7 VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY
As July passed into August, Douglas became impatient for Craigton Hall. The friends of his sighted days had mostly drifted away, busy with their own lives, and he felt isolated and bored at home.
The situation had one advantage, however. He had a lot of time for private study and extra effort brought rewards. He was overcoming the setback of his accident, catching up in Latin and forging ahead. He thoroughly revised mathematics, his weakest subject at Oaklands.
His Braille reading was improving, but still relatively slowly. That did not matter for Latin exercises and geometric proofs, which had to be read slowly. But it was more trying when reading fiction. He had been advised that adventure stories would increase his speed. That summer he read Prester John. His speed did increase to about the rate of a newsreader on the radio, but this gave him nothing like the pleasure of print. Reading print, the scenes had danced in his mind's eye and the pages had become invisible. Reading Braille was never like that.
At last September came round. The Glasgow pupils formed nearly half the complement of Craigton Hall, so they were conveyed to Edinburgh in a coach known to them as 'the Glasgow bus'. They assembled for boarding near the Education Authority's office on a corner of Bath Street. Most were accompanied to the pick-up point by a parent, usually the mother, as fathers were normally at work on a Monday.
They made a lively throng on the pavement. Parents who had met on these occasions year in, year out, greeted one another as friends and chatted about their children's progress at school.
One boy was always accompanied by his father. This was Davie Shepherd, the keen footballer, who was in the same class as Douglas.
Mrs Barr liked Mr Shepherd, whom she had met at Douglas's first prize-giving day, so she went over to speak with him and his son.
'Hello, Mrs Barr,' said David's father.
'Hello, Mr Shepherd. Hello, David. I hear you are the best footballer in the school.'
'That's right. He is,' said Douglas. 'He can dribble, shoot and even heads into goal.'
'How on earth do you manage that?' Mrs Barr asked.
'Och there's nothing to it, Mrs Barr,' David answered. 'Just practice.'
'And he's a very good cricketer as well,' added Douglas.
'Goodness! How do you boys play cricket?'
'We use a small-size football, Mrs Barr. The bowler has to bounce it twice to a total and I can hear the rattle whirring through the air.'
'He was highest scorer in the match between the school and the hostel last summer,' said Douglas. 'Only bad light held him up.'
'I wouldn't have thought the light made much difference to you, David,' said
Mrs
Barr, puzzled.
'Douglas is only teasing you, Mrs Barr. We call "bad light" when a train comes along. The railway's on the other side of the wall where we play, on the lower green. You can't hear anything when the train's passing, so it's "bad light" and the game has to pause.'
Listening to stories like that, Douglas often felt that most parents had little real idea of the school their children attended. On the surface it was, as Major Royle claimed, a happy community. But this was because the pupils were never pushed. The clever ones so often achieved less than they might, and the average kids received little beyond the three Rs, which left plenty of time for games, which was encouraged, or winchin', which was not. Parents were easily impressed by public displays of games, dancing or singing, but few questioned why no pupil made it to the top of the educational ladder. They were not encouraged to criticise the school and most persuaded themselves that their 'Johnny' was in the 'best place'.
Beneath these reflections lay a deeper sadness for Douglas; the feeling that his mother would never accept his love for Louise. He was perfectly sure that she knew how he felt, but the knowledge brought her only anxiety. She looked upon him as a rocket on the launching pad of life. The fuel with which he was primed might ignite too soon and send him spinning off course. It had to be a slow burn for a long voyage. So Mrs Barr poured cold water on romance whenever the subject came up.
Douglas could hear Louise's ready laughter a little way off, as she greeted Marion Byers, another of their classmates, who hailed from the east end of Glasgow. Marion was a tease who loved to chaff with Louise.
'I remember you used to jump off the piano in the girls' playroom, Louise, when you were only seven. You were a right tomboy. Nobody would have thought you'd be a fine young lady by now, and the best pianist in the school.'
Douglas loved hearing Louise praised like that. It was deeply frustrating that he could not simply go to her without incurring the disapproval of their parents. Mrs Barr had calmed down a bit through talking to me, but dangerous currents still ran beneath the surface.
The coach arrived and the pupils boarded. Parents knocked on the windows to say goodbye. Boys were sent to the back and girls were kept at the front, under the eye of a lady escort from the city welfare department. During the journey, Douglas took care, from time to time, that Louise should hear his voice, and she did the same.
Most boys and girls were in high spirits at returning to school. Many of them had endured eight weeks of crushing boredom. Few of the parents had much idea how to amuse a blind youngster. Often the only relief was drinking cups of tea with their mothers' friends, who asked patronising questions. Douglas himself could think of examples. There had been a spectacular fire that summer in a Glasgow store when he had been shopping with his mother in Argyle Street. Next day a neighbour dropped in for a 'wee cup of tea'. She was awkward in Douglas's presence, trying to avoid direct reference to his blindness.
'Did you s-s-see, eh, I mean feel any heat from the fire in Argyle street, Douglas?'
