Wedding Bells for Land Girls

by Jenny Holmes

  Brenda looked up and shook her head.

  The driver was dead. There was nothing anyone could do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘You should have seen Les’s car.’ Brenda spoke to Una in the quiet atmosphere of the hostel common room. They’d shut the door on the bustle outside and basked in the evening sun that slanted through the windows. ‘I warned Hettie; I doubt if it can ever be mended.’

  ‘No need to think about that now.’ Una wondered why this appeared to matter so much. ‘As long as you’re all right, that’s what counts.’

  ‘I am,’ Brenda assured her. ‘But the front end was smashed to pieces. The bonnet was torn off and the whole engine section shunted back by the impact. They say that’s what killed Moyes – when the steering column hit him full force in the chest.’

  Una nodded and sighed. It was less than half an hour since Edgar and Joyce had driven Brenda back to Fieldhead and the other girls were still noisily coming to terms with what had happened. Meanwhile, she made it her job to make sure that Brenda hadn’t suffered too many ill effects. ‘You don’t need to talk,’ she said gently. ‘We can just sit here.’

  ‘I knew he was dead before I got off the bike and went to look. I wasn’t the least bit sorry.’

  ‘Brenda, you don’t have to—’

  ‘Should I have been?’

  ‘No. I understand.’

  ‘Neither were Joyce and Edgar. We left him there for the police to deal with and walked back to the house.’

  ‘You did the right thing.’

  ‘Mr White had dialled 999. They were already on their way.’

  Una drew down the blind to shield Brenda’s face from the sun. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink?’

  ‘No, ta. And as for Hettie, it turns out that I was right about her all along.’

  ‘The dragon-sister?’

  ‘Yes. She practically breathed fire when she stood up to Moyes, even though he was pointing a gun in her face. Goodness, Una, you’ve never seen anything like it. Then, after Nixon shot Alfie and Moyes ran off, it seems she grabbed the nearest thing to hand – a garden fork – and charged in like the cavalry. She discovered Alfie in the barn lying in a pool of blood.’

  ‘But no sign of Nixon?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes. The police picked him up when he tried to scarper. Luckily for Alfie, he was only winged. I dread to think what Hettie and her father would have done to him if Edgar hadn’t separated them.’

  Una waited until Brenda had talked herself out. ‘It’s a blessing you weren’t hurt in amongst all that shooting.’

  ‘I know it.’ She stood up in sudden panic. ‘Les! I ought to phone him about the car!’

  ‘You can do that later.’ Una knew that the warden hadn’t come back to Fieldhead after church and that these days the office would be locked. ‘The main thing is everything’s under control.’

  Brenda sat down again, letting her gaze drift over the bookshelves and threadbare carpet as if uncertain where she was. ‘No thanks to Donald,’ she said wearily. ‘When it mattered, he was nowhere to be seen.’

  It seemed to Una that nothing she’d said so far had had much effect, so she grew more forceful. ‘Brenda, you ought not to dwell on the details. It won’t do you any good. The best idea is to sit here quietly for a while.’

  The change of tone worked and Brenda looked directly at her. ‘You’re right. I’ll do as I’m told.’

  ‘For a change.’

  The remark drew a faint smile. ‘I’m sorry, Una.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For everything. For not always being as good a friend as I ought.’

  ‘But you are. You, Grace and Joyce are my best friends. I wouldn’t have settled in Burnside without you. I wouldn’t be a Land Girl.’

  ‘So here we still are, by the skin of our teeth.’

  A narrow shaft of sunlight crept under the drawn blind, falling across Una’s shoulders and on to the back of her leather chair. She and Brenda sat together in warm silence until they heard a car come up the drive then Una went to lift the blind and peer out.

  ‘Ma Craven’s back,’ she said. ‘She’ll unlock the office then you can make that phone call.’

  ‘Poppy’s gone home to her mother.’ Hilda sat down heavily then leaned her elbows on the desk. ‘I drove her there straight from the church, after the police had talked to her.’

  Brenda and Una stood by the office door, lost for words.

  ‘It’s for the best – for the time being, at least.’

