Letters to Alice

by Rosie James

  And Fay knew that she had no wish to go to Bristol because she knew her mother and grandmother would be spending New Year’s Eve together at gran’s house. Gran always had neighbours in on that special night. She’d usually arrange a whist drive or a beetle drive first, then an American supper where all the guests brought some food. And of course there was never a shortage of drink, so that by the time midnight arrived and they started to sing Auld Lang Syne, the whole company was more than merry. No, they didn’t need Fay.

  Now, she glanced across at Roger.

  ‘Well – if the Wheatsheaf is the best thing on offer, Roger,’ she said, ‘I, for one, am happy to come with you.’ She looked at the others. ‘And you two are coming as well,’ she said firmly. ‘One for all and all for one. Especially tonight.’

  Alice and Eve were already on their feet, and Mabel beamed around at them all. ‘There now,’ she said, ‘you youngsters go on and ’ave a good time! An’ we’ll see you all next year!’

  Mabel finished clearing up the supper things, with her husband alongside her for once. He didn’t usually do the kitchen stuff, and she certainly never expected it, but tonight he sensed that Mabel was feeling down…well, it was the crazy feeling that this particular night of the year gave everyone. Not him, though. This night was just like any other to Walter Foulkes who’d never been the sentimental sort. Well, not recently, anyway. But his Mabel was different, a real softie. And it hurt him when he could tell she wasn’t feeling her usual happy self. He spread one of the tea towels out to dry, and glanced down at her.

  ‘Now then, missus, wha’s wrong wi’ you?’ he said roughly. ‘D’you wanna go up the pub as well?’ He paused – he hoped not. But – ‘I’ll come wi’ you,’ he added.

  Mabel smiled up at him quickly. ‘Oh no thanks, luvver, I like it down ’ome,’ she said. ‘I don’t wanna go up no pub.’

  Walter Foulkes knew what this was all about, and he decided to come out with it. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Mabe,’ he began. ‘Now I don’t wan’ you frettin about wha’s ahead… I know wha’s gettin’ to you,’ he went on, ‘’s’all about our girls goin’ ’ome, innit? Because they’ll ’ave to one day, won’t they – we knew that from the start of all this bloody mess, this bloody war…’

  Mabel interrupted him. ‘Don’t go swearin’, Walt,’ she murmured. But her heart had warmed. He knew how she was feeling, and why. There was not much doubt, now, that the war would be over soon, and everyone who had survived would be coming home, going home. Their usual farm lads would be demobbed and returning here to their old jobs, and she’d be glad to see them, bless them. Of course she would. They’d been good boys. Yes, everything would be back to normal – eventually.

  But the present, the “now”, was what had become normal for many, and for Mabel Foulkes it was, had been, the happiest days of her life. The war had given her contentment, and the large family she had always longed for…

  ‘You don’ wanna let this daft night of the year upset you, Mabe,’ Walter went on. ‘Tis only another bloody night. Same as last night, same as all the ones next week, next month.’

  All of which was true, Mabel accepted, but she knew that when they listened to the wireless later, when they heard the last minutes of this year herald the next one, it would be hard for her not to shed a tear. Because it would truly be the sense of an ending. An ending more significant than any she’d known before.

  Walter went towards the door, then turned to glance back. ‘Like I said, Mabe, don’t you go frettin’, now, will ’ee. We’ll be aw’roight…you’ll see.’

  It was the farmer’s way of saying I love you.

  Up at the Wheatsheaf, the party was in full swing, the place packed to overflowing and with lots of unguarded hugging and kissing going on. Love, and the thought of peace, was in the air, and the heightened atmosphere kept pace with the continuous clink of glasses being charged and re-charged, voices becoming louder and more excitable as midnight approached.

  Not many people were sitting down because all the tables had been taken long ago, but soon after they’d arrived Roger had found a corner where there were just three chairs, and he’d grabbed them, making the girls sit down. Then he’d bought them all drinks. And as she’d accepted hers, Fay had said –

  ‘Right then, Roger – we’re all dibbing in with this lot.’ She’d handed him some money and Alice and Eve followed suit – they’d agreed earlier that they’d do this. But Roger had hated it, had hated taking money from them…he was their escort for this unmissable night of the year and he was loving every minute of it! But Fay had brushed off his opposition. It wasn’t fair that because he was the male he should foot the bill. None of them was short of money so let everyone pay their way. Well, that was her opinion. And Fay had many opinions on many things.

