by Rosie James
‘It’s OK,’ he said, ‘Eve’s parents are fine!’
Then the others got out, and Mabel instinctively wrapped her arms around each one – starting with Eve. Then everyone trooped into the kitchen, questions and answers flying around until Walter said –
‘Now, look ’ere…come and sit down, all of ye… Mother’s got the meal ready.’
That was the first time that Walter Foulkes had ever referred to his wife as “mother” – and the point was not lost on the girls as they did as they were told. And although they had hardly gone without food while they’d been away, they knew that they’d easily manage to find room for one of Mabel’s suppers.
Between mouthfuls, Alice, Fay, Eve and Roger recounted the events of the day, and Eve said –
‘It was so good to have Roger with us as well. I don’t only mean driving us there and back, but I know my father enjoyed talking to him…having a little male support.’ She looked across at Walter. ‘Thank you, Mr. Foulkes, for letting us take the van.’
Alice looked at her quickly. Evie knew what to say and how to say it. Social skills would have been part of her upbringing.
The farmer cleared his throat. ‘Oh well – that were nothin’…’ he mumbled. ‘An’ I’m mighty glad you didn’t bring back any bad news – it’s terrible that Bath copped it, but what I’m glad about is that Eve’s parents are OK. That’s the main thing.’
It was almost 10 o’clock before they finished the meal, and Mabel could see that Eve was almost dropping with tiredness. Well, for her more than anyone, it had been a very emotional day.
‘Now – you three get up to bed,’ she said as she started to clear the table. ‘No – I don’t want no ’elp, thank you. You must all be tired out, an’ I’ll soon get this lot sorted.’
Gratefully, they made for the door, and Walter called after them. ‘Oi – you three – you can do the milkin’ in the mornin,’ he said. ‘Well – you’ve had a nice day off today, haven’t you, so you won’t mind an extra early start, will you?’
‘Walter!’ Mabel exclaimed. ‘Wha’ on earth are you talkin’ about! They are not doing the early shift!’
But they all knew he was teasing, and Mabel’s kind face was wreathed in smiles as she spoke. Her husband had been a real joker, once upon a time. And when the mood took him.
It didn’t take them long to wash and get ready for bed. They let Eve use the basin first because she looked ready to drop, and soon she was in her pyjamas and snuggling down contentedly. Fay lit a cigarette and glanced across at her fondly. Today could have turned out so differently for Evie, she thought. And it would have changed everything for her and Alice, too. If the worst had happened, by now they would definitely be one wise monkey short… Because Evie would surely have been going back to Bath for good.
Alice finished at the basin and draped her damp towel over the clothes horse. ‘It’s all yours, Fay,’ she whispered – seeing that Eve was already fast asleep. ‘Look at Evie…dead to the world already,’ she said softly.
Fay stubbed out her cigarette and started getting undressed. ‘Were Evie’s parents a surprise to you, Alice?’ she said quietly. ‘I mean, I sort of imagined them frumpy and self-centred…but they weren’t at all, were they? And they obviously adore Evie – as she does them. What a strange impression she gave us – or gave me, anyway.’
Alice had to agree, not that they’d really spent enough time with them to form accurate opinions on Mr. and Mrs. Miles…you needed to be with people under normal every-day circumstances over a period of time to really get to know them. To know what was going on beneath the surface. And sometimes you had to scratch deeply to find the truth.
Presently, with them both now settling down, Alice whispered, ‘When we first went in, did you see what was in that front room, Fay, as we went by? The door was open, and I spotted that beautiful grand piano under the long window.’ Alice shook her head briefly. ‘From what Evie told us about her parents, I bet that instrument could tell a few stories of an auspicious past.’
Fay yawned. ‘Yeah – but whatever it might have to say, that old banger of a thing in the village hall could tell even more.’ She turned her head to look at Alice. ‘What do you think Mr. and Mrs. Miles would have thought of their daughter’s performance at the Welcome Home Concert?’ Fay grinned. ‘I mean – on that piano of course! Would they have been amazed, proud – or disappointed that she could have stooped so low as to hammer out all that modern stuff, instead of the Classics?’