  ‘But will she come back?’ Brenda remembered her last sight of Poppy in her bloodstained dress.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Hilda had delivered her charge to Albion Lane, into her mother’s arms. The uncontrollable weeping had begun all over again. ‘We’ll have to wait and see. Meanwhile, I’ll ask Doreen or Joyce to pack her suitcase then send it on.’

  ‘How was Poppy when you left?’ Una asked.

  ‘A bit calmer. She seemed glad to be home.’ Once Hilda had explained events to Mrs Gledhill and advised her that Poppy would receive at least two weeks’ leave of absence, she’d sat with them for a while. ‘Her mother told me she was never sure about Poppy signing up for the Land Army. She didn’t think she was cut out for it. Not everyone is.’

  ‘We’ll look after her if she does come back,’ Una promised. Then it struck her that the warden could have no idea about what had gone on that afternoon and she turned uncertainly to Brenda.

  Brenda interpreted the look. ‘That’s right …’ she began. Then she drew a sharp breath. What was the right way to tell a person that their son had been arrested on a charge of attempted murder?

  ‘Alfie’s been found.’ Una picked up the thread then dropped it again when she saw Hilda’s weight sag forward and her head go down.

  ‘What Una means to say is that he’s been taken to hospital. I was at Dale End when it happened. Clive Nixon shot him but he’s not badly hurt.’

  Hilda raised her head and took a deep breath. ‘Shot, you say?’

  ‘In the shoulder.’

  ‘Which hospital?’

  ‘The King Edward’s, I expect. The police made Nixon confess that he killed Neville, so Alfie’s in the clear over that at least. He’ll have to answer the charge of stabbing Bill, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s enough.’ Hilda let the facts sink in. An unexpected feeling of calm mingled with the shame that had threatened to overwhelm her. ‘Dale End is the Whites’ farm,’ she murmured. They’d come full circle, from Willis’s death at the hands of Arnold White’s threshing machine through Alfie’s troubled childhood to this point of no return. With the deepest of drawn-out sighs, she prepared to shoulder her burden of responsibility and carry it with her for the rest of her life.

  The jarring ring of the telephone interrupted her thoughts and she picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello, this is Hilda Craven. How can I help?’ She listened to the caller’s message. ‘Leslie who?’

  Una exchanged astonished glances with Brenda. Before she knew it, Brenda was talking into the receiver, her tongue tripping her up as she tried to explain. ‘Les, my dear, how did you know? … Hettie rang you? … Yes, I’m fine … Yes, perfectly all right … Dearest, your car’s a write-off, did Hettie say?’

  It was only later, in the privacy of her bedroom, that Brenda thought through her conversation with Les and what he’d said to her after Hilda and Una had left the room.

  ‘I’m alone,’ she told him. ‘We’re free to talk.’ Then suddenly, out of the blue, she’d begun to sob and say sorry over and over.

  ‘No need,’ he told her quietly. ‘But cry away and get it out of your system.’

  ‘Oh Les, I’d give anything to see you,’ she said through her tears. ‘To have you at my side.’

  ‘I wish I could get away but I don’t see how.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘That word is not allowed.’ Les pretended to be stern. ‘Listen, I could apply
for leave and see what happens.’

  ‘No.’ She dried her eyes. ‘No, you stay where you are and finish your training. I’ll manage.’

  ‘I know you will. It was for my sake as much as yours. But you’re right – we’ll keep smiling through like we always do.’

  Typical Les! The words of the Vera Lynn song brought a trembling smile to her lips. ‘I love you, Les White, did you know?’

  ‘I did actually.’ The line crackled and his voice was faint. ‘And I love you too.’

  This was how they went on, talking over each other, quoting songs, going from tears to smiles and back to tears in seconds.

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing I know.’ Brenda issued a warning before she rang off. ‘After what’s gone on today, your brother and I will never see eye to eye.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘Honestly, Les, I mean it. I wouldn’t care if I never saw Donald again in my entire life.’

  ‘I’ll see what can be arranged …’

  ‘You’re chalk and cheese.’

  ‘Thank heavens.’

  ‘And as for your dragon-sister.’ She paused for maximum effect before delivering her verdict. ‘I may have changed my mind.’

