from a cramped back room have all become a blur in my mind.
My only clear recollection is of us returning up the M i motorway
towards Nottingham. The first thing), We'll all do, I thought,
is go for our favourite walk together, Don, Kerensa, Emma,
Buttons and me. We'll all go over the fields above the house
where you can see for miles, and I shan't miss the first colours of
autumn in the leaves. It will be marvellous and we'll be
together again.
Our homecoming was unbelievable. It had been only six
days since we left, yet it felt like six centuries. As we came up
the drive to the house I thought: I never want to leave English
I36
soil ever again. Emma came dashing out of the front door with
such exuberance and excitement, with Buttons behind her
wagging her tail so furiously that it bent her entire body from
side to side as if in our absence she had somehow become made
of rubber. Then Kerensa came running towards us giving a
shriek of delight, and I think all this gave me a far greater
feeling of guilt about leaving them than when I left. Perhaps it
had not been such a traumatic experience for all of them as it
had been for me. But certainly for weeks afterwards, every time
I,,,,,ent to bea at night, I lay there and imagined having to leave
them again. I know lots of people must go and leave their
children and dogs and never really think twice about it, but I
am sure that for the rest of my life I shall remember that great
outburst of affection from Emma, Buttons and Kerensa as we
came home, and it will remain my main reason for resolving
never to leave them again.
When we had eaten our tea-a proper Nottingham tea,
already laid out for us and including pork pie and salad and
currant loaf so that we truly knew we were home-and my
mother had related what news there was (mostly minor
naughtinesses on Kerensa's part, but how good the dogs had
been) and John had left, we went for our walk. I felt an immense
contentment as we all moved along in a happy family gaggle
with Kerensa holding Don's hand, chuntering (I think)
'Mummy, Daddy, back,. all come back.' Emma and Buttons
were on their leads sniffing once again all the good and familiar
smells in the hedgerows and stopping for particularly attractive
ones, so we had to keep up a chorus of 'Come on Emma ...
Buttons, come on.' I, meanwhile, was looking at the trees, which
in only a week had begun to turn a little, for.it was September,
and I kne~v that in the days to come there would be even more
marvellous colours to watch for.
The little lane we went along to get to the fields which spread
away above the village and rolled towards the purple-coloured
Derbyshire horizon ' is one where local legend has it that the
highwayman Dick Turpin used for his hold-ups. Whether he
ever did sit on Black Bess under the very tree we were walking
by at that moment and shout 'Stand and deliver!' I don't
know, but it is certainly called Baulk Lane. And it was here, on
I37
I
the way back, that something happened to remind me that
Fate rarely deals an absolutely perfect hand. I had thought
perfection itself lay in that walk up to that point, but the extra
card dealt by Fate, while not actually flawing the perfection,
nevertheless made me think what I otherwise would not have
done: I was reminded of who I was, how lucky I was now, and
how things might have been so different.
Kerensa had recently made it plain to us that she would like
to take a more active part in walking the dogs, and would
pester us to allow her to take Emma's lead in her own little
hands. Even though she was not quite two we gave in, if only
for a quiet life, and at first, after a few uncertain steps, with the
gentle Emma trotting obediently by her and implicitly obeying
every stop-go in this strange slow progress, Kerensa had usually
had enough and was satisfied. The lead would drop to the
ground, Emma would stop and attend to an unsniffed patch of
grass, Don or I would pick it up and on we would go.
So it was on this occasion. Kerensa decided that she wanted
her turn with Emma. We had just come over the stile from the
fields and were coming down into the lane where there is a
trotted sedately along, keeping that. same body-length away on
the left as she always did. Don was by my side, and Kerensa
and Emma were just in front of us. Then I noticed something
odd. Kerensa was walking along quite confidently holding the
lead. But she had her eyes closed.
'Don,' I said, touching him on the arm, 'look at that.'
'What?' he asked. I motioned him to stop and pointed to
Kerensa, whispering, 'Kerensa-look. Whatever is she doing?'
Don was amazed. We watched. Emma stopped to sniff at the
roadside. Kerensa stopped and stood there with her eyes tightly
closed. When Enima moved off, Kerensa moved too, eyes still
closed.
I was astonished, and it made me remember an incident not
long before at home to which I had paid little attention and
certainly had not thought in any way significant. Kerensa had
been playing in the living-room and I noticed she had her eyes
closed and was walking towards the coffee table with arms outstretched.
