Letters To Alice
Letters To Alice
Rosie James
Dear Alice, dreadful news was told to me today…Bristol, 1941: Alice Watts leaves the shell-shocked city for her new life as a Land Girl on Home Farm. It’s a completely different from her quiet old world, but she’s determined to do her part.And the back-breaking work is made bearable with the help from her two new friends - bold, outspoken Fay and quiet, guarded Evie - and the letters that arrive from her childhood friend, Sam.To Alice, Sam was always more than just a friend, but as the son of her wealthy employer, she never dared dream he could be more… But at least ever letter brings reassurance that he’s still alive and fighting on the frontline… Because it’s when all goes quiet on the letter front that nothing seems certain and it’s a reminder of how life – and hearts – are so fragile.A tale of true courage and the power of sheer determination, this un-put-downable WWII set saga is filled with warmth, humour and heart-wrenching emotion.Perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Katie Flynn and Dilly Court.
Dear Alice, dreadful news was told to me today…
Bristol, 1941: Alice Watts leaves the shell-shocked city for her new life as a Land Girl on Home Farm. It’s completely different from her quiet old world, but she’s determined to do her part. And the back-breaking work is made bearable with the help from her two new friends - bold, outspoken Fay and quiet, guarded Evie - and the letters that arrive from her childhood friend, Sam Carmichael…
To Alice, Sam was always more than just a friend, but as the son of her wealthy employer, she never dared dream he could be more… But at least every letter brings reassurance that he’s still alive and fighting on the frontline… Because it’s when all goes quiet on the letter front that nothing seems certain and it’s a reminder of how life – and hearts – are so fragile.
A tale of true courage and the power of sheer determination, this un-put-downable WWII set saga is filled with warmth, humour and heart-wrenching emotion.
Perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Katie Flynn and Dilly Court.
Letters to Alice
Rosie James
www.CarinaUK.com (http://www.CarinaUK.com)
Born in Bristol of Welsh parentage, ROSIE JAMES has always been a compulsive writer, her early enthusiasm kept alive by winning the occasional childhood literary prize, and much later by seeing her articles and short stories published. She is a trained singer, and as a lyric coloratura soprano, her roles include many in opera, operetta and oratorio, her church choir music taking her to many parts of Europe. She enjoys theatre, eating out with friends, and she entertains regularly at home – slightly hindered by her new, very lively puppy, who insists on digging up all her plants and chasing birds, squirrels, and neighbours’ cats. She has three grown-up children, and six grandchildren who regularly visit with their parents and who still expect to play paper and pencil games after the meal. Rosie lives in Somerset.
Contents
Cover (#u6efc76c6-a450-50fa-8e9d-070e4fef2bae)
Blurb (#u871abd6b-be47-503b-a440-7d1606d7b659)
Title Page (#u88c42c98-95be-5325-a912-2da066e54df1)
Author Bio (#u4f16c352-5cca-5702-a9e9-8f3903e8ca7e)
Dedication (#u71b119d3-ea99-5718-99c3-a29b59e8245e)
Chapter One (#ulink_374b335d-e656-5bb6-b7bc-9c840675fa42)
Chapter Two (#ulink_8823d5fd-452d-56ca-abd2-8d90951bd2f1)
Chapter Three (#ulink_3ae61062-457c-5c5d-831d-850ff5dc47a1)
Chapter Four (#ulink_03e08b6f-70c9-5f90-b9de-a34b62525fd0)
Chapter Five (#ulink_bd27a163-5eda-5f54-b819-7d6b2b705097)
Chapter Six (#ulink_e3be396f-7a7d-5910-a02f-73301a55a253)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
In grateful memory of my parents, from whom I inherited the love of music and the written word
Chapter One (#ulink_1db42be8-51f0-5a8d-868c-c57b6d716653)
24
April 1941 London
Dear Alice
This is the first moment that I have been given any time off to drop you a line. I know things have been dreadful for everyone in Bristol, too, recently, and I’ve been hoping and praying that you are safe. Please write soon, and tell me that you are. I’m hoping that no news is good news.
It would be difficult for me to describe the scene here after the bombings this month. Amazingly, many of us – and many buildings – seem to be still in one piece, but the devastation is horrifying, and I have seen some terrible things. Every hospital has become an emergency centre (St. Thomas’s was hit) and no one has been allowed off duty. Even the most junior of us have been expected to rise to all occasions, and of course we have. We are all doing our best not to let the side down.
It has been a privilege to witness the bravery and courage of the victims, Alice – one elderly gentleman I was looking after, and who was close to death, still managed to smile at me as I clasped his hand and held him at the end. The look we exchanged as he finally slipped away will stay in my memory for ever.
No one ever grumbles, but just gets on with everything in a matter-of-fact way. We haven’t had that much sleep lately and meal times are brief, but the determination and camaraderie have helped to keep us going.
After last September’s outrageous attack on the city, and now this latest one, let’s hope that Hitler will give us a rest for a bit. (I sometimes wish I was in uniform somewhere, and doing something positive to help bring this ghastly business to an end.)
I hope, I really hope, that we can all arrange to get together soon.
Always and ever – Sam.
PS. Sorry to spill all that out on you, Alice, but one of the reasons for writing is that, a couple of times, I have asked myself whether I have chosen the right profession after all. Because handling unrecognizable bodies, and trying to comfort the frantic and bereaved, has been a nightmarish revelation, and there was one moment when I almost lost control and broke down. (Though thank goodness I managed to hold it together!) Such emotional weakness in anyone hoping to be a surgeon is not acceptable, but I had to tell someone, and you are the only person I want to share this with. I already feel some relief in confessing it.
Please write and tell me that you don’t think me a total coward. S.
PPS. This is not something I would want to worry my parents about. S.
Dear Samuel
Thank you for your letter. Yes, we have had a terrifying time here, too, but have survived to face another day, another year…or years, perhaps. Mrs. Hammond and I have spent several nights in the under-stairs cupboard together, emerging quite safe – if a little stiff – in the morning!
And like you, I have witnessed amazing bravery and goodwill everywhere. People are determined not to give up, but to carry on as cheerfully as possible. A mostly-demolished shop in the city had a notice outside saying “More open than usual.” That gave everyone a laugh. The office where I am employed is still intact and open for business. Not even a single day off for me – worse luck!
It would be lovely to see everyone again soon, I agree. But we are all so spread out now. However, I am sure your mother would manage to arrange something!
All my best wishes, Sam. Alice.
PS And you are not a coward. I don’t know any cowards. Don’t call yourself stupid names! A
Bristol 1941
The bus was crowded, almost full, the hot August sunshine streaming through the grubby windows making Alice lift her hand to shade her eyes.
As they’d all got on, she’d made her way to the back where there were three vacant seats all in a row, next to the emergency exit. She’d left her suitcase next to the driver, though in the limited space available some other passengers had to have theirs alongside them in the aisle, or held awkwardly between their feet.
Alice had brought very little with her, mainly because her uniform took up so much space. But she’d put in a couple of dresses and a cardigan, another pair of sandals, and two spare sets of underwear. She imagined there would be laundry facilities. In her wash bag was a new flannel, a bar of soap, a tube of toothpaste, and her toothbrush. And along with six pretty hankies which Gloria had given her as a sort of going-away present was her indispensable pot of Pond’s cold cream. The handbag on her lap held some money, a strip of Aspros, a comb, her powder compact and a Tangee lipstick. At the bottom of her case, beneath everything else, were two new exercise books, some pencils, and the wallet containing her letters and her precious fountain pen.
She looked around, waiting for the bus to fill up. She couldn’t help feeling slightly apprehensive about what lay ahead…it was going to be a completely new experience, that was obvious – but then she, along with everyone else was having to adapt to new experiences – some of which were highly dangerous – and, unfortunately, often fatal. They were living in troubled times, and there was nothing left but to accept what was happening and just get on with it. Her mother had told her often enough that that was what life was all about. That every generation had its ups and downs. And anyway, what she and her fellow passengers were facing was not going to be dangerous…just very different, that’s all. In fact, where they were all going would be blissfully free from death and destruction. It would be calm and peaceful. A sort of respite from the perpetual fear of sirens announcing an air raid, from the spectacle of searchlights criss-crossing the night skies…
Everyone else around her was about her own age, Alice guessed…early twenties or so…dressed much as she was, summer frock, sandals, the occasional cardi or headscarf. She noticed that one or two had brought their gas masks – which was unusual nowadays. After the initial terror of being gassed had passed, most people didn’t bother to carry them any more. Alice remembered being made to practise using hers. Remembered her gasp of fright as, for a second or two, she hadn’t been able to breathe properly, had felt trapped, and ugly. And frightened.
But so far so good. The war was nearly two years old already and no lethal gas had arrived. Surely that would never happen now? She bit her lip. Why on earth was the world having to go through this all over again? It was only a couple of decades since the last one…the Great War…how could history be repeating itself? Especially after Mr. Chamberlain had come back from his meeting with Hitler, the piece of paper he was holding bearing such high hopes of “peace in our time”? Utterly futile as it turned out. High hopes? No hopes, as it turned out.
Alice wondered what her mother and father would make of it, if they were still here. Her eyes misted as she thought of them. Her merchant seaman father had survived against all the odds in the first one – his ship somehow managing to deny the hungry Atlantic another expensive meal. Yet he was to lose his life later in a stupid accident. Alice’s lips tightened as her thoughts tormented her. For four long years God had answered her mother’s prayers, only to turn His back on them afterwards. It didn’t make any sense.
The last few women were boarding the bus now, and coming towards Alice was a tall, well-built girl with dyed blonde hair nearly reaching her shoulders, and held in place by a Kirby grip at either side. Her friendly face was enlivened by a pair of deep blue eyes, her full lips painted a bright red. As she grinned down, her teeth were snow-white. She immediately plonked herself next to Alice.
‘Watcher, I’m Fay,’ the girl said cheerily. ‘Blimey, it’s flippin’ hot, idn’t it? God alone knows what we’re all letting ourselves in for in this carry-on!’
‘Hello, I’m Alice,’ Alice said, responding with a generous smile of her own, warming to the girl’s outgoing nature and hearty Bristolian accent.
‘Watcher, Alice,’ Fay said. She rummaged in her large holdall and took out a tube of Maynard’s wine gums. Yer – have one a’ these! You’re not teetotal are you? They’re pretty alcoholic if you’re not used to them!’
Alice took a gum from the tube and popped it into her mouth. ‘Thanks. And I’m not teetotal.’ (Well, not exactly. Despite her upbringing, she had enjoyed the odd port and lemon with Gloria when they’d sometimes sat together at the end of the day. (Though something had made her refuse a swig of gin – Gloria’s preference.) Gloria Hammond owned the small terraced house where Alice had rented a furnished room since leaving the Carmichaels’ place in Clifton. Gloria was a determined optimist – especially since Mr. Churchill had become prime minister last year – and although she’d agreed to tape up her windows to lessen the effect of any bomb blast, she flatly refused to use the Anderson shelter in the vicinity, preferring to sit in the cupboard under the stairs with her wireless and a bottle of gin. “When your number’s up…” she used to say when anyone tried to persuade her to take more effective cover. The house was situated close to the church of the Holy Nativity in Totterdown, and Alice sometimes went there to pray for the souls of her beloved mother and father. And to pray that Sam thought of her sometimes. That he would never forget her.
‘Bloody glad to hear that,’ Fay said enthusiastically. ‘I’m hoping that where we’re going there’s a decent pub – or even an indecent one! Somewhere to unwind at the end of the hard days we’ve been warned about.’ She sighed. ‘I bet they’ll choose me to muck out the pigs, and shovel the shit!’ She gave Alice a sidelong glance. ‘Whereas…I can see you feeding the chickens, collecting the eggs, and giving a little newborn lamb its bottle! You look far too fragile to get your hands dirty!’
‘Oh, I’m quite used to getting my hands dirty,’ Alice assured her. ‘Anyway – I’m sure we’ll share the duties.’ She smiled up at Fay, taking another wine gum. She liked Fay.
Just then, the last passenger got on the bus and walked carefully up the aisle towards them. She was wearing a blue and white pin-stripe dress with a neat Peter Pan collar, a straw boater, and short white gloves. A mass of auburn curls framed a rather earnest-looking face. She paused hesitantly, as if waiting to be invited to sit down, and Fay looked up and patted the seat next to her.
‘Yer –come and join us,’ she said heartily, and one or two looked around to see who was talking. Fay’s voice had a ringing quality to it, edged with a smoker’s huskiness – which suited the rest of her, Alice thought. ‘Come on – let’s give you a hand with that thing.’ Fay helped the other girl to slide her suitcase alongside. ‘And we might as well get the formalities over with – I’m Fay – this is Alice – and you’re…?’
Another moment’s hesitation before – ‘I’m…I’m Eve Miles,’ the girl said, sitting down. Then – ‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ she added demurely, taking off her hat and gloves, and putting them with the handbag on her lap.
As the bus trundled away from Temple Meads railway station – the picking-up point for everyone – conversation, which had been somewhat muted and discreet, soon gathered momentum. That was the thing with this war. Complete strangers talked to each other without reticence, exchanging views and news on everything from bomb damage and rationing to what they’d do to Herr Hitler if they got the chance. And some of the things Alice had heard weren’t fit for the ears of polite company. Still, you couldn’t blame anyone. Look at the row of houses they were passing…well, they had once been a row of houses, now just a filthy mass of rubble and blackened bricks. And scenes like that were repeated in many other parts of the city. Who knew what happened to all the poor occupants? They’d have to start all over again…if they’d survived.
Alice turned to glance out of the side window for a moment, her expression softening as she thought of Helena Carmichael, and the children.
Especially she thought of Sam…well, she was always thinking of Sam.
Not too sure where Sam was at the moment, she hadn’t heard recently. But the younger ones were all safe and sound, their boarding schools having been evacuated to remote parts of the country. It was true that the city had enjoyed a few months of comparative peace since the last bombardment, but no one was taking the brief silence for granted…you just never knew. The deadly Blitz in April had left everything and everyone temporarily – only temporarily – shattered. But resolute. Whatever happened, people had kept going about their daily business, shops, offices, limited transport, salvaging what they could to stay open and working. Encouraging each other with optimistic banter and snatches of songs…“Hitler you’re barmy, you should have joined the army…” The war had brought a city of complete strangers into one big family intent on supporting each other, and most seemed to be cheerful in spite of everything, each determined to “do their bit” for the war effort. It was amazing how things sometimes turned out.
Alice had been expecting to be called up for the war effort but hadn’t considered the particular role set out for her. She’d been interviewed, and passed her medical test with flying colours, thank goodness – well, she was made of stern stuff, even if she was rather slight. And she was seldom unwell, for which she was grateful. No, she realized she could have been marked out for anything. Factory work, hospital work…perhaps even European resistance work! That might have been exciting! If rather dangerous. Probably very dangerous… Alice had sometimes allowed her imagination to wander as she’d got on with her job as a shorthand typist in one of the city’s estate agent’s.
She settled back into her seat. She was lucky – they were all lucky on this bus. At least where they were going they wouldn’t be waiting for the air-raid siren to start its terrifying wail, no more listening for that hateful throbbing of German aircraft as you ran, panicking, to take shelter, no more listening to the thunder of falling bombs, of seeing fires light up the night sky, of feeling broken glass and telegraph wires scrunch under your feet as next day you walked along after a raid, trying to get to work. There’d be none of that, deep in the countryside…the enemy wouldn’t waste time and ammunition down there. And if they did ever hear the siren – where they were going – it would be a long way away, wouldn’t it? For the benefit of the city dwellers, not for them.
Yes, Alice did feel really lucky. And not for the first time. Lady Luck had been shadowing her for a lot of her life – even if she’d known great sadness, too.
They were well away from the outskirts of Bristol now, and heading into the Somerset countryside, and suddenly her introspection was interrupted by Fay exclaiming – ‘Just look at us! We’re like the three wise bloody monkeys sitting ’ere… See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil!’ She giggled infectiously at her own observation, though Eve – who had had her eyes closed – only managed a faint smile in response. And Alice said –
‘Well, we can’t do much about the first two – but what about the third one…?’
‘Oh, I can’t promise anything,’ Fay said airily. ‘If evil seeks me out, I’ll give as good as I get, don’t you worry!’
Just then, the Women’s Volunteer Service member who’d checked them all off on her clipboard as they’d got on the bus earlier, stood up from her seat in the front. She was a portly, kindly woman, dressed in a dark uniform. She’d taken off her hat which she was flapping at her face and neck, trying to cool off. She lifted her hand, and almost immediately everyone stopped talking to listen.
‘Now then, ladies…’ She raised her voice against the noise of the engine. ‘My name is Iris, and I’m here to hand you over, so to speak, and make sure everyone gets to their right place.’ She paused. ‘I realize this is a bit of a mystery tour, but soon we’ll be dropping groups of you off at various farms where you’ll be working.’ She glanced down at her clipboard. ‘I hope you’ve all remembered to bring your uniforms – and identity cards – and please give your ration books to the farmer’s wife, or whoever asks you for it.’ She looked around at everyone searchingly. ‘This is going to be a very different way of life for most of you, but I know you’ll all do your best. This war can’t last for ever, and in the meantime we’re all in it together, aren’t we? And I hope you’ll all be “healthy and happy in the Women’s Land Army,”’ she added, quoting the advertising slogan. She paused. ‘Now, anyone got any questions?’
Someone half-stood. ‘I can’t remember how much time- off we get,’ she said. ‘Will we be able to go to the nearest fleshpots and enjoy ourselves now and then?’
Iris threw the speaker a shrewd look. ‘You’ll be free for part of Saturdays, and I think Sundays, as well,’ she said. ‘Whenever you can be spared from your duties, I imagine. It will obviously be up to the farmer.’
Fay nudged the other two. ‘Well, the generous pay is hardly going to lead us astray, is it,’ she said, ‘and so far, I haven’t noticed anything resembling a “fleshpot” anyway.’ Then, after a minute – ‘Do either of you know this part of the world?’ She leaned forward to glance out of the window. ‘We could be anywhere, it’s just fields and hedges, fields and hedges…’
It was true – and they did seem to be driving further and further into remote territory, leaving anything resembling town or city life behind them. They trundled on through numerous small hamlets, stopping at various farms to drop girls off in twos and threes. They passed groups of cows sheltering beneath the shade of huge trees, saw sheep grazing on hilly slopes sometimes leading down to a stream bubbling along like an uneven strand of quicksilver, saw the occasional horse pulling a cart, wending its weary way along almost deserted roads.
As she gazed out, taking everything in, Alice automatically thought about the George’s Brewery dray horses…those magnificent creatures, their coats always polished to a shining ebony…remembered the smell of malt that wafted through the city when brewing was on the go, making the nose tingle. The area had had its share of bombing – like the rest of the city centre – but she’d never heard that the horses had come to grief. Hopefully they’d been moved to a safer place.
The present isolation seemed all the more significant because every signpost had been removed to thwart the intentions of an invading army, and Alice said –
‘It’s funny. I’ve lived in the south west all my life but I’ve never actually been far out of Bristol. Certainly not this far.’
‘Same here,’ Fay said. ‘Wouldn’t want to. I like town, meself… Clifton Downs are enough country for me! Always plenty of space, and little cosy hidey places if you need them.’ She nudged Alice. ‘Know wha’ I mean?’
She turned to glance at Eve. ‘How about you, Eve? Is any of this familiar to you?’
As usual, Eve waited before answering – as if she was weighing every word. Then – ‘I come from Bath, so we’ve got plenty of countryside of our own…like this…but I don’t recognize where we are, I’m afraid.’
Alice smiled along at her. ‘It must be nice and quiet, living in Bath,’ she said. Even though Bath was a mere twelve miles or so from Bristol, it had not had a single raid. Nor was one expected.
It was late afternoon before the bus arrived at its last port of call, and there were just the three of them left now, still sitting there in the back. As they leaned forward to stare out, they could see a large cluster of farm buildings in the near distance, spread out behind a wide wooden gate fencing in some brown cows. A black and white sheepdog was on watch, wagging its tail, and two Jack Russell terriers, silent and alert.
Iris got out first, and the others followed. ‘Right then,’ Iris said. ‘You’re the last – but not least, I’m sure…so, we have Eve Miles, Fay Reynolds and Alice Watts. Right?’
The girls nodded. ‘Good, thank heaven I haven’t got one over, or one missing! So that’s my lot for today.’ Iris was obviously relieved. ‘Come with me and I’ll introduce you.’
The girls followed, lugging their suitcases. Eve wrinkled her nose.
‘Oh dear, what a nasty smell,’ she said quietly.
‘That’s cow shit, luvver. Or manure, if you prefer,’ Fay informed her cheerily. ‘We’d better get used to it I suppose.’
The place was called Home Farm and after Iris had left, Mabel Foulkes, the farmer’s wife – an overweight, affable woman – took the three girls upstairs to the room which they were to share.
It was long, the bare wooden floorboards creaking under their feet. It felt a bit stuffy despite the two windows wide open at each end. There were three single beds more or less next to each other, each with two pillows, and covered with a patchwork quilt. A couple of cupboards stood against the wall, and on a solid-looking steel-legged table was a huge jug standing in a bowl, with a large enamel bucket on the floor beneath. On the wall was a faded mirror.
‘We’ll bring hot water up for you every morning and at night,’ Mabel said, ‘and the lavatory’s outside next to the scullery. There’s also another one down the garden, right at the end past the cabbages. You can’t miss it.’
There was a moment’s pause.
‘There’s no bathroom, Mrs. Foulkes…?’ Eve said faintly.
‘Oh no, my luvver! Well, not as such…but don’t you worry, there’s a guzunder under your beds if you need to go in the night, and for bathin’ we all use the hip baths in the kitchen. They’re OK – even if it does mean knees up to chins!’ She mopped her brow. ‘But mostly the men just stand in the sink by the pump in the yard! Especially when it’s hot! But don’t worry – you won’t be asked to do that! Just say when you wanna bath and the kitchen’ll be all yours! It’ll be helpful if you could make it later in the day,’ she added, ‘when all the work’s finished. OK?’ Her hands on her hips, she smiled at them kindly. ‘Breakfast for you will be 5.30, down in the kitchen, lunch in the fields if you’re workin’ there – I’ll bring out flasks of tea. Or if there’s a lull, you can have it in the kitchen, a’course. And supper’s usually about 7.30.’
She turned to go, then looked back at the girls. ‘Sorry my husband wasn’t here when you arrived – ’ ’ee’s up yonder, hay-makin’ with our son – Roger. They’ll be down presently. Now, you get unpacked and I’ll put the kettle on for a nice cup a’ tea. I expect you could do with one.’
That was putting it mildly. They’d had very little refreshment on the journey, stopping only a couple of times for a break and cold drinks.
For a few moments there was complete silence, then Fay went across and opened the doors of the cupboards. On the shelves were a couple of piles of towels.
‘Hm. Well, good thing I didn’t bother to pack me evenin’ dresses,’ she said lightly. ‘But I s’pose there’s enough space here for what we want.’ Without taking off her sandals, she flung herself down on the bed nearest the door and grimaced.
‘Bloody ’ell! This is solid concrete if you d’ask me!’ She tried to bounce on the unyielding mattress. ‘I doubt if we’ll get even a wink of sleep, God ’elp us.’ She sat up and bent down to reach for her handbag on the floor beside her, took out a packet of Player’s Please and a box of matches. She glanced up at the others. ‘If I don’t have a fag soon, I’m gonna go bloody mad.’ She lit up, then flopped back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, inhaling, and blowing out smoke like a steam train.
Eve gave a slight little cough – and Fay threw the cigarettes and the matches across onto the bed Eve was sitting on the edge of. ‘Fancy a drag, Eve? Be my guest…at least these aren’t rationed!’ She took another deep drag. ‘I was desperate for one on the bus but it was so hot and stuffy I didn’t like to.’
‘I don’t smoke, actually,’ Eve said, rather primly.
Alice looked across at her thoughtfully. Of the three of them, Eve seemed the most unlikely candidate for the war job that had been allotted them.
‘You don’t know what ya’ missin’ – you should try it!’ Fay told her. ‘Fags keep you going, they’re good for you!’ She inhaled again deeply, and coughed. ‘I’ve just donated a coupla’ boxes of Woodbines to the Red Cross for the parcels they send to our soldiers. See – ciggies are helping us win the war!’
Alice sat down gingerly on the bed next to her. And had to agree with Fay. It was rock-hard.
For a few moments no one said anything, each privately weighing up the present situation. And it was a weird one, Alice thought. For the foreseeable future the three of them – complete strangers – were going to be thrown together, sharing everything – including their bedroom. Alice had only ever shared with her mother before.
And what if they didn’t get on together? Didn’t like each other? Fall-outs and unpleasantness would be terrible, make everything so much worse than it need be. She glanced briefly at the others as her thoughts ran on…she felt certain that Fay was going to be easy company, but Eve was a different kettle of fish. For one thing, she’d turned up dressed as if she was going to a garden party instead of embarking on life in a farmyard! She had a precious way of speaking, with an aloofness about her which was a bit off-putting, her whole manner suggesting that she was far too good for present company. Alice shrugged inwardly. Whatever lay ahead, they’d just have to make the best of it.
Presently, Eve was the first to start unpacking. Very carefully. After taking out some of her personal items which were on the top and putting them in a neat pile, she began to lay out her uniform. Breeches, fawn shirt, long woollen socks. She glanced up at the others, holding up the green V-neck pullover. ‘Are we expected to wear all this? In this heat?’ Adding, rather petulantly – ‘Why can’t we just wear our dresses?’
Fay opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, then thought better of it and got off the bed and began to unpack as well. She flung everything out all around her on the bed, then stuck the regulation cowboy hat on her head at a jaunty angle. ‘D’you think this suits me? Will I get off with someone when I wear it if we go out?’ She went over to the mirror and groaned. ‘No, it doesn’t and I won’t. It’s ’orrible.’ Then, impulsively, she slipped off her dress and thrust her legs into the corduroy breeches, her feet into her pair of thick brown brogues. And started jigging around.
‘Come on – this calls for the Hokey Cokey!’ she cried.
Instinctively, Alice followed her lead, and with just their bras, breeches and brogues on, the two linked hands and whooped into the popular number, the floorboards creaking and groaning beneath them. “Ho’ Hokey Cokey Cokey ! Ho’Hokey Cokey Cokey!…knees bend, arms stretch, ra, ra, ra…!”
Well, it had been a long, hot day, they were being thrown into another world, and for a few moments they needed to unwind and try to see the funny side of life…
But Eve didn’t join in, instead turning away to place her uniform in one of the cupboards. And the others didn’t try and persuade her. It was going to take time for Eve to lighten up.
Presently, after she’d unpacked, Alice thrust her suitcase under the bed and stood up. ‘I would like to check out the lavatory,’ she said ‘Shall we take a look around?
They went down the stairs and through the kitchen. Mabel was nowhere to be seen, but there was a huge brown teapot standing on the table, with milk and three enamel mugs. There was no sign of the Jack Russells, but the sheepdog they’d noticed earlier got up languidly from its place on the stone floor by the range and came over to be made a fuss of. Eve immediately bent down and put her arms around the animal’s neck, planting a kiss on its head and Alice looked at her quickly. Perhaps Eve had a dog of her own, and was already beginning to feel a bit homesick.
Next to the scullery was the lavatory. Its door was partly open, the rough stone walls whitewashed, a strong smell of disinfectant competing with the whiff of farm manure. A long chain dangled from the ancient cistern above, and Fay said hurriedly –
‘This isn’t exactly private is it…shall we suss out the other one Mrs. Foulkes talked about? The one further away down there somewhere?’
They went outside, the dog following, and made their way down the centre of the garden – which was packed with vegetables – their tread noiseless on the soft earthy path, the hum of bees and summer insects adding to the sultry atmosphere.
By now it was early evening and still very warm. As they wandered along, it was impossible not to appreciate where they were. The farm lay in a gentle valley, the fields rising up and away as far as the eye could see, and Alice felt a sudden surge of optimism about what lay ahead. For one thing, even if Eve was rather shy and out of her depth, Fay seemed the permanently cheerful sort and she, Alice, would never be the one to put the cat amongst the pigeons. They’d all get used to everything, and each other, in time. They had no choice.
The best of it for all of them was that the Germans wouldn’t be interested in them down here, out of the way. They wouldn’t hear or see a thing of the war this distance from the city. There’d be no sound, they’d be able to sleep peacefully at night – even if those beds did seem rather hard – with no blackout and shouts of “Put that bloody light out!” They could treat it like an unexpected holiday…couldn’t they?…even if they’d been warned that the work would be hard. Well, it wouldn’t be hard all the time, surely? Someone still had to feed the chickens and collect the eggs…
At the very end of the path they could see a low shed with its door closed, and Alice said, ‘Well, since this was my idea in the first place – shall I be the one to risk it?’
The others stood back as Alice opened the door and peered inside. Then she turned to face them again, her hand over her mouth trying to stop laughing.
‘I don’t believe this,’ she said. Even in the early years living in Hotwells, things hadn’t been this primitive. ‘Have a look,’ she said.
As the others peered in suspiciously, they saw that the windowless premises comprised a broad shelf of wood with three holes, side by side, cut into it. Some newspaper had been cut into squares and attached to a piece of string hanging on a nail on the wall. And the smell was memorable – to say the least.
‘Well,’ Fay said, ‘there certainly won’t be the need for any queuing, will there! We can all go together! Like I said – we’re gonna be the three wise monkeys all sittin’ in a row! Blimey, wha’ a laaaff!’
Eve was obviously mystified. ‘Where…where does it…I mean, after you’ve…been…what happens to everything…where does it actually…go? It can’t just stay down there, can it?’
‘Shovelled into a cesspit, my luvver, round the back there,’ Fay said practically. ‘But ’course –I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of cesspits in Bhaaaaaath Sphaaaaaa!’ She put on a posh accent. ‘Still, never mind. Any port in a storm, eh girls?’
After they’d all used the facilities – separately – the girls made their way back to the farmhouse and into the kitchen where Mrs. Foulkes was pouring their tea.
‘Ah there you are, luvvers,’ she said. ‘Glad yer lookin’ around and making yerselves at home. Now drink this while it’s still fresh.’ She handed them each a mug of tea. ‘Then I’ll get Roger to take up some hot water for you to wash. Supper’s almost ready.’
Chapter Two (#ulink_e7dea6bf-5bff-5794-80aa-06a9cd246e1f)
Farmer Foulkes emitted a sustained, satisfied burp, then stood up, pushing his chair back. His wife looked up at him sharply.
‘Now then, Walt…manners…we got company…’
Walter was unapologetic. ‘Jus’ my way of sayin’ thanks for a gert lush supper,’ he said. ‘That was a rare bit a’ goat, that was, and other un’s fattenin’ up nicely as well.’ He let his gaze slide to each of the girls in turn. ‘An’ anyway, these ain’t company – they’re our Land Girls an’ they might as well get used to our ways.’
Alice swallowed quickly. So they’d just eaten goat! She’d never tasted it before – had thought it was mutton… but it had certainly been delicious, accompanied by crisp roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, carrots, turnips, runner beans, and a massive Yorkshire pudding nestling in rich brown gravy. Followed by a crusty apple pie and mouth-wateringly sweet custard. The sugar in that must have used up everyone’s ration for the week! The table had groaned with what could only be called a surfeit of good food. Did everyone living on a farm have this much to eat every day, Alice wondered? It was something she had never even thought about.
Walter Foulkes was a huge man, with a rather churlish manner and an obviously cynical attitude regarding the employment of townie women on his land. But he knew he had no choice. The lads from the village who’d always worked for him had already been called up, but at least Roger was allowed to stay. At least until further notice.
The farmer had a head of greying, black hair and eyebrows to match, and Alice imagined that he’d probably been a handsome man in his youth. And his wife, too, would have been an attractive girl… Mabel’s hair, wound up in a big knot on top, was still a strong brown colour, though tinged with grey, and her eyes were large and expressive. The two would probably have been a golden couple, before life and weather and work had got to them.
