstairs,’ she said, ‘nothing would stay in its place and kept sliding down the sloping floors. But Andy very cleverly solved this by suggesting bricks could be used as blocks, and it worked perfectly.’

‘I bet he didn’t carry the bricks up the stairs himself,’ I ventured.

‘Poor Andy. He developed a bad back just as we were due to move, and it’s still troubling him. But he finds a good massage helps, so I do my best as a masseuse and he likes that.’ I didn’t want to think about Muz giving Andy massages, and turned my attention to other irksome features such as the damp chill which seeped through each room of the cottage, adding to its discomforts. ‘I admit there are some problems,’ Muz conceded after noticing how unimpressed I was. ‘But we have got used to them, and Andy feels at home now he has his armchair and books to hand. We do a trip to the library in Sudbury once a week for him to change his books, while I do the shopping.’

‘Does he help with the shopping?’ I enquired, knowing what the answer would be. ‘He seems to do nothing all day except read,’ I pressed on, now we had got onto the subject of Andy’s indolence.

‘Yes, of course he’s a great reader, very well informed on any topic. He was never one for taking exercise. He does rather take his ease and expect to be waited on, but I don’t mind that because I like to be busy.’

Just as his sister Mary predicted, I thought, Muz has become his housekeeper and is blind to any deficiencies in him or the cottage. Except that she did allow herself a complaint when it related to her precious piano. She had to leave her beautiful Bechstein grand piano behind when they moved, but managed to fit an upright Bechstein into one end of the sitting room. Practising and playing the pieces that flowed from her fingers so readily was a joy but also an important therapy for her. Throughout the turbulent years of moving from country to country and place to place, wherever we went, a piano always came with us. After she and Fa were married and went to China as missionaries, all their wedding presents and other possessions followed, including her piano. When subsequently all was lost in a Japanese bombing raid and we later found refuge in India, Muz located another piano and this was carried by porters up the steep Himalayan mountainside to our house perched on a ledge, where earthquakes regularly rattled the ivory keys.

The piano installed at Flemings was, in this way, one in a long line, but no less treasured than all the others. Each day of her life Muz looked forward to a lull in household chores when she could sit down and play. Andy had not objected before they were married and was happy to sit with his book at Forest Lodge while Muz played, but now he said the music disturbed his reading. ‘I can’t concentrate with all that noise going on,’ he grumbled.

‘You can wear ear muffs,’ I told him, ‘and allow Muz the liberty of enjoying her one pleasure while you are indulging yours sitting in that chair all day.’ He looked up from his book with a baleful glare. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said.

The one big success of this visit was the pleasure that Louise and Muz had in being together again, with relief for all of us in the London surgeon’s assurance that Louise’s condition (which a few years before would have been fatal for most children) could be cured by a relatively new surgical procedure. He would not do this himself he told us, and explained: ‘You have an outstanding surgeon, Mr Honey, right there in Salisbury where you live. I should know, I taught him myself. You can have complete confidence in Mr Honey. I will give you a letter for him, with my compliments.’

When Fa heard about our visit with its medical and surgical implications, he hurried down from Herefordshire where he and Babs now lived since returning to England to look after her elderly parents. A bed was found for him at Ros and Gary’s tiny flat and we all squeezed in after leaving Muz and Andy to resume their mundane lives in the rickety cottage. ‘Like two hamsters in a biscuit tin,’ Ros remarked.