The Land Girls at Christmas

by Jenny Holmes

  ‘I learned that lesson after my first week,’ she went on. ‘You have to do as you’re told and not ask questions. Even though Joe Kellett is a mean old sod, you can’t complain. You just have to get on with it.’

  Una wasn’t sure that Brenda always followed her own advice. ‘So we’ve to put up with Frank trailing round after us all afternoon without doing a stroke of work?’

  Brenda nodded. ‘Yes, and with Peggy Russell getting us to clear nettles from her vegetable patch without offering us any gloves, or being blinded and choked by smoke from Arnold White’s dratted threshing machine. I’m told that’s one of the worst jobs you’ll get around here – feeding the metal monster with sheaves of corn then carting away the chaff. You’ll be coughing up dust for a week.’ She paused to take a long drink from her glass and scan the room. ‘That must be Grace’s brother sitting in the corner all on his ownio.’ She pointed to Edgar Kershaw who was still in his RAF uniform, staring into space and surrounded by a gloomy cloud that seemed to keep everyone at a safe distance.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Una agreed. Wondering about the reason for his return home, she directed her attention towards the thick-set, balding man serving behind the bar. ‘Is that their dad?’

  ‘Yes, that’s Cliff Kershaw.’ Brenda paid scant attention. She was on the lookout for someone interesting to talk to but meanwhile she didn’t mind filling Una in on the locals. ‘He’s Burnside’s blacksmith and publican rolled into one. You’ll see him hammering away in the forge most days.’

  Una watched Cliff call abruptly for Edgar before disappearing down some steps. Edgar took his time to respond.

  ‘I expect they have to change the barrel,’ Brenda commented before catching sight of three young men standing at the bar. ‘Now, Una Sharpe, which of those three would you most like to pass the time of day with?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. I can only see their back view.’ It was true, but even so she quickly chose the tallest of the three. He was the best dressed, in a navy-blue suit, with smooth, dark hair and a sportsman’s physique.

  ‘The one in the middle?’ Brenda prompted.

  Una nodded.

  ‘That’s Bill Mostyn,’ Brenda said with a coquettish tilt of her head as the three men picked up their glasses and turned around.

  ‘Ssh! He’ll guess we’re talking about him.’

  Brenda smiled winningly at Bill. She knew she cut a dash in her dark slacks and white silk blouse, nipped in at the waist by a shiny black belt.

  Bill had spotted her and he smiled back but then went off with his pals in another direction.

  ‘Where’s Grace, I wonder?’ Having spent a long afternoon with her out at Home Farm, Una was eager to get to know her better.

  ‘Sitting with her feet up, if she’s got any sense.’ Brenda was in two minds whether to risk crossing the room to join Bill’s little threesome but decided against it. Maybe later, she thought. Best not to look too eager. Then again, a good-looking man like Bill Mostyn could be snapped up for the evening by any of the Land Girls arriving in twos and threes, dressed up to the nines in their best frocks and high heels.

  ‘I wish Grace was billeted at Fieldhead with us,’ Una went on, glancing down at her sore palms where the evidence of their afternoon’s hard labour was plain to see. ‘But I suppose the local girls live at home.’

  ‘Unlike us town girls, eh?’ Brenda fidgeted in her seat. ‘Someone like me sticks out like a sore thumb in this countrified neck of the woods.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Riding a motor bike, for a start. Everyone stares.’

  Una laughed. ‘It’s not something you see every day back in Millwood either, to tell the truth.’

  ‘No?’ Brenda seemed surprised. ‘I don’t see why a girl shouldn’t – it’s not hard to learn. I’ve been doing it since I was sixteen and I was twenty-one last August. I bought my first bike off Teddy Garside, the young man I was walking out with at the time.’

  ‘And where’s Teddy now?’

  ‘Long gone,’ Brenda said with a hint of regret. ‘The last I heard he was braving the Atlantic in the Merchant Navy. Lord knows if he’s still in the land of the living.’

  Una frowned. Who would have thought two years earlier that young men’s lives would be so quickly and commonly snuffed out – not in ones or twos but in their hundreds and thousands? It was normal now to wonder about the fate of the boy who’d lived at the end of the street and for mothers, wives and sweethearts to dread the arrival of the telegram that would shatter their lives for good. ‘I have three brothers in uniform,’ she told Brenda quietly.

