Letters to Alice

by Rosie James

  ‘That makes perfect sense to me,’ Alice said. ‘My mother always said that being busy was what stopped everyone going mad.’

  Dear Samuel

  This is just a very quick note to tell you something which you may find funny. I have learned how to milk a cow! Can you imagine it? It actually wasn’t difficult at all, not when I got used to it, and even being in such close proximity to a huge animal’s hind quarters wasn’t too bad! I hope the cow didn’t mind my in-expertise too much!

  I won’t go on to describe some of the other jobs we’re asked to do, in case you are having a meal while reading this! It really is quite amazing what you can do when you have to. But why should I make that remark to you, of all people! Wouldn’t it be wonderful, Sam, to go for a walk on the Downs and tell each other everything about our present lives? One day, soon, please God, when this is all over.

  All my best wishes

  Alice.

  Dear Alice

  Yes, I do find it funny to think of you milking a cow! Not that you wouldn’t make a good job of it, of course! And thanks for not going into any details about other stuff. No one ever imagined that life on a farm was a bouquet of roses! Many of my own tasks are not fragrant, either, and one day we will exchange notes and reveal all! Forgive the haste – I will write a longer one next time.

  Until then, take good care of yourself, dear Alice –

  Sam.

  PS. Are you still managing to get any writing done? And did you ever send off another short story to that magazine? I know it was a year or two ago now, but I felt so ridiculously proud to see your submission in print, with your name beneath the title! I know you are always tired at the end of the day, but don’t let that fountain pen dry up and start to rust, will you! S.

  Chapter Nine

  October 1941

  It was the Saturday evening of the Welcome Home concert, and Mabel had said that she’d only cook a light supper, because the refreshments up at the village hall were always more than plentiful.

  ‘I always provide a cooked ham to go up there,’ she’d explained, ‘and a couple of loaves, and others bring hot jacket potatoes and pickles and tomatoes, stuff like that…an’ I always do a few puddins… usually apple tart and cream – and there’s always two or three fruit cakes that people bring as well,’ she’d added.

  Upstairs, the girls were getting ready, and Fay said as she pulled on her trousers – which went with a long-sleeve white blouse – ‘Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m feeling as excited as if I was going to a dance up at the Spa! Just shows what a couple of months in rural isolation does to a girl!’

  ‘As we’ve never been to a Welcome Home concert before,’ Alice said, ‘it’s going to be a novel experience, if nothing else. And from what Mabel said, there are going to be good things to eat – as if we needed any more nourishment!’

  ‘And drink, I hope,’ Fay said. Since being here, she’d been missing her Saturday nights out with girlfriends, visiting various pubs.

  They took their time getting ready. Fay had already styled her hair as usual, then she sat on the edge of her bed and propped up the small mirror she’d brought back with her – a distinct improvement on the cracked and faded thing on the wall. She viewed her bottle of red nail varnish with narrowed eyes – there was still some left – then began laying out her make-up.

  Carefully, she began putting foundation on her face, before using her eyebrow pencil and mascara and rouge, followed by the bright red lipstick she was so fond of. Eve had been watching the process solemnly. Then, in a minute –

  ‘Could you make me up like that, Fay?’ she asked. ‘I mean, I would have to borrow yours… because I’ve only ever got moisturizer and lipstick…but you look so…lovely.’

  Fay was pleased at that. ‘’Course you can use some of mine,’ she said. ‘Come over and sit here…I’ll do it for you. Just let me do my nails first.’

  Presently, Alice slipped into her skirt and twin-set and started to brush out her hair. Maybe she’d leave it loose tonight. It had always waved softly, and was now so long it was going to reach way past her shoulders. And anyway, although one long plait coiled up out of the way was certainly practical, you could get fed up with the same old thing all the time. Her own make-up – her Pond’s cold cream, a flick of rouge and the Tangee lipstick – was not going to take her very long, but she had to admit that Fay was making a good job of Eve’s, seeming to know just how much to put on to complement the girl’s fine complexion. And presently, after Fay had brushed out Evie’s hair for her, styling it a bit differently than usual by lifting some of it on top and then letting a few wavy strands fall softly around her face, she did look a picture. And the simple brown dress, which fitted her quite curvaceous figure, seemed exactly right for the occasion. Not that they knew exactly what the “occasion” was yet – but anyway, they were going OUT for the evening. And there’d be others present, which could be interesting.

  Roger had gone on early to take Mabel to the village with her supper contributions– she was always one of the main helpers to set out the long trestle tables before everyone started arriving – and he’d offered to come back to the farm to pick up the girls. But the October evening was dry – if a bit chilly – and they’d assured him that they didn’t need a lift. Which he’d happily accepted because that would give him a bit of extra time at the Wheatsheaf with one or two friends.

  Almost everyone in the vicinity attended these popular evenings, which took place several times during the year. Except Farmer Foulkes. He never went, had never been to one, and Mabel said that it was because he was afraid someone might steal the farm while he was out. But she didn’t mind whether he came or not. She loved the Welcome Home concerts.

