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Otago Daily Times, Issue 26034, 24 December 1945, Page 2

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—By MURIEL A. C. ROSS

Andy was walking home up the long hill road. It had been very good seeing Jim and Frank again; they had arrived back yesterday, whereas he himself had been home two months. >He wished he had not had that last glass of beer —it was a lousy country when you had to cram down all you wanted to drink in a hurry just before your evening meal, and he thought longingly of a small country inn in England with its genial talk, an occasional game of darts or dominoes, and its leisurely consumption of a glass, of beer or cider. He felt a bit sick, and followed his little boy habit of “ unhaving ” when he felt too full, in the bush at the roadside. A little further on he slipped into the Campbell’s garden and washed his face and hands at their garden tap. As he dried himself with his handkerchief, he wondered if Sheila were about, but realised she would be at dinner. It had been hard saying good-bye to Sheila when he went away four years ago, and she was only a schoolgirl then. Now she was sweeter and lovelier than ever, but he'didn’t suppose he was good enough for her now. He looked at his watch. Hell! how late he was, and when he did get in there would be that atmosphere of disapproval again. He always seemed to be putting his foot into it, and his mother looked worried and his father was critical. What had gone wrong? His home-coming had been so wonderful—Dad, Mother, and Meg just falling over each other in their joy. Now he got nervous, irritated, utterly bored; small things seemed to mean so much to them and so little to him after what he had been through. All at once a tremendous nostalgia filled his whole being for the desert, the regiment, and the wonderful free comradeship of the war years. What did they, his parents, or understand of his life all that time; couldn’t they realise a fellow had changed, had become a man, and how difficult it was to fit in again at home? What Andy did not know, and never would, was what those years had meant to the folk waiting at home. The ghastly anxiety, the suspense, the fear of every ping of the telephone, every strange footstep at the door; writing letters and packing parcels with love and care, knowing they might never be received; crowding the days with work so as not to think, and then lying awake at night, too tired to sleep, thinking, thinking—each one of the family always pretending to the others that he or she was quite cheery and there was no need to worry. No, Andy would never know quite all that, and so he, too, lacked understanding. v Dinner was already on the table when he got home.- Determinedly trying to be cheerful, he exclaimed, “Sorry to be a bit late, Mum,” and threw his beret on a chair. His father looked at him and remarked, “Yo‘u are exactly half an hour late—do you never think of other people? There’s a peg in the passage for your cap.” Andy flushed, went out of the door with his beret, came back, and quietly sat down. His mother looked anxiously at him. “I’m sorry it’s corned beef, darling.” “Then why give it him? ’ grumbled Meg, “ when you know he doesn’t care for it? ” “ I’ll do you some eggs instead, if you don’t mind waiting, Andy,” said his mother. “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” asserted . William. “ Let the lad take what’s put before him.”

“Please don’t bother, Mother,” nervously implored Andy, “ I’m really not very hungry. Besides, your corned beef is miles above the bully beef really.” “Been seeing friends, Andy? ” asked Meg conversationally. - He brightened. “ Yes, we had a great yarn.” -William remarked in a tone of disapproval, “ I suppose I need not ask where you met and what else-jou were doing—drinking beer, I

suppose.” 'V “ Well—but, Dad, be reasonable—where can we go except a pub, and, if we 'go to a pub, we must have a few beers.” " I don’t see why,” said his father. “Couldn’t you bring some of your friends here, darling? ” asked his mother. “As a matter of fact, I was going to ask you to let me have some men in one evening soon —I can easily buy a few ham sandwiches and some bottles of beer.” William said firmly, “I’ll have no beer parties in my house, and that’s flat.” There was a moment’s silence. “Wouldn’t they like a nice cup of tea, dear? ” asked his mother anxiously. Andy stood up. “Very likely they would, Mother, but that’s not the point. If this is my home and if I can entertain my friends in it as I like, well and good—if not, I can always go to old Betsy’s and do it there.” . “Old Betsy’s, and who is she? ” demanded his father. ■ Andy spoke very deliberately. Old Betsy keeps the Red Lion. She makes us boys welcome. arid she gives them a sandwich with

