by Roland Moore
‘Can’t we let him go?’ Siegfried shook his wrist as the pain subsided.
The man scrambled away, clutching his side, a thin trail of red splattering in his wake. Emory seemed unsure what to do. Events had spiralled out of control. Siegfried looked into his captain’s eyes.
‘By the time he makes it to a town, we can have got away!’
Emory thought for a split second, before shaking his head.
‘We can’t risk it.’
He fired the pistol and it hit the bookish man in the back. The man collapsed in a heap on the lane. Emory and Siegfried composed themselves and made their way to the body. The man’s glazed eyes stared up at them. Siegfried could hear his own heart beating, his pulse racing with adrenaline and fear. What had they done? Emory straightened his new tie and indicated the truck.
‘We need to get him onto the truck.’
‘What?’
‘In the truck!’
Siegfried took a moment to snap out of his stupor. Then he cupped his hands under the man’s armpits that were still warm and dragged him back towards the cab. Emory tucked his pistol into his trouser belt and scanned their surroundings for signs of possible danger. They reached the truck and Emory helped Siegfried hoist the body up into the driver’s seat. They closed the cab door, trapping the body inside.
‘Get the overalls,’ Emory nodded towards the other side.
Siegfried moved round the front of the truck to the passenger side. He opened the door and, avoiding looking at the dead man in the driver’s seat, took the overalls from the footwell. He peeled off his shirt and trousers, tossing them into the cab. Siegfried pulled on the overalls and zipped them up.
‘Are you changed?’
‘Yes!’
‘Get away from the truck.’ Emory opened the petrol cap on the side of the truck. Siegfried guessed that his captain would set fire to it; cover their tracks. Siegfried walked a safe distance in front of the truck as he watched it crackle with flames. Emory reached him as the tank exploded. Both men instinctively cowered before resuming their escape. The canvas top of the vehicle caught light like a paper lantern, the fireball reaching the front in a few seconds. Walking slowly backwards, Emory watched as the flames consumed the cab. Siegfried felt oddly comforted by the warmth of the fire on his face, but he chose to look away.
After a few moments, Siegfried noticed that Emory was walking away. He ran to keep up. The flames crackled and died behind them and by the time they had reached the fork in the road, the truck was a smouldering wreck.
‘Finch will be on his way to Leicester by now.’ Joyce glanced idly across to the window. ‘He’ll be at the station at least. Martin and Iris are spending lots of time together. They don’t come back from Shallow Brook that often. And they’re off to Birmingham together tomorrow.’
Joyce wished that Connie would gasp and say how surprised she was by this news. But Connie was prone in the hospital bed, unconscious. Lady Hoxley had told Joyce that she had only woken once briefly. Doctor Channing thought that was a good sign and hoped she would wake again soon.
Joyce continued her monologue.
‘And Dolores is going to see her sister. Oh yes, you’ll be surprised to learn that Miss Mysterious has a sister.’ The smile dropped from her face as she continued: ‘And my John looks like he’ll be staying with his brother over Christmas. That’s not what I wanted. So all in all, I need a bit of good news like you recovering, to cheer us all up. So come on.’
Connie’s eyelids flickered. Joyce could barely believe it. It wasn’t possible, was it? Had she imagined it? She looked closer and, sure enough, they flickered again. There was definite movement. This time she caught a glimpse of Connie’s dark brown eyes underneath. It was true! Connie was waking up!
‘Doctor Channing! Nurse!’ Joyce moved towards the door, stumbling over her chair. Then hastily, she returned to Connie’s side and held her friend’s hand.
‘Connie? It’s me, Joyce. Come on!’
The eyes opened again and stayed open this time. Connie’s eyes looked like they were trying to focus on the shapes around her. Trying to make out Joyce.
‘What happened?’ Connie’s voice was weak and shaky, the words forming with difficulty in a mouth that hadn’t spoken for ages. She looked confused; not recognising her surroundings.
‘You’re in the hospital at Hoxley Manor.’
A nurse entered and made a beeline for Connie. Joyce recognised her as she was one of the fully qualified medical staff who worked there. Joyce thought she might be called Antonia. She leaned in close to Connie and smiled at her.
