FIVE

A Quiet Bay?

Near our little harbour town of Dalhavaig, a tiny lane led off the road down between rocky outcrops towards the sea, where it ended at a pebbly shore with the neighbouring island of Eilean Mor visible in the distance. At one end of this small beach was a smart modern bungalow and at the other a traditional croft house, much extended and altered. Both were in idyllic positions: facing south to the sea and protected from the north by low cliffs and trees. The sea lapped at the steep beach just a few yards away while the blue hills of Eilean Mor, across four or five miles of water, formed a perfect backdrop to the huffing waves and murmuring sea. It could be wild here in bad weather but there was still a sense of grandeur and timelessness to this little place—tucked away in its own quiet world.

The croft house was owned by a lady from Edinburgh, who brought her disabled young son here for long holidays. He was a bright thirteen-year-old who had his sights already set on university, but was so disabled physically that he needed complete care. Whenever they were on Papavray, I visited twice daily to help Audrey to wash and dress Harry in the morning and put him to bed at night. Various medication and treatments were administered by this dedicated mother, but I sometimes felt that she must lead a very isolated life devoted entirely to her son.

I spent many hours with them over the years, but I still have no idea what happened to the husband and father. Had he died, I felt that he would have been mentioned, so I concluded that either Audrey had not been married or that the husband had left her to cope on her own. Sadly, I have come across this scenario all too often—a husband and father who cannot cope emotionally and physically with a badly disabled child and abandons the mother, sometimes providing for them in absentia but often not even that.

Harry’s health was precarious and so Audrey had home-schooled him from infancy and the lessons went on while on Papavray too. He was a studious boy with heavy, horn-rimmed spectacles, a quiet voice and a sense of humour which, in the circumstances, I found humbling. The croft house had been altered and adapted to accommodate all the paraphernalia necessary for his care and comfort, with a special shower, hospital-type bed and a wheelchair which Audrey would push to the front of the house in good weather so that Harry could watch the birds and the sea.

While visiting them, I became aware for the first time of the owner of the smart bungalow at the other end of the beach. We had heard that Sandra Wainscott and her husband had had it built fairly recently for holidays. They had lived in London and scarcely used the house, but now they were divorced and Sandra had decided to live on Papavray permanently. She seemed a strangely reclusive person for one who had lived in the hustle and bustle of London. She shopped on the mainland, not locally; she was never seen walking and did not attend any island function. She drove to and from the mainland with never a wave to anyone. Of course, this behaviour was quickly noted by the crofters.

I consulted Mary—the fount of all local gossip.

‘I’m not knowing at all,’ she said in a disgruntled fashion—she liked to know these things.

‘She doesna speak to folk, she doesna shop on the island, nor use the garage. But I’m hearin’ that there is a daughter that might be comin’ here … ’

‘How do you know that, Mary?’

Mary moved her milk pail from one hand to the other. ‘Well … ah. It’s like this y’see: the woman doesna get much mail, so when a card came for her, Postie couldna help but see … ’

I smiled. Postie would have devoured every word on that card and faithfully broadcast the content to all and sundry.

Mary prepared to move on. ‘This Sandra is a posh sort of person I’m told but her daughter canna write her letters well or spell right.’ And with this severe comment, she disappeared into the byre.

‘Odd,’ I thought, but without much interest. However, within a week, Sandra and her problems were very much of interest.

It all began when Sandra rang me from the Dalhavaig post office to ask me to visit her daughter the following day. She (the daughter) had moved into one of the small row of cottages by the harbour.

‘I’ll have to be there too,’ Sandra added, giving no explanation.

But it did not work out like that at all.

It was a bright, crisp morning with white, fluffy clouds playing hide and seek with the sun. I had just finished helping Audrey with Harry and we had tucked him up in his wheelchair, which Audrey pushed to the front of the house.

Suddenly, a woman’s piercing scream shattered the peace and a man began to shout hysterically.

I turned, startled, and there was a young woman striding into the sea, fully dressed. Sandra was screaming at her to come back as she rushed after her while a young man stood ineffectually nearby, shouting and crying.

As I looked again at the young woman, I was horrified to see that she carried a bundle of shawls. It was a baby! And it was in great danger!

I was rushing along the beach, tumbling over the pebbles, and Sandra was now following her into the sea.

