The Outcast Girls: A completely heartbreaking and gripping World War 2 historical novel

by Shirley Dickson

  Why, he didn’t know. She wasn’t his usual type, but since the day of the crash when she’d appeared like an angel, she’d been on his mind.

  He wasn’t smitten, he reassured himself. He paused for a moment before entering the doorway of the dim building and lit a cigarette.

  His conscience pricked him. He should have told her. But why? He was only having a harmless flirtation during war time.

  Wasn’t he?

  26

  The hostel was silent when Sandra arrived back late afternoon after visiting Brad. Many of the Land Girls had gone home for the weekend but would be back soon.

  Munching a Spam sandwich, Sandra made her way along the corridor to the bedroom. She found a note on her bed, presumably from Evelyn.

  Perplexed, Sandra tried to make out what the note said. She spelled out the easy words in her mind.

  Such a… night. Ruby and I… a few… bike ride. I’ve got… some news. See you later x

  Opening the window in the airless room and sitting on her bunk, Sandra wondered what the news could be. She’d been up since five thirty and, overcome with tiredness, she felt her eyes droop. It would do no harm to have a nap, then wander up to the church after. Of course, it would be closed but even if she touched the church and said a prayer for Alf, surely that would count.

  As she lay, light coming in through the window, scenes played behind her eyes of the pleasant afternoon she’d spent with Brad.

  She must have slept because suddenly she awoke with a jump. In the drowsy state between reality and dreams, she still flew on a fluffy white cloud looking down at the earth where Brad was riding a bicycle.

  Her brow hot and sticky, Sandra told herself it was only a dream. She looked around but couldn’t see in the claustrophobic darkness. The blackout curtains were drawn. Sandra felt beneath her pillow for the torch and, switching it on, looked at her wristwatch. Two o’clock. She shone the torch’s beam on the bunk below where a hump in the covers confirmed that Evelyn was in bed asleep. She then shone the beam over to where Ruby slept. Sandra must have been tired as she hadn’t woken when the others came to bed. It was an unwritten rule that Land Girls didn’t disturb others as, working such long hours, they all needed their rest.

  Sandra switched off the torch and, replacing it back under the pillow, she snuggled beneath the blanket. Then as a thought struck, panic rose within her. Sandra sat bolt upright again. She’d missed going to church again.

  The next morning, after a night of fitful sleep, Sandra was rudely awakened from below by a not-so-good rendition of ‘You Are My Sunshine’.

  She remembered missing church yesterday and the thought rendered her sick with fear.

  The singing from the bunk appeared to get louder.

  Sandra, in no mood for early morning cheer, threw her pillow. ‘Stop that racket.’

  The singing stopped.

  ‘Can’t a person be jolly, for goodness’ sake?’

  ‘Only if a person has something to be jolly about,’ Sandra snapped, swinging her legs off the bed.

  Evelyn’s beaming face appeared. ‘A person has.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I got a letter from Gordon. He’s alive and well… and what’s more, he wants us to get engaged.’

  Feeling guilty that she was spoiling her friend’s wonderful news, Sandra decided to buck up. Where was the harm in visiting church one day late? she asked herself. She would go straight after breakfast and before she went to work.

  Sandra got up and noticed the others had left for breakfast. ‘Sorry I’m a grump.’

  ‘I noticed.’

  ‘I’m so glad Gordon’s safe. Eee! Hearty congratulations. That’s marvellous news.’

  Evelyn sat on the edge of the bed, eyes shining in delight. ‘I told the others last night but didn’t want to disturb you. I’m thrilled. The only thing is Daddy’s going to be proved right, blast him. My life is mapped out.’

  ‘When did you receive the letter?’

  ‘It must have arrived on Saturday afternoon. The one day I didn’t check.’ Evelyn clicked her tongue. ‘I found it yesterday when I arrived back from work. I wanted to tell you but Jessie said you had the afternoon off.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Methinks you met with the aeroplane crash man…?’

  Sandra couldn’t help the blush that rose from her neck.

