Уильям Николсон - Motherland

‘She’s the one who amazes me,’ says Larry. By this he means Edwina. ‘They all adore her.’ By this he means the Indian leaders.

‘You know she and Dickie fight like cats,’ says Rupert. ‘But you’re right. He adores her too.’

With the coming of independence, Mountbatten will cease to be viceroy, but will stay on as Governor-General of India. Viceroy’s House is to become Government House. Some staff will remain, but many will go. Syed Tarkhan, a Muslim, plans to leave for Karachi, where he is to be an ADC to Jinnah. Rupert Blundell has decided to stay on for two more weeks, to assist in the transition, and then he and Geraldine will go home.

‘What will you do then?’ Larry asks him.

‘Back to academia, I think. Charlie Broad says he’ll have me at Trinity. How about you?’

‘God knows,’ says Larry.

On that same day, Independence eve, as the monsoon rains stream down over the Mughal Gardens, he has a conversation with Geraldine Blundell that focuses his thoughts. She’s been talking to Rupert, and is curious to know about the banana connection. Unlike most others, she doesn’t seem to think this is comical.

‘So Fyffes is your family firm, is it?’

‘In a way,’ says Larry. ‘We’re actually a wholly owned subsidiary of the United Fruit Company. But they leave the UK operation to us.’

‘Is it a big firm?’

‘Before the war we employed over four thousand people. The war hit us hard. But we’re building the business back up again.’

Hearing himself speak he’s struck by his use of the possessive pronoun ‘we’. Somehow here on the other side of the world his sense of separation from the family firm has diminished.

‘And your father runs it?’

‘Yes, that’s right. My grandfather started it, in 1892. My father took over in ’29.’

‘And you’ll take over from him?’

‘Oh, no, I don’t think so. I’ve not really ever been part of the firm.’

Geraldine’s eyes open wide in astonishment.

‘Why not?’

‘I had other ideas. You know how when you’re young you want to go your own way.’

‘Yes, but don’t you have a duty?’ She looks at him so earnestly that he feels ashamed of his youthful dreams. ‘You’re born into privilege. You have to accept the responsibility that goes with it, don’t you?’

‘All I can tell you,’ says Larry, feeling uncomfortable, ‘is that it didn’t feel that way.’

‘So what was it you wanted to do?’

Larry shrugs, aware how inadequate his answer will sound to her; indeed, in this moment it sounds inadequate to his own ears.

‘I wanted to be an artist.’

‘An artist! You mean someone who paints pictures?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think that’s wonderful, Larry. But it’s not a job.’

Geraldine sees everything in a simple clear light, not distorted by vanity or illusion. She’s strongly pragmatic, concerned to deal only with the realities of life, but she’s also idealistic in her way. She believes in the grace of God.

She becomes more beautiful to him every day. Larry loves to look at her going about her work, unaware of his gaze. He has begun to think he would like to be more to her than a friend and colleague, but he hesitates to make any move. He’s afraid of finding his overtures rejected. After all, what has he to offer?

He steals a moment to write to Kitty and Ed, which really means to Kitty.

All is chaos and monsoon rain here as we prepare for Independence Day. There’s much talk of England, the benign mother, looking on proudly as the child she has raised now comes of age. I do think this is perfect nonsense. The Indians have been civilised far longer than us. And speaking personally, when I’m in the presence of men like Nehru and Patel, and of course Gandhi, I’m the one who feels like a child.

I’ve been puzzling mightily these last days over my own future. When am I to win my independence? I expect that sounds odd to you, after all I’m almost thirty, but since I’ve been out here I’ve been having many new thoughts. What sort of life do I want to lead? Does what I want even matter all that much? I do so feel with you, Kitty, when you write that you want to be fully alive. I want that too. But at the same time I have this growing idea that chasing after what I want is not the answer. Perhaps I should think more of my responsibilities. A man my age, in my position, should do a useful job, and marry, and have children. Isn’t that so? If I’m to remain unmarried, and without an occupation, then what use am I? This is what you call a mission in life, I think.

Anyway, I feel the world changing about me, in this historic moment, so maybe I’ll change too. I think of coming home soon. To what? At least I can look forward to long talks with you and Ed, and Ed can tell me it’s all luck and chance, and you can tell me I must learn to fly, and I’ll sit there smiling and nodding, just happy to be back with you again.

After he’s finished his letter it strikes him that he hasn’t mentioned Geraldine, though she has never once left the forefront of his mind. Time enough to tell about her should there ever be anything to tell.

So the hour of midnight arrives, and with the dawn that follows the rains cease and the city is given over to parades and rejoicing. The national flag hangs at every window; saffron, white and green bunting festoons the trees. A huge crowd converges on Princes Park, where an arena has been built. In the centre of Princes Park stands a pagoda housing a giant statue of King George V; in a wide circle round it stand the palaces of the Nizam of Hyderabad, the Gaekwar of Baroda, and the Maharajas of Patiala, Bikaner and Jaipur. Today their windows gaze on a temporary dais and flagpole, where the flag of the new nation will be raised, and will thus eclipse the symbols of past power.

Larry sets off on foot to watch the grand moment, in a group that includes Rupert and Geraldine Blundell, Marjorie Brockman and Fay Campbell-Johnson. It becomes very obvious very soon that the crowd is far bigger than has been anticipated. The entire length of Kingsway, all the way to India Gate, is packed solid with cheering, laughing, flag-waving people, all eager to reach Princes Park. The group from Government House presses on, showing their tickets to beaming officials, but by the time they get to the parade ground all semblance of order has collapsed. The crowd has swarmed over the reserved stands and taken possession of the chairs, standing on the seats and arms and backs.

‘Make way for the memsahibs!’ call out happy voices, as Larry and Rupert attempt to squeeze their companions through the throng. They get within sight of the flagpole and then can go no further. The crush is so intense that women hold their babies over their heads. Nehru himself can be seen struggling to get through to the central dais. Unable to make progress he climbs onto a man’s shoulders and walks in his sandals on the heads of the crowd.

There comes a great cheer. All heads twist round. Larry catches a glimpse of the ADCs in white, followed by the fluttering lance-pennants of the bodyguard, and then the state carriage itself, carrying the new governor-general. Mountbatten is in his white dress uniform, with Lady Mountbatten, also in white, by his side in the open landau.

Nehru, now standing on the central dais, waves his arms and calls for the crowd to let the procession pass through, but no one heeds him. Larry glances at Geraldine, held in the crush beside him, and sees that she has her eyes closed.

‘Are you all right?’ he says.

She doesn’t answer.

The carriage and its escort come to a stop, some way from the flagpole. It’s all too obvious that they can go no further. Mountbatten rises to his feet in the carriage, and gestures to Nehru to proceed. Nehru gives the signal, and the Indian tricolour rises up the flagpole. The crowd bursts into a giant roar. Mountbatten, trapped in the landau, takes the salute. A light rain begins to fall. The crowd discovers a rainbow in the sky: saffron, white and green. The cheering is redoubled.