Dragon Land Read online

  For my grandfather Charles Dwyer, of the Royal Dublin

  Fusiliers, who fought at and was gassed at Ypres, 1915

  The Somme (Don’t Think)

  The officer shouted, ‘Over the top,’

  Pick up your heels, run till you drop,

  Don’t think about your loving wife,

  Or the children who are the light of your life.

  Forget the girl who kissed you goodbye,

  Who vowed to be true as time went by.

  Never mind that your life has been in vain,

  That you’ll never see your home again.

  Don’t think about the tears and pain

  Or lying dead in the pouring rain.

  Maureen Reynolds

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My thanks go to the Archive Department at the University of Dundee for all their help on the Dundee College of Education in the 1920s.

  To Bob Thomson for sharing his memories of his Merchant Navy days, when he sailed to the Far East.

  A big thank you as usual to my family for all their help with the Internet.

  Finally to Karyn for her helpful comments and suggestions, and to all the team at Black & White Publishing.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  1 Easter 1932

  2 Dr Bennett

  3 The Telegraph Boy

  4 Moving On

  5 The Hat Shop

  6 Armistice

  7 Andy Baxter

  8 A Letter from Margaret

  9 Easter

  10 Carnoustie

  11 Unrest and Bad News

  12 A New School

  13 The General Strike

  14 Milly Makes a Momentous Decision

  15 The War Memorial on the Law

  16 Milly Moves On

  17 New Horizons

  18 Dundee College of Education

  19 Park Place

  20 A Wedding in Glasgow

  21 Cycling Around Perthshire and Angus

  22 A Holiday by the Sea

  23 The Funeral

  24 Mum Makes a Confession

  25 Milly’s Good News

  26 Ann Street School

  27 The Last Summer

  28 Family Secrets

  29 Elsie Lomax

  30 The Adventure Begins

  31 Shipmates

  32 Hong Kong

  33 The Year of the Dog

  34 Mr Wang’s Wonderful World of Books

  35 Jonas O’Neill and Dragon Land

  36 Shanghai

  37 Zheng Yan and Ping Li

  38 The Mission

  39 Lorna-May’s New Year Party

  40 The Year of the Boar

  41 The New Arrival

  42 Peter Flint O’Neill

  43 The Christening

  44 Refugees at the Mission

  45 The Japanese Treaty

  46 Macao

  47 The Kindness of Senhora Alveres

  48 Homeward Bound

  49 Margaret’s Accident

  50 A Visit to Cork

  51 A New Arrival and Another War

  Epilogue: March 1952 – The Year of the Dragon

  Also by Maureen Reynolds

  Copyright

  1

  EASTER 1932

  My mother always loved clocks. As far back as I remember there was always the quiet ticking of our old grandfather clock with its deep, sonorous chimes, and the delightful carriage clock, which sat on the mantelpiece and struck the hours with tinkling, melodic sounds. The alarm clock in the bedroom, which had to be wound up every night and sounded like a screeching parrot, always annoyed my father. Mum, however, always said the clocks were the heartbeat of the home, and Dad would smile fondly at her and nod his head.

  As I headed down Cotton Road at the end of my time at Ann Street School, I felt sad that the clocks she so loved were ticking away her life. Slowly but surely, bit by bit, tick, tick, tick, tick.

  The cold wind that had blown in from the east slapped against my face, and my hands were freezing in spite of my thick woollen gloves. Polly, one of my colleagues at school, said the wind had come straight from Siberia and I didn’t disagree with her.

  I tried to shield the bunch of daffodils that had been my parting gift from my primary three class, but the wind whistled and caught the yellow flower heads, almost pulling them from my grasp. Smoke from the chimneys blew almost horizontally and the rows of houses had a shuttered look, as if no one but myself dared be adrift on such a day. I was crying quietly and hoping that anyone outside on such a bitter day would assume my eyes were watering with the cold. I knew I would miss my teaching job and the schoolchildren very much, but I also knew that I had to look after Mum and be at home to care for her.

