by Angela Arney
‘He’s called Black Beauty,’ she said. ‘Bertha told me.’
Megan smiled at her enthusiasm. She looked around at the room, the walls could do with another coat of paint, but even so it was warm and cosy, perfect for a little girl. ‘Do you like your room?’ she asked.
Rosie turned a rapturous face towards her. ‘Like it?’ she said. ‘I love it. And I don’t have to share it with no one.’
‘Anyone,’ corrected Megan automatically.
‘Yes, that’s right, no one,’ said Rosie, adding, ‘can I have another bath tonight?’ Then she looked doubtful. ‘But Bertha told me too many baths make you weak. She said that when I told her I’d like a bath every night.’
Megan laughed. ‘I’m afraid I don’t agree with Bertha on that score. On the contrary, being clean makes you strong. Come along then.’ She led the way towards the bathroom at the end of the corridor.
Rosie trotted behind Megan, smiling gleefully. ‘What does contrary mean? she asked.
By Sunday morning everyone knew that their fate, and that of the civilized world, would be decided by 11.00 a.m. that morning. Hitler had received an ultimatum from the British Government at nine o’ clock that morning; unless Germany withdrew its troops from Poland, war would be declared. The ultimatum expired at eleven o’ clock.
Just before eleven o’clock Henry, Megan, Lavinia, Rosie and Adam, together with Gerald and Violet who had driven over from Brinkley Hall to share the news with the rest of the Lockwoods, had gathered in the gold room and turned on the wireless. Arthur and Marcus arrived in a rush, having hurried over from a shortened matins service. The Jones family and Tilly were also invited, and stood a little apart in a nervous huddle.
Henry sat with Megan by the window, staring with unseeing eyes at the sunlit garden. No matter how much Adam told him it wasn’t important he was still uneasy about the way he’d broken the news of his enlistment to her. They’d been married for nearly six months, but if the truth be told, Henry still felt as remote and ill at ease with the young woman he’d married as he had on his wedding night. Her pregnancy so early in their marriage had given a good excuse for not having sex too often and, of course, this weekend had made it out of the question. It was not that he didn’t want sex or was inexperienced: he and Adam had shared a string of beautiful young actresses, but having sex with someone he didn’t care about was easy; he didn’t have to pretend he wanted anything other than sexual release. But with Megan it was different; she was his wife, he loved her. Or at least he thought he did, and he had expected something different from their shared intimacy. He’d expected it to develop into something more than just sex. But it hadn’t, and it wasn’t even good sex, and apart from their shared interest in the house and farm they had nothing in common: something Adam was always reminding him about.
He glanced sideways at Megan. She was young and very beautiful, and deserved a good husband. Maybe when he came back from the war he’d feel differently and everything would fall into place.
Megan felt his glance upon her, but steadfastly didn’t turn to look at him. She was still numb with the shock of his announcement. Common sense told her she was being ridiculous, after all it was inevitable that he would have been drafted into the services sooner or later anyway. Britain was sliding inexorably into war, men all over the country were getting their call-up papers, and priceless treasures from the London museums were being hidden away in caves in the country. Children too, like Rosie, were being taken from London, to escape the bombs which surely now would soon come.
Last night when they were alone together in their bedroom she had expected Henry to tell her more about his plans. But he said nothing; only whispered that everything would be all right. But that was all. He said nothing about the loss of the baby. Their last night together before he left for war had been one of long silences, and Megan felt it was as if they had just met. Long after he’d fallen asleep she lay beside him, stiff and uncomfortable. Was marriage supposed to be like this? Surely they should be wrapped in a warm embrace?
In the morning she’d tried to summon up courage to throw her arms around him and tell him she loved him. But she hadn’t, and now the moment had passed. They sat side by side, in a room full of people, but Megan felt alone.
Rosie crept forward and settled herself at Megan’s feet, then reached up and took hold of her hand. It was warm and living, quite different from the coldness in Megan’s heart.