And how would she, Alice, look at their age? How would the twins, and Sam look? She couldn’t imagine Sam looking anything other than he was now…or was, the last time she’d seen him. Tall and straight, with a mass of thick hair the colour of conkers polished smooth, swept back from an aristocratic forehead, his profile chiselled, his dark eyes meltingly soft…the epitome of distinctive, British masculinity.
And above all – he was clever and courteous. And kind…had been, to Alice, from the very beginning. Over the years he had taught her so much, passing on all sorts of important things he learned at his boarding school. Had shown her how to form opinions and hold her own in any discussion, to contrast and compare, to give due consideration to other points of view…to think…
And he’d shown her how to dance. The waltz and the quickstep. And the foxtrot – the foxtrot had an elegant, unhurried, movement. Alice liked the foxtrot best of all.
The farmer was staring down at the girls, now, sizing them up, and Alice noticed how red and fat and swollen his hands were as they gripped the back of his chair.
‘First thing t’morrer I want ee all up the field, diggin’ spuds,’ he announced. ‘Second crop’s ready, and I don’t want no ’angin’ about. But you’ll have to wear summat decent on your feet.’ His lip curled slightly. He’d noticed their sandals, what they were wearing. He glanced at his wife. ‘They boots did arrive, didn’t they, Mabe?’ he added.
Mabel nodded. ‘Came last week,’ she said.
The heavy boots were the one item which had been delivered to the farm separately. They certainly wouldn’t have fitted very well in a suitcase.
Now Roger Foulkes stood as well. He was a tall, good-looking lad in his late twenties, with a twinkle in his dark eyes and a readiness to laugh if anything remotely amusing was said by anyone. Of course, Fay, who’d sniggered at the piece of human behaviour just now, was already on his wavelength, and Alice noticed how easily the girl had got Roger’s attention.
Alice had also noticed Eve’s reaction to Mr. Foulkes’ crudeness…she’d seemed thoroughly embarrassed, keeping her eyes on her plate. Poor girl, Alice thought, this was going to be a completely different world from the one she obviously knew in dignified, cultural, Bath, and maybe she just would not be able to stick it. Land Girls giving up on the job before they’d barely begun was not unheard of – but Alice hoped Eve wouldn’t give up. For some reason that she couldn’t really explain, Alice wanted them, the three of them, to get through this together.
The farmer clumped his way to the back door and went out without another word, and Mabel said as she started clearing the table –
‘’Ee’s gone to look around last thing for the night,’ she said. ‘Always does.’ She piled the pudding dishes one on top of the other. ‘And don’t mind ’im,’ she added. ‘’Is arthritis always plays him up in the heat, but ’ee’s all right, really.’ She turned to Roger. ‘Now Rog – why don’t you just show them…Alice and Fay and Eve…around for a few minutes…’fore it gets too dark? Give ’em some idea about what we’ve got ’ere? An’ what they might be going to do…’
The three got to their feet, and Alice said – ‘But can’t we help with the washing up, Mrs. Foulkes?’ Alice had never been used to leaving chores to others.
Mabel smiled broadly. ‘No, that’s a’right, luvver. You just go out, now, with our Rog. And then it’s ’eads down for all of you! Tis gonna be a long day tomorrer!’
Doing as they were told, the three girls followed Roger out of the farmhouse. It was not quite dark, and still very warm as they made their way around the immediate precincts…Roger pointing things out as they went. The chicken enclosure was huge, all the birds roosting quietly, and Alice said tentatively –
‘How many chickens are there, Roger? It’s an enormous pen, isn’t it?’
Roger grinned. ‘Hundreds and hundreds,’ he said cheerfully. ‘They have the life of Riley, and they’re all my mother’s babies – though there are far too many for her to give them all names! And when her geese have their goslings you can’t keep her away from the nursery!’
The farm was larger than it had seemed at first glance as they walked around the cow sheds and milking parlour, past the goat pen, and the pig sties where the animals were still shuffling and rooting around for food. Three massive barns were already stacked right up to the top with hay and straw, and as Roger began leading them further away up to the crop fields, Alice couldn’t help thinking how hard and relentless working on a farm must be. Well, they were about to find out, weren’t they, but it was all right for them. They were only going to be here temporarily, while for Roger – and his parents – it must be a gruelling lifetime’s work.
But Roger wasn’t grumbling – and certainly not today. Thanks, Mr. Hitler, he thought, there’d never be another time when three gorgeous girls would be living on their farm! He glanced down at them as they all made their way across the fields.
‘I bet you all groaned when you were told what you were going to be doing for the war effort,’ he said lightly. Then, after a moment, he added, ‘I should have thought they could have found something a bit more…well…lady-like – tidy – for you than sloshing around in mud. Because it does rain here, you know. And then it’s not nice.’ He looked down at their pretty sandalled feet. ‘You’ll certainly be needing your boots.’
‘That’s why they’ve been provided,’ Fay said smartly, ‘and don’t you worry about us, Roger. We’re perfectly prepared for what’s ahead – aren’t we, girls? – and it’s insulting of you to think we’re only fit for “lady-like” jobs! What do you think we are? A trio of pointless twerps?’ She strode on ahead a few steps. ‘Just lead us to it! We’ll cope with whatever you throw at us!’
Roger caught her up, longing to hold her hand but not daring to. ‘OK, OK, sorry I spoke,’ he said teasingly. It stirred something in him to be challenged by a woman.
Eve, who’d been rather quiet, spoke up. ‘Could we turn back now?’ she asked plaintively. Well, they seemed to have been walking for ages, with Roger pointing out which crops grew in which fields and when, and her feet were tired.
Roger nodded, turning around reluctantly. He’d liked to have gone on walking for another hour – in the present company! He looked down at Alice, sizing her up. Of all of them, it was she who seemed to be really taking in her surroundings, he thought, seemed really interested in everything she was being shown, and had been asking him questions as if she was preparing for an exam.
Roger took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet country air. He hadn’t felt so up-beat for years.
Later, the girls made their way up the narrow, dark wooden staircase to their room. As they went inside, Fay flicked the switch on the wall and the one bulb hanging from the ceiling struggled to emit a pale yellow beam.
‘Oh dear, there’s not much light in here, is there,’ Eve said slowly, going over to her bed and sitting down. She looked around her. ‘It makes everything look, well, eerie, doesn’t it,’ she added, giving a little shiver of distaste.
‘Spooky, you mean,’ Fay agreed. ‘Hey – perhaps there’s a resident ghost lurkin’ about! I’d love to see a ghost, I really would! This whole place is ancient enough for all sorts of weird goings-on!’
‘You don’t really think there is one, do you?’ Eve began worriedly, and Alice interrupted, laughing.
‘Don’t be daft, Fay,’ she said, shooting the girl a warning glance. Eve didn’t need anything more to unsettle her.
Just then there was a tap on the door, and Mabel stood there holding three saucers, some candles and a box of matches.
‘I just thought maybe these might be useful,’ she said. ‘The light’s not so good up ’ere, is it?’ she added.
After she’d gone, the girls each melted the end of their candle until the wax dripped, then stuck it onto a saucer. And soon the room glowed even more atmospherically, throwing strange, moving shadows into the corners and walls.
Eve shivered again, putting her candle down on the floor by her bed. And thinking of her home, her room, of the life she’d left behind her…for who knew how long? Thinking of her parents.
This was the time they’d be getting ready for bed, deciding whether they wanted Horlicks or Ovaltine last thing…or whether to have a pot of tea for a change if they thought the evening meal had been a bit heavy for a milk drink. And Eve supposed that by now they’d be lining up their tablets…four at night for her father, three pink, one white, two for her mother, both pink, then two white ones for both of them next morning, the glasses of water at the ready on the bedside tables. Eve sighed inwardly. They were perfectly capable of sorting out their tablets by themselves, but they’d always insisted on her doing it for them. And it wasn’t as if they really needed them…they just bought packets of the things each time they went to the chemist – laxatives, sedatives, anything for aches and pains and sore throats and headaches – convinced that every advertisement they read was genuine.
Well, they’d have to rely on each other without her now, Eve thought. They would have to try and think for themselves for a change. But she hoped they’d enjoyed the tin of pilchards and the salad she’d prepared and left for their supper.
Getting up, she went over to the cupboard where she’d put her nightdress and wash bag. The sooner she got ready for bed and went to sleep – if she was going to be able to manage a single wink – the better. She glanced over her shoulder.
‘Although the meal was very nice, and very appetizing, I did think there was far too much food on the table tonight for everyone, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘It was rather – well – extravagant, wasn’t it.’ Although nobody was starving in Britain, the rationing system had made people more careful with what they had, no one expecting huge portions of food at meal times any more. And obesity in the population was virtually unknown. Eve had certainly been very circumspect with helping herself from all the dishes on the long kitchen table earlier.
‘Well, I wasn’t complaining,’ Fay said flatly. ‘It’s a long time since I had a jolly good old blow-out, and as far as I’m concerned we can have more of the same tomorrow.’ Holding her candle aloft, she marched across the creaking floor to the basin. There was still plenty of water in the jug left over from their earlier wash, and she swilled her face and hands quickly, then started doing her teeth. Dipping the brush in and out of one of the tin mugs of water on the table, spitting into the bowl, then tipping everything into the bucket beneath. It was all a bit laborious and a lot more inconvenient than having access to taps and flushes, she thought – they’d made their second walk past the cabbages after Roger had said goodnight – but they’d get used to it. They’d bloody well have to.
Finally, she cleaned the bowl around vigorously with her flannel and squeezed it out, then turned to glance at the others.
‘Bathroom’s vacant!’ she exclaimed. ‘’S’all yours!’
Presently, after Alice and Eve had undressed and taken their turn at the basin – which it had to be said was big enough to bath a baby in – all three lay down, glad to stretch out after a long and tiring day, even if it did feel as though the beds were made of hard core.
Fay reached into her bag for another cigarette, lit up, then looked up at the ceiling, blowing out a long plume of smoke.
‘Well, I s’pose my ARP pillar-of-society father’s out doing his stuff for the war effort,’ she said. ‘Mr. Civil-Defence-on-two-legs. Showing everyone what a great man he is.’ She snorted derisively. ‘I’ve stopped asking whoever’s up there to finish him off with a direct hit, because no one’s been listening.’ She took in another lungful of smoke. ‘As far as I know, not a hair of my father’s head has been put out of place – despite bomb blasts and falling shrapnel. But I live in hope.’
Eve looked utterly shocked. ‘Goodness me,’ she said, and Fay turned to look at her.
‘Oh, don’t look like that!’ she snapped. ‘I suppose you two got perfect families and everything in the garden’s lovely! Well, my family’s never been lovely…that’s why I moved out a few years ago. I live a couple of miles away with my gran in Knowle, now,’ she went on. ‘Gran thought it’d be safer if I cleared off, because if I stayed at home much longer I’d have killed my father, and then I’d have been hanged for it.’ She paused for a moment. Then – ‘An’ you know something? Next time round, I am coming back as a man! That’s all I’ll ask of whoever’s in charge up there. Because being female ’ idn’t no fun – and it ’idn’t fair!’ She took another drag on her cigarette and sat forward, warming to the subject. ‘D’ya know what? The geezer I was working with last was doing exactly the same job as me, exactly the same job – but he got nearly twice the pay! Just because he’s bloody male!’ She threw out her arms in exasperation. ‘Who can explain that?’
By now Fay was on her high horse. ‘But things are gonna change,’ she said hotly, ‘the saintly Nancy Astor is our only woman MP at the moment, but where she went, others can follow! We’ve had the right to vote for more than ten years, and as soon as this bloody shindig is over our voices are going to be heard, loud and clear! There’s no doubt about it!’
‘You might be right there, Fay,’ Alice said. ‘Helena…my employer where I once worked…she was a suffragette…used to go on marches, and deliver leaflets, and help to break up meetings…she was convinced that one day Britain would have a woman prime minister!’
‘Pigs might bloody fly,’ Fay said, flopping back down on the bed.
Alice laughed. ‘It could even be you, Fay,’ she said. Fay certainly had strong opinions. ‘But until then – where do you work, Fay… or rather – where did you work – before this lot?’
‘Woolies,’ Fay said promptly. ‘I’m a shop girl… I’ve worked at a bakery, been at Boots, Dolcis, Lennards, Stead and Simpson, Bata…done the shoe shop rounds.’ She half-sat, resting on her elbow for a moment. ‘I like being with people, see, but I’ve never been in one place for very long. ’S’pose I’m a bit restless.’ She glanced at Alice. ‘And what’s your job? Something a bit more special than mine I imagine.’
Alice smiled, glad that the subject of killing someone and being hanged for it had passed on to something more acceptable. Eve’s face had been a picture as she’d been listening to everything Fay was saying. ‘My job’s not particularly special, Fay,’ she said in answer to the girl’s question. ‘When I was sixteen I took a Pitman secretarial course – learned how to do shorthand and typing.’ She shrugged, not wanting to sound any more elevated than Fay. ‘It’s not exactly exciting, working in an estate agent’s office, but the people are nice and the pay’s not bad…not bad at all.’ She glanced at Fay. There was a lot more to Fay than the girl wanted anyone to believe …if Fay wanted to, she, too, could get herself a credential that might be more fulfilling than flitting from one retail job to another. As if she knew what Alice was thinking, Fay said –
‘As a matter of fact, I nearly worked in an office once. Passed an interview at one of the big insurance companies in Berkeley Square, but that stopped before it even started.’
‘Why?’ Alice asked curiously.
‘Well, they told me what my duties would be, offered me the job – which I accepted – and just as I was leaving, they informed me that if I should ever get married, I’d have to leave! That I’d be chucked out! Company policy, apparently! Well – I told them they could stick their bloody job up their ’ooter – because that did not appeal to my sense of justice! And it’s not as if I ever intend getting married,’ Fay went on, clearly still upset at the memory – ‘but that isn’t the point. The point is that it was unfair! Unfair to women! Because I know for a fact that there are married men working there. They haven’t been chucked out!’
Alice could understand why Fay was still so cross. She turned to Eve
‘Do you have a job to go back to, Eve?’
For once Eve didn’t hesitate. ‘Oh, mine’s only a part-time job, actually, when I can get away,’ she said. ‘I work at Milsoms music shop in Bath…we sell sheet music, and records, and I help customers find what they’re looking for. And we stock musical instruments as well, and people come in and try them out. That’s the bit I like best.’ She looked pensive for a moment, then – ‘But often I’m at home looking after my parents who are never very well…you see, they were quite old when I came along.’ She frowned briefly, adding, ‘ It must have been a terrible shock to them when I turned up, but at least they’re reaping the benefits now because I’m always there trying to make amends for being alive.’ The comment was made only half-jokingly and the others exchanged glances. It was unusual for Eve to be so forthcoming.
‘Well – we’re glad you’re alive Evie…because if you weren’t here, we’d be one wise bloody monkey short!’ Fay said.
Eve actually laughed, obviously delighted at that. ‘Oh - only one person ever called me Evie before,’ she said, ‘because my parents don’t like it. But I like it!’
‘Well, you’re Evie from now on,’ Alice said, pleased to see the girl begin to look happy. She decided to push a bit further. ‘Was it a boyfriend who liked to call you that?’ she asked.
‘Not exactly…it was just one of the men I worked with at Milsoms,’ Eve said casually, ‘but he was called up straightaway. He’s with the RAF somewhere abroad now, I believe.’ She paused, clearly thinking about that. Then – ‘He’s married to a woman called Diana. I met her once. In the shop. She’s…very beautiful.’
No one spoke for a minute, then Eve said, frowning –
‘I hope digging potatoes isn’t going to be too hard. That’s what Mr. Foulkes said we’re going to be doing tomorrow, didn’t he?’
Alice sat up, hugging her knees. ‘Oh no! It won’t be hard at all, I promise you! It’s fun…really fun!’ She leaned closer towards the others. ‘ We had a kitchen garden in the Clifton house where I used to live, and once or twice I helped dig up some potatoes. And what you do is, you tug at the plant – it’s quite bushy – but it comes up easy as anything. Then you shake the earth off and all the potatoes – dozens of them – emerge and roll away like lovely little golf balls! It’s quite exciting! A little miracle!’ Alice ran her tongue over her lips. ‘And they are just scrumptious to eat…and don’t need peeling at all! Cook used to just rinse them under the tap until the skin almost fell off – then, when they’d been boiled, and cooled down a bit, we’d eat them in our fingers just as they were – dipping them into some salt first.’ Alice’s mouth watered at the memory.
‘Oh for Gawd’s sake!’ Fay exclaimed. ‘You had a cook! How fraightfully posh! Shall we curtsy now – or later?’
Alice burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Betty wasn’t our cook – she cooked for the family my mother and I worked for. We lived-in, you see, so we ate the same food as them.’
‘That all sounds very nice,’ Eve said, sitting up as well now, and not feeling too bad about the prospect of potato digging. ‘Where was the house…it was obviously very big,’ she said.
Alice hesitated, not wanting to talk too much about that part of her life. Not because she didn’t have fond – very fond – memories of it, but because she didn’t want to share them. With anyone. They held so much of what had been dear to her, that exposing them for public scrutiny would lessen their value. Those memories were hers, to hug to herself and keep safe. For ever.
‘It was a big house,’ she admitted at last. ‘My mother and I were on the top floor, and from our bedroom window I could see the Clifton suspension bridge.’ Alice knew all about Isambard Kingdom Brunel and everything he’d designed…Sam had explained it to her.
‘Your employers must have been very rich, important people,’ Eve said, curious to know more. And taken off her guard for a second, Alice said –
‘Well – one day the king did come to tea,’ she began, and Fay sniggered.
‘Oh yeah – which king was that – Kong or Canute?’ She lit another cigarette from the stub of the first one and glanced over at Alice.
‘Neither,’ Alice said. ‘It was the old king – King George the fifth – our present king’s father.’
The room went deadly quiet for a moment as this news sank in. Then Fay said slowly, ‘Bloody ’ell. You’re not kiddin’, are you?’
‘No, I’m not,’ Alice said cheerfully.
By now, Eve’s eyes were shining like stars in the flickering candlelight. ‘Oh Alice…tell us about it…please!’ she exclaimed. Anything to do with royalty or the aristocracy was almost a religion for many people.
But Alice had said enough. No more of her secrets would pass her lips that night.
Despite the long, unusual day they’d all spent, sleep didn’t come easily to Alice, and she found herself tossing and turning on the unyielding mattress until she thought she was going mad. Fay and Eve had no such problem because by now they were both fast asleep, Fay snoring gently through her slightly parted lips.
Alice sighed, and turned over again. They were living in such a weird world. There was no sound outside at all – which was strange considering they were on a farm with presumably hundreds of animals close by. Everything, every animal, every bird seemed to be at rest, and peaceful. Yet peace was not everywhere…far from it. The war in Europe and Japan was raging, things were going from bad to worse as Hitler’s armies gained ground, and at this very moment there were people being killed or injured. They’d all be very glad if their only problem was trying to get to sleep! Thinking that made Alice feel really bad, and she picked up her pillow – which was actually quite soft and comfy – and jammed it over her head, trying to shut out her thoughts.
It must be at least two 0’clock by now, she thought desperately, because by the time they’d blown out their candles earlier it had been gone midnight. She took a long deep breath. Here she was …sharing a bedroom with two girls she’d never met before, billeted somewhere in the back of beyond with people she didn’t know…she could be a million miles away from the rest of the world. Like being on a distant, desert island. And that’s exactly how she was feeling…distant, remote, someone else entirely…
After another half an hour, Alice gave up on the thought of sleep. She sat up and got out of bed, kneeling down and quietly sliding out her suitcase from underneath. She knew exactly where she’d put her torch – most people carried torches with them – and switching it on, she looked for her book which was in an inner side pocket. Just to close her hands around the cover gave her pleasure. And next to the book was her leather wallet which she also took out and held between her fingers. Then she climbed back into bed, and by the light of the torch began to read.
Fay’s soft voice nearly made her drop the torch.
‘Wha’ ya’ readin’?’ she whispered, turning her head to look at Alice.
‘Oh sorry, Fay…I’ve woken you up,’ Alice whispered back, and Fay shrugged briefly.
‘Wha’ odds?’ she said. ‘I wasn’t really asleep anyway.’
Alice half-smiled. Fay’s light snores had told another story. ‘Oh, this is my copy of Jane Eyre …Charlotte Brontë,’ Alice said quietly. ‘I’ve read it so many times I nearly know it by heart.’
‘Yeah, ’ Fay said at once. ‘I used to think Jane was like a wet weekend, putting up with Rochester’s mean moodiness all the time like that, even if he was her employer. I’d have given him a piece of my mind if that had been me…he was just another male big ’ed! But – it was tough luck, him marrying a mad woman, wasn’t it, and then going blind in the end.’ Fay thought about that for a second. ‘Yeah. Good yarn that, and at least Jane knew some happiness at last. Even if she did have to wait half a lifetime for it.’
Alice wasn’t surprised that Fay had read the book. Beneath her brashness was an intelligent and thoughtful person. Alice had worked that out almost as soon as they’d met. And there hadn’t been any of her normal expletives as she’d spoken just then. She seemed to like talking about a mutual interest.
Fay’s eyes dropped to the pile of letters which Alice had taken from the wallet and spread out on the quilt in front of her. ‘Those from your bloke?’ she asked bluntly. Fay didn’t believe in beating about the bush.
Alice’s hand automatically covered the letters up…these were something else she knew by heart. They were so beautifully written, every word beautiful to her, despite the dates on the top of some of them going back many years. Then – ‘Um…yes…in a way…’ she stuttered. ‘I…we’ve…known each other a very long time, but I don’t think I can actually say he is my bloke,’ she said truthfully.
‘But you wish you could?’ Fay said, her tone surprisingly gentle.
There was a long, long pause. ‘Yes, I wish I could,’ Alice said quietly.
‘So – what’s the problem?’ Fay’s query was direct, as usual. ‘Another woman in the way?’
Another long pause. ‘Another woman – and a different…life,’ Alice said slowly.
Fay half-sat up, leaning on her elbow. ‘And where do you live – you know – normally? With your parents?’
Alice didn’t look across as she answered. ‘My parents are both dead,’ she said quietly. ‘So – I have digs in Totterdown with a lovely lady called Gloria. I can walk to work from there.’ She smiled. ‘Gloria insists on spoiling me.’
For a few moments neither of them spoke, then Fay jerked her head in Eve’s direction. ‘D’you think our Evie’s got a boyfriend, or ever been kissed?’ she said quietly.
Alice folded her letters carefully, and put them back in the wallet.
‘Don’t know. Perhaps she’ll tell us one day,’ she whispered, though Alice doubted whether Eve would ever give much away about herself. She was obviously the shy sort – unlike Fay, who was the direct opposite. Fay was probably a revelation to the girl whose life seemed to have revolved around her parents and the quiet mustiness of a music shop.
Well, they were going to have plenty of time to get to know each other properly, Alice thought, though how long, nobody really knew. No one had the slightest idea how long this war was going to last…
They could still be working on this farm months…years…from now.
And the start of day number one was only a couple of hours away…
Chapter Three (#ulink_e44cd7cc-c63f-59db-8e3e-0d84872b2aaa)
It was barely light and suddenly it sounded as if all hell had broken loose.
Right beneath their window, the massive herd of cows was trudging towards the milking sheds, their hooves clumping along the sludgy path, their bellows competing with the barking of the sheepdog as it encouraged them to get a move on. And Roger’s voice adding to the din with his persistent “come on there…ey-yah, ey-yah.”
And above and beyond all that was the ear-splitting screech from the cockerel in the large chicken run nearby, and the sound of a tractor rumbling past at full throttle.
It was 4.30.
The three girls awoke almost simultaneously and sat up, staring at each other blearily.
‘Blimey,’ was the only word that Fay could manage.
Just then there was a tap on the door and Mabel’s voice outside. ‘Hot water ’ere for you,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Your breakfast’ll be ready in an hour, so there’s plenty of time… ’Ope you all slept well, luvvers! Tis another lovely day!’
With no one saying very much, they began to get ready, taking turns at the basin before getting dressed in their uniforms.
Fay was the first to pull on her breeches and thrust her feet into her long woollen socks and brogues, before slipping on her shirt, leaving the three top buttons undone. Then, sitting on the edge of her bed, she began applying her make-up, and combing her hair, leaving it loose. She looked across at the others, who’d nearly finished getting ready, watched Eve still brushing out her thick curls, which was taking her a long time - well, there was a lot of it. Though Alice didn’t seem to have much difficulty with her dark browny-black glossy hair, which she was plaiting rapidly before pinning up out of the way. Fay studied her for a second.
Alice had a soft, heart-shaped face, dominated by jewel-green eyes, her expression sometimes pensive and preoccupied, Fay thought. She seemed to wear little make-up – if any – though she had now begun to smooth on some cold cream. Fay shrugged inwardly. She was not going to change her ways just because they were out here, far away from everything. She’d always loved make-up – especially the bright red lipstick favoured by glamorous American stars in the pictures. She made a face to herself. They weren’t going to see any films in this God-forsaken part of the world – and no one knew how their time off was going to work out either…whether they’d be able to get a lift back to Bristol and see a bit of life…perhaps go to the Odeon, or the Gaumont. Even to think about it made Fay remember the smell of the plush seats as you went in, the soft carpet under your feet as you edged your way along the rows. The fug of cigarette smoke, the sense of anticipation as you waited for the programme to begin. The second feature, the B movie came first, often a cowboy one, then the Pathe News – and finally the big one. The one you’d really come to see. To inhabit, just for an hour or two, the glitz, the glamour, the amazing lifestyles of the American populace…
Alice finished what she was doing and stood up. ‘Well, that’s me done,’ she said in a somewhat resigned tone. With such basic facilities, getting ready for the day didn’t take long. And after a moment’s thought she added, ‘Who’s going to be the first to have a hip bath? It’s not going to be very luxurious!’
Fay shrugged. ‘I’ll volunteer to try it out,’ she said, ‘especially if Roger’ll offer to come and scrub me back!’
Alice laughed, and glanced across at Eve who had been quietly getting ready. She looked rather pale and was saying very little. But she did look quite cute in her uniform, Alice thought. And the hat would suit her, perched on top of all those curls.
‘Are you feeling OK, Evie?’ she said, hoping that the new nickname would cheer the girl up. ‘Did you manage to get much sleep last night?’
‘I think so – eventually,’ Eve said, ‘I thought you two were well away before I’d even closed my eyes.’
‘Wrong,’ Alice said cheerfully. ‘It was the middle of the night before the sandman threw anything into my eyes…but, strangely, I don’t feel particularly bad this morning,’ she added. ‘In fact, I think I’m ready to pull up a few of those potatoes!’
‘And I’m ready for some breakfast,’ Fay said decisively. ‘Come on – let’s go down…does anyone smell bacon and eggs and black sausage and mushrooms…?’
Eve gave her a watery smile, and said that a slice of toast and marmalade would be enough for her, after that huge supper last night.
Mabel greeted them as they went into the kitchen. ‘Good, there y ’are,’ she said. ‘And don’t you all ever look lovely! Uniform suits you fine! Now then – the porridge is there in that pot on the range, just ’elp yerselves to as much as you want. And there’s plenty of milk to keep you going, straight from our own cows, so couldn’t be fresher.’ She brought a large white enamel jug over to the table and put it down. ‘And I expect you like sugar with yours, so there’s the bowl. Just ’elp yerselves.’
‘Oh…thank you, Mrs. Foulkes,’ Alice said, not catching Fay’s eye. So much for bacon and eggs!
But Mabel hadn’t finished, putting a big crusty loaf, a knife, some butter and a pot of home-made jam onto the table. ‘There – you just ‘elp yerselves, won’t you. And Roger’ll be coming in soon to take you up the field.’ She stood with her hands on her hips for a few seconds, looking at them each in turn. ‘I ‘ope you’ll be ’appy with us here, luvvers,’ she said slowly. Having three women – three girls – on the farm instead of all men was going to be a nice change for Mabel. She’d been looking forward to it as soon as she’d known it was going to happen. ‘Now, I gotta go and finish getting they eggs in,’ she began, and Alice interrupted –
‘I’d love to help you with that sometimes, Mrs. Foulkes – if I’m not needed anywhere else, of course,’ she said eagerly. Alice had a picture-book view of putting her hands into warm straw and finding a lovely brown egg nestling beneath…
‘’Course you can, luvver – but s’mornin’ those ’taters d’come first I’m afraid!’
As she turned to go, Fay said tentatively – ‘Um…how far are we from the village, Mrs. Foulkes?’ She wanted to say – how far were they from any kind of civilization at all. ‘And is there a bus service into Bristol…or into anywhere?’ she added hopefully.
Mabel pursed her lips. ‘We used to get two buses a day, ’afore this war,’ she said, ‘but now all we get is a charabanc twice a week – Sundays and Wednesdays. The train sometimes stops at the Halt – but it’s only a branch line and I dunno the times. I ‘aven’t used the thing for yers.’
‘But I take it you have some shops…somewhere…?’ Fay said.
‘’Course!’ Mabel said at once. ‘The village is only a mile and a half away, though there’s only the one shop, really – but it’s big – an’ they sell a bit of everythin’! An’ the chemist is next door. Then a ’ course there’s our church by the green – next the war memorial and the school. And there’s the pub…the Wheatsheaf…and the bakery, next to the telephone box…mind, we get a bread delivery come in from one of the towns each mornin’ but, well, the little bakery everyone uses is not really a shop,’ Mabel went on, ‘see, the twins, Eileen and Esther, have run the place from their house for yers and yers. They got a big front room, see, and they sell everythin’ from the open window first thing each mornin’…and they never ever fail. ’Course, tis only bread and buns, though sometimes there’s somethin’ a bit more fancy.’ Mabel paused reflectively. ‘We’ve never got our bread from them, a’course, because I do all our bakin’ meself, like most others do.’ She folded her arms. ‘An’ there’s our WI hut where they have whist drives every Tuesday and Thursday evenin’s, and some Saturdays there might be a film showin’ as well… I know Rog goes up there if it’s summat he wants to see.’
Fay had stopped listening. At least there was a pub!
After Mabel had gone, the girls filled their bowls with the porridge then went over to the table and sat down. Eve stared down at hers and shuddered.
‘I don’t really eat porridge,’ she said, ‘and not this thick.’
‘Well – dilute it, Evie,’ Fay said, pushing the jug of milk across.
‘What – with raw milk?’ Eve said, shocked at the thought of swallowing anything that hadn’t been made bug-free. ‘I think it would make me sick!’
‘No, it wouldn’t,’ Alice said reassuringly. ‘The Foulkes family obviously drink nothing else., and they look fit enough to me.’
‘Yes…but it’s not the same for them,’ Eve said. ‘They’re used to it…they’ve obviously become immune to any infection, haven’t they…’
Fay, who was thoroughly enjoying her porridge, put her spoon in and took another mouthful. ‘And that’s what’ll happen to us, Evie,’ she said. ‘We’ll get used to everything, and become strong and hearty Land Girls, living off the fat of the land!’ She scraped the bowl with her spoon and got up. ‘I’m having seconds!’
Presently, they made their way outside and into the yard where Roger was waiting for them.
‘Morning,’ he said easily, grinning down at the girls, and once again not believing his luck. They were all so smashing- looking – even in their uniforms – and always so friendly…he’d been wondering who was going to turn up. Living out here and working on the farm as he had for most of his life, Roger didn’t meet many new people…certainly not new women…and the village girls, most of whom he’d been to school with, were hardly exciting company any more. And a lot of them had moved on, and out.
Now all he had to do was to show these city types the ropes. And he was going to enjoy it.
‘You’ll be up the top today,’ he said as they fell into step beside him. ‘We didn’t manage to get up to the potato fields last night, did we?’ He glanced down. ‘It’s another pot boiler, so good job you’ve got those hats on!’
After a good five or six minute hike, they came to the field. Roger pushed open the gate and went in and the girls followed him. And for a few seconds neither of them uttered a word as they stared around.