  ‘You don’t say.’ He heard the lilt in her voice, imagined the old sparkle in her eye. ‘You’re saying that you and Hettie will get along after all?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ she cautioned. ‘But I might just get used to her, given time.’

  The sun had begun to set when Una walked alone in the woods behind the hostel, rehearsing the letter she would write to Angelo. She wouldn’t hold back. She would use English words that he might have to ask the nurses at Clifton for help with. It didn’t matter who read them and saw how much she loved him.

  Dearest Angelo, I am glad you’re safe and being well looked after. You must do as the doctors say. I picture you tucked up in bed with clean sheets and a soft pillow, or out on a sunny balcony, breathing in all that fresh air. They say the countryside is pretty where you are – not so rough and rugged as here. What can you see from your window? Are there hills and woods and birds in the trees? Do they give you interesting things to do to help pass the time? I mean, reading or sketching. Do the nurses know that you can carve boxes and musical instruments out of wood? Don’t let any of them fall in love with you, by the way. But then how can they help it? I’m only joking (I think). Are you smiling as you read this? In any case, you know that I think of you morning, noon and night. I see you resting and eating properly, getting better day by day, especially if they do the operation I’ve been told about. Do the doctors say if this will happen? Please write and let me know. In the meantime, rest, rest, rest! Darling, I love you. I love you.

  Una paused to look through the trees at the red sky: shepherd’s delight. The air was calm, scarcely a rustle in the leaves. She would draw hearts around the edge of her letter and rows of kisses at the bottom.

  Write to me please and tell me everything that happens in the hospital. Then describe sunny Italy to me, especially Pisa and its leaning tower, and the grapes and olives growing on the hillsides. Think of the time when we will be there together, you and me. I imagine the war ending and you being strong enough to travel. We’ll sail away on a boat. Picture that, Angelo – you and me standing arm in arm on the deck, waving goodbye to the white cliffs of Dover. I long for it, my dearest love.

  She walked on through the trees, weaving a web of dreams strong enough to carry them through the darkest days of war and separation.

  For now goodnight, my Angelo. Sleep well. All my love – your Una.

  ‘Be prepared,’ Edgar warned Joyce as they walked along the hospital corridor. ‘Remember, the doctors are cagey about Bill’s chances. Grace has stayed by his bed non-stop.’

  She pressed her lips together and nodded, stepping aside as a nurse emerged from a sluice room carrying a tall stack of kidney-shaped dishes and bed pans. In a ward to their left, an elderly patient cried out for help. Joyce frowned and quickened her pace.

  ‘Slow down. It’s this one on the right.’ Edgar pushed the door open and let her enter before him.

  There were twenty beds in the ward, most surrounded by visitors, so it took Joyce a while to scan the rows and make out Grace sitting on a tubular-steel chair with her back to them, still dressed in her Land Army uniform of Aertex shirt and brown corduroy breeches. Strands of fair hair had escaped from the bun at the nape of her neck – the only sign of how long she’d been keeping her vigil.

  Joyce approached slowly and quietly, concentrating on Grace and doing her best to ignore the metal stands and charts around the bed. She caught a glimpse of Bill lying motionless, his eyes closed, face ashen, and his shoulder and chest heavily bandaged. His hair looked jet black against the crisp white pillow. Joyce’s heart jolted; she hesitated then propelled herself forward.

  Grace heard footsteps and turned her head. ‘Hello, Joyce.’

  Joyce accepted a chair from Edgar and sat down next to Grace, taking her hand and murmuring a soft reply. ‘Hello, my dear.’

  Grace glanced up at her brother. ‘Hello, Edgar.’

  He gave a silent nod.

  ‘How is he?’ Joyce whispered. Pale, unmoving, lost to the world.

  Grace stood up then motioned to Edgar to take her place. ‘Come with me,’ she whispered.

  She and Joyce walked down the ward and through the wide swing doors, out into a long, windowless corridor. ‘Well?’ Joyce asked again.

  Grace’s pale, oval face gave nothing away until, out of nowhere, her grey eyes filled with tears.

