The House by the Dvina (39 page)

Far back in Archangel there would be rain and cold winds blowing. The darkening river was preparing herself for the final battle against the relentless frost, a battle which she was doomed to lose. Here in this late September the sun continued to shine warmly and JockyТs cage was being carried out into the garden.

To us, arriving from a land of grim austerity, of shuttered doors and windows of the shops, empty shelves, of people wearing shabby clothing, Scotland presented a scene of unbelievable abundance.

What a delight it was to walk along the smoothn pavements of Broughty Ferry and step inside the “sweetie shop”. Our eyes were dazzled by the jewel brightness of the sweets in glass containers, chocolate bars laid out in tempting rows, coloured boxes tied with satin ribbons. Further along was a renowned bakerТs shop where the appetising smell of freshly baked bread, cream-filled cookies, biscuits and cakes met us at the entrance. Fascinating too was the little shop, named “The Buttercup”, which specialised in dairy products. There, rosy-cheeked girls in spotless aprons patted neat rounds of butter on a marble counter. Somehow the name, the great mounds of butter, milk and cream invariably conjured up visions of green meadows, buttercups galore, and plump docile cows bursting with goodness.

Exciting were the trips to town, by train or tramcar, when along with Mother we accompanied Granny for her weekly shopping. The shop I enjoyed visiting more than any other was the famous, fashionable “Draffens”, where clothing of distinctive elegance was offered to discerning buyers. In the days of plenty, my father used to order articles of clothing, which were sent by cargo ships to our town and delivered to the house in perfect order. Now, to climb the luxuriously carpeted staircase and stroll from one department to another where ladies dressed in black, stylish dresses tempted us with frocks, coats, hats in the latest fashion, was a source of wonderment not seen since the early days in St Petersburg, now only a vague memory. Owing to the uncertainty of our position, Mother could not indulge in a wholesale shopping spree, but Сshe did buy me several dresses, shoes and stockings. Granny also added to my stock of clothing, which I welcomed. Mother herself could not resist a large picture hat, trimmed with osprey feathers. Sad to say, that same hat was fated to be lost in a way Mother could never have envisaged.

It was usual to finish off the day by visiting D. M. BrownТs, another well-known shop, where on the top floor we listened to a small orchestra while demolishing platefuls of the renowned hot muffins, oozing with butter and jam. On seeing all the well-stocked shops, the cheerfulness of the people, their pleasant orderly way of life, one might have imagined that the war had never touched Scotland, but on looking closer one saw the deep scars of the heavy price paid by such a small country, where there was hardly a family that hadnТt lost a son, a husband or a brother.

There was another dark cloud on the horizon, in the shape of unhappy news from India. During the war years Uncle Henry was an officer in the Auxiliary Forces known as the Calcutta Scottish. Towards the close of the war he contracted a virulent disease so often found in the torrid plains of India. He became seriously ill and had to be moved to a hospital in Calcutta. After prolonged treatment he partially recovered and wrote to my grandparents saying that he had decided to take the leave he was due earlier than usual. He hoped that a long holiday in Scotland would put him back on his feet. His cabin was already booked on a ship due to leave at the beginning of November. He looked forward to arriving home in time for Christmas. Granny hopefully began to prepare the best spare room.

Immediately on our arrival all the relatives came to the house to meet us.

The Cameron family, in spite of the usual disagreements, were clannish.

There was Mary, MotherТs younger sister, who made a point of visiting her parents every week with her little son, Fraser. My two eldest cousins, Bertie and ћае, came also. ћае, now seventeen, was quite a young lady.

Slim and perhaps on the small side, with bright auburn hair, she was vivacious, full of fun, always laughing. Although lacking in inches, she possessed all the confidence in the world and could be assertive when she liked. From the first day of our meeting we both were drawn to each other and in the years to come became as close as sisters. Our fates were strangely interwoven. We both married young men from Broughty Ferry, both went out to India. Our houses faced each other on the opposite sides of the Hooghly River, so that we were able to cross over and continue our contact with each other.

Long years after, when we were all old and retired, ћае, now widowed, went out one soft summer evening to trim her roses. The following morning the young milkman found her lying dead beside the flowers she loved so well.