The field went on for ever, disappearing into the far distance…almost further than the eye could see…with rows and rows and rows of plants rustling gently in the slight breeze. Wheel barrows and long-handled forks were there by the hedge, and Roger said –
‘Well, there you are, help yourselves to that lot! They’re ready to come up so there won’t be any problem.’ He picked up one of the forks. ‘Approach the plant from the side, see, like this, and start gently so as to try and not damage any potatoes, then dig, lift and shake.’ With his strong brown hands and muscular arms, the task seemed easy going for Roger, and he’d lifted half a dozen plants in a few seconds. ‘Then just fill up your buckets with the spuds, and chuck the plants into the wheelbarrows,’ he went on, ‘and I’ll return with the trailer every now and then to take everything down to the sheds.’ He stood back. ‘Have a go,’ he suggested.
The girls each picked up a fork and started digging, and as Roger had said it wasn’t a complicated assignment – it was just that it appeared to be endless. Fay glanced up from under her hat.
‘Um – how long d’you think it’ll take us to finish this particular field, Roger?’ she said. Farmer Foulkes had intimated that there was more than one. ‘It’s a far bigger area than I’d thought it was going to be…d’you think the war’ll be over before we dig up the last spud?’
Roger laughed at that. He liked a woman with a sense of humour. ‘Get away with you,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Once you get going it’ll get easier and easier.’ He grinned. ‘But it might take you a couple of days,’ he admitted.
He stood with his hands on his hips watching them for a few minutes – enjoying seeing them tackle a job which none of them had ever done before. It was funny having women on their land – women who managed to look good, look enticing, even when wearing those brown uniforms. And they were getting on with the job without question. Fay had already lifted a dozen plants, and Alice seemed to know exactly what to do as she lifted and pulled, though Eve seemed at a bit of a loss, standing back now and then as if hoping the potatoes would pop up by themselves.
But of the three girls, it was Fay who intrigued Roger Foulkes. There was something about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on – not that he had that much experience of women, he admitted – but she seemed different. One on her own. With a sort of devil-may-care attitude, as if she could take on the whole world if she wanted to, single-handed, and everyone had better look out. And he liked that. But he also sensed that she was hiding behind something, hiding behind the persona she liked to portray, hiding behind a kind of veneer. Roger shrugged at his own introspection. None of that really mattered as long as these Land Girls managed to convince his father that they were worth the money he’d be paying them.
But the best thing he liked about Fay Reynolds was that she certainly seemed fun to be around – good for a laugh, good for a joke…they were all giggling about something now, as they worked, at something Fay had just said. Yet Roger instinctively felt that you’d better be careful not to go too far with her…not to overstep the mark. To play the game – whatever it was – on her terms. And that she had her own very specific point of no return.
She stood back now and went towards him, carrying an armful of plants and her almost-full bucket of potatoes over to the wheelbarrows. She poked her tongue out at him as she went by. ‘Wha’ ya staring at, Roger Foulkes?’ she enquired breezily. ‘Ain’t we working fast enough for you?’
‘Oh…’course you are…you’re doing fine,’ Roger stuttered, suddenly embarrassed. He hadn’t realized that he’d been standing there watching them for so long.
‘Well, that’s all right then!’ Fay exclaimed. ‘It wouldn’t look good to get the sack on our first day, would it?’
At the end of the day, after they’d eaten a generous meal of baked gammon with the family, Alice, Fay and Eve were in their bedroom, thankful at last for a chance to have a rest. They’d lit their candles again, though by now they’d got used to the poor light from the ceiling bulb, managing very quickly to feel their way around for what they wanted. Unbelievably, it was already beginning to feel less strange…even a tiny bit like home…
Fay was sitting on the floor, soaking her feet. She’d half-filled the basin with warm water and was leaning back on her elbows, gazing up at the ceiling.
‘That was not a job, that was an endurance test,’ she said emphatically. ‘Once or twice during the afternoon I thought I was hallucinating – I thought I could hear voices…and not just yours!’ She swished her feet around in the water gently.
‘You might have had a touch of sun stroke,’ Alice suggested from her prone position on the bed. ‘It was certainly hot enough…my mouth was so dry at times I nearly choked.’ She glanced over at Eve who was sitting cross-legged on her pillow, her hands poised in front of her as if she was praying. She’d hardly said a word at supper, but had managed to finish everything on her plate. In spite of the basket of bread and cheese, apples, and flasks of tea and elderflower cordial that Mabel had sent up to the field, they’d all been famished by the time they’d sat down to eat at 8.30…it had been a long, long day.
‘You’re quiet, Evie…are you feeling OK?’ Alice enquired.
‘I’m not feeling too bad, thanks,’ Eve said. ‘But my hands feel really sore…look – the skin’s broken in a few places and it’s stinging.’ She examined her fingers, flexing them gently as if trying to ease away the pain. ‘I suppose wearing gloves would be frowned on, might slow us up – if we’d been given any in the first place,’ she said.
Alice smiled to herself. She hoped Eve wouldn’t bring out the little white ones she’d been wearing yesterday. Yesterday? It felt as if they’d been away a month already!
‘I think Roger was pretty pleased with how much we got done today,’ Alice said. ‘I heard him talking to Mr. Foulkes –who I gather had gone up to the field himself later, to check up that we hadn’t been wasting time and lying around sunbathing…and they both seemed to agree that we’d done all right.’ She turned over, trying to ease her aching back. ‘So we’re going to be doing it all again tomorrow, but at least we know what digging potatoes is all about.’
Eve looked at her a touch reproachfully. ‘You said it was fun, Alice,’ she said. ‘When you used to do it.’
‘Yes – but we only had one or two rows!’ Alice said. ‘Not hundreds and hundreds and hundreds!’
After a minute she looked down at Fay. ‘Is there any chance that we might have the basin soon, Fay – you know, like before dawn breaks?’ Alice’s own feet were throbbing like a set of drums.
‘’Course,’ Fay said amiably. ‘Just as soon as one of you passes me a fag. It’ll be the first one today and I’m getting desperate.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Eve said at once. She got off the bed and opened Fay’s handbag, then took a cigarette from the packet and struck one of the matches. ‘Shall I light it for you?’ she said. ‘Because your hands are wet, aren’t they…’
Alice raised an eyebrow slightly, and Fay said – ‘Yeah, go on…Thanks, Evie.’
Eve put the cigarette into her mouth, touched the end with the lighted match, then drew in gently, just enough for the cigarette to glow, following it with one or two brief puffs. Then she went across, bent down, and put it in Fay’s mouth.
For once, Fay was almost lost for words, and Eve said – ‘Thanks. I’ve always wanted to see what smoking was like.’
‘Well –as you didn’t inhale, that wasn’t really smoking,’ Fay said, smiling, ‘but if any of mine go missing, I’ll know who’s nicked ’em.’
At last, with the candles snuffed, they were all ready to lie down and go to sleep. And perhaps it wouldn’t take her quite so long tonight, Alice thought, perhaps she was so tired the bed might even begin to feel comfortable…
By now, they’d all stopped talking, and her gaze slid across to the others. Fay still had her eyes wide open, and aware that she was being watched, she turned her head and gave Alice a quick smile.
And as Alice smiled back, she couldn’t help thinking about Fay’s life behind the counter at Woolworths, and about her father, and why she wanted him killed. What a dreadful thought that was!
And Alice couldn’t help being sorry for Eve who seemed to feel guilty at being alive. That, too, was a dreadful thought…
All this introspection was reminding Alice of her own life, and that she’d promised to write to Gloria as soon as she could. She hoped that Gloria was OK, living in the house by herself.
And now, almost drifting off, Alice thought about Helena… Helena had no idea that Alice was in the Land Army doing her bit, because she hadn’t told her. (The call-up had all happened rather quickly.) In fact, she hadn’t told any of the Carmichael family. All their letters had become a little less frequent lately. But she would write to Helena soon, Alice assured herself. She knew Helena would be interested.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Eve sat up and got out of bed, pulling out her suitcase for something inside. Then she moved over to the others, holding out her hand.
‘I’d forgotten about these,’ she said softly – even though there was no need to whisper – ‘And once they’d entered my mind, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep without one. I hope they haven’t melted too much.’ She passed a small bar of Fry’s milk chocolate to Fay and Alice, then tore off the paper of her own and began to eat, her expression ecstatic.
Without the slightest hesitation the others did the same. Was there anything more delicious in the whole world than a bar of milk chocolate…whatever the circumstances…
‘We can call this our first midnight feast!’ Alice exclaimed. She knew all about midnight feasts! ‘We’ll have to think of something to have for tomorrow…’
‘And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,’ Fay agreed, finishing her bar and licking the paper until it was completely clean. ‘Thanks, Evie!’
‘I just can’t believe that I had room for another thing after that supper,’ Alice said, as she finished hers. ‘And I didn’t think to pack any sweets…..
‘Oh well, – I’d actually bought these bars for my parents, but they told me to put them in my case instead,’ Eve said.
‘Well then – thanks very much, Evie’s mum and dad!’ Fay exclaimed, flapping the empty wrapper about in the air like a flag. ‘Not my usual night-cap – but it’ll do nicely for now!’
Chapter Four (#ulink_e195412c-426d-5563-a1fd-3495ddefbe1c)
Bristol 1930
‘Well, I hope you’re counting your blessings, Miss!’
The maid’s flat-toned voice intruded unpleasantly on ten-year-old Alice’s thoughts as she unpacked her small bag of clothes and began putting them in the bottom drawer of the cabinet.
‘I’ll remember to do that, Lizzie,’ she said calmly, glancing up at the young, uniformed figure standing in the doorway of Alice’s new room – the room she would be sharing with her mother from now on.
‘Humph’, Lizzie snorted. ‘Anyway, you and your Ma were only asked to live in because of your Pa being killed. That’s what Cook said.’ A thin smile played on the pale lips. ‘A stroke of luck that he was, then, eh?’
Alice straightened up, tossing her thick, dark plait over her shoulder angrily, her green eyes flashing with savage indignation. Although her father had never been a constant member of the family – well, how could he be, with his job – Alice had always loved him dearly and the thought that anyone should think it was a good thing he was dead was obnoxious. She moved purposefully towards Lizzie – who involuntarily took a step back, realizing she’d gone too far.
‘Don’t you dare say that,’ Alice said quietly. ‘My papa was a valued member of the crew – the captain told my mother. And they were sorry that he’d died. Everyone was sorry.’ Alice bit her lip hard. She was not going to shed even one tear in front of the maid, even though the lump in her throat was nearly killing her. ‘What you just said Lizzie was…despicable!’
‘Ho! Hoity-toity! Des…des…picabubble…am I? What sort of word is that?’ Lizzie retorted.
Well, if you read some books you might know what the word meant, Alice thought.
Reading had been Ada, Alice’s mother’s solace during her lonely hours, and she’d instilled the love of literature in her daughter. Alice could read fluently by the time she was six, and she was seldom away from school.
‘Oh, just go away, Lizzie, I’ve got things to do,’ she said airily, turning away.
Alone at last, Alice sat on the edge of the big double bed for a moment, her eyes welling up with the tears she’d managed to hold back. Although her father had only ever been back for one week at a time, and then gone again for six, Alice always looked forward to his home-coming, for them to be together again, just the three of them, in the two-bed terrace house they rented in Hotwells. And Alice’s father would always bring them little presents from wherever he’d been, and tell them how much he’d missed them while he’d been away.
And Ada never once complained about the fact that her jovial husband spent much of his leave down at the pub with his friends, often coming home so drunk she had to put him to bed to sleep it off. And when, one day, Alice had commented on this fact to her mother, she had been gently rebuked.
‘It’s the way with some people, with some men, Alice,’ she’d said. ‘Your Pa needs to have one or two drinks when he’s ashore. God alone knows how he – how his ship – survived the Great War. He…he deserves to be able to relax when he’s ashore.’ But Ada herself never touched a drop of anything, and refused to have alcohol in the house.
‘It’s the devil’s medicine, Alice,’ she said once. ‘Remember that.’
Ada was a spare- framed woman, prematurely grey, with shrewd eyes and a nature to match. She’d always known that the man she loved was not the sort to be relied upon, so three years ago she’d applied for the post of nanny to the five children of Professor Edward Carmichael, the eminent Bristol surgeon. And she couldn’t have known that the day she was ushered into the vast, high-ceilinged morning room at the big house in Clifton for her interview with Helena Carmichael, it was to change her and her daughter’s life for ever.
Mrs. Carmichael was a classically elegant woman with aristocratic, high cheek bones, widely spaced blue eyes and a perfect, sculptured mouth. Her blonde hair was swept up into a large shining knot on top of her head, and her pale, unblemished hands were calm and unhurried as her fingers turned the pages she was holding. Ada, slightly awe-struck to be in the presence of such a person, instinctively buried her own work-worn hands behind her bag, trying not to feel a lesser mortal. But Helena Carmichael’s friendly manner quickly laid any fears to rest, and after almost an hour’s conversation together, she’d said –
‘Well, I was very impressed with your letter of application, Mrs.Watts, and together with the glowing reference given to me by the vicar of St. Stephen’s church, I am quite certain that you are going to suit us very well…very well indeed.’ She’d glanced again at the papers in front of her. ‘So… I have great pleasure in offering you the position.’
‘Thank you, Madam,’ Ada had said quietly.
‘But of course – before you agree, I am sure you would like to meet the children? They are upstairs in the nursery.’
Ada had followed her future employer up the dark-oak winding staircase to the first floor, the whiff of polish, of orderliness, of affluence, making her senses swim briefly. She had never been anywhere like it before, but she had known such places existed because she had read about them often enough in classical literature. She wondered briefly if Mrs. Carmichael and her kind knew anything at all about how other people lived, just a mile or so away from here…the poverty, the squalor. Ada’s house was not squalid, and they were not that poor because her husband was employed. But the seven children living next door had no father that anyone was aware of, and often no shoes on their feet, either. Ada regularly took them in a basket of food when she knew things were really bad, and when the last baby had been born she’d helped another local woman to deliver the child, and for some months afterwards had done their pathetic washing.
Upstairs on the first floor, Ada had been ushered into the massive nursery where the children spent most of their day, overseen by the present nanny who was soon to depart to have her own child.
There were two sets of twins – the boys, David and John who were five, and the girls, Rose and Margaret, who were just two. None was identical, but they all shared the same tousled, curly hair, the same dark eyes. They were alert and interested as they gazed up at Ada.
‘Well, here they all are, Mrs. Watts,’ Helena Carmichael had said. ‘A tutor comes in each morning for two hours to teach the boys their lessons, and if at times it becomes necessary, I can always get you extra help with the girls. And of course, you have yet to meet Samuel, our eldest, who is ten, well almost eleven, and at boarding school. But he’ll soon be home for the holidays.’ She had glanced at Ada quickly. ‘And your own daughter…Alice….she is seven, I think you said?’
‘Yes,’ Ada had replied. Then, summoning all her courage she’d said deferentially – ‘Could I…may I have your approval that Alice comes up here at the end of each school day at 3 o’clock? I…I would not like to think of her home alone until I get back much later in the evening.’
‘Of course you have my approval!’ Mrs. Carmichael had replied. ‘And Alice must have her tea with you and the children. Cook bakes cakes most afternoons.’
‘Thank you, Madam,’ Ada said.
‘But…’ Helena had frowned briefly. ‘It’s surely going to be a very long walk for Alice all the way up here to Clifton, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, Alice is more than capable of walking the distance,’ Ada had replied at once. ‘She is strong, and very capable…a very sensible child. She will be happy to give me a hand with the children sometimes…I know she would love to read them their bedtime stories.’
Helena had nodded happily. ‘And you are quite sure that the hours will fit in with your own domestic requirements?’ she’d enquired. Ada was to come in by 8 o’clock each day to give the children their breakfasts, and to stay until 7 o’clock in the evening, after their baths. With Sundays and one afternoon off each week.
‘Quite sure, thank you, Madam,’ Ada had replied.
‘Then that’s all settled! We shall look forward to you being part of our staff…part of the family, Mrs. Watts,’ Helena had said.
‘Please call me Ada,’ Ada had said simply.
On the following Monday she’d arrived for work as arranged, and was formally introduced to Professor Carmichael. He was immensely tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a fulsome beard, already tinged with grey. His granite-black eyes twinkled behind the spectacles he was wearing, and when he spoke, his voice was deep, and reassuringly personal…and he had a way of tilting his head to one side slightly. Which Ada found very engaging.
‘I do hope you will be happy with us, Mrs. Watts,’ he had said, adding, ‘and don’t let those rascally boys get the better of you, will you?’
Then almost immediately he had left the house to go to the Infirmary where he spent very long days in the operating theatre.
And for the next three years Ada had revelled in her new position.
Alice, too, soon became used to this way of life, could hardly wait for the end of the school day when, as fast as her legs could carry her she would half-walk, half-run up Park Street, and Whiteladies Road and Blackboy Hill until she came to Clifton Downs and the auspicious rank of elegant dwellings owned largely by wealthy merchants of the city – the Merchant Venturers, many of whom had made their fortunes from the slave trade. She would let herself in at the tradesman’s entrance and to the wonderful smell of Cook’s baking, before going up the back stairs – never up the front stairs which were for family, Ada had instructed her – to the nursery where her mother would be doing some ironing or amusing the children or helping the boys with a simple lesson their tutor had left them, or sometimes getting them to recite a poem or two.
Then bliss! Cook would lay tea on the wide table by the window and they’d all eat her wonderful cakes and biscuits and little sandwiches, usually finishing up with fruit from a huge crystal bowl. Sometimes Mrs. Carmichael would come up at this point, but not often because she was very busy with her charity work. Mrs. Carmichael was an amazing woman, Cook said, and it was a pity there weren’t more like her.
For Alice, her only problem was Lizzie. Lizzie was fourteen years old and was brought to the house every morning and collected each day after tea. Her job was to run errands and do odd jobs and help the two cleaning ladies who came in every other day. Alice knew that Lizzie hated her.
‘Lizzie hates me,’ Alice said to her mother one day.
‘Hate is a terrible word,’ Ada replied.
Before even a year had passed, it was arranged that a car would arrive in the morning to fetch Ada, and another one to collect Alice from school in the afternoons. That was all to do with the foul wintry weather they were having, Cook said at the time. Cook knew the reason for everything.
Not only that, on the week of merchant seaman Watts’s leave ashore, Mrs. Carmichael insisted that Ada worked a much shorter day so that she could be at home to spend some time with her husband.
Alice had loved this new life, loved everything about it, and young as she was she recognized this part of her childhood as having a story-book feel. The best of all possible worlds…
But most of all she loved being with Samuel when he came home from boarding school. She would listen, round-eyed, to all his tales…that he was having to learn Latin and Greek, and learn great chunks of the bible off by heart. That they all had to do “prep” after lessons finished, and that the last meal of the day was “supper” at 6.30 and that the food wasn’t very nice – not as good as Cook’s. And that he had to be up very early each morning, how he shared a “Dorm” with seven others and that everyone had to make their own beds. And about the pranks they played on each other and that no talking was allowed after lights-out. He told her about the sports they played, and that he’d been chosen as captain of their Junior House cricket team. To Alice, it was a dream fantasy world and she devoured everything Samuel was saying in his gentle, well-modulated voice as if she could catch some of it for herself.
And soon, they’d begun to write letters to each other, Alice using her careful, rounded handwriting to tell him about the goings-on in the nursery, and of her day at school. And Sam would write back, almost at once, always addressing his letters to the house in Clifton.
Then, a few weeks after Alice’s tenth birthday, when her father’s ship had just docked, they received terrible news.
Before his feet had even touched the ground, Alice’s father, drunk as a lord, had fallen overboard, crushing his arm badly against the side of the vessel. He was rushed to hospital but died a week later from an infection.
That had been seven weeks ago, and one day, Helena said –
‘Why not come and settle here with us, Ada? It would be more convenient for you than renting your home… Professor Carmichael and I have discussed it and we would love to have you living-in. The children adore you – and they adore Alice – so it would be good for all of us, wouldn’t it?’ She paused. ‘And with the housing shortage still so dreadful after the War, it would mean your place would be available for others.’
That point clinched it for Ada as she thought about it. Although it was true that it was just the girls – Rose and Margaret, to take care of during term time – since David and John had joined Sam at his boarding school – Ada was always happy to do general housework if required, and would sometimes help Betty do the vegetables – especially if the Carmichaels were entertaining. And if she and Alice did come to live here permanently, then they would be on hand at night time when the professor and his wife had to go out. There often seemed to be dinner engagements and various social occasions for them to attend. And for her own part, it would be a relief to Ada that she and her daughter were to be well-housed and well-fed, and that she no longer had the responsibility of finding the money for rent and household bills.
So Ada gave notice to the landlord of their furnished accommodation, and at the end of the month she and Alice packed their belongings into two large suitcases and a couple of bags. And watched by groups of curious neighbours, they shut the front door behind them and got into the car which had arrived to take them away from that part of their lives for ever.
Now, having in no uncertain terms told Lizzie to buzz off, Alice remained on the edge of the bed for a while, thinking. Then she lay right down, resting her head on one of the soft pillows. The wide mattress felt firm and comfortable under her back, and it didn’t have any creaky springs. Alice had thought that all beds creaked and groaned when you moved.
Their accommodation was on the second floor of the house, and it comprised this large room, a small sitting room next door, and at the very end of the long landing was their bathroom. Imagine – a lavatory that wasn’t outside in the back yard! And with a long bath you could lie back in instead of a hip bath that forced you to hug your knees!
Alice smiled to herself, and wriggled down further on the bed, wishing that it was night time so that she could get right under the pristine sheets and thick, white cotton counterpane, and dream some wonderful dreams. Except she didn’t need to dream now, because reality was wonderful enough.
Dear Samuel
Isn’t it funny that I always put “Dear Samuel” when I start my letters, instead of “Dear Sam” – which is what I’ve always called you.
Well, we have been here for four weeks and my mother and I have settled in very well. I must say it is lovely not to be living in Hotwells, though of course I still go to school there. But I don’t mind. I wish I was at your school. Do you think I could disguise myself as a boy?
We have gone back to see our neighbours twice since we left because my mother is worried that the children don’t have enough to eat, and the youngest baby is poorly again. So on our way down the town we bought bread and buns and oranges for them. They were all very pleased to see us.
Rose and Margaret had a fight the other afternoon you will be sorry to learn. It took my mother ages to get the plasticine out of their hair. It hurt them and made them cry and she said it was their own fault and they shouldn’t be so silly next time. My mother can be a hard woman!
I think I told you the other day that Lizzie hates me. Do you know why that could be? She’s always looking at me in a funny way and stares me out. Rather uncomfortable!
I’m sorry you only have bread and butter and marmalade for tea. Shall I ask Cook to send you a food parcel for a midnight feast? Ha Ha.
Have you seen the twins yet? Do they like it at your school?
I must tell you something. Your parents were going out somewhere special last week and I hid upstairs on the landing and spied them just as they were leaving. Your mother was wearing a long red gown and she had a diamond clip – or perhaps it was a tiara – in her hair. It sparkled like anything and she looked like a queen, or a princess. And Professor Carmichael was in full evening dress. They looked like two film stars. And then – help, help!!! They suddenly looked up and saw me watching them and they smiled and gave me a little wave. I was so embarrassed1!!!
The summer holidays will soon be here again, thank goodness, and I can’t wait for you all to come home again.
I hope you are well. My mother and I are both well.
Best wishes, Alice.
Dear Alice
Thank you for your letter. I am sorry I haven’t replied sooner but we’ve been having end of term exams and I’ve been doing a lot of revising. I think I have done OK – here’s hoping!
I was not surprised to hear about the girls scrapping. They’ve always done it. But the thought of them sticking themselves up with plasticine made me laugh.
I have spotted John and David in the far distance but we don’t mix at all. Anyway, I shall see enough of them in the holidays, thank you very much!
Our main production this year was Midsummer Night’s Dream. I elected to help with scenery and lighting. It was very good. Have you ever seen it?
It will soon be Speech Day and the end of term service for the whole school. There’s always a bishop or some other big fish present, but I haven’t heard who the lucky person is this time.
Then there is the LAST SUPPER. Note the capital letters! It’s always on the last Saturday before we come home. The kitchen staff make an unusual effort on this occasion, and the menu will be put up on the notice board soon. It’s usually something like roast lamb or chicken and there are always lovely puddings. Nearly as good as Cook’s – but not quite!
By the way I’m sorry about Lizzie staring you out. Very uncomfortable, I agree. But did you know she’s an orphan, living in Muller’s Orphanage? Have you heard of George Muller? I will tell you about him when I come home. I believe the orphanage is a very nice place, but it can’t be as good as being at home with a family, can it?
I must close now because it will soon be lights-out.
Give my best wishes to your mother.
Kind regards, Sam.
PS. I nearly forgot to mention…our House won the cricket tournament outright! I was lifted up on some shoulders, and the team did a victory parade around the ground. (I didn’t forget – just wanted to keep that bit of news until last. S)
Alice read and re-read every line of the letter. Then she folded it carefully so that it would fit inside the prettily painted box – a gift from her father – kept specially for all her treasures.
But before tucking it away, she lifted the letter to her lips and kissed it softly.
December
As she remained quietly kneeling on the floor by her side of the bed. Alice wondered what on earth her mother found to say to God each night. Alice’s own prayers took hardly any time at all – in fact she often repeated them all again in case her mother thought she wasn’t taking the matter seriously enough.
The procedure followed an identical pattern. First, Alice recited the Lord’s Prayer, followed by an urgent request that all her sins would be forgiven. After that, she asked for a blessing on her mother, and that her father was happy in heaven – well he must surely be settled up there by now – though probably not enjoying the devil’s medicine. Next, with a rush of compassion, the names of all the children in Hotwells would be mouthed silently, and, through gritted teeth, a quick prayer for Lizzie’s health, and a much warmer thought for Betty, the best cook ever, thank you God. And then Alice would ask that Professor Carmichael and his wife and children would all have long life and happiness.
But at the very end would be Samuel, whose name she would repeat several times in case God wasn’t listening properly. That He would look after Sam, and that Sam would always be her friend. Her very best friend.
Presently, at last, Ada rose from her knees and Alice immediately followed suit. Together, they turned back the counterpane and got into bed, Ada sighing briefly. The girls had been difficult today, and she was tired.
It was the beginning of December, and Ada and Alice had been truly part of the Carmichael’s house for more than six months. To Alice, it seemed that she’d never lived anywhere else, that this really was home.
‘I hope you won’t catch the girls’ colds,’ Ada said. ‘They’ve been so crotchety today – quarrelling non-stop.’
Alice stared up at the white ceiling for a few moments, her eyes tracing the ornate mouldings and cornices. ‘This is a huge room, isn’t it,’ she said. ‘Are all the other bedrooms in the house as big as ours?’
‘They’re even bigger on the first floor where the family sleeps,’ Ada replied. ‘I’m glad I don’t have to clean them.’
There was silence for a while as Alice thought about that. Then – ‘Mama – can I ask you something very private?’
‘Of course,’ Ada said.
‘What do you find to say to God? I mean, your prayers take you such a long time,’ Alice said slowly.
Her mother smiled in the darkness. ‘Oh well, I have so much to thank Him for, don’t I? I give thanks for kind employers, and a very nice home to live in. And I ask that everyone in the country will soon be able to find work, and that the government will take good care of all the injured men from the War. And that my daughter will be a good girl!’ She reached across to the bedside table. ‘Now then, it’s your turn to read tonight, isn’t it,’ she said, handing Alice their copy of Persuasion.
Alice opened it eagerly, removing the bookmark. From the very beginning of the novel she’d thought of herself as Anne Elliot, and because she already knew the story Alice longed for the end when all difficulties would be resolved and she and the handsome Captain Wentworth would finally be together.
Before beginning to read, she said -‘I wonder why, in books, it always takes such a long time to reach the happy ending? There are always so many problems to sort out before everyone gets what they want,’ she went on. ‘It seems such hard work for them all to be truly happy.’
‘I suppose because that’s what real life is all about,’ Ada said.
Alice looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Did you and Papa have a lot of problems,’ she enquired, ‘before you eventually got married? And then…did you really know that he was the one you wanted?’
Ada didn’t answer straightaway as she thought of her own life. Of her parents, both dead before reaching middle age, of her two brothers killed at the Front, then of meeting Stanley Watts. Older than herself, and so good-looking in his naval uniform, so roguish and full of fun. She was a part-time cleaner at a public house near the Docks where the regulars frequently gathered when in port, and he’d picked her out straightaway. Stanley was a charmer, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and he’d lost no time in making himself known to Ada. And she’d been flattered and thrilled. Had so readily fallen in love. Within three months they were married quietly, and although he was so often absent Ada had thought herself lucky. Her husband was generous and kind and treated her well, never once raising a hand to her. Her worst nightmare had been the War, the dread of hearing that his ship had gone down. But defying all the odds, Stanley had come back safely each time.
And then, and then…he had thrown away all his good fortune. The devil had had the last laugh. What a waste. What a dreadful waste.
‘The difference,’ she said now to Alice, ‘is that in books you usually do get a happy ending – even if it takes a long time to happen – because that is what readers want. What they expect. But…it’s different in real life. You can never count on anything. You have to take what comes your way. And survive it.’
Alice pursed her lips. ‘One day, I am going to write a book, Mama, a proper book,’ she said. ‘Not just my short stories, but a long book, with all sorts of things happening to everyone…and I will give it a really happy ending! I’ll give them all exactly what they want and it’ll end with a great big party!’ She turned her head to look at her mother. ‘Do you think I could do it, Mama…would it take a very long time to write?’
‘It probably would take a long time,’ Ada said, ‘but I’m sure you’d be more than capable, Alice. One day, when you’re older. Because you’ve always loved writing, and all your short stories are like little novels in themselves, aren’t they…and they’re very good. They all have a beginning and a middle and an ending – and I always love reading them – and not just because you’re my daughter.’
Alice hugged her arms around her knees, already imagining her first best-seller in the shops. ‘I would like my book to be bound in red,’ she said, ‘with the title and my name in gold lettering.’
‘I’m sure that could be arranged,’ Ada said.
‘Yes, but how am I going to get started?’ Alice said, beginning to get worried now that her plan looked possible. She hadn’t even thought of a plot for this tome yet!
Ada smiled briefly. Her little daughter had never suffered from the childhood malaise of boredom because there’d always been her exercise books and pencils to keep her occupied. Almost as soon as she’d been able to write, Alice had made up poems and stories. Had so easily seemed to occupy the lives of the characters she invented in a way which had sometimes surprised her mother.
‘Well, I’ll tell you what we could do,’ Ada said. ‘Why don’t you choose one of the short stories you’ve already written – or make up another one – and we’ll send it off to a publisher. How does that sound?’
Alice’s eyes widened. ‘What – you mean a real publisher? Someone who would print it and put it in the shops? Oh Mama!’
‘Now, don’t get carried away, Alice,’ Ada said, smiling. ‘I’ve noticed that there is a small publishing house near the centre of town, and all we would ask them to do is to read your story, and give you their opinion. Tell you where you might have gone wrong. It’s not very likely that they would publish it straightaway,’ she added gently, ‘ because it takes time to learn how to be successful. But they would be professional people who understand what people want to read, and they would tell you where you might have gone wrong. See? And that would be a start, wouldn’t it? But ambition is the main thing you need, Alice, and you’ve got that, haven’t you? You’ve always wanted to be the second Jane Austen!’
Alice’s heart quickened as she imagined a glittering future for herself in the book world. ‘I’ve already got a new idea for a story,’ she declared, ‘I’ve just thought of it! And I’m going to start writing it as soon as I get home from school!’ She turned to her mother. ‘But will you read it first, before we send it off to the publishers, Mama…to make sure I haven’t made any mistakes?’
Ada took Alice’s hand and squeezed it. ‘No, I won’t read it first,’ she said, ‘because it would have to be all your own work – nothing of mine. If you make a mistake it won’t matter. Everyone makes mistakes. All you need is determination to succeed and persistence, and you’ve got all that, Alice. I know you have.’ And after a moment, Ada added,‘Never give up on your dreams, Alice. Always tell yourself that one day they could come true.’