Violet sat with Lavinia. She was dressed in a beautiful pale blue silk dress with a long lacy-knit matching cashmere cardigan over it; the outfit shrieked money, but somehow Violet managed to look quite plain. Her mouse-blonde hair was stylishly cut, unlike Megan’s mass of dark curls. Like Megan she wore no make-up, but whereas Megan’s face was healthily tanned from her outside life, Violet was pale and had a large bruise on her forehead.
‘How did you manage to hurt your head?’ she whispered to Violet.
Violet raised a hand to her brow. ‘Oh, I crashed it on one of the kitchen cupboards while I was putting china away.’
‘What on earth were you doing putting china away? That’s a maid’s job,’ said Lavinia.
Violet looked unhappier than ever. ‘The servants have all left.’
‘Again,’ said Lavinia acidly.
Violet seemed to shrink even further back in the chair. ‘Gerald is getting some more from London. He says there are plenty of people wanting to leave London and work in the country.’
‘Hmm, maybe,’ said Lavinia sharply. ‘But will they be willing to work for Gerald?’
Megan looked at Gerald. He was leaning on the mantelpiece, by the side of the wireless, and smoking one of his usual cigars. A heavy gold chain glinted across his waistcoat, attached to a gold-encrusted pocket watch which he was studying. ‘It’s nearly time we learned your fate, Henry. Are we going to war and will you fight the Nazis, or will we join up with Hitler and become a really organized country like Germany?’
‘How can you say that, Gerald? To even think such a thing is wrong. Hitler is evil. England will never join the Nazis.’
Megan was surprised at the sudden ferocity of Violet’s voice. She looked at her with a new respect. ‘I agree with you, Violet,’ she said, adding, ‘Maybe you, Gerald, will be called up to join the army as well.’
Gerald laughed, but the laughter didn’t reach his eyes. He glowered at both Megan and Violet. ‘No chance, Megan,’ he said smoothly. ‘I am excused, like Arthur, on the grounds of my health. He can’t walk, and I have a chest condition.’
‘First I’ve heard of it.’ Henry lit a cigarette and Megan knew he was angry. His hand was shaking. ‘You’ve never done anything you didn’t want to, Gerald. You’ve always managed to escape any real responsibilities.’
‘Then how do you explain the fact that my financial position is far superior to yours, and I didn’t inherit a house?’
Only Megan heard Violet’s softly spoken words. ‘No, you married me.’
‘Anyway, someone has got to stay behind and run the country,’ said Gerald.
‘All you care about is making money,’ said Henry angrily.
‘It’s the only thing worth caring about,’ Gerald snapped back.
Megan stared at him. Surely he didn’t really mean that. But as she looked at his handsome face she realized with disquiet that he did. There was an arrogant hardness about him that she’d never noticed before.
‘Be quiet, the pair of you,’ said Lavinia. She stalked across the room to the wireless and turned up the volume.
Bertha and George Jones looked uncomfortable at the family quarrel. Luckily at that moment the wireless crackled into life with the announcer’s voice, then a few moments later, at 11.15, the metallic voice of Chamberlain was heard echoing around the room as he announced over the wireless that his work for peace had failed and that as a result of Germany not replying to the ultimatum, Britain was now at war with Germany.
‘This country is now at war with Germany. We are ready.’ Neville
Chamberlain’s words dropped like pebbles into the stillness of the room.
Outside a sudden gust of wind blew up and a swirl of brown leaves eddied across the lawn, scattering in all directions at the far end of the garden. Megan shivered. Where would they all be at the end of the war? Would they be picked up and tossed hither and thither by the winds of war? Or would everything remain the same? She’d always thought nothing would ever change in the New Forest or the village of East End, but suddenly she was not so sure.
The Sunday sunshine poured into the room, and Lavinia heaved a sigh of relief, as she snapped the radio off. ‘Well, that’s that,’ she said. ‘Now we know, we can make proper plans. We will be ready for whatever comes.’
