The postcard, p.34
The Postcard, page 34
‘Now come and meet the girls . . .’ Madge ordered, and escorted her out into a field where two ponies and a donkey rushed over to greet them. ‘Meet Poll, Nina and little Bella.’
Callie was confused. ‘Is this a riding school?’
‘Hardly. This is a retirement home for old ladies and gents who’ve fallen on hard times.’ Madge paused, giving her a look. ‘A bit like yourself, I reckon. You look as if you need a bit of R and R. An extra pair of hands is all I ask. Alfie’s recovering from a big op and can’t do heavy work. You can earn your keep but first things first. Do I call you Charlotte?’
‘That was my codename. I’m Caroline, Callie. I’d not had a drink for months until I got off that train and went into the city. Sorry, it’s all just a blank.’
‘Well, there’s no booze here. Can’t afford it. Everything goes on the horses. You’ll have to go cold turkey, I’m afraid. You’re as brown as a berry. Doing outside work, by the look of those hands?’
‘Just fruit picking, bar work. I’m not afraid of hard work.’
‘Good, because the state some of our guests arrive in you’ll need all your wits and strength to deal with them. You have worked with horses?’
‘A long time ago.’
‘Thought you might, but you never forget routines: mucking out, grooming exercising, the usual stuff. Welcome to Animal Comfort Farm,’ Madge laughed. ‘You just take one day at a time and you’ll be fine. You’ve faced much worse.’
‘Dolly might like it here . . .’
‘Dolly?’
‘My dog.’
‘Sorry, no dogs here, not yet. Some of our guests get spooked by them when they arrive. Where’s she now?’
‘Safe where I left her, in a camp with friends. I’m not about to uproot her.’ Callie looked around, uncertain. ‘Is there a lot to learn? I’m not a nurse.’ What was she letting herself in for here?
‘All my girls and boys need is routine care, rest and respect for what they’ve been through. Our trust has to be earned.’
‘I’m sorry if I made an utter fool of myself,’ Callie sighed. ‘I have no idea what I said.’
‘You made your point most eloquently, and with great effect, that the experience of war never ends for some people. You stood at the foot of the stairs yelling for all to hear. “Will some bastard tell me who betrayed my réseau? Who was it took down false messages and passed them on as true? Did no one suspect . . .?” They ushered you into a room pretty damn quick after that, but you were on your moral high horse by then. They nearly arrested you.
‘ “How come when I returned, no one would speak the truth? No one wanted to know about what we’d been through. They took statements but no one asked how it felt to find you had lost your child, your future, your lover. We were left to rot in silence, keeled over like wrecks on the shoreline. How can you compensate us for nightmares and the hidden scars?” Your eloquence was impressive and shook some of those desk johnnies out of their complacency.’
‘Oh, dear, that bad, was it?’
‘Not at all. Very impressive and to the point. We all sensed you needed help and I just happened to be around. Don’t worry, our guests here don’t know your CV. Just let them teach you what you need to know.’
Later on that first evening, as she sat by the range with Alfie and Madge sipping cocoa, Callie knew it was a bit of a rum set-up, living with a lesbian couple amongst fields full of rescued horses, but for the first time in months she felt safe. This was a second chance to turn things around once and for all, but it was going to be hard. There was no Dolly to keep her on the straight and narrow, just her own determination to find some purpose and meaning for herself, and a good Samaritan who knew just what she’d been through.
Callie couldn’t believe the state of the little donkey they called Jumpy when she came out of the horse box. Her coat was matted, hoofs curled up through lack of cutting. She’d been left in a shed knee high in her own waste, scraping wood to stave off hunger. Madge had a phone call from a vet to come and see for herself. The owners had left her behind to die. Madge and Alfie saw to the worst of it, while Callie looked on with a heavy heart. She prepared a stall with fresh straw bedding, water and a horsey companion nearby, ready to nudge her back to life. The donkey cringed when she touched her, as if expecting to be beaten. She eyed Callie with suspicion, so Alfie taught her how to approach sideways on, speak calmly and not stare. ‘Talk to her like a child, in a soothing voice.’
