by Posy Lovell
Louisa wrote the letter outlining the women’s plan to work three-quarters of a day, and together, she, Ivy and Win gave it to Mac.
“I know you’re not the one who’d make a final decision,” Louisa said as she handed it over. “But if you come round to our way of thinking I know the managers will listen to what you have to say.”
Mac had looked dubious. “I didn’t expect this from you.”
“Really?” Ivy said, raising one eyebrow.
Mac, despite himself, laughed. “Yes, maybe I expected it from you, Ivy Adams. But not you, Louisa.”
It was Louisa’s turn to look surprised. “I’ve been known to make a bit of trouble in my time, Mac,” she pointed out, and Mac laughed again.
“Christ, you’re right.” He looked at Win. “But not you, Lady Ramsay.”
Win lifted her chin, showing off her long, elegant neck and peered at him down her nose.
“I’m the worst of the lot,” she said.
Mac knew when he was beaten.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll read the letter and I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think for too long because we’re only doing three-quarters of our usual work. I imagine things will fall apart rather quickly,” Louisa warned.
Then they’d walked out, leaving Mac staring after them in shock.
* * *
On their first shorter day, when the time to down tools drew near, Ivy went round the Gardens, spreading the word and asking each gardener she passed to tell another. Eventually, just after the chimes of the hour rang out across the green from St. Anne’s clock tower, the women all gathered by the break room, looking nervous and thrilled about what they were doing.
“I was thinning out the border,” Fran complained.
“It’ll keep until tomorrow.”
“I was pleased to stop weeding,” said another gardener, flexing her fingers. “It’s so boring.”
“Same again tomorrow,” Win reminded them. “Let’s keep it up as long as we can. I don’t reckon it’ll take them too long to notice how much you all do.”
“We all do,” Ivy corrected her. Far from being the liability she and Louisa had expected, Win had already proved herself to be a big help around the Gardens.
“Can I take you charming girls for tea to celebrate our first day of direct action?” Win asked. Ivy accepted eagerly, but Louisa frowned.
“I can’t, sorry,” she said. She didn’t look very sorry, much to Ivy’s amusement. “I’m going for a walk with Teddy.”
Ivy squeezed Louisa’s arm to show she was pleased for her, but didn’t say anything because Louisa was liable to clam up every time she was asked anything about Teddy.
“Just you and me, then,” Win said. “Shall we?”
Win offered Ivy her arm and together they wandered across the Gardens to the gate nearest the bridge. Summer was in its final flourishes now, and everything felt hot and sleepy. Even the bees looked drowsy as they buzzed slowly round the heavy-headed flowers. Ivy didn’t like late summer as a rule, but this year she was trying to embrace it because it was another sign that time was passing.
She led the way over the bridge and then to a tea shop that Win pronounced, predictably, “charming” because it had a view of the river.
“So, Ivy,” Win said, when they were both seated and had ordered tea “and two slices of your most delicious cake, thank you, darling” from the cheerful waitress, “I want to know everything about your sweetheart.”
Ivy felt a lurch of sorrow and fear, as she always did when she thought of Jim, and then of happiness as she thought of their letters.
“His name is Jim and he’s the sweetest, kindest, gentlest man you could ever meet. And he’s a wonderful gardener.”
“Good with his hands?” Win winked at her and Ivy blushed.
“Win!” she said, shocked.
Win laughed a throaty chuckle and gestured for Ivy to carry on.
“He’s funny and brave and really clever.”
“Is he handsome?”
“So handsome.”
Win beamed at her. “And is he writing you wonderful love letters? My Archie’s been sending me the most gorgeous notes. He’s been writing sweet nothings that he’s not said out loud since we were courting. It’s quite the eye-opener.”
Ivy looked down at the table. Should she fess up to her difficulties with reading and writing? What would Win think?
“Well,” she said, “we’ve been doing something a bit different.”
“Different?”
“I can tell you, but it’s better if I show you. I’ll take you after tea, if you don’t mind going back to the Gardens?”
“Not at all,” Win said, clearly intrigued.
“In the meantime you can tell me all about your Archie. Bet he’s handsome in his naval uniform.”
Win’s eyes gleamed. “Isn’t he just,” she said.
They ate their cake and drank their tea and talked about Archie’s job in the Dover Patrol, preventing the Germans from entering the English Channel.
“Sounds dangerous,” Ivy said, then kicked herself for saying so as she watched Win’s smile falter.
“It is dangerous. It is. Archie downplays it, but I have nights when I can’t sleep for worrying.”
“Is it just you and him? No kids?”
Again Win’s smile faltered and again Ivy felt rotten for saying the wrong thing.
“We were never blessed with children, but we have lots of nieces and nephews. I’m very proud to be an auntie.”
“I bet they love you,” Ivy said honestly. “They’re lucky to have you.”
Win waved away her compliments, but she looked pleased. “Would you like to have children one day? You and your Jim?”
