Page 31

Chapter 31

Monday 20 June 1921

The census collector adjusted his tie and pushed his shoulders back to make himself feel more official.

It was mid-morning and he was about a third of the way through his collecting round.

Most of the houses in this part of Edinburgh had their outer storm doors open, allowing the sunshine to warm the tiled entrance between the main door and the partially glazed inner one.

Each one, he noticed, had a slightly different pattern on the floor.

Some featured a complicated central star, with smaller stars arranged around the edge in ochre and cream and pale blue.

Others just had a simple rectangle surrounded by a number of borders.

Most, but not all, of the entrance halls were gleaming.

He could smell the fragrance rising from the wax-polished surfaces.

Almost every property had produced their census form.

Some had been handed over by the lady of the house; he often heard the sound of young children filtering through to the front door.

Other forms were brought forward by the maids, wiping their hands on their aprons and looking nervous, as though it would be their fault if there was an error on the paperwork.

He worked his way along Library Terrace, opening and closing the black iron gates with care, and assessing the capabilities of these same maids by the level of shine they had achieved on the brass door knockers.

The main door of number 23 was painted a deep navy blue and the front garden was festooned with early sweet peas and scented nigella.

The brasswork gleamed and the stained glass in the inner door was polished to a sheen.

He lifted his hand to knock and paused as he thought he caught sight of a figure walking in haste across the hall.

His cousin had been a maid before the war, and he remembered her telling him that every fingerprint on the polished brass had to be rubbed away.

He was glad the census had been delayed.

Collecting completed forms in June was easier than it would have been during the civil unrest in April.

He was all for the quiet life.

No one came to the door.

He knocked, knuckles on wood, unwilling to add to the maid’s workload, and waited.

There was no reply. He knocked a second time and was rewarded by a flurry of activity in the hall.

The door was opened by a woman of about forty, wearing a pink dress and carrying a coat draped over one arm.

He couldn’t for the life of him think why she would want a coat when the sun was splitting the sky, but women were a mystery to him; they had so many rules for everything.

‘Yes?’ She looked at the bag slung across his shoulder.

‘If you’re looking for Jane she’s hanging out the laundry in the back garden, but I’ve asked her not to have callers unless it’s her day off.

’

‘I’m not looking for Jane,’ he replied.

‘I’ve come to collect the census form your husband would have completed last night?

’ He made his voice go up at the end, so the statement sounded like a question.

If the form hadn’t yet been completed, it was less contentious.

‘Ah yes, of course. It’s in the dining room.

One moment.’

He waited for what seemed like five minutes or more with the sun beating down, warming his back, and reminding him that he hadn’t had a glass of water since breakfast. This delay invariably meant that the form hadn’t been completed and there was some hasty scribing going on inside the house.

Eventually, the woman reappeared, accompanied by a stocky, grey-bearded man.

‘My father was just looking for his pen to sign in the correct place.’ She handed him the form and he looked through all the entries, noting the smudged ink in a couple of places.

‘That all seems to be in order. Thank you. I’ll be on my way.

’

He walked back towards the gate and then heard her voice calling him.

‘There won’t be anyone next door,’ she said, pointing at number 25.

‘At the moment? You mean they’ve gone out for the day?

’ He had a lengthening list of not-at-homes who would need another visit later in the week.

‘No, I mean they aren’t there.

They’ve gone away to France, I think, or maybe Belgium?

’ She looked over her shoulder.

‘France,’ said her father.

‘Not that there’s much left of the place, by all accounts.

’

The collector nodded.

There wasn’t a need for further explanation.

‘Do you happen to know if their maid went with them?’

‘I don’t think so.

The place is locked up.

I can check with Jane if you need to know exactly where she is?

’

‘That won’t be necessary.

The enumerator for her district will deal with it.

’ He nodded a goodbye and closed the gate carefully behind him before continuing his route.

The garden of number 25 looked tired; no flowers here, he thought.

The shutters were closed and the house seemed forlorn, as though the life had gone from it.

There would be many missing names on the census forms this year.

Men who had been listed in 1911 as schoolboys or stonemasons, bankers or butchers, who no longer commanded a line on the government document.

Or at least, not on this document.

They would be listed in other places, he hoped.

He lifted the latch on the gate of number 27.

It squeaked into life as he pushed it open, and he could hear the laughter and squeals of excited children as he walked up the path.

A cornflower-blue door this time, the colour of fresh flowers and summer skies.