A Rowan Tree In My Garden Day 45

‘You are my first love and have taught me so much of what is valuable in life that I will always be grateful to you’

FIRST LOVE

Unlikely that I’ll see your face again, unlikely that you’ll ever read these lines yet I would like to praise the good you gave to that girl lodged within the chrysalis. You helped her to emerge to glorious world that struck with sorrow makes the wonder more. First love you said was special. Yes it was and I remember how we sat and talked of people and of places, art, song, books and poetry. Making me aware of “pied beauty”, “couple coloured cows”, “April the cruellest month” and “Leaves of Grass”. I loved you, how I loved you – more perhaps because I knew that it must end, must end. “I can never marry,” you had said, I never asked but wondered if some injury of war had left you maimed in body or in mind. It did not matter – loving was enough through you I found the blessed core of men And life since has been rich, yes passing rich. Where are you now? In what far distant land? I make no move to find you as you once said “never go back to some sweet hallowed spot for it may spoil the garden in the soul”.

Green’s Picture House was situated down in the Nethergate district of Dundee.

It was the most modern of the picture houses and quite a landmark with its tall rectangular tower.

It was also, perhaps, the most respected and, on occasions, I would go there on my own to watch a film I particularly wanted to see without fear of anything happening to me.

I hadn’t been out with Ralph much of late. What with his need to study for his final exams and with my off-duty rota, it was hard to organise anything.

Now, here I was, standing on the steps of Green’s Picture House waiting to meet him for the last time. The film we watched was “The Tales of Hoffman”.

It was wonderful sitting there in the dark, just Ralph and me in the entire world, holding hands and watching the glamour of this movie.

After it was over and we were once more out into the city’s mundane streets, Ralph walked me back to the hospital.

“I’ll miss the last train but there’s a friend of mine in Dundee I can stay with,” Ralph said.

That evening, walking up steep Constitution Road, I did not notice its steepness. When we reached the DRI there was time to spare before I had to be in so we wandered into Dudhope Park and into the cobbled precincts of Dudhope Castle.

It was certainly a historic location and that evening in late June, with the setting sun gilding the old castle, it took on a truly romantic glow.

Thoughts of ancient days came to mind and as if reading my thoughts, Ralph said: “How much there is to learn about yesterday. How sad and romantic a history belongs to Scotland.

“In many ways I am sorry I’m leaving, not least because of you but we could keep in touch and perhaps one day I will return. We need only say ‘au revoir.’”

First love

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I must control them.

“No Ralph,” I said, “this must be good bye. I want to fall in love again one day, marry and have a big family. I must try and forget about you. Not that I ever will entirely; perhaps I will always love you.

“You are my first love and have taught me so much of what is valuable in life that I will always be grateful to you.

“I’ve made up my mind, though. If I don’t meet up with the right person and marry, after my training is over, I’ll travel abroad for a while and perhaps work in foreign hospitals.

“Afterwards, I’ll come back here, train as a district nurse and find some country parish where I will have a family of sorts.”

A slight wind arose and I shivered in the red taffeta dress I had worn for the occasion.

Ralph put his arm round my shoulders and drew me further into the ancient portico bordered by stout pillars.

“I will always remember this evening,” he said, “and the rustle of your dress. Of course you will find someone else one day; you were born for having children. I shall miss you very much but I am glad to have known you.”

I couldn’t say anything for a moment but looked up at him and smiled. “You say the nicest things.” He smiled back and kissed me on the forehead. “You are the lucky one, you know,” he continued. “In all probability you will have lots of kids while I’ll have to make do with my sister’s children and they all live in Ireland.”

Still he did not tell me why he could not marry. Still I did not ask, knowing it to be a painful subject and that he would have told me had he wanted to.

However, I couldn’t help wondering what the war had done to him.

About a week after I said my last goodbye to Ralph I saw him once again, this time unexpectedly.

He was with Brian, his friend and they were both making their way to the train station, laden with baggage.

Wave of grief

They were leaving for London and wouldn’t be back. They hadn’t seen me rounding the corner at the top of the hill.

A huge wave of grief shot through me as fast as a bolt of lightning and I could feel hot tears well up in my eyes.

I turned round as fast as I could, hoping to get back home before the tears spilled over. I met mother in the passage. She had visitors “What’s wrong?” she said in alarm. “Ralph,” was all I could say, “he’s away.” Mother knew me well and left me alone that evening.

The following Christmas a postcard fell through the letterbox addressed to me.

The picture on the front of the card was of a willow warbler and the message on the back was: “Merry Christmas, with love, Ralph.”

Not much but Ralph knew the willow warbler, with its poignant song, was my favourite bird and that it triggered off thoughts of the “sweet, sad music of humanity”.

I never heard from him again. (More tomorrow.)