Thoroughly wide awake, her imagination darting all over the place with heroes and heroines and blighted love lives, Alice went back to her original question about her parents.
‘You know…you know you and Papa?’ she said. ‘Did you and Papa really love each other, at once, straightaway I mean? Did you know that you were meant for each other?’
Ada turned her head and looked at Alice. ‘Yes, Alice, we really did.’ She paused. ‘I know we did,’ she added quietly.
Alice was in an enquiring mood. ‘Do you think that the professor loves Mrs. Carmichael as much as you loved Papa?’ she asked. ‘He’s so often away at the Infirmary, Mrs. Carmichael must be awfully lonely sometimes, mustn’t she?’
‘Loneliness is something everyone has to put up with at times,’ Ada said. ‘It’s not the worst thing in the world.’ She paused. ‘Now then – where had we got to with Jane Austen?’
At once, Alice began reading, stumbling only very occasionally with a difficult word, and Ada, only half-listening, thought of Stanley, and what might have been. There might even have been a brother or sister for Alice. If God had intended it.
Presently, aware that Alice was getting tired, she said gently, ‘I think that we’ll let that be the last chapter tonight, Alice. Well done – you read beautifully.’ She turned to switch off the small bedside lamp. ‘Good night, Alice, God bless you.’
‘God bless you, Mama,’ Alice replied, snuggling down contentedly. Then, yawning, ‘Which bedroom do they sleep in – is it the one underneath ours…the professor and Mrs. Carmichael, I mean?’
‘Oh I really don’t know. Go to sleep, Alice,’ Ada said.
But Ada did know. The professor and Helena occupied the main bedroom, the one with its own dressing room, immediately beneath this one. And Ada imagined them, perhaps even now, lying there together…such a handsome couple, he tall and strong, so utterly, completely masculine…and Helena – slim, perfect, beautiful. Beautiful for him.
The Fiction Editor, Allbright Publishing,
St. James’s Square, Bristol. – 13
December 1930
Dear Sir,
My name is Alice Watts and I am ten years old – well, nearly eleven, actually – and I have great pleasure in sending you a short story which I have written, in the hope that you may agree to publish it. It is about five hundred words long.
I have been writing short stories all my life, and one day I hope to attempt something much larger, perhaps like Jane Austen, or one of the Brontë sisters. I know it will take a long time, but I am prepared to work hard and not to give up on my dream.
I wish everyone at your publishing house a very happy Christmas.
I hope you are well.
Yours faithfully,
Alice Watts (Miss)
Alice put the letter in the envelope, hoping that she had said the right thing. “There’s no need for me to advise you on letter-writing,” Ada had said earlier, “because you have had plenty of practice already.” All Ada had done was to give Alice the address of the publishing house, and to explain that to find an approximate word count for her story she should multiply the number across the top by the number down the side.
As Alice stuck the postage stamp on the envelope, she wondered briefly whether she should have put “yours truly” or “yours sincerely” – but, after all, this was a business letter, and she knew that “yours faithfully” was how it was done in business.
Dear Miss Alice Watts
Thank you so very much for sending us a copy of your short story, which my colleagues and I thoroughly enjoyed reading.
I hope it will not depress you too much that we cannot agree to publish it on this occasion, simply because we feel that a little more work needs to be done on it. We would suggest that you employ far more dialogue in the story, showing us, rather than telling us, what you wish to convey. You write in a very impressive, grown- up way, Miss Watts, and all your characters are charming. Let them speak for themselves!
We urge you not to give up on your dream, and hope to hear from you again in the future.
We are returning your story, with many thanks, and hope that you, too, have a very happy Christmas.
Yours faithfully
John Elliott – Fiction Editor, Allbright Publishing.
Chapter Five (#ulink_464310f0-f44b-52a1-8b4e-ca6b50eb9d53)
1941
It was nearly the end of September, and already the three girls felt as if they had never known any other life. It was proving to be far more hectic than any of them had imagined it might be, the days long and hard and tiring, but strangely – muckily – satisfying, and certainly never boring. Alice had to admit that on many a day at the office she would look at her watch, longing for home time. But here on the farm she was aware that they were part of a never-ending cycle of events, of growing and yielding, of cultivating and harvesting, everything full of its own purpose and importance. And being part of it was making her feel important – as if her hours and days were being used to their full and vital value.
Part of the reason that they all felt so relaxed was that Farmer Foulkes could sometimes be a more affable character than they’d imagined at first. He seemed quite pleased with how they’d buckled down to do whatever was asked of them – which included feeding the livestock, mucking out the pigs, helping Mabel clean up the huge chicken run and spread fresh straw, scrubbing down the yards, and Fay, who was certainly the strongest of the three girls, had even been taught how to hold the plough and follow the huge horse as it tugged her along the furrows to make the land ready for the next round of sowing. Thankfully, digging the dratted potatoes had eventually come to an end, and although it had taken a long time the girls had made a good job of it, quickly learning how to avoid damaging the vegetables. Alice, at last, had helped Mabel collect the eggs – though, that, too, had been a long and back-breaking task…there were a lot of birds, and by the time they’d finished her hands were red and prickling from rummaging around in the spiky straw. After which she would help to put each precious egg into the crates, which were then stacked, ready to be collected by one of the lorries that arrived each day at the farm entrance to transport all the produce on to wherever it was needed in the area – near and far.
The meal together as they sat with the family each evening had quickly become something they all looked forward to. Well, they always seemed to be hungry! Roger was always good company and was clearly enjoying having females around him. Alice noticed that he always made sure he was sitting next to Fay at the long table, and that they occasionally shared a quick, private joke.
It also amazed Alice how much she, herself, was able to eat – because her appetite had never been particularly large. But somehow she, and Fay and Eve, managed to clear their plates each time. And the atmosphere was usually congenial – with, happily, no more digestive emissions from Farmer Foulkes to embarrass Eve. He even seemed to like teasing the girls now and then, if he was in a specially good mood.
‘Now, you girls – you look out for they geese as you d’go by,’ he said one evening, wiping his mouth vigorously with his napkin. ‘They can be nasty critters, and one flap of a wing can break yer arm if you’re not careful!’
Mabel shushed him quickly. ‘Don’t be daft, Walt,’ she said. She smiled at the girls. ‘Don’t listen to ’im. They birds are as good’s gold… startin’ to fatten up nicely in time for our Christmas dinner!’
Eve tried not to shudder at that…she had seen the geese in their pen beyond the chicken run and thought what beautiful creatures they were. Killing them seemed utterly heartless to her. But Alice had no such qualms…a goose – more than one – had always been on the table at Christmas with the Carmichaels. Everyone sitting around together, the professor wielding the carving knife with all the precision and dexterity he must use in his daily work.
After a second, Eve said tentatively –
‘Do you think I could take Tess out for a walk, Mrs. Foulkes?’ It would be lovely for it to be just her and the dog roaming the fields together. ‘You know – perhaps when we’re not too busy?’
The farmer sniggered. ‘Take you out for a walk more loike it!’ he said. ‘Th’animal’s not used to walkin’ anywhere…Tessie’s job is to run around after the cows! Not like your townie dogs who prance along on th’end of a lead with their noses stuck up in th’air!’
Alice cut in quickly. ‘D’you have a dog at home, Evie?’ she said, and Eve shook her head.
‘No – ’fraid not. I would love one – but my parents are allergic to them, you see. And to cats,’ she added sadly. She glanced across at Mabel. ‘What about the other dogs…the Jack Russells?’ she said. ‘Would they come for a walk with me?’ Although the sheepdog was allowed to live in the kitchen, Tam and Tom were always outside in their shed, which was warm and dry and where their food and water was, or they’d be just wandering around sniffing at everything. But surely they’d like to go for a nice walk with someone for a change?
‘Probably not, dear,’ Mabel said kindly. ‘They’re a bit scatty, those too – well, they’re always on the hunt, see, for rats. They’re ratters. That’s what they’re ’ere for – and they do a good job of it, too. Always half a dozen bodies to clear up each mornin’,’ she added gratefully.
‘Rats!’ Eve said, clearly horrified. ‘Rats? I didn’t know there were any rats!’
But rats were not unfamiliar to Alice. When they’d lived in Hotwells, the animals were more common than the cats and dogs which roamed the streets. And Ada had told her once that her mother – the grandmother who Alice had never known – had actually killed one herself when she’d been trapped in a room with one, with no way out. Had crushed and crushed it against a door and the wall until it died. Which had sounded brutal to Alice when she’d been told about it, but Ada had explained that a cornered rat was a vicious creature and that self-preservation was the first instinct in that situation.
Walter Foulkes sniggered a second time. ‘Where there’s animals and their food about there’s always rats,’ he said, as if the fact pleased him. ‘You be careful one don’t run over yer foot and bite yer toe off!’
Alice decided that it was time someone changed the subject. She cleared her throat. ‘We were wondering if we could have the day off on Sunday, Mr. Foulkes,’ she said. ‘We’d like to go home and see our folks – and to bring back one or two things we could do with.’ Most evenings the girls liked to change out of their uniforms into their dresses, but they’d all agreed that they’d soon need some extra clothes – especially as the weather would be closing in soon.
Mabel didn’t bother for her husband to reply. ‘A’course you should have a day off,’ she said firmly. It hadn’t escaped their notice that the girls hadn’t mentioned the subject at all since they’d arrived. That they’d seemed to enjoy turning their hands to everything asked of them, never grumbling, not even when it was wet and mucky after it had rained. ‘It’s about time you did…you been workin’ very hard, all of you, haven’t they, Walter?’
‘Yeah, well, no complaints. So far,’ Walter said. ‘Though they still gotta learn how to milk they cows…you keep puttin’ off showin’ ’em, Mabel. ’ S’about time they did.’
‘Yes, well – I will show them…next week,’ Mabel said.
Alice returned to the subject of their day off. ‘We have walked to the village once or twice, on Saturday afternoons,’ she went on, ‘to post letters to our families…but it would be very nice to see them all again, and to catch up with their news.’ They’d also sussed out the one and only shop – outside which was the village’s solitary, ancient petrol pump – and as Mabel had said, the shop did seem to stock a huge variety of things. On the shelves there were cigarettes and tobacco, bacon and ham and eggs and other available tinned food stuffs, household goods, cleaning materials, brooms and dusters and a stack of plain white cups and saucers and plates. There were most of the bathroom essentials – even a small supply of rather dusty, nameless lipsticks (which Fay had picked up and discarded straightaway). And in the far corner of the shop there was a dark little booth which housed the post office – only open three days a week – where they’d bought stamps and writing paper and envelopes. And also, if anyone needed their shoes repaired, a little man arrived on Mondays to pick them up, returning them the following week.
‘The big problem is going to be transport,’ Fay said now. ‘Did you say the charabanc goes to Bristol on Sundays, Mrs. Foulkes?’
‘Yes, it goes at ten from the war memorial,’ Mabel said, ‘but I’m not sure what time it gets back.’ She turned to Roger. Could you find out, Rog?’
‘I don’t think it’s very wise to count on that old banger,’ Roger said at once. ‘The bally thing breaks down all the time.’ He leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes and giving the matter some serious thought. Then – ‘I could take the girls in the pick-up, couldn’t I…two could sit alongside me, and the other one would have to make do in the back…it’d be a bit uncomfortable, that’s the only thing. But at least they’d be sure of getting there. And back. We could sort out the time arrangements.’
The pick-up was the Morris van, usually with a long trailer behind, which had tarpaulin on two sides. The van was driven, most days, down the long drive to take all the produce from the farm – the milk churns, eggs, bedding straw, potatoes and other root vegetables. And sometimes the occasional pig or goat on its way to be slaughtered. Although Farmer Foulkes was a pretty good shot with his gun to kill off rabbits or rats, slaughtering his animals was something he never did, preferring to leave that to others. Everything, apart from the animals of course, was always left stacked carefully by the roadside, ready to be collected by the appropriate person, or persons, for onward transportation. It didn’t matter if the lorries were late arriving because the produce was always perfectly safe, nothing ever stolen. And the same principle applied everywhere, because no one bothered to lock up when they left their farms or houses. Theft of any kind was virtually non-existent. Roger was the only one who could drive, and he had to make the journey from the farm to the entrance many times each morning to take everything down the long lane.
Now, the farmer looked up sharply. ‘Wha’ you want to go into Bristol for?’ he demanded of Roger. He didn’t like the idea of the pick-up using some of their precious petrol for gadding about.
Roger folded his arms and looked straight at his father. ‘I told you before, Dad – I need a new part for the tractor – and I’ve got a mate in the town who I know will have one to sell me.’
‘Huh – on a Sunday?’ the farmer said. ‘Ain’t no shops open on a Sunday!’
Roger raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘Trust me, Dad – he’ll sell me one on a Sunday.’ He looked around at the three girls in turn. ‘So – we’ll be killing four birds with one stone, won’t we.’ He couldn’t help smiling at his own little joke, and was rewarded by Fay throwing her head back and laughing.
Eve spoke. ‘But I don’t live in Bristol, so will we be able to go to Bath as well, Roger?’ she said. ‘Will it be much out of your way?’ She hesitated. ‘We did seem to be driving for hundreds of miles when we were brought here. I didn’t know where I was.’
‘That was probably because there were so many drop-offs before us,’ Fay said. ‘But I don’t suppose it was hundreds of miles.’
‘Don’t you worry about that, Eve,’ Roger said, smiling across at the girl. ‘I know a good enough route that’ll take in Bath on the way to Bristol. And it shouldn’t be more than an hour, all told.’
Walter Foulkes shuffled in his chair, clearly not too happy at this proposed arrangement, but Mabel spoke up, as usual.
‘Well – good, then, that’s settled,’ she said, getting up to clear the pudding dishes. ‘And if I were you, I’d make an early start on Sunday – well, you’re used to early starts now, aren’t you, luvvers, say 9 o’clock? And then on the way back p’raps not too late ’ome, because Monday’s are always busy, aren’t they?’ She looked down at the girls. ‘It’ll be lovely for you to see your families, luvvers. They must be missin’ you,’ she added.
Alice was pleased that they were going home – it would be good to see Gloria, to tell her about the goings-on at the farm, and to hear her news. And it was only Tuesday, so if they posted their letters today they’d arrive tomorrow morning in time for the recipients to reply if the proposed visit wasn’t convenient. Despite the war, Royal Mail was always reliable, the post seldom failing to arrive. But anyway, these days no one moved very far from their homes, and it was unlikely there’d be no one about to greet them.
Roger stood up as well, passing some plates across the table. ‘Good thing you’re going this Sunday,’ he said, ‘because next Saturday night is the Welcome Home concert and that always ends very late…you wouldn’t be fit for a thing next morning.’
Mabel shook her head at him. ‘Honestly, Rog…stop yer teasin’.’ She looked down at the girls again. ‘See, we have a little do for any local lads who come ’ome on leave,’ she explained. ‘It always takes place in the village hall, and the local children put on a concert, doin’ their party pieces and recitations. It’s always very good – bless their hearts – an’ we ’ave quite a nice supper that everyone contributes to. And at the end of the evenin’ the boys are given a ten shillin’ note each, to spend on their leave.’ Mabel sighed happily. ‘Well, it’s a lovely chance for everyone in the village to ’ave a get-together, and to show our appreciation of our brave boys.’
Alice glanced at Roger. Perhaps he would like to have had the chance to go into one of the Services, she thought. But farming was a reserved occupation, and he couldn’t possibly be spared – Farmer Foulkes would certainly be in a pretty mess without him, because Roger, obviously younger and stronger, seemed to bear the heaviest burden, sometimes working sixteen-hour days. Once, he’d briefly mentioned that he’d enjoyed spending a year at an agricultural college, but the war had put a stop to that.
Everyone stood now, helping to clear the table, and Fay said –
‘Well – it’s really kind of you to offer to take us home on Sunday, Roger,’ she began, and he cut in, grinning down at her.
‘It’ll be my pleasure,’ he said, meaning it. It would be good to get away from the farm for a few hours, and have a couple of pints in town with his mate. Thank God beer wasn’t rationed ( it never was). And to have a couple of women sitting nice and close alongside him on the journey would be an added bonus.
‘And don’t worry – I don’t mind sitting in the back,’ Fay told him sweetly.
By now, Saturday evenings – after their meal – had been set aside for the girls’ weekly baths and hair washing. And it was amazing, Alice often thought, how quickly the three of them had become used to each other in a personal sense…sharing a bedroom and daily washing facilities had soon become normal, and after the first couple of hip bath experiences, that, too, had become commonplace. In fact they all looked forward to the one evening when they had the kitchen to themselves, when they could take as long as they liked over sprucing themselves up, with no interruptions. For one thing, Walter Foulkes only ever seemed to appear at meal times, and Saturday evenings were Roger’s one night off to meet his friends at the Wheatsheaf.
The kitchen – always heady with the lingering scent of baking bread – was where the ablutions took place. The huge room, dominated by the long refectory table down the centre, had a massive granite range to one side, on which a large black kettle was always gently steaming, ready for tea-making. Above the constantly lit log- and coal-fired range hung a long, wooden, three-tiered drying rack which could be raised and lowered as required. Mabel, of course, did all the washing for everyone, afterwards winding everything through the big mangle in the scullery, her capable hands and arms flexing and straining as she turned the handle to squeeze the water out. After which, everything was pegged outside on the line. Along with sheets and towels, this always included pairs of anonymous thick white hose and Mabel’s large vests and bloomers, and the farmer’s various items of underwear, all of which eventually found its way onto the airing rack above the range to finish off. Even though the consistently good weather had done a good enough job.
But the girls preferred to wash their smalls themselves upstairs in their room, hanging everything to dry on an ancient wooden clothes horse which Mabel had thoughtfully provided. Fay had been adamant about this at the beginning.
‘I do not want my pants and bras being washed next to Walter Foulkes’s long johns, thank you very much,’ she’d said to the others after Mabel had invited the girls to let her do their washing for them, ‘And I certainly wouldn’t want them exhibited on the rail for general observation either,’ she’d added vehemently. And Alice and Eve had been in total agreement about that.
So on Saturday evenings, two black cauldrons, monstrous things, were lugged in from the scullery by Roger, filled with water, and set to heat on the range. And with her usual foresight, Mabel always made sure the water was ready well before it was needed.
And after the first bathing session, the ritual became a straightforward and normal event. Fay and Eve had never sat in a hip bath before, but it was nothing new to Alice. It was the only amenity available when they’d lived in Hotwells all that time ago.
Of course, the girls could all have bathed separately, but it would have taken a very long time, and without even thinking about it they’d elected to make it yet another shared experience. They placed each bath next to each other, but back to back to allow a certain amount of privacy, then filled enamel jugs, provided for the purpose, with piping hot water from the cauldrons, carrying the jugs carefully over to start the filling process. It took about five or six minutes for the baths to reach a satisfactory level, after which, part-immersion took place.
‘Blimey,’ Fay had said on the first night, as she dropped her head onto her bent knees. ‘Here we are again – the three wise monkeys! What a bloody carry-on.’ But she wasn’t grumbling…especially as the Radox bath salts she’d bought at the shop – and was sharing with the others – made the water feel lovely. And as they’d idly swish their hands and feet gently around, the warm steam and softly perfumed bath salts always made them feel totally relaxed as they’d chat about the day.
Then they’d wash their hair while still in the bath, presently helping each other to rinse it off with fresh water carried over from the cauldron and part-cooled from the tap. And there were always plenty of good, comfortable towels to dry themselves with, and to rub briskly at their hair. That always took Eve the longest, with her thick and copious curls and sometimes the others would take their turn helping her, rubbing and brushing until it was done. Even the simple ritual of the collective hair-drying process became a pleasure…something unhurried and enjoyable, and Alice couldn’t help feeling grateful all over again at how her life was. How it had always been, as if someone, somewhere, was making sure she had everything she needed to make her happy.
The very next morning a letter addressed to Alice arrived in the post. Before she even opened it she recognized the writing. Helena!
My dear Alice.
I was so pleased to receive your letter and to know where you are living – and what you are doing. My dear girl…I feel so proud that you are doing your bit for the war effort…I sincerely wish that I, too, could be more use in that regard, but I have not been very well lately, and anyway what on earth would they find for me to do!
I know only too well that whatever task you are set it will be done with your usual quiet efficiency and good humour. But do be careful, my dear. And please do not wear anything red when you are near the bull!
All the children are safe and well at school, and the professor is, of course, still very busy at the Infirmary. He lives there almost permanently now, but does return to the Clifton house from time to time to keep an eye on things. He does come to visit us in Wales as often as he can, and I am always so pleased to see him. One of the hateful things about this wretched war is that so many are parted from their loved ones. But we shall all be back together again one day, I know it.
Sam is now training at yet another hospital in London. I am afraid we do not hear from him very often, but the poor darling is apparently always up to his eyes. He did ring me up – very briefly – but that was weeks ago! I pray for his safety every night. London is not the safest place to be.
Take good care of yourself, my dear girl. I am so proud of you – as Ada would be. One day we will surely all be able to return to our old way of life and some normality. What a lot we shall have to tell each other!
With my love to you – Helena.
PS
I have sent on your new address to Sam because I am sure he will be interested. Perhaps he will find time to write to you, even if he doesn’t to me! I know you used to exchange letters, and he was always very fond of you.
For several moments, Alice could hardly move from where she was standing. She was glad to be alone in their bedroom, the others having already been despatched to their various duties, because she wanted a few moments to drink in what Helena had written. She wanted a few moments to savour the words – words which included her name with Sam’s…as if the very act of joining them together in the same sentence somehow provided a precious link…
She read the letter again, more slowly, Helena’s lovely character shining through the page. How lucky, how immensely lucky, she, Alice, was to have been part of that family. How lucky that Ada had applied for the position of nanny to their children all those years ago.
Alice let her moistened eyes linger on the best bit of the letter. “He was always very fond of you.”
Then she put it back into the envelope carefully, and put it with the rest of the treasures in her suitcase.
Chapter Six (#ulink_82a22e71-09ff-5429-a952-fcac03a1a0d4)
Now that they knew they were going home, Sunday couldn’t come quickly enough for the girls. Not just for seeing people again, but to get away from the farm, and to inhabit a different world for the day.
On the evening before, as they were clearing up the kitchen after their bathing session, Fay said –
‘I don’t know what you think, Alice – but after I’ve spent a couple of hours at home with Gran…and I s’pose I’d better see my parents as well,’ she added, ‘I’m going into the Centre. See a bit of life. Might go to the Llandoger for a drink.’ Well, there were usually Service types at the pub who’d be good for a laugh. Fay wiped her hip bath around vigorously with a towel, which she folded neatly and left in an enamel bowl on the side as instructed by Mabel. The others did the same.
Alice wondered about going into town. ‘Well – it would depend on what Gloria wants to do,’ she said. ‘She may be cooking us a meal, or having friends in for us all to have a chat and to see what I’ve been up to.’ Alice was also doubtful about the pub suggestion. Although she and Gloria had enjoyed a drink together now and then, that wasn’t the same thing as mixing with drinkers in pubs…which would obviously be smoky and noisy, and where the devil’s medicine would be freely available.
Fay shrugged. ‘Well – it was just a thought. I am certainly going in for a bit of fun.’ She threw Alice a shrewd look. ‘If you don’t think much of the Llandoger we could always have a drink at the Royal Hotel on College Green.’ She paused. ‘I used to know one of the doormen who worked there, and if he’s still around he’d see we had a nice little corner in one of the lounges. And perhaps we could have something to eat there as well.’
This sounded a far better idea to Alice, and she smiled quickly. ‘Well…when we know what time Roger will be picking us up to bring us back here, we could maybe arrange to meet, say outside the Hippodrome, an hour or so earlier? How does that sound?’ To sit somewhere in the Royal – that auspicious hotel near the Cathedral – with a little plate of sandwiches and perhaps an elegant pot of coffee in front of them suddenly seemed very attractive. She knew that it had been the venue for many of the posh events that the Carmichaels had attended over the years, and she’d be able to imagine them…entering the foyer and entrance hall in their glamorous attire…the object of everyone’s admiration.
Now, they left the kitchen, and Eve said – ‘I wish we lived in Bristol. Bath can be so utterly boring at times. Nothing ever happens.’
And being with her parents for most of Sunday would be boring, too, she thought. They wouldn’t bother to have people in to see her, and hear what she’d been doing. Her parents never had people in.
‘Well, Evie – why don’t you get the bus in from Bath and meet us outside the Hippodrome later, like Alice suggested?’ Fay said. ‘I know there’s a limited service on Sundays but there’s bound to be one sometime during the afternoon. Your parents would surely understand that you’d like to do that?’
Eve thought about that for a moment. Then – ‘Well, what I could do is not say anything about enjoying myself, but that Roger had asked me to meet him in Bristol instead of picking me up in Bath on the way back…and earlier than originally planned.’ This devious plan made Eve feel slightly ashamed – she never told untruths, and certainly not to her parents, but suddenly she felt determined to have her own way. She hardly ever went into Bristol – certainly not since the war had started. It would be fun to just walk around with the others, get a sense of what was going on.
‘Smashing! So that’s all settled,’ Fay said happily. ‘So look out, Bristol! The three wise monkeys are coming to town!’
On Sunday morning they were up even earlier than usual to make sure they were ready in time. Roger had said he’d make the van ready and drive it up to the farmhouse at 8 o’clock, and that he’d worked out that the Bath/Bristol trip should only take about an hour, or an hour and a quarter at the most.
They were just finishing their breakfast when Mabel bustled in, carrying three cardboard boxes. ‘Now then luvvers,’ she said, ‘’Ere’s just a little somethin’ for you to take home to your folks.’
The “little something” in each box were two dozen newly laid eggs, a pound of bacon, a large, freshly baked loaf, some rosy apples, a swede and a cabbage, and a brown paper bag holding some field mushrooms.
As the girls examined the contents of the boxes, Alice cried out when she saw the mushrooms. ‘Oh – where did these come from, Mrs. Foulkes?’ She put her nose to the open bag. ‘They smell – and look wonderful! I adore mushrooms!’
Mabel smiled at her enthusiasm. ‘Well, it’s always just right for ’em this time of year when it’s usually warm and wettish. And there was more of ’em down in the field than I’ve ever seen before,’ she said. ‘I had trouble not walkin’ all over ’em when I was picking ’em earlier.’
Alice stared at Mabel as the woman spoke. As well as everything else, she’d been up early, picking mushrooms! Did Mrs. Foulkes ever rest, Alice wondered? She seemed tireless, unstoppable…washing, cleaning, cooking – for six of them now – not to mention the daily bread-baking, caring for the dogs and the smaller animals and the birds, and taking her turn at milking the cows.
‘Mrs. Foulkes,’ she said, ‘you are so kind and generous! My landlady will be absolutely thrilled with all this. Thank you so, so, much.’
Fay and Eve agreed wholeheartedly. ‘You are a treasure, Mrs. Foulkes,’ Fay said, and Eve said that what her box held would be enough to last her parents until the end of the war!
Mabel waved their comments aside. ‘Oh well, we got all we d’need, and more, but it’s not s’easy in the towns, is it.’ She looked at them each in turn as they stood up to leave. ‘Well, as usual, you do look nice in your frocks, I must say,’ she said, a little pang of envy running through her. It would have been lovely to have had a daughter to dress up. ‘An’ don’t forget your cardis, will you…it’s gettin’ colder in the evenin’s now,’ she added. ‘An’ p’raps bring some other warm things back with you.’
Roger was waiting for the girls outside. As they approached, he grinned and swept his arm towards the van in a theatrical gesture.
‘Your carriage awaits, my ladies,’ he said, feeling quite pleased with himself. Well, he’d done the best he could in the circumstances. Now without its trailer, he had cleaned the van, inside and out, and had put a small, low chair in the corner at the back, covering it with a rug and adding a cushion to make it as comfy as possible for whoever was going to sit on it.
He put the three boxes of food into the van, then helped Alice and Eve in next to the driver’s seat. Then he walked with Fay around to the back of the vehicle. He looked at her as she climbed in.
‘Sorry I can’t offer you anything more comfortable, or more plush, Fay,’ he said, ‘and I’ll try to avoid any bumps in the road so as not to throw you around too much.’
‘Don’t you worry about me, Roger,’ Fay reassured him as she lowered herself carefully into the chair. ‘We’re just very grateful that you’re taking us.’
And bless him, he had really swept and cleaned the back of the van up…but Fay wished he’d used something different. She was going to be a walking advertisement for Dettol when she got out. Which, after all, was not known for its seductive qualities. Still. There was a war on. Everyone had to make sacrifices.
With Mabel waving them off at the door, the little cavalcade made its way down the long lane to the farm entrance, and then started the journey, first to drop off Eve at Bath, and then the others in Bristol. And despite the fact that they were all merely going home, rather than to somewhere more exciting, the girls couldn’t help feeling a sense of anticipation. The tiny, open window between the driver and the back of the van allowed Fay to occasionally get up from her chair and lean in to join the conversation going on in the front, and soon the usual chattering and repartee went on between the four travellers.
And although Roger would only have the girls to himself for an hour at each end of the day, he, too, felt a sense of elation. This was something different all right! Gorgeous Eve was sitting very close to him – there wasn’t meant to be three in the front, after all – her long, slim legs partly exposed for his delight, her tumbling, shining curls touching his shoulder and neck from time to time, the sweet smell of her teasing his nostrils. And every now and then as they turned a sharp corner, he felt her thigh touch his for a second. Not only that, the girls had already decided that they were going to take it in turns to move around during the journey, so Alice would be sitting next to him soon enough…beautiful, enigmatic Alice, who often seemed to be far away in another world when she thought no one was looking…her gorgeous eyes sad and dreamy, enlivening all Roger’s protective instincts.
And then eventually Fay would take her place in the front. Fay was a right one, Fay was. Well, this might not be three in a bed, but three in a van, with just him, would do Roger for now!
Fay passed a tube of sweets through the small window to the others, and Roger said as he took one –
‘So – what are you three going to be up to today…apart from seeing your families?’ he asked. ‘I suppose there are three lucky blokes waiting to take you in their arms? Have any of them popped the question yet?’ He’d been wondering about this ever since the girls had arrived on the farm.
‘Not to me, anyway, ‘ Fay said promptly. ‘I can assure you that it’s not going to happen because I do not intend to tie my life to the whims of a selfish, domineering man…ever. No disrespect to you, of course, Roger,’ she added. ‘But I prefer a free and easy fun life, thank you very much all the same.’
Roger half-smiled at the very decisive answer to his question. ‘What about you, Eve?’ he said, turning his head briefly to glance at her. ‘I bet you’ve got some dandy fellow waiting for you.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ Eve said innocently. Well, what chance did she ever have to find boyfriends when she lived at home? And anyway, the only man who had made her feel funny inside when he looked at her, and had made her feel she was someone special, had been married. Whenever he’d been anywhere close to her, her blood would rush through her veins at such a pace that it made her head ache. And once, he’d come up behind her as she’d been sitting at her desk checking the stock ledger and had parted her hair and blown a soft breath of air down her neck…making her nearly faint. If she hadn’t been sitting down she would have collapsed at his feet. No other man had ever had that effect on her, and anyway she’d long ago convinced herself that her position in life was to care for her parents. You couldn’t do everything. You had to make choices.
‘Well, come on, then, Alice,’ Roger said, keeping his eyes on the road. ‘I just know there’s a lucky chap waiting for you…don’t tell me you share Fay’s opinion about men!’
Alice didn’t answer for a second, then – ‘No, I don’t, Roger,’ she said truthfully. ‘But, like the others, there’s no one special in my life. At the moment.’
