Authors: Sylvia Atkinson
It
is
as
if
we
have
found
a
lost
treasure.
I
think
I
cannot
explain
the
feeling.
We
all
want
you
to
come
and
stay
with
us.
You
do
not
know
what
a
void
your
absence
from
our
life
has
created.
Do
write
or
phone
so
we
can
speak
The longing to be with her children, so long submerged in the business of everyday living, was brought dangerously to life. They shared loneliness at the core of their being. Could they really forgive her? Could she forgive herself?
Margaret thought of her own loving mother and the happy family home in Queensferry where she was born and spent her earliest days. Their house was tall with a slate roof, hemmed in by other buildings, a higgledy-piggledy grey row overlooking the water. Standing on tiptoe, balanced against the window ledge she could see the gulls wheeling and cawing above the waves and the trains thundering across the Forth Bridge where her father worked on the railway. Where had the trains come from; filled with imagined people, where were they going? Margaret was slow to forgive her parents for leaving the sea when her father’s work forced them to move.
Gorebridge, inland with its narrow twisting main road and linear sprawl of houses dripping into the valley, was a disappointment. Margaret’s eldest sister Nan was away in service but the house was crowded with her parents, two older brothers, and two younger sisters. There was less than a year between herself and her sister Jean making them more like twins. Always together, they escaped from the confines of the house onto the hills; scrambling up the rough grassy slopes, avoiding prickly green and yellow gorse, flattening the tall bracken until, hot and panting, they reached the top.
It was forever summer. High above the village the subtle green shades of patterned flat fields sprawled out below them. On a clear day, in the distance, Margaret could see her beloved Firth of Forth and way beyond the water the blue-grey shadows of far away hills. One day she’d travel to those distant sights and discover the fascinating places in her school books.
Racing Jean down the hill with her arms flung wide, the wind billowing up through her cardigan Margaret soared high in the sky, riding on thermal currents like an eagle looking down at the world only to crash to earth. The sand paper grit of the hillside gouged red channels in her bare legs. Scarlet cheeked and bleeding she limped home to be cleaned up by her mother who scolded with every wipe that Maggie would be the death of her.
Margaret stirred the coals of the late afternoon fire, spinning flames in the black grate, reminiscent of the lights of halls where she sang and recited the works of Robert Burns, basking in the audience’s applause, winning prize after prize. She was the first person in her family, and from the village, to win a bursary to study at Edinburgh University. She wondered what her parents would have given for such an opportunity. Through her their future held so much promise. Cursed with a restless search for transitory excitement and adventure she hadn’t given them a thought.
She vacuumed the downstairs rooms and made a pan of mince and onion. No one came to visit, and she didn’t feel like going out. By evening she couldn’t be bothered to cook potatoes to go with the mince. She had a tin of tomato soup and soft white bread on a tray by the television while she watched the news, clearing away before
Coronation
Street.
There was nothing else worth watching so she switched it off. She’d begun a letter to Jean but couldn’t get on with it so read for a while, filling in time, trying to put aside her guilt and heavy heart.
At ten she drank her bed-time cocoa, wound the clock and pulled the metal spark guard round the hearth. She was ready for the succour of a hot water bottled bed and the smooth black rosary beads ever present under the pillow.
SCOTLAND
1931-1935
Scotland
1931
Ghosts from the past crowded Margaret’s dreams transporting her to their former world where youth was reborn. University life was hectic and she was already making a reputation with the fashionable Edinburgh literary set. Every topic was up for debate and a dozen people ready to discuss it, often well into to the night. She was glad to be able to dash home to the backwater of Gorebridge for the occasional weekend. There she could sleep late and didn’t have to argue the finer points of anything. She left it to the last minute to leave, for there was Mass to go to, dinner to eat and the company of her brothers and youngest sister Mary.
One Sunday evening the Edinburgh train was already standing in the station when Margaret reached the booking hall. Ticket in hand, she ran along the platform peering into crowded compartments. She had reached the last before finding the possibility of a seat. Pulling open the tightly closed door, she clambered over the occupants, apologising in all directions, ignoring the shuffling of newspapers and squeezed in amidst irritated tutting.
The young man sitting opposite smiled as if the scene he had witnessed was a huge joke. Margaret automatically smiled back. For a while they silently shared their amusement grinning at each other. His thick ebony hair fell onto his forehead and his black-brown eyes danced invitingly. She was making eyes at a foreigner, in a carriage filled with pale Scots and she couldn’t stop. He spoke formally, introducing himself, “My name is Vidyaaranya Atrey. I am a medical student at the university.”
He epitomised sophistication, handsome in a tweed jacket and stylish plus fours. Margaret felt shy and awkward beside him. He didn’t notice, shutting out the disapproving fellow travellers with a cavalier smile. She was bedazzled and talking too much. All too soon the train pulled into Edinburgh and they went their separate ways but not before arranging to meet later the same week.
Jean, who was a scholarship girl at school in Edinburgh and boarding in the city, was waiting by the ticket barrier. In a whirl, before her sister had chance to speak, Margaret gabbled, “You’ll never guess… I’ve met a medical student on the train. He’s in his final year…”
“Trust you to get into a conversation with a complete stranger! “For all you know he might not even be at the university.”
“You worry too much. Besides he’s the most handsome man in the world.”
“Maggie you are the limit!”