Over the weeks, with her hoofs cut, her fur brushed and a good diet, she was healing physically, but mentally Jumpy was scarred, kicking out and running away. Callie rose to the challenge of winning her trust.
The old pony, Poll, assigned as her companion, began to approach her in the field, sensing her turmoil and, being rebuffed, just sauntered away. Then Jumpy began to tolerate Poll’s presence and allowed her closer and closer until she followed her from a distance. Then there was that wonderful morning when Callie saw her trotting behind her new friend. When she shook the bucket Jumpy came to meet her at the field gate. Callie cried as she allowed her to stroke away her fear and on the momentous day when Jumpy nuzzled her with affection. It had taken months but was worth all the effort.
Jumpy was so like her own self, Callie smiled, suspicious, distant, not trusting, and yet together they’d made this mutual victory. It was only then that Callie realized she’d found something worthwhile in her life, that she was no longer a drunken dropout but a useful human being, worthy of respect from her charges.
There were heavy bills to keep the horses and the shelter safe, and she knew she’d have to use her pension and any compensation to help out. They needed to raise more funds and get donations and sponsors or there would soon be nothing left in the kitty.
It was at one of their fundraising open days that she was introduced to the vet, Tom Renard, newly retired but willing to look over their stable of patients for a nominal charge. He’d moved into the area after his wife’s death and seemed keen to be involved.
‘You’re doing a grand job here,’ he said, shaking Callie’s hand, and she noticed how his arms were piebald, tan and white, mottled as if the sun had missed bits of his skin.
He smiled at her curiosity. ‘Just a little gift from the Far East,’ he said. ‘I was a guest of the Japs at Changi.’ He didn’t need to say any more. The Japanese prisoner of war camps were notorious. Callie felt here was someone who had lost his freedom but had come through unscathed, and she relaxed, showing him around their buildings.
It was Alfie, always so full of practical ideas, who suggested he came on to their committee. He offered to give talks around the county on their behalf to some of the local business groups and societies to raise funds for the sanctuary. Alfie was relieved because this had been her role for years, but since her operation she wasn’t up to travelling all over Herefordshire.
‘Callie can go with you, if you like,’ she suggested. ‘Madge is too busy.’
The thought of talking to a roomful of people was too scary for Callie to contemplate without a large gin in her hand, but that was no longer an option. Tom could stand up and spout without notes, but she needed to write down a speech and rehearse it in front of the mirror. Soon, however, she relaxed and developed a warm and friendly style that charmed her audience. She’d parachuted into Belgium and faced the Nazis – what was there to fear in a roomful of well-heeled businessmen?
One evening, Tom was due to address a ladies’ circle, part of the Round Table, but he lost his voice so Callie had to stand up and deliver on her own. She didn’t hesitate. Her audience were spellbound by her heartfelt account of little Jumpy’s recovery and the need for finance to save more neglected donkeys like her, and the applause was enthusiastic.
‘That was bloody good,’ Tom said, clapping warmly as Callie descended from the church hall platform. ‘You should get that in print. Send it to a magazine with some pictures. It could do no harm.’
Madge and Alfie were keen on this new idea. ‘Just get on with it,’ said Madge. ‘It’s not about you, it’s about Jumpy and Poll and all the others.’
Encouraged by their response, Callie reworked her talk and sent it to the Lady magazine. To her amazement it was accepted. The magazine sent a photographer to take photos of the founders and their girls to illustrate Callie’s article. Madge and Alfie were game for anything that raised the money they so badly needed and they suggested locations and posed for endless photographs with their rescued animals.
The magazine was due to be published in two months’ time, and Callie realized she needed a pen name with which to enter her new literary life: no more Callie Jones or Boardman. She deliberated for a whole morning, while grooming Nina and Jumpy and mucking out an entire row of loose boxes. Of course . . . Using her two first names she became Caroline Rosslyn, which she felt struck just the right note.
Caroline Rosslyn was free to say what her old self could not, and Callie soon found plenty she wanted to say.