  ‘All still in one piece?’

  ‘Yes, touch wood.’

  ‘There’s just me in my family. Dad wanted a boy – can’t you tell?’

  Brenda’s open way of talking made Una smile. ‘No ribbons and bows for you, then, when you were little?’

  ‘No, he was only happy if I was kicking a football or climbing trees, bless him. Not like Grace over there. I’ll bet she’s always been polite and ladylike.’

  Una saw that Grace had joined her father behind the bar. She and Brenda waved at her and Grace waved back. ‘I know what you mean,’ Una agreed. ‘Never a hair out of place. But she’s friendly and helpful enough – I like her.’

  ‘Hard to get to know her, though.’

  Una disagreed. ‘My first impression is that she’s someone you can rely on.’

  ‘But a bit too serious?’

  ‘No,’ Una insisted. ‘Straightforward and reliable – that’s how I see her.’

  ‘Too clever?’ Brenda wouldn’t let it drop. ‘The type who always has her head in the clouds?’

  ‘Clever, yes. But not too clever. And not at all stuck up.’

  ‘All right, you win. Grace Kershaw is an angel in disguise.’ Brenda gave up and called across the room to three newcomers. ‘Kathleen, Ivy, Jean – I’m over here. Una, this is Ivy McNamara.’

  ‘Hello, Ivy.’ Una greeted a thin girl with a long, serious face who nodded briefly back at her.

  ‘Shift over – there’s plenty of room for three littl’uns …’

  Two ciders later, Brenda had plucked up the courage to approach Bill Mostyn.

  ‘Wish me luck,’ she told the other girls before she sashayed across the room.

  ‘She’s not backwards in coming forward, I’ll give her that.’ Kathleen’s faint disapproval hung in the air.

  ‘Just because he’s the one you’ve had your eye on for the last six months,’ Jean muttered. ‘Anyway, you can relax – Brenda’s not his type.’

  ‘What is his type?’ Una asked, trying hard not to get caught in the crossfire. Feelings between the girls at the hostel ran beneath the surface and she was only just beginning to work them out. It was clear that Ivy was jealous of Brenda, for a start. And Jean – well, Jean enjoyed upsetting people and never cracked a smile. She and Ivy could definitely make more of themselves, Una decided, if only they would do their hair and use a bit of make-up.

  Jean shrugged. ‘To tell the truth, I’ve never seen Bill walking out with anyone. He’s always too busy messing about with tractors and when he’s not working he’s playing football. They’ve made him captain of the local team, a real man’s man.’

  ‘Jean’s right,’ Kathleen agreed. ‘Tractor engines and football mean more to Bill Mostyn than anything else. I tried to get to know him a bit better at the last dance they held at Penny Lane—’

  ‘She means the Canadian Air Force quarters in the old isolation hospital,’ Jean informed Una without being asked. ‘It was requisitioned by the War Office soon after war was declared.’

  ‘As I say, Bill was there with some of his footballing pals. The night was young and the band was playing, so I went right up and asked him to dance the foxtrot with me, because what does a girl have to lose?’

  ‘Her good name?’ Jean suggested under her breath. ‘Oh no, I forgot; this is wartime. Everything’s different.’

  ‘Sourpuss.’ Kathleen scowle
d at her. ‘Let me finish my story. I said, “Hello, Bill. Would you like this dance?” “I’m sorry, I have two left feet,” he snapped right back. Then why did you come? I might have said, but I bit my tongue. I soon found myself a handsome Canadian airman instead.’

  So Una feared the worst for Brenda who had broken into the conversation Bill was having with his two pals. She was experiencing no more luck than Kathleen, to judge by Bill’s stiff responses.

  Brenda’s opening gambit had been one that she thought would appeal. ‘I hear you’re good with tractor engines. You must know all about spark plugs and head gaskets, and so on.’

  Frown lines appeared between Bill’s eyebrows. ‘I work on them, if that’s what you mean.’

  She smiled brightly back. ‘I happen to have a BSA single-cylinder Sloper with an oil leak. Do you know someone who would take a look at it for me?’ Meaning you, she thought, looking him in the eye. ‘It might be nothing much, but I’d like to have it checked.’