‘You’re back with us. That’s wonderful,’ Antonia turned to Joyce. ‘Keep an eye on her while I go to fetch Doctor Channing, would you?’
Joyce nodded as the nurse left the room.
‘How are you feeling, Connie?’
Connie looked fearful, her eyes widening as if something scary was in the room with them. This unnerved Joyce and she hastily looked behind her to see what Connie was looking at. There was nothing there.
‘What is it?’
‘I was attacked. They hit me over the head.’ Connie was piecing together her memories.
‘I knew it! I found the piece of branch that hit you. I told Channing it hadn’t broken off any tree.’
‘What?’ Connie couldn’t process what Joyce was saying.
‘Who was it? Who attacked you?’
Then Connie pursed her dry lips and sat up. ‘They were Germans. Airmen. One was old, in his forties. The other was younger. I was cycling up to Gorley Woods.’
‘Yes, that’s where you were found.’ Joyce held her friend’s hand. ‘What happened with these Germans?’
‘I stopped to get my bearings, I think. I was out of puff. You was always telling me I wasn’t fit enough, weren’t you?’ Connie laughed, but it turned into a cough. Her throat wasn’t used to talking, let alone laughing. Joyce poured a glass of water from a jug by the side of the bed and passed it to Connie who drank it down eagerly. Joyce took it from her shaky hands when she was finished.
‘So you’d stopped on your bicycle?’
‘Yes, and then I saw them. They were standing on the lane under the trees. One of them had a length of branch in his hand. The young one noticed me and looked shocked. Never mind him, I was shocked too, I can tell you. Next thing I knew they were running towards me. I tried to pull my bicycle round so I could ride away and then I felt a wallop on the back of my head. That’s all I remember.’
‘Oh Connie, that’s awful. You must have been so scared.’
‘I was terrified. Before they hit me, I tried to cycle away but my legs wouldn’t go where I wanted them too. I couldn’t steer the bicycle round in time.’
Joyce looked shocked by her friend’s account of what had happened. She felt pleased though that she had told Channing about the length of branch and how it had been used. With this new information, he could inform the authorities. Yes, that’s what she’d do, she’d tell Doctor Channing and he could tell the War Office about the rogue German airmen. Then they could all coordinate a thorough search for them and catch them before anyone else was injured.
There was a commotion by the door and Antonia returned with Doctor Channing in tow. The medic looked at his patient and gave a concerned smile.
‘I’m back!’ Connie mustered a little smile.
‘It looks like you are.’ Channing took her wrist and checked her pulse. ‘Very good news.’
Joyce rose to her feet. ‘When you’ve finished, could I have a word please, Doctor Channing? It’s just that Connie knows who attacked her.’
Doctor Channing gave her a smile that said she’d have to wait. He attended to his patient, making Joyce wait in the corridor until he was finished. Joyce paced up and down and after about ten minutes, Channing emerged from the room. He seemed surprised that Joyce was still there. She thought he’d probably forgotten about her.
‘Now, what did you want to tell me?’
As Joyce
walked home it was starting to get dark and as night fell it brought with it a freezing mist. Joyce stumbled forward, the familiar path becoming ever more unfamiliar, as she struggled to see where she was going. As she crossed the North Field, she had to slow down to avoid twisting her ankle on any of the furrows they’d dug in the ground. Joyce could make out the dark skeletons of trees through the fog as she reached the gate and lifted the ice-cold latch. The fog was freezing and that wouldn’t be good. She hoped that everyone had got to where they were going and that they weren’t stranded on some railway station somewhere. Also, any search for those airmen would be hampered by it. She felt like she was being watched, but she put that down to paranoia; disquiet brought about by not being able to see what was around her; worry about the men who’d attacked Connie still being out there. Yes, it was paranoia. That was all it was.
Joyce was relieved to find the back door of Pasture Farm. She let herself in and found Esther sitting at the kitchen table, nursing the remains of a cup of tea. She poured one from the pot for Joyce as she took her coat off and settled in. Joyce told her the good news about Connie waking up. And the bad news about her being attacked by German airmen.
‘At least you’ve told Doctor Channing. He’ll escalate the search now that they know they are looking for actual survivors. Before that the search was just a precaution.’