With Tom’s help she began to expand her subject. Soon she was writing articles about how living with rescued animals helped her deal with her own turbulent wartime experiences.
‘I think,’ said Tom, reading through her first such piece, ‘that you’re drawing some interesting parallels here. Who knows where this could lead in the development of therapies for both humans and animals?’
Callie’s subject was taken up by the national press and she was asked to write a feature about the sanctuary.
All this gave her the courage to write one more time to the Boyds, demanding to see Desmond and enclosing some of the articles, hoping this would make him proud of his mother. She had heard nothing for years but had never given up hope.
The only positive that came out of the silence that greeted her letter was that she recognized she no longer needed to drown her sorrows in gin. Instead, she wrote out all her frustrations into a strong article in the press, which garnered a wealthy sponsor from Birmingham.
46
How could it be a year since her father died, and nearly the end of her course already, Melissa sighed. The months seemed to have sped up until they became a blur of written exams, orals and end-of-term recitals.
Now there was the burning issue of which of her concert dresses to wear for the end-of-year ball. She’d asked Mark to be her partner, owing him for all the research he’d done on the medal, something she’d almost forgotten about until he reminded her over dinner one night.
‘I showed it to a medal expert. He’s a military historian and appears on the Antiques Roadshow. He said it’s Belgian and not French, given for bravery, and it could be traced. In fact, he phoned me later to tell me he’d found out it belonged to a Louis-Ferrand van Grooten, a professor executed for being in the Belgian Resistance. He was from a distinguished family near Grooten. So what do you make of that?’
‘And the baptism certificate called Lew “Desmond Louis”. Could there possibly be a connection here? Libby did mention Caroline went to a finishing school in Belgium. Where’s this going to end, Mark?’
‘You really ought to find this Caroline while she’s still alive. She’s well over eighty now. I don’t understand your delay.’
‘I did what Dad asked. If that woman left him in Adelaide and no one ever mentioned her to him, then there must have been a good reason. I don’t think she was a very good person.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Mark argued.
‘She was an alcoholic. I’ve told you Libby’s story. If Louis-Ferrand is another link, I’d rather find out about him rather than her. But at this moment I have big decisions to make. Do I audition for an opera company or carry on performing and do some teaching as a back-up to pay for more lessons? One thing’s for sure, I’m not ready to go back to Adelaide yet.’
She felt she’d only just got the hang of how England ticked and there was so much of London life she’d not seen yet.
‘Perhaps a break would help. Time you saw a bit of Europe. We could have a look at Grooten, ask around, do a few bric-a-brac fairs,’ Mark offered. ‘We can take the Golf.’
For once, Mel didn’t reject this out of hand. Mark would be good company and perhaps it was time she let down her guard a little. They’d drawn closer over the summer and she was finding it hard to resist his advances.
‘So this is your excuse to buy in more postcards. Haven’t you got enough?’ she teased.
‘You can never have enough.’ He kissed her gently. ‘Let’s go away, just the two of us, and you can make your decisions when you come back.’
Why not, she thought. It was high summer, about as hot as it ever got in this part of the world, and very pleasant. Perhaps it was time to play for a while, celebrate her exam success; forget all the doubts about Dad’s birth mother clouding the horizon. She’d walked out of his life so why waste precious time searching for her now?
1986
‘How do you live with all you went through in Changi Prison in the war?’ Callie asked Tom one evening as they drove back from one of their fundraising talks. The previous evening they’d both seen some television documentary on Japan since the conflict.
Tom had a key to living she, haunted by guilt and bad dreams, hadn’t. She was still bitter at her loss and she longed to know what his secret was.
‘How do you forgive your enemies? I don’t understand.’ Callie sighed. ‘I can’t forget what was done in the camps to innocent women and children. I will never forget or forgive.’
Tom took a moment to clear the cough that he seemed to have had for weeks. Alfie and Madge had been ill off and on for some time, too. ‘Something going round,’ Alfie insisted, battling on as only she could.