  ‘Good idea.’ He nodded slowly, ignoring the sly glances that were being exchanged by Thomas Lund and Jack Hudson and providing a literal answer. ‘Have you topped up the oil recently? If there’s a leak you mustn’t let it drop down below the minimum level.’

  ‘Rightio, I’ll do that first thing in the morning. Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll be free in the afternoon. Perhaps I could call in at your workshop to let one of your mechanics give it a quick once-over?’

  More looks were exchanged and there was the suggestion of a snigger from Thomas. Bill’s frown deepened. ‘I’m not really your man,’ he told Brenda. ‘Maurice Baxendale runs a little car repair garage tucked away behind the Village Institute. He’s a better bet.’

  ‘Oh.’ Brenda returned the frown. Bill Mostyn was proving to be as stand-offish as his mother. Yes, he was devilishly handsome but he seemed to lack what she called vim and vigour. There was no sparkle in his brown eyes. In fact, his face conveyed barely any expression at all. ‘Ta,’ she said lamely.

  ‘I know for a fact Maurice won’t be open tomorrow afternoon, though,’ Thomas pointed out obligingly. ‘He’ll be playing in goal for us against Thornley.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ She realized she’d been sent packing with her tail between her legs.

  ‘Well?’ Kathleen asked when a disgruntled Brenda plonked herself back down on the fireside settle.

  ‘Well, nothing.’ She sniffed and ran a hand through her cropped hair.

  ‘That’s a pity.’ Jean feigned sympathy by putting her hand on Brenda’s arm. ‘She doesn’t want to talk about it, do you, Brenda?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ Brenda pursed her lips and kept Bill within her sights. ‘If at first you don’t succeed …’ she muttered.

  ‘That’s the ticket.’ Una grinned at her. ‘Would you like another drink?’

  ‘No, ta.’ She gave a loud yawn. ‘I’m ready for my bed. Do you want a lift back?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Una jumped up and fastened her coat.

  Brenda shook off her bad mood and turned to Jean and Ivy with a well-meaning word of advice. ‘Remember – don’t let Kathleen walk home by herself.’

  Ivy glanced at Kathleen who seemed suddenly nervous. ‘Rightio.’

  ‘Good, that’s settled.’ Brenda was satisfied. ‘Come on, Una. It’s time for beddy-byes.’

  At eight o’clock next morning, Grace and Una were back digging ditches at Home Farm while Brenda was kept busy in the dairy. She eventually emerged at half past nine, having lugged heavy metal churns across the floor and taken a whack in the face from more than one swishing tail.

  ‘Ouch, that last one hurt,’ she grumbled when she joined the others, her cheek still stinging. ‘I was in there with Frank, worse luck.’

  Grace noticed the red mark. ‘He didn’t clout you, did he?’

  ‘No, a cow did this to me.’ Brenda rubbed her cheek.

  ‘Where is he now?’ Una asked as she handed her a spade.

  ‘Having his breakfast.’ Brenda started digging vigorously to work off her frustration. ‘Don’t worry – he’ll soon be out here getting under our feet as per usual.’

  They worked in silence for a while, heads down. The sticking plasters that Una had wrapped around her fingers had soon come off and exposed her blisters to more chafing. Her feet got tangled in brambles and at one point the oozing mud in the bottom of the ditch claimed one of her wellingtons and she was left hopping on one leg while Grace retrieved it.

  ‘Give me a munitions factory any day,’ she sighed, remembering her conversation with Emily Kellett on the bus. To cap it all, the rain came back and this time it set in for good. By the end of the morning all three looked like drowned rats.

  ‘Is that as far as you’ve got?’ Joe grumbled when he came out to the field at one o’clock. He wore a sack around his shoulders and his cap was pulled well down.

  Grace climbed out of the ditch, smiling in spite of her aching back. ‘We’ve done our best, Mr Kellett. It’s heavy work, especially when it’s raining.’

  ‘We’ve done our best, Mr Kellett,’ he mimicked meanly. ‘If it was up to me, I’d make you stay until it was finished.’

  ‘Luckily, it’s not up to you.’ Brenda handed him her spade. Grace might choose to be polite to the old so-and-so but she’d be blowed if she followed suit. ‘So, if you don’t mind we’ll down tools and be on our way.’