  Later, as the girls got to the hall, they were surprised at how jolly it all seemed. Someone had rigged a few coloured lights around the entrance door, above which was a rather bedraggled, off-white banner with WELCOME HOME BOYS emblazoned across it in black letters. The door was wide open, the sound of chattering and laughing greeting Alice, Fay and Eve as they made their way up the path.

  And when they got inside, the place was heaving! The long tables at the side were spread with white cloths, and laden with plates and dishes – all covered with a huge sheet to keep any dust or bugs off the food – and almost literally groaning with the local largesse. Every available chair, placed in neat rows in front of the small stage which held an ancient, upright piano, appeared to be taken, with various groups standing around waiting for the festivities to commence. Many people had lit their cigarettes, filling the room with a drifting, blue haze.

  And right in the front of the hall was a card table at which sat the guests of honour – two soldiers in uniform who were on leave – and who were the sole reason for tonight’s festivities.

  Alice, Fay and Eve stood just inside the door and looked around them. Every age group seemed to be there…rows of children in their school uniforms, grannies, aunties, youths and girls, quite a few farmers – already holding tankards of beer and local cider – and a few babies in pushchairs were there as well. Fay nudged the others.

  ‘Shall we escape to the pub?’ she whispered.

  Alice was having none of that. ‘No…we must stay, for Mabel’s sake,’ she said firmly, ‘she’d be so disappointed if she couldn’t spot us,’ and Eve agreed at once.

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing what the kids are going to be doing,’ she said. ‘Mabel said they performed things for everyone…it would be rude not to stay.’

  After a moment, a couple of local lads came up beside them with some extra chairs they’d managed to find from somewhere, and after thanking them profusely, with Fay returning their wicked winks, the girls took their places in a corner at the back.

  Fay looked at her watch. ‘This was supposed to start at 7 o’clock,’ she said, ‘but it’s already 7.40…a late start at any performance never bodes well.’

  And as if prompted by that remark, a woman came hurrying in
from the entrance, immediately clapping her hands for silence. It was the head mistress of the school.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen…everyone…I am so sorry to have to tell you that tonight’s entertainment cannot now go on…’ This news was briefly interrupted by groans from everyone in the room…’ because, very sadly, Gwen, our pianist, fell down at home an hour ago and they think she has broken her leg. I have been to see her, and she is obviously in a great deal of pain.’

  Now the groans of disappointment were replaced by Ooohs and Ahhhhs of sympathy at the dreadful news. If Gwen was out of action, who was going to play the organ on Sunday? Or, much, much worse, did that mean there’d be no Old Time dancing later on tonight? No sing-song which sometimes happened, and which everyone liked to join in with?

  After a few moments letting the news sink in, a woman stood up, looked around her, and folded her arms in a gesture of defiance. ‘Well, we may not be able to hear the soloists and the choir,’ she boomed out firmly, ‘but at least we can hear the recitations…the poems…poems do not need any accompaniment!’

  Then she sat down, her face flushed. Her Sylvia had been relentlessly chanting “I wandered lonely as a cloud” all around the house for weeks and ruddy weeks, and fair was fair. They were not going home until the blasted thing had had its airing, its moment of glory. In PUBLIC.

  A light smattering of applause began around the hall as people agreed with Sylvia’s mother, but even before Sylvia was allowed to get up and do her bit, a loud wailing began from the row where the choir was sitting. Well, the choir, too, had been practising for ages – not to mention the young soloists, who had been nervously gearing themselves up to the point of exhaustion. The disappointment, the overwhelming sense of loss, of what might have been, became just too, too much for all the young artistes as they sobbed in unison.

  Worse was to come. Now the wailing became seriously augmented by ear-splitting screeches from all the babies in their prams who came out in sympathy, the noise reaching such a crescendo that something had to be done, and quickly.

  The head mistress looked around her wildly. ‘Well…’ she began, raising her voice above the noise. ‘Of course, in a few moments we shall hear all the recitations! Of course we will! But…is it possible that there’s anyone in the room who has been hiding their light under a bushel? Is there anyone…anyone…who could take over the music at such short notice?’ She flapped some manuscripts about in the air hopefully. ‘Gwen has given me all the copies.’

  By now the three at the back were completely engrossed. They hadn’t witnessed such high emotion for a long time, and Fay said – ‘Well, this gets better and better! Wha’a laff.’

  And then, suddenly, to her, and to Alice’s utter amazement, Eve stood up and left her chair.

  And began walking resolutely down the centre of the hall. She went up to the head mistress.

  ‘I’ll do it, if you like,’ she said. She glanced down at the sheaf of music in the woman’s hands. ‘I’ll just need a second to look at the programme.’ Then – after a moment – she glanced up at the piano. ‘And I’d like to try a few notes as well,’ she added. Well, Eve had noticed the instrument as soon as they’d come in. It probably hadn’t been used by Noah and his three sons, but by the look of it, that could have been a distinct possibility.

  The head mistress almost threw her arms around Eve. ‘Oh, my dear…I don’t think we’ve met – have we…but I am so grateful,’ she said, still trying to make herself heard above the noise. ‘Yes of course…follow me.’

