Tess Evans - Book of Lost Threads

At first the Major opposed the plan. ‘I don’t know why you’d want your barmy sister around. You’ll be too busy with her to take proper care of the house.’

Then, when the psychiatrist confronted him with arrogance equal to his own, the Major’s instincts-to win at all costs-kicked in. In those days it was much easier to be admitted to a mental institution than to be discharged, and for once the Major’s bullying was put to good effect. In the end Lily was released, as if from prison.

‘I’ve got a room ready at our place, Lil,’ Rosie fussed as she tucked a rug around her sister’s knees.

Lily pushed it off. ‘For heaven’s sake, Rosie. I’m not an 114 invalid.’

She stayed with the Sandilands for a week and then insisted on returning to her father’s house where, to supplement the small income her father had left her, she gave piano lessons on weekday afternoons from one till five. She aired the nursery once a week; the rest of the time its door remained closed.

She shopped each day, nodding to acquaintances in a furtive way as she hurried, basket over her arm, to buy her chop or lamb’s fry or bacon. She sent homemade jam to St Saviour’s fête committee and resumed her place at the organ, much to the relief of the congregation who, in latter years, had had to tolerate the doubtful harmonies of Annie Williams’s daughter, Deanna. It’s the Christian thing to do , they assured Annie, who was inclined to protest at Deanna’s dismissal. Deanna herself was delighted. Playing the church organ had proved to be quite a handicap in her pursuit of the local boys.

Every Thursday, Lily and her sister would have morning tea in the café, known then, rather grandly, as the Regency Rooms. There they would talk quietly over tea and scones, always at the same corner table. These were the longest conversations Lily had with anyone at that time, and no-one else knew what they talked about. Angela Capricci sometimes tried to eavesdrop as she delivered their tea or wiped down an adjoining table, but she had nothing to report. ‘They speak so softly,’ she said. ‘I can’t catch a word they say.’

In June of 1957, Lily turned thirty-five and Rosie gave her a puppy for her birthday. ‘He’s the best of Jess’s litter,’ she said. ‘He’ll be company for you.’

The puppy whimpered in its basket, and Lily felt panic rising in her throat. He was so little. He’d need so much care. She wasn’t sure she was equal to the task but, seeing the delight on her sister’s face, her hand, on the way to a gesture of rejection, fell instead onto the puppy’s paws. Surprised, she felt his warm tongue on the back of her hand.

Lily was engulfed by an unexpected wave of tenderness. She looked down at the little creature. Touched it tentatively. Stroked its softness. She was so lonely. Her bones ached with a longing that finally conquered her fear of inadequacy.

‘Thank you, Rosie. I hope I can take proper care of him.’

‘Why on earth couldn’t you?’ her sister replied with a confidence that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘He’ll need a name, though. What will you call him?’

Lily didn’t hesitate. ‘Errol. For Errol Flynn.’ And the puppy became the first of the Errols, of which her current dog was number six.

Rosie’s doubts were understandable. Her sister had changed during her time at Chalmers House. While her behaviour after the death of her husband and child was extreme, something of the old Lily still lingered, distorted and damaged to be sure, but recognisable. Now, though, she seemed to have lost her spark, some important ingredient of her Lily-ness . She avoided social occasions and, when engaged in conversation, had a tendency to flight. Worse, she sometimes made a rude or inappropriate comment before escaping to the safety of her house. Conversations at the Regency Rooms had none of their old intimacy, and Rosie felt she had to carry the full burden. She would return home quite exhausted, submitting in silence to George’s gibes about her barmy sister.

Rosie died in 1972 and was buried in the Sandilands family plot as Rosalind, loving wife of Major George Sandilands, DSO and Bar. Her son didn’t even warrant a mention. Lily stood white-faced beside the grave as the Major, with self-conscious solemnity, threw the first clod onto the coffin. The faint thud reverberated through Lily’s fragile brain, and her mouth filled with bile. Bleak and bitter, she spat viciously on the Major’s polished shoes and spoke as she had never spoken to anyone before.

‘She’s free of you now, you bastard,’ she said. ‘I only wish you had gone first.’

Rosie’s death left Lily with no-one to talk to, and that’s when she began talking to her dog (Errol III, by this time). She could be heard by passers-by chatting away with a vivacity never witnessed in her conversations with people. All the Errols (with the exception of Errol II, who had poor concentration and limited empathy) were good listeners. They would cock their heads intelligently and look into her face with bright, sympathetic eyes. They would place a paw on her knee when she was sad, and whimper if the conversation flagged. They were perfect companions for an ageing lady who avoided the company of her own kind. Sandy kept up the supply of Errols, a small thing to do for his mother’s sister, he thought.

It was Errol III, Lily swore, who gave her the idea of the tea cosies. As the number of music pupils dwindled, she had more time on her hands and decided, after discussing it with her dog, that she would do something good-undertake some grand endeavour for the betterment of mankind.

‘I don’t want to die having done nothing of note,’ she said to the nodding Errol. ‘The one useful thing I did at that place-’ she couldn’t bear to say its name-‘the one useful thing I did was learn to knit tea cosies. And Errol, old boy, humanity shall benefit.’ And so began her long association with the United Nations through the self-appointed quartermaster, Lusala Ngilu.

WHILE MRS PARGETTER AND ERROL III discussed the details, a young man, newly arrived in New York, was nervously presenting his credentials to a frowning official.

‘Lusala Ngilu, University of Nairobi, Kenya,’ he said. ‘I’m here for the internship.’ A diffident young man, with serious eyes and a slight facial tic, he had been chosen from his year at the University of Nairobi to work in the office of the United Nations. He wore one of the crisp white shirts his mother had lovingly starched and folded, and the silk tie his father had given him before he left. He looked at the other man’s tie and wondered if his were not too colourful. The official’s eyes strayed to Lusala’s chest, and the young man almost apologised. A present from my father , he could have said with a smile that would show him to be a man of the world. Shamed to have even thought this, Lusala flushed. His father was a good man, worthy of respect.

After a brief orientation, he was sent to the mailroom, where, some weeks later, he opened the first consignment of tea cosies with Mrs Pargetter’s letter.

23 Mitchell St

Opportunity

Victoria

Australia

Quartermaster

United Nations

New York

United States of America

Dear Sir,

Please find enclosed one dozen assorted tea cosies to be distributed amongst the world’s poor as you or the Secretary General sees fit. It is my aim to send these every year around September. As I have no family to knit for, I expect to be able to send around one hundred in each parcel.

You may save some for yourself and your colleagues, although I imagine that you have all the necessary supplies.