‘Yes, I’m sure they’ll find them.’ Joyce enjoyed feeling the warmth of the teacup against her cold fingers. ‘Even in this fog.’
‘I wonder whether Connie will be out of hospital in time for the old folks’ lunch.’ Esther drained her cup.
‘Even if she is, I doubt she’ll be up to helping Henry.’
‘Maybe we could invite her here? For the day?’ Esther put her cup in the sink.
‘That’s a good idea. While I’m working, she could sit down and help you make the rabbit pie.’ They had a tradition of having rabbit pie on Christmas morning every year and Esther liked to make it in advance so that the jelly in the crust was firm.
‘I’ll telephone Henry in the morning and tell him that the offer is there for her then.’
After finishing the tea, Joyce went upstairs to freshen up from the day. She returned downstairs with John’s letter, intending to reread it at her leisure in the sitting room. Esther was already in there, reading a book and listening to the wireless.
‘They’re saying that the railways are all over the shop with this freezing fog.’ Esther turned a page.
‘That’s not going to help John get back, is it?’
‘Sorry, lovey. Have you heard any more from him?’
‘He’s still getting Teddy back on his feet. It’ll take time.’ Joyce sat down and looked at the letter. Esther smiled warmly at her and returned to her book. Joyce looked at the words of her letter, each one warming her more than the fire in the grate. He was her soulmate and best friend, a man who had been through it all with her. She savoured each and every word, feeling her spirits lift. So what if he wasn’t with her for Christmas? They were both doing their duty – him to his brother and her to the Women’s Land Army. And soon they would be back together again.
There was an urgent knock at the back door.
Esther and Joyce shared a look. The rapping continued. Someone wanted them to come to the door. Cautiously, Esther rose from her armchair and moved across the room. Joyce frowned and followed, carefully placing her letter on the arm of the chair to return to in a minute.
Who could it be?
As they reached the kitchen, the knocking paused as if the person outside was aware that the door was about to be opened. The glass at the top of the door was frosted so all they could see was an outline of a man. Esther reached for the key that was in the lock – but Joyce put a hand on her forearm, stopping her. She shot the older woman an urgent look. Esther understood what it meant. There were German airmen on the loose after all. They had to be careful; really careful.
Joyce picked up the breadknife from the counter by the sink. It was too sharp for a breadknife, thanks to Finch’s insistence in sharpening the blade using his grinder in the tool shed. She nodded to Esther that she was ready.
‘Could you use that?’ Esther glanced at the knife.
‘Hope I won’t have to.’
Their eyes darted towards the door. The shape moved to one side as if the man was trying to listen for any sounds of life from the kitchen.
‘Who is it?’ Joyce used as authoritarian voice as she could manage. The shape moved.
‘Home Guard.’ It was a man’s voice from behind the glass.
Joyce and Esther glanced at each other. Both of them knew it could be a trick. Was there a faint hint of a German accent or was Joyce imagining it?
‘How do we know that’s true?’
‘I’m Horace Winstanley. We see each other at church every Sunday, Mrs Reeves,’ The shape moved behind the glass.
Knowing it was genuine, Esther relaxed and turned the key. Joyce put the breadknife back on the counter as they let Horace in. He carried the chill of the freezing fog around him. Horace was a wiry man in his mid-seventies with glasses and grey hair; a man whose baggy Home Guard uniform seemed to wear him rather than the other way around. Joyce was surprised that he was on his own.
‘Would you like a cup of tea? It must be freezing out there.’ Esther ushered him inside and closed the door on the cold night.
Horace removed his army cap and nodded hello at Joyce.
‘I’m all right for tea, thank you Mrs Reeves. And I’ve got the rest of the men waiting at the gate for me. I came by to give you a progress report.’ Horace seemingly chose those last two words carefully.
‘Have you caught the two airmen?’ Joyce glanced towards the yard.
‘Two?’ The old man looked curious.
‘You know there are two, don’t you?’
‘No, I didn’t know that, Mrs Fisher. That’s interesting. How do you know that there are two Jerries out there?’
‘My friend said she was attacked by them,’ Joyce’s mind was spinning. Why hadn’t Doctor Channing told them? The stupid man must have forgotten. But how could he forget something so important? ‘And she thought there were two of them. They attacked her near Gorley Woods, on the north side.’
