by Carol Rivers
‘Shall I make some tea?’ Daisy lifted the big kettle expectantly.
‘Not just yet, dear.’ The farmer’s wife took several bottles and two small glasses from the cupboard. ‘This is a little pick-me-up, for your gran and aunt.’
‘It doesn’t smell very nice.’
Mrs Webber gave Daisy a wink as she took a sip from one of the glasses. ‘Port wine and brandy is an acquired taste, but better than any medicine.’ Smacking her lips she lifted the tray. ‘I’ll be down soon and we’ll do some baking, like I used to do with my Susan.’
Daisy wrinkled her nose at the strong smell left in the kitchen reminding her unpleasantly of the cough syrup Mother administered.
The next day, Grandma and Aunt Pat came slowly down the stairs. Mrs Webber waited at the bottom, arms outstretched. ‘Go careful, my dears. Are you feeling better?’
Grandma nodded. ’Yes, thanks to your nursing.’
‘Into the warm you go,’ ordered Mrs Webber.
They all sat in the parlour in front of the blazing fire. Daisy tucked blankets across Grandma and Aunt Pat’s knees.
‘Is it time for your Liquafruta?’ Daisy asked.
Mrs Webber chuckled and Grandma and Aunt Pat smiled.
‘All in good time,’ said Mrs Webber, trying to hide her amusement. ‘I’ll go and make us a nice hot cup of tea first.’
Daisy knelt at her grandmother’s feet. ‘Bobby’s helping Mr Webber with the cows. Did you know, Grandma, that cows can tell when the weather is going to be bad?’
Grandma smiled and gave a little yawn.
Aunt Pat blew her nose.
‘Cows are very clever,’ Daisy continued and went on to tell the story of the mischievous evacuees and how Mrs Gardiner dozed most of the day and how, when the freeze had set in, she and Bobby had battled a great storm in order to reach the doctor.
‘We’re very proud of you,’ said Grandma sleepily. ‘Aren’t we, Pat?’
‘Very,’ sniffed Aunt Pat, blowing her nose once more.
Suddenly a great shudder went through the farmhouse. Daisy jumped to her feet and ran to the window.
‘What is it?’ Grandma asked, waking up.
Daisy narrowed her eyes through the snow. ‘A tree has fallen down. Mr Webber and Bobby are going towards it.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Grandma.
‘Oh dear,’ said Aunt Pat.
Daisy held her breath. Under the tangle of branches she could see a dark shape.
The parlour door flew open and Mrs Webber rushed in. ‘Is everyone all right? I was in the kitchen and everything shook.’
Daisy pointed outside. ‘A big tree’s fallen down.’
Mrs Webber gasped. ’Heavens’ above, it’s the old chestnut. Look, there’s something under it!’
‘What’s happening?’ said Grandma, sitting up in her chair. ‘Is someone hurt? Oh dear. Oh dear.’
‘I’ll go and see if I can help.’ Mrs Webber took off her apron. ‘Stay with your gran, Daisy. We don’t want her fretting not with that bad chest of hers.’ She rushed from the room.
Aunt Pat waved her hand anxiously. ‘What’s going on?’
Daisy returned to her observation post. ‘Mr Webber and Bobby are clearing away the branches that fell on top of a car.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Grandma again. ‘Is it Dr Norton?’
‘There’s someone getting out … ‘
‘And?’ urged Grandma curiously.
Daisy blinked hard. It couldn’t be, could it?
But it was.
Chapter 32
The kitchen door flew open and in stumbled four snow-covered figures.
Daisy hugged her parents. ‘Did you get hurt when the tree fell down?’
‘Hush,’ said Mother in a wobbly voice. ‘We’re both a little shaken, but no damage done. Except perhaps to the car.’
‘There, there,’ said Pops as he pulled Daisy to him. ‘We had a lucky escape.’
‘I should say so,’ said Mr Webber, pulling off his wet cap. ‘That tree could have killed someone.’
Daisy gave a muffled gasp at the thought.
‘Bill, you’re frightening the child,’ Mrs Webber scolded. ‘Now let’s take those wet coats and hang them over the dolly.’