‘Valerie … stop … come back … the baby … ’ She was gasping as she struggled through the cold water.

The girl turned. ‘Don’t care … don’t care. Don’t want her or him.’ She looked venomously towards the young man, who still had not moved.

‘No, no. Come back. We will sort everything … ’ Sandra had now reached her daughter and tried to grab her arm. The girl struggled and pulled away, then she hit her mother on the side of the head. I heard the thud as I, too, rushed into the water. I needed to get the baby before the girl should drop it, or even try to drown it.

Sandra had fallen into the water head-first, while the girl waded on deeper and deeper.

I had a split second to decide. Do I rescue Sandra, who might be unconscious and in danger of drowning, or pursue the girl to try to rescue the baby from a similar fate?

I waded on towards the girl—was this the right decision? Was it a decision at all? It was probably instinctive. A helpless baby, a deranged mother … I did not have time to think logically.

‘I’ll get Sandra,’ shouted a voice behind me as Audrey waded past towards the now spluttering woman.

‘Valerie, come back! I am here to help you,’ I called.

She stopped and turned so quickly that I thought for a moment that I was about to get the same treatment as Sandra. But she just stared blankly at me.

‘Who are you?’

‘I am the district nurse and I am here to help you and the baby.’

‘Wha’ for?’

‘It’s what I do. We help young mothers to cope with new babies. Looking after a baby isn’t easy, is it?’

‘No … I … I don’t know what to do. And she cries all the time.’ She paused and glowered across to the young man. ‘And he’s no help.’ (I can well imagine, I thought.)

‘If you give me the baby, I will look after her so that you can get some rest, Valerie … and I am sure your mother will help you to cope. Come now, give me the baby, Valerie, then you don’t need to worry about her.’

I was speaking through chattering teeth and my legs were beginning to go numb. Valerie looked undecided, but I could see that, in spite of her stated indifference to the child, she was holding her clear of the water. She stopped for a moment and I thought I had got through to her, but then she started off again into deeper and deeper water. No matter how she held her, the baby would soon be submerged.

I was right beside her now and held out my arms for the child. If I tried to grab her, I might make Valerie stumble … I might stumble myself and fail in my attempt … or I might provoke her to toss the baby aside. Anything was possible. But I might have to make a grab for her if all my entreaties failed.

‘Valerie, we are all very cold. You are shivering. Shall we go back to the shore? I will look after baby, I promise, and you can get dry … ’

She stood still.

I continued, ‘We’ll make some tea and have a nice warm up.’

(The thought flitted through my mind: Here am I in deep, cold water with a deranged mother and a baby in danger—and I am talking about making tea?)

But it worked! Valerie turned towards me, silently handed the baby to me, and strode off towards the shore and the young man.

As I had been entreating the girl to give up the baby, I had been aware, out of the corner of my eye, of Audrey dragging a spluttering Sandra out of the sea and sitting her on the pebbles where she coughed up a lot of sea water and looked around fearfully. She tried to stand.

‘No, no,’ cautioned Audrey, ‘stay a moment to get your senses back. I can see that Nurse has the baby and your daughter is all right. Look! She is walking up the beach now.’

Valerie was, indeed, marching purposefully towards the man. He cowered as she stood before him. With a mighty swing, she whacked him so hard that he fell onto the pebbles where he crouched, whimpering.

I was wading back to the shore carrying the damp little bundle, which was so quiet that I had the sick feeling that we might be too late. I hadn’t even seen the child among all the shawls, but I knew she must be very young. Reaching the pebbles, I ran as fast as my stiff legs would allow towards Audrey’s house. I knew it to be warm and clean, and that it had a telephone.

I smiled at Harry as I passed. He had seen it all but, of course, could do nothing. How terribly frustrating that must have been, I thought, somewhere at the back of all the other thoughts running through my mind.

Once in the warm kitchen, I unwrapped the little bundle. The child was alive, but cold and sleepy, her limbs floppy. She was unresponsive, her eyes open but unfocused. At this young age she would not focus well anyway, but this was bad. I took all the damp clothes off and, finding a folded sheet warming by the Rayburn, I wrapped her in it, trying to hold her away from my own wet, dripping clothes. Running into Harry’s room, I laid her on his bed, where I knew Audrey always kept an electric blanket ready to warm his bed. I switched it on.