  I was glad to be almost home, especially as flakes of snow harried by the scouring wind blew straight into my face. If this weather continued, then the Easter holiday would be spent indoors and the children would grow restless, being confined to their houses.

  Mum was looking out of the window as I hurried towards 88 Victoria Road. She gave a feeble wave and I smiled up at her. When I entered the sitting room, Mrs Maisie Mulholland, our next-door neighbour, was relaxing by a glowing fire, her head resting on the back of her chair. She was sound asleep. The ball of wool from her knitting had fallen onto the floor and a line of blue wool stretched over the fireside rug. Mum put a finger to her lips, but the draught from the front door had acted as a wake-up call and Mrs Mulholland opened her eyes.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Beth. It must be the heat from the fire.’ She quickly gathered up her wool, winding it slowly and pushing it onto the end of her sharp needles.

  I made straight for the miniscule scullery, which was only big enough for a sink and the cooker. ‘I’ll make us some tea and toast.’

  Mrs Mulholland said she wouldn’t wait, as she had a meeting later at the church hall. I was so grateful to her for coming in most afternoons and sitting with Mum. I said so as she made for the door.

  ‘It’s no bother, Lizzie. Beth sleeps most of the afternoon and she’s a great patient.’

  I put the daffodils in a vase and carried them along with the teapot to the fireside, placing the flowers on the side table beside the bed. Mum smiled as she looked at them.

  ‘They’re a present from my class and they all sang a song for me before I left.’ I tried not to cry again, but Mum took hold of my hands.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t given up your job, Lizzie. I’ll be fine once this tiredness passes.’

  I turned away so she wouldn’t see my face. She didn’t know there would be no miracle cure for her, and the clocks, as if in agreement with me, struck five o’clock. Bong, bong, bong, bong, bong.

  She sipped some tea but didn’t eat any toast. She barely ate anything these days except scrambled eggs, which I’m sure she only ate to keep me happy. I had brought her bed into the living room from the bedroom we had shared when we moved in with my late grandmother, as I thought she would enjoy looking out of the window at the pedestrians and traffic.

  ‘I saw a poor horse today, Lizzie. It was pulling a cart with big bales of jute and it looked so downtrodden I almost opened the window and shouted at the driver.’

  ‘Oh, I hope you didn’t do that, Mum. You would freeze in this weather.’

  She laughed, but even that small gesture tired her out and she lay back on the mound of pillows. ‘No, I couldn’t open the window and Mrs Mulholland wouldn’t help me. She said she had to finish her little jumper for the poor families’ fund at the church.’

  I had to smile. Mrs Mulholland wouldn’t put her knitting before helping Mum with anything, but she knew it was too cold for open windows and she was forthright enough to tell her patient
. I suspected that Mum had invented the story of the little jumper.

  ‘Tell me how your last day at school went,’ she said, trying to sit up and pulling her blue bed jacket closer round her thin white neck. Her delicate watch hung loosely from her wrist, as did her gold bangle.

  I couldn’t betray my emotions at her condition so I went to refill my cup and leant against the sink, smiling and trying to keep calm. I found myself stirring my tea over and over and had to make a conscious effort to keep my hands still.

  After a few minutes I made my way back to the bedside, a wide smile plastered on my face. Where had I read of someone being described as wearing a smile while her heart was breaking?

  ‘The children all said their goodbyes and some of them were crying.’ I stopped and laughed. ‘At least some of the girls were. The boys were more interested in where I was going.’ I didn’t mention that Charlie had asked, ‘Are ye ga’en tae anither skale, Miss Flint?’ and that I had answered, ‘No, I’m leaving to look after my mother,’ and that Charlie, the class clown, then piped up, ‘Meh mither looks efter me and meh three wee sisters. Does your mither no look efter you, Miss?’

  I took out the lovely brooch that had been presented to me from the staff. It was a plain circle with a seed pearl in the centre. Mum took the box and gazed at it for ages.

  ‘It’s lovely, Lizzie. They must think a lot of you.’

