‘So, you could just run away?’ Vera said softly, and she was surprised when Pietro laughed.
‘I suppose so,’ he said, ‘but no one runs away. Take me, where would I go? Here bed, work, food.’ He paused as he rubbed his hand across his flat stomach. ‘Some food. But not enough.’ He put his hand inside his trouser pocket and pulled out into the palm of his hand several pennies and halfpennies, a couple of shilling pieces, and some sixpences and threepenny bits. Out of the other pocket he proudly produced a single half-crown which he held up to show her.
‘And I earn money.’ He gave a deep-throated laugh. ‘Enough I buy cigarettes.’ He showed her a small green packet of five Woodbines, one of which was already half-smoked. ‘I no escape. But if I try escape, I no go far or I need new clothes. See this, you see from long way away,’ and he pointed to two large and obvious red circles that had been sewn onto his jacket and trousers. ‘You see, you know, instantly.’ He pointed to some imaginary figure in the distance. ‘That man prisoner of war.’
Vera didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t known about the red circles when she had first seen the POWs in the grounds, but he was obviously very much aware.
‘Do you mind being a prisoner?’ Vera asked as they made their way to the stables. ‘How long have you been here?’
Pietro shrugged. ‘I not count. Two years, I think. Three, four years I not see my home. I was in Italian army in Africa. We surrender. I volunteer to be co-operator, so they bring me here. Is cold here, but OK.’ He held his thumb and forefinger together. Then he turned his face skywards and spread out his arms. ‘I miss sun,’ he said, ‘and family, but glad no more fighting. I no like politics. Only hard work.’ He smiled. ‘Like you.’ They had reached the stables where he stopped to pat the horses and say a few gentle words to them in Italian.
‘I like the garden. But also like the animals.’
Vera nodded in agreement. ‘Just be glad you don’t have to muck out the horses and the cowsheds every day,’ she said and she held her nose between her finger and thumb.
‘Perhaps we meet tomorrow. Same place. Like today.’ Pietro spoke as he began to walk away. ‘Though maybe I help men lift hay.’ He gestured to indicate what they had seen the other POWs doing.
‘It’s been nice to talk to you, Pietro,’ Vera said sincerely.
‘And you Miss Vera. They make you work too hard. You call for Pietro. I help.’
Vera giggled. ‘Wouldn’t that be nice?’
And there was something she could do in return for him. She could bring him some extra food, even if it was only bread. She must be able to find something she could share with him.
Chapter 20
Lily thought she had landed a reasonably easy job when she saw she had been assigned to the threshing team and she didn’t envy Vera having to work so hard cleaning out the animal quarters and being responsible for their feeds when what she’d really wanted to do was to work in the dairy. Threshing was not one of the tasks Lily had handled during the month of her training but she was confident that she could do it. How difficult could it be when it was the machine that did most of the heavy work? Unfortunately she found out the hard way that the tasks that had to be undertaken by the team who worked with the threshing machine were considered to be among the least desirable on the farm.
She had been pleased and proud at first when she found out she was going to be doing the most important job for the threshers until she realized that as one of the newest recruits she had been given the dirtiest and most uncomfortable job on the team. She was responsible for cleaning out the chaff from under the thresher, making sure that it couldn’t clog up the machine, but nobody warned her that the remnants of the corn husks and the broken and mangled bits of straw that she had to handle produced a choking dust which got into everything. Not only did it cling to her clothes and fill out her hair, but it made her cough as she breathed it into her lungs through her nose and her mouth and she couldn’t stop it penetrating her ears and making her eyes sting.
She had wanted so much to do well on her first day, but instead she was painfully aware of the constant chiding she received from the senior farmworker who was responsible for driving the machine. She’d done her best but it had never seemed quite good enough for the team leader and now, as she trudged back to the house that she had almost begun to think of as home, she was feeling despondent about her lack of achievement and her entire body was aching from keeping a constant watch on the machine. She had worked as hard as she could for she knew how dangerous it would be if, for one moment, she lost concentration; it could even prove fatal; but now she had such a headache she worried that she wouldn’t be able to continue to work at that level. She thought the team had pulled well together today, for they had managed to thresh several of the fields, but the driver had never seemed satisfied that Lily was working hard enough and she was worried that she might be reported and thrown out of the group.