Audrey and Sandra appeared. Taking in the situation with the baby, Audrey said, ‘Upstairs, Nurse. Out of those wet things. There is a dressing gown on the door of my room.’

Off I went while Audrey and Sandra took off the outer layers of their wet things and Audrey fetched a couple of pairs of pyjamas, as being easy to get on to limbs stiff and blue with cold.

Now dry, I could tend the baby without making her wet again. I wished she would cry, but she just gazed at the world with dull eyes.

‘Audrey, can you phone Doctor? Tell him it is urgent. I think baby is very dehydrated. And can you boil some water, meantime, and I will try to spoon it into her. Sandra, does Valerie breastfeed her?’

‘No. She won’t have anything to do with her. But I got milk powder and bottles when the baby was born. It is all in my house, but could we get it? What do you think is going on over there? I wonder if she—or perhaps Alf—will attack us if we try to go in.’

Audrey spoke. ‘I think we should get the police as well as the doctor.’ She glanced apologetically at Sandra. ‘Your daughter is distraught, and as for the young man … ’

Sandra dropped wearily into a chair. ‘Yes. Do that. I have tried but … ’ She sounded defeated.

While I spooned the warm water into the baby’s mouth, holding her closely to my own now warm, dry body, Audrey rang Doctor Mac and then John, our policeman. She gave them both an abbreviated account of the morning’s events and Valerie’s aggressive behaviour.

‘Bring someone with you,’ was her parting shot to John. Wise woman! He would probably bring our island giant—Rhuari.

I suddenly thought, has baby a name?

Sandra sighed, ‘Valerie wants to call her Marilyn, and he wants Fredericka.’ She looked at us. ‘They are both subnormal,’ she continued. ‘I have yet to learn how they met, but neither has any idea how to look after themselves, let alone a baby. They had a huge row about the name: Alf’s father was ‘Frederick’; Valerie is crazy about Marilyn Monroe. Alf hates me; Valerie sides with him but sometimes attacks him. He has not even touched the baby—he’s afraid of her, in fact—thinks she is some sort of alien or something … I just don’t know where to turn. Valerie was in a home near Malcolm—my ex—but turned up here. He got her the cottage and then Alf arrived … it just goes on and on.’

‘Let’s call her “Bonny,” in the hope that she becomes “bonny.”’ Audrey was decisive and as it seemed ridiculous to discuss names at a time like this, we all agreed.

Just then, there was a crunching on the pebbles as Doctor Mac drew up. I gave him a brief account of all the happenings so far and he briefly examined Bonny.

‘Are you three ladies all right after your ducking?’ he asked.

We all agreed that, although shaken, we were all right, but very aware of our strange outfits.

He gave a quick laugh at this.

‘Well, I shall take the baby to the hospital. She needs rehydration and nourishment and then a thorough assessment.’ He looked doubtfully at me in Audrey’s dressing gown. ‘Ahh. Can you come with me?’

‘Come,’ said Audrey, making for the stairs. A moment or two later, I reappeared clad in a pair of trousers several sizes too big and a voluminous jumper. Audrey was a big lady. Poor Doctor Mac was hard pressed not to laugh.

Wrapping little Bonny in an eiderdown, the doctor and I left for the hospital just as John arrived with, yes, Rhuari.

‘We have to go,’ called Doctor Mac. ‘I’ll see you later, John. There has been violence so I suppose … the cells. Keep those two apart or we will have murder on our hands.’

John’s police station—his house—had only two cells. It seemed that both would be in use for a few hours at least.

Once we had handed over our little burden and Doctor Mac had thoroughly examined her, the hospital staff took over. A drip was put up and warmth applied. They would begin feeding in an hour or two, and then every three hours, as Bonny was only two weeks old and less than six pounds in weight.

‘She will be all right,’ Doctor Mac assured me. ‘Now we have to decide what to do with her when she is well.’

‘I don’t think the parents are fit to look after her. Perhaps Sandra, the grandmother … ’ I wondered.

‘I get the impression that she is not very stable either. Or perhaps she is just tired and shocked—I only saw her for a moment.’ Doctor Mac was usually a good judge of people and I was surprised at his assessment of Sandra’s character and capabilities.

