‘Thank goodness you managed to get out of the sun and firing line,’ Bess said.
‘Oh we were out of the sun, all right. It was dark and dank, and we were up to our waists in oil and sewage. But you’re right, for the first time in ages we were safe from German bullets. Anyway, Jock spotted some old boats tied together at the far end of the pier. So we waded through a mass of seaweed and God only knows what else was in the water, which we didn’t want to think about.
‘Jock pressed down on each boat and we watched water seep into every one of them – except the last. The floor of the small vessel at the end of the row stayed dry, so we untied it and dragged it to the edge of the pier into the light. I tried to start the engine, but it just croaked. None of us had any experience with boats, but you know what I’m like with cars. I didn’t think it could be that different, so I began to strip the engine. It was damp, but not from sea water, which is corrosive. Someone must have tried to start it earlier and flooded the engine. It only needed drying out.
‘The first couple of attempts to start the boat failed, so we left it for half an hour – we didn’t want to flood the engine again. On the third attempt, which had to be our last because the sun had begun to set, the boat spluttered into life. Now all we had to do was keep the motor running and when the sun went down, but before the Germans began their night bombing, make our escape.
‘I jumped into the boat and Archie followed. But when Geordie tried to board, his legs gave way and he sank to his knees. Jock pulled him to his feet. “We’re going home, lad,” he said, but Geordie couldn’t stand. He had a gash in his side. He’d landed on a jagged piece of rock when he jumped off the cliff. So Jock lifted him up like a baby and put him into the boat beside Archie. Then he took off his coat. “Put this over him, keep him warm, he’s lost a lot of blood,” he said.
‘Suddenly, two soldiers appeared out of nowhere carrying an unconscious friend. “He caught one in the back,” the first one explained. “We’ve got to get him out, he won’t survive another night,” the other one said.
‘Jock took the injured soldier from his friends and lowered him into the boat next to Geordie. His face was grey. One of the other soldiers tried to climb aboard. “Your friend’s the last passenger,” Jock shouted. “The boat’s full. Stand clear.” The soldier hung onto the boat and it tipped to the left. “It’ll capsize, son,” Jock said gruffly. He prised the crying soldier’s hands from the side of the small craft and it levelled. He kept his arm round the boy to comfort him as well as restrain him. “Go on, Tom, get out of here, or it’ll be too late,” Jock shouted.
‘“I’m not leaving without you,” I shouted back to him.
‘“Oh yes you are, my friend,” Jock said, and he pushed the boat from under the pier. “If you don’t want Gerry to see you you’d better get a move on.”
Tom cuffed tears from his eyes. ‘The last thing Jock said to me was, “I’ll see you on my way to the Highlands,” and I shouted, “I’ll be waiting.” Then I opened the throttle and the engine roared – and so did I. I roared with anger and frustration and the injustice of war. But most of all I roared to block out the cries for help from the dozens of soldiers who were swimming against the tide. The current was too strong. It was dragging them – some alive and some dead – back to the beach. There was nothing I could do but swerve to miss them. I retched at the sight. But I didn’t stop. I kept going, and I kept roaring.
‘I steered the boat round the harbour wall and had to swerve again, this time to avoid a fleet of small boats. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There were hundreds of fishing boats and sailing boats. Some that didn’t look seaworthy enough to cross the Channel, let alone sail full pelt into a battle zone, were heading for Dunkirk’s beaches. “Jock and the others will be rescued,” I shouted to Archie and Geordie, and we cheered.’
Tom lowered his head and began to cry.
‘Tom, do you want to stop?’ Bess asked, but he didn’t reply. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea. See how you feel after you’ve had a hot drink,’ she said, and went to the kitchen. What a pathetic thing to say, she thought, as she filled the kettle. Tom looked so tired. She wanted to give him some time on his own, to decide whether he wanted to carry on talking, or go to bed.
While the kettle boiled, Bess went to the bathroom. She was tired too. She splashed cold water on her face and felt refreshed. When she went back to the kitchen to make the tea, it was four o’clock.