Now she was trying to forget about the harshness of the day and the gloomy prospects for the rest of the week; she was even trying not to think about what she must look like and what the corn dust had done to her face and hair. She was grateful that the gathering dusk was helping to make her invisible as she walked slowly back from the fields. Her eyes felt scratchy, her whole body was aching and all she was dreaming about was the luxury of soaking in hot water the way she occasionally had been allowed to do at home when she filled the tin bath in front of the fire; but she knew that was not something she was likely to be able to indulge in here, no matter how many pans of water she might try to carry across the courtyard.
Her eyes had almost begun to close, trapping the image, but that was when she saw him, the boy from the photograph, and her eyes flicked open immediately. She stared in his direction for a few moments, not sure if he had seen her. Then she straightened her back and ran her fingers through her dust-filled hair, fervently wishing she could do something more positive to improve her appearance quickly so that she could make a good impression.
He was tall and even better-looking than in the photograph on the grand piano, though she had no difficulty recognizing him even in his uniform. He had a large canvas bag and, as he seemed to be striding towards the house, she wished she could think of some positive way to attract his attention. He took a shortcut across the grass and seemed to disappear for a moment behind the trees, then suddenly he popped up in front of her and put down his kitbag so that it stopped her on the path.
‘Blimey, you look in a bad way, if you don’t mind my saying,’ he said, eyeing her up and down. ‘Been rolling about in the hay or the barley or something?’
Lily came to an abrupt halt. She could feel the blush rising from her neck and she had to look away. ‘I’ve been working on the threshing machine,’ she said simply, not sure why he should be interested. She thought he sounded like an actor in a film, like David Niven or Trevor Howard.
‘Good for you, though it looks more like the machine’s been threshing you.’ He burst out laughing. ‘I presume you’re one of the new land girls so I suppose you’ve got no choice. You have to work wherever you’re sent?’
Lily nodded.
‘Where have you come from?’ he asked.
‘Manchester,’ she said quickly, not wanting to give him the opportunity to scoff that he’d never heard of Weatherfield.
‘Are you staying in the old barn?’ He seemed genuinely interested. ‘The mater’s very proud of that, you know. First time she’s been able to accommodate the girls actually on the farm. What’s your name?’
‘Lily Longhurst,’ she said, discovering that her voice was not strong due to all the corn dust and she wasn’t sure what the word mater meant.
‘Better get yourself cleaned up then, Lily. Cos right now you look like anything but a lily. You’ve so much fine dust on you I bet even your best friends would think you were a ghost.’ And he roared with laughter again.
She looked away, feeling very self-conscious, but then was overtaken by a
sudden impishness. ‘Am I allowed to ask your name now that you know mine?’
‘Of course, why not, though I’m surprised you don’t know,’ he said, ‘when my mother insists on having my photograph stuck up all over the house. Captain Edgefield, at your service, ma’am.’ He saluted, then he laughed as he took a mock bow. ‘Or Duncan to my friends. And right now I’m off to get cleaned up at the house.’
‘Do you not live in the barracks in the grounds here, then?’ Lily asked, feeling confused.
‘No, I’m army, not air force. I’m stationed a few miles up the coast and I’m home on leave for a few days.’ With a smile, he hauled his bag up once more.
Lily smiled more hesitantly now, no longer sure whether she should be continuing this conversation. But she didn’t have to for the captain took charge. ‘Well, Lily,’ he said. ‘I look forward to bumping into you again soon. Though once we’ve both had a chance to get rid of all the dust we may no longer recognize each other. Either that or my mother will have thought up some new house rules in the meantime to prevent us from communicating.’ He laughed.
