‘He’s the one who brought you the toys,’ David Davies piped up. ‘He lives across the sea where it snows all the time. He flies through the air on a sleigh pulled by reindeer and if you’ve been good he comes down your chimney while you’re asleep and leaves presents at the bottom of your bed, in one of your mam’s old stockings – or he puts them under the Christmas tree, if you’re rich enough to have a tree,’ he added.
‘He doesn’t come to our house in London,’ Samuel said.
‘You must be bad then,’ David replied with authority.
Samuel’s bottom lip began to quiver.
‘Of course you’re not bad, Samuel, David’s only teasing,’ Bess said, pulling the little boy’s woolly hat over his dark curls. ‘Jonathan,’ she said to David’s older brother, ‘will you take the boys outside to play? The fresh air will do you all good. And you!’ she said to David Davies. ‘Behave yourself.’
Rebekah was still reading the letter she had received from her parents. Some of the girls were playing with their dolls and a couple were at the piano with Annabel when Jonathan and David Davies, followed by Benjamin and Samuel, came crashing back through the front door. ‘Bess! Come quick!’ Jonathan shouted. ‘There’s an Army lorry in the ditch at the bottom of Shaft Hill.’
‘All right, calm down, boys. Laura, you come with me, and Annabel, Polly, you keep the party going.’ Bess shouted as she grabbed her coat from the stand in the foyer.
‘Yes, of course,’ Polly replied.
‘Be careful!’ Annabel called.
‘We’ll show you where it is,’ Jonathan said, following Bess.
‘No. I want you boys to stay here. You shouldn’t have been down Shaft Hill in the first place. David, take the boys inside and Jonathan, go and find my father and Mr Porter. Tell them what’s happened and ask them to come as quickly as they can. And then go to the kitchen and ask Mrs Hartley to make lots of strong tea.’
Shaft Hill was steep and halfway down there was a sharp bend. If drivers didn’t know the road, and didn’t slow down as they approached the bend, they often ended up in the ditch opposite. Because it was getting dark, the driver of the lorry probably didn’t see the bend until it was too late.
As they ran down the hill, they saw the lorry. ‘Anyone hurt?’ Bess called.
‘Yes, me, nurse,’ said one young soldier. ‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ said another, and ‘There is a Father Christmas after all.’
‘All right, lads, let’s have some respect, shall we? Only a few bumps and bruises Miss, nothing to worry about,’ the young sergeant in charge said.
‘What can we do to help?’ Laura asked, to which the replies were saucy and many.
‘Thank you!’ the sergeant said loudly - for the benefit of the men in his charge, not Bess and Laura. ‘We’ll be fine. Once we get the lorry out of the ditch we’ll be on our way.’
‘Hello there,’ Mr Porter hollered, as he and Bess’s father came round the bend on the tractor. They pulled up in front of the lorry and jumped down. ‘Tie this to the back bumper,’ he said, throwing a thick rope to the sergeant. ‘The rest of you lads go to the front of the lorry and prepare to push. We’ll have you out of that ditch in no time.’
The soldiers did as instructed. Each stood with their right shoulder against the lorry while the sergeant – the driver – jumped into the cab, switched on the ignition and put the lorry in reverse gear.
‘On the count of three, Ernest,’ Bess’s dad shouted. ‘One – two – three!’
The tractor moved slowly across the road until it picked up the slack in the rope.
‘And, two, three!’ Bess’s father called again.
The sergeant let the clutch out slowly and at the same time put his foot down gently on the accelerator – and the soldiers pushed with all their strength until the lorry began to move. At first it was slow going, but finally the lorry’s back wheels cleared the ditch and the lorry began to make its ascent.
‘Keep going boys, you’re nearly there.’ Bess’s father spoke too soon. The engine made a whining noise, the wheels began to spin in the mud and the lorry slid back into the ditch.
‘Stop!’ Bess shouted. Running over to the tractor, she took half a dozen empty grain sacks from behind the seat and passed half to Laura. ‘Pack these round the wheels on the other side of the lorry. I’ll do the same on this side. It’ll stop them from sliding.’
‘Let’s try again, but quickly, I can smell petrol!’ Bess shouted, as soon as Laura was clear of the lorry. ‘One, two, three, heave.’