She had felt the coffee table and felt around for the
I38
little mug she knew was there. When she found it, she had
opened her eyes. I thought it was simply a new game. 'What
are you doing, Kerensa ?' I had asked. But she had just giggled.
Even if she'd had a more extensive vocabulary I would probably
have been no wiser. I thought no more about it-until
that afternoon in BaLilk Lane.
Could it be just play? My mind at first refused to entertain
another possibility. We continued down the lane, and Don and
I didn't speak as Emma continued to lead Kerensa. How could
Kerensa possibly know Emma had been a guide-dog? Obviously
she could not. She had never even seen anyone work with a
guide-dog. The nearest she had ever seen was a little silver
statuette of a guide-dog with harness which lived on our
window-ledge, but that didn't demonstrate how guide-dogs
behaved. And how could she know that in closing your eyes
there is simulation of blindness?
It was all very strange and disturbing, and made me think
that there are forces acting on human beings of which we know
very little. Could it be that the genetic code which transmits
from one generation to the next the smallest detail of physical
characteristics, and temperament as well, also passes on some of
the parents' memory bank? What other explanation could there
be? I watched, and was unnerved, and even a bit scared.
But Emma brought it all to an end by doing something she
would never have done with me when I was blind and she was
on harness. In sudden pursuit of an obviously irresistible scent,
she walked Kerensa into a lamp-post. Very gently, I must add,
but it made Kerensa open her eyes and look as if she was going
to cry, then she changed her mind and dropped the lead. We
were back to reality.
Apart from that strange incident, it had been a perfect
September day. When we got back home after our walk I
reflected how much I loved September and the beginning of
autumn, and how so many good things always seemed to
happen to me in September. I had got my sight back in
September only three years before. And there was my birthday.
For some reason I mentioned all this to Don when he came into
the room after hanging up the dogs' leads.
'Ah yes,' he said, 'your birthday.' And he gave a kind of grin.
I39
~l I
'What's so funny about my birthday?'
'Nothing,' he said, 'nothing.' He became very mysterious,
and bent down quite unnecessarily to fiddle with the television
set.
'Have you got my present?' I asked, more as a joke than
anything.
'Well,' he said, still making a production of"adjusting the set,
Cyou are asking, aren't you?'
This really did whet my appetite.
'Don,' I said, 'what have you been up to?'
'Up to? Up to? Nothing, petal, nothing at all.' And he
turned and laughed, and added, 'But I haven't forgotten your
birthday.'
I decided not to pursue the matter. Somet'iing was on and it
was something connected with my birthday, but it was useless
to ask.
Three days later the mystery was solved; I understood why
he had been so secretive and I was glad I had not attempted to
question him any further on the evening we had come back
from America.
Don gave me the most unbelievablt.~ and fabulous birthday
present I have ever had in i-ny life.
I40
CHAPTER TWELVE
I PASSED THE next three days in a state of pleasant anticipation.
All sorts of ideas went through my mind as I was going
about the house, taking Emma and Buttons for their walk,
seeing to Kerensa and looking after the cats. What had Don
been so mysterious for? Was I right in thinking he had got me
a special present? If so, what could it be? I do not have many
really ambitious ambitions, if you know what I mean. I've no
desire to own the Taj Mahal, so my mind really didn't get much
beyond the possibility of an outsize bottle of Chancl No. 5. Then
I had an inspiration. Was this it? A china Labrador dog figure,
beautifully fashioned and coloured, which we had seen a few
weeks before in a shop in Nottingham . . . What about that?
I had grabbed Don's arm when I had seen it and we had gone
inside and inquired the price-and come out crestfallen. It had
been marked at nearly a hundred pounds! Not counting VAT!
'Never mind,' Don had said sympathetically, as we gave it a last,
longing look in the shop window. 'Some things are not meant.'
The more I thought about the china dog, the more I was
convinced I was on the right track. I dusted the coffee table
down and pictured what had happened. Don had gone back
and bought it for me secretly. That was it. I knew. I began
thinking where I would put it. We have quite a collection of
china dogs, but this was the most beautiful I had ever seen and
would deserve pride of place. I played the fascinating mental
game of shifting all our other pieces to accommodate it. I shall
know immediately I get downstairs on my birthday, I thought,
because he always puts the presents with the cards on the hall
table, and I shall know by the size and shape however much he
has tried to disguise it in wrapping-paper.
But when the day arrived, what happened?
Nothing.
There was nothing at all in view as I came downstairs. True,
I4I
there was a pile of cards on the hall table. But beside themempty
space.