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Rosie James
Dear Alice, dreadful news was told to me today…Bristol, 1941: Alice Watts leaves the shell-shocked city for her new life as a Land Girl on Home Farm. It’s a completely different from her quiet old world, but she’s determined to do her part.And the back-breaking work is made bearable with the help from her two new friends - bold, outspoken Fay and quiet, guarded Evie - and the letters that arrive from her childhood friend, Sam.To Alice, Sam was always more than just a friend, but as the son of her wealthy employer, she never dared dream he could be more… But at least ever letter brings reassurance that he’s still alive and fighting on the frontline… Because it’s when all goes quiet on the letter front that nothing seems certain and it’s a reminder of how life – and hearts – are so fragile.A tale of true courage and the power of sheer determination, this un-put-downable WWII set saga is filled with warmth, humour and heart-wrenching emotion.Perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Katie Flynn and Dilly Court.
Dear Alice, dreadful news was told to me today…
Bristol, 1941: Alice Watts leaves the shell-shocked city for her new life as a Land Girl on Home Farm. It’s completely different from her quiet old world, but she’s determined to do her part. And the back-breaking work is made bearable with the help from her two new friends - bold, outspoken Fay and quiet, guarded Evie - and the letters that arrive from her childhood friend, Sam Carmichael…
To Alice, Sam was always more than just a friend, but as the son of her wealthy employer, she never dared dream he could be more… But at least every letter brings reassurance that he’s still alive and fighting on the frontline… Because it’s when all goes quiet on the letter front that nothing seems certain and it’s a reminder of how life – and hearts – are so fragile.
A tale of true courage and the power of sheer determination, this un-put-downable WWII set saga is filled with warmth, humour and heart-wrenching emotion.
Perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Katie Flynn and Dilly Court.
Letters to Alice
Rosie James
www.CarinaUK.com (http://www.CarinaUK.com)
Born in Bristol of Welsh parentage, ROSIE JAMES has always been a compulsive writer, her early enthusiasm kept alive by winning the occasional childhood literary prize, and much later by seeing her articles and short stories published. She is a trained singer, and as a lyric coloratura soprano, her roles include many in opera, operetta and oratorio, her church choir music taking her to many parts of Europe. She enjoys theatre, eating out with friends, and she entertains regularly at home – slightly hindered by her new, very lively puppy, who insists on digging up all her plants and chasing birds, squirrels, and neighbours’ cats. She has three grown-up children, and six grandchildren who regularly visit with their parents and who still expect to play paper and pencil games after the meal. Rosie lives in Somerset.
Contents
Cover (#u6efc76c6-a450-50fa-8e9d-070e4fef2bae)
Blurb (#u871abd6b-be47-503b-a440-7d1606d7b659)
Title Page (#u88c42c98-95be-5325-a912-2da066e54df1)
Author Bio (#u4f16c352-5cca-5702-a9e9-8f3903e8ca7e)
Dedication (#u71b119d3-ea99-5718-99c3-a29b59e8245e)
Chapter One (#ulink_374b335d-e656-5bb6-b7bc-9c840675fa42)
Chapter Two (#ulink_8823d5fd-452d-56ca-abd2-8d90951bd2f1)
Chapter Three (#ulink_3ae61062-457c-5c5d-831d-850ff5dc47a1)
Chapter Four (#ulink_03e08b6f-70c9-5f90-b9de-a34b62525fd0)
Chapter Five (#ulink_bd27a163-5eda-5f54-b819-7d6b2b705097)
Chapter Six (#ulink_e3be396f-7a7d-5910-a02f-73301a55a253)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
In grateful memory of my parents, from whom I inherited the love of music and the written word
Chapter One (#ulink_1db42be8-51f0-5a8d-868c-c57b6d716653)
24
April 1941 London
Dear Alice
This is the first moment that I have been given any time off to drop you a line. I know things have been dreadful for everyone in Bristol, too, recently, and I’ve been hoping and praying that you are safe. Please write soon, and tell me that you are. I’m hoping that no news is good news.
It would be difficult for me to describe the scene here after the bombings this month. Amazingly, many of us – and many buildings – seem to be still in one piece, but the devastation is horrifying, and I have seen some terrible things. Every hospital has become an emergency centre (St. Thomas’s was hit) and no one has been allowed off duty. Even the most junior of us have been expected to rise to all occasions, and of course we have. We are all doing our best not to let the side down.
It has been a privilege to witness the bravery and courage of the victims, Alice – one elderly gentleman I was looking after, and who was close to death, still managed to smile at me as I clasped his hand and held him at the end. The look we exchanged as he finally slipped away will stay in my memory for ever.
No one ever grumbles, but just gets on with everything in a matter-of-fact way. We haven’t had that much sleep lately and meal times are brief, but the determination and camaraderie have helped to keep us going.
After last September’s outrageous attack on the city, and now this latest one, let’s hope that Hitler will give us a rest for a bit. (I sometimes wish I was in uniform somewhere, and doing something positive to help bring this ghastly business to an end.)
I hope, I really hope, that we can all arrange to get together soon.
Always and ever – Sam.
PS. Sorry to spill all that out on you, Alice, but one of the reasons for writing is that, a couple of times, I have asked myself whether I have chosen the right profession after all. Because handling unrecognizable bodies, and trying to comfort the frantic and bereaved, has been a nightmarish revelation, and there was one moment when I almost lost control and broke down. (Though thank goodness I managed to hold it together!) Such emotional weakness in anyone hoping to be a surgeon is not acceptable, but I had to tell someone, and you are the only person I want to share this with. I already feel some relief in confessing it.
Please write and tell me that you don’t think me a total coward. S.
PPS. This is not something I would want to worry my parents about. S.
Dear Samuel
Thank you for your letter. Yes, we have had a terrifying time here, too, but have survived to face another day, another year…or years, perhaps. Mrs. Hammond and I have spent several nights in the under-stairs cupboard together, emerging quite safe – if a little stiff – in the morning!
And like you, I have witnessed amazing bravery and goodwill everywhere. People are determined not to give up, but to carry on as cheerfully as possible. A mostly-demolished shop in the city had a notice outside saying “More open than usual.” That gave everyone a laugh. The office where I am employed is still intact and open for business. Not even a single day off for me – worse luck!
It would be lovely to see everyone again soon, I agree. But we are all so spread out now. However, I am sure your mother would manage to arrange something!
All my best wishes, Sam. Alice.
PS And you are not a coward. I don’t know any cowards. Don’t call yourself stupid names! A
Bristol 1941
The bus was crowded, almost full, the hot August sunshine streaming through the grubby windows making Alice lift her hand to shade her eyes.
As they’d all got on, she’d made her way to the back where there were three vacant seats all in a row, next to the emergency exit. She’d left her suitcase next to the driver, though in the limited space available some other passengers had to have theirs alongside them in the aisle, or held awkwardly between their feet.
Alice had brought very little with her, mainly because her uniform took up so much space. But she’d put in a couple of dresses and a cardigan, another pair of sandals, and two spare sets of underwear. She imagined there would be laundry facilities. In her wash bag was a new flannel, a bar of soap, a tube of toothpaste, and her toothbrush. And along with six pretty hankies which Gloria had given her as a sort of going-away present was her indispensable pot of Pond’s cold cream. The handbag on her lap held some money, a strip of Aspros, a comb, her powder compact and a Tangee lipstick. At the bottom of her case, beneath everything else, were two new exercise books, some pencils, and the wallet containing her letters and her precious fountain pen.
She looked around, waiting for the bus to fill up. She couldn’t help feeling slightly apprehensive about what lay ahead…it was going to be a completely new experience, that was obvious – but then she, along with everyone else was having to adapt to new experiences – some of which were highly dangerous – and, unfortunately, often fatal. They were living in troubled times, and there was nothing left but to accept what was happening and just get on with it. Her mother had told her often enough that that was what life was all about. That every generation had its ups and downs. And anyway, what she and her fellow passengers were facing was not going to be dangerous…just very different, that’s all. In fact, where they were all going would be blissfully free from death and destruction. It would be calm and peaceful. A sort of respite from the perpetual fear of sirens announcing an air raid, from the spectacle of searchlights criss-crossing the night skies…
Everyone else around her was about her own age, Alice guessed…early twenties or so…dressed much as she was, summer frock, sandals, the occasional cardi or headscarf. She noticed that one or two had brought their gas masks – which was unusual nowadays. After the initial terror of being gassed had passed, most people didn’t bother to carry them any more. Alice remembered being made to practise using hers. Remembered her gasp of fright as, for a second or two, she hadn’t been able to breathe properly, had felt trapped, and ugly. And frightened.
But so far so good. The war was nearly two years old already and no lethal gas had arrived. Surely that would never happen now? She bit her lip. Why on earth was the world having to go through this all over again? It was only a couple of decades since the last one…the Great War…how could history be repeating itself? Especially after Mr. Chamberlain had come back from his meeting with Hitler, the piece of paper he was holding bearing such high hopes of “peace in our time”? Utterly futile as it turned out. High hopes? No hopes, as it turned out.
Alice wondered what her mother and father would make of it, if they were still here. Her eyes misted as she thought of them. Her merchant seaman father had survived against all the odds in the first one – his ship somehow managing to deny the hungry Atlantic another expensive meal. Yet he was to lose his life later in a stupid accident. Alice’s lips tightened as her thoughts tormented her. For four long years God had answered her mother’s prayers, only to turn His back on them afterwards. It didn’t make any sense.
The last few women were boarding the bus now, and coming towards Alice was a tall, well-built girl with dyed blonde hair nearly reaching her shoulders, and held in place by a Kirby grip at either side. Her friendly face was enlivened by a pair of deep blue eyes, her full lips painted a bright red. As she grinned down, her teeth were snow-white. She immediately plonked herself next to Alice.
‘Watcher, I’m Fay,’ the girl said cheerily. ‘Blimey, it’s flippin’ hot, idn’t it? God alone knows what we’re all letting ourselves in for in this carry-on!’
‘Hello, I’m Alice,’ Alice said, responding with a generous smile of her own, warming to the girl’s outgoing nature and hearty Bristolian accent.
‘Watcher, Alice,’ Fay said. She rummaged in her large holdall and took out a tube of Maynard’s wine gums. Yer – have one a’ these! You’re not teetotal are you? They’re pretty alcoholic if you’re not used to them!’
Alice took a gum from the tube and popped it into her mouth. ‘Thanks. And I’m not teetotal.’ (Well, not exactly. Despite her upbringing, she had enjoyed the odd port and lemon with Gloria when they’d sometimes sat together at the end of the day. (Though something had made her refuse a swig of gin – Gloria’s preference.) Gloria Hammond owned the small terraced house where Alice had rented a furnished room since leaving the Carmichaels’ place in Clifton. Gloria was a determined optimist – especially since Mr. Churchill had become prime minister last year – and although she’d agreed to tape up her windows to lessen the effect of any bomb blast, she flatly refused to use the Anderson shelter in the vicinity, preferring to sit in the cupboard under the stairs with her wireless and a bottle of gin. “When your number’s up…” she used to say when anyone tried to persuade her to take more effective cover. The house was situated close to the church of the Holy Nativity in Totterdown, and Alice sometimes went there to pray for the souls of her beloved mother and father. And to pray that Sam thought of her sometimes. That he would never forget her.
‘Bloody glad to hear that,’ Fay said enthusiastically. ‘I’m hoping that where we’re going there’s a decent pub – or even an indecent one! Somewhere to unwind at the end of the hard days we’ve been warned about.’ She sighed. ‘I bet they’ll choose me to muck out the pigs, and shovel the shit!’ She gave Alice a sidelong glance. ‘Whereas…I can see you feeding the chickens, collecting the eggs, and giving a little newborn lamb its bottle! You look far too fragile to get your hands dirty!’
‘Oh, I’m quite used to getting my hands dirty,’ Alice assured her. ‘Anyway – I’m sure we’ll share the duties.’ She smiled up at Fay, taking another wine gum. She liked Fay.
Just then, the last passenger got on the bus and walked carefully up the aisle towards them. She was wearing a blue and white pin-stripe dress with a neat Peter Pan collar, a straw boater, and short white gloves. A mass of auburn curls framed a rather earnest-looking face. She paused hesitantly, as if waiting to be invited to sit down, and Fay looked up and patted the seat next to her.
‘Yer –come and join us,’ she said heartily, and one or two looked around to see who was talking. Fay’s voice had a ringing quality to it, edged with a smoker’s huskiness – which suited the rest of her, Alice thought. ‘Come on – let’s give you a hand with that thing.’ Fay helped the other girl to slide her suitcase alongside. ‘And we might as well get the formalities over with – I’m Fay – this is Alice – and you’re…?’
Another moment’s hesitation before – ‘I’m…I’m Eve Miles,’ the girl said, sitting down. Then – ‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ she added demurely, taking off her hat and gloves, and putting them with the handbag on her lap.
As the bus trundled away from Temple Meads railway station – the picking-up point for everyone – conversation, which had been somewhat muted and discreet, soon gathered momentum. That was the thing with this war. Complete strangers talked to each other without reticence, exchanging views and news on everything from bomb damage and rationing to what they’d do to Herr Hitler if they got the chance. And some of the things Alice had heard weren’t fit for the ears of polite company. Still, you couldn’t blame anyone. Look at the row of houses they were passing…well, they had once been a row of houses, now just a filthy mass of rubble and blackened bricks. And scenes like that were repeated in many other parts of the city. Who knew what happened to all the poor occupants? They’d have to start all over again…if they’d survived.
Alice turned to glance out of the side window for a moment, her expression softening as she thought of Helena Carmichael, and the children.
Especially she thought of Sam…well, she was always thinking of Sam.
Not too sure where Sam was at the moment, she hadn’t heard recently. But the younger ones were all safe and sound, their boarding schools having been evacuated to remote parts of the country. It was true that the city had enjoyed a few months of comparative peace since the last bombardment, but no one was taking the brief silence for granted…you just never knew. The deadly Blitz in April had left everything and everyone temporarily – only temporarily – shattered. But resolute. Whatever happened, people had kept going about their daily business, shops, offices, limited transport, salvaging what they could to stay open and working. Encouraging each other with optimistic banter and snatches of songs…“Hitler you’re barmy, you should have joined the army…” The war had brought a city of complete strangers into one big family intent on supporting each other, and most seemed to be cheerful in spite of everything, each determined to “do their bit” for the war effort. It was amazing how things sometimes turned out.
Alice had been expecting to be called up for the war effort but hadn’t considered the particular role set out for her. She’d been interviewed, and passed her medical test with flying colours, thank goodness – well, she was made of stern stuff, even if she was rather slight. And she was seldom unwell, for which she was grateful. No, she realized she could have been marked out for anything. Factory work, hospital work…perhaps even European resistance work! That might have been exciting! If rather dangerous. Probably very dangerous… Alice had sometimes allowed her imagination to wander as she’d got on with her job as a shorthand typist in one of the city’s estate agent’s.
She settled back into her seat. She was lucky – they were all lucky on this bus. At least where they were going they wouldn’t be waiting for the air-raid siren to start its terrifying wail, no more listening for that hateful throbbing of German aircraft as you ran, panicking, to take shelter, no more listening to the thunder of falling bombs, of seeing fires light up the night sky, of feeling broken glass and telegraph wires scrunch under your feet as next day you walked along after a raid, trying to get to work. There’d be none of that, deep in the countryside…the enemy wouldn’t waste time and ammunition down there. And if they did ever hear the siren – where they were going – it would be a long way away, wouldn’t it? For the benefit of the city dwellers, not for them.
Yes, Alice did feel really lucky. And not for the first time. Lady Luck had been shadowing her for a lot of her life – even if she’d known great sadness, too.
They were well away from the outskirts of Bristol now, and heading into the Somerset countryside, and suddenly her introspection was interrupted by Fay exclaiming – ‘Just look at us! We’re like the three wise bloody monkeys sitting ’ere… See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil!’ She giggled infectiously at her own observation, though Eve – who had had her eyes closed – only managed a faint smile in response. And Alice said –
‘Well, we can’t do much about the first two – but what about the third one…?’
‘Oh, I can’t promise anything,’ Fay said airily. ‘If evil seeks me out, I’ll give as good as I get, don’t you worry!’
Just then, the Women’s Volunteer Service member who’d checked them all off on her clipboard as they’d got on the bus earlier, stood up from her seat in the front. She was a portly, kindly woman, dressed in a dark uniform. She’d taken off her hat which she was flapping at her face and neck, trying to cool off. She lifted her hand, and almost immediately everyone stopped talking to listen.
‘Now then, ladies…’ She raised her voice against the noise of the engine. ‘My name is Iris, and I’m here to hand you over, so to speak, and make sure everyone gets to their right place.’ She paused. ‘I realize this is a bit of a mystery tour, but soon we’ll be dropping groups of you off at various farms where you’ll be working.’ She glanced down at her clipboard. ‘I hope you’ve all remembered to bring your uniforms – and identity cards – and please give your ration books to the farmer’s wife, or whoever asks you for it.’ She looked around at everyone searchingly. ‘This is going to be a very different way of life for most of you, but I know you’ll all do your best. This war can’t last for ever, and in the meantime we’re all in it together, aren’t we? And I hope you’ll all be “healthy and happy in the Women’s Land Army,”’ she added, quoting the advertising slogan. She paused. ‘Now, anyone got any questions?’
Someone half-stood. ‘I can’t remember how much time- off we get,’ she said. ‘Will we be able to go to the nearest fleshpots and enjoy ourselves now and then?’
Iris threw the speaker a shrewd look. ‘You’ll be free for part of Saturdays, and I think Sundays, as well,’ she said. ‘Whenever you can be spared from your duties, I imagine. It will obviously be up to the farmer.’
Fay nudged the other two. ‘Well, the generous pay is hardly going to lead us astray, is it,’ she said, ‘and so far, I haven’t noticed anything resembling a “fleshpot” anyway.’ Then, after a minute – ‘Do either of you know this part of the world?’ She leaned forward to glance out of the window. ‘We could be anywhere, it’s just fields and hedges, fields and hedges…’
It was true – and they did seem to be driving further and further into remote territory, leaving anything resembling town or city life behind them. They trundled on through numerous small hamlets, stopping at various farms to drop girls off in twos and threes. They passed groups of cows sheltering beneath the shade of huge trees, saw sheep grazing on hilly slopes sometimes leading down to a stream bubbling along like an uneven strand of quicksilver, saw the occasional horse pulling a cart, wending its weary way along almost deserted roads.
As she gazed out, taking everything in, Alice automatically thought about the George’s Brewery dray horses…those magnificent creatures, their coats always polished to a shining ebony…remembered the smell of malt that wafted through the city when brewing was on the go, making the nose tingle. The area had had its share of bombing – like the rest of the city centre – but she’d never heard that the horses had come to grief. Hopefully they’d been moved to a safer place.
The present isolation seemed all the more significant because every signpost had been removed to thwart the intentions of an invading army, and Alice said –
‘It’s funny. I’ve lived in the south west all my life but I’ve never actually been far out of Bristol. Certainly not this far.’
‘Same here,’ Fay said. ‘Wouldn’t want to. I like town, meself… Clifton Downs are enough country for me! Always plenty of space, and little cosy hidey places if you need them.’ She nudged Alice. ‘Know wha’ I mean?’
She turned to glance at Eve. ‘How about you, Eve? Is any of this familiar to you?’
As usual, Eve waited before answering – as if she was weighing every word. Then – ‘I come from Bath, so we’ve got plenty of countryside of our own…like this…but I don’t recognize where we are, I’m afraid.’
Alice smiled along at her. ‘It must be nice and quiet, living in Bath,’ she said. Even though Bath was a mere twelve miles or so from Bristol, it had not had a single raid. Nor was one expected.
It was late afternoon before the bus arrived at its last port of call, and there were just the three of them left now, still sitting there in the back. As they leaned forward to stare out, they could see a large cluster of farm buildings in the near distance, spread out behind a wide wooden gate fencing in some brown cows. A black and white sheepdog was on watch, wagging its tail, and two Jack Russell terriers, silent and alert.
Iris got out first, and the others followed. ‘Right then,’ Iris said. ‘You’re the last – but not least, I’m sure…so, we have Eve Miles, Fay Reynolds and Alice Watts. Right?’
The girls nodded. ‘Good, thank heaven I haven’t got one over, or one missing! So that’s my lot for today.’ Iris was obviously relieved. ‘Come with me and I’ll introduce you.’
The girls followed, lugging their suitcases. Eve wrinkled her nose.
‘Oh dear, what a nasty smell,’ she said quietly.
‘That’s cow shit, luvver. Or manure, if you prefer,’ Fay informed her cheerily. ‘We’d better get used to it I suppose.’
The place was called Home Farm and after Iris had left, Mabel Foulkes, the farmer’s wife – an overweight, affable woman – took the three girls upstairs to the room which they were to share.
It was long, the bare wooden floorboards creaking under their feet. It felt a bit stuffy despite the two windows wide open at each end. There were three single beds more or less next to each other, each with two pillows, and covered with a patchwork quilt. A couple of cupboards stood against the wall, and on a solid-looking steel-legged table was a huge jug standing in a bowl, with a large enamel bucket on the floor beneath. On the wall was a faded mirror.
‘We’ll bring hot water up for you every morning and at night,’ Mabel said, ‘and the lavatory’s outside next to the scullery. There’s also another one down the garden, right at the end past the cabbages. You can’t miss it.’
There was a moment’s pause.
‘There’s no bathroom, Mrs. Foulkes…?’ Eve said faintly.
‘Oh no, my luvver! Well, not as such…but don’t you worry, there’s a guzunder under your beds if you need to go in the night, and for bathin’ we all use the hip baths in the kitchen. They’re OK – even if it does mean knees up to chins!’ She mopped her brow. ‘But mostly the men just stand in the sink by the pump in the yard! Especially when it’s hot! But don’t worry – you won’t be asked to do that! Just say when you wanna bath and the kitchen’ll be all yours! It’ll be helpful if you could make it later in the day,’ she added, ‘when all the work’s finished. OK?’ Her hands on her hips, she smiled at them kindly. ‘Breakfast for you will be 5.30, down in the kitchen, lunch in the fields if you’re workin’ there – I’ll bring out flasks of tea. Or if there’s a lull, you can have it in the kitchen, a’course. And supper’s usually about 7.30.’
She turned to go, then looked back at the girls. ‘Sorry my husband wasn’t here when you arrived – ’ ’ee’s up yonder, hay-makin’ with our son – Roger. They’ll be down presently. Now, you get unpacked and I’ll put the kettle on for a nice cup a’ tea. I expect you could do with one.’
That was putting it mildly. They’d had very little refreshment on the journey, stopping only a couple of times for a break and cold drinks.
For a few moments there was complete silence, then Fay went across and opened the doors of the cupboards. On the shelves were a couple of piles of towels.
‘Hm. Well, good thing I didn’t bother to pack me evenin’ dresses,’ she said lightly. ‘But I s’pose there’s enough space here for what we want.’ Without taking off her sandals, she flung herself down on the bed nearest the door and grimaced.
‘Bloody ’ell! This is solid concrete if you d’ask me!’ She tried to bounce on the unyielding mattress. ‘I doubt if we’ll get even a wink of sleep, God ’elp us.’ She sat up and bent down to reach for her handbag on the floor beside her, took out a packet of Player’s Please and a box of matches. She glanced up at the others. ‘If I don’t have a fag soon, I’m gonna go bloody mad.’ She lit up, then flopped back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, inhaling, and blowing out smoke like a steam train.
Eve gave a slight little cough – and Fay threw the cigarettes and the matches across onto the bed Eve was sitting on the edge of. ‘Fancy a drag, Eve? Be my guest…at least these aren’t rationed!’ She took another deep drag. ‘I was desperate for one on the bus but it was so hot and stuffy I didn’t like to.’
‘I don’t smoke, actually,’ Eve said, rather primly.
Alice looked across at her thoughtfully. Of the three of them, Eve seemed the most unlikely candidate for the war job that had been allotted them.
‘You don’t know what ya’ missin’ – you should try it!’ Fay told her. ‘Fags keep you going, they’re good for you!’ She inhaled again deeply, and coughed. ‘I’ve just donated a coupla’ boxes of Woodbines to the Red Cross for the parcels they send to our soldiers. See – ciggies are helping us win the war!’
Alice sat down gingerly on the bed next to her. And had to agree with Fay. It was rock-hard.
For a few moments no one said anything, each privately weighing up the present situation. And it was a weird one, Alice thought. For the foreseeable future the three of them – complete strangers – were going to be thrown together, sharing everything – including their bedroom. Alice had only ever shared with her mother before.
And what if they didn’t get on together? Didn’t like each other? Fall-outs and unpleasantness would be terrible, make everything so much worse than it need be. She glanced briefly at the others as her thoughts ran on…she felt certain that Fay was going to be easy company, but Eve was a different kettle of fish. For one thing, she’d turned up dressed as if she was going to a garden party instead of embarking on life in a farmyard! She had a precious way of speaking, with an aloofness about her which was a bit off-putting, her whole manner suggesting that she was far too good for present company. Alice shrugged inwardly. Whatever lay ahead, they’d just have to make the best of it.
Presently, Eve was the first to start unpacking. Very carefully. After taking out some of her personal items which were on the top and putting them in a neat pile, she began to lay out her uniform. Breeches, fawn shirt, long woollen socks. She glanced up at the others, holding up the green V-neck pullover. ‘Are we expected to wear all this? In this heat?’ Adding, rather petulantly – ‘Why can’t we just wear our dresses?’
Fay opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, then thought better of it and got off the bed and began to unpack as well. She flung everything out all around her on the bed, then stuck the regulation cowboy hat on her head at a jaunty angle. ‘D’you think this suits me? Will I get off with someone when I wear it if we go out?’ She went over to the mirror and groaned. ‘No, it doesn’t and I won’t. It’s ’orrible.’ Then, impulsively, she slipped off her dress and thrust her legs into the corduroy breeches, her feet into her pair of thick brown brogues. And started jigging around.
‘Come on – this calls for the Hokey Cokey!’ she cried.
Instinctively, Alice followed her lead, and with just their bras, breeches and brogues on, the two linked hands and whooped into the popular number, the floorboards creaking and groaning beneath them. “Ho’ Hokey Cokey Cokey ! Ho’Hokey Cokey Cokey!…knees bend, arms stretch, ra, ra, ra…!”
Well, it had been a long, hot day, they were being thrown into another world, and for a few moments they needed to unwind and try to see the funny side of life…
But Eve didn’t join in, instead turning away to place her uniform in one of the cupboards. And the others didn’t try and persuade her. It was going to take time for Eve to lighten up.
Presently, after she’d unpacked, Alice thrust her suitcase under the bed and stood up. ‘I would like to check out the lavatory,’ she said ‘Shall we take a look around?
They went down the stairs and through the kitchen. Mabel was nowhere to be seen, but there was a huge brown teapot standing on the table, with milk and three enamel mugs. There was no sign of the Jack Russells, but the sheepdog they’d noticed earlier got up languidly from its place on the stone floor by the range and came over to be made a fuss of. Eve immediately bent down and put her arms around the animal’s neck, planting a kiss on its head and Alice looked at her quickly. Perhaps Eve had a dog of her own, and was already beginning to feel a bit homesick.
Next to the scullery was the lavatory. Its door was partly open, the rough stone walls whitewashed, a strong smell of disinfectant competing with the whiff of farm manure. A long chain dangled from the ancient cistern above, and Fay said hurriedly –
‘This isn’t exactly private is it…shall we suss out the other one Mrs. Foulkes talked about? The one further away down there somewhere?’
They went outside, the dog following, and made their way down the centre of the garden – which was packed with vegetables – their tread noiseless on the soft earthy path, the hum of bees and summer insects adding to the sultry atmosphere.
By now it was early evening and still very warm. As they wandered along, it was impossible not to appreciate where they were. The farm lay in a gentle valley, the fields rising up and away as far as the eye could see, and Alice felt a sudden surge of optimism about what lay ahead. For one thing, even if Eve was rather shy and out of her depth, Fay seemed the permanently cheerful sort and she, Alice, would never be the one to put the cat amongst the pigeons. They’d all get used to everything, and each other, in time. They had no choice.
The best of it for all of them was that the Germans wouldn’t be interested in them down here, out of the way. They wouldn’t hear or see a thing of the war this distance from the city. There’d be no sound, they’d be able to sleep peacefully at night – even if those beds did seem rather hard – with no blackout and shouts of “Put that bloody light out!” They could treat it like an unexpected holiday…couldn’t they?…even if they’d been warned that the work would be hard. Well, it wouldn’t be hard all the time, surely? Someone still had to feed the chickens and collect the eggs…
At the very end of the path they could see a low shed with its door closed, and Alice said, ‘Well, since this was my idea in the first place – shall I be the one to risk it?’
The others stood back as Alice opened the door and peered inside. Then she turned to face them again, her hand over her mouth trying to stop laughing.
‘I don’t believe this,’ she said. Even in the early years living in Hotwells, things hadn’t been this primitive. ‘Have a look,’ she said.
As the others peered in suspiciously, they saw that the windowless premises comprised a broad shelf of wood with three holes, side by side, cut into it. Some newspaper had been cut into squares and attached to a piece of string hanging on a nail on the wall. And the smell was memorable – to say the least.
‘Well,’ Fay said, ‘there certainly won’t be the need for any queuing, will there! We can all go together! Like I said – we’re gonna be the three wise monkeys all sittin’ in a row! Blimey, wha’ a laaaff!’
Eve was obviously mystified. ‘Where…where does it…I mean, after you’ve…been…what happens to everything…where does it actually…go? It can’t just stay down there, can it?’
‘Shovelled into a cesspit, my luvver, round the back there,’ Fay said practically. ‘But ’course –I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of cesspits in Bhaaaaaath Sphaaaaaa!’ She put on a posh accent. ‘Still, never mind. Any port in a storm, eh girls?’
After they’d all used the facilities – separately – the girls made their way back to the farmhouse and into the kitchen where Mrs. Foulkes was pouring their tea.
‘Ah there you are, luvvers,’ she said. ‘Glad yer lookin’ around and making yerselves at home. Now drink this while it’s still fresh.’ She handed them each a mug of tea. ‘Then I’ll get Roger to take up some hot water for you to wash. Supper’s almost ready.’
Chapter Two (#ulink_e7dea6bf-5bff-5794-80aa-06a9cd246e1f)
Farmer Foulkes emitted a sustained, satisfied burp, then stood up, pushing his chair back. His wife looked up at him sharply.
‘Now then, Walt…manners…we got company…’
Walter was unapologetic. ‘Jus’ my way of sayin’ thanks for a gert lush supper,’ he said. ‘That was a rare bit a’ goat, that was, and other un’s fattenin’ up nicely as well.’ He let his gaze slide to each of the girls in turn. ‘An’ anyway, these ain’t company – they’re our Land Girls an’ they might as well get used to our ways.’
Alice swallowed quickly. So they’d just eaten goat! She’d never tasted it before – had thought it was mutton… but it had certainly been delicious, accompanied by crisp roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, carrots, turnips, runner beans, and a massive Yorkshire pudding nestling in rich brown gravy. Followed by a crusty apple pie and mouth-wateringly sweet custard. The sugar in that must have used up everyone’s ration for the week! The table had groaned with what could only be called a surfeit of good food. Did everyone living on a farm have this much to eat every day, Alice wondered? It was something she had never even thought about.
Walter Foulkes was a huge man, with a rather churlish manner and an obviously cynical attitude regarding the employment of townie women on his land. But he knew he had no choice. The lads from the village who’d always worked for him had already been called up, but at least Roger was allowed to stay. At least until further notice.
The farmer had a head of greying, black hair and eyebrows to match, and Alice imagined that he’d probably been a handsome man in his youth. And his wife, too, would have been an attractive girl… Mabel’s hair, wound up in a big knot on top, was still a strong brown colour, though tinged with grey, and her eyes were large and expressive. The two would probably have been a golden couple, before life and weather and work had got to them.
And how would she, Alice, look at their age? How would the twins, and Sam look? She couldn’t imagine Sam looking anything other than he was now…or was, the last time she’d seen him. Tall and straight, with a mass of thick hair the colour of conkers polished smooth, swept back from an aristocratic forehead, his profile chiselled, his dark eyes meltingly soft…the epitome of distinctive, British masculinity.