Bertha stepped forward. ‘I’ll be getting back to the kitchen if that’s all right with you, Mr Henry. Lunch will be at one o’clock; its roast leg of lamb with mint sauce, baked potatoes, runner beans, and carrots.’
Henry smiled. ‘I couldn’t ask for a better send-off, Bertha. It will be a meal to remember.’
By that evening, just before Henry and Adam departed it was announced that France had also declared war on Germany as well. A joint Anglo/French statement was issued saying that the two governments would avoid bombing civilians and did not intend using poison gas or germ warfare.
Megan was not allowed to drive Henry and Adam to the railway station. Lavinia forbade it pronouncing her not fit enough to drive, and Megan didn’t demur. So their final goodbyes were said at the front of the house before the assembled crowd.
‘I’ll write,’ whispered Henry as he kissed her.
‘So will I,’ said Megan. ‘Be safe.’
‘Of course he’ll be safe,’ Adam interrupted with a laugh. ‘We’re off to give the Jerries a good hiding, and have some adventures at the same time.’
That’s all it is to you, thought Megan resentfully, an adventure. But she said nothing.
But Lavinia said, ‘That’s what they said at the beginning of the last war, but it didn’t turn out quite like that.
Seven months later: March 1940
Silas Moon stood in the small room off the hall of Folly House, which now served as Megan’s office, twisting his greasy old cap in his hands. Round and round it went as he shuffled his feet uncomfortably.
‘I just don’t know what to do,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I thinks I ought give up altogether and retire, and let Mr Gerald take over running the farm. He’s always telling me he wants to do it.’
‘Never! Not while I’m in charge,’ said Megan sharply.
‘But how can I manage now? All the young men have disappeared. My last labourer, Charlie Sims, got his papers yesterday morning. He’s going in the Navy.’ Silas paused, still twisting his cap round and round in his hands. ‘Although what use he’ll be in the Navy I can’t think. He can’t swim, or even row a boat on the Stib.’
Megan hid a smile. ‘I don’t think he’ll be doing much rowing. He’ll be on some enormous battleship.’
‘Anyway,’ Silas went on, ‘I was wondering if you could write to Mr Henry and ask him what we should do?’
Megan bit her lip in exasperation. Surely she’d proved by now that she knew how to run the farm and Folly House. But apparently not as far as Silas was concerned. Holding back her annoyance, she said, ‘Henry is much too busy to be bothered with matters here. I am dealing with it, Silas, and I’ve already decided what to do. We are taking on two land girls.’ She picked up a sheaf of papers and waved them at a startled Silas.
‘Land girls!’ gasped Silas in horror. ‘I’ve heard about these girls. They comes down from London, or some other city up north, they don’t know nothing about farming, they ’as painted nails and fancy hairdos, and they thinks they can work on a farm!’
‘They are war workers; they are doing their bit the same as everyone else,’ said Megan firmly, ignoring Silas’s scowl. ‘And what they don’t know you can teach them. I am making arrangements for two to join East End farm next week.’
‘Where they going to live then?’ demanded Silas. ‘They can’t stay with me and the missus, and Charlie Sims rents the only tied cottage we got, and his wife and little ’uns will need that even though he ’as gone to war.’
‘I’ve thought of that,’ said Megan. ‘There are the groom’s old quarters above the stables. I looked at them yesterday. Two rooms, a kitchen with a fireplace and a toilet. It only needs a lick of paint and some furniture. I’ll see to that. It will be fine.’
A very disgruntled Silas left, muttering that he didn’t want no women on his land. Megan watched his retreating back and then wrote a long letter to Henry, telling him of the latest events at Folly House. It was early evening before she’d finished the letter and put it in the tray ready for Tilly to take to the post office the next day.
Then it was time to hang up the blackout curtains in the gold room and the rose room. Megan often thought the evening ritual of struggling to put up the blackout a waste of time. It was seven months now since the declaration of war, and not one single bomb had fallen in England. Throughout most of the house the task was simple, as they’d rigged up blinds which could be pulled down by one person, but the windows in the gold and rose rooms were too tall and wide for blinds, so thick black squares of heavy material was hoisted on to the brass curtain rails every night,. Megan thought them ugly and refused to let them hang there during the day, so they were stowed under the stairs, hence the evening ritual of hanging them each evening.
