Rambles on the Edge. Wendy Maitland

to get attention, when I caught the words: ‘There’s a baby in the bottom of the pool.’ She pointed to a small shape lying on the pool floor, only faintly visible among the ripples. One of the older children, alerted by the sudden panic, dived down and retrieved the baby, lifting it up and bringing it to the side. Amazingly, as soon as it was out of the water it spluttered and cried, appearing none the worse for nearly drowning, but this incident showed how easy it was to miss a child slipping in unobserved despite so many watchers, and made me permanently wary of pools.

      Peter had his first birthday at the farm with a tea party and cake with one candle, over which Simon hovered closely to blow it out for him should he hesitate. All the children who came were wearing their best clothes, under instruction from Thelma Maclean, I was told, to whom appearances mattered almost as much as Godliness. Peter had an infant-size safari suit for the occasion, following male fashion since all Rhodesian men wore safari suits: casual ones with shorts for every day, and smarter ones with long trousers for the office. School uniform for boys was a khaki suit of the same style with shorts, a very practical arrangement. Peter looked cute in his tiny outfit and was a charmer, always smiling and cheerful. His petite size was constantly remarked on as most other children his age were twice his weight and height, while he remained physically dainty with big dark eyes and long lashes that he was prone to blink beguilingly. I was impatient for Muz to meet him while he was still at this endearing age and it was not long after his party that I had enough money saved for fares, so I was able to gather up the children and take them to England. Direct flights from Salisbury to London were banned under sanctions and we had to fly to Johannesburg to catch a connection from there. Adam was nervous about letting us go, fearing the separation and how it might unsettle us even further. Rhodesia didn’t feel like home. Despite its many advantages, we still felt like foreigners.

      When I arrived with the children at Muz’s house with its very English name, Forest Lodge, and there she was, waiting at the door in her apron, it felt wonderfully warm and welcoming after relays of very long cramped journeys by plane and train. The children thought it rather novel to have a gran as well as a grandma, and Louise was especially glad to see her Gran as she had missed grandma Alison along with so many other loved and familiar people left behind in Kenya. When Ros arrived for the weekend that was another excitement as she and Louise were already close, almost like sisters instead of aunt and niece. They actually resembled each other in looks as well as temperament, and even the way Louise walked reminded me of Ros at a similar age. Ros and Peter were meeting for the first time, and then there was Spindle who arrived to great fanfare from the children, his face radiant as he watched them playing with some of his old toys brought out for the occasion. Unable to resist joining in, he lay down on the floor with them, his long legs splayed out as they all tumbled about and Spindle became a happy child again, released from the constraints of hospital life, or home life, trying to conform to adult expectations.

      Peter had lately grown into a habit of fastening himself onto one of my legs like a small monkey clinging to a tree branch for safety and comfort. All the recent travelling and unaccustomed activity seemed to have unnerved him. If I was wearing a skirt he would hide underneath, much to the amusement of Spindle who thought it comic that Peter was using my skirt as a tent. Having Peter clamped to my leg was limiting in a household with no domestic help and innumerable chores to be done, so Muz borrowed a play-pen from a neighbour and Peter was put behind bars. Spindle and the others played zoo games with him, roaring through the bars as he stood there trapped, while they jumped up and down and ran around the room pretending to be animals. This made him screech until the noise level erupted sufficiently to disturb Muz in the next room listening to serious music on the radio.

      She decided that Louise was old enough to start ballet lessons at the Bush Davies School where she worked as its musical director, and we all went along to watch her first steps in the beginners’ class as she entered self-consciously equipped with a pair of pink satin dancing shoes. Boys were not allowed into the house unless they were pupils, so Spindle was put in charge of Simon and Peter who were to wait outside in the garden, while the rest of us went in to watch the class. Miss Bush was a martinet who tolerated no interruptions and drilled her pupils with a steely eye and voice, tapping fiercely and frequently on top of the piano (at which Muz sat), to correct any dancing error or inattention.

      It became evident quite quickly that Louise was never going to be a graceful light-footed dancer, and I didn’t want her to be traumatised by Miss Bush’s sharp criticisms. On this first day, long before the class ended, there was a sudden furious tapping on the piano lid by Miss Bush as she stared transfixed at figures with staring faces pressed against the windows of the room, looking in from outside.

      ‘There are some horrid urchins observing us!’ she cried, as if there might have been a hundred of them instead of just three ragged boys peering in. I ran outside and quickly pulled them away before Miss Bush could investigate, leaving Muz to bring Louise home. After that experience none of us dared go back, except Muz, who remarked that she hoped Miss Bush would never find out that the urchins were her own son and grandchildren.

      Muz was in better spirits than I expected from Ros’s reports and my arrival with the children clearly lifted her, but the real reason for her renewed optimism was a blossoming romance with childhood sweetheart Andy. I didn’t have to wait long to meet him as it soon became obvious that he was a fixture in Muz’s life, purring up the drive in his Austin Princess car, reverently rubbing a duster over it before he lumbered into the house. He plainly resented my presence and pointedly ignored me each time he arrived. Muz would hurry to greet him at the door, fumbling to remove her apron before being clutched by him in a clumsy embrace.

      ‘My lovely little bit of feminine pulchritude waiting for me. Delicious Fay – I’m here again,’ he would exclaim eagerly as Muz allowed herself to be seized in this blundering way. Ros and I thought it was horribly creepy and that there was something distinctly repellent about Andy altogether.

      When I suggested to Muz that Sidney Franklin was a much more suitable prospect for her, she rejected it with a wave of the hand. ‘He’s much too old for me,’ she said dismissively.

      ‘He’s not that old,’ I argued, ‘and he’s done much more with his life than Andy who has spent his life doodling.

      ‘Don’t be silly. He had an important job as a draughtsman. It was a reserved occupation during the war, so he wasn’t allowed to be called up because he was needed at home as part of the war effort.’

      ‘It’s hard to imagine Andy making an effort in any capacity let alone any extra exertions due to there being a war on. He’s a nonentity – even Mary his sister says so.’

      ‘I don’t know why you’re so down on him,’ Muz replied defensively. ‘He has a very loving nature. He is the only person who has ever helped me with Andrew, driving me to and from the hospital, taking an interest.’

      ‘Sidney is very concerned about Andrew too, and wants to help. He has contacts that could get him released from hospital into sheltered accommodation, with support to lead a much more normal life.’

      ‘Yes, I know about that, but I doubt Andrew would qualify. Sidney has all kinds of contacts in the health and education world. He is one of the governors of Christ’s Hospital school and provides bursaries from his own money. He’s a very generous man and a good friend, but Andy is the man of my heart since your father has gone.’

      It seemed there was nothing more to be said now that Sidney was written off along with war hero Len (a previous suitor), and we were left with lumpy Andy. The looming prospect of a more formal partnership between him and Muz provoked me to increasingly desperate attempts at confronting her with the realities of such a scrounger becoming a permanent attachment. ‘How can you put up with Andy being so lazy that he refuses to walk anywhere? He never does more than amble a few steps from his car to the nearest armchair. We are a walking family, it’s in our DNA. It’s what we do at every opportunity. We never sit about. You used to despise people like that.’

      ‘It’s because of his accident years ago. He never completely recovered his energy.’

      ‘It’s nothing to do with any accident,’ I said scornfully. ‘You said yourself he used to sit on his