To many of GrannyТs friends my brother and I appeared to provide a certain interest. We were constantly invited to afternoon tea parties by sweet old ladies who entertained us with delicious sandwiches, scones and cakes, but for which we had to pay by sitting quietly under the eagle eye of Granny as well as Mother, answering endless questions politely. On one occasion, having partaken of a lavish tea, we quietly slipped away to the delights of the Grassy Beach and Cousin BertieТs rowing boat, an escapade which didnТt pass unnoticed.

We were, occasionally, when no one was about, given to exchanging our own private impressions. “Have you noticed,” Ghermosha once remarked, “that Jessie, the washerwoman, wears a hat?” In Russia washerwomen didnТt wear hats. In my brotherТs eyes the sight of Jessie in her hat was the essence of democracy. And there was also this obsession with the weather. Why did they talk so much about it? In every shop we entered they liked to tell us if it was sunny, cold or windy, and that if it rained today, tomorrow might be better. The capricious Scottish weather, of course, provided endless variations. Strangest of all was this belief that all black cats were lucky. WasnТt there someone who could tell them that black cats were messengers of evil, friends of witches and an omen of bad luck if they crossed your path? Even worse was to receive from some misguided friends Christmas or birthday cards depicting green-eyed, black pussycats. The only way to deal with such a case was to destroy the card by committing it to the fire and to spit three times over your left shoulder to ward off the evil eye. As October was drawing to a close, Ghermosha celebrated his twelfth birthday. That morning, Grandpa called Ghermosha to his bedroom where he ceremoniously presented him with a silver watch and chain. In the afternoon our numerous cousins arrived and after presenting their gifts gathered round the table. All the girls wore their party dresses, the boys the Cameron tartan kilts. It was a noisy, joyful party, complete with sweets, trifles, a birthday cake and candles.

Meanwhile letters were arriving from Russia. After the last of the Allied troops were evacuated, the White Army rallied and was now advancing. There was a feeling of optimism prevailing in Archangel. Victory was in sight and with it the end of the civil war. Once this was accomplished, Father saw no reason for us to remain in Scotland. Our education, he was anxiously pointing out, was of paramount importance. He also mentioned that the icebreaker Canada was due to leave for England at the beginning of November. Marga was hoping to join the ship, provided the letter from Frank arrived in time. Frank had left shortly after our own departure, but perhaps due to postal difficulties, the longed-for letter from him had not yet arrived. Poor Marga was becoming more anxious with each day. The letter never came.

This plausible young man with charm, his free and easy manner, who had accepted the generous hospitality of people who fondly imagined that he was possessed of the same sense of honour as themselves, he who had become engaged to Marga and so captivated her that she was prepared to follow him to the end of the earth, used the simple expedient of sailing away Ч far enough to be out of reach and never making any attempt to get in touch with her. Although he had left his address, there were no replies to any letters.

About the beginning of November a telegram arrived from Uncle Henry with the brief message saying that he was now aboard the ship all set to sail for Scotland. Granny was elated. She began to talk about having a Christmas party with all the family for once getting together.

On Remembrance Day, 11 November, we all went out into the pale winter sunshine and stood on the steps of the front entrance with bowed heads, remembering the millions of dead soldiers. Two days later, just before lunch, another telegram arrived. Uncle Henry had died suddenly. When Granny read the message, she went deathly white, and saying, “Leave me alone,” went upstairs to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Shortly afterwards, Grandpa arrived from his office and sat down at the table. The telegram was handed over. I vividly remember him covering his face with both hands and saying, “He was the youngest and the best.” He then asked, “Where is Mother?” and on being told she was upstairs, went up to their bedroom.

Later it transpired that Uncle Henry had boarded the ship two days before its sailing date. He suddenly became very ill and had to be taken off the ship to the hospital where he died the following day.