“I’m only sixteen, Win,” Ivy said. But she had to admit she’d thought about it. Or perhaps more honestly, she’d worried about it. She took a swig of tea and forced herself to grin at her new friend.
“Jim says we’ll get married one day.” But then it was there again, the terror of never seeing him again. Of never being his wife. She felt sick suddenly and pushed away her plate without finishing every crumb of cake like she did usually.
“Had enough?”
Ivy nodded.
Win fixed her with her sharp eyes. “Then why don’t you show me how you and your Jim are keeping in touch?”
Together, they walked back across the bridge and into the Gardens. Dennis was just finishing work, looking exhausted.
“Nice afternoon, eh?” he called to them as they passed.
“Lovely, thank you,” Ivy shouted back, feeling ever so slightly guilty but still proud of what they were doing.
She led Win round the back of the break room and across to what had once been a neglected corner of the Gardens.
Then, taking a breath and avoiding Win’s curious stare, she explained what was going on.
“I never learned to read and write properly when I was little,” she said in a hurry. “I was always trailing after my dad at the market or running round the Gardens. I was never that interested in letters and stuff. When I started work here, our friend Bernie said he’d teach me and he did—a bit—but not enough for writing letters or reading them.”
“I see,” Win said.
“So when Jim enlisted, I was so scared because I thought we’d not be able to keep in touch and I knew I’d miss him so bad. But, like I said, he’s clever, and he came up with a plan.”
“Which was?”
Ivy stepped back and, with a flourish, showed Win the patch of garden she was standing next to.
“Ta-da,” she said softly. “This is my letter garden.”
Behind her was a riot of color. There were some tiny seedlings, some bigger plants, lots of flowers, and a few herbs. It wasn’t very organized, but it was well looked
after and Ivy was very pleased with it.
“What’s this?” Win said. “What have you done here?”
“Jim doesn’t write me letters. He knows there’s no point because I can’t read them. Instead, he sends me things from France. To grow.”
“Ohhhh,” Win breathed. “How wonderful.”
Having not told anyone what she was growing in her little patch of garden until now, Ivy found she was suddenly eager to share everything with Win.
“The plants all mean things,” she explained. “Jim and me, we’ve always talked about the language of flowers. It used to be a thing people did, years ago—they’d send little posies to each other with hidden meanings.”
“That’s what you meant when you said the red roses meant mourning,” Win said, understanding dawning on her face.
“Well, yes, that’s true. But I was nasty to say it,” Ivy admitted.
“These flowers all mean something?’
Ivy clapped her hands. “Yes, but I never know what they mean until they grow. Jim sends me seeds, you see. Or bulbs. And I plant them here and they grow and I understand what he was telling me.”
Win looked around her in wonder. “Every plant here, they all have a hidden meaning?”
“They do.”
“Like what?”
Ivy bounced over to a patch of pink carnations. “He sent me these first. These were the first seeds he sent. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but I asked Mac if I could plant them somewhere and he said I could use this patch here. I planted them, and these carnations grew.”
“And they mean?”
“I’ll never forget you.”
“Oh.” Win’s eyes filled with tears. “How sweet. What else?”
“He sent me hyacinth bulbs,” Ivy went on. “I’ll plant them in a few weeks and they’ll flower at Christmas. I don’t know for sure, but I reckon they’ll be blue, because they mean constancy of love. And this is heliotrope.”
She showed Win a small green shrub.
“I don’t think it’ll flower until next year, but there’s enough there for me to recognize it.”
“What does that symbolize?”
“Eternal love.”
Win was speechless with delight.
“This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen,” she said. “I can’t believe it.”
Ivy was thrilled that her letter garden had such a good reception. “I know. I’m so lucky.”
“Do you send him seeds?”
She shook her head. “No point, is there? He’s got nowhere to grow them.”
“So what do you send him?”
“I’ll show you.”
Ivy sat down on a nearby bench and pulled her sketchbook out of her bag. Since Bernie had given it to her, she’d filled it with drawings of flowers and pressed cuttings and it was bulging.
Very carefully, she opened it to a page she had marked, and showed Win what was inside. It was a frond of fern, pressed flat and stuck to a page of writing paper.
“I’m going to send this one tomorrow.”
“Does it have a secret meaning?”
Ivy nodded. “Bonds of love,” she said. “Never to be broken.”
Win pulled out a handkerchief with WLR embroidered on the corner and dabbed her eyes.
“This is simply precious,” she said. “Precious.”
“I press the flowers and leaves in a book Bernie gave me and when they’re done I send them. Sometimes I draw them instead. I draw the flowers that I’ve grown from the seeds, and I draw the garden, too. I want him to see what he’s given me.”
She showed Win her sketch pad with the many pictures inside. Rapt, Win leafed through the pages, sighing at almost every drawing.
“My goodness,” Win said. “This is really something.” She nodded. “I think your Jim is a keeper, Ivy. Don’t you ever let him go.”
Ivy shuddered as she spoke, feeling doom hanging heavy overhead.
“I won’t,” she said. “But it’s not up to me, is it?”
