Safe Harbour (6 page)

Sophie watched as families were reunited. They hugged and kissed and talked animatedly to each other. Some solitary figures stood, holding their cases, looking forlorn. The schoolboys were met by a plump woman in a fur coat who hugged and kissed them all, much to their embarrassment.

‘Come on, children!’ Mr Cox urged, leading Sophie and Hugh down the gangplank. He carried their case, but Sophie kept hold of the pillowcase, and slung it over her shoulder. The steward dealt with the two passport inspectors in dark uniforms, then led them to the sunlit exit from the port. People were everywhere, standing, sitting, watching, waiting. Sophie hoped that their grandfather was amongst them. Mr Cox chatted away to them, all the time with his eyes scouring the crowd. At one stage, he left them and approached a balding, jolly-looking gentleman who seemed to be asking one of the ship’s officers something. He seemed friendly, just as Sophie imagined a grandfather should be. But she could see him shake his head.

‘Where is he?’ complained Hugh, voicing her own concerns. ‘He’s probably forgotten and won’t bother coming to get us.’

‘He will, Hugh! Aunt Jessie and Mrs Stokes both told us he would!’ said Sophie, conscious of the knot of fear that sat like a toad in her stomach.

Then she noticed the tall man sitting on one of the wooden benches reading a newspaper. As if he knew she had spotted him, he folded the paper and began to stand up. He had a grey beard and a broad face, which even at a distance reminded her of her own father. He was wearing a blue-green tweed suit and a white shirt, and as soon as he walked she couldn’t help but notice his pronounced limp, and the gnarled dark wooden stick he used.

Mr Cox spotted him too and began to nudge them in his direction.

‘Do you think that’s him?’ whispered Hugh.

Sophie shrugged.

‘Excuse me, Sir! Are you, by any chance, Professor Fitzpatrick?’ Mr Cox enquired.

The old man looked sternly at them. ‘Yes! Indeed I am! And these two must be my grandchildren, Sophie and Hugh!’ He gave a kind of low, formal bow, and instead of hugging them shook their hands politely.

Sophie wilted from his stare – the striking pale blue eyes under the grey hairy eyebrows gazed at her.

Then she stared straight back at him, taking in the reddish veins that criss-crossed his cheeks and the few stray hairs that lurked in the shadows of his nose, and the frown that creased his brow. And then, his eyes. His gaze was cold and distant.

He turned his attention to Hugh, and Sophie could almost see the disappointment as he took in the pale, sick little boy with grey shadows under his eyes, and the still slightly stained shirt and jumper and trousers.

‘He was sick, Grandfather!’ Sophie tried to explain, wishing that they had made a better first impression.

The old man just nodded and turned to Mr Cox. Sophie watched as her grandfather slipped the steward a tip. ‘Thank you, my good man, for seeing this precious cargo safely home,’ he said. ‘I wonder if you could do us one more favour and organise having this luggage’ – he pointed to the worn case and the now dirty pillowcase – ‘transferred to the station, as we are taking the next train to Bray.’

‘Very well, Sir!’ Mr Cox agreed.

‘I can carry it, Grandfather,’ Sophie blurted out.

‘You can, but you may not, Sophie! Mr Cox will see to it,’ he ordered firmly.

Their grandfather turned around and began to walk towards the station. Sophie and Hugh followed him. He was used to giving orders, Sophie could see, and to having people follow him. That was the kind of man he was.

The station was busy, and as soon as the train came there was a surge forward to find a carriage. Grandfather did not speak to them again until they were actually sitting on the train.

‘You must both be very tired!’ he offered. He seemed bored by their company already.

Hugh yawned in affirmation. Sophie felt tears prick her eyes and she just about managed to nod. She stared out the train window as it trundled along through a wake of breathtaking scenery – and the sea was always there, blue and sparkling and winking at her. There were cliffs and hills that tumbled down to the coast and beach below, and
tunnels cutting through them as the railway track seemed to hover right to the edge. Large houses clung to the hillsides, with gardens surounded by flowers and shrubs.

‘It’s so beautiful!’ she gasped. Certainly it was not what she had expected.

‘Yes,’ said her grandfather proudly. ‘This is Killiney – they call it the Naples of Ireland. I suppose they are a bit alike.’

‘When will we be there?’ asked Hugh. Although he was cuddled up beside her, Sophie could see him every now and then sneaking looks at this strange new grandfather.

‘Not too long now, young man!’ Grandfather promised.

They passed a long stony beach, where dogs were being walked by their owners.

Before they knew it, the train had come to a halt at Bray, a seaside holiday town, where they had to get off. They followed again as their grandfather pushed through the heavy metal turnstile out to the station exit.

‘Ah! There you are, Edward!’ he said as they came onto the road.

Sophie and Hugh could not believe it – a horse and trap stood outside the station waiting for them! The big brown horse blinked and turned his head towards them.