Ah well, I should never have looked forward so much, never
built my hopes up. But I didn't give up hope entirely. Don
had already said 'Happy Birthday' to me, and I thought that
perhaps he was saving it for breakfast-time.
But breakfast-time came and went and it was just like any
other breakfast, except that I looked at my cards: a lovely one
from Don, one in his writing on behalf of Kerensa, and cards
from my family and some friends. I didn't want to say 'What
about my present, then?' because that would have sounded
terrible, and anyway I knew Don had not forgotten.
Then he came into the house at mid-morning from the
surgery for his coffee, he stood there in his white coat and
grinned at me again with his special enigmatic air. He sipped
his coffee and said: 'How do you fancy a trip in the car this
afternoon ?'
'A trip in the car ?' I asked. 'What do you mean, Don ? Where
to ?'
His grin grew broader. 'Well, ask no questions-but do you
want to come for a trip ?3
So that was it. He had ordered the china Labrador, but
hadn't picked it up. That was where he wanted to take me. I
didn't ask any more questions. I just laughed and said, 'All
right.'
We set off-minus Kerensa and the dogs for some reason he
had insisted on-and turned out of the drive towards Nottingham.
The china dog occupied my thoughts. Then instead of
going straight on at the first roundabout, which would take us
into Nottingham, he carried on turning and went off in the
direction of Derbyshire. Now I was mystified. Don had a
strange satisfied and expectant look on his face. I decided to let
things happen, and not ask any questions at all.
Soon we came to the junction with the M i motorway. Don,
quite silent, turned on to it, and began driving north. Where
could we possibly be goingr? And m~hy? On we drove, past one
junction, then another, for miles. Then at last he began to slow
down. The big blue signpost pointed off the M i to Alfreton, and
here he turned off.
I42
By now I was quite lost and had no idea what we were doing
in the streets of this little Derbyshire town. Don, however,
seemed to know what he was up to, and as we waited at some
traffic lights he grinned, looking more than ever like a Cheshire
Cat, and said, 'Won't be long now.' Eventually we pulled up
at a house on the outskirts of Alfreton. A pleasant-looking
woman came to the door. I was now in such a complete state
of puzzlement that I was no longer capable of being surprised.
'Hello, Mrs Hall,' said Don.
Mrs Hall? I thought. Mrs Hall? That sounds familiar
what do I know about Mrs Hall?
Then the penny began to drop.
Before we had gone to America we had been watching Emma
and Buttons playing. I had thought that Buttons, being a year
old, would soon be coming into season and that had led us on
to thinking how nice it would be to have little chocolatecoloured
Labrador puppies.
Emma had been spayed, as is the normal practice for future
guide-dogs, and therefore had never been able to have puppies.
But it seemed that via Buttons we might find a way of giving
her a family by proxy, so to speak. I'had then remembered that
there was someone reasonably local who bred chocolatecoloured
Labradors, and had done so since before the war. It
occurred to me that they might have a chocolate-coloured stud
dog. So Don and I looked them up in the Yellow Pages, and
there they were, name of Hall, with an Alfreton number. But
when I rang to inquire if they had a stud dog the line was
engaged and, with all the preparations for going to America, I
had put the idea to the back of my mind and not done anything
more about it. As I stood on Mrs Hall's threshold all became
clear. I may have set the matter aside, but Don had not.
Mrs Hall was very pleased to see us. She had read the book
and knew all about Emma. 'In fact,' she said, 'I bought it
because of the chocolate Labrador on the co,,,er. There aren't
many about, you know.'
I said I realized that, and told her about Buttons and the way
we had got her.
'Oh, you were very lucky,' she said. 'Well, as I told your
husband on the phone, I haven't got a chocolate stud dog at
I43
i
present. But the litter I told him about is here all safe and
sound-and I've saved the chocolate-coloured dog for you in
case you want him. The rest of the chocolates have been taken,
and all the others are black.'
So I still had not unravelled the mystery. No china Labrador
and now no big chocolate-coloured stud Labrador . . . what
then? My mind was in a whirl. A chocolate-coloured puppy!
That really must be it ... third guess lucky. I looked at Don.
His face was all delight at my reaction. I was lost for words.
Mrs Hall smiled too and said, 'If you come with me, we'll go
and have a look. It's such a nice day I've put them out on the
lawn.'
We went outside and there they were: a heap of what looked
like plain and milk chocolate-coloured dogs, with some liquorice
ones, surrounding a contented-looking mum.
'Which is the dog among the chocolate-coloured ones?' I
asked. Mrs Hall picked him out for me. 'Here he is,' she said,