‘It seems you’ve got more of a progress report than I have, Mrs Fisher.’ Horace removed a large white handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose that was bright red from the cold.
‘What did you come round to tell us then?’ It was Esther’s turn to look curious now.
‘Just to say that we’re calling off the search for tonight and that, well it seems silly now,’ Horace’s voice trailed off. ‘But we were beginning to think that we’d call it off for good.’
‘You mustn’t!’ Joyce was worried. ‘You must keep looking. They’re dangerous and they’re out there.’
‘Although I don’t think they’ll survive long in this cold weather, unless they have shelter somewhere. And we’ve been asking all the farmers and everyone to check their outbuildings and barns and that.’
Horace pondered his next move as he scrunched up his handkerchief and put it back into his pocket. ‘Looks like we’ll resume the search in the morning then. Over by Gorley Woods.’
He nodded his goodbyes and moved towards the door. Esther let him out. ‘Remember to lock up all the doors until we catch them.’ He pulled his cap onto his head and disappeared into the night. Esther closed the door and locked it. She moved one of the kitchen chairs up against the handle.
‘That should stop anyone coming in.’
Together, Esther and Joyce went round the farmhouse making sure every window and door was secure. Joyce contemplated taking the breadknife upstairs for protection, but she decided that the house would be secure enough. When they had finished, Joyce and Esther looked at each other, both suppressing the terror that they felt. Joyce felt that if she didn’t voice her concerns and fears then they couldn’t scare each other. Both of them noticed how quiet the farmhouse w
as.
Joyce knew she wouldn’t sleep well that night. Instead she lay in bed comforted by thinking about her family; a time when they had all been together at the start of the war.
It had been a day of much excitement. A large German bomb had landed on the Triumph factory where John worked. The workers had been marshalled to safety by the army and Joyce had run down cobbled streets to check that John was safe. To her immense relief, he was fine and together, they had watched the bomb being loaded onto a lorry where a soldier sat next to it, listening for any change in sound. They said he was an expert and that he knew all the sounds a bomb could make. Joyce and John waited near the factory gates as the lorry and a motorbike outrider headed slowly off; crawling along the terraced street. Amazingly, the soldier was still lying next to the bomb, holding it as if it was the most precious thing in his life.
‘They couldn’t disconnect the detonator.’ John was scared to speak too loudly in case it set the thing off.
‘What’s he listening for?’
‘He’s listening to the ticking of the bomb. He’ll warn the driver to get clear if the ticking stops.’
Such heroism! They watched as the lorry edged its way over the brow of the hill. People began to join them, their conversations becoming more animated as if they’d all been holding their breath for the last ten minutes. Finally the lorry disappeared from sight and everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
Joyce and John walked back to her mother’s house. She assumed their silence was due to the shock they were feeling, the relief and bewilderment of a lucky escape. If that huge bomb had gone off … it didn’t bear thinking about. Joyce supposed it could have demolished the factories and half of the surrounding streets. She didn’t resent the silence. For now, holding hands and feeling the warmth of each other’s skin was enough. Conversation only resumed over dinner nearly an hour later. Owing to all the houses being evacuated for the bomb, Joyce’s mother – Doris – hadn’t had time to finish the meal, so they all sat down to a dinner of mashed potatoes, green beans and gravy. John complimented Doris on the meal. Joyce supposed he was trying to be nice and she loved him even more for that. He was always trying to make everyone feel better, and often he would be the main peacemaker in this little house with its crowded walls. They lived there not only with Joyce’s mother, but with her sister and her husband too. It was a cosy arrangement! Her sister Gwen was often hard work to share a roof with and her husband Charlie was lazy but funny. Joyce loved them both. Charlie and Gwen were particularly vocal about the events of the day. Charlie claimed that he’d heard the bomb falling and that he’d raised the alarm to get everyone out. Silently John gave a small shake of his head to indicate to Joyce that this might be another of Charlie’s exaggerations. Doris would mumble about it all being too much sometimes. She hated his tall stories and would remark to Joyce that she would say it straight to his face one day. But she never did.