  On the bar, which was almost impossible to reach because of the crowd, there were huge bowls of fat, brown, sizzling, pork sausages for everyone to help themselves, and presently Roger managed to get hold of some. He brought them over, together with a pot of Coleman’s mustard, four wooden skewers and a pile of paper napkins, and in spite of the supper they’d all enjoyed at the farm earlier, they all tucked in as if they hadn’t eaten for ages.

  Of course, it wasn’t long before the inevitable happened. Someone who had been at the eventful Welcome Home concert three years ago had spotted Eve as she’d come in. Now, he pushed his way through the crowd and came up to the four in the corner. By now, Roger was also sitting down – with Fay on his knee – and they all looked up as the man approached.

  ‘Oh, hello, Jim,’ Roger said, easing Fay from his lap and standing up. ‘What are you drinking?’

  ‘’tsall right, Rog…it’s one of your women I want – if you can spare her!’ the man said. He looked down at Eve. ‘Will the lady come and give us a tune or two – on the old Joanna?’ he asked. ‘For us to have a bit of a sing-song?’

  Midnight was fast approaching and it didn’t take too much persuasion, because Eve had more or less lost count of what she’d drunk – still in control, but relaxed enough not to give tuppence about a single darned thing. And anyway, when had she ever turned down the chance to place her hands on the piano keys?

  But Roger looked doubtful. ‘You don’t have to, Eve,’ he began. He was here to look after the girls, and he didn’t want Eve to feel pressured. ‘Not if you’d rather not,’ he said.

  But Eve rather would! She was miles and miles away from anyone who really knew her – and it was so long since she’d had the chance to play, wild horses wouldn’t stop her.

  The piano – rather battered, it had to be admitted, with apparently more than one glass of cider having been added to its innards over the years – stood in the far corner of the room, opposite the roaring log fire. To shouts of encouragement and beery cheers from those who could see what was about to happen, Jim led Eve by the hand and began weaving his way across, closely followed by Roger, Alice and Fay who obviously were going to be there in close support.

  Sitting down carefully on the rather wobbly wooden chair, Eve opened the piano lid and gazed down at the keys which were yellow and dusty, some with cigarette burns on them. But as soon as she ran her hands up and down in a sort of majestic, theatrical roll of sound, she knew she could make this thing go! There might be one or two notes missing, but there’d be plenty of others! And, as if she’d fired a starting pistol, the whole crowd started moving towards her, all wanting to get closer to where the fun was going to be.

  And then the requests came, thick and fast – “Keep the Home Fires Burning” – “Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Major” – “All the Nice Girls Love a Sailor” –the obvious ones that everyone knew…and some that seemed as if they were being made up on the spur of the moment…in every case, a melody only had to start, and Eve seemed to know how to play it. And then some more favourites – even “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” even though that was last week, “Pistol Packing Mama” – “That Old Black Magic” – unti
l sentimentality began to creep in, and things like “You Always Hurt the One You Love” and “As Time Goes By” and “I’ll Be Seeing You in All the Old Familiar Places”…by this time many of the women openly weeping on the shoulders of the men they were with, totally caught up in the occasion, in the hot, heady, smoky atmosphere of gaiety, nostalgia, and hope.

  Fay nudged Alice, raising her voice to make herself heard. ‘I think our Evie’s a genius, don’t you, and isn’t it lovely to see her enjoying herself like this – and pleasing everyone as well?’

  Alice nodded quickly, smiling up at Fay…until she heard the opening notes of the next one someone had asked for. Oh no, don’t play that one, Evie…Please, Alice begged inwardly. Not here, not in this rowdy place full of strangers. It doesn’t belong here…

  But Eve was playing it. She was playing one of the songs Alice and Sam had practised the foxtrot to…which had been on one of the Carmichaels’ many Victor Sylvester dance records…“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there’s a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby…” On and on it went. Some day I’ll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me…

  But Alice had wished upon all the stars she’d seen twinkling up there in the night sky, from her bedroom window in Clifton….she’d wished and wished and wished. And she knew now, for certain, that her dreams would never come true.