She grumbled about it to Tilly, who was helping her. ‘I really don’t think this is necessary. Why can’t the Government just get on with the job of finishing off the Germans before they have a chance to drop bombs?’
‘Yes,’ said Tilly, adding, ‘but it’s a disappointment there being no bombs yet.’
Megan stopped halfway up the stepladder. ‘Disappointing?’ she echoed in astonishment. ‘I’m not sure I’d say that.’
‘Well, yes. It is disappointing to me. I’ve made up my mind to join the ATS so I’m hoping the war won’t stop before I get there.’
Megan looked at her in dismay. ‘Oh, Tilly, don’t you desert us as well. It’s bad enough all the young men in the village being away, don’t you go as well. However will we manage?’ She hooked the heavy black material over the end of the curtain pole with a vicious twist. ‘I don’t know. Life seems to get more and more difficult, even without being bombed. Everything is rationed: food, petrol, and to make matters worse we’re spied on by that bumptious little air-raid warden, Albert Noakes, the whole time.’
Tilly laughed. ‘Everyone in the village says he’s got very big-headed since he got his arm band and tin hat with ARW written on it.’
Megan clambered back down the stepladder. ‘Do you want to leave, Tilly? Don’t you like it here?’
Tilly sighed. ‘Well, it’s like this. I feels I got to do my bit. Most of the girls in the village are doing war work now. They’re not just housemaids like me. They’re doing something important.’
‘You are not just a housemaid. You are an important part of Folly House.’
Tilly put out a hand and touched Megan’s arm diffidently. ‘I’m not really important here, you know that. But I’ll come back when the war is over, if you’ll have me.’
Megan shook her head. ‘No you won’t. By then you’ll have found yourself a husband, or a better job. But you’re right I suppose. You’ve got to go.’
‘Then it’s all right if I leave next week?’ said Tilly eagerly. ‘I’ve been to the recruiting office in Southampton and I can start training next week. I’ve done all the paperwork, and made arrangements for half my army pay to be sent to my mother. I’ve got to tell them by tomorrow for definite.’
The words came out in a rush and Megan realized that Tilly had been dreading having to tell her. She hastened to reassure her. ‘Of course it’s all right. It’s your life. You must do what you want to do.’
Tilly took the steps to put them away. ‘Thank you. I knew you’d understand. My friend Do
reen says it’s time for us girls to move on.’ She paused and clasped the steps to her chest, adding in an excited voice. ‘Just think. Doreen says we might even get sent to foreign countries. Oh, I’ve always wanted to go abroad.’
Time to move on. Foreign countries. The words rang through Megan’s head. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I suppose it is time to move on. For all of us.’
Suddenly she envied Tilly. Tilly’s horizons were opening up in a way that would have been unimaginable a year ago. Whereas she was staying put at Folly House, the place she’d known all her life. Which was what she’d always wanted. Wasn’t it?
CHAPTER SIX
March 1940
Coming up from the underground at Piccadilly, Henry stood for a moment waiting for his eyes to adjust to the blackout. He missed the twinkling array of lights and the floodlit buildings of pre-war London. Tonight the only illumination came from a slim sickle moon. He could see a couple of barrage balloons silhouetted against the night sky like two huge elephants bumbling about.
Carrying his kitbag on his back Henry made his way down Haymarket, passing the queues of people filing into the two theatres on either side of the road and on to Trafalgar Square, where Nelson stood on duty on the top of his column. In Nelson’s time, thought Henry, civilians stayed at home and were not involved in a war, but this time everyone would be drawn into the conflict. Already throughout Europe people were dying every day. How would England cope if it was invaded by the Nazis? The thought was disquieting and Henry pushed it from his mind. He had other responsibilities, as tomorrow he was due to meet his unit at Victoria Station; he knew they were going to France, but the men did not.