  ‘Yes, we all got on very well, and even though I haven’t been there for long it was a happy place to work. Polly and Jane are going hiking during the holiday and plan to stay in the youth hostels, but Polly did say if this cold weather keeps up they might change their plans. The headmaster, Mr Drummond, is hoping to go away with his wife for a week in their caravan to Arbroath.’

  ‘That’s the worst of Easter,’ said Mum. ‘Often it’s colder at this time of the year than at Christmas.’

  That was true, I thought, and as I pulled the curtains to shut out the darkening skies I saw the snow was lying on the pavements, gleaming white in the light from the street lamps.

  After tea, during which she left more food on the plate than she ate, Mum picked up her book, but within ten minutes she had fallen asleep, so I quietly removed her glasses and made sure the fire was well banked up.

  I brought the blankets and quilt through from the bedroom and lay down on the couch. I wanted to make sure I would hear her if she woke up during the night. She looked so beautiful and peaceful lying there that I felt a tightness in my throat at the unfairness of her illness and the fact I wouldn’t have her for very long.

  To take my mind off the worry about the future, I decided to reread one of my childhood books, Treasure Island. It had been a favourite of mine and I was soon immersed in the adventures of Jim Hawkins and Long John Silver. I especially liked the bit about his parrot, Captain Flint, and as a child I had been impressed that our family name was in print, albeit as the name of a bird. I smiled as I recalled my childish dreams of adventure and how I had wanted to be a pirate. It was strange how life turned out.

  ‘What are you smiling at, Lizzie?’

  I looked up to see Mum propped against her pillows.

  ‘Oh, I hope I didn’t wake you,’ I said. ‘It’s just the memory of this book. Do you remember how I wanted to be a pirate? And Granny almost choked on her tea?’

  Mum laughed. ‘She wasn’t the only one. I got a shock as well, if my memory serves me right.’

  I put the book down. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter any more. Now I’m teaching young children to look to the future and immersing myself in their dreams.’

  Mum looked keenly at me. ‘There’s still time for an adventurous life, Lizzie. Once I’m better and back working in the hat shop.’

  We both laughed at that and recalled how shocked Granny had been when I called it that. She couldn’t imagine anyone calling the millinery department in DM Brown’s anything as common as a hat shop.

  2

  DR BENNETT

  The weather didn’t get any better. More snow blew in with a bitter northerly wind, and apart from going out to the nearest shop for food, I stayed indoors. Mum became tired looking out at the wintry scene and I got a bit edgy being cooped up in the house.

  I would have liked Mum to get out for some fresh air, but it was far too cold. Also there was the difficulty of trying to get her downstairs. Up till a few weeks ago she had been able to negotiate the stairs slowly, but not any more. I realised sadly that her illness was getting worse.

  Dr Bennett had been my grandparents’ doctor, but Mum and I knew him well. He had a surgery in his house in Constitution Terrace where we would go any time we needed treatment, but now he came every week to see us.

  He had been frank with me about the tumour in her breast, but Mum, in her usual mode of denial and general vagueness, had dismissed his diagnosis.

  ‘That’s rubbish,’ she said, waving her white hands in a fluttery motion that was typical of her attitude to anything unpleasant.

  Sadly it wasn’t rubbish. I could see her life slowly going downhill and I didn’t know how to cope with her denial.

  Dr Bennett arrived a few days after I gave up work. He was well wrapped up from the cold. In his early sixties, he was a tall, thin man with a grey beard and a cheery manner. I always thought he looked more like a stage actor than a doctor.

  He sat by the side of Mum’s bed and opened his black bag. ‘How are you today, Mrs Flint?’

  Mum denied there was anything wrong with her and asked when she could get up and go back to work.

  He jollied her along. ‘Not for a wee while.’ He looked out of the window. ‘Anyway, it’s not the kind of weather to be outdoors. No, you mark my words, Mrs Flint, you’re better off inside the cosy house than traipsing through the snow.’ He closed his bag and refused a cup of tea. ‘I’ve another three patients to see, Lizzie, so I’d better get a move on. There are a lot of influenza cases going about.’