their drink. There’s always a welcome there—a home-like atmosphere.” “Andy! ” gasped his mother imploringly. “ Go it, Andy,” encouraged Meg. “Atmosphere! Smoke and drink! ” ejaculated his father. “ Yes, atmosphere,” shouted Andy. “ I’d rather have it smoky than icy with disapproval. If I bring anyone here, I’m on tenterhooks as to whether Dad approves of him. I, myself, can do nothing right—it’s * Where are you going? ’ —‘ Don’t be late ’ — 'Your boots are dirty’—‘Have you changed your shirt? ’ —‘ Your hair wants cutting ’ — • Why don’t you do something instead of hanging round? *' I can’t call my soul my own, much less my body. There’s no fun, no anything—and,” with something like a sob, “ I had thought of home so much, but—” defiantly, “I’m fed up. I’m going out, yes, now, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.” He flung out of the room, and they heard the front door slam. “Now you’ve been and gone and done it,” said Meg. “ Oh! ” sobbed Mary, “ what has happened to make it like this, and where has he gone? ” “Probably to old Betsy’s,” said Meg, “and she will introduce a kind, pretty friend to him, and they will spend a happy night together.” “ Meg! ” protested her mother in horror. William sat quite still, staring in front of him. Meg was nearly in tears. “ Why can’t you two be happy and gay with him—he’s been through so much, and he’s young. What does it matter if he gets moody or bad-tempered, or if he smokes or takes too much beer? He’s back, and when you think of the days and days when he couldn’t even get water to drink and how he’s kept his decency and good habits through all the squalor, dirt, and danger he’s been in—well, you don’t know when you’re well off.” “ But what shall we do now? ” said her mother. “We can’t let him go off like this. William, can’t you do something? ” Meg jumped up. “I’ll ring Sheila. If he goes to old Betsy’s, he will have to pass their house, and she might pop out and intercept him. She ran to the telephone. “Sheila, is that you? Oh, good. Well, the thing is that old Andy, feeling a bit ruffled, has just started cut to go on the bust. Well—he’ll be passing your place about now —could you—you darling, that will be perfect.” “ She’s going down to the gate, and she’s going to pretend she was expecting him to take her out. I’ll clear the dinner things, and you two can sit ahd meditate on your sins.” After she had left the room, Mary looked rather fearfully at her husband. William came to her and stroked her hair. “ Mary—l’ve not understood properly at all. Please God, we may have the chance to do better,” Mary clasped his hand convulsively. “ Oh, William, I’m so glad to hear you say that. I’ve felt so sort of all in pieces. I could see Andy was irritated and you were annoyed, and I just haven’t known what to do.” They sat in silence for a few minutes.

Then “You are not going out, Will, are you? ” / “ Only just round the corner to ask Ben Jones to lend me something,” and William stalked out.

About a couple of hours later, when they were all three sitting round the fire anxiously waiting, voices were heard, and Andy appeared with Sheila, both smiling and looking rather embarrassed. .“ Thank you, Sheila,” Mary softly greeted the girl. Andy she just devoured with her eyes. Nevef agairi, if she could help it, would Andy have to leave his home unhappy. Meg smothered a knowing “ O-oh! ” William stepped out of the room and came back with his pockets bulging. “ What on earth have you got there, Will? ” exclaime'd his wife.

i William loked at her, at the young people, then solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eye, drew out, one after the other, three bottles of beer. “ That’s a beginning, my lad, and when you want to have a party here there’s more where that comes from—not but what,” he added hastily, “you would all be a lot better if you drank tea! ” Andy blinked to keep the sudden moisture out of his eyes. “ You ruddy old sport! ” Then he turned to Sheila. “ Shall we tell them, sweetheart? ”

Mary jumped—“Sweetheart”—Oh, God! Couldn’t you let me have him for myself a little longer? But she had herself in hand at once and said smilingly, “ I almost think we can guess. What a lovely thing to happen! ” “ Hooray! ” shouted Margaret. “ Shall we drink their healths, Dad? ” William rose nobly to the occasion. “We will and we can, because I borrowed a PottleODener from Ben Jones.”