Alice smiled. ‘Well, we’ll never know, shall we…but what we both know is that Evie was the star of the evening. And I agree with you – I thought they were really nice, and whatever Evie thinks, I can’t believe that they would object to her letting her hair down. What she played that evening was still music, after all, just a different variety.’ Alice shook her head briefly. ‘It must be wonderful to have that talent.’ Then – ‘Perhaps Evie has never understood her parents, not really…nor they her – .and perhaps she’s been afraid to show them what she can do, what she would sometimes like to do.’
Fay nodded her agreement. ‘Hmm. I don’t think they can ever have had frank discussions about much at all…it certainly seems that the facts of life have never been discussed!’
Alice thumped her pillow and turned over. ‘Well, understanding life, understanding each other, is always going to be a tough task,’ she said. ‘And no one’s ever going to get it all right, are they?’
Fay closed her eyes. She had long since given up trying to understand anything, or anyone. People were a mystery. Well, some of them were. Her gran wasn’t. Her gran was open-minded and open-hearted – as was Mabel Foulkes – they were two of a kind, and you could read such people like an open book. Yet others – well…Fay just did not understand her mother at all. And as for her father – she did not want to understand him.
All she had for him was hatred.
Alice was the last of the three to fall asleep on that momentous day, and as she lay there with her eyes tightly closed all she could see was the rubble, the broken glass, the dirt and devastation of some of the Bath streets as they’d walked slowly along.
And all she could think of was London, and how that city must be looking…by far the most bombed and blitzed place in the country, though others had had their fair share too…Merseyside, Birmingham, Plymouth, Coventry…but it had been London, their capital city, where Hitler had seen fit to vent his fiercest ire.
And Sam had been in London all the time…
How had he managed to survive?
Alice had tortured herself so many times, thinking about it.
What if he’d been in the crowded Café de Paris last year when it was bombed to destruction with terrible loss of life? He could have been visiting the Royal College of Surgeons when it, too, was struck with awful, awesome effect, or he could have been near the Tower of London, or looking in at the British Museum when the bombs had hit their mark…
Yet, he, along with thousands of others were still surviving against all the odds. So far. Although it appeared that there was a temporary lull in the aerial attacks, cities everywhere were on constant alert, knowing that the worst could happen all over again and at any time. As the attack on Bath had just proved.
And Alice knew that until the final All Clear sounded, she would never find any real peace. Amazingly, it had even started entering her mind that she didn’t mind whether she actually ever saw Sam again – all she wanted was to know that he was safe from harm. That he was still beautiful, masculine Sam, his body untouched by violence. She wished she knew where he was – at this very moment. She hadn’t heard from him for a while – and realistically, she had faced the fact that they would probably never be that close again. Not like they had been. His life and hers could not be more different, not now. She knew that he would go on to become highly regarded, influential in his chosen profession, and all the time mixing with people in his own station who he would naturally lean towards. Mixing with women, beautiful
, highly educated women, sophisticated women, who would be more to his taste, now. It was natural, and understandable.
Upstairs on the other wing of the L-shaped farmhouse, Roger stood and stared out of his bedroom window, his tall, muscular frame obscuring any light which may have filtered into the room.
He ran his hand through his dark, tousled hair. That had been some day! And as they’d approached Bath, he’d felt genuinely afraid of what they might find when they got to Eve’s home. What on earth would he have said to comfort her, or be of any practical help…under such abnormal circumstances? He remembered that his mouth had gone completely dry, remembered that small beads of perspiration had formed on his forehead as he’d turned the corner into the wide street…
He wasn’t that used to dealing with women and their emotions. How would he cope if they all went to pieces and started weeping and crying – or fainting, even – he’d asked himself anxiously.