And above all – he was clever and courteous. And kind…had been, to Alice, from the very beginning. Over the years he had taught her so much, passing on all sorts of important things he learned at his boarding school. Had shown her how to form opinions and hold her own in any discussion, to contrast and compare, to give due consideration to other points of view…to think…
And he’d shown her how to dance. The waltz and the quickstep. And the foxtrot – the foxtrot had an elegant, unhurried, movement. Alice liked the foxtrot best of all.
The farmer was staring down at the girls, now, sizing them up, and Alice noticed how red and fat and swollen his hands were as they gripped the back of his chair.
‘First thing t’morrer I want ee all up the field, diggin’ spuds,’ he announced. ‘Second crop’s ready, and I don’t want no ’angin’ about. But you’ll have to wear summat decent on your feet.’ His lip curled slightly. He’d noticed their sandals, what they were wearing. He glanced at his wife. ‘They boots did arrive, didn’t they, Mabe?’ he added.
Mabel nodded. ‘Came last week,’ she said.
The heavy boots were the one item which had been delivered to the farm separately. They certainly wouldn’t have fitted very well in a suitcase.
Now Roger Foulkes stood as well. He was a tall, good-looking lad in his late twenties, with a twinkle in his dark eyes and a readiness to laugh if anything remotely amusing was said by anyone. Of course, Fay, who’d sniggered at the piece of human behaviour just now, was already on his wavelength, and Alice noticed how easily the girl had got Roger’s attention.
Alice had also noticed Eve’s reaction to Mr. Foulkes’ crudeness…she’d seemed thoroughly embarrassed, keeping her eyes on her plate. Poor girl, Alice thought, this was going to be a completely different world from the one she obviously knew in dignified, cultural, Bath, and maybe she just would not be able to stick it. Land Girls giving up on the job before they’d barely begun was not unheard of – but Alice hoped Eve wouldn’t give up. For some reason that she couldn’t really explain, Alice wanted them, the three of them, to get through this together.
The farmer clumped his way to the back door and went out without another word, and Mabel said as she started clearing the table –
‘’Ee’s gone to look around last thing for the night,’ she said. ‘Always does.’ She piled the pudding dishes one on top of the other. ‘And don’t mind ’im,’ she added. ‘’Is arthritis always plays him up in the heat, but ’ee’s all right, really.’ She turned to Roger. ‘Now Rog – why don’t you just show them…Alice and Fay and Eve…around for a few minutes…’fore it gets too dark? Give ’em some idea about what we’ve got ’ere? An’ what they might be going to do…’
The three got to their feet, and Alice said – ‘But can’t we help with the washing up, Mrs. Foulkes?’ Alice had never been used to leaving chores to others.
Mabel smiled broadly. ‘No, that’s a’right, luvver. You just go out, now, with our Rog. And then it’s ’eads down for all of you! Tis gonna be a long day tomorrer!’
Doing as they were told, the three girls followed Roger out of the farmhouse. It was not quite dark, and still very warm as they made their way around the immediate precincts…Roger pointing things out as they went. The chicken enclosure was huge, all the birds roosting quietly, and Alice said tentatively –
‘How many chickens are there, Roger? It’s an enormous pen, isn’t it?’
Roger grinned. ‘Hundreds and hundreds,’ he said cheerfully. ‘They have the life of Riley, and they’re all my mother’s babies – though there are far too many for her to give them all names! And when her geese have their goslings you can’t keep her away from the nursery!’
The farm was larger than it had seemed at first glance as they walked around the cow sheds and milking parlour, past the goat pen, and the pig sties where the animals were still shuffling and rooting around for food. Three massive barns were already stacked right up to the top with hay and straw, and as Roger began leading them further away up to the crop fields, Alice couldn’t help thinking how hard and relentless working on a farm must be. Well, they were about to find out, weren’t they, but it was all right for them. They were only going to be here temporarily, while for Roger – and his parents – it must be a gruelling lifetime’s work.
But Roger wasn’t grumbling – and certainly not today. Thanks, Mr. Hitler, he thought, there’d never be another time when three gorgeous girls would be living on their farm! He glanced down at them as they all made their way across the fields.
‘I bet you all groaned when you were told what you were going to be doing for the war effort,’ he said lightly. Then, after a moment, he added, ‘I should have thought they could have found something a bit more…well…lady-like – tidy – for you than sloshing around in mud. Because it does rain here, you know. And then it’s not nice.’ He looked down at their pretty sandalled feet. ‘You’ll certainly be needing your boots.’
‘That’s why they’ve been provided,’ Fay said smartly, ‘and don’t you worry about us, Roger. We’re perfectly prepared for what’s ahead – aren’t we, girls? – and it’s insulting of you to think we’re only fit for “lady-like” jobs! What do you think we are? A trio of pointless twerps?’ She strode on ahead a few steps. ‘Just lead us to it! We’ll cope with whatever you throw at us!’
Roger caught her up, longing to hold her hand but not daring to. ‘OK, OK, sorry I spoke,’ he said teasingly. It stirred something in him to be challenged by a woman.
Eve, who’d been rather quiet, spoke up. ‘Could we turn back now?’ she asked plaintively. Well, they seemed to have been walking for ages, with Roger pointing out which crops grew in which fields and when, and her feet were tired.
Roger nodded, turning around reluctantly. He’d liked to have gone on walking for another hour – in the present company! He looked down at Alice, sizing her up. Of all of them, it was she who seemed to be really taking in her surroundings, he thought, seemed really interested in everything she was being shown, and had been asking him questions as if she was preparing for an exam.
Roger took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet country air. He hadn’t felt so up-beat for years.
Later, the girls made their way up the narrow, dark wooden staircase to their room. As they went inside, Fay flicked the switch on the wall and the one bulb hanging from the ceiling struggled to emit a pale yellow beam.
‘Oh dear, there’s not much light in here, is there,’ Eve said slowly, going over to her bed and sitting down. She looked around her. ‘It makes everything look, well, eerie, doesn’t it,’ she added, giving a little shiver of distaste.
‘Spooky, you mean,’ Fay agreed. ‘Hey – perhaps there’s a resident ghost lurkin’ about! I’d love to see a ghost, I really would! This whole place is ancient enough for all sorts of weird goings-on!’
‘You don’t really think there is one, do you?’ Eve began worriedly, and Alice interrupted, laughing.
‘Don’t be daft, Fay,’ she said, shooting the girl a warning glance. Eve didn’t need anything more to unsettle her.
Just then there was a tap on the door, and Mabel stood there holding three saucers, some candles and a box of matches.
‘I just thought maybe these might be useful,’ she said. ‘The light’s not so good up ’ere, is it?’ she added.
After she’d gone, the girls each melted the end of their candle until the wax dripped, then stuck it onto a saucer. And soon the room glowed even more atmospherically, throwing strange, moving shadows into the corners and walls.
Eve shivered again, putting her candle down on the floor by her bed. And thinking of her home, her room, of the life she’d left behind her…for who knew how long? Thinking of her parents.
This was the time they’d be getting ready for bed, deciding whether they wanted Horlicks or Ovaltine last thing…or whether to have a pot of tea for a change if they thought the evening meal had been a bit heavy for a milk drink. And Eve supposed that by now they’d be lining up their tablets…four at night for her father, three pink, one white, two for her mother, both pink, then two white ones for both of them next morning, the glasses of water at the ready on the bedside tables. Eve sighed inwardly. They were perfectly capable of sorting out their tablets by themselves, but they’d always insisted on her doing it for them. And it wasn’t as if they really needed them…they just bought packets of the things each time they went to the chemist – laxatives, sedatives, anything for aches and pains and sore throats and headaches – convinced that every advertisement they read was genuine.
Well, they’d have to rely on each other without her now, Eve thought. They would have to try and think for themselves for a change. But she hoped they’d enjoyed the tin of pilchards and the salad she’d prepared and left for their supper.
Getting up, she went over to the cupboard where she’d put her nightdress and wash bag. The sooner she got ready for bed and went to sleep – if she was going to be able to manage a single wink – the better. She glanced over her shoulder.
‘Although the meal was very nice, and very appetizing, I did think there was far too much food on the table tonight for everyone, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘It was rather – well – extravagant, wasn’t it.’ Although nobody was starving in Britain, the rationing system had made people more careful with what they had, no one expecting huge portions of food at meal times any more. And obesity in the population was virtually unknown. Eve had certainly been very circumspect with helping herself from all the dishes on the long kitchen table earlier.
‘Well, I wasn’t complaining,’ Fay said flatly. ‘It’s a long time since I had a jolly good old blow-out, and as far as I’m concerned we can have more of the same tomorrow.’ Holding her candle aloft, she marched across the creaking floor to the basin. There was still plenty of water in the jug left over from their earlier wash, and she swilled her face and hands quickly, then started doing her teeth. Dipping the brush in and out of one of the tin mugs of water on the table, spitting into the bowl, then tipping everything into the bucket beneath. It was all a bit laborious and a lot more inconvenient than having access to taps and flushes, she thought – they’d made their second walk past the cabbages after Roger had said goodnight – but they’d get used to it. They’d bloody well have to.
Finally, she cleaned the bowl around vigorously with her flannel and squeezed it out, then turned to glance at the others.
‘Bathroom’s vacant!’ she exclaimed. ‘’S’all yours!’
Presently, after Alice and Eve had undressed and taken their turn at the basin – which it had to be said was big enough to bath a baby in – all three lay down, glad to stretch out after a long and tiring day, even if it did feel as though the beds were made of hard core.
Fay reached into her bag for another cigarette, lit up, then looked up at the ceiling, blowing out a long plume of smoke.
‘Well, I s’pose my ARP pillar-of-society father’s out doing his stuff for the war effort,’ she said. ‘Mr. Civil-Defence-on-two-legs. Showing everyone what a great man he is.’ She snorted derisively. ‘I’ve stopped asking whoever’s up there to finish him off with a direct hit, because no one’s been listening.’ She took in another lungful of smoke. ‘As far as I know, not a hair of my father’s head has been put out of place – despite bomb blasts and falling shrapnel. But I live in hope.’
Eve looked utterly shocked. ‘Goodness me,’ she said, and Fay turned to look at her.
‘Oh, don’t look like that!’ she snapped. ‘I suppose you two got perfect families and everything in the garden’s lovely! Well, my family’s never been lovely…that’s why I moved out a few years ago. I live a couple of miles away with my gran in Knowle, now,’ she went on. ‘Gran thought it’d be safer if I cleared off, because if I stayed at home much longer I’d have killed my father, and then I’d have been hanged for it.’ She paused for a moment. Then – ‘An’ you know something? Next time round, I am coming back as a man! That’s all I’ll ask of whoever’s in charge up there. Because being female ’ idn’t no fun – and it ’idn’t fair!’ She took another drag on her cigarette and sat forward, warming to the subject. ‘D’ya know what? The geezer I was working with last was doing exactly the same job as me, exactly the same job – but he got nearly twice the pay! Just because he’s bloody male!’ She threw out her arms in exasperation. ‘Who can explain that?’
By now Fay was on her high horse. ‘But things are gonna change,’ she said hotly, ‘the saintly Nancy Astor is our only woman MP at the moment, but where she went, others can follow! We’ve had the right to vote for more than ten years, and as soon as this bloody shindig is over our voices are going to be heard, loud and clear! There’s no doubt about it!’
‘You might be right there, Fay,’ Alice said. ‘Helena…my employer where I once worked…she was a suffragette…used to go on marches, and deliver leaflets, and help to break up meetings…she was convinced that one day Britain would have a woman prime minister!’
‘Pigs might bloody fly,’ Fay said, flopping back down on the bed.
Alice laughed. ‘It could even be you, Fay,’ she said. Fay certainly had strong opinions. ‘But until then – where do you work, Fay… or rather – where did you work – before this lot?’
‘Woolies,’ Fay said promptly. ‘I’m a shop girl… I’ve worked at a bakery, been at Boots, Dolcis, Lennards, Stead and Simpson, Bata…done the shoe shop rounds.’ She half-sat, resting on her elbow for a moment. ‘I like being with people, see, but I’ve never been in one place for very long. ’S’pose I’m a bit restless.’ She glanced at Alice. ‘And what’s your job? Something a bit more special than mine I imagine.’
Alice smiled, glad that the subject of killing someone and being hanged for it had passed on to something more acceptable. Eve’s face had been a picture as she’d been listening to everything Fay was saying. ‘My job’s not particularly special, Fay,’ she said in answer to the girl’s question. ‘When I was sixteen I took a Pitman secretarial course – learned how to do shorthand and typing.’ She shrugged, not wanting to sound any more elevated than Fay. ‘It’s not exactly exciting, working in an estate agent’s office, but the people are nice and the pay’s not bad…not bad at all.’ She glanced at Fay. There was a lot more to Fay than the girl wanted anyone to believe …if Fay wanted to, she, too, could get herself a credential that might be more fulfilling than flitting from one retail job to another. As if she knew what Alice was thinking, Fay said –
‘As a matter of fact, I nearly worked in an office once. Passed an interview at one of the big insurance companies in Berkeley Square, but that stopped before it even started.’
‘Why?’ Alice asked curiously.
‘Well, they told me what my duties would be, offered me the job – which I accepted – and just as I was leaving, they informed me that if I should ever get married, I’d have to leave! That I’d be chucked out! Company policy, apparently! Well – I told them they could stick their bloody job up their ’ooter – because that did not appeal to my sense of justice! And it’s not as if I ever intend getting married,’ Fay went on, clearly still upset at the memory – ‘but that isn’t the point. The point is that it was unfair! Unfair to women! Because I know for a fact that there are married men working there. They haven’t been chucked out!’
Alice could understand why Fay was still so cross. She turned to Eve
‘Do you have a job to go back to, Eve?’
For once Eve didn’t hesitate. ‘Oh, mine’s only a part-time job, actually, when I can get away,’ she said. ‘I work at Milsoms music shop in Bath…we sell sheet music, and records, and I help customers find what they’re looking for. And we stock musical instruments as well, and people come in and try them out. That’s the bit I like best.’ She looked pensive for a moment, then – ‘But often I’m at home looking after my parents who are never very well…you see, they were quite old when I came along.’ She frowned briefly, adding, ‘ It must have been a terrible shock to them when I turned up, but at least they’re reaping the benefits now because I’m always there trying to make amends for being alive.’ The comment was made only half-jokingly and the others exchanged glances. It was unusual for Eve to be so forthcoming.
‘Well – we’re glad you’re alive Evie…because if you weren’t here, we’d be one wise bloody monkey short!’ Fay said.
Eve actually laughed, obviously delighted at that. ‘Oh - only one person ever called me Evie before,’ she said, ‘because my parents don’t like it. But I like it!’
‘Well, you’re Evie from now on,’ Alice said, pleased to see the girl begin to look happy. She decided to push a bit further. ‘Was it a boyfriend who liked to call you that?’ she asked.
‘Not exactly…it was just one of the men I worked with at Milsoms,’ Eve said casually, ‘but he was called up straightaway. He’s with the RAF somewhere abroad now, I believe.’ She paused, clearly thinking about that. Then – ‘He’s married to a woman called Diana. I met her once. In the shop. She’s…very beautiful.’
No one spoke for a minute, then Eve said, frowning –
‘I hope digging potatoes isn’t going to be too hard. That’s what Mr. Foulkes said we’re going to be doing tomorrow, didn’t he?’
Alice sat up, hugging her knees. ‘Oh no! It won’t be hard at all, I promise you! It’s fun…really fun!’ She leaned closer towards the others. ‘ We had a kitchen garden in the Clifton house where I used to live, and once or twice I helped dig up some potatoes. And what you do is, you tug at the plant – it’s quite bushy – but it comes up easy as anything. Then you shake the earth off and all the potatoes – dozens of them – emerge and roll away like lovely little golf balls! It’s quite exciting! A little miracle!’ Alice ran her tongue over her lips. ‘And they are just scrumptious to eat…and don’t need peeling at all! Cook used to just rinse them under the tap until the skin almost fell off – then, when they’d been boiled, and cooled down a bit, we’d eat them in our fingers just as they were – dipping them into some salt first.’ Alice’s mouth watered at the memory.
‘Oh for Gawd’s sake!’ Fay exclaimed. ‘You had a cook! How fraightfully posh! Shall we curtsy now – or later?’
Alice burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Betty wasn’t our cook – she cooked for the family my mother and I worked for. We lived-in, you see, so we ate the same food as them.’
‘That all sounds very nice,’ Eve said, sitting up as well now, and not feeling too bad about the prospect of potato digging. ‘Where was the house…it was obviously very big,’ she said.
Alice hesitated, not wanting to talk too much about that part of her life. Not because she didn’t have fond – very fond – memories of it, but because she didn’t want to share them. With anyone. They held so much of what had been dear to her, that exposing them for public scrutiny would lessen their value. Those memories were hers, to hug to herself and keep safe. For ever.
‘It was a big house,’ she admitted at last. ‘My mother and I were on the top floor, and from our bedroom window I could see the Clifton suspension bridge.’ Alice knew all about Isambard Kingdom Brunel and everything he’d designed…Sam had explained it to her.
‘Your employers must have been very rich, important people,’ Eve said, curious to know more. And taken off her guard for a second, Alice said –
‘Well – one day the king did come to tea,’ she began, and Fay sniggered.
‘Oh yeah – which king was that – Kong or Canute?’ She lit another cigarette from the stub of the first one and glanced over at Alice.
‘Neither,’ Alice said. ‘It was the old king – King George the fifth – our present king’s father.’
The room went deadly quiet for a moment as this news sank in. Then Fay said slowly, ‘Bloody ’ell. You’re not kiddin’, are you?’
‘No, I’m not,’ Alice said cheerfully.
By now, Eve’s eyes were shining like stars in the flickering candlelight. ‘Oh Alice…tell us about it…please!’ she exclaimed. Anything to do with royalty or the aristocracy was almost a religion for many people.
But Alice had said enough. No more of her secrets would pass her lips that night.
Despite the long, unusual day they’d all spent, sleep didn’t come easily to Alice, and she found herself tossing and turning on the unyielding mattress until she thought she was going mad. Fay and Eve had no such problem because by now they were both fast asleep, Fay snoring gently through her slightly parted lips.
Alice sighed, and turned over again. They were living in such a weird world. There was no sound outside at all – which was strange considering they were on a farm with presumably hundreds of animals close by. Everything, every animal, every bird seemed to be at rest, and peaceful. Yet peace was not everywhere…far from it. The war in Europe and Japan was raging, things were going from bad to worse as Hitler’s armies gained ground, and at this very moment there were people being killed or injured. They’d all be very glad if their only problem was trying to get to sleep! Thinking that made Alice feel really bad, and she picked up her pillow – which was actually quite soft and comfy – and jammed it over her head, trying to shut out her thoughts.
It must be at least two 0’clock by now, she thought desperately, because by the time they’d blown out their candles earlier it had been gone midnight. She took a long deep breath. Here she was …sharing a bedroom with two girls she’d never met before, billeted somewhere in the back of beyond with people she didn’t know…she could be a million miles away from the rest of the world. Like being on a distant, desert island. And that’s exactly how she was feeling…distant, remote, someone else entirely…
After another half an hour, Alice gave up on the thought of sleep. She sat up and got out of bed, kneeling down and quietly sliding out her suitcase from underneath. She knew exactly where she’d put her torch – most people carried torches with them – and switching it on, she looked for her book which was in an inner side pocket. Just to close her hands around the cover gave her pleasure. And next to the book was her leather wallet which she also took out and held between her fingers. Then she climbed back into bed, and by the light of the torch began to read.
Fay’s soft voice nearly made her drop the torch.
‘Wha’ ya’ readin’?’ she whispered, turning her head to look at Alice.
‘Oh sorry, Fay…I’ve woken you up,’ Alice whispered back, and Fay shrugged briefly.
‘Wha’ odds?’ she said. ‘I wasn’t really asleep anyway.’
Alice half-smiled. Fay’s light snores had told another story. ‘Oh, this is my copy of Jane Eyre …Charlotte Brontë,’ Alice said quietly. ‘I’ve read it so many times I nearly know it by heart.’
‘Yeah, ’ Fay said at once. ‘I used to think Jane was like a wet weekend, putting up with Rochester’s mean moodiness all the time like that, even if he was her employer. I’d have given him a piece of my mind if that had been me…he was just another male big ’ed! But – it was tough luck, him marrying a mad woman, wasn’t it, and then going blind in the end.’ Fay thought about that for a second. ‘Yeah. Good yarn that, and at least Jane knew some happiness at last. Even if she did have to wait half a lifetime for it.’
Alice wasn’t surprised that Fay had read the book. Beneath her brashness was an intelligent and thoughtful person. Alice had worked that out almost as soon as they’d met. And there hadn’t been any of her normal expletives as she’d spoken just then. She seemed to like talking about a mutual interest.
Fay’s eyes dropped to the pile of letters which Alice had taken from the wallet and spread out on the quilt in front of her. ‘Those from your bloke?’ she asked bluntly. Fay didn’t believe in beating about the bush.
Alice’s hand automatically covered the letters up…these were something else she knew by heart. They were so beautifully written, every word beautiful to her, despite the dates on the top of some of them going back many years. Then – ‘Um…yes…in a way…’ she stuttered. ‘I…we’ve…known each other a very long time, but I don’t think I can actually say he is my bloke,’ she said truthfully.
‘But you wish you could?’ Fay said, her tone surprisingly gentle.
There was a long, long pause. ‘Yes, I wish I could,’ Alice said quietly.
‘So – what’s the problem?’ Fay’s query was direct, as usual. ‘Another woman in the way?’
Another long pause. ‘Another woman – and a different…life,’ Alice said slowly.
Fay half-sat up, leaning on her elbow. ‘And where do you live – you know – normally? With your parents?’
Alice didn’t look across as she answered. ‘My parents are both dead,’ she said quietly. ‘So – I have digs in Totterdown with a lovely lady called Gloria. I can walk to work from there.’ She smiled. ‘Gloria insists on spoiling me.’
For a few moments neither of them spoke, then Fay jerked her head in Eve’s direction. ‘D’you think our Evie’s got a boyfriend, or ever been kissed?’ she said quietly.
Alice folded her letters carefully, and put them back in the wallet.
‘Don’t know. Perhaps she’ll tell us one day,’ she whispered, though Alice doubted whether Eve would ever give much away about herself. She was obviously the shy sort – unlike Fay, who was the direct opposite. Fay was probably a revelation to the girl whose life seemed to have revolved around her parents and the quiet mustiness of a music shop.
Well, they were going to have plenty of time to get to know each other properly, Alice thought, though how long, nobody really knew. No one had the slightest idea how long this war was going to last…
They could still be working on this farm months…years…from now.
And the start of day number one was only a couple of hours away…
Chapter Three (#ulink_e44cd7cc-c63f-59db-8e3e-0d84872b2aaa)
It was barely light and suddenly it sounded as if all hell had broken loose.
Right beneath their window, the massive herd of cows was trudging towards the milking sheds, their hooves clumping along the sludgy path, their bellows competing with the barking of the sheepdog as it encouraged them to get a move on. And Roger’s voice adding to the din with his persistent “come on there…ey-yah, ey-yah.”
And above and beyond all that was the ear-splitting screech from the cockerel in the large chicken run nearby, and the sound of a tractor rumbling past at full throttle.
It was 4.30.
The three girls awoke almost simultaneously and sat up, staring at each other blearily.
‘Blimey,’ was the only word that Fay could manage.
Just then there was a tap on the door and Mabel’s voice outside. ‘Hot water ’ere for you,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Your breakfast’ll be ready in an hour, so there’s plenty of time… ’Ope you all slept well, luvvers! Tis another lovely day!’
With no one saying very much, they began to get ready, taking turns at the basin before getting dressed in their uniforms.
Fay was the first to pull on her breeches and thrust her feet into her long woollen socks and brogues, before slipping on her shirt, leaving the three top buttons undone. Then, sitting on the edge of her bed, she began applying her make-up, and combing her hair, leaving it loose. She looked across at the others, who’d nearly finished getting ready, watched Eve still brushing out her thick curls, which was taking her a long time - well, there was a lot of it. Though Alice didn’t seem to have much difficulty with her dark browny-black glossy hair, which she was plaiting rapidly before pinning up out of the way. Fay studied her for a second.
Alice had a soft, heart-shaped face, dominated by jewel-green eyes, her expression sometimes pensive and preoccupied, Fay thought. She seemed to wear little make-up – if any – though she had now begun to smooth on some cold cream. Fay shrugged inwardly. She was not going to change her ways just because they were out here, far away from everything. She’d always loved make-up – especially the bright red lipstick favoured by glamorous American stars in the pictures. She made a face to herself. They weren’t going to see any films in this God-forsaken part of the world – and no one knew how their time off was going to work out either…whether they’d be able to get a lift back to Bristol and see a bit of life…perhaps go to the Odeon, or the Gaumont. Even to think about it made Fay remember the smell of the plush seats as you went in, the soft carpet under your feet as you edged your way along the rows. The fug of cigarette smoke, the sense of anticipation as you waited for the programme to begin. The second feature, the B movie came first, often a cowboy one, then the Pathe News – and finally the big one. The one you’d really come to see. To inhabit, just for an hour or two, the glitz, the glamour, the amazing lifestyles of the American populace…
Alice finished what she was doing and stood up. ‘Well, that’s me done,’ she said in a somewhat resigned tone. With such basic facilities, getting ready for the day didn’t take long. And after a moment’s thought she added, ‘Who’s going to be the first to have a hip bath? It’s not going to be very luxurious!’
Fay shrugged. ‘I’ll volunteer to try it out,’ she said, ‘especially if Roger’ll offer to come and scrub me back!’
Alice laughed, and glanced across at Eve who had been quietly getting ready. She looked rather pale and was saying very little. But she did look quite cute in her uniform, Alice thought. And the hat would suit her, perched on top of all those curls.
‘Are you feeling OK, Evie?’ she said, hoping that the new nickname would cheer the girl up. ‘Did you manage to get much sleep last night?’
‘I think so – eventually,’ Eve said, ‘I thought you two were well away before I’d even closed my eyes.’
‘Wrong,’ Alice said cheerfully. ‘It was the middle of the night before the sandman threw anything into my eyes…but, strangely, I don’t feel particularly bad this morning,’ she added. ‘In fact, I think I’m ready to pull up a few of those potatoes!’
‘And I’m ready for some breakfast,’ Fay said decisively. ‘Come on – let’s go down…does anyone smell bacon and eggs and black sausage and mushrooms…?’
Eve gave her a watery smile, and said that a slice of toast and marmalade would be enough for her, after that huge supper last night.
Mabel greeted them as they went into the kitchen. ‘Good, there y ’are,’ she said. ‘And don’t you all ever look lovely! Uniform suits you fine! Now then – the porridge is there in that pot on the range, just ’elp yerselves to as much as you want. And there’s plenty of milk to keep you going, straight from our own cows, so couldn’t be fresher.’ She brought a large white enamel jug over to the table and put it down. ‘And I expect you like sugar with yours, so there’s the bowl. Just ’elp yerselves.’
‘Oh…thank you, Mrs. Foulkes,’ Alice said, not catching Fay’s eye. So much for bacon and eggs!
But Mabel hadn’t finished, putting a big crusty loaf, a knife, some butter and a pot of home-made jam onto the table. ‘There – you just ‘elp yerselves, won’t you. And Roger’ll be coming in soon to take you up the field.’ She stood with her hands on her hips for a few seconds, looking at them each in turn. ‘I ‘ope you’ll be ’appy with us here, luvvers,’ she said slowly. Having three women – three girls – on the farm instead of all men was going to be a nice change for Mabel. She’d been looking forward to it as soon as she’d known it was going to happen. ‘Now, I gotta go and finish getting they eggs in,’ she began, and Alice interrupted –
‘I’d love to help you with that sometimes, Mrs. Foulkes – if I’m not needed anywhere else, of course,’ she said eagerly. Alice had a picture-book view of putting her hands into warm straw and finding a lovely brown egg nestling beneath…
‘’Course you can, luvver – but s’mornin’ those ’taters d’come first I’m afraid!’
As she turned to go, Fay said tentatively – ‘Um…how far are we from the village, Mrs. Foulkes?’ She wanted to say – how far were they from any kind of civilization at all. ‘And is there a bus service into Bristol…or into anywhere?’ she added hopefully.
Mabel pursed her lips. ‘We used to get two buses a day, ’afore this war,’ she said, ‘but now all we get is a charabanc twice a week – Sundays and Wednesdays. The train sometimes stops at the Halt – but it’s only a branch line and I dunno the times. I ‘aven’t used the thing for yers.’
‘But I take it you have some shops…somewhere…?’ Fay said.
‘’Course!’ Mabel said at once. ‘The village is only a mile and a half away, though there’s only the one shop, really – but it’s big – an’ they sell a bit of everythin’! An’ the chemist is next door. Then a ’ course there’s our church by the green – next the war memorial and the school. And there’s the pub…the Wheatsheaf…and the bakery, next to the telephone box…mind, we get a bread delivery come in from one of the towns each mornin’ but, well, the little bakery everyone uses is not really a shop,’ Mabel went on, ‘see, the twins, Eileen and Esther, have run the place from their house for yers and yers. They got a big front room, see, and they sell everythin’ from the open window first thing each mornin’…and they never ever fail. ’Course, tis only bread and buns, though sometimes there’s somethin’ a bit more fancy.’ Mabel paused reflectively. ‘We’ve never got our bread from them, a’course, because I do all our bakin’ meself, like most others do.’ She folded her arms. ‘An’ there’s our WI hut where they have whist drives every Tuesday and Thursday evenin’s, and some Saturdays there might be a film showin’ as well… I know Rog goes up there if it’s summat he wants to see.’
Fay had stopped listening. At least there was a pub!
After Mabel had gone, the girls filled their bowls with the porridge then went over to the table and sat down. Eve stared down at hers and shuddered.
‘I don’t really eat porridge,’ she said, ‘and not this thick.’
‘Well – dilute it, Evie,’ Fay said, pushing the jug of milk across.
‘What – with raw milk?’ Eve said, shocked at the thought of swallowing anything that hadn’t been made bug-free. ‘I think it would make me sick!’
‘No, it wouldn’t,’ Alice said reassuringly. ‘The Foulkes family obviously drink nothing else., and they look fit enough to me.’
‘Yes…but it’s not the same for them,’ Eve said. ‘They’re used to it…they’ve obviously become immune to any infection, haven’t they…’
Fay, who was thoroughly enjoying her porridge, put her spoon in and took another mouthful. ‘And that’s what’ll happen to us, Evie,’ she said. ‘We’ll get used to everything, and become strong and hearty Land Girls, living off the fat of the land!’ She scraped the bowl with her spoon and got up. ‘I’m having seconds!’
Presently, they made their way outside and into the yard where Roger was waiting for them.
‘Morning,’ he said easily, grinning down at the girls, and once again not believing his luck. They were all so smashing- looking – even in their uniforms – and always so friendly…he’d been wondering who was going to turn up. Living out here and working on the farm as he had for most of his life, Roger didn’t meet many new people…certainly not new women…and the village girls, most of whom he’d been to school with, were hardly exciting company any more. And a lot of them had moved on, and out.
Now all he had to do was to show these city types the ropes. And he was going to enjoy it.
‘You’ll be up the top today,’ he said as they fell into step beside him. ‘We didn’t manage to get up to the potato fields last night, did we?’ He glanced down. ‘It’s another pot boiler, so good job you’ve got those hats on!’
After a good five or six minute hike, they came to the field. Roger pushed open the gate and went in and the girls followed him. And for a few seconds neither of them uttered a word as they stared around.
The field went on for ever, disappearing into the far distance…almost further than the eye could see…with rows and rows and rows of plants rustling gently in the slight breeze. Wheel barrows and long-handled forks were there by the hedge, and Roger said –
‘Well, there you are, help yourselves to that lot! They’re ready to come up so there won’t be any problem.’ He picked up one of the forks. ‘Approach the plant from the side, see, like this, and start gently so as to try and not damage any potatoes, then dig, lift and shake.’ With his strong brown hands and muscular arms, the task seemed easy going for Roger, and he’d lifted half a dozen plants in a few seconds. ‘Then just fill up your buckets with the spuds, and chuck the plants into the wheelbarrows,’ he went on, ‘and I’ll return with the trailer every now and then to take everything down to the sheds.’ He stood back. ‘Have a go,’ he suggested.
