Safe Harbour (8 page)

‘Who is it?’ Grandfather called out irritably.

‘It’s me! Sophie!’

She could hear him moving around, shuffling papers, making up his mind whether to let her in or not.

‘Oh! All right then! Enter!’

Sophie pushed the white-panelled door in. Her grandfather was sitting at a big old wooden desk, which was covered in papers and letters. Sophie’s eyes travelled around the book-cluttered room. It was like a small library, with shelves reaching almost to the ceiling. It would take years to read all these books. No wonder Grandfather spent almost all his time in here. There was so much knowledge and learning just in this one place.

His half-eaten tea lay balanced on top of a pad of writing paper. Sophie almost tripped over a box on the floor.

‘Mind my files!’ he exclaimed. He had a pen in his hand and had obviously been writing. ‘Let me finish the rest of this page.’ He motioned to her to sit down. She sat in a smaller version of the green-winged leather chair he was sitting in, and watched as he wrote, muttering softly to himself.

Sophie’s eyes suddenly noticed the high shelf of strange objects in glass jars. They shone with an incandescent dark green glow. What in heaven’s name were they? Then she
almost jumped out of her skin with fright when her eyes settled on the grimacing skull of a skeleton, hanging from a stand in the corner.

‘Oh!’ she screamed.

Her grandfather looked up. ‘That’s only old Toby! My skeleton. All us medical students used to have our own skeletons. No need to be scared of him.’ He stood up and walked over to the bony figure. ‘I’ll cover it up if it upsets you.’ He draped a heavy piece of brown velvet over it, then turned back towards her, stiffly.

‘Well?’ He drew his pipe and pouch of tobacco out of his pocket and began to fill the bowl.

‘Grandfather, I’m sorry to interrupt you when you’re working, but I wanted to come and apologise properly for what Hugh and I did. I know it was very wrong.’

He began to light the pipe, waiting for her to say more.

‘We would never jeer or laugh at anyone because of a war injury, and we’re sorry if we caused you any pain or upset. We appreciate very much what you’re doing for us.’

He sucked in a draft of air as the pipe began to smoke. ‘I’m not used to having children round this place,’ he said at last. ‘Perhaps it was a mistake. Maybe you’d have been better off evacuated to Wales –’

‘But we love it here, Grandfather,’ Sophie blurted out, ‘we love Greystones.’

But he made no reply, and his stern eyes simply stared at her as he puffed on his pipe, making her feel small and uncomfortable.

‘Anyway … we … we’re sorry,’ she mumbled.

‘Hmph!’ was his only response, which Sophie took to mean apology accepted. She didn’t know whether to stay in the room now or leave. Already her grandfather seemed to have lost interest in her and was looking at the papers on his desk. Then on a sort of inlaid sideboard Sophie spotted it – a wireless! It was a bigger version of the one they had at home, but it had the same brown casing and the dials and buttons at the bottom. There were papers and books piled on top of it.

‘A wireless!’ she gasped.

Her grandfather looked up.

‘Grandfather! Does the wireless work?’ she asked.

He nodded.

‘Can you receive the BBC on it?’ She was excited now.

‘Yes, of course I can, and the World Service too.’

‘Oh please, Grandfather, could we listen?’

Sophie suddenly realised how far removed she felt from England and from the war effort. From everything that was going on at home. From the British army and navy and air force. From what Mr Churchill was saying. Just because she was in Ireland she shouldn’t forget about them all.

Her grandfather looked at his watch. ‘The nine o’clock news should start in a few minutes,’ he said. ‘Are you really interested in the news, Sophie?’ he asked in surprise. He actually seemed curious about her now.

‘We always listened at home. Mum always wanted to know how the troops were getting on,’ said Sophie, ‘in case there was any news of Dad and his unit.’ Most of the time Sophie herself had only half-listened, in fact, but now it was
an important link she longed for.

The wireless whirred as he turned it on, and voices in different languages and accents blurred together until he tuned it and the familiar voice of the English newsreader came reassuringly across the airwaves.

‘This is the BBC London with the nine o’clock news.’

Sophie sat rigid and still, listening to the voice from home.

Her grandfather continued to write but listened too, every now and then making some comment about one of the politicians or leaders.

Sophie tried to concentrate her best on all that was being said. It was only at the end of the broadcast that she remembered Hugh. He was probably still awake, waiting to hear how she had got on.

She stood up to go. ‘Thank you! May I come to listen again please?’

Grandfather simply nodded.

Sophie raced off to tell Hugh all about the wireless.

‘Like two urchins! Running wild, that’s what people are saying!’ a strange voice in the hall announced.