Oh, I’ll definitely know you, Lily thought and she flashed a quick look in his direction from under half-closed eyelids. Duncan chuckled and saluted again, then, with a grin, he marched across the grass and disappeared through the carriage arch. Lily followed him, her slow pace suddenly picking up as she hugged her secret to herself. Lady Edgefield had warned them about not fraternizing with the airmen from the barracks in the grounds – but she hadn’t said anything about not speaking to a soldier, especially her own son.
Chapter 21
Lily was excited after her encounter with Captain Duncan, as she now thought of him. It was all she could think about as she went into the barn and tried to clean herself up as best she could with cold water and very little soap. She was anxious to share her news with Vera before she forgot any of the details, but all the girls were coming back from work now, desperate to use the bathroom, and she had to clean up as quickly as possible so that they could all be in time for their evening meal. And as the girls and the servants of the house assembled around the large wooden table in the kitchen, bowing their heads while Grayling gave thanks for the food they were about to eat, she realized that any kind of private conversation would be impossible. Not only were there eight of them seated in close proximity so that they were party to each other’s conversations, whether they wanted to or not, but she could see that even Margaret and the normally bubbly Jenny were finding it difficult to get a word in as the maid Tucker was holding forth at great length. Lily would have to save her story until bedtime, when she could perhaps have a private word with Vera.
Tucker seemed anxious that everyone at the table should know how well in she was with the Edgefield family. According to her she was far closer than any junior servant was normally allowed to be. And while Mrs Temple dished out large helpings of potatoes, dotted with a fine crust of burnt cheese and decorated with thin slivers of home grown-tomato, Tucker boasted about her knowledge of the aristocratic family she served. She claimed to know all the relevant aspects of their history that had led to their status today and implied that she understood completely what was and wasn’t socially acceptable behaviour among people at that level of society.
Tucker paused for breath only briefly, but when she then launched into a lecture about the cutlery and glassware usage and the etiquette of fine dining, Margaret could no longer stifle her giggles and Lily was grateful when Grayling finally interrupted the flow. She was developing a headache and she stopped listening after the butler explained that the rules Tucker had been referring to were only relevant to the more formal meals that were served in the family dining room and did not apply to the eating of the simple cheese and potato pie they were currently enjoying, for which a simple fork and a tumbler for water sufficed.
‘Have you worked here long?’ Jenny eventually asked Tucker, even though all the girls were beginning to yawn.
‘Long enough to have my own room, in the main part of the house,’ Tucker said proudly, omitting to mention that it was an attic room hidden away under the eaves. ‘I’ve seen most of the hired help going off to fight, even the young Marquis.’
‘The young Marquis?’ Lily said, suddenly alert.
‘Yes, you know, the young master,’ Tucker said.
Lily didn’t know what to say. Had she really been chatting so casually to a real-life Marquis? Not that she knew what a Marquis actually was, but it sounded so grand, almost royal, and of course he was grand, grand enough to live in a house like Holden Manor. Should she have curtsied or something, rather than talking to him as if he was one of the Weatherfield lads? She didn’t know what she would do if she met him again, now that she knew.
‘Of course, he’s not here much any more,’ Tucker was saying. ‘He’s in the army now, but you must have seen his pictures, they’re all over the drawing room. I like to tease him that he’s the good-looking one,’ she said, lowering her voice, though she had the good grace to blush when everyone at the table turned to stare at her.
‘Lady Edgefield preferred that he didn’t wait for war to be declared,’ the butler put in as Tucker looked away quickly. ‘She made sure he signed up to the regular army and naturally, because of the family’s history and his own educational background, he was assessed for a commission. Bright young man. Her ladyship is naturally very proud of him making captain so young.’
‘That’s what I wanted to do.’ Jones, the young footman suddenly spoke up. ‘Sign up for the local regiment. But they wouldn’t let me on account of the rheumatic fever I’d had as a kid.’
‘And how long is the – the Marquis … on leave for right now?’ Lily thought she would break the awkward silence and take the opportunity to ask.
Tucker turned to Lily with a patronising smile. ‘He’s not on leave,’ she said.
Lily looked at her in surprise.