Doctor took me back to Audrey’s house, where she and Sandra were drinking tea and Harry was back inside, as the weather had turned cold. He was as excited about the events as any thirteen-year-old would be, and professed Alf to be ‘an idiot’ and Valerie to be ‘scary.’

Audrey told me that John had had no trouble with Alf, who snivelled his way to the car, but that Valerie had had to be restrained, as she was kicking and screaming. Rhuari was just the man for this, as he combined great strength and determination with gentleness and compassion. John had ‘used his services’ on many occasions.

I was happy to collect my wet clothes, go home, get into another uniform, and set off to finish the day’s work.

I was back at Audrey’s house in the evening to help with Harry.

‘Sandra is back in the bungalow but Doctor decided to send Valerie straight back to the maternity hospital on the mainland, as she has some heavy bleeding,’ reported Audrey. ‘I don’t suppose her ducking helped.’

‘What about that young fellow?’ I asked.

‘He’s banged up,’ put in Harry in a satisfied tone.

Audrey smiled. ‘He is staying in a cell for the night. Just to have somewhere to put him, I think,’ she said. ‘Sandra is going to have much to deal with, it seems.’

I remembered Doctor Mac’s opinion and wondered how she would cope.

‘I’ll go to see her tomorrow,’ I said. Sufficient unto the day, I thought, as I thankfully drove home to family and fireside.

When I went to help Audrey in the morning, there was a shining Daimler parked beside the bungalow.

‘Malcolm, Sandra’s ex, arrived late last night. She had phoned him. I’d asked her in for a drink, I felt sorry for all her troubles … you know, Nurse, I don’t think she’s up to coping with the baby: the daughter, perhaps, that hopeless young man, not at all—so I hope this Malcolm can sort everything out.’

We were getting Harry installed in his chair when a very large man emerged from the bungalow and drove off.

‘That’s a super car,’ said Harry. ‘One day, when I am old enough, they are going to get an adapted car for me. Then, when I’m in it, I’ll be like everybody else.’ This was obviously a dream cherished by Harry—‘to be like everybody else.’ I was deeply affected by his cheerful acceptance of his condition and his simple ambitions.

That evening, the news from the island hospital was devastating.

Harry was near to tears. ‘The baby, Nurse. It died. Isn’t that awful? Was it the water, or the cold?’

In fact, it was probably both because the child was warmed and rehydrated but did not respond and developed breathing problems. I was shocked and upset, as we had held high hopes for little Bonny’s recovery.

‘Malcolm seems a very caring and capable man and is going to deal with all that the baby’s death entails. He has packed Alf off to his parents in Aberdeen and Valerie is to go to a psychiatric unit when she is released from the maternity hospital.’

‘What about Sandra?’ I asked. ‘She must be so upset about the baby and her daughter.’

Audrey shuddered. ‘No. In fact she said that it was a good thing that the baby died, as she did not want to have to look after her or Valerie.’

‘Oh, my!’

Harry was listening to every word. ‘That’s horrible,’ he said. ‘Suppose Mum had felt like that about me!’

We were both quite astonished at his understanding of the attitude of Sandra as opposed to his mother’s.

Audrey was near to tears as she hugged him. ‘I love you, Harry. How could I not care for you?’

But he was still distressed. ‘But the poor little baby … ’

As I left, I whispered to Audrey, ‘You have a super boy there, Audrey. You have brought him up beautifully and you care for him so well.’

She smiled. ‘Oh no, Nurse, we look after each other.’

It seemed that Sandra had had a nervous breakdown some months ago. She had turned against Malcolm, attempting to harm him but he did not want to bring it all into the public arena, so they had agreed to part quietly.

He had done his best for Sandra and Valerie and was now trying to arrange some sort of future for them both.

Next morning, John’s car and another police vehicle were by the bungalow. Audrey met me on the beach.

‘Sandra has disappeared. They have been searching all night. Malcolm is distraught.’

They searched the island, moved to other islands and the mainland—nothing! Weeks went by and then Malcolm received a letter from New Zealand. Sandra had met up with an old lover and was living in Christchurch. She was not at all concerned on hearing from Malcolm that everyone had been worried about her safety, and did not ask about her daughter at all. Doctor Mac’s instincts had been right—yet again.

* * *

About two years later, Malcolm and Audrey were married. He proved a great father for Harry, who eventually became a research scientist.