‘Two war orphans dressed in rags,’ another voice added, slightly more hesitantly.

Sophie stared down over the bannisters on the landing. She could see the tops of two heads. There were two women standing in the hall, and by the sound of it they were giving out to her grandfather.

‘Sophie! Come down here and meet your two grandaunts,’ Grandfather called.

Sophie flushed. How did he know she was standing up above, listening? As she descended, she ran her fingers through her hair and made sure her cardigan was buttoned. Two sets of eyes watched every step she took until she reached the hall.

‘Sophie! This is your Aunt Maud and your Aunt Dolores. They are my two sisters.’

Sophie gave a kind of curtsey.

The larger of the old women came forward and hugged her clumsily. She smelt of powder and lavender water. She looked like a big black crow with a black suit and a black silk hat, and a big black handbag.

‘Welcome to Ireland, Sophie,’ she said gruffly. ‘London is no place for children at the moment,’ she added, staring
intently at her grandniece.

‘I’m your Aunt Dolores, child, but most people call me Dolly,’ offered the other aunt, shaking Sophie by the hand kindly. ‘I think you look rather like your mother, but I suspect you have the Fitzpatrick chin, just like Maud and your grandfather.’

‘She’s a bit pasty-looking!’ said Aunt Maud.

‘The sea air and good food will take care of that!’ replied grandfather.

‘Do they have nits?’ questioned the black crow. ‘Have you checked for that?’

‘No, we do not have nits,’ snapped Sophie.

‘I heard a lot of the evacuees were covered in lice and nits,’ Aunt Maud went on.

‘If they had been, Maud, I think I am well capable of taking care of that problem,’ said Grandfather firmly. ‘I suppose we had better have tea,’ he muttered, leading them towards the drawing room. ‘Sophie, run down to the kitchen and ask Nancy to organise it!’

The housekeeper laughed when Sophie told her who the visitors were. ‘Those two windbags always get your grandfather upset when they come. They’ll be shouting and calling each other names before you know it! Run up and rescue him, Sophie!’

The three of them were sitting stiffly in their armchairs when Sophie pushed open the door. Grandfather was tapping his fingers on the padded armrest of his chair, something he always did when he was impatient.

Aunt Maud was busy filling her brother in with the local
gossip, while Aunt Dolly was humming ever so slightly to herself.

Sophie smiled. Aunt Dolly looked nice. She had taken off her coat to reveal a pale mauve blouse and two necklaces of enormous beads which she played with as she pretended to listen to the others.

‘Do you play an instrument?’ she asked Sophie, nodding over towards the piano in the corner.

‘No,’ said Sophie, shaking her head regretfully.

‘Pity!’ said her aunt. ‘Music is such a gift.’

Sophie hesitated. ‘But I sing … I mean, I like singing.’

The other two were listening now too.

‘What kind of singing?’ asked her aunt.

‘Oh anything – folk, popular, hymns. In London I was in the church choir, and the school choir too.’ Sophie blushed. It sounded like she was boasting.

‘I hope to have the opportunity of hearing you sing some day. Perhaps you will come over to our house – and I will play the piano for you,’ said Aunt Dolly.

Sophie smiled. ‘That would be nice! Thank you.’

They were interrupted by the noisy arrival of Hugh. His hands and face were muddy and Sophie was conscious of how worn his clothes looked.

‘I’ve been searching for a hedgehog,’ he announced. ‘I think we’ve got one in the garden.’

‘So this is the boy?’ Aunt Maud said.

Hugh stopped still, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.

Both women nodded at each other.

‘Hugh, go wash your hands!’ ordered Sophie crossly.

He was about to argue with her, but Grandfather nodded in the direction of the hall, so he cleared off.

‘Ragamuffin!’ murmured Aunt Dolly. ‘The poor little mite!’

‘Something has got to be done!’ announced Aunt Maud, draining the last sip of her tea and replacing the delicate cup on the small polished tea table. Sophie knew that the ‘something’ included her.

Sophie thought it was strange that neither of the aunts mentioned Mum and Dad, or even enquired about them.

An hour later the two aunts began to gather their bags and daintily sweep the cake crumbs off their skirts.

‘Sophie, you will come to visit me, won’t you?’ Aunt Dolly reminded her. Her face was small and pale and kind, with gentle green eyes that peeped out from ginger eyelashes.

‘Now, Jerome, you won’t forget what I told you. You know, Wicklow is a small place, and people do talk!’ chided Aunt Maud. ‘You will get those children fixed up, or would you prefer the two of us to sort it out?’