  I saw him to the door and he stood on the landing. ‘Your mother isn’t in any pain at the moment, but when she is I’ll be able to give her something to relieve it.’ He saw my worried face and he took my hand. ‘Just keep her warm and comfortable and I’ll be back in a few days to see her.’

  My stomach was churning as I went back inside. Just as the clock chimed twelve o’clock, Mum propped herself up on her pillows. ‘He says I’ve got influenza, Lizzie, so it won’t be long till I’m on my feet again.’

  I had to turn away in case my face betrayed the emotions that were somersaulting through my head, and I went to heat up some soup for our dinner.

  Mum barely touched hers, even although I tried hard to spoon more liquid into her mouth. ‘I’ve had enough, Lizzie. I’m not really hungry.’ She picked up the book lying on her quilt. ‘I’ve finished this story. Can you go down to the library for another book, Lizzie?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll go now and get something for the tea,’ I said, picking up the book, which I knew she hadn’t read.

  I called in at Maisie’s house and she went to sit with Mum till I got back.

  The snow had turned to a wet slush when I reached the street and it was difficult to keep away from the passing tramcars and carts as they sent sprays of icy water onto the pavement. I was grateful I had put my galoshes over my shoes as I hurried towards the library.

  I loved books and always enjoyed being in the quietness of the library. After picking up a romantic-fiction book for Mum, I wandered over to the travel section and spent half an hour looking at travel books about distant countries. I chose two and carried my small bundle to the desk.

  The middle-aged woman at the counter stamped them and smiled as she handed them over. ‘Isn’t it terrible weather for this time of year? What a pity we don’t live here,’ she said, pointing to one of my travel books – the one entitled A Journey through China.

  I agreed with her and hurried out onto the windswept pavement. Before going home I decided to make a detour to Keiller’s baker’s shop to buy some cakes for tea. Mum loved fru
itcakes and I smiled as I recalled Dad calling them ‘fly cemeteries’. However, he never said it to her face.

  Mum was looking out the window as I approached the house, and I waved. Maisie was chatting to her as she knitted another small garment, but when I came into the room, she stood up, gathered up her needles and wool, and placed them in her roomy bag.

  ‘Please stay for a cup of tea, Maisie. I’ve bought some cakes.’

  Mum said, ‘I hope they are fruitcakes, Lizzie.’

  I laughed. ‘Yes, they are.’ I was pleased that Mum seemed more alert. Maisie also appeared glad of the opportunity to stay, but I was puzzled by a feeling the two women had changed the subject when I entered the room. But as I made the tea I decided my mind was playing tricks.

  However, later Maisie confirmed my suspicion when I went with her to the door.

  ‘Thank you for coming in to sit with Mum, I’m really so grateful.’

  ‘I’m just pleased to be able to help you, Lizzie. I did think Beth was looking a bit better today and she didn’t sleep as much as she usually does.’ She hesitated. ‘There is just one thing. When you were out, Beth was looking out of the window and she said she saw your father walking up the street. When I went to look, she said he had walked past the close.’ Maisie’s round, homely face looked distressed. ‘I hope you don’t mind me mentioning it.’

  Suddenly my previous feeling of hope vanished, but I didn’t want to upset our neighbour. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘You know she sometimes gets these strange feelings.’

  Maisie looked relieved.

  I went back into the living room. Mum was propped up on her pillows with her book, but I knew she wasn’t reading it. I sat beside her and took her hand. She laid the book down and sighed.

  ‘I was just saying to Maisie that you’re looking a lot better today.’

  She waved her hand as if annoyed. ‘I’m not ill, Lizzie, it’s just a bad bout of influenza.’

  I wasn’t going to be fobbed off. ‘Maisie said you enjoyed looking out of the window.’

  Mum nodded, but I could see a flash of evasiveness in her eyes as she turned her head away.