  ‘What is it?’ Joyce whispered.

  She gave a small gasp. ‘Bill opened his eyes.’ The tears of relief ran freely down.

  ‘Oh, my dear!’ Joyce squeezed her hand. ‘That’s marvellous.’

  ‘An hour ago. He heard the tea trolley, opened his eyes and said he was thirsty. The nurse gave him a drink through a straw. He’s sleeping now. I was afraid our talking would wake him.’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘I know.’ Grace smiled through her tears. ‘I know!’

  ‘You were there at his side?’

  ‘Willing him to wake up. I believed he would and I was right.’

  ‘You were, my dear.’

  ‘Oh, Joyce!’ Willing him and wishing, hoping, praying. Bill looked at me and smiled.

  ‘All will be well,’ Joyce promised. ‘He’s young and he’s strong. You’ll soon have him home.’

  Strong and faithful. The church bells had rung out for them on their wedding day: four rhythmical notes, strong and faithful, repeated as she’d entered the church and made her wedding vows, for better or for worse. Strong and faithful; one-two, three-four. Like the regular beat of a heart.

  ‘Bill woke up again while you and Grace were away,’ Edgar told Joyce as he drove her back to Fieldhead. ‘He hadn’t a clue what had happened to him. The last thing he remembers is rugby-tackling Alfie. After that, nothing.’

  She gazed out of the window at a spectacular, flaming sunset. Deep pink clouds edged with gold clung to Kelsey Crag, which lay in dense shadow.

  ‘I hope you didn’t tire him out.’

  ‘You’re joking; I couldn’t get a word in edgeways. Bill was pestering the nurses, asking how long he’d be laid up for and how soon he’d be fit to join his battalion.’

  ‘It was meant to be a week from tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, that won’t happen. I’d say a couple of months, the end of the summer at the earliest.’

  ‘Good.’

  He glanced sideways. ‘Who for, Grace or Bill?’

  ‘Both. They’ll have two months to enjoy being married. And who knows? A lot can happen in eight weeks. The army might not need him after all.’

  ‘Don’t bank on it.’ Edgar drove on without elaborating. The hours were ticking away. Once he’d dropped Joyce off, he would have to drive like a bat out of hell to arrive back at his base on time. He didn’t relish the parting from Joyce or what lay ah
ead tomorrow and the day after: more reconnaissance flights followed by incendiary attacks, a follow-up to the bomber raids on Bremen. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so glum.’

  ‘No, you’re right.’

  Back to the base and his narrow bunk bed, writing letters to Joyce by torchlight, dicing nightly, counting Spitfires out and back in again, watching his pals take a nosedive out of the black sky, trailing white smoke, exploding in an orange flash when they hit the ground. ‘Will you marry me?’

  She looked straight ahead. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You will?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He pulled on to the grass verge and switched off the engine. ‘I haven’t got a ring or anything.’

  ‘I don’t need one,’ she said in the evening silence. She saw the outline of the hostel ahead, the elm wood behind it, the fell rising steeply to the black horizon. ‘Or the white dress or the bridesmaids. A registry office will do.’

  ‘No faff. Just us and two witnesses?’

  ‘Three: Grace, Brenda and Una.’

  It was simply said. Edgar and Joyce would marry without fuss as soon as the war was over.

  Their hearts were full as they watched the fiery sun sink behind the crag. They both knew without needing to speak the words that no goodbye on earth could lessen their love, that they were bound to each other with ties that would never break.

  ‘Engaged?’ Brenda’s voice rose above the Monday-morning breakfast hubbub. She sprang up and stood on her chair. ‘Girls, listen to this: Joyce is engaged to Edgar!’

  The chatter and the clatter ceased and all heads turned.

  ‘It’s true!’ Brenda declared. ‘He proposed last night and she said yes. Tell them, Joyce.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘See!’ Brenda pulled her to her feet and slapped her enthusiastically on the back. ‘This is a grand start to the week. Smile and look happy, Joyce, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘I am – I’m smiling.’ But blushing too and shrinking from the attention that her news had created. She extricated herself from Brenda’s embrace then sat back down next to Una, who nodded and smiled broadly.