“I know, but Jean, he spoke to me… to me!”
“Sometimes I think you’re positively mad.”
“I’ve arranged to meet him on Wednesday.”
“You can’t possibly go!”
“I am. Anyway he probably won’t turn up,”
“Don’t you want to hear my news?” asked her long suffering sister.
Margaret replied contritely that she did.
“I’ve won a bursary to study mathematics at Edinburgh next autumn. That’s if I pass my
Highers
. . .”
“Of course you will! I’ll help you. Let’s celebrate with iced buns,” Margaret said extravagantly. Jean took no persuading and the girls went in search of the nearest café.
* * * * *
Wednesday was cold, with drizzle in the air. A wicked wind whipped round the corner of the post office building on Princes Street where Margaret stood waiting. She had almost given him up when there he was picking his way across the tram-railed road in her direction. She tried to look blasé but the wind caught her full blast, blowing her red curls into a tangle around her face, taking her breath away. He pulled the collar of his overcoat higher and, by way of greeting, tucked her arm in his. The weather kept them on the move so they made for the shelter of the Princes Street gardens; two of her strides equalling his one. Out of the wind, matching his pace to hers, he said “You told me many things on the train but failed to tell me your name.”
Blushing she stammered, “It’s Margaret… Margaret Riley but my friends call me Maggie.”
“Well my lovely Margaret, I mean to find out all about you.”
Embarrassed by the words and the mischievous way he looked at her Margaret’s blushes grew crimson. No one had ever said such things to her. She didn’t care what she looked like. There was one mirror in the house and that was for her father and the boys to shave. Everyone was too busy working to gaze into mirrors.
She tried to say his name, “Vid… yaa… ranya.” He encouraged her to repeat it but after several hilarious attempts they both gave up. “I’ll call you Ben,” she said, “It’s an ancient name and at least I can pronounce it. What’s more it suits you.”
“I like it. I am the only son and the most important member of my family. I think Margaret was the name of one of your famous queens. I also deserve a name with a noble lineage. “
Something indefinable in Ben’s manner made Margaret uneasy but she was too bewitched to let it bother her. He checked his watch. He’d be late for his lecture. They retraced their steps but she couldn’t keep up. He raced over Waverley Bridge disappearing in a hiss of steam from a train passing below.
* * * * *
They met whenever they could. Ben’s wealth was a passport to the moneyed crowd. Margaret quickly fell in with the lifestyle but tea at Jenners was beyond her wildest expectations. The swish restaurant with starched linen, polished silver and high prices was way beyond her reach. Her homemade dresses and cardigans were at odds with the slick outfits worn by most of her wealthy contemporaries. She made excuses not to go but Ben was persuasive, “Margaret, it’s just a place to eat.”
“I know but… Jenners!”
“So? You’ll be the prettiest there!” She pulled a face. “Oh maybe not… Anyway you’re going with me and I’m the richest!”
They went and were served last by a vinegar-faced waitress who oversaw Ben paying the bill.
Margaret borrowed a dress and coat from a friend to wear to her first classical concert at the Usher Hall. Captivated by the music she whispered spontaneously, “I want to dance and dance.” The glowers of fellow concertgoers made her cringe and slide lower in the seat. Ben took her by the elbow and raised her up. How she loved him! On their way home it rained. They hummed the
Blue
Danube
twirling round and round on the slippery cobbles until she was dizzy.
Ben was enjoying himself. In India he was adored by his mother and sisters who indulged his every whim. Everything was there for the taking and he wanted Margaret. The snatched hours in his attic room when they made love, her fair skin with its dusting of golden freckles; the brush of her wild hair across his chest increased his desire. He bought posies of flowers to put on the pillow, fed her sweets; the sugary taste of her lips dissolved in his kisses but some nights were his own.
Every breathe Margaret took belonged to Ben. Merely repeating his name thrilled her. He opened up a whole new world haughtily overriding anything that displeased him. Besotted with her and already an experienced lover Ben wooed away any inhibitions, teaching Margaret the delights of her body and how to fulfil him.
If only she hadn’t discovered that sex was so enjoyable!
The first time they made love it seemed so natural. The exciting sensations of passion overruled common sense or shame.
* * * * *
Jean shared lodgings with Margaret and was frequently
invited to meet her sister’s university friends; engrossed in revision she didn’t notice them gradually dwindle. The
‘Highers’
meant everything to Jean. She was relying on her sister to steady her nerves, “Maggie my exams are first. I’m alright with the Maths but the French… You’re so good at it… If I’m to pass I need your help. Then I’ll help you.”
“Jean there’s a month to go. I don’t need your help. I’m working in the university library during the day and in the evening Ben is helping me. Don’t worry you’ll sail through.”
Surprised by the uncharacteristic rebuff Jean decided to ask some of her sister’s friends about this so-called Ben. She discovered that they rarely saw Margaret, who was in danger of falling behind with her studies. What’s more he was seeing other girls from wealthy influential families.
Jean was at a loss as to what to do, having sworn not to say anything to their parents about Ben. Forced into deceiving them she used the impending exams to make fewer visits home and tried to reason with her love-struck sister.
“Where is he when he’s not with you?”
“Busy catching up on his work, like me…”
“Busy with other girls. That’s where.”
Margaret staunchly refused to believe it.
“At least ask him.”