Daisy looked at Bobby who was very quiet. He had snow in his hair and on the tip of his nose. All their coats were covered in layers of white ice.
‘Now, go along all of you into the warm,’ Mrs Webber instructed. ‘Bill, take some of these kitchen chairs into the parlour. There will be a lot of us to sit down to supper this evening.’
‘I asked the doctor every day if you’d come,’ said Daisy as Mother dusted the snow from her cheeks.
‘We wrote,’ Mother said, ‘but you can’t have received our letter.’
‘Said we were driving down before it snowed,’ Pops explained rubbing his cold hands together. ‘But half way here we were caught in a blizzard. Apologies if we’ve arrived unannounced.’
‘I’m glad I didn’t know,’ said Mrs Webber cheerfully. ‘I would have worried meself sick that you were on the road.’
‘That tree couldn’t have fallen at a worse time,’ said Mr Webber, shaking his head.
‘Or perhaps it was the best time,’ said Bobby. ‘You might have been driving your tractor under it.’
‘Well now, there’s a thought,’ said Mr Webber, smiling.
When supper was over Daisy helped in the kitchen.
‘It was a delicious meal,’ said Mother as she cleared the table. ‘But I didn’t expect you to feed us, Mrs Webber.’
‘It’s Edith, my dear. And we’ve got plenty of milk, butter and cheese to go round. None of us will go short. ’
‘I do hope Nicky can move the car tomorrow,’ Mother worried as she laid out cold slices of ham, pickles and homemade bread. ‘And it won’t be frozen up.’
Mrs Webber chuckled. ‘Don’t you worry none about that. Bill will bring out the tractor. The old brute might not look up to much but it could shift a lorry if it had to.’
‘You’ve been so kind,’ Mother said on a deep sigh. ‘My mother and sister are so lucky to have neighbours like you.’
‘Think nothing of it, my dear. Us country folk pull together when the chips are down. Bobby has helped Bill in the dairy and your Daisy there has been a blessing, helping out with the chickens. Fact is, I’ll miss ‘em both something awful.’
Daisy was rewarded with a glowing smile of pride from Mother.
Later, in the parlour, the talk turned to practical matters.
‘What do you think is wrong with the stove?’ Pops asked the farmer who scratched his head and looked perplexed.
‘Wasn’t a flicker of life in it when I looked. P’raps in all this cold, it just gave up the ghost.’
‘Never say never,’ said Pops with a grin. ‘I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.’
‘If the stove is mended,’ said Grandma eagerly, ‘we can go back to the cottage.’
‘And we can go home too!’ Daisy exclaimed, before she could think what she was saying.
‘Tired of your poor Grandma already?’ said Grandma and pulled a sad face.
‘No, Grandma, of course not, but - ‘
Grandma laughed and everyone laughed too.
The household woke early the next morning from a restless night’s sleep. Daisy and Bobby had slept on the parlour floor which was cold and draughty and Mother and Pops had tried to sleep on the couch. All their faces were pinched and tired but a cooked breakfast soon put them right.
‘Can we help to clear the branches?’ Daisy asked after she’d eaten her fill.
‘Wrap up well,’ warned Mother. ‘And don’t get in the way.’
Daisy couldn’t wait to play in the snow. But her boots soon got sucked into the deep drifts and her fingers went numb inside her gloves as she helped Bobby pile up the wood.
‘Just a small dent in the roof,’ Pops decided, as he examined the car. ‘Let’s see if it will start.’
After
a great deal of cranking with the starting handle, the engine burst into life.
‘Jump in you two,’ yelled Pops and Daisy and Bobby scrambled inside. There were fierce groans and grunts from the engine, but the car began moving.
Daisy smiled. This was an adventure she had never had before.
Chapter 33
The cottage looked as pretty as a postcard, Daisy decided. Dappled with snow and tiny glints of sunshine spinning off the windows, the old house looked welcoming. But it was another matter when they stepped inside.
Daisy shuddered. ‘It’s freezing in here!’
Pops rubbed his hands together and blew a white cloud from his lips. ‘My goodness, given an hour or two without heating we might turn to blocks of ice. Bobby, fetch my tools from the boot.’