  Eve followed the woman up the four steps to the stage and opened the piano, raising her eyes slightly. The keys did have a somewhat jaundiced look about them, but as soon as she put her hands down to try them out she was surprised – and grateful – to hear a very reasonable sound indeed. This would do, of course it would.

  And, getting the message that all was not lost after all, the wailing stopped as if by magic and the concert began at last, the children introducing their items one by one, and performing to an admiring, adoring crowd of relatives and friends.

  Then, finally, the small choir had its own slot, kicking off with “Early one morning”, followed by “Blow away the morning dew”, “D’ye ken John Peel” and several more, until people (especially the men) began to glance at their watches. Surely it must be nearly time for supper?

  But, finally, the last few songs were announced, in honour of the occasion – “Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag”, “It’s a long way to Tipperary” and “Take me back to dear old blighty”.

  And without being asked, everyone joined in with gusto – until the room shook to its rafters.

  Well, the applause! The applause was beyond description! People hadn’t enjoyed themselves with such abandon for a long time! After all, dear Gwen, bless her poor leg, was a fantastic lady, so sweet, coming into the school three times every week to rehearse the children because no one else could play the piano…always so reliable, so exactly the same, year after year…she was always so…so…restrained…so perfectly precise and well-mannered.

  Which perhaps explained the slightly raucous atmosphere. Because the girl at the piano was anything but the same…she was a stunner! She was beautiful, her gorgeous auburn waves tumbling and tossing over her shoulders as she swayed in time to the rhythms. And her playing…so effortless…so professional, she made that old piano swing! She fired it up! It had come alive! Playing like that hadn’t been heard around here for a very long time – if ever!

  And now – everyone wanted more! MORE!

  It had become the general opinion that one good thing this war had done was to bring out the community spirit in the population at large – people seemed less inhibited, and those who never thought of themselves as singers loved to join in current, popular numbers whenever the chance arose. People went on calling out from the hall – ‘Let’s have “Roll out the Barrel”,’ someone shouted, ‘“Run Rabbit Run”,’ and someone else wanted “Keep the Home Fires Burning”… ‘And how about “Pardon Me Boys, Is That the Chattanooga Choo Choo…won’t you choo choo me ho-oo-me!”’– this from a group of young farmers lounging around the door, smirking. The requests came thick and fast, and Eve responded to every one, without a note of music in front of her! Someone only had to start a piece off, and she could play it! In whatever key they wanted! It was as if she, and her fingers, had been sprinkled with fairy dust, giving everyone exactly what they asked for, touching the event with a kind of uproarious, joyful magic. To hell with Hitler! To hell with the war! They were having FUN.

  And at the back of the hall, Alice and Fay just stared at each other, open-mouthed.

  ‘Well,’ Fay said at last, ‘talk about a dark horse! Or should I say a dark wise monkey! Evie never told us that she could play the old joanna! And not like that! Blimey. How did she do it!’ Fay shook her head in disbelief. ‘To tell you the truth, Alice, – I had quite a lump in my throat just then! Dear little Evie. What guts to go up there in front of all these people! Damn me if I could do it!’

  And Alice had to agree with every word.

  Much later, arm in arm, Alice and Fay made their way slowly back to the farm. Roger was bringing his mother and Eve back in the van later, after the function ended and all the clearing up had been done.

  ‘Sorry I had to make you leave earlier than everyone else, Alice,’ Fay said ruefully, ‘but my head is splitting! I don’t usually drink cider, and I don’t think it suited me.’

  Alice squeezed Fay’s arm. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said. ‘I’m ready for bed myself. It was some evening, wasn’t it, and I’d had enough.’ She shook her head briefly. ‘I cannot get over our Evie…she’s going to be tired out tomorrow, isn’t she. I couldn’t believe it when she said she’d stay on to play for the Old Time dancing as well…she’s unstoppable!’

  They reached the farmhouse and let themselves into the kitchen. Only Tess was there, laid out in front of the range, as usual, and apart from a brief wag of her tail she bare
ly responded as they went in.

  ‘I s’pose old Foulksie’s already getting his beauty sleep,’ Fay whispered as they made their way upstairs.

  In their room, they stood for a moment to light their candles, and Alice said, ‘Mabel was in her element tonight, too, wasn’t she…helping to deal out all that food – which was fantastic, as usual, and filling up people’s glasses with cider from the keg.’ Alice turned to glance at Fay ‘And I do think she was really pleased that we were there – and when Evie was on that piano – did you see Mabel’s face? She looked so…so…proud! As if she was proud that Evie was their Land Girl!’

  Presently as they lay in bed, they went on chatting about what had gone on, and Fay said slowly –

  ‘It’s strange that Evie never mentioned that she could play like that, isn’t it…I mean, when she told us that she worked at a music shop you’d have thought she’d have dropped that bit in.’

  After thinking about that for a second, Alice said, ‘Well, I think Evie can be quite a private person – or p’raps she didn’t think we’d be interested.’ Alice paused. ‘I’m sure there’s plenty more we don’t know about her.’ (And I’m sure there’s a lot more we don’t know about you, either, Fay, Alice thought. Why on earth can’t you live with your parents…why do you hate your father? Why are you on your high horse all the time?)