There was a moment’s silence as the two women thought about how helpless they were, and then Win forced a smile.
“Perhaps you could help me send something to my Archie?”
“Course I could. What do you want to say?”
“Be strong?” Win suggested. “Is there anything that says that?”
Ivy nodded. “Bit of a weird one, strength. It’s thyme, the herb. So your letter will smell good, too.”
“Charming,” Win muttered. “What about patriotism? Is there anything along those lines? I could be telling him to stay strong for England.”
Ivy had never thought of combining two plants to make a longer message. She liked the idea and told Win so.
“England’s a rose, obviously, you could send one of those. Or, if you want to encourage him to be patriotic, you need nasturtiums.”
“Could you draw some for me?”
“No need,” Ivy said. “They’re all out right now. Shall we go and pick some?”
“Mac won’t mind?”
“Not if he doesn’t know.”
With a cheeky grin over her shoulder, Ivy led Win first to the kitchen garden, where she cut a sprig of thyme.
“Smell that,” she said, thrusting it at Win.
Win took a deep breath in and smiled. “Wonderful.”
From there they went to the glorious rose garden, where Ivy had first seen Win, and picked a red rosebud. Not the deep, blood-colored crimson but the brighter scarlet that meant “I love you” and symbolized England.
“Roses are hard to press when they’re blooming because the petals drop,” Ivy explained. “But a bud presses lovely and the color lasts longer.”
Win nodded. “This is simply thrilling,” she said. “What next?”
“Nasturtiums, in the borders.”
They weaved their way through the plants to the herbaceous border and Ivy crouched down by the nasturtiums.
“Yellow will look nicest, I think. With the red of the rose and the green thyme.”
“I agree.”
Ivy snipped a couple of flowers.
“You can eat these,” she told Win. “But I wouldn’t want to. They’re much too pretty to end up in my belly.”
Win laughed and Ivy was pleased. She liked entertaining this clever, caring woman.
“Now what?”
“Now we tie the plants together with a piece of ribbon into a little posy. Do you have a heavy book? Like a Bible or an atlas?”
“Yes.”
“When you get home, tuck the posy inside and pile some other books on top. Or anything heavy.” She frowned as she thought about pressing the flowers at her house. “I put mine under my mattress. My sister and I share a bed, so there’s plenty of weight on it.”
As soon as she’d said it, Ivy regretted her joke. It was true, she did share a bed with her sister, but Win didn’t need to know that. A nice lady like her would be bound to be shocked at the idea of lanky young women—almost grown—sharing a bed because there was neither room nor money for them to each have one of their own.
But Win simply nodded.
“That’ll do it,” she said. She looped her arm through Ivy’s.
“Thank you, darling,” she said. “You’ve shared something really special with me today and I love it.”
Chapter 22
The women worked three-quarters of their usual day for a whole week. Things were already starting to fall apart. The herbaceous border was looking a bit weed-choked, there were lettuces in the vegetable garden that should have been picked days ago and the raspberries were hanging heavy on the plants because no one had been to check them. Dennis was doing his best, bless him, and Mac was working all hours, but still the lawns were untidy, the wisteria needed pruning and there were lots of flowers that needed to
be deadheaded. The women were forcing themselves to ignore the jobs that were crying out to be done—it wasn’t easy, but they all told themselves and one another that it would be worth it in the end. And didn’t all the unpicked veg, rotting fruit and out-of-control lawns prove that the women were far more valuable to Kew than the men had realized? Louisa was confident that a few more days of untidy borders and Mac would crack.
The other thing that was different was how much time the women had. It was an odd feeling, and Louisa found herself at a loose end.
“What are you doing after work?” she asked Ivy as they got changed out of their overalls. Ivy had been disappearing each day, muttering about “making the most of the time” and Louisa was interested to know what she’d been doing.
Ivy smiled at Louisa.
“I’ve got something to show you,” she said.
Intrigued, Louisa followed her round past the kitchen garden to a patch of rough earth. At least, it had been a patch of neglected dry soil the last time Louisa had been near it. Now it was a garden.
“Oh my,” she breathed. “What’s this?”
“It’s my letter garden.”
Louisa was confused. “Letters?”
“Jim sends me seeds from France, and I plant them here. All the plants have messages—you know, like we were learning?”
“Ivy, it’s wonderful,” Louisa said. “Really beautiful.”
She felt a bit teary. Since that first letter, she’d not been asked to read anything for Ivy, so all this time she’d been wondering how Ivy and Jim were keeping in touch. Now she knew.
“Has anyone else seen this?”
“Just Mac; he gave me the patch of garden to use. And Win.”
Louisa was slightly hurt that Win—the newcomer to their group—had seen it before she did. But Ivy obviously read the expression on her face and squeezed her arm.
“I showed Win because she’s in the same boat as me, isn’t she? With her Archie off in his patrol. I helped her pick some flowers to press for him with a message.”
“You send Jim pressed flowers?”
“I do.” Ivy looked proud and Louisa gave her a hug.