  Evelyn laughed. ‘By the glossy look in your eyes, I’m right.’

  There followed a time, as the pair of them got washed and dressed, of joyful banter. Evelyn was in such high spirits and who could blame her. For such wonderful news was a rarity and had to be savoured.

  Making their way to breakfast, they sat at the long table next to Ruby.

  ‘Isn’t it jolly news,’ she remarked.

  Evelyn chipped in, ‘Gordon said in his letter he couldn’t wait till he came home to propose.’

  ‘That’s so romantic.’ Ruby looked starry-eyed. ‘I don’t blame him. It doesn’t pay to wait. These days me motto is, grab your chance at a bit of happiness while there’s time.’ Her expression changed and turned infinitely sad.

  ‘I agree.’ Enid, the other side of Ruby, leant forward and joined in the conversation. ‘I’m up at the Robsons’ farm and the ministry’s sent a new man to help with the horses.’ She gave them a brazen look. ‘Don’t be shocked, but one of the Italian prisoners has taken a fancy to me. He’s dreamy-looking and I intend to play along while it suits.’

  The hairs on the back of Sandra’s neck stood up.

  ‘You won’t get to see him much when he’s in POW camp,’ Ruby commented.

  ‘Mr Robson allows him to sleep in the granary. We’ll see each other at night after work.’

  Ruby looked rather taken aback. ‘I thought you had a sweetheart.’

  ‘I do. But mum’s the word as I wouldn’t want Dan to find out.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t see why I should miss out on a bit of fun.’

  Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘It takes all sorts.’

  Sandra spoke up. ‘What is this Italian prisoner’s name?’

  ‘Antonio.’

  At supper that night, Sandra didn’t join in with the nattering girls around her. But their chattering away helped drown out the nerves of her reading lesson ahead. Later, as she knocked on the vicarage door, she felt her heart quicken. She had allayed her fears a little about Alf by going to church that morning before work as she’d promised.

  The door opened instantly, as though the curate had been waiting behind it. Sandra wondered if something seemed different about him.

  ‘Miss Hudson, come in.’ He stood aside. ‘I hope you’ve not been ill.’

  ‘I’m so sorry I missed the lesson last week, but I was… To be honest something came up and I simply forgot.’

  ‘No matter. You’re here now.’ He seemed rather tense as he led the way to the front room. ‘I thought we’d sit in the garden. It’s such a lovely evening it’s a pity to be indoors.’ Opening the French windows, he gestured towards the garden outside. ‘After you.’

  Sandra looked around. ‘Isn’t Mr Fairweather here?’ She almost added to chaperone. She inwardly smiled as she wondered what the vicar thought they might get up to but knew such propriety was called for under the circumstance.

  ‘The vicar decided to stay indoors… he’s listening to the wireless in the other room.’

  The curate was indeed acting oddly and for some reason Sandra felt protective towards him.

  She stepped out onto a small patio and gasped. A black wrought-iron table with two matching chairs occupied a space. On top of a white tablecloth was a vase with a single rose from the garden in it and a jug and glasses. She was touched that he’d bothered to make such an effort.

  ‘Why, how lovely.’

  ‘It’s only water with a few leaves of mint, I’m afraid, but it’s refreshing.’ His cheeks reddened with pleasure and his boyish face reminded her of a schoolboy on his first day of school. But there was still something else, an edginess, as if something was afoot.

&n
bsp; She sat and poured herself a drink. ‘I need this after the day I’ve had, including chasing after sheep.’

  His lips pressed together, smothering a laugh at the image. She’d noticed before that Mr Carlton had a keen sense of humour which he tried in vain to hide. Sandra checked herself; it was best not to think too deeply about the curate, about his endearing character traits – it stirred up unwanted emotions.

  ‘Why were you chasing after sheep?’

  ‘Mr Nichol and I were bringing them in to drench them… which is to give them medicine for worms. As soon as I opened the gate a group of them made off up the path.’

  ‘Where was the sheepdog?’

  ‘Tyne can go deaf when he wants.’

  ‘Ahh!’