‘Can you mend the stove?’ Daisy said through chattering teeth as Pops peered up in the chimney breast.
‘Hmm. This might not be so straightforward as I’d hoped.’
Daisy’s spirits sank as Pops prodded about. Showers of dust and dirt fell down onto Grandma’s clean floor.
When Bobby reappeared, Pops opened his tool box and surveyed his tools. ‘Now let me see … ‘
‘Do you need our help, Pops?’ Bobby asked, stamping his feet to keep warm.
‘What?’ Pops unwrapped a small leather pouch and drew out a pair of spectacles. He balanced them on his nose and glanced up. ‘What? Oh, no. You two go off and amuse yourselves.’
Daisy and Bobby couldn’t wait to get outside. ‘Let’s build a snowman,’ Bobby said. ‘I’ll use the garden shovel. You find twigs for his arms, and stones for his eyes.’
‘What a shame we’ve got no hat,’ Daisy said when the snowman was finished.
‘There’s an old one in the shed.’ Bobby ran off and returned with a frayed straw boater. He squashed it on the snowman’s head.
‘What shall we do now?’
‘Let’s have a snowball fight.’
By the time they had finished pelting each other with snow, Daisy was beginning to get cold. ’I can’t feel my fingers,’ she giggled. ‘Or my toes.’
Bobby brushed the snow from his face. ’Let’s see if Pops has mended the stove.’
When they walked in the kitchen, Pops was completely covered, from head to toe, in soot. Two round white patches covered his eyes where his spectacles had been. He drew his fingers over his face and mopped the soot from his hair with a rag. His white teeth appeared as he beamed a smile. ‘Success!’
‘Is it working?’
‘Of course!’ The white smile grew even wider.
They giggled all the more at the unrecognisable man who slightly resembled their father.
That evening, Daisy told everyone the story. There was laughter and pats on the back. Pops had mended the stove and was congratulated many times over.
‘Now we can go home,’ said Grandma with relief, but Mrs Webber looked doubtful.
‘No harm in waiting a few days, my dear.’
‘No time like the present,’ replied Grandma, obstinately folding her arms across her chest.
Daisy knew Grandma wouldn’t change her mind. Her stubborn expression told everyone she was going home come what may - and in her very own words, that was that!
‘Goodbye!’ Mother waved from the car window as they left the farmhouse the next day. ‘And thank you!’
Daisy knew that as much as she loved London, Wattcombe would always hold a special place in her heart. Living with the Webbers had reminded her of what it had been like to grow up in the country. The war had not been talked about much and true neighbourliness had been shown to those in trouble. She would always remember the farmer and his wife’s kindness.
Now, as they all crammed into the back of the car, with Grandma and Aunt Pat wrapped in blankets, it was an unexpectedly sad moment.
Mrs Webber stood tearfully on the doorstep. Mr Webber saluted goodbye as Daisy looked out of the window.
The Webbers soon disappeared and, as was the plan, Pops drove carefully towards Grandma’s house. The car was stuffy and the windows soon wet with condensation. Grandma sat quietly looking tired but still as resolved to reach home, while Aunt Pat’s teeth were chattering.
‘Nearly there,’ said Pops, turning on the windscreen wiper as rain began to fall. When the house came into view Daisy felt Grandma shudder.
‘At last,’ she sighed. ‘Edith and Bill were kind enough, but oh, how I’ve missed my cottage!’
Pops brought the car to a halt. ‘I’ll check on the stove.’
Everyone leaned anxiously forward to watch as he entered the house. When he reappeared, he looked very sombre.
Grandma gasped. ‘Oh dear. Oh dear.’
Aunt Pat sniffed.
Mother put her hand to her mouth.
Then a big smile appeared on his face. ‘You’ll be pleased to know the stove is working!’
Grandma and Aunt Pat hugged each other. ‘There’s no place like home,’ sighed Grandma, giving a tearful smile.
Daisy thought of London, her own real home; of her perch at the window where on misty, sunny mornings she would narrow her eyes to the skyline of the greatest capital in the world and breathe in the salty, sweet tang of the never-ending River Thames.
