Mr Penrose’s parting message at the end of that visit was strangely foreboding, for he was soon home and reunited with Archie’s mother. The dear man died just six weeks after our return.
By that time, we had moved into the family home, Penrose Farm, and had been working all hours of the day and night to make it habitable before the winter set in. It had been empty for nearly four years as the tenant farmer had been called up and his wife and children had moved in with her mother. The place had fallen into such disrepair and there was even evidence of squatters at some point. Windows and doors were broken, vines and plant roots had taken hold and animals had made their nests within the four walls. It was a sorry sight. We had our work cut out for us, but every Saturday we made time to travel to Bodmin to visit Archie’s father. Noel and I would stay to say hello and have a cup of tea, then we would leave Archie holding his father’s hand, listening to his wandering stories, while we went round the shops.
It is six months now since Mr Penrose’s funeral, how time has flown, and Penrose Farm has well and truly become our home. Our plan had been to smarten it up ready for a new tenant, then move to one of the bigger towns, Bodmin or Truro, for Archie to join a medical practice. But after all our hard work, we both felt such a strong connection to the place that neither of us could bear to leave. Archie – or should I say Arthur, for that is the name he has chosen to use now – found that farming his family land gave him such a sense of satisfaction that, for the time beingat least, he has decided not to return to his medical work.
Talking of names, it seems that Arthur’s pet name for me has stuck and I have become Dotty! It was a playful name that he first used on the ship returning to England and I rather like it. It seems fitting that we have fresh names for our fresh start.
There was some curiosity when we first arrived in Cornwall, but that was only to be expected. We were so tanned and, despite our best efforts, still very thin, so naturally we stuck out. Neighbours who remembered Archie were curious, especially as they knew that he had been abroad at some point. We told everyone the same story and stuck to it, that we had met in London during the war, married and had our son.
Ah Ling, Penrose Farm really is the most perfect place that I have ever known and Noel is so happy here – we all are. The gentle pace of life suits us well and the area is so picturesque and serene. The balmy Cornish summer has arrived and it is wonderful to see our little boy thriving. Noel spends his days running and playing with the dogs in the meadows, helping his father with the animals on the farm, or building sandcastles down on the beach. Perhaps he was young enough that his mind has cast off the horrors of the prison camps. I sincerely hope he was.
My memories, however, have continued to haunt me for some time. After Douglas’s deathI suppose I felt guilty for feeling such happiness. I felt that after what I’d done, I somehow owed him. Should I have searched harder for his parents to hand over his child, or even returned Noel to his mother? But the latter would have been impossible, as I discovered on a chance reading of a newspaper article in the new year. It announced Bernard Pemberton’s inheritance of his family title and castle in Berkshire. There was a photograph of him with his wife. The caption read: ‘Sir Bernard Pemberton with his second wife, Lucille. Sir Bernard’s first wife, Maria, was killed in the bombing of Singapore in February 1942.’
My guilt at keeping Noel eased after that, for he is now, technically, an orphan. But he is not parentless, for he has the two of us and we adore him.
Your friend, as always,
Dotty x
CHAPTER 28
Singapore
Friday 5th April, 2019
Annabel yawned. She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee cup then took a long, reviving sip. Around her, the family morning routine was in full flow. Tom was long gone, having left early for the office. Above the hum of the radio, she could hear Emma in her daughter’s room, patiently explaining to Leila that she couldn’t wear her Moana costume because it was a school day and she had to wear her school uniform. Daniel was finishing his homework sheet at the other end of the dining table, while around him Gloria tidied up the remnants of breakfast. It was busy and chaotic, but Annabel had enjoyed fitting into family life with the Nortons and she would miss it.
It was her last day in Singapore, the next morning she would be flying home. To where and to whom, she wasn’t exactly sure yet and her stomach sank as she thought about her return to England. She felt a pull to go straight to Cornwall, back to her grandmother’s home, but she knew she really should see Luke first. He had texted her on a daily basis, switching his tone between carefree nonchalance, to begging for reconciliation, to downright anger and accusations. None of it had done anything to help his cause; it was well and truly over for Annabel. She just had to make him understand and accept that. Hermind drifted back to the previous afternoon on the sofa with James and she felt a twinge of guilt, coupled with a confusing stirring in her stomach.
It was ironic, she mused as she sipped her coffee, that after a week in Singapore her body was finally adjusting to the seven-hour time difference just as it was time to go home again. But despite overcoming the jet lag, sleep had proven elusive last night. Annabel’s dreams had been haunted by Dotty’s story, filled with images of war and prison camps, torture and bombing, starvation and desperation. She was glad when the morning came and she could join the family at the breakfast table. Emma had been such a good friend to her over the past week and Annabel would miss her.
Emma appeared, her battle over the costume apparently won as little Leila followed behind her mother, looking sulky in her uniform. Emma sat opposite Annabel and sighed dramatically, ‘Honestly, mornings in this household never get any easier!’
Gloria came over and put a fresh cup of coffee in front of Emma and she smiled up gratefully. ‘You are a godsend, Gloria, thank you!’
‘So how are you feeling this morning, Annie?’ Emma asked. ‘That was a hell of a lot to take in last night!’
Annabel nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I think it will all take a while to process, that’s for sure!’
‘Have you told your family yet?’
‘No.’ Annabel’s brow furrowed. ‘I’ll call my brother later and let him know, I think. But it definitely needs to be a face-to-face conversation with my dad.’
‘How will he take it, do you think?’ Emma asked.
Annabel smiled. ‘Oh, dear old Dad is quite unflappable. It’ll be a shock, I’m sure, but deep down, I don’t think it willchange anything for him. Dotty was his mum and they adored each other. And Grandpa was a wonderful father to him. His childhood on the farm really was idyllic.’
‘But he moved away years ago, you were saying? What made him leave if he loved it there so much?’
Annabel rolled her eyes. ‘Mum,’ she said with a shrug. ‘And work, I suppose. He was in the military and they moved around a lot. I think he would have liked to have gone back to Cornwall but Mum had her heart set on a sunny expat retirement with plenty of beaches and golf courses. And Portugal fitted the bill!’
Emma glanced at her watch and pulled a face. ‘Damn, we’d better make a move, sorry! Don’t forget we’ve got dinner tonight, our treat and we’re going to a classic Singapore landmark. You’ll love it!’ She gulped down the last of her coffee then continued, ‘Tom invited James but he’s not sure if he’ll make it. I think he’s had a tough few days on the family front.’
Annabel winced and butterflies twisted and turned in her stomach. What was she feeling? Relief? Disappointment? Yearning?
Emma got up, called the children to gather their school bags and slipped her shoes on. ‘I do wish I could come with you today.’ She reached down and patted Annabel’s shoulder. ‘Changi Museum isn’t the most uplifting of places, I’m afraid, but I can see why you want to go. I still can’t believe your granny was a prisoner of war there, it’s just incredible!’
Annabel couldn’t believe it either. Try as she might, she could not reconcile her sweet, soft grandmother with the determined, resilient woman who had made it through internment in one of the most notorious camps with a tiny baby that was not her own. It was, as Emma had summed up, incredible.