  There was a somewhat awkward silence.

  ‘Ahem… Miss Hudson, I’ve been to see the bishop and…’ He seemed to run out of steam.

  In the slight pause, Sandra thought the poor man must be feeling uncomfortable and was trying to make polite conversation. She decided she’d save him the trouble.

  ‘I really do feel bad about last week,’ she butted in, ‘I was with the airman I told you about.’

  Feeling awkward, she stiffened. Why had she brought up the subject of Brad?

  The curate sat very still for a moment as if collecting himself. ‘The one that crashed?’

  ‘Yes, he’s out of hospital and convalescing at Hallington Hall.’

  ‘At Hallington Hall… He came to see you?’

  Under his intense gaze, she felt scrutinised. She blurted, ‘We met at the village dance.’

  Sandra seemed to have lost control. Why did she insist on babbling about Brad? Was it some kind of defence mechanism?

  ‘At the village dance…’

  She wished he would stop repeating what she said. What was wrong with him tonight? Perhaps he was absorbed with church matters or those of one of his parishioners. It made her wonder who he shared his own problems with. Sandra knew it wasn’t done to question a curate.

  ‘Brad – that’s the American’s name – wanted to thank me for what I’d done. He asked me out and we went to the pictures in Hexham.’ It was as though her voice had mind of its own.

  ‘You went to the pictures—’

  ‘Brad is a gentleman,’ she interrupted before he copied again. ‘Not like some you hear of—’

  Sandra cringed as she realised what she’d said to a man of the cloth. He wasn’t naïve and must know what she meant. And he was attractive in a sensitive kind of way. He could get married one day and so he must have… sexual feelings.

  Appalled at her thoughts, Sandra’s mind snapped shut. Breathing deeply, she attempted to gain back some control.

  She simply stated, ‘Brad and I mostly talked about life in America.’

  Mr Carlton straightened in his seat and likewise took a deep breath. ‘This Brad does sound nice.’

  Lips pressed firmly together, she nodded noncommittally.

  In the silence that followed, the urge to tell him what was bothering her was overwhelming. She trusted him. He was the only person she could confide in and he was so easy to talk to. Sandra valued his advice.

  ‘Before we begin the reading lesson, I’d like your thoughts on something, if that’s all right?’

  His limpid eyes softened in a supportive way – but there was a hint of reservation too, as though he was worried about what she might say.

  ‘I’d be happy to be of service in any way I can.’

  She told him about how Frieda had a crush on Antonio, and how he was now consorting with a Land Girl. She concluded, ‘I don’t know what to do. If I tell Frieda she mightn’t be strong enough for the hurt involved. I’m worried the lass might stop eating and become ill again. But if I don’t tell her then she is being deceived and that’s wrong too. What am I to do? She’s infatuated with the man.’

  Mr Carlton stood up and held his hands together in front of him in that way of his. He thought long and hard before saying, ‘It is a dilemma, indeed. I can’t tell you what to do but what I would ask, Miss Hudson, is this. If you were Frieda what would you want from a friend?’

  Sandra thought and then the resolution became clear. ‘I’d be upset if I knew my friend had known all along and hadn’t told me.’

  Mr Carlton smiled reassuringly. ‘She may hold it against you for a while, but you have the strength to cope. And I would say, Frieda has strength too. It takes great willpower to stop eating for whatever reason. Frieda is stronger than you think.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Carlton. You’ve been such a great help. The matter of what to do was getting me down.’

  The curate looked at her with a serene expression. ‘I’m glad to be of help. But it was you who worked the answer out for yourself.’

  ‘Oh!’ She suddenly remembered. ‘What was it you wanted to tell me earlier about the bishop?’

  The curate gave a curious, sad smile. ‘No matter. The subject doesn’t apply any more.’

  Later, when Sandra had gone and her presence still lingered in the room, Matthew pondered over the conversation. He tried to guide parishioners when they sought his advice, but the final decision belonged to them.