Bess returned to the living room with two cups of tea and a plate of Rich Tea biscuits on a tray. ‘I’ve put a couple of sugars in yours. I found Mam’s secret stash,’ she joked, handing Tom his tea. ‘Drink it while it’s hot. I found a few biscuits too. I don’t know about you but I’m peckish. Want one?’
Tom shook his head but took his tea. For a while he drank in silence. ‘One plane!’ he said at last. ‘A Stuka dive bomber came out of the clouds. I didn’t see it and I didn’t hear it. I didn’t hear anything until the explosion. I looked back and the pier was in flames. The boats under it were going up, one after another, and the sea was on fire. I wanted to turn the boat around and go back for Jock, but I didn’t. I knew if I took the boat back, I’d be taking Archie, Geordie, and the other soldier to their deaths. I was full of anger and fear, and riddled with guilt, because I was alive and my best friend wasn’t, but I held the throttle open and drove that speedboat as fast as I could until we were over the horizon.
‘The next morning I woke up on the deck of HMS Manxman. My clothes were soaked, I was shivering with cold, and the stench of Dunkirk’s sewers was still in my nostrils. But I was looking at the White Cliffs of Dover!
‘Archie and I carried Geordie from the ship to a Red Cross tent on the quay at Dover. There was a young nurse sitting in the entrance taking the names and rank of the servicemen who needed medical attention. She took one look at Geordie and shouted for help. A couple of tired-looking hospital auxiliaries came dashing out, lifted Geordie onto a stretcher and disappeared inside.’
‘Do you know what happened to the injured soldier that Jock gave his place to, in the boat?’ Bess asked.
‘He didn’t make it. He died on the Manxman.’ Tom rubbed his eyes and sighed. ‘Such a bloody waste. Jock would have been home in the Highlands by now. Anyway,’ he said, after a few moments, ‘a doctor came out and said Geordie needed to go to hospital. He said there was nothing either of us could do and told us to go to the camp and get some rest.
‘Archie said he was going to stick around for a bit, go with Geordie if they’d let him. He said I’d done enough getting them out of Dunkirk, so we shook hands and swore we’d never forget Jock. I didn’t want to leave them, but I’d started to shiver badly and thought I’d better get out of my wet uniform. So I left Archie on the quayside, joined the rest of the soldiers that had disembarked from the Manxman and marched through Dover to the Army barracks.’
‘Was it far?’
‘I don’t know. I recall women standing outside their houses, clapping and cheering and offering us food and drink as we marched past, but I couldn’t see properly. Everything was blurred. My eyes were smarting and I remember thinking I must have salt in them, but it was sweat. My teeth ached. I was so cold I couldn’t stop them chattering. A girl offered me tea from a big metal urn. She said it would warm me up, but I was shivering so much, I couldn’t hold the cup. Then, I don’t know why, I remembered the two shillings you’d sent me at Christmas, wrapped in your letter. I should have destroyed it, but I’d forgotten it was in my breast pocket. Anyway, I asked her if she’d send a telegram to let Mam know I was alive, and I gave her the two shillings and your letter. And that was the last thing I remember until I woke up in Ashford hospital a few days later with pneumonia.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bess jumped down from the tractor to join Laura, who was sitting astride a five-bar gate that separated Larks Meadow from a field of carrots, as Annabel and James arrived on horseback. ‘Hello Annabel. James!’ Bess said, startled by the handsome visi
on towering above her on Sultan.
‘Annabel’s been showing me around the west wing. You’ve done a great job, Bess. It’s so comfortable the lads won’t want to leave.’
Bess, overwhelmed at seeing James, blushed. ‘It’s a shame the sheep don’t feel the same way about their quarters,’ she said, nodding towards a field of carrots. ‘They’ll have chomped their way through the entire crop by teatime.’
‘Can we help you to catch them while we’re here?’ James asked.
‘Thank you, but no. Polly’s gone to get--’ Before Bess had time to say his name, Garth Davies and his collie arrived and, after a short exchange, Garth ordered his dog into the field. Within minutes the dog, barking in short sharp bursts, had driven the sheep back to the adjoining field. The hole in the fence was now even bigger.