‘He couldn’t be or I’d have been told to make up his room,’ Tucker said.
‘Then how come I spoke to him on my way in?’ Lily couldn’t resist saying.
‘You couldn’t possibly …’ Tucker began, pouting, her lank hair falling over her eyes.
Lily shrugged. ‘He told me himself he was on leave.’
Tucker’s blush flared once more but this time she made no attempt to answer.
‘Perhaps they’ll remember to tell you when he gets shipped overseas,’ Lily said and without even glancing at Tucker she took her empty plate over to the sink where she washed it carefully in the bowl of cold soapy water.
Vera was keen to share with her friend the story of her extraordinary day and could hardly wait for bedtime so that she could whisper her story to Lily in private.
‘Tell me more about the Marquis,’ Vera said, giggling, as she and Lily pulled their mattresses closer.
Lily put her finger to her lips. ‘We’d better talk really quietly, so as not to disturb the others, but there’s nothing more to tell, really, except that he said he hoped he might bump into me again.’ Then she giggled too. ‘Though I honestly can’t imagine why he said that. I looked such a mess after all that threshing.’
‘And is he really as good-looking as he seems in the photographs?’ Vera wanted to know as she bunched the blanket under her chin.
‘Better, I’d say,’ Lily whispered. ‘He looks a bit like Cary Grant, you know the film star, only his hair is shorter.’
Their beds were almost touching now so that they might not be overheard. ‘But enough about me, what about you?’ Lily said. ‘How did your day go?’
Vera smiled, forgetting that the barn was now in darkness, and launched into her story about meeting the prisoner of war.
All four of the girls complained that after a hard day’s work their food rations were not enough and that they were always hungry. Nevertheless, Vera slipped into the habit of wrapping up a portion of her food at each meal and putting it on one side to take to Pietro. They met every day, usually after supper, even if onl
y for a few minutes. But sometimes they sat together in a warm corner of the barn and chatted. Vera found Pietro was easy to talk to and she was soon telling him about Bob, sighing as she told him about their long engagement, and the difficulties she had had with her mother.
‘Your mother, she love you very much,’ he said.
‘I’m sure she does,’ Vera said, ‘but sometimes she has a funny way of showing it. She still thinks I’m a little girl and treats me like I haven’t grown up. The other main problem is she doesn’t like Bob very much,’ and she told him how Ena was always trying to push Eric the rag-and-bone man on to her.
‘But you love him? This Bob.’
‘Yes, of course I do,’ Vera said quickly, suddenly thinking she owed him a letter.
‘Then only that is important. He very handsome?’
Vera laughed. ‘He looks like Alan Ladd, the film star.’
Pietro looked at her blankly, then he opened his hands, palms up. ‘I love my Sophia,’ he said, ‘she very beautiful. I want to go home now,’ Pietro whispered, ‘to see my Sophia.’ Vera could see his eyes were shining with tears. ‘Perhaps we marry when I go home. You also?’
‘Yes.’ Vera nodded enthusiastically. ‘First we’ll have an engagement party, then the wedding.’ And she found that the more she talked about it with Pietro, the more she began to believe once more that it really would happen.
Chapter 22
The girls fell into a routine that was harsh and unrelenting, whether it was the back-breaking work of making dibber holes for planting celery, transplanting cabbages, or getting callouses on their hands from lifting out maincrop potatoes and beets. Vera began to tackle even the most boring repetitive jobs automatically, trying not to think about what she was doing or how long she had to do it for. When it came to the apple-carting season in late October and early November, each day they prayed that it wouldn’t rain, for they learned very quickly that it was no fun wading in oversized gumboots through the mud carrying sodden cartons of wet apples. There was no question that they felt much heavier than dry ones and Vera was often glad of Pietro’s help on some of the cold wet mornings as he didn’t seem to mind getting wet. But the girls had to get togged up specially, in rain hats and macs and remember to tie up their sleeves with string at the wrists to prevent the icy water from trickling up their arms. If they got too wet they would have to spend the whole night drying their clothes and they would often still feel damp the next morning.
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