Another letter arrived from Father. The icebreaker Canada, now lying in Newcastle, was leaving for Archangel on 2 December. Many wives and children were returning, including Uncle AdyaТs wife Natasha and their child. Father urged Mother to do likewise as the Bolsheviks were almost defeated. The White Sea was frozen. There was little chance of another ship until the summer, by which time we would have lost a year of schooling. After a great deal of thought and perhaps not wishing to be a burden to her parents, Mother decided to return to Russia. Aboard the Canada, Mother and I were directed to our double-berth cabin. Ghermosha had to share a cabin with a Mr and Mrs Brown and their young son Vanya, who was a cripple. Mr Brown, as his name implies, was of English origin.

He was returning with the hope of starting up his business again. Both he and his wife were pleasant people and kind to Ghermosha who wasnТt happy at being separated from us in a cabin at the other end of the ship. The little fish, still with us in its glass container, had to be tied securely to the handle of our porthole. It had miraculously survived the shock of having its water changed in Scotland and after at first floating lifelessly on the surface, recovered again. Now it was galloping around livelier than ever. Ghermosha had seriously assured it that, once the spring came round, he would give it back its freedom in the pond.

In the saloon we met the other passengers including Natasha, the wife of Uncle Adya, and their little son Shurick. Uncle AdyaТs sister, Fannie, who had left for England with her twin children in the autumn, had also toyed with the idea of returning, but in the end changed her mind. Many decades later Aunt Fannie and I met again. During our reminiscences she told me that when she was on the point of deciding to join her sister-in-law a telegram arrived from her husband. It contained a brief message. “Sit tight and do not move.” Aunt Fannie didnТt move and if only Natasha had done likewise, how different her life might have turned out.

We were introduced to the first officer, Billy Jordan, and his wife Maisie. Maisie came from Yorkshire. Twenty-two years of age with dark, silky hair framing a white forehead and large expressive eyes, Maisie was something special. She could dance, sing, was gay and friendly with all the passengers. Everyone liked Maisie. She and Mother, being the only two British women, were drawn to each other. Her husband Bill was of Latvian origin.

We were in dock for over a week Ч the sailing was postponed. During that time a small contingent of Russian officers and men joined the ship. They had all fought in the bitter struggle of the civil war and had been sent to England for training in the use of the tank. Some of the tanks had already been sent to Archangel, others were in the hold of the icebreaker. The officers were accommodated in the cabins while the men shared their quarters with members of the crew on the lower deck. In the adjoining cabin to us were two officers, Vladimir Alexsandrov and Kiril Yermolov. Both had known the horrors of the civil war, especially so Kiril. Kiril was the son of a well-known family of landowners. One day a band of drunk deserters and peasants arrived at their estate. They were sitting having a meal when the men barged into the room. One of the sons rose and asked the reason for this intrusion. In reply, the soldiers shot him. Another bandit grabbed his only sister and when their mother tried to protect her from being raped, both she and her daughter were bayonetted to death. Kiril,his father and young brother were tied up and taken to the nearby woods for execution. By some miraculous chance, Kiril succeeded in slipping away and hid in the deep undergrowth. He lay, hearing the shots of the executions, the footsteps of those searching for him. Hiding through the day and moving through the night, he eventually reached the line of the White Army. His whole being was now concentrated on avenging the destruction of his family.

Another passenger to join us was an Englishman who had fought in the civil war. His name was Osbome Grove. He obviously belonged to a wealthy family, for he had bought his own plane and was determined to continue the fight against the Bolsheviks. His co-pilot was a Russian Air Force officer, a dare-devil called Kostya. The results of KostyaТs previous exploits were seen on his scarred disfigured face.

The North Sea has an evil reputation. As the first night of the voyage wore on, the weather worsened. Soon we were in the teeth of one of its worst gales. At times the ship seemed to rise on end, shudder, fall back and roll over from one side to another. To the howling wind was added the sound of crashing crockery. The luggage, left outside the cabins, careered madly up and down the corridor. The articles above our hand-basin were swept on to the floor, including a small bottle of perfume which smashed to smithereens, soon filling the cabin with the sickly smell of violets.

Mother, worrying over GhermoshaТs fish, tried to reach the jar but was thrown back each time. I then struggled down and reached the shelf. The jar was still intact, but the water splashing around inside it had thrown the fish out. I could not see where it had landed and barely managed to clamber back to my bunk.