Page 16 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
CHAPTER 4
Newcastle, February 1947
What if your father can’t come immediately to Calcutta to meet you?’ fretted Tilly.
‘I’ll be staying with Uncle Johnny and Aunt Helena,’ Libby pointed out. ‘Adela says they live in a very safe part of the city – Alipore. There’s been no trouble there at all.’
‘I suppose I can rely on my brother Johnny to keep an eye on you,’ Tilly said, ‘and Helena’s always seemed the sensible type.’
Libby turned and winked at Adela. It had been Adela’s inspired suggestion that Libby spend the last few weeks of the cold season in Calcutta with Tilly’s older brother Johnny, a retired Indian Army doctor, and his wife Helena. Tilly had always looked up to her big brother, so once he had written enthusiastically inviting Libby to stay with them, then Tilly’s opposition to her daughter’s ‘India escapade’ had begun to weaken.
Tilly still had reservations. ‘You promise me you won’t go gallivanting around the city on your own or getting involved in any politics?’
‘Of course I won’t,’ said Libby.
‘Or upsetting Helena with your anti-colonial views. She’s from a pukka army family, you know – they’ve been in India for several generations. I can just hear you spouting off—’
‘I won’t upset Helena, I promise. I’ll be a proper little memsahib.’
‘And don’t say things like that,’ Tilly warned, ‘with that naughty grin of yours. People will think you’re making fun of them.’
Libby pulled a face of mock-shock. ‘Stuffy colonial memsahibs in imperial capitalist Calcutta – what’s there to make fun of?’
‘Adela, speak to her,’ Tilly pleaded.
‘It’s no good asking me,’ said Adela. ‘Our branch of the Robsons has never been pukka as far as the British are concerned.’
Tilly gave her an awkward glance. ‘That’s ancient history.’
Adela gave a dry laugh. ‘I’m afraid not. Some people at the planters’ club still cut me and mother dead at the Christmas race week.’
‘Just “hen-house” spitefulness,’ Tilly said, trying to explain it away. ‘Some of the wives have always been jealous of Clarrie for being more beautiful and clever than them.’
Libby was indignant. ‘You know that’s not the reason, Mother. It’s pure racial snobbery. They don’t like Clarrie because she’s quarter Indian. They’re petty and mean minded – the worst kind of Britisher.’
‘All right, all right,’ Tilly said, turning pink and flustered. ‘Adela doesn’t want to hear it spelled out. And it won’t do any good to antagonise people who hold those views – however repugnant – they’re too old to change their ways now. And don’t use that word Britisher – it smacks of the Quit India brigade – you’ll upset your father and uncle.’
‘Okay then, not Britisher,’ said Libby, ‘just the worst kind of imperialist, bigoted memsahib.’
Tilly rolled her eyes at Libby and Adela started laughing.
It was decided that Libby would fly to India so that she would arrive before the hot season and not have to contend with arriving in Bombay and a long, hazardous train journey across the Indian plains to Bengal. Tilly imagined all manner of dangers – blown-up tracks, robberies atknife-point, being caught in a riot, contracting typhoid, getting bitten by a rabid station dog – and insisted on her daughter flying into Dum Dum airport in Calcutta.
Once Tilly had accepted Libby was not going to change her mind about going, she had busied herself with arrangements.
‘You must have new dresses,’ she insisted. ‘You can’t possibly be seen around the clubs of Calcutta in that old utility frock or – heaven forbid – trousers.’
Josey took her up to the theatre and got the wardrobe mistress to help adapt some pre-war dresses.
‘Green’s your colour, sweetie,’ said Josey. ‘You’ll look knockout in this.’ She held up a satin evening dress. ‘Can you believe I used to wear this?’
‘Yes, I remember you in it,’ said Libby. ‘You looked so glamorous.’
Josey gave a throaty laugh. ‘You used to like me when you were younger, didn’t you?’
‘I still do,’ Libby replied.
‘Liar,’ smirked Josey.