She must be crazy, Douglas thought. As if they'd let you close enough to feel the heat of a fire like that. Why can't she just be natural and use 'see'.
The boys and girls laughed scornfully at such awkwardness and swapped examples with their friends. So the journey passed quickly for most of them, but not for Douglas. He kept up conversation with wee Davie and the others, but the bus seemed to crawl as if up to its axles in sand. He knew Louise was feeling the same, but she covered up very well. He could hear her bursts of heart-warming laughter at the front of the coach. The girls were talking about their trip to Switzerland.
'You were a big show-off, Louise Cummings,' chaffed Marion.
'How do you make that out, Marion?' asked Louise, taking no offence.
'We were all puffing and panting up to that mountain-grotto and I heard Captain say, "There's Louise running up this steep hill with that Dutch Guide."'
Louise laughed at the recollection. 'When you think of it,' she said, 'there couldn't have been many hills where Katerina came from, but she was very fit from ice skating.'
They went on to reminisce about the ice grotto - the shock of the cold in high summer, and the tall Christmas tree that stood there all year round. The blind Guides had earned the genuine admiration of their sighted helpers when they sang Christmas carols in two-part harmony, adding further enchantment to the scene.
Douglas consoled himself with anticipation of a development he confidently expected. Louise was nearing her 17th birthday and expected to be 'put up' to the girls' hostel this term. He day-dreamed about this. They would arrange a stroll to the Blackford Hill, a favourite spot with Craigton courting couples.
Alas for love's young dream! The Glasgow bus reached the school around 4pm. Boys and girls dispersed immediately to their dormitories and hostels. Douglas and Louise had arranged to meet on the school drive before tea time. He found her walking there with Marion who immediately left them.
'I have a present for you from Switzerland,' said Louise, sadly. 'I wanted to give it to you when we went out tonight for the first time.'
'How do you mean?' asked Douglas, puzzled by her tone.
'I'm afraid I have some bad news, Douglas. A new girl has come unexpectedly. She's older than I am, so they have given the spare hostel place to her instead of me.'
Douglas was stunned. They had both been looking forward eagerly to the privileges of hostel life. Hostel pupils could go out for the evening, excusing themselves from supper at 8pm.
'When do you think they will put you up, Louise?'
'Probably next term. One of the girls will be 18 in November, so I suppose she will be leaving at Christmas.'
'Well, I suppose it could be worse. We'll just have to see each other as best we can.'
'Oh, Douglas,' Louise sighed, 'we must be very careful.' It's not worth the risk of expulsion, is it?'
'I know what you mean,' he answered, thoughtfully, 'but I couldn't give up
seeing
you completely.'
'Nor I you,' she said simply.
* * *
During the early weeks of the new term, Douglas cudgelled his brains to think of some way he and Louise could meet without being caught. It was now more risky to meet before tea in Mr Lake's classroom, because the sex police had introduced another crack-down on winchin'. The appalling truth might be that they wouldn't see one another for a whole term, apart from fleeting moments in class.
But the underground resistance came to their aid. By talking things over with the more experienced partials, Douglas was able to form a plan of campaign.
'I've been hearing of a time when it would be safe for us to meet in here,' he said to Louise quietly, during a short break when Mr Lake had left the class unattended. 'It seems that Mr Lake always leaves his room unlocked on a Thursday evening after tea, while he takes Scouts in the gym.'
'Does he indeed!' said Louise, brightening up.
'Would you be missed if we met at that time - say after tea until the Scouts
come out
at 7.30pm?'
'I could say I have a piano practice. I will have a double practice this year
for grade eight, but the supervisors won't know exactly when it is and I'll tell
them I have an extra one
on Thursdays.'
'That's a great idea,' Douglas said. 'Let's start this week.'
'Yes, let's.'
* * *
After tea on the following Thursday, Douglas strolled as nonchalantly as he
could out of the dining hall. Number two was crowded with hostel Scouts preparing
for that evening's meeting of the 'pack'. Donald Simpson was listening to a
younger Scout rehearsing the
Scout Law.
'A Scout is clean in thought, word and deed,' lisped the youngster. Douglas smiled, thinking of Donald and the cow's tail. Going over to the pigeon holes, he helped Trawler to search for his 'woggle', a circlet of woven cane, made in the basket shop to keep his neckerchief in place. He heard wee Davie Shepherd behind him, eagerly shaking a woven cane ball so that the bottle tops inside jingled like a tambourine.
'Is it crab football tonight?' he asked.
'Aye it is. My patrol is playing Totem's. But first we have elections for patrol leaders.'
The bustling action and friendly chat calmed Douglas's nervous excitement. At last the 'boardie bell' rang for staff to assemble in the Board Room for tea. It was also the signal for Scouts to assemble.
The lads in khaki shorts and shirts trooped off to the gym. Douglas waited in Number 2 until the corridor was completely silent, then walked the short distance to Mr Lake's.