‘Well, if there’s nothing we can do,’ James said, ‘we’ll--’
‘You could repair the fence,’ Laura said, ‘while we try to salvage the carrots. I’ve put the new section and a ball of twine next to the hole - you can’t miss it.
‘Leave it to us,’ James said, and left at a trot with Annabel close behind.
Bess watched James as he showed Annabel how to secure the new piece of fence to the damaged fence by twisting the edges of new round the old, before securing it by weaving the twine in and out of both old and new. They looked happy together. They were working hard, but they were having fun. It was obvious that Annabel loved James. Bess could see it in her eyes when she looked at him. She could tell that James was fond of Annabel too. No wonder Lady Foxden saw Annabel as a potential daughter-in-law. I would, Bess thought, if I was her.
Walking back to the gate after checking several rows of carrot tops, Laura shouted, ‘Not a lot of damage done. A drop of rain, a bit of sun-- Are you all right, Bess?’
‘What? Oh, yes, I’m fine. I’m a bit tired, that’s all. There’s nothing more we can do here. Let’s get the tractor back and call it a day,’ she said, straightening the grain sacks on the seat before climbing onto it. ‘Well done, you two,’ she called over to James and Annabel. ‘It’ll take a bull to get through that fence now.’
‘That’s praise indeed coming from you, Bess,’ James said, laughing.
‘I’m serious. Thank you,’ she said, starting the tractor.
‘If you really want to thank us, you can come for a drink to the Crown tonight. You too, Laura. Because it’s Tom’s last night of freedom we thought we’d make a night of it. Give him a good send off,’ James said.
‘What a good idea,’ Annabel said. ‘Do say you’ll both come. James is meeting Tom at seven. I’ll be bored by eight, when they start talking about cars and aeroplanes and this wretched war.’
‘I’d love to. Thanks,’ Laura said. ‘You’ll come too, won’t you, Bess? Bess--?’
‘What? Yes, of course. See you both at seven.’
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Laura asked, as they drove back to the Hall.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m just worried that Tom’s going back to his regiment too soon after-- I hope he’s ready.’
Of the two public houses in the village of Woodcote, The Crown and The Black Horse, the Dudley family favoured the Crown because it was the nearest to walk to and, more importantly, to walk home from. It also had a piano that the landlady, Mrs Hanley, could be persuaded to play on Saturday nights.
By the time Bess and Laura arrived the pub was packed. There was a dance at the village hall and because the hall didn’t have a licence to sell alcohol everyone piled into one or other of the pubs at the interval. Bess and Laura spotted James, Annabel and Tom sitting under the window on the far side of the room near the piano. They pushed their way through the crowd to join them.
‘Come on, Tom! Give us a song,’ someone shouted across the smoky saloon bar.
Everyone cheered and chanted. ‘Give us a song, Tom! Give us a song!’ Tom had no choice but to ask the pub landlady if she’d play the piano for him.
‘Not tonight, Tommy. I’m too busy.’
‘Sorry, lads, I haven’t got a pianist. Can’t sing without a pianist, can I?’
‘I’ll play for you, Tom,’ Annabel said. ‘What do you want me to play?’
‘Oh, something slow to start with, to get me warmed up. Do you know “I’ll Be Seeing You”?’
Annabel laughed. ‘I know it, I’m not sure I can play it. Don’t worry, if I lose my way I’ll busk.’
As Tom began to sing, the customers in the pub stopped talking until there was silence. When the song came to an end, everyone cheered and called for more. James bought a round of drinks, which he managed to carry across the room on a tray without spilling, and Laura joined Tom and Annabel at the piano and sang, “There’ll Always Be An England”. Suddenly, Bess and James were sitting at the table on their own.
‘They make a lovely couple,’ Bess said.
‘Who, Tom and Annabel?’
‘No, Tom and Laura.’ Bess was smiling as she watched her brother and her friend sing “Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye”, and clapped loudly when they’d finished.
James put his arm along the back of Bess’s seat and spoke softly into her ear. ‘Are you matchmaking, Bess Dudley?’