Chapter 34
February 1940
Snow had turned to rain overnight and Daisy sat at her makeshift desk in Cawdor Road School. Just a few inches away from her seat, the drips from the roof leaked directly into a bucket, making loud plopping noises. This would have distracted the pupils but now everyone was used to the array of buckets often filled to the brim and waiting to be emptied. Close by were rows of gas masks in their little square boxes hanging from hooks.
Daisy loved the disused warehouse with its high roof and central location adjacent to Poplar High Street. It smelled, she imagined, like a house would smell in a foreign land; rice and spices and tea and coffee and even timber had been stored here at one time or another.
There was also another attraction; their friends Iris and Sidney Brown and Gary and Grace Mellish, all attended Cawdor. So when she and Bobby had been allocated places after their return from Wattcombe, she hadn’t minded returning to school even though their benches and desks were just rough planks propped by bricks. Books, pencils and papers were in short supply, but the laughter was not.
Best of all at break times, they were allowed to run free in the waste ground backing on to the warehouse. Bobby and his friends could kick footballs as high and as far as they liked. Surrounded by old Victorian commercial buildings, there was no chance of the ball going astray or breaking a window.
As for the girls, they played on rough patches of scrub fenced in by worm-eaten posts from a bygone era, unobserved by the teaching staff.
The call-up had widened to men as old as forty, and many of the young male teachers had vanished. So Daisy was not surprised to find volunteers like Mrs Gardiner and Mr Keen, retired folk who turned a blind eye or deaf ear - literally - to their pupils misdemeanours.
She liked Cawdor the best of all the schools she had attended and when lessons started, Daisy and her classmates took their lessons seriously. They all knew they were fortunate to have their elderly widowed teacher, Mrs Howard to teach them. With her soft, refined voice and small, calm presence she had a way of engaging them. She always gave a daily update on the war effort. Even the youngest children of seven and eight sat quietly to absorb the news.
‘In January of this year,’ said Mrs Howard on one such morning, ‘two million of our young people were called up to serve our country. An immense number of souls. Here on the home front, rationing began. Your parents will have registered with a local grocer and butcher and received ration books. Now who can tell me what some of these rationed foods are?’
Since these lessons always turned out to be more like quizzes Daisy shouted out with the rest of the class. Over twenty-five voices replied. ‘Bacon, butter, sugar!’
‘Very good. Now who can name some of the countries wh
o have remained neutral in the conflict?’
‘Sweden!’
‘Norway!’
‘Denmark!’
Daisy had paid close attention to Mrs Howard over the past few months, so too had everyone else. All the children had family or friends who were involved in some way with preparations for war.
‘In February, our Allied shipping was under a very dangerous threat. Very sadly, the valiant HMS Daring was lost. Can you tell me how?’
‘Torpedoed, Miss!’
‘A German U-boat got ‘er!’
‘Very good,’ said Mrs Howard.
‘Me brover’s in the navy,’ shouted Jimmy Burns, a little boy who sat at the front of the class. ‘He’s gonna sink all ‘itler’s submarines.’
Most of the class giggled and Daisy watched Mrs Howard smile sadly. ‘I’m sure he’ll do his best, Jimmy.’
Though this was a lighter moment, Mrs Howard was as usual, quite practical. ‘Who can tell me what countries were invaded in April despite valiant defence by the French and our Royal Navy?’
‘Denmark and Norway,’ everyone shouted.
‘And bugger to the Nazis!’ yelled a tall boy with a thin, hungry face.
Mrs Howard wagged a finger. ‘Richard, less of the bad language please. Now, we come to last month and the most harrowing turn of events so far. Our Dutch and Belgian friends fell to Hitler’s Blitzkreig. After which, German troops reached Amiens on the Somme, only sixty miles from Paris.’
Daisy thought of Aunt Pat and her beau, Lloyd, who died such a gruesome death in the flooded trenches of the Somme. How could it be that only twenty years later the world had allowed the same tragedy to happen again?
Above all, she thought of Matt who had secured leave to come home in just a few days.
‘They’ll be ‘ere next,’ an older boy said who sat next to Daisy. ‘Our blokes are gonna get wiped out over the Channel. They’ll be like rats caught in a trap.’