The girls each picked up a fork and started digging, and as Roger had said it wasn’t a complicated assignment – it was just that it appeared to be endless. Fay glanced up from under her hat.
‘Um – how long d’you think it’ll take us to finish this particular field, Roger?’ she said. Farmer Foulkes had intimated that there was more than one. ‘It’s a far bigger area than I’d thought it was going to be…d’you think the war’ll be over before we dig up the last spud?’
Roger laughed at that. He liked a woman with a sense of humour. ‘Get away with you,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Once you get going it’ll get easier and easier.’ He grinned. ‘But it might take you a couple of days,’ he admitted.
He stood with his hands on his hips watching them for a few minutes – enjoying seeing them tackle a job which none of them had ever done before. It was funny having women on their land – women who managed to look good, look enticing, even when wearing those brown uniforms. And they were getting on with the job without question. Fay had already lifted a dozen plants, and Alice seemed to know exactly what to do as she lifted and pulled, though Eve seemed at a bit of a loss, standing back now and then as if hoping the potatoes would pop up by themselves.
But of the three girls, it was Fay who intrigued Roger Foulkes. There was something about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on – not that he had that much experience of women, he admitted – but she seemed different. One on her own. With a sort of devil-may-care attitude, as if she could take on the whole world if she wanted to, single-handed, and everyone had better look out. And he liked that. But he also sensed that she was hiding behind something, hiding behind the persona she liked to portray, hiding behind a kind of veneer. Roger shrugged at his own introspection. None of that really mattered as long as these Land Girls managed to convince his father that they were worth the money he’d be paying them.
But the best thing he liked about Fay Reynolds was that she certainly seemed fun to be around – good for a laugh, good for a joke…they were all giggling about something now, as they worked, at something Fay had just said. Yet Roger instinctively felt that you’d better be careful not to go too far with her…not to overstep the mark. To play the game – whatever it was – on her terms. And that she had her own very specific point of no return.
She stood back now and went towards him, carrying an armful of plants and her almost-full bucket of potatoes over to the wheelbarrows. She poked her tongue out at him as she went by. ‘Wha’ ya staring at, Roger Foulkes?’ she enquired breezily. ‘Ain’t we working fast enough for you?’
‘Oh…’course you are…you’re doing fine,’ Roger stuttered, suddenly embarrassed. He hadn’t realized that he’d been standing there watching them for so long.
‘Well, that’s all right then!’ Fay exclaimed. ‘It wouldn’t look good to get the sack on our first day, would it?’
At the end of the day, after they’d eaten a generous meal of baked gammon with the family, Alice, Fay and Eve were in their bedroom, thankful at last for a chance to have a rest. They’d lit their candles again, though by now they’d got used to the poor light from the ceiling bulb, managing very quickly to feel their way around for what they wanted. Unbelievably, it was already beginning to feel less strange…even a tiny bit like home…
Fay was sitting on the floor, soaking her feet. She’d half-filled the basin with warm water and was leaning back on her elbows, gazing up at the ceiling.
‘That was not a job, that was an endurance test,’ she said emphatically. ‘Once or twice during the afternoon I thought I was hallucinating – I thought I could hear voices…and not just yours!’ She swished her feet around in the water gently.
‘You might have had a touch of sun stroke,’ Alice suggested from her prone position on the bed. ‘It was certainly hot enough…my mouth was so dry at times I nearly choked.’ She glanced over at Eve who was sitting cross-legged on her pillow, her hands poised in front of her as if she was praying. She’d hardly said a word at supper, but had managed to finish everything on her plate. In spite of the basket of bread and cheese, apples, and flasks of tea and elderflower cordial that Mabel had sent up to the field, they’d all been famished by the time they’d sat down to eat at 8.30…it had been a long, long day.
‘You’re quiet, Evie…are you feeling OK?’ Alice enquired.
‘I’m not feeling too bad, thanks,’ Eve said. ‘But my hands feel really sore…look – the skin’s broken in a few places and it’s stinging.’ She examined her fingers, flexing them gently as if trying to ease away the pain. ‘I suppose wearing gloves would be frowned on, might slow us up – if we’d been given any in the first place,’ she said.
Alice smiled to herself. She hoped Eve wouldn’t bring out the little white ones she’d been wearing yesterday. Yesterday? It felt as if they’d been away a month already!
‘I think Roger was pretty pleased with how much we got done today,’ Alice said. ‘I heard him talking to Mr. Foulkes –who I gather had gone up to the field himself later, to check up that we hadn’t been wasting time and lying around sunbathing…and they both seemed to agree that we’d done all right.’ She turned over, trying to ease her aching back. ‘So we’re going to be doing it all again tomorrow, but at least we know what digging potatoes is all about.’
Eve looked at her a touch reproachfully. ‘You said it was fun, Alice,’ she said. ‘When you used to do it.’
‘Yes – but we only had one or two rows!’ Alice said. ‘Not hundreds and hundreds and hundreds!’
After a minute she looked down at Fay. ‘Is there any chance that we might have the basin soon, Fay – you know, like before dawn breaks?’ Alice’s own feet were throbbing like a set of drums.
‘’Course,’ Fay said amiably. ‘Just as soon as one of you passes me a fag. It’ll be the first one today and I’m getting desperate.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Eve said at once. She got off the bed and opened Fay’s handbag, then took a cigarette from the packet and struck one of the matches. ‘Shall I light it for you?’ she said. ‘Because your hands are wet, aren’t they…’
Alice raised an eyebrow slightly, and Fay said – ‘Yeah, go on…Thanks, Evie.’
Eve put the cigarette into her mouth, touched the end with the lighted match, then drew in gently, just enough for the cigarette to glow, following it with one or two brief puffs. Then she went across, bent down, and put it in Fay’s mouth.
For once, Fay was almost lost for words, and Eve said – ‘Thanks. I’ve always wanted to see what smoking was like.’
‘Well –as you didn’t inhale, that wasn’t really smoking,’ Fay said, smiling, ‘but if any of mine go missing, I’ll know who’s nicked ’em.’
At last, with the candles snuffed, they were all ready to lie down and go to sleep. And perhaps it wouldn’t take her quite so long tonight, Alice thought, perhaps she was so tired the bed might even begin to feel comfortable…
By now, they’d all stopped talking, and her gaze slid across to the others. Fay still had her eyes wide open, and aware that she was being watched, she turned her head and gave Alice a quick smile.
And as Alice smiled back, she couldn’t help thinking about Fay’s life behind the counter at Woolworths, and about her father, and why she wanted him killed. What a dreadful thought that was!
And Alice couldn’t help being sorry for Eve who seemed to feel guilty at being alive. That, too, was a dreadful thought…
All this introspection was reminding Alice of her own life, and that she’d promised to write to Gloria as soon as she could. She hoped that Gloria was OK, living in the house by herself.
And now, almost drifting off, Alice thought about Helena… Helena had no idea that Alice was in the Land Army doing her bit, because she hadn’t told her. (The call-up had all happened rather quickly.) In fact, she hadn’t told any of the Carmichael family. All their letters had become a little less frequent lately. But she would write to Helena soon, Alice assured herself. She knew Helena would be interested.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Eve sat up and got out of bed, pulling out her suitcase for something inside. Then she moved over to the others, holding out her hand.
‘I’d forgotten about these,’ she said softly – even though there was no need to whisper – ‘And once they’d entered my mind, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep without one. I hope they haven’t melted too much.’ She passed a small bar of Fry’s milk chocolate to Fay and Alice, then tore off the paper of her own and began to eat, her expression ecstatic.
Without the slightest hesitation the others did the same. Was there anything more delicious in the whole world than a bar of milk chocolate…whatever the circumstances…
‘We can call this our first midnight feast!’ Alice exclaimed. She knew all about midnight feasts! ‘We’ll have to think of something to have for tomorrow…’
‘And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,’ Fay agreed, finishing her bar and licking the paper until it was completely clean. ‘Thanks, Evie!’
‘I just can’t believe that I had room for another thing after that supper,’ Alice said, as she finished hers. ‘And I didn’t think to pack any sweets…..
‘Oh well, – I’d actually bought these bars for my parents, but they told me to put them in my case instead,’ Eve said.
‘Well then – thanks very much, Evie’s mum and dad!’ Fay exclaimed, flapping the empty wrapper about in the air like a flag. ‘Not my usual night-cap – but it’ll do nicely for now!’
Chapter Four (#ulink_e195412c-426d-5563-a1fd-3495ddefbe1c)
Bristol 1930
‘Well, I hope you’re counting your blessings, Miss!’
The maid’s flat-toned voice intruded unpleasantly on ten-year-old Alice’s thoughts as she unpacked her small bag of clothes and began putting them in the bottom drawer of the cabinet.
‘I’ll remember to do that, Lizzie,’ she said calmly, glancing up at the young, uniformed figure standing in the doorway of Alice’s new room – the room she would be sharing with her mother from now on.
‘Humph’, Lizzie snorted. ‘Anyway, you and your Ma were only asked to live in because of your Pa being killed. That’s what Cook said.’ A thin smile played on the pale lips. ‘A stroke of luck that he was, then, eh?’
Alice straightened up, tossing her thick, dark plait over her shoulder angrily, her green eyes flashing with savage indignation. Although her father had never been a constant member of the family – well, how could he be, with his job – Alice had always loved him dearly and the thought that anyone should think it was a good thing he was dead was obnoxious. She moved purposefully towards Lizzie – who involuntarily took a step back, realizing she’d gone too far.
‘Don’t you dare say that,’ Alice said quietly. ‘My papa was a valued member of the crew – the captain told my mother. And they were sorry that he’d died. Everyone was sorry.’ Alice bit her lip hard. She was not going to shed even one tear in front of the maid, even though the lump in her throat was nearly killing her. ‘What you just said Lizzie was…despicable!’
‘Ho! Hoity-toity! Des…des…picabubble…am I? What sort of word is that?’ Lizzie retorted.
Well, if you read some books you might know what the word meant, Alice thought.
Reading had been Ada, Alice’s mother’s solace during her lonely hours, and she’d instilled the love of literature in her daughter. Alice could read fluently by the time she was six, and she was seldom away from school.
‘Oh, just go away, Lizzie, I’ve got things to do,’ she said airily, turning away.
Alone at last, Alice sat on the edge of the big double bed for a moment, her eyes welling up with the tears she’d managed to hold back. Although her father had only ever been back for one week at a time, and then gone again for six, Alice always looked forward to his home-coming, for them to be together again, just the three of them, in the two-bed terrace house they rented in Hotwells. And Alice’s father would always bring them little presents from wherever he’d been, and tell them how much he’d missed them while he’d been away.
And Ada never once complained about the fact that her jovial husband spent much of his leave down at the pub with his friends, often coming home so drunk she had to put him to bed to sleep it off. And when, one day, Alice had commented on this fact to her mother, she had been gently rebuked.
‘It’s the way with some people, with some men, Alice,’ she’d said. ‘Your Pa needs to have one or two drinks when he’s ashore. God alone knows how he – how his ship – survived the Great War. He…he deserves to be able to relax when he’s ashore.’ But Ada herself never touched a drop of anything, and refused to have alcohol in the house.
‘It’s the devil’s medicine, Alice,’ she said once. ‘Remember that.’
Ada was a spare- framed woman, prematurely grey, with shrewd eyes and a nature to match. She’d always known that the man she loved was not the sort to be relied upon, so three years ago she’d applied for the post of nanny to the five children of Professor Edward Carmichael, the eminent Bristol surgeon. And she couldn’t have known that the day she was ushered into the vast, high-ceilinged morning room at the big house in Clifton for her interview with Helena Carmichael, it was to change her and her daughter’s life for ever.
Mrs. Carmichael was a classically elegant woman with aristocratic, high cheek bones, widely spaced blue eyes and a perfect, sculptured mouth. Her blonde hair was swept up into a large shining knot on top of her head, and her pale, unblemished hands were calm and unhurried as her fingers turned the pages she was holding. Ada, slightly awe-struck to be in the presence of such a person, instinctively buried her own work-worn hands behind her bag, trying not to feel a lesser mortal. But Helena Carmichael’s friendly manner quickly laid any fears to rest, and after almost an hour’s conversation together, she’d said –
‘Well, I was very impressed with your letter of application, Mrs.Watts, and together with the glowing reference given to me by the vicar of St. Stephen’s church, I am quite certain that you are going to suit us very well…very well indeed.’ She’d glanced again at the papers in front of her. ‘So… I have great pleasure in offering you the position.’
‘Thank you, Madam,’ Ada had said quietly.
‘But of course – before you agree, I am sure you would like to meet the children? They are upstairs in the nursery.’
Ada had followed her future employer up the dark-oak winding staircase to the first floor, the whiff of polish, of orderliness, of affluence, making her senses swim briefly. She had never been anywhere like it before, but she had known such places existed because she had read about them often enough in classical literature. She wondered briefly if Mrs. Carmichael and her kind knew anything at all about how other people lived, just a mile or so away from here…the poverty, the squalor. Ada’s house was not squalid, and they were not that poor because her husband was employed. But the seven children living next door had no father that anyone was aware of, and often no shoes on their feet, either. Ada regularly took them in a basket of food when she knew things were really bad, and when the last baby had been born she’d helped another local woman to deliver the child, and for some months afterwards had done their pathetic washing.
Upstairs on the first floor, Ada had been ushered into the massive nursery where the children spent most of their day, overseen by the present nanny who was soon to depart to have her own child.
There were two sets of twins – the boys, David and John who were five, and the girls, Rose and Margaret, who were just two. None was identical, but they all shared the same tousled, curly hair, the same dark eyes. They were alert and interested as they gazed up at Ada.
‘Well, here they all are, Mrs. Watts,’ Helena Carmichael had said. ‘A tutor comes in each morning for two hours to teach the boys their lessons, and if at times it becomes necessary, I can always get you extra help with the girls. And of course, you have yet to meet Samuel, our eldest, who is ten, well almost eleven, and at boarding school. But he’ll soon be home for the holidays.’ She had glanced at Ada quickly. ‘And your own daughter…Alice….she is seven, I think you said?’
‘Yes,’ Ada had replied. Then, summoning all her courage she’d said deferentially – ‘Could I…may I have your approval that Alice comes up here at the end of each school day at 3 o’clock? I…I would not like to think of her home alone until I get back much later in the evening.’
‘Of course you have my approval!’ Mrs. Carmichael had replied. ‘And Alice must have her tea with you and the children. Cook bakes cakes most afternoons.’
‘Thank you, Madam,’ Ada said.
‘But…’ Helena had frowned briefly. ‘It’s surely going to be a very long walk for Alice all the way up here to Clifton, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, Alice is more than capable of walking the distance,’ Ada had replied at once. ‘She is strong, and very capable…a very sensible child. She will be happy to give me a hand with the children sometimes…I know she would love to read them their bedtime stories.’
Helena had nodded happily. ‘And you are quite sure that the hours will fit in with your own domestic requirements?’ she’d enquired. Ada was to come in by 8 o’clock each day to give the children their breakfasts, and to stay until 7 o’clock in the evening, after their baths. With Sundays and one afternoon off each week.
‘Quite sure, thank you, Madam,’ Ada had replied.
‘Then that’s all settled! We shall look forward to you being part of our staff…part of the family, Mrs. Watts,’ Helena had said.
‘Please call me Ada,’ Ada had said simply.
On the following Monday she’d arrived for work as arranged, and was formally introduced to Professor Carmichael. He was immensely tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a fulsome beard, already tinged with grey. His granite-black eyes twinkled behind the spectacles he was wearing, and when he spoke, his voice was deep, and reassuringly personal…and he had a way of tilting his head to one side slightly. Which Ada found very engaging.
‘I do hope you will be happy with us, Mrs. Watts,’ he had said, adding, ‘and don’t let those rascally boys get the better of you, will you?’
Then almost immediately he had left the house to go to the Infirmary where he spent very long days in the operating theatre.
And for the next three years Ada had revelled in her new position.
Alice, too, soon became used to this way of life, could hardly wait for the end of the school day when, as fast as her legs could carry her she would half-walk, half-run up Park Street, and Whiteladies Road and Blackboy Hill until she came to Clifton Downs and the auspicious rank of elegant dwellings owned largely by wealthy merchants of the city – the Merchant Venturers, many of whom had made their fortunes from the slave trade. She would let herself in at the tradesman’s entrance and to the wonderful smell of Cook’s baking, before going up the back stairs – never up the front stairs which were for family, Ada had instructed her – to the nursery where her mother would be doing some ironing or amusing the children or helping the boys with a simple lesson their tutor had left them, or sometimes getting them to recite a poem or two.
Then bliss! Cook would lay tea on the wide table by the window and they’d all eat her wonderful cakes and biscuits and little sandwiches, usually finishing up with fruit from a huge crystal bowl. Sometimes Mrs. Carmichael would come up at this point, but not often because she was very busy with her charity work. Mrs. Carmichael was an amazing woman, Cook said, and it was a pity there weren’t more like her.
For Alice, her only problem was Lizzie. Lizzie was fourteen years old and was brought to the house every morning and collected each day after tea. Her job was to run errands and do odd jobs and help the two cleaning ladies who came in every other day. Alice knew that Lizzie hated her.
‘Lizzie hates me,’ Alice said to her mother one day.
‘Hate is a terrible word,’ Ada replied.
Before even a year had passed, it was arranged that a car would arrive in the morning to fetch Ada, and another one to collect Alice from school in the afternoons. That was all to do with the foul wintry weather they were having, Cook said at the time. Cook knew the reason for everything.
Not only that, on the week of merchant seaman Watts’s leave ashore, Mrs. Carmichael insisted that Ada worked a much shorter day so that she could be at home to spend some time with her husband.
Alice had loved this new life, loved everything about it, and young as she was she recognized this part of her childhood as having a story-book feel. The best of all possible worlds…
But most of all she loved being with Samuel when he came home from boarding school. She would listen, round-eyed, to all his tales…that he was having to learn Latin and Greek, and learn great chunks of the bible off by heart. That they all had to do “prep” after lessons finished, and that the last meal of the day was “supper” at 6.30 and that the food wasn’t very nice – not as good as Cook’s. And that he had to be up very early each morning, how he shared a “Dorm” with seven others and that everyone had to make their own beds. And about the pranks they played on each other and that no talking was allowed after lights-out. He told her about the sports they played, and that he’d been chosen as captain of their Junior House cricket team. To Alice, it was a dream fantasy world and she devoured everything Samuel was saying in his gentle, well-modulated voice as if she could catch some of it for herself.
And soon, they’d begun to write letters to each other, Alice using her careful, rounded handwriting to tell him about the goings-on in the nursery, and of her day at school. And Sam would write back, almost at once, always addressing his letters to the house in Clifton.
Then, a few weeks after Alice’s tenth birthday, when her father’s ship had just docked, they received terrible news.
Before his feet had even touched the ground, Alice’s father, drunk as a lord, had fallen overboard, crushing his arm badly against the side of the vessel. He was rushed to hospital but died a week later from an infection.
That had been seven weeks ago, and one day, Helena said –
‘Why not come and settle here with us, Ada? It would be more convenient for you than renting your home… Professor Carmichael and I have discussed it and we would love to have you living-in. The children adore you – and they adore Alice – so it would be good for all of us, wouldn’t it?’ She paused. ‘And with the housing shortage still so dreadful after the War, it would mean your place would be available for others.’
That point clinched it for Ada as she thought about it. Although it was true that it was just the girls – Rose and Margaret, to take care of during term time – since David and John had joined Sam at his boarding school – Ada was always happy to do general housework if required, and would sometimes help Betty do the vegetables – especially if the Carmichaels were entertaining. And if she and Alice did come to live here permanently, then they would be on hand at night time when the professor and his wife had to go out. There often seemed to be dinner engagements and various social occasions for them to attend. And for her own part, it would be a relief to Ada that she and her daughter were to be well-housed and well-fed, and that she no longer had the responsibility of finding the money for rent and household bills.
So Ada gave notice to the landlord of their furnished accommodation, and at the end of the month she and Alice packed their belongings into two large suitcases and a couple of bags. And watched by groups of curious neighbours, they shut the front door behind them and got into the car which had arrived to take them away from that part of their lives for ever.
Now, having in no uncertain terms told Lizzie to buzz off, Alice remained on the edge of the bed for a while, thinking. Then she lay right down, resting her head on one of the soft pillows. The wide mattress felt firm and comfortable under her back, and it didn’t have any creaky springs. Alice had thought that all beds creaked and groaned when you moved.
Their accommodation was on the second floor of the house, and it comprised this large room, a small sitting room next door, and at the very end of the long landing was their bathroom. Imagine – a lavatory that wasn’t outside in the back yard! And with a long bath you could lie back in instead of a hip bath that forced you to hug your knees!
Alice smiled to herself, and wriggled down further on the bed, wishing that it was night time so that she could get right under the pristine sheets and thick, white cotton counterpane, and dream some wonderful dreams. Except she didn’t need to dream now, because reality was wonderful enough.
Dear Samuel
Isn’t it funny that I always put “Dear Samuel” when I start my letters, instead of “Dear Sam” – which is what I’ve always called you.
Well, we have been here for four weeks and my mother and I have settled in very well. I must say it is lovely not to be living in Hotwells, though of course I still go to school there. But I don’t mind. I wish I was at your school. Do you think I could disguise myself as a boy?
We have gone back to see our neighbours twice since we left because my mother is worried that the children don’t have enough to eat, and the youngest baby is poorly again. So on our way down the town we bought bread and buns and oranges for them. They were all very pleased to see us.
Rose and Margaret had a fight the other afternoon you will be sorry to learn. It took my mother ages to get the plasticine out of their hair. It hurt them and made them cry and she said it was their own fault and they shouldn’t be so silly next time. My mother can be a hard woman!
I think I told you the other day that Lizzie hates me. Do you know why that could be? She’s always looking at me in a funny way and stares me out. Rather uncomfortable!
I’m sorry you only have bread and butter and marmalade for tea. Shall I ask Cook to send you a food parcel for a midnight feast? Ha Ha.
Have you seen the twins yet? Do they like it at your school?
I must tell you something. Your parents were going out somewhere special last week and I hid upstairs on the landing and spied them just as they were leaving. Your mother was wearing a long red gown and she had a diamond clip – or perhaps it was a tiara – in her hair. It sparkled like anything and she looked like a queen, or a princess. And Professor Carmichael was in full evening dress. They looked like two film stars. And then – help, help!!! They suddenly looked up and saw me watching them and they smiled and gave me a little wave. I was so embarrassed1!!!
The summer holidays will soon be here again, thank goodness, and I can’t wait for you all to come home again.
I hope you are well. My mother and I are both well.
Best wishes, Alice.
Dear Alice
Thank you for your letter. I am sorry I haven’t replied sooner but we’ve been having end of term exams and I’ve been doing a lot of revising. I think I have done OK – here’s hoping!
I was not surprised to hear about the girls scrapping. They’ve always done it. But the thought of them sticking themselves up with plasticine made me laugh.
I have spotted John and David in the far distance but we don’t mix at all. Anyway, I shall see enough of them in the holidays, thank you very much!
Our main production this year was Midsummer Night’s Dream. I elected to help with scenery and lighting. It was very good. Have you ever seen it?
It will soon be Speech Day and the end of term service for the whole school. There’s always a bishop or some other big fish present, but I haven’t heard who the lucky person is this time.
Then there is the LAST SUPPER. Note the capital letters! It’s always on the last Saturday before we come home. The kitchen staff make an unusual effort on this occasion, and the menu will be put up on the notice board soon. It’s usually something like roast lamb or chicken and there are always lovely puddings. Nearly as good as Cook’s – but not quite!
By the way I’m sorry about Lizzie staring you out. Very uncomfortable, I agree. But did you know she’s an orphan, living in Muller’s Orphanage? Have you heard of George Muller? I will tell you about him when I come home. I believe the orphanage is a very nice place, but it can’t be as good as being at home with a family, can it?
I must close now because it will soon be lights-out.
Give my best wishes to your mother.
Kind regards, Sam.
PS. I nearly forgot to mention…our House won the cricket tournament outright! I was lifted up on some shoulders, and the team did a victory parade around the ground. (I didn’t forget – just wanted to keep that bit of news until last. S)
Alice read and re-read every line of the letter. Then she folded it carefully so that it would fit inside the prettily painted box – a gift from her father – kept specially for all her treasures.
But before tucking it away, she lifted the letter to her lips and kissed it softly.
December
As she remained quietly kneeling on the floor by her side of the bed. Alice wondered what on earth her mother found to say to God each night. Alice’s own prayers took hardly any time at all – in fact she often repeated them all again in case her mother thought she wasn’t taking the matter seriously enough.
The procedure followed an identical pattern. First, Alice recited the Lord’s Prayer, followed by an urgent request that all her sins would be forgiven. After that, she asked for a blessing on her mother, and that her father was happy in heaven – well he must surely be settled up there by now – though probably not enjoying the devil’s medicine. Next, with a rush of compassion, the names of all the children in Hotwells would be mouthed silently, and, through gritted teeth, a quick prayer for Lizzie’s health, and a much warmer thought for Betty, the best cook ever, thank you God. And then Alice would ask that Professor Carmichael and his wife and children would all have long life and happiness.
But at the very end would be Samuel, whose name she would repeat several times in case God wasn’t listening properly. That He would look after Sam, and that Sam would always be her friend. Her very best friend.
Presently, at last, Ada rose from her knees and Alice immediately followed suit. Together, they turned back the counterpane and got into bed, Ada sighing briefly. The girls had been difficult today, and she was tired.
It was the beginning of December, and Ada and Alice had been truly part of the Carmichael’s house for more than six months. To Alice, it seemed that she’d never lived anywhere else, that this really was home.
‘I hope you won’t catch the girls’ colds,’ Ada said. ‘They’ve been so crotchety today – quarrelling non-stop.’
Alice stared up at the white ceiling for a few moments, her eyes tracing the ornate mouldings and cornices. ‘This is a huge room, isn’t it,’ she said. ‘Are all the other bedrooms in the house as big as ours?’
‘They’re even bigger on the first floor where the family sleeps,’ Ada replied. ‘I’m glad I don’t have to clean them.’
There was silence for a while as Alice thought about that. Then – ‘Mama – can I ask you something very private?’
‘Of course,’ Ada said.
‘What do you find to say to God? I mean, your prayers take you such a long time,’ Alice said slowly.
Her mother smiled in the darkness. ‘Oh well, I have so much to thank Him for, don’t I? I give thanks for kind employers, and a very nice home to live in. And I ask that everyone in the country will soon be able to find work, and that the government will take good care of all the injured men from the War. And that my daughter will be a good girl!’ She reached across to the bedside table. ‘Now then, it’s your turn to read tonight, isn’t it,’ she said, handing Alice their copy of Persuasion.
Alice opened it eagerly, removing the bookmark. From the very beginning of the novel she’d thought of herself as Anne Elliot, and because she already knew the story Alice longed for the end when all difficulties would be resolved and she and the handsome Captain Wentworth would finally be together.
Before beginning to read, she said -‘I wonder why, in books, it always takes such a long time to reach the happy ending? There are always so many problems to sort out before everyone gets what they want,’ she went on. ‘It seems such hard work for them all to be truly happy.’
‘I suppose because that’s what real life is all about,’ Ada said.
Alice looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Did you and Papa have a lot of problems,’ she enquired, ‘before you eventually got married? And then…did you really know that he was the one you wanted?’
Ada didn’t answer straightaway as she thought of her own life. Of her parents, both dead before reaching middle age, of her two brothers killed at the Front, then of meeting Stanley Watts. Older than herself, and so good-looking in his naval uniform, so roguish and full of fun. She was a part-time cleaner at a public house near the Docks where the regulars frequently gathered when in port, and he’d picked her out straightaway. Stanley was a charmer, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and he’d lost no time in making himself known to Ada. And she’d been flattered and thrilled. Had so readily fallen in love. Within three months they were married quietly, and although he was so often absent Ada had thought herself lucky. Her husband was generous and kind and treated her well, never once raising a hand to her. Her worst nightmare had been the War, the dread of hearing that his ship had gone down. But defying all the odds, Stanley had come back safely each time.
And then, and then…he had thrown away all his good fortune. The devil had had the last laugh. What a waste. What a dreadful waste.
‘The difference,’ she said now to Alice, ‘is that in books you usually do get a happy ending – even if it takes a long time to happen – because that is what readers want. What they expect. But…it’s different in real life. You can never count on anything. You have to take what comes your way. And survive it.’
Alice pursed her lips. ‘One day, I am going to write a book, Mama, a proper book,’ she said. ‘Not just my short stories, but a long book, with all sorts of things happening to everyone…and I will give it a really happy ending! I’ll give them all exactly what they want and it’ll end with a great big party!’ She turned her head to look at her mother. ‘Do you think I could do it, Mama…would it take a very long time to write?’
‘It probably would take a long time,’ Ada said, ‘but I’m sure you’d be more than capable, Alice. One day, when you’re older. Because you’ve always loved writing, and all your short stories are like little novels in themselves, aren’t they…and they’re very good. They all have a beginning and a middle and an ending – and I always love reading them – and not just because you’re my daughter.’
Alice hugged her arms around her knees, already imagining her first best-seller in the shops. ‘I would like my book to be bound in red,’ she said, ‘with the title and my name in gold lettering.’
‘I’m sure that could be arranged,’ Ada said.
‘Yes, but how am I going to get started?’ Alice said, beginning to get worried now that her plan looked possible. She hadn’t even thought of a plot for this tome yet!
Ada smiled briefly. Her little daughter had never suffered from the childhood malaise of boredom because there’d always been her exercise books and pencils to keep her occupied. Almost as soon as she’d been able to write, Alice had made up poems and stories. Had so easily seemed to occupy the lives of the characters she invented in a way which had sometimes surprised her mother.
‘Well, I’ll tell you what we could do,’ Ada said. ‘Why don’t you choose one of the short stories you’ve already written – or make up another one – and we’ll send it off to a publisher. How does that sound?’
Alice’s eyes widened. ‘What – you mean a real publisher? Someone who would print it and put it in the shops? Oh Mama!’
‘Now, don’t get carried away, Alice,’ Ada said, smiling. ‘I’ve noticed that there is a small publishing house near the centre of town, and all we would ask them to do is to read your story, and give you their opinion. Tell you where you might have gone wrong. It’s not very likely that they would publish it straightaway,’ she added gently, ‘ because it takes time to learn how to be successful. But they would be professional people who understand what people want to read, and they would tell you where you might have gone wrong. See? And that would be a start, wouldn’t it? But ambition is the main thing you need, Alice, and you’ve got that, haven’t you? You’ve always wanted to be the second Jane Austen!’
Alice’s heart quickened as she imagined a glittering future for herself in the book world. ‘I’ve already got a new idea for a story,’ she declared, ‘I’ve just thought of it! And I’m going to start writing it as soon as I get home from school!’ She turned to her mother. ‘But will you read it first, before we send it off to the publishers, Mama…to make sure I haven’t made any mistakes?’
Ada took Alice’s hand and squeezed it. ‘No, I won’t read it first,’ she said, ‘because it would have to be all your own work – nothing of mine. If you make a mistake it won’t matter. Everyone makes mistakes. All you need is determination to succeed and persistence, and you’ve got all that, Alice. I know you have.’ And after a moment, Ada added,‘Never give up on your dreams, Alice. Always tell yourself that one day they could come true.’
Thoroughly wide awake, her imagination darting all over the place with heroes and heroines and blighted love lives, Alice went back to her original question about her parents.
‘You know…you know you and Papa?’ she said. ‘Did you and Papa really love each other, at once, straightaway I mean? Did you know that you were meant for each other?’
Ada turned her head and looked at Alice. ‘Yes, Alice, we really did.’ She paused. ‘I know we did,’ she added quietly.