  He thought of how she’d talked about the American and how her face had become animated. Matthew, a keen observer of the human state, noticed such details as it had helped on numerous occasions while dealing with the distraught or bereaved. Sandra might not be aware of it yet, but she had strong feeling towards the American.

  Love wasn’t always about finding the right one, and being with them, Matthew knew. Caring for someone also meant doing what was best for them and in this case if that meant losing Sandra to someone else, then so be it. All Matthew’s generous heart wanted was for her to find happiness and someone to be close to, even if it wasn’t him – she deserved no less.

  But Matthew was worried, not for his own sake but hers. For though she was tough, because of her disadvantaged background, Sandra was also vulnerable and alone and clearly inexperienced. He couldn’t help but feel guarded at her attachment to this Brad – an American soldier likely to return home – whose motives he didn’t know or trust. It was the same scenario as what Sandra experienced with her friend, though she couldn’t see it that way. She wanted happiness for Frieda, but she had reservations about Antonio.

  Matthew hoped his fears were unfounded as he couldn’t bear the possibility that Sandra’s heart might be broken.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you,’ Sandra told Frieda above the noise of squealing pigs.

  Sandra was in the pig shed where she’d broken up a bucketful of cooked potatoes with the blade of her shovel. As she tipped the potatoes into the trough, a scuffle of hefty, pink-skinned pigs, climbing over each other, wrestled to be first at the food.

  Frieda chucked a fresh covering of straw over the pigs’ sleeping quarters. ‘What about?’

  Sandra hesitated, but she was determined to be outspoken. ‘This is uncomfortable for me to say but I—’

  ‘What does it concern?’

  ‘Antonio.’

  Frieda blanched. ‘There is nothing wrong with him?’

  ‘No – it’s nothing like that.’ Sandra gulped. ‘I found out that he is seeing someone else. I thought it right you should know.’

  Frieda reeled. Sandra saw the shock etched in her face.

  They were silent awhile and all that could be heard was a snuffling noise as the pigs gobbled food.

  ‘Who? How do you know?’

  ‘One of the Land Girls at the hostel. She works up at the Robsons’ farm. She was talking about how she meets with one of the prisoners, an Italian called Antonio.’

  ‘You think it was my Antonio?’

  ‘It would be too much of a coincidence if it wasn’t.’

  Ashen-faced, Frieda began to rake the straw.

  Sandra, at a loss what to do, watched the pigs gobble down their food. She cursed Antonio for causing her friend such confusion and unhappiness.

  ‘Antonio didn�
�t show at breakfast time when he promised.’ Frieda looked lost and alone. ‘He had talked of us having a future together…’

  Sandra was so furious she would personally have liked to have sent Antonio back to the prison camp and not let him put a foot outside for the duration of the war. Frieda, young and vulnerable, had had enough loss to cope with in her short life. Another ordeal like this might send her over the brink, and she’d become ill again. Sandra knew that platitudes – like telling Frieda it was puppy love and she would get over it – wouldn’t help. But finding the correct words was difficult. She wished Frieda had confided in her aunt, as she was worldly and would know how to handle a problem such as this.

  She decided to be honest. ‘It’s difficult to know what to say when you’re inexperienced at being in love like I am.’

  Frieda relaxed a little. ‘I do love Antonio and I thought he did me. How could he flirt with someone else?’

  ‘My friend Evelyn says that these things happen with soldiers too. I suppose we all crave company and want to escape the war. But Antonio shouldn’t have acted in this way.’

  ‘He made me happy, Sandra. I began to believe good things could happen. When I was with him the world didn’t seem such a dangerous place and I began to hope for… everyone’s future.’

  ‘You must go on thinking like that.’

  Frieda’s face flushed as though she was ashamed. Her head lowered, she looked from beneath dark and curled eyelashes up at her friend. ‘The last time I was with Antonio he wanted to, you know… I don’t know what words to use.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ Sandra could imagine.

  ‘I worried that if I didn’t, I would lose him. I wanted to but I knew Mama wouldn’t approve. Now I’ve lost my chance with Antonio. He’s found someone else. He doesn’t love me any more.’