‘Up you get, young Miss!’ The driver, Mr Devins, was a smallish man, wearing a brown cap and jacket; his face was tanned, and wore an amused expression as he helped Sophie to step up into the trap. She sat on one side, and her grandfather positioned himself opposite, one leg sticking forward stiffly. Hugh was all excited. He had never been in a trap before. Wide awake now, he squeezed up on the
bench beside Sophie. Mr Devins placed a warm rug over their knees, and stored their case away on a metal rack, then climbed up into the front of the trap, caught hold of the dark-brown leather reins, and made a clicking sound with his mouth. The horse seemed to lift up his ears, then began to move forward at the command, and went clip clop up along the street.

Bray was a busy town, and they passed many shops and houses before eventually getting out on the open road.

‘This is the road to Greystones,’ their Grandfather announced. ‘Those are the Sugarloaf mountains, the big Sugarloaf and the little one.’ He pointed to the large mountain, with its crust of grey-and-white, like icing covering the top.

Grey stone walls gave way to green fields, dotted with cows and sheep, then the road began to climb a bit and Sophie could tell it was hard going for the horse.

‘I’ll walk for a while, Mr Devins!’ she offered, to make the load lighter. And she walked alongside the driver who had got down himself.

‘She’s a good horse, is Sheba!’ said Mr Devins gently.

‘She’s lovely!’ said Sophie, patting the horse’s smooth neck.

Once they cleared the hill, Sophie clambered back in.

‘I see the sea!’ declared Hugh, as patches of blue sneaked through the spring hedgerows. Down below, the little town of Greystones clustered beneath them.

The horse walked slowly so as to be sure not to slip.

It was immediately clear why the place was called
Greystones. The waves rushed in on a beach made up completely of stones, of every shape and size and every shade of grey, from almost white to a shiny black.

‘This is the North Beach,’ Grandfather informed them. Fishing boats were pulled up on the beach and slipway. ‘That’s our pier.’ Part of the pier seemed to have broken off, and must have fallen into the sea. ‘A ship crashed into it, and then, bit by bit, storms and heavy seas did the rest.’

Mr Devins slowed Sheba down, so that they could have a good look at the place.

They rounded the seafront, and passed by a huge hotel. Over the hedges they could make out lawns and a croquet garden. Further along the road, a line of large imposing houses looked out to sea.

Sophie could scarcely believe it when Mr Devins turned the pony and trap into the driveway of one of these houses, and the horse trotted up to the front door.

‘There you are, Professor! Right to your doorstep, safe and sound!’ Mr Devins declared, jumping down to help them out.

‘But it’s huge, Grandfather!’ gasped Hugh. ‘Do you live here all by yourself?’

The old man seemed a bit embarrassed. ‘Yes, Hugh, I do! But now that the two of you are here, well, there will be someone else around to fill up the place!’

Sophie couldn’t make out if he was annoyed or pleased that they were there.

‘Welcome to your new home,’ said Grandfather formally.

‘Come inside,’ their grandfather ordered brusquely.

Mr Devins had left their luggage on the red-tiled porch, and Sophie felt rather nervous as he and Sheba turned and disappeared along the seafront, leaving them all alone with this strange new grandfather. But not for long.

‘Nancy!’ Grandfather called out. A cheerful-looking red-haired young woman appeared from the kitchen. ‘Children! I’d like you to meet my housekeeper, Nancy. Nancy, this is Sophie and this is Hugh.’

‘Well! I’m truly glad to meet you at last,’ Nancy said. ‘The professor has done nothing but talk about you both for the last few days! He’s been right excited about you being evacuated to stay with him.’ Her green eyes danced at the discomfiture of her employer, who turned away, embarrassed, and went off to the dining room.

Nancy chatted on excitedly. ‘Bit of a change from London! You poor things, being bombed out and all that. We’re lucky that Mr deValera kept us out of it! Doesn’t bear thinking about!’

Nancy ushered them into the dining room for a light dinner of lamb chops and potatoes. They sat at a large old mahogany table, Grandfather at the top, eating his way slowly and silently through his meal. The children ate in silence too. Only Nancy chatted and broke the tension.
Finally, the old man pushed back his chair and got up from the table.

‘Time for my evening walk. Nancy will show you to your rooms,’ he said.

Sophie was disappointed that her grandfather had not wanted to talk to them, to hear about Mum and Dad, and their lives in London. He didn’t seem to be at all interested, and she was too shy to ask the hundreds of questions that rattled around in her brain, demanding answers.

Sophie’s room was big and the yellow brass bed was so tall she would have to climb up into it. Nancy had turned back the sheet and coverlet, and put in a hot-water bottle. It was very comforting. The room was decorated in a pale pink wallpaper with a deep pink stripe, and a line of trailing pink and blue flowers all around the top. The curtains were pink too, and hung from a thick bamboo-like curtain pole. Nancy closed over the curtains, blocking out the end of evening light. ‘Into bed, Sophie,’ she said. ‘You need to sleep, child.’

Hugh’s room was smaller and painted yellow and blue. His window overlooked the garden. He was in bed in seconds, too tired to protest.