But, thank heaven, it had turned out far better than any of them could have hoped. All the houses seemed to be intact with barely a window missing as far as they knew, and when Eve’s parents opened the door it was obvious that they were perfectly all right, that the night’s carnage had somehow passed them by.
Looking back on it, Roger realized that he had, in fact, thoroughly enjoyed the strange occasion. Had enjoyed meeting Eve’s mother and father – who had been courteous and hospitable and had made him feel very much at ease. And he’d enjoyed a day out with the girls – away from the farm, away from the whole animal environment. Bath may not have looked as it should have looked, but to him, it was still an interesting city to stroll through, to be part of for a few hours. Because he realized that he’d hardly ever been away from the family farm…those few months at agricultural college just before the war had been the only time he’d spent away from home. And although he loved his life, there were just those occasional moments when he wished that he could do something different, be someone different. And if he was really honest, he’d loved to have been called up, like the others. To go away, to experience a war situation…perhaps even actually be required to go on active service. Hard graft, rigour and discipline would be nothing to him – that’s how a farm runs, after all. And he knew how to handle a gun – his aim accurate and deadly. He’d been taught that from a very early age.
And Roger accepted that his unusual restlessness had to be thanks to the war, and due to having the day-to-day company of three girls on the farm. Three attractive girls. Not local girls who he’d known for ever, but city girls whose whole outlook on life – on everything – was fresh, different. As they often worked side by side, their conversation was rich, funny…and, well…interesting. Well, it interested him.
Almost reluctantly he began getting ready for bed, towelling his broad shoulders, scrubbing his teeth briskly. There’d be another day tomorrow, busy as ever, normal as ever.
But if he had his way, he’d turn the clock back and live today all over again.
Chapter Fifteen
By the time the girls had spent almost two years working on the farm, everything they had to do, everything that was asked of them, became second nature. And Home Farm genuinely began to feel like home to all of them. How could it not, with Mabel spoiling them in every way she could, Roger always joining in with their cheerful chatting, parrying Fay’s cheeky remarks with plenty of his own, and Walter Foulkes not nearly so grumpy, and accepting their presence with more appreciation than he’d shown when they’d first arrived. Though Fay said it was the arrival of Evie’s tin of liniment that had turned that particular corner.
Also by now, the regular trips to the village on their time off was something the three looked forward to. It was a beautiful walk through quiet, meltingly soft country scenery, and even the local shop seemed attractive. It was surprising how much you could actually buy there, including paperbacks and magazines, and the girls had become well known to the owner and his wife who greeted them like old friends each time they entered the shop.
Not only that, the somewhat patchy local railway transport system had become clear. A small four-carriage steam train would arrive at the Halt every Tuesday and Saturday morning to go to Chippenham, where there was a connecting main train to take them the short distance to Bath, and then on to Bristol. Or, in the other direction, to London. This now meant that they didn’t need Roger to drive them home any more, which did please Walter Foulkes, but didn’t please Roger, who had enjoyed the responsibility of transporting them. But he had joined them once or twice on his time off. (Mabel had insisted on it.)
Not that they went home every week. It was actually more like every four to six weeks because it almost felt easier to relax on the farm, upstairs reading, just dozing on their beds, or giving each other a hair-do, or manicuring their nails. Or using the chance to sort out their clothes and decide what they might bring back with them next time. Although they were mostly in uniform, on their time off they all liked to put on something special…something different.
Besides all that, they couldn’t expect people at home to be on hand at the drop of a hat. Gloria, for one, had a very busy life of her own, with volunteer work at church, and seeing her many friends, Fay’s gran had started a whist drive club, which took place in her front room three times a week, and Eve didn’t think her parents minded whether she turned up or not. Despite last year’s Blitz horror, their lives went on as if it had never happened. They were managing beautifully without her.
One Saturday afternoon, the girls saw a notice on the door of the church hall saying that a film was being shown that evening in the WI hut. This did not happen that frequently, and they peered closer to see what the film was going to be, and who was in it.