‘Nor will I forget,’ Tom answered. ‘I’m no saint, but I think all of us are capable of terrible cruelty. We all have hatred inside and we will kill given the right circumstances . . . Look at what we see in the sanctuary, what ordinary people do to animals, the cruelty inflicted on helpless beasts. But I think to live with hatred is to burn ourselves out from the inside, destroy the good in us. We can’t live without love and dreams.’
‘I wish I knew how to find your peace,’ Callie said.
‘When I’ve had a bad night I go out into the garden next morning and look around me,’ he smiled. ‘I just sit and look and listen and enjoy the moment. Very Zen, don’t you think?’ He laughed. ‘I find it’s the little things that surprise: the skylark bubbling in the air, the laughter of children in the park on a swing. Call me a romantic old fool, if you like . . .’
‘No, I feel it when Jumpy comes rushing to greet me,’ Callie replied. She’d noticed the influence of Tom’s acceptance on her in small ways. Sometimes at the end of a shift, she walked through the fields for the joy of naming the wildflowers, as she had done with Marthe all those years ago, and she bought tapes of the swing band music she’d loved, which reminded her of happier days.
‘You should make contact with your son, you know, go and seek him out.’
‘I can’t. It’s too late.’
‘It’s never too late to build bridges.’
‘He’s never bothered to find me.’
‘That’s no excuse.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she replied, knowing he was right, but that was as far as it got . . .
The cough that plagued Tom wouldn’t go away. All those years in Changi had weakened his health and suddenly he was really ill. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Alfie began to falter – little falls, forgetfulness – and any thought Callie had of leaving England to find Desmond was cast aside with all the extra work she and Madge now had.
‘Let the old SOE spirit prevail,’ said Madge, as the two of them tackled the mucking out on cold dark mornings.
‘Onwards and upwards,’ Callie always replied, but her heart sank to see that Madge, too, was getting frail and forgetful. After Alfie and Tom died, Madge limped along bereft, but then her forgetfulness turned into frustration and dementia, and Callie had to find a nursing home to care for her until her death.
It was a terrible blow having to struggle on alone. Callie kept the place going with voluntary help but she was coming to the end of her tether. There was so much red tape and form filling, and human beings got on her nerves with their constant harping on about ‘the bottom line’. She knew the shelter was in debt and the house was falling down around her ears. By now, the sanctuary had been her life for over thirty years. Here she was her own boss and slave driver, but it was hard to keep soldiering on.
Yet the beauty of Little Brierley never failed to lift her spirits and the joy of watching those poor creatures come back to life was the biggest reward. The committee who had overseen the charity under which the sanctuary was financed founded the Madge Cottesloe Trust to protect the rescue centre, its house and the fields around, and it was volunteers who saved the day. A forward-thinking probation officer suggested some of those in his charge might benefit from working with animals to help their rehabilitation.
Over the years, Madge had worked miracles with some of those lazy louts, turning them into reliable young men ready to face the world. Look what she’d done for Callie herself all those years ago.
This morning it would be Jodie’s turn to muck out and groom her charge. She’d come with a sullen pout and surly lip curl, expecting to ride round the field like the celebrity star Jordan. She had needed a kick up the backside and had felt the lash of Callie’s tongue the day she had sneaked off for a fag at the back of the stable, dropping a fag end in the straw.
‘Put that out!’ Callie yelled. ‘If you walk away and the straw burns, what do you think will happen to the little donkey in there? Who will hear his screams as he burns to death? How could you be so stupid? Think of others for a change!’ She’d seen the look of horror on Jodie’s face as cause and effect clicked into her dozy brain. The result was electric. Now Jodie was turning out to be a star pupil and talked of trying to get work as a groom at a racing stable when she was out of probation.
The sanctuary also had disabled school pupils who came to work with their own assigned horse, and it was wonderful to watch them form a relationship with a living creature that didn’t answer back or notice their handicaps but accepted their care and responses. Not all of them coped with a lively horse, but it was only fear that made them back away, causing the ponies to tense up. Callie saw with delight how the fears of the children and the fears of the animals could be overcome by working on both together.