  And then, to her own utter embarrassment, Alice began to cry. Well, it didn’t take much, and it didn’t matter, did it? No one was looking at her, and anyway, there was plenty of emotion going on all around. One more happy reveller crying her eyes out wouldn’t even be noticed.

  But Fay had noticed, and knew what it was all about. She put her arms tightly around Alice and hugged her. ‘Don’t let it get to you, Alice,’ she said, her mouth close to Alice’s ear. ‘He isn’t worth it.’

  But he is, he is, he is, he is…and where was Marvin when she needed him?

  At 11.55, shouts from the bar encouraged everyone to make sure their glasses were charged for the midnight toast, and Eve got up from the piano and joined the others. Roger had already made sure their drinks were waiting, and they took one each, preparing for the big moment.

  And then, there it was. 1945 had arrived, leaving 1944 to disappear into the mists of time. And as if permission had been granted from on high, everyone began kissing everyone else, the shouts of “Happy New Year” ringing out with such deafening gusto that Alice thought she was going to pass out.

  Until she felt Roger’s arm around her, kissing her, his warm mouth on her face…quite close to her lips…but not too close. And she saw him do exactly the same to Eve, and finally to Fay as well. He was grinning broadly. He’d never known a year’s end quite like this one!…with three good-looking Land Girls…theirs, no one else’s! And kissing them all, like he had just now had happened all by itself! He hadn’t planned it. But didn’t he deserve it? On this one, special night?

  Finally, someone began “Auld Lang Syne” and every single person in that crowded place put down their glasses and crossed their arms, joining up to form a continuous link of good-natured togetherness, all chanting the old, familiar words… “Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind…we’ll drink a cup of kindness yet, for the sake of auld lang syne. For auld lang syne, my dears, for auld lang syne…we’ll drink a cup of kindness yet, for the sake of auld lang syne…” On and on the refrain went, ensuring several very sore throats in the morning.

  Roger, who was next to Fay, his arm linked closely to hers, bent to speak to her. ‘Promise we’ll always stay in touch, Fay,’ he said, ‘and don’t forget our five-year plan!’ She smiled up at him. He was a sweet boy. Of course she’d stay in touch. She nodded. ‘I won’t forget,’ she said. Then she lifted her face for him to kiss her.

  And Roger did. A long, lingering kiss.

  Full on the lips.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Monday, 7th May 1945

  The girls were just finishing their breakfast when Roger came in and put a large brown paper bag down on the table.

  ‘I thought I’d better grab some of this before it’s all sold out,’ he said.

  Alice opened the bag and took out a large roll of red, white and blue bunting. ‘Oh – smashing!’ she exclaimed. ‘Fancy our village shop managing to get this!’

  Mabel came into the kitchen then, and stared down at the cloth. It had been rumoured for some time that the government had arranged for the material to be available – without coupons – for those who wanted to put up some triumphant banners. ‘Was there plenty of it up there, Rog?’ she said, and he nodded.

  ‘Yes – and plenty lining up to buy it! It was like seeing kids at a sweetshop!’

  ‘Well.’ Mabel put her hands on her hips, looking thoughtful. ‘We shall have to decide where we’re gonna string it up,’ she said. ‘We’ll definitely have some on the gate down the’end, and around the doors ’ere…and…’

  Roger interrupted. ‘How about making each of the cows a headscarf, Mum?’

  Mabel wagged her finger at him. ‘Ha ha, very funny,’ she said, hardly able to smile, aware of the very mixed feelings she was having. There was no doubt about it now. Tomorrow, peace in Europe would be declared and everyone would go mad with excitement and relief. And she, Mabel Foulkes, would be expected to rejoice and be merry. Except that she knew it would be difficult to do that. In no time at all, all the changes, the disruption, the total shifting of all things normal which war brings, would pass into history, and life, for most (for her), would resume its normal pattern. Just as before. It would be like waking up from a long, complicated, pointless dream.