The lorry began to move, and this time the wheels gripped the sacks and rolled slowly over the sodden earth.
‘Come on! One last push!’ she called again. And suddenly the back wheels, and then the front, flew over the top of the ditch.
While the soldiers stood around thanking their civilian friends, the sergeant checked and tightened the straps around the jerry cans on the side of the lorry. ‘Could you do with some petrol?’ he asked Bess, over the bonnet. ‘I need to offload this five gallon can.’
‘Yes, we’re desperate for petrol,’ Bess said.
‘I’ll leave it here then,’ he said, unbuckling the can and pushing it down into the mud in the ditch. ‘Daren’t travel it, it’s too dangerous,’ he said, pointing to the bottom of the spout. ‘Hairline crack! It would get bigger on the move, but it’ll be safe enough here overnight – as long as it’s standing upright.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Bess said. ‘I’ll come down and transfer it into another can tomorrow, first thing. We’ll put it to good use, I promise. Thank you,’ she said again.
The soldiers piled into the back of the lorry, cheering and shouting their goodbyes. After untying the rope from the lorry’s bumper, the young sergeant thanked Bess and Laura, Mr Porter and Bess’s father, and climbed into the lorry’s cab.
‘Wait a minute, Sergeant,’ Bess shouted, jumping onto the step at the driver’s door. ‘There is a way we can thank you for the petrol. How would you all like to come up to the Hall for some refreshment? It’s only at the top of the hill. You’d be very welcome.’
‘Well… it has been a long day and the lads are tired.’ Looking at his watch, he said, ‘I don’t see that another hour will make any difference. After all, if it hadn’t been for you, we might have been in that ditch all night.’
The sergeant drove slowly behind the tractor while Bess and Laura, having declined a lift in the back of the lorry, followed on foot.
From the outside, the Hall appeared to be in darkness, but once they were inside it was a different story.
‘Bloody hell,’ one private murmured, before his mate nudged him and told him to watch his language.
The soldiers trooped through the foyer, past the huge Christmas tree and into the warm brightly decorated music room. Mrs Hartley and Bess’s mother were laying the trestle tables with chicken and ham sandwiches, fruitcake and Christmas puddings. Ena and Claire brought in two pots of tea and a tray of cups and saucers – and giggled when the soldiers flirted and teased.
‘Sit down, boys, and tuck in,’ Mrs Hartley said. ‘We’ve had ours. It’s a shame you weren’t here a few hours ago, while the chicken was still hot,’ she said, pouring each of them a cup of tea.
While the soldiers ate their meal Annabel gathered the children round the piano and they sang a selection of Christmas carols. When the soldiers had finished eating, the concert proper began.
The curtains opened on the Nativity. Rebekah, dressed in a simple white gown, played the part of Mary, standing protectively by the side of a Moses basket and the baby Jesus, played perfectly by a sleeping baby Elizabeth. Benjamin, wearing one of Mr Porter’s old leather aprons and sporting a beard made of cotton wool, played Joseph; David and Jonathan Davies carried crooks as the shepherds and Samuel, just visible behind a huge cardboard star, was the star of the east. Then, after much clearing of throats and straightening of song sheets, the children sang, “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem” foll
owed by “Oh Chanukah, Oh Chanukah”.
The children sang songs, recited poems and nursery rhymes, and danced jigs – and Bess’s dad and Mr Porter got every curtain call on cue. The concert ended with everyone on their feet singing “Give A Little Whistle”, followed by “Hands, Knees and Boomps-a-Daisy”. The soldiers, clapping their hands when they should have slapping their knees, made everyone laugh. Coincidentally they conquered the moves at exactly the same time and everyone cheered. Finally, after taking theatrical bows, all but one of the soldiers returned to their seats.
The sergeant stood at the top of the table and looked around the room until there was hush. ‘On behalf of myself and the lads, I would like to thank you all. It’s been a long time since any of us have sat down with friends and eaten a meal. And, because we’re going overseas in the New Year, it may be a long time until we do it again. I think I speak for every soldier here when I say we will never forget what you did for us today. And the next time we sit down with friends, wherever it is and whenever it is, we’ll remember today and every one of you.’ He looked at his fellow soldiers. ‘Look sharp, lads, it’s time we were on our way.’