  Whether he minded or not, off they trudged up the field to collect their bikes, running slap-bang into Frank as he came out of the dairy where he’d skulked all morning. Scowling, he brushed Grace and Brenda aside and took hold of Una’s wrist.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ She tried to pull free but found he was stronger than he looked.

  He would have dragged her out of sight round the back of the dairy in full view of the others if Emily hadn’t spotted him from the farmhouse porch.

  She ran across the yard to stand in his way. ‘Let her go, Frank,’ she said slowly and deliberately so that he could read her lips.

  He hesitated, giving Una the chance to escape his grasp. She rubbed her wrist and rejoined Brenda and Grace.

  ‘Well!’ Disgust rendered Brenda speechless.

  ‘Good boy,’ Emily said. ‘I’ve told you over and over – you have to learn not to lay hold of people like that.’

  Frank shook his head in puzzlement then disappeared behind the shed.

  ‘Don’t take the hump. You’ll get used to him,’ Emily told Una. ‘She will, won’t she, Grace? Everyone in the village knows that Frank wouldn’t harm a fly.’

  ‘Where did he want me to go?’ Una demanded.

  There was no time for Emily to answer because Frank quickly reappeared holding three hen’s eggs in the palm of his hand. He held them out to Una and waited for her to take them from him.

  ‘You see,’ his mother said soothingly. ‘He only wanted to give you a little present.’

  The eggs were warm and the small act of generosity confused Una. ‘Ta,’ she told Frank as she slipped the eggs into the top pocket of her dungarees.

  ‘That’s one each.’ Brenda broke through the awkwardness with a chirpy smile. ‘Ta, Frank. Ta, Mrs K. Come along, girls. Our work here is done.’

  Una lay in the bath looking out at the elm trees behind the house. She’d bartered with Kathleen for this bathroom slot – one newly laid egg for ten minutes of peace and quiet soaking her aching limbs and going over recent events. It was three o’clock in the afternoon and the daylight was already starting to fade.

  The bath was one of the big Victorian ones with claw-feet. The gas boiler on the wall had only provided three or four inches of hot water before it ran cold. There were bottle-green tiles on the bathroom walls with a frieze of pink and white lilies forming a waist-high dado rail – yet more reminders of Fieldhead’s more illustrious past.

  As Una sank low in the water to ease her aching back, she felt tears form in her eyes. Was every day going to be this bad? she wondered. Was there nothing but endless digging, scra
tched arms, aches and pains and blisters ahead of her?

  The tears dribbled down her cheeks and blurred her view of the bare elms swaying in the wind. What would Tom be up to, right now, this minute? He would probably be sitting by the wireless listening to the Home Service, leaning forward to tap his pipe against the fire grate to empty its contents. Then he would take his pouch and with his one good hand he would pack the bowl with fresh tobacco that always smelled so sweet and aromatic. He would light it with a long spill and suck in the first breath. The smoke would emerge from his lips with a popping sound. Dear Tom – back in Wellington Street all on his own.

  She would write a letter to him after she’d had her bath, she decided. She would choose to tell him only the good things – how nice and lively Brenda was and how much she liked the way Grace dressed and did her hair. There would be no mention of blisters or mud, nothing about Eunice Mason’s sad end. She was dwelling on this when there was a sharp rap on the door.

  ‘Get a move on in there,’ Jean said. ‘Your time was up five minutes ago. I’m next in the queue.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t realize.’ Una stood up and reached for her towel, hurriedly drying herself before slipping on her dressing-gown. She opened the door to find Jean standing there, towel and washbag in hand. Her lank hair was pinned behind her ears and her thin lips were pressed together.

  ‘It’s blinking freezing out here,’ Jean complained. She was about to squeeze past Una but changed her mind. ‘By the way, Brenda told me what Frank Kellett got up to.’

  ‘Oh yes, he gave us some eggs.’ As usual with Jean, Una suspected there was something unpleasant coming.

  ‘What did he want for them, that’s the question.’

  ‘Nothing. It was a present.’ The hairs at the back of Una’s neck prickled as she remembered the look on Frank’s face – his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched tight shut.

  Jean arched her eyebrows. ‘If you believe that, you’ll believe anything.’

  ‘Why? What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing. My lips are sealed.’ She made as if to close the door on Una, who stopped her by putting her foot in the way.