  She chided herself for having these selfish, self-centred thoughts. It had been all very well for them, tucked away down here in the countryside, always with plenty of food on hand and little fear of enemy attack. But others had died…died…or been horribly injured, losing everything…losing loved ones…for them, it could only be described as waking from a nightmare.

  But Mabel couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the fact that she’d been dreading the end of the war. Now it would be her turn to lose loved ones, lose her girls.

  The others were still examining the fabric on the table. ‘There’s quite a lot of it,’ Eve said. She looked up at Mabel. ‘I could help you cut some out and make some banners, if you like, Mrs. Foulkes.’

  Mabel beamed. ‘Well, thank you, luvver…tha’ud be lovely! And my old Singer sewing machine works a treat – we might need to stitch down th’edges a bit to stop the stuff frayin’.’

  Everyone left the kitchen then, Alice and Eve to feed the livestock, and Fay to accompany Roger and his father to the top fields where they were spreading more fertilizer.

  ‘It’s going to seem really strange – when we do all this for the last time, isn’t it, Alice?’ Eve said as she tipped the large bowl of chicken feed she was holding into the trough, moving aside quickly to avoid stepping on the birds as they all gathered around, clucking and fluttering to get there first.

  Alice nodded, scraping the last of the food from her bowl and adding it to the rest. ‘Everything’s going to seem strange – for a while,’ she agreed, aware that part of her did wish that all the changes ahead weren’t approaching quite so fast. It all might take everyone by surprise – having to adapt to a life they’d once known but which would never be the same again. She wondered whether Helena would be leaving Wales straightaway and going home to Clifton. What a warm feeling that phrase gave Alice, even to think it…“going home to Clifton”. Not that it concerned her, now, nor ever would again, but wherever else she ended up, for Alice, the Clifton house would always rank as her home. Where she had lived for so many years, where she had lived with her mother, where she had been brought up. Where her heart would always be. And where she had fallen in love with the only man who had ever meant anything to her. Not that she allowed herself to dwell on that, or on him, now. The vision of him with his Millicent…their heads so close together at that
hotel in London…his lips pressed so lovingly on the back of her hands which he was holding so tightly in his own…that picture would be painfully etched on Alice’s mind for ever.

  But it had taught her to grow up, to leave the past behind. To think of the future, not always what had once been…and when things were really back to normal, her novel would be her first thought. Definitely. After all, it had been her long-held ambition, and once the war was over she would not make any excuses to delay any further. There’d be nothing to get in the way, surely…her weekends and evenings would be her own, to scribble away to her heart’s content. She knew she had the drive, all she needed was the time. And when peace was declared and they were away from here, there was going to be enough of that. And no person in her life to get in the way and delay her.

  Still, one good thing was she had the house in Totterdown to return to –at least for the time being – even though Alice knew the first thing she must do was to find herself somewhere else to rent. She shuddered at the prospect. It wasn’t going to be easy to replace Gloria’s warm hospitality, her comfortable home, her kindly, outgoing nature. But by a strange quirk of fate there was some delay and a little more time to look around, because the Easter wedding had had to be postponed until September thanks to poor Gloria falling and breaking her hip. That had been at the end of February, and it had meant several weeks in hospital, followed by many more of rehabilitation. Alice had gone home several times in the past few months, and had promised that as soon as she left the farm she would be on hand to do whatever she could to help her landlady until the wedding day arrived.

  The only one who had rejoiced at the unfortunate news had been Dora, who’d reminded Gloria that there’d definitely been a warning of joint trouble for her in those Christmas tea leaves. True, Dora had thought it was going to concern an ankle, but a hip was only a bit further up the leg – it was easy enough to have got that wrong. Anyway, if she’d taken a little bit longer over the reading she’d have got to the hip, but the trouble was everyone expected a quick result, and even though she knew many people laughed at her behind her back they all secretly believed there was something in it. Something in her gift, and they wanted her to get on with it, come out with it, as soon as possible, not to peer into the bottom of their cups, wasting time.