It was obvious that Grandfather was happy to leave the sorting out to his sisters, as the very next morning the two of them arrived to take the children to the local draper’s shop.

Sophie reeled off quickly the brief list of clothes which Hugh and she possessed. Both aunts shook their heads and tut-tutted.

Don’t you know there’s a war on? Sophie felt like shouting at them. 

The shopkeeper welcomed the women who were obviously good customers. Given that it was wartime, Sophie was amazed how well stocked the shop was. In London there would have been queues outside it.

Hugh hated clothes-shopping, and was already getting edgy and gazing longingly out at the sun floating in through the open door, where a boy about his own age was crouched playing marbles on the tiled floor.

‘Hugh, dear! Do pay attention!’ pleaded Aunt Dolly. She had four or five jumpers dangling from her hand. ‘Be a good boy and run and try these on.’

Hugh reluctantly took off his jumper and let the old lady slip the soft wool v-neck over his head. Sophie thought it was a bit pale, but the aunts liked it and kind of clapped and made Hugh walk around a bit and muttered to each other about the merits of pure wool and a good well-knitted rib. In the space of about half-an-hour they had got several shirts, three jumpers and short pants for him and five pairs of socks.

Hugh wanted long trousers but both aunts shook their heads in agreement: ‘He’s too young yet.’ Hugh kicked at the corner of the glass display case in annoyance, but luckily they didn’t notice.

The aunts also treated him to a pair of swimming trunks and light beach shoes and then, satisfied with Hugh’s wardrobe, they turned their attention to Sophie.

Sophie was so embarrassed. She stood in front of the rail of ‘little girl’ dresses – the first three she had to try on were just awful. One was too short and pinched the top of her
arms, one would simply not fasten and the third made her look like an overgrown doll. She didn’t want to be rude but there was no way she was going to wear any of that stuff.

The drapery assistant was chatting away to the aunts while Sophie stood in the changing cubicle feeling miserable.

‘Girls that age! That age is an awkward age, we always found it so. Perhaps something from the adult range?’ Sophie could feel herself red-faced and hot and sweaty as a skirt like those her mother wore was handed in through the curtains to her.

‘Too big!’ she called to Aunt Maud.

Between the two of them the aunts searched every corner of the shop, leaving no rack or rail untouched in their quest to find something to suit.

Other customers came and went, buying underwear, a raincoat, summer shirts, and all seemed to stare in at Sophie, peeping out of the cubicle in her grubby, skinny vest.

At last there was nothing suitable left to try and Sophie gratefully grabbed her own dress and cardigan and dragged them back on.

Hugh’s pile of clothes was huge while hers was small – some underwear, a new nightgown, a few pairs of socks, a lavender-coloured cardigan, a plain white shirt with a pocket and a horrible floral-patterned skirt.

The aunts seemed pleased with themselves.

Sophie watched as the shopkeeper began to wrap the parcels.

‘By any chance,’ she asked the assistant shyly, ‘would you
have a swimming suit for me?’

The woman opened a drawer in the cabinet behind her.

‘Any of these should fit. Which would you like?’ she asked, spreading them out on the glass counter.

Sophie fingered them and eventually settled on a ruched pale-blue suit with a narrow bodice and straps that tied around the neck, and a very slight skirt with a pattern of shells and little fish in white and orange on it.

‘What were we thinking of, Maud? Imagine forgetting a swimsuit and us all living in Greystones!’ exclaimed Aunt Dolly.

‘Well, I think we’ve finished now!’ replied Aunt Maud. ‘What do you think, Dolly?’

‘Oh yes, most definitely,’ her sister agreed.

‘On the account!’ They both said in unison. The assistant headed for a red-covered book. ‘Jerome’s account, that is,’ continued Aunt Maud. ‘I mean Professor Fitzpatrick. He’s their grandfather, you know.’

‘Now, we must have tea,’ she announced as they left the shop, and they headed for the magnificent hotel on the seafront.

Sophie had been curious about it. Every time she passed by she would look longingly through the gate or over the hedge that surrounded the perfect green lawn. Passing by you would hear the chatter and laughter of guests drift across to the road.

The four of them walked into the wide hallway and the children followed their aunts to a large comfortable drawing room with french doors looking out on the sweep of lawn,
edged with a multicoloured border of flowers.

Hugh was hopping up and down with excitement, but Sophie tried to act nonchalant, as if she was used to visiting such places.

Aunt Maud ordered a pot of tea and cakes, and for Sophie and Hugh a jug of lemonade.

Sophie sat down on a big plush chair. What in heaven’s name would she talk to these two women about?