‘No! Well maybe a little,’ she said, laughing. ‘I like Laura. I think she’d be good for Tom.’
‘And who would be good for Bess?’ James asked.
Bess felt her pulse fasten and her cheeks flush. She wanted to say, you James, you! Instead, in a flash of comic inspiration, she said, ‘Mr Porter!’
James laughed. ‘Mr Porter?’
‘Why not? He’s good with horses, works hard and doesn’t get under my feet. In my book that’s a perfect man. Ah, Laura’s coming back,’ she said, applauding Laura when she returned to her seat.
At closing time Tom sang “Roses of Picardy” unaccompanied and dedicated it to his lovely pianist, Annabel.
A hush spread through the saloon bar as Tom sang words as relevant in 1940 as they had been when they were written in 1916, during the First World War. The landlord put the bar towels over the beer pumps instead of calling time, and when they’d finished drinking, the customers left silently.
The following morning, before Bess had time to talk to Tom, Annabel arrived and insisted on taking him to the station, saying it was the least she could do after Tom had done such a marvellous job of servicing her car.
‘Take care, Tom,’ Bess told him. ‘It hasn’t been long since-- You are sure you’re feeling well enough to go back, aren’t you? They’d understand if--’
‘Don’t worry, Sis. I’m as right as rain now. Thanks to you,’ he said, holding her tightly for a long minute before kissing her goodbye.
Bess and Laura were ploughing an outlying field by the time Annabel returned from Rugby station. Already dressed in jodhpurs and rainproof riding jacket, she tied Sultan to the gate, climbed over it, and ran across the field. ‘James has returned to the aerodrome, Tom is on his way to Kent. I’ve checked on the servicemen and no one needs me. So put me to work, Bess!’
‘I would if you could plough a straight furrow,’ Bess said.
‘I could learn. I’ll tell you what. You teach me how to plough a furrow, and I’ll teach you how to drive a car.’
‘Go on,’ Laura said. ‘Sounds like a good deal.’
Bess laughed. ‘What would Tom say if I picked him up from the station the next time he comes home on leave?’ Bess had wanted to learn how to drive since the day Tom chased her into the kitchen with greasy hands.
Of the land girls there was only Laura who could drive, and for some reason Mr Porter was reluctant to lend her his truck. The more she thought about it the more she liked the idea. ‘All right,’ Bess said, jumping down from the seat of the tractor onto the mudguard. ‘Sit up here. I’ll teach you how to plough.’
Annabel didn’t find driving the new Fordson difficult. She had accompanied Laura on several occasions and driven the tractor once or twice when they’d been delivering animal feed to th
e Estate farms. But she had never attempted to plough a furrow, let alone a straight one. ‘It’s damn near impossible!’ she shouted.
Driving a car also had its tricky moments. During Bess’s first lesson, the following day, her foot slipped off the clutch while she was practising a three-point turn. Annabel and Bess laughed until they ached when the car kangarooed into a drainage ditch that was so overgrown with weeds that it was impossible to see where the grass verge ended and the ditch began. Luckily the channel was shallow so there was no damage done – except to Bess’s pride when she had to walk all the way back to the Hall and ask Mr Porter to get the tractor and rescue the car.
Annabel learned to plough a straight furrow, but her main work was with the servicemen in the west wing. She wasn’t fazed by gory dressings and didn’t flinch at the sight of an infected wound or amputated limb, which was something neither Bess nor Laura could have coped with. Bess noticed that Annabel was patient, and she listened. But she didn’t pity the injured servicemen, and she didn’t patronise them.
Getting to know Annabel had helped Bess to turn the love she felt for James into friendship. After her shameful experience in London, a relationship with James would be short lived, or it would mean a lifetime of lies. She was damaged, and there was nothing she could do to change that. If she told James the truth, she would risk losing him. If she didn’t tell him, and he found out, he would think she’d tricked him and he would hate her for it. Either way, James would be out of her life forever, and she couldn’t bear that; she loved him too much. This way they would always be friends. She wouldn’t have to lie to him and she wouldn’t have to betray Annabel.
Foxden Acres (The Dudley Sisters Quartet Book 1) Page 19
