Straight on Till Morning Read Free

a book containing images from the movie Out of Africa which I thought she would like. She was rather scathing. ‘Who are these people?’
    â€˜That’s supposed to be Tania [Karen Blixen was known to her friends as Tania] and Blix getting married,’ I explained.
    â€˜ Nothing like them!’ she declared.
    â€˜Well, these people are just actors…you went to the film set, remember?’
    â€˜What’s he supposed to be doing here?’
    â€˜That’s Denys washing Tania’s hair.’
    â€˜What?’ A tiny shriek of amusement. ‘Oh no, that’s quite wrong. He would never have washed her hair…’
    That evening I dined at the Couldreys’, who were shocked to hear that I had driven alone round the Ngong Hills, which were supposed to be extremely wild and dangerous.
    As the days wore on and I spent so much time with her, there were times when Beryl’s mind wandered. I came to know the signs. She would repeat herself or trail off in the middle of a sentence. Sometimes this lasted for minutes, sometimes much longer, and it was impossible to make any sense of what she said. On these occasions I would sit quietly, reading or making notes, until she’d demand strongly, ‘Why aren’t you saying anything?’ She seemed unaware of her departures, but she told me she had a fear of ‘growing old and losing my mind…and people laughing at me behind my back…’ Sometimes if she could not find the right word she became upset. I do not think she had this problem with Swahili – it was almost as if she was more at home in it than in English.
    One day when I arrived at the cottage she told me, ‘I walked to the door and back this morning.’ I was taken aback. ‘Really, Beryl? That’s wonderful news.’ Her friend Paddy Migdoll called soon afterwards en route to see her horses in training for a race on the following Sunday. She often interrupted her busy routine to sit with Beryl. I told Paddy what Beryl had said, and she was equally surprised. She called Adiambo out onto the patio and questioned her out of Beryl’s hearing. Adiambo denied that the memsahib had walked. ‘I’m afraid it’s just her imagination,’ Paddy said to me as I walked her to her car. It wasn’t. After lunch Beryl suddenly announced that she was going for a walk and summoned Odero, who held her hands. I stood ready to catch her, but it was not necessary. She pulled herself to her feet and walked slowly with great concentration to the door – maybe ten steps. ‘Outside now,’ she said. At her request I supported her at the waist as she stepped down onto the patio and then stood away again. Leaning on Odero’s hands, she walked twice round the patio and back to the front door. I was surprised by her height, as I had only ever seen her sitting down.
    When she was back in her chair with a vodka and orange at her elbow, she was elated. ‘I told you I could walk. Call the girl and have your drink topped up. Come on – let’s have some fun, shall we?’ She then talked happily of what she was going to do now that she was walking again, convinced she would be able to drive her car. ‘The first thing I am going to do is drive to the bank and get some money out. I’ve quite a lot you know, from my book, only I can’t get out to the bank without a car.’ ‘Your book has been a tremendous success, hasn’t it?’ ‘Yes, I know ,’ she said. ‘It’s astonishing. I’d forgotten all about it.’
    â€˜Why did you never write anything else, Beryl?’ I asked.
    â€˜I did – lots of little things for those other people,’ she said airily. The ‘other people’ turned out to be magazines – she wrote some short stories, in the same autobiographical style as West with the Night , and these were published by national magazines such as Ladies’ Home