Alice was in an enquiring mood. ‘Do you think that the professor loves Mrs. Carmichael as much as you loved Papa?’ she asked. ‘He’s so often away at the Infirmary, Mrs. Carmichael must be awfully lonely sometimes, mustn’t she?’
‘Loneliness is something everyone has to put up with at times,’ Ada said. ‘It’s not the worst thing in the world.’ She paused. ‘Now then – where had we got to with Jane Austen?’
At once, Alice began reading, stumbling only very occasionally with a difficult word, and Ada, only half-listening, thought of Stanley, and what might have been. There might even have been a brother or sister for Alice. If God had intended it.
Presently, aware that Alice was getting tired, she said gently, ‘I think that we’ll let that be the last chapter tonight, Alice. Well done – you read beautifully.’ She turned to switch off the small bedside lamp. ‘Good night, Alice, God bless you.’
‘God bless you, Mama,’ Alice replied, snuggling down contentedly. Then, yawning, ‘Which bedroom do they sleep in – is it the one underneath ours…the professor and Mrs. Carmichael, I mean?’
‘Oh I really don’t know. Go to sleep, Alice,’ Ada said.
But Ada did know. The professor and Helena occupied the main bedroom, the one with its own dressing room, immediately beneath this one. And Ada imagined them, perhaps even now, lying there together…such a handsome couple, he tall and strong, so utterly, completely masculine…and Helena – slim, perfect, beautiful. Beautiful for him.
The Fiction Editor, Allbright Publishing,
St. James’s Square, Bristol. – 13
December 1930
Dear Sir,
My name is Alice Watts and I am ten years old – well, nearly eleven, actually – and I have great pleasure in sending you a short story which I have written, in the hope that you may agree to publish it. It is about five hundred words long.
I have been writing short stories all my life, and one day I hope to attempt something much larger, perhaps like Jane Austen, or one of the Brontë sisters. I know it will take a long time, but I am prepared to work hard and not to give up on my dream.
I wish everyone at your publishing house a very happy Christmas.
I hope you are well.
Yours faithfully,
Alice Watts (Miss)
Alice put the letter in the envelope, hoping that she had said the right thing. “There’s no need for me to advise you on letter-writing,” Ada had said earlier, “because you have had plenty of practice already.” All Ada had done was to give Alice the address of the publishing house, and to explain that to find an approximate word count for her story she should multiply the number across the top by the number down the side.
As Alice stuck the postage stamp on the envelope, she wondered briefly whether she should have put “yours truly” or “yours sincerely” – but, after all, this was a business letter, and she knew that “yours faithfully” was how it was done in business.
Dear Miss Alice Watts
Thank you so very much for sending us a copy of your short story, which my colleagues and I thoroughly enjoyed reading.
I hope it will not depress you too much that we cannot agree to publish it on this occasion, simply because we feel that a little more work needs to be done on it. We would suggest that you employ far more dialogue in the story, showing us, rather than telling us, what you wish to convey. You write in a very impressive, grown- up way, Miss Watts, and all your characters are charming. Let them speak for themselves!
We urge you not to give up on your dream, and hope to hear from you again in the future.
We are returning your story, with many thanks, and hope that you, too, have a very happy Christmas.
Yours faithfully
John Elliott – Fiction Editor, Allbright Publishing.
Chapter Five (#ulink_464310f0-f44b-52a1-8b4e-ca6b50eb9d53)
1941
It was nearly the end of September, and already the three girls felt as if they had never known any other life. It was proving to be far more hectic than any of them had imagined it might be, the days long and hard and tiring, but strangely – muckily – satisfying, and certainly never boring. Alice had to admit that on many a day at the office she would look at her watch, longing for home time. But here on the farm she was aware that they were part of a never-ending cycle of events, of growing and yielding, of cultivating and harvesting, everything full of its own purpose and importance. And being part of it was making her feel important – as if her hours and days were being used to their full and vital value.
Part of the reason that they all felt so relaxed was that Farmer Foulkes could sometimes be a more affable character than they’d imagined at first. He seemed quite pleased with how they’d buckled down to do whatever was asked of them – which included feeding the livestock, mucking out the pigs, helping Mabel clean up the huge chicken run and spread fresh straw, scrubbing down the yards, and Fay, who was certainly the strongest of the three girls, had even been taught how to hold the plough and follow the huge horse as it tugged her along the furrows to make the land ready for the next round of sowing. Thankfully, digging the dratted potatoes had eventually come to an end, and although it had taken a long time the girls had made a good job of it, quickly learning how to avoid damaging the vegetables. Alice, at last, had helped Mabel collect the eggs – though, that, too, had been a long and back-breaking task…there were a lot of birds, and by the time they’d finished her hands were red and prickling from rummaging around in the spiky straw. After which she would help to put each precious egg into the crates, which were then stacked, ready to be collected by one of the lorries that arrived each day at the farm entrance to transport all the produce on to wherever it was needed in the area – near and far.
The meal together as they sat with the family each evening had quickly become something they all looked forward to. Well, they always seemed to be hungry! Roger was always good company and was clearly enjoying having females around him. Alice noticed that he always made sure he was sitting next to Fay at the long table, and that they occasionally shared a quick, private joke.
It also amazed Alice how much she, herself, was able to eat – because her appetite had never been particularly large. But somehow she, and Fay and Eve, managed to clear their plates each time. And the atmosphere was usually congenial – with, happily, no more digestive emissions from Farmer Foulkes to embarrass Eve. He even seemed to like teasing the girls now and then, if he was in a specially good mood.
‘Now, you girls – you look out for they geese as you d’go by,’ he said one evening, wiping his mouth vigorously with his napkin. ‘They can be nasty critters, and one flap of a wing can break yer arm if you’re not careful!’
Mabel shushed him quickly. ‘Don’t be daft, Walt,’ she said. She smiled at the girls. ‘Don’t listen to ’im. They birds are as good’s gold… startin’ to fatten up nicely in time for our Christmas dinner!’
Eve tried not to shudder at that…she had seen the geese in their pen beyond the chicken run and thought what beautiful creatures they were. Killing them seemed utterly heartless to her. But Alice had no such qualms…a goose – more than one – had always been on the table at Christmas with the Carmichaels. Everyone sitting around together, the professor wielding the carving knife with all the precision and dexterity he must use in his daily work.
After a second, Eve said tentatively –
‘Do you think I could take Tess out for a walk, Mrs. Foulkes?’ It would be lovely for it to be just her and the dog roaming the fields together. ‘You know – perhaps when we’re not too busy?’
The farmer sniggered. ‘Take you out for a walk more loike it!’ he said. ‘Th’animal’s not used to walkin’ anywhere…Tessie’s job is to run around after the cows! Not like your townie dogs who prance along on th’end of a lead with their noses stuck up in th’air!’
Alice cut in quickly. ‘D’you have a dog at home, Evie?’ she said, and Eve shook her head.
‘No – ’fraid not. I would love one – but my parents are allergic to them, you see. And to cats,’ she added sadly. She glanced across at Mabel. ‘What about the other dogs…the Jack Russells?’ she said. ‘Would they come for a walk with me?’ Although the sheepdog was allowed to live in the kitchen, Tam and Tom were always outside in their shed, which was warm and dry and where their food and water was, or they’d be just wandering around sniffing at everything. But surely they’d like to go for a nice walk with someone for a change?
‘Probably not, dear,’ Mabel said kindly. ‘They’re a bit scatty, those too – well, they’re always on the hunt, see, for rats. They’re ratters. That’s what they’re ’ere for – and they do a good job of it, too. Always half a dozen bodies to clear up each mornin’,’ she added gratefully.
‘Rats!’ Eve said, clearly horrified. ‘Rats? I didn’t know there were any rats!’
But rats were not unfamiliar to Alice. When they’d lived in Hotwells, the animals were more common than the cats and dogs which roamed the streets. And Ada had told her once that her mother – the grandmother who Alice had never known – had actually killed one herself when she’d been trapped in a room with one, with no way out. Had crushed and crushed it against a door and the wall until it died. Which had sounded brutal to Alice when she’d been told about it, but Ada had explained that a cornered rat was a vicious creature and that self-preservation was the first instinct in that situation.
Walter Foulkes sniggered a second time. ‘Where there’s animals and their food about there’s always rats,’ he said, as if the fact pleased him. ‘You be careful one don’t run over yer foot and bite yer toe off!’
Alice decided that it was time someone changed the subject. She cleared her throat. ‘We were wondering if we could have the day off on Sunday, Mr. Foulkes,’ she said. ‘We’d like to go home and see our folks – and to bring back one or two things we could do with.’ Most evenings the girls liked to change out of their uniforms into their dresses, but they’d all agreed that they’d soon need some extra clothes – especially as the weather would be closing in soon.
Mabel didn’t bother for her husband to reply. ‘A’course you should have a day off,’ she said firmly. It hadn’t escaped their notice that the girls hadn’t mentioned the subject at all since they’d arrived. That they’d seemed to enjoy turning their hands to everything asked of them, never grumbling, not even when it was wet and mucky after it had rained. ‘It’s about time you did…you been workin’ very hard, all of you, haven’t they, Walter?’
‘Yeah, well, no complaints. So far,’ Walter said. ‘Though they still gotta learn how to milk they cows…you keep puttin’ off showin’ ’em, Mabel. ’ S’about time they did.’
‘Yes, well – I will show them…next week,’ Mabel said.
Alice returned to the subject of their day off. ‘We have walked to the village once or twice, on Saturday afternoons,’ she went on, ‘to post letters to our families…but it would be very nice to see them all again, and to catch up with their news.’ They’d also sussed out the one and only shop – outside which was the village’s solitary, ancient petrol pump – and as Mabel had said, the shop did seem to stock a huge variety of things. On the shelves there were cigarettes and tobacco, bacon and ham and eggs and other available tinned food stuffs, household goods, cleaning materials, brooms and dusters and a stack of plain white cups and saucers and plates. There were most of the bathroom essentials – even a small supply of rather dusty, nameless lipsticks (which Fay had picked up and discarded straightaway). And in the far corner of the shop there was a dark little booth which housed the post office – only open three days a week – where they’d bought stamps and writing paper and envelopes. And also, if anyone needed their shoes repaired, a little man arrived on Mondays to pick them up, returning them the following week.
‘The big problem is going to be transport,’ Fay said now. ‘Did you say the charabanc goes to Bristol on Sundays, Mrs. Foulkes?’
‘Yes, it goes at ten from the war memorial,’ Mabel said, ‘but I’m not sure what time it gets back.’ She turned to Roger. Could you find out, Rog?’
‘I don’t think it’s very wise to count on that old banger,’ Roger said at once. ‘The bally thing breaks down all the time.’ He leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes and giving the matter some serious thought. Then – ‘I could take the girls in the pick-up, couldn’t I…two could sit alongside me, and the other one would have to make do in the back…it’d be a bit uncomfortable, that’s the only thing. But at least they’d be sure of getting there. And back. We could sort out the time arrangements.’
The pick-up was the Morris van, usually with a long trailer behind, which had tarpaulin on two sides. The van was driven, most days, down the long drive to take all the produce from the farm – the milk churns, eggs, bedding straw, potatoes and other root vegetables. And sometimes the occasional pig or goat on its way to be slaughtered. Although Farmer Foulkes was a pretty good shot with his gun to kill off rabbits or rats, slaughtering his animals was something he never did, preferring to leave that to others. Everything, apart from the animals of course, was always left stacked carefully by the roadside, ready to be collected by the appropriate person, or persons, for onward transportation. It didn’t matter if the lorries were late arriving because the produce was always perfectly safe, nothing ever stolen. And the same principle applied everywhere, because no one bothered to lock up when they left their farms or houses. Theft of any kind was virtually non-existent. Roger was the only one who could drive, and he had to make the journey from the farm to the entrance many times each morning to take everything down the long lane.
Now, the farmer looked up sharply. ‘Wha’ you want to go into Bristol for?’ he demanded of Roger. He didn’t like the idea of the pick-up using some of their precious petrol for gadding about.
Roger folded his arms and looked straight at his father. ‘I told you before, Dad – I need a new part for the tractor – and I’ve got a mate in the town who I know will have one to sell me.’
‘Huh – on a Sunday?’ the farmer said. ‘Ain’t no shops open on a Sunday!’
Roger raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘Trust me, Dad – he’ll sell me one on a Sunday.’ He looked around at the three girls in turn. ‘So – we’ll be killing four birds with one stone, won’t we.’ He couldn’t help smiling at his own little joke, and was rewarded by Fay throwing her head back and laughing.
Eve spoke. ‘But I don’t live in Bristol, so will we be able to go to Bath as well, Roger?’ she said. ‘Will it be much out of your way?’ She hesitated. ‘We did seem to be driving for hundreds of miles when we were brought here. I didn’t know where I was.’
‘That was probably because there were so many drop-offs before us,’ Fay said. ‘But I don’t suppose it was hundreds of miles.’
‘Don’t you worry about that, Eve,’ Roger said, smiling across at the girl. ‘I know a good enough route that’ll take in Bath on the way to Bristol. And it shouldn’t be more than an hour, all told.’
Walter Foulkes shuffled in his chair, clearly not too happy at this proposed arrangement, but Mabel spoke up, as usual.
‘Well – good, then, that’s settled,’ she said, getting up to clear the pudding dishes. ‘And if I were you, I’d make an early start on Sunday – well, you’re used to early starts now, aren’t you, luvvers, say 9 o’clock? And then on the way back p’raps not too late ’ome, because Monday’s are always busy, aren’t they?’ She looked down at the girls. ‘It’ll be lovely for you to see your families, luvvers. They must be missin’ you,’ she added.
Alice was pleased that they were going home – it would be good to see Gloria, to tell her about the goings-on at the farm, and to hear her news. And it was only Tuesday, so if they posted their letters today they’d arrive tomorrow morning in time for the recipients to reply if the proposed visit wasn’t convenient. Despite the war, Royal Mail was always reliable, the post seldom failing to arrive. But anyway, these days no one moved very far from their homes, and it was unlikely there’d be no one about to greet them.
Roger stood up as well, passing some plates across the table. ‘Good thing you’re going this Sunday,’ he said, ‘because next Saturday night is the Welcome Home concert and that always ends very late…you wouldn’t be fit for a thing next morning.’
Mabel shook her head at him. ‘Honestly, Rog…stop yer teasin’.’ She looked down at the girls again. ‘See, we have a little do for any local lads who come ’ome on leave,’ she explained. ‘It always takes place in the village hall, and the local children put on a concert, doin’ their party pieces and recitations. It’s always very good – bless their hearts – an’ we ’ave quite a nice supper that everyone contributes to. And at the end of the evenin’ the boys are given a ten shillin’ note each, to spend on their leave.’ Mabel sighed happily. ‘Well, it’s a lovely chance for everyone in the village to ’ave a get-together, and to show our appreciation of our brave boys.’
Alice glanced at Roger. Perhaps he would like to have had the chance to go into one of the Services, she thought. But farming was a reserved occupation, and he couldn’t possibly be spared – Farmer Foulkes would certainly be in a pretty mess without him, because Roger, obviously younger and stronger, seemed to bear the heaviest burden, sometimes working sixteen-hour days. Once, he’d briefly mentioned that he’d enjoyed spending a year at an agricultural college, but the war had put a stop to that.
Everyone stood now, helping to clear the table, and Fay said –
‘Well – it’s really kind of you to offer to take us home on Sunday, Roger,’ she began, and he cut in, grinning down at her.
‘It’ll be my pleasure,’ he said, meaning it. It would be good to get away from the farm for a few hours, and have a couple of pints in town with his mate. Thank God beer wasn’t rationed ( it never was). And to have a couple of women sitting nice and close alongside him on the journey would be an added bonus.
‘And don’t worry – I don’t mind sitting in the back,’ Fay told him sweetly.
By now, Saturday evenings – after their meal – had been set aside for the girls’ weekly baths and hair washing. And it was amazing, Alice often thought, how quickly the three of them had become used to each other in a personal sense…sharing a bedroom and daily washing facilities had soon become normal, and after the first couple of hip bath experiences, that, too, had become commonplace. In fact they all looked forward to the one evening when they had the kitchen to themselves, when they could take as long as they liked over sprucing themselves up, with no interruptions. For one thing, Walter Foulkes only ever seemed to appear at meal times, and Saturday evenings were Roger’s one night off to meet his friends at the Wheatsheaf.
The kitchen – always heady with the lingering scent of baking bread – was where the ablutions took place. The huge room, dominated by the long refectory table down the centre, had a massive granite range to one side, on which a large black kettle was always gently steaming, ready for tea-making. Above the constantly lit log- and coal-fired range hung a long, wooden, three-tiered drying rack which could be raised and lowered as required. Mabel, of course, did all the washing for everyone, afterwards winding everything through the big mangle in the scullery, her capable hands and arms flexing and straining as she turned the handle to squeeze the water out. After which, everything was pegged outside on the line. Along with sheets and towels, this always included pairs of anonymous thick white hose and Mabel’s large vests and bloomers, and the farmer’s various items of underwear, all of which eventually found its way onto the airing rack above the range to finish off. Even though the consistently good weather had done a good enough job.
But the girls preferred to wash their smalls themselves upstairs in their room, hanging everything to dry on an ancient wooden clothes horse which Mabel had thoughtfully provided. Fay had been adamant about this at the beginning.
‘I do not want my pants and bras being washed next to Walter Foulkes’s long johns, thank you very much,’ she’d said to the others after Mabel had invited the girls to let her do their washing for them, ‘And I certainly wouldn’t want them exhibited on the rail for general observation either,’ she’d added vehemently. And Alice and Eve had been in total agreement about that.
So on Saturday evenings, two black cauldrons, monstrous things, were lugged in from the scullery by Roger, filled with water, and set to heat on the range. And with her usual foresight, Mabel always made sure the water was ready well before it was needed.
And after the first bathing session, the ritual became a straightforward and normal event. Fay and Eve had never sat in a hip bath before, but it was nothing new to Alice. It was the only amenity available when they’d lived in Hotwells all that time ago.
Of course, the girls could all have bathed separately, but it would have taken a very long time, and without even thinking about it they’d elected to make it yet another shared experience. They placed each bath next to each other, but back to back to allow a certain amount of privacy, then filled enamel jugs, provided for the purpose, with piping hot water from the cauldrons, carrying the jugs carefully over to start the filling process. It took about five or six minutes for the baths to reach a satisfactory level, after which, part-immersion took place.
‘Blimey,’ Fay had said on the first night, as she dropped her head onto her bent knees. ‘Here we are again – the three wise monkeys! What a bloody carry-on.’ But she wasn’t grumbling…especially as the Radox bath salts she’d bought at the shop – and was sharing with the others – made the water feel lovely. And as they’d idly swish their hands and feet gently around, the warm steam and softly perfumed bath salts always made them feel totally relaxed as they’d chat about the day.
Then they’d wash their hair while still in the bath, presently helping each other to rinse it off with fresh water carried over from the cauldron and part-cooled from the tap. And there were always plenty of good, comfortable towels to dry themselves with, and to rub briskly at their hair. That always took Eve the longest, with her thick and copious curls and sometimes the others would take their turn helping her, rubbing and brushing until it was done. Even the simple ritual of the collective hair-drying process became a pleasure…something unhurried and enjoyable, and Alice couldn’t help feeling grateful all over again at how her life was. How it had always been, as if someone, somewhere, was making sure she had everything she needed to make her happy.
The very next morning a letter addressed to Alice arrived in the post. Before she even opened it she recognized the writing. Helena!
My dear Alice.
I was so pleased to receive your letter and to know where you are living – and what you are doing. My dear girl…I feel so proud that you are doing your bit for the war effort…I sincerely wish that I, too, could be more use in that regard, but I have not been very well lately, and anyway what on earth would they find for me to do!
I know only too well that whatever task you are set it will be done with your usual quiet efficiency and good humour. But do be careful, my dear. And please do not wear anything red when you are near the bull!
All the children are safe and well at school, and the professor is, of course, still very busy at the Infirmary. He lives there almost permanently now, but does return to the Clifton house from time to time to keep an eye on things. He does come to visit us in Wales as often as he can, and I am always so pleased to see him. One of the hateful things about this wretched war is that so many are parted from their loved ones. But we shall all be back together again one day, I know it.
Sam is now training at yet another hospital in London. I am afraid we do not hear from him very often, but the poor darling is apparently always up to his eyes. He did ring me up – very briefly – but that was weeks ago! I pray for his safety every night. London is not the safest place to be.
Take good care of yourself, my dear girl. I am so proud of you – as Ada would be. One day we will surely all be able to return to our old way of life and some normality. What a lot we shall have to tell each other!
With my love to you – Helena.
PS
I have sent on your new address to Sam because I am sure he will be interested. Perhaps he will find time to write to you, even if he doesn’t to me! I know you used to exchange letters, and he was always very fond of you.
For several moments, Alice could hardly move from where she was standing. She was glad to be alone in their bedroom, the others having already been despatched to their various duties, because she wanted a few moments to drink in what Helena had written. She wanted a few moments to savour the words – words which included her name with Sam’s…as if the very act of joining them together in the same sentence somehow provided a precious link…
She read the letter again, more slowly, Helena’s lovely character shining through the page. How lucky, how immensely lucky, she, Alice, was to have been part of that family. How lucky that Ada had applied for the position of nanny to their children all those years ago.
Alice let her moistened eyes linger on the best bit of the letter. “He was always very fond of you.”
Then she put it back into the envelope carefully, and put it with the rest of the treasures in her suitcase.
Chapter Six (#ulink_82a22e71-09ff-5429-a952-fcac03a1a0d4)
Now that they knew they were going home, Sunday couldn’t come quickly enough for the girls. Not just for seeing people again, but to get away from the farm, and to inhabit a different world for the day.
On the evening before, as they were clearing up the kitchen after their bathing session, Fay said –
‘I don’t know what you think, Alice – but after I’ve spent a couple of hours at home with Gran…and I s’pose I’d better see my parents as well,’ she added, ‘I’m going into the Centre. See a bit of life. Might go to the Llandoger for a drink.’ Well, there were usually Service types at the pub who’d be good for a laugh. Fay wiped her hip bath around vigorously with a towel, which she folded neatly and left in an enamel bowl on the side as instructed by Mabel. The others did the same.
Alice wondered about going into town. ‘Well – it would depend on what Gloria wants to do,’ she said. ‘She may be cooking us a meal, or having friends in for us all to have a chat and to see what I’ve been up to.’ Alice was also doubtful about the pub suggestion. Although she and Gloria had enjoyed a drink together now and then, that wasn’t the same thing as mixing with drinkers in pubs…which would obviously be smoky and noisy, and where the devil’s medicine would be freely available.
Fay shrugged. ‘Well – it was just a thought. I am certainly going in for a bit of fun.’ She threw Alice a shrewd look. ‘If you don’t think much of the Llandoger we could always have a drink at the Royal Hotel on College Green.’ She paused. ‘I used to know one of the doormen who worked there, and if he’s still around he’d see we had a nice little corner in one of the lounges. And perhaps we could have something to eat there as well.’
This sounded a far better idea to Alice, and she smiled quickly. ‘Well…when we know what time Roger will be picking us up to bring us back here, we could maybe arrange to meet, say outside the Hippodrome, an hour or so earlier? How does that sound?’ To sit somewhere in the Royal – that auspicious hotel near the Cathedral – with a little plate of sandwiches and perhaps an elegant pot of coffee in front of them suddenly seemed very attractive. She knew that it had been the venue for many of the posh events that the Carmichaels had attended over the years, and she’d be able to imagine them…entering the foyer and entrance hall in their glamorous attire…the object of everyone’s admiration.
Now, they left the kitchen, and Eve said – ‘I wish we lived in Bristol. Bath can be so utterly boring at times. Nothing ever happens.’
And being with her parents for most of Sunday would be boring, too, she thought. They wouldn’t bother to have people in to see her, and hear what she’d been doing. Her parents never had people in.
‘Well, Evie – why don’t you get the bus in from Bath and meet us outside the Hippodrome later, like Alice suggested?’ Fay said. ‘I know there’s a limited service on Sundays but there’s bound to be one sometime during the afternoon. Your parents would surely understand that you’d like to do that?’
Eve thought about that for a moment. Then – ‘Well, what I could do is not say anything about enjoying myself, but that Roger had asked me to meet him in Bristol instead of picking me up in Bath on the way back…and earlier than originally planned.’ This devious plan made Eve feel slightly ashamed – she never told untruths, and certainly not to her parents, but suddenly she felt determined to have her own way. She hardly ever went into Bristol – certainly not since the war had started. It would be fun to just walk around with the others, get a sense of what was going on.
‘Smashing! So that’s all settled,’ Fay said happily. ‘So look out, Bristol! The three wise monkeys are coming to town!’
On Sunday morning they were up even earlier than usual to make sure they were ready in time. Roger had said he’d make the van ready and drive it up to the farmhouse at 8 o’clock, and that he’d worked out that the Bath/Bristol trip should only take about an hour, or an hour and a quarter at the most.
They were just finishing their breakfast when Mabel bustled in, carrying three cardboard boxes. ‘Now then luvvers,’ she said, ‘’Ere’s just a little somethin’ for you to take home to your folks.’
The “little something” in each box were two dozen newly laid eggs, a pound of bacon, a large, freshly baked loaf, some rosy apples, a swede and a cabbage, and a brown paper bag holding some field mushrooms.
As the girls examined the contents of the boxes, Alice cried out when she saw the mushrooms. ‘Oh – where did these come from, Mrs. Foulkes?’ She put her nose to the open bag. ‘They smell – and look wonderful! I adore mushrooms!’
Mabel smiled at her enthusiasm. ‘Well, it’s always just right for ’em this time of year when it’s usually warm and wettish. And there was more of ’em down in the field than I’ve ever seen before,’ she said. ‘I had trouble not walkin’ all over ’em when I was picking ’em earlier.’
Alice stared at Mabel as the woman spoke. As well as everything else, she’d been up early, picking mushrooms! Did Mrs. Foulkes ever rest, Alice wondered? She seemed tireless, unstoppable…washing, cleaning, cooking – for six of them now – not to mention the daily bread-baking, caring for the dogs and the smaller animals and the birds, and taking her turn at milking the cows.
‘Mrs. Foulkes,’ she said, ‘you are so kind and generous! My landlady will be absolutely thrilled with all this. Thank you so, so, much.’
Fay and Eve agreed wholeheartedly. ‘You are a treasure, Mrs. Foulkes,’ Fay said, and Eve said that what her box held would be enough to last her parents until the end of the war!
Mabel waved their comments aside. ‘Oh well, we got all we d’need, and more, but it’s not s’easy in the towns, is it.’ She looked at them each in turn as they stood up to leave. ‘Well, as usual, you do look nice in your frocks, I must say,’ she said, a little pang of envy running through her. It would have been lovely to have had a daughter to dress up. ‘An’ don’t forget your cardis, will you…it’s gettin’ colder in the evenin’s now,’ she added. ‘An’ p’raps bring some other warm things back with you.’
Roger was waiting for the girls outside. As they approached, he grinned and swept his arm towards the van in a theatrical gesture.
‘Your carriage awaits, my ladies,’ he said, feeling quite pleased with himself. Well, he’d done the best he could in the circumstances. Now without its trailer, he had cleaned the van, inside and out, and had put a small, low chair in the corner at the back, covering it with a rug and adding a cushion to make it as comfy as possible for whoever was going to sit on it.
He put the three boxes of food into the van, then helped Alice and Eve in next to the driver’s seat. Then he walked with Fay around to the back of the vehicle. He looked at her as she climbed in.
‘Sorry I can’t offer you anything more comfortable, or more plush, Fay,’ he said, ‘and I’ll try to avoid any bumps in the road so as not to throw you around too much.’
‘Don’t you worry about me, Roger,’ Fay reassured him as she lowered herself carefully into the chair. ‘We’re just very grateful that you’re taking us.’
And bless him, he had really swept and cleaned the back of the van up…but Fay wished he’d used something different. She was going to be a walking advertisement for Dettol when she got out. Which, after all, was not known for its seductive qualities. Still. There was a war on. Everyone had to make sacrifices.
With Mabel waving them off at the door, the little cavalcade made its way down the long lane to the farm entrance, and then started the journey, first to drop off Eve at Bath, and then the others in Bristol. And despite the fact that they were all merely going home, rather than to somewhere more exciting, the girls couldn’t help feeling a sense of anticipation. The tiny, open window between the driver and the back of the van allowed Fay to occasionally get up from her chair and lean in to join the conversation going on in the front, and soon the usual chattering and repartee went on between the four travellers.
And although Roger would only have the girls to himself for an hour at each end of the day, he, too, felt a sense of elation. This was something different all right! Gorgeous Eve was sitting very close to him – there wasn’t meant to be three in the front, after all – her long, slim legs partly exposed for his delight, her tumbling, shining curls touching his shoulder and neck from time to time, the sweet smell of her teasing his nostrils. And every now and then as they turned a sharp corner, he felt her thigh touch his for a second. Not only that, the girls had already decided that they were going to take it in turns to move around during the journey, so Alice would be sitting next to him soon enough…beautiful, enigmatic Alice, who often seemed to be far away in another world when she thought no one was looking…her gorgeous eyes sad and dreamy, enlivening all Roger’s protective instincts.
And then eventually Fay would take her place in the front. Fay was a right one, Fay was. Well, this might not be three in a bed, but three in a van, with just him, would do Roger for now!
Fay passed a tube of sweets through the small window to the others, and Roger said as he took one –
‘So – what are you three going to be up to today…apart from seeing your families?’ he asked. ‘I suppose there are three lucky blokes waiting to take you in their arms? Have any of them popped the question yet?’ He’d been wondering about this ever since the girls had arrived on the farm.
‘Not to me, anyway, ‘ Fay said promptly. ‘I can assure you that it’s not going to happen because I do not intend to tie my life to the whims of a selfish, domineering man…ever. No disrespect to you, of course, Roger,’ she added. ‘But I prefer a free and easy fun life, thank you very much all the same.’
Roger half-smiled at the very decisive answer to his question. ‘What about you, Eve?’ he said, turning his head briefly to glance at her. ‘I bet you’ve got some dandy fellow waiting for you.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ Eve said innocently. Well, what chance did she ever have to find boyfriends when she lived at home? And anyway, the only man who had made her feel funny inside when he looked at her, and had made her feel she was someone special, had been married. Whenever he’d been anywhere close to her, her blood would rush through her veins at such a pace that it made her head ache. And once, he’d come up behind her as she’d been sitting at her desk checking the stock ledger and had parted her hair and blown a soft breath of air down her neck…making her nearly faint. If she hadn’t been sitting down she would have collapsed at his feet. No other man had ever had that effect on her, and anyway she’d long ago convinced herself that her position in life was to care for her parents. You couldn’t do everything. You had to make choices.
‘Well, come on, then, Alice,’ Roger said, keeping his eyes on the road. ‘I just know there’s a lucky chap waiting for you…don’t tell me you share Fay’s opinion about men!’
Alice didn’t answer for a second, then – ‘No, I don’t, Roger,’ she said truthfully. ‘But, like the others, there’s no one special in my life. At the moment.’
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Rosie James
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 25.04.2024
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О книге: Dear Alice, dreadful news was told to me today…Bristol, 1941: Alice Watts leaves the shell-shocked city for her new life as a Land Girl on Home Farm. It’s a completely different from her quiet old world, but she’s determined to do her part.And the back-breaking work is made bearable with the help from her two new friends – bold, outspoken Fay and quiet, guarded Evie – and the letters that arrive from her childhood friend, Sam.To Alice, Sam was always more than just a friend, but as the son of her wealthy employer, she never dared dream he could be more… But at least ever letter brings reassurance that he’s still alive and fighting on the frontline… Because it’s when all goes quiet on the letter front that nothing seems certain and it’s a reminder of how life – and hearts – are so fragile.A tale of true courage and the power of sheer determination, this un-put-downable WWII set saga is filled with warmth, humour and heart-wrenching emotion.Perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Katie Flynn and Dilly Court.