O Caledonia

The Dibdins duly arrived. Francis and Rhona vanished up a tree. The grown-ups and Jill drank sherry in the drawing room, while Janet was left to show Raymond, Gail, and Hilary around. It had stopped raining, so they braved the midges and she took them to the Heracleum grove. “This is

Heracleum giganteum,” she said proudly. “But I call them the Lords of Luna. You mustn’t touch them, they are poisonous.” There was an uneasy silence. They all stared at her with their identical frank blue eyes. Then Raymond laughed. “It’s giant hogweed, isn’t it? My word, your father ought to get rid of them. They spread like nobody’s business. They’re a really pernicious weed.” Janet began to hate him. “Let’s have a look at the tennis court,” suggested cheerful Hilary, pushing her smooth blonde hair off her smooth pale brow. “There’s enough of us here to have some really good doubles tournaments.” Oh God, thought Janet, I should have known. It hadn’t occurred to her that they would wish to be sporty even in this rain-sodden weather. Besides, the tennis court at Auchnasaugh was a parody of a tennis court. Its aged surface was pitted and cracked and willow herb and nettles grew out of the cracks. The net sagged and had holes in it. When you hit a ball out, as most people did most of the time, it sped off forever into the encroaching jungle of rhododendrons. It was the worst place for midges and Janet had rarely played more than a couple of games before she was forced to withdraw by a hideously swelling eyelid. Again there was a silence as they looked at it. Again there was a spurt of boyish laughter. “Well, it will certainly give a new meaning to the word challenge

,” said loathsome Raymond, tossing his head back and exposing his sharp, wolfish teeth. “Gosh, it’ll be really good fun,” said Gail. “Anyone can play on a slick modern court. This will sort us all out.” The rain began again. Janet saw no end to the tedium of this visit. If the sun shone there would be sporting activities. If it rained she would not be allowed to read because of Hilary. What on earth would they all do?

In the event it went on raining. Everyone except Janet went for a drive up the glens in the afternoon. Janet was excused because she would only be sick. Blissfully, she retired to her room and copied David’s lament for Jonathan into her special book. In the evening the Dibdins announced that they always enjoyed a good sing-song around the piano. Hector choked and went out of the room, muttering something about checking a gasket. Francis rushed after him. Mr. Dibdin sat at the grand piano in the drawing room, his family gathered about him in a statuesque group. He played “Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill,” nodding his head from side to side and casting roguish glances over at Janet’s family, who were gathered in an implacable huddle by the fire. His children sang the song in parts, pronouncing the i of

hill as if it were a double e

and beaming and nodding and twinkling like their father. Encouraged by fervent applause they went on to perform madrigals and then a couple of German Lieder. Worse was to come. The following evening they pushed the furniture back and gave an exhibition of morris dancing. “You’re all so brainy you should be interested,” fluted Melanie Dibdin. “They’re based on ancient fertility rituals. You know, earth mothers, the king must die, stag dances, all that sort of thing.” Janet thought they looked more like Little Noddy or Andy Pandy. It was shocking to see grown people behave in this ludicrous way. Only Lulu and Caro joined them; it seemed a suitable activity for the very young.