His heart was thumping and he felt like a prisoner making a break-out attempt. Please don't let anything go wrong, please, he thought. What if Mr Lake had decided just this time to lock his door? What if Jimmy Riddell was watching from the grand stairs? To his immense relief, the door yielded when he turned the handle and he stepped into the deserted room, checking that the light switch was turned off.
They had arranged that Louise would wait for 10 minutes after the bell and
then come down to join him when all the staff were safely seated round the tea
table. While he waited Douglas examined the area around Mr Lake's desk more
carefully than he had ever done before. He was not looking for anything in
particular - just fidgeting about and trying to calm
his excitement.
First he examined the desk. It was one of those old-fashioned tall desks at which the teacher could stand and use the sloping lid as a lectern. A small shelf protruded at each side, giving the whole structure a form like a cross. Behind the desk Douglas found a low wooden chest. He thought it resembled a seaman's chest, highly polished and bound with brass at the corners. A brass key at the front secured the lid. His quick imagination went to work. What could it possibly contain? Ancient parchment? Pieces of eight? He undid the fastenings and raised the lid. Alas! There was no treasure. Mr Lake evidently used the chest to store his Braille magazines. It turned out, however, that the chest was treasure in itself.
Douglas heard Louise's footsteps approaching in the corridor. She pushed open the door and quietly said, 'Hello?'
'Hello, love,' Douglas answered.
Louise closed the door and dropped the catch of the Yale lock. The light being off, any of the sex police who happened to pass might assume that the locked classroom was empty. In any case, Riddell and the others liked to take it easy when the Scouts were safely in the gym.
'Come and see what I have found,' said Douglas, taking her over to the chest.
'What a lovely box,' she said, 'and just the right size for us to sit on, hidden below the level of the desk and out of sight from the window!'
'Exactly what I was thinking.'
So it came about that, each Scout night, they sat side by side on the seaman's chest behind the big desk. With the large cupboard on one side and some tall bookcases on the other, they seemed to occupy a private cabin on a voyage to the Elysian Fields. Louise again marvelled at Douglas's self-restraint. He held her tightly and lingered over his kisses, but no more.
Though Douglas did not know at the time, his restraint had a tantalising effect on Louise. She began to wonder why he was so slow. Did he find anything lacking in her? One evening she resolved to test his metal. She slipped off the box and knelt down on the floor in front of him, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him very tenderly. He drew her close. Louise increased the pressure of her body against him and Douglas leaned back.
'You're nice to lie on,' she murmured.
'It's lovely,' he said and began to caress her breasts. She flamed at his touch.
Just at that moment they heard a key inserted in the classroom door. Each
froze. Mr Lake entered his room and walked straight towards them. It seemed for a
moment that he must literally fall over them but, to their intense relief, he
stopped at the cupboard, opened it and rummaged inside. His search seemed to take
forever. Douglas and Louise hardly dared to move. Each put a hand lightly over
the mouth of the other, lest breathing should betray their presence. At last Mr
Lake found what he wanted. He closed the cupboard and went straight out, locking
the door
after him.
'Phew, that was a narrow escape,' whistled Douglas.
'Oh yes. My heart was in my mouth. I'm sure he must have heard it beating.'
Douglas wanted to resume where they had left off, but the spell was broken. Louise said, 'I must go or I'll be missed.'
He made no objection and they parted with a kiss.
***
The incident made them cautious and they missed their date on the following
week. But love conquers all and confidence returned. The next Thursday brought a
dark wintry evening. Craigton Hall seemed the perfect romantic setting as they
sat together in their hideaway. No sound was to be heard. The lofty pile seemed
to breathe slowly in a silent sleep. No traffic disturbed the street beyond the
front lawn. No owl screeched among the tall trees that
bordered it.
Sitting on their sea chest in the dark, they again seemed to float out on to a
wide ocean. When Louise pressed her beating heart against him, Douglas whispered,
'Shall we lie on
the floor?'
She murmured her assent and he drew her down. Louise lay perfectly still on
top of him. Douglas hesitated for a moment, then touched her breasts. She raised
them up for his hands
to cup.
For a long time they lay still, with the silence wrapped around them. Louise
felt waves of pleasure bearing her up, as though in flight. She throbbed to the
pressure of his erection, yet she made no movement that betrayed her passion.
Douglas knew nothing of it, but lay quite still, absorbed in his own feelings. He
was in a state of bliss and needed nothing more than
this moment.
So they made a kind of coastal survey of love, as if reconnoitring it, venturing no further for the present. When calm returned at last, Louise lay with the mixed feelings that she knew so well. Why had he not pulled up her skirt? The way had been open. Yet she was glad really. She knew she should have had to resist such an approach. Girls who made themselves cheap, she repeated to herself, lost the respect of boys. How often had the supervisors said so? She loved Douglas and wanted him, but he must not think that he could have her too easily. It was all a little scary though, this love. Could she really hold out if he approached again?
Douglas, however, did not want to go further. He felt privileged by her trust.
Instinctively he felt that love could not be forced. 'To travel hopefully is
better than to arrive,' he quoted to himself, feeling sure that his welcome would
be sweeter if the journey went at Louise's pace,
not his.