Sophie tossed and turned for a while. The horsehair mattress at first seemed too hard, but finally she settled down, warm and comfortable. Here, lying in the dark, Sophie felt safe at last, in this room, in this house. No bombs, no sirens, no air-raid shelters, no swivelling beams of searchlights.

There was a knock on the door, then it creaked open. It
was Hugh, in an old washed-out stripy pair of pyjamas. ‘I can’t sleep! I can’t sleep, Soph! It’s too quiet!’

Sophie almost giggled. He was right! It was so quiet and peaceful. All there was was the gentle shush of the waves outside, and a wobble of pale moonlight that gleamed through the curtain.

‘Honest, Soph, I can’t sleep!’

Sophie patted the narrow bed and her brother clambered in beside her, his bony knees and arms sticking into her. Out of habit, they both said their night-prayers, thinking specially of Mum and Dad, and adding their grandfather to the list of people to be prayed for.

In seconds, Hugh drifted off to sleep. Sophie lay awake. She was exhausted too, but her head was swimming with thoughts of this long, long day and all that had happened.

Lots of children were sleeping in strange beds tonight, she told herself – Maggie and her brother and little Lily, and all the others from the train. She and Hugh weren’t the only ones feeling homesick and lonely.

It was all part of the war effort. You had to make the best of it, that’s what everyone was expecting of you. She thought of Mum in the hospital and Dad in the war, and knew she must be brave for their sake.

Grandfather returned from his walk. She heard the heavy front door beneath her window bang shut. Would he come up to wish her goodnight, she wondered? But then she heard another door opening and closing. He wasn’t going to come.

There was no point in comparing him with her mother’s
father, Grandad Joe. Sophie remembered him so well. He was fun and told stories and played games with her. She had always been his favourite, his special granddaughter. She had loved him so much, but he had died when Hugh was only three.

This grandfather was different. He was their flesh and blood too, but he had never come to London to visit them, or seen them when they were babies. He was stern and distant, and he just wasn’t interested in them. No wonder Dad never talked about him. She couldn’t help but think that it was a mistake to have come to Ireland, even if it was safe, but now there was no going back.

Before breakfast the next morning, Sophie unpacked the few bits of clothes they had and hung them in the two huge wardrobes in their bedrooms. She draped her spare dress and cardigan over the polished wooden hangers that swung from the central bar. Her clothes looked lost in the emptiness of the wardrobe. She put her few bits of underwear and stockings in one of the drawers in the large chest of drawers. She hoped Grandfather would not check and see how little they both had.

‘You will both have the run of the house,’ announced Grandfather at breakfast, ‘with the exception of my study downstairs and my bedroom, dressing room and bathroom. I will point out those rooms to you after breakfast. I expect you to respect my privacy. The drawing room is not to be treated as a playroom. Meals are regular. Good wholesome
nourishing food – you two need building up – served on time. Breakfast is at half-past eight, lunch at one o’clock, and tea is at half-past six. Nancy is used to these hours and they suit her.’

Hugh was shifting uncomfortably and Sophie could tell he was making an effort to try and remember all that Grandfather was saying.

‘Lights are not to be left on unnecessarily, hot water is not to be wasted, and I will not tolerate loudness or unruly behaviour.’

‘And now,’ he continued, ‘about your education. I will arrange for you to attend the local schools here from next Monday. You, Sophie, will go to the convent school, and you, Hugh, to the boys’ school nearby.’ He stopped talking for a few seconds as he cut the top off his egg and dropped a knob of butter into it. ‘You may have this week off.’

Sophie was amazed at just how much food there was on the breakfast table: bread, butter, jams, marmalade, eggs, a big jug of milk, and a large silver teapot. Where was their grandfather getting it all from?

‘Grandfather, do you have to get ration cards for us?’ she blurted out.

‘Don’t worry about that, Sophie. Remember, the food shortages here are nothing as bad as in London – this is an agricultural country. I’ll sort out the allowances for the two of you.’

She blushed. Every time he spoke to her, it was as if he was giving her a lecture.

‘I suppose the pair of you are anxious to explore your
new surroundings?’ he continued. ‘Now, listen carefully. No climbing the rocks – with the sea-spray they are too slippery at this time of year. Be careful of the tide if you go on the South Beach or Cove.’

South Beach! Cove! It sounded like there were lots of places to see, and Sophie was itching to get out and have a good look around.

‘Sophie, you are responsible for your brother,’ Grandfather said. ‘Make sure he does not get into trouble – and be careful of the water.’

‘Are you finished, Professor?’ interrupted Nancy, starting to clear the table.

‘I have some work to do,’ said the old man. ‘Bring me the post when it comes, Nancy.’

Sophie thought he had forgotten about herself and Hugh, but he looked at the two of them again. ‘I trust you two will be able to amuse yourselves till lunchtime? Now, come with me.’

He pointed out the doors to his private rooms, then opened the last one into a room filled with books. He limped inside and closed the door behind him.