‘Oh look – it’s Rebecca – with Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine!’ Eve exclaimed excitedly. ‘I’ve never seen it! Shall we go tonight?’
Alice hadn’t seen it either, but Fay had. ‘Yes – it’s terrific,’ she said, still examining the notice, ‘but – hey – in two weeks’ time it’ll be Casablanca with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman.’ She glanced at the others. ‘Now – we mustn’t miss that!’
Alice frowned briefly. ‘D’you think we’ve got to book seats?’ she said. ‘The hut isn’t that big, is it.’ They had been to the WI hut a couple of times with Mabel, when the local ladies had put on afternoon teas in aid of the wool fund. Their village had already donated hundreds of pairs of socks for our brave boys, and some of the ladies were hoping that the war wouldn’t end too soon because their regular communal knitting sessions (with tea break) were something they very much looked forward to, the furious clicking of their knitting needles matching that of their tongues as they caught up with all the local gossip. And no one would ever forget that very special Welcome Home concert eighteen months ago when the Foulkes’ Land Girl had lit the place up with her piano playing! That had been some evening, and everyone had talked about it for several weeks afterwards…hoping, if they were honest, that Gwen’s recovery wasn’t too rapid. But Gwen, having been told by more than one about the occasion she had had to miss, had taken charge of her personal situation with gusto. After the plaster cast had been removed from her leg, she did her exercises with such commendable diligence that for the next concerts she was back in her rightful place as head girl of everything musical.
Anyway, there’d only been three Welcome Home concerts since. Alice was the only one of the girls who’d accompanied Mabel to them because Fay preferred to go with Roger to the Wheatsheaf and Eve said it might be embarrassing for her to go…she wouldn’t want to attract any attention now that Gwen was back.
‘We’ll make sure we’re here in good time,’ Fay said now. ‘And we’ll sit in the back seats…the best ones. See? They cost one and ninepence. The front rows – which would be far too near the screen – are seven pence –so I think we can afford the posh end, don’t you?’ She grinned as she spoke, remembering the plush seating arrangements in the Bristol cinemas.
‘I wonder if Mab
el would like to come with us,’ Eve said. ‘She doesn’t get out very much, does she? It might be a nice change for her.’
The others agreed straightaway. ‘And we’ll treat her,’ Fay announced. ‘What’s one and ninepence divided in three? D’you think we can afford it?’
‘And perhaps Roger would like to come as well,’ Alice said. ‘We might as well make it a real night out.’ She paused. ‘I do think he likes being with us, off duty, don’t you?’
‘Yeah – let’s ask Roger,’ Fay said promptly. ‘Just make sure he’s sitting next to me!’
The evening meal was always slightly earlier at the weekends, and at 6 o’clock everyone sat down to enjoy what Mabel had prepared. Tonight it was casseroled goat, something they’d all got used to because it was delicious the way Mabel did it, the gravy brown and glistening and full of taste.
As she watched Mabel ladling a portion onto each dish, Alice said, ‘Mrs. Foulkes – we are going to the pictures this evening, and we were wondering whether you’d like to come with us. It’s Rebecca –that Daphne du Maurier story – and it’s got Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine in it. Fay’s already seen it, and she says it’s really good….’
Mabel smiled as she passed the dishes along the table. ‘Well, it’s really nice of you to ask me, luvver,’ she said, ‘but I think I’m quite ready to ’ave a snooze in front of the fire. I’m sure I’d fall asleep in the middle of the best bits if I did come with you!’
Mabel could hardly be blamed. She had to work even harder when it was the girls’ time off, and today had been extra busy.
Alice glanced covertly at the farmer, who had already started eating, blowing on each mouthful of his food in order to get to it quicker. Perhaps he would like to come with them as well…? It seemed unkind not to at least suggest it, but even as the thought entered her mind, the words froze on Alice’s lips. Perhaps another time…