The soldiers pushed back their chairs and stood to attention. As they made their way to the door they thanked Mrs Hartley, Bess’s father and Mr Porter, shook the hands of the children who were nearest to them and saluted those who were further away. At the door they turned as one and saluted Bess, Laura, Polly and Annabel, who were standing by the piano.
An anticlimactic feeling hung in the air when the soldiers had gone. The party had fallen flat - until Samuel Goldman said, ‘Can I have my Christmas pudding now?’
‘No, silly,’ his brother replied, ‘the soldiers have eaten it.’
‘But I ate all my dinner, and Bess said--’
‘Anybody that’s hungry can come with me to my kitchen. I’m sure I can rustle up something if your tummy’s rumbling,’ Mrs Hartley said to Samuel and Benjamin. ‘And tomorrow, I’ll make a chocolate cake for tea, how’s that?’ she said, leaving the room followed closely by two happy little boys who had enjoyed their first Christmas.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The winter was harsh. Snow fell almost every day. For much of the time the temperature was below zero. Black ice caused havoc on the roads, the farm machinery seized up, and food and water had to be transported to animals in outlying fields by horse and cart. But the children loved it, especially the children from London who weren’t used to seeing the kind of heavy snowfalls and drifts that children in the country took for granted.
It was snowing heavily when Bess, walking across the rick-yard from the barn to the kitchen, heard a vehicle coming up the drive. She doubled back to see who it was that had been so brave - or so stupid - to drive in such a heavy snowstorm. Sheltering beneath the thatched roof of the unused foaling stable, she saw an RAF Jeep pull up. It was James! She stepped back into the doorway and watched him walk over to Benjamin and Samuel Goldman, who were building a snowman.
Bess didn’t know James was coming home for New Year. Annabel couldn’t have known either, or she wouldn’t have gone back to Kent. Perhaps it was a last minute thing and he didn’t have time to tell her. An involuntary smile crept across her face and she felt the butterflies of excitement in the pit of her stomach, as she had done on the eve of 1939. Secretly pleased that James was going to be at Foxden when Annabel wasn’t, Bess watched him turn and trudge through the snow to the Hall. The boys waited for a few minutes, but soon returned to the business of decorating the snowman’s face with assorted root vegetables. Bess was more patient and waited, out of sight.
She put her hand to her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud as James, in an old bowler hat and swinging a walking stick like Charlie Chaplin, came down the steps from the Hall. Then, with an exaggerated sad expression like Chaplin often had in his films, he leant his stick against the body of the snowman and put the bowler hat on his head. The boys clapped as James waddled back to the Hall. Before he entered he turned and saluted the boys who, together, saluted him back.
Walking back to the barn, it struck Bess that she’d never seen James interact with children before – at least, not since they themselves were children. She felt her cheeks glowing in the cold air and smiled at the memory. Strange, she thought, that she’d imagined him in every scenario possible, but never with children. By the way he behaved with Samuel and Benjamin it was obvious that he liked them – and after seeing the smiles on their faces, they liked him too. James would make a lovely father, Bess thought, wiping away a tear.
*
Village children came to the Hall to play with their friends from London almost every day during the Christmas holiday. They played hide and seek in the woods, built snowmen and had snowball fights, calling themselves The Mighty Midlanders and The Super Southerners. But it was the lake that was the most popular source of entertainment for both the children and the land girls, especially for Kitty and Molly who had never seen a frozen lake until they came to Foxden, and were eager to learn how to skate. No matter how many times they fell over, they got up and tried again, and again.
Polly, Laura and Sylvia, who were good at all sports, particularly the outdoor kind, were accomplished skaters. Like lifeguards – whose job it was to help swimmers in distress – the girls skated round the edge of the lake, so they were on hand if anyone needed help.
The lake reminded Bess of her childhood, when she and Margaret taught Claire and Ena how to skate. The Dudley girls took to skating like ducks to water, but Tom didn’t take it seriously. He spent most of his time with James, messing around and putting the girls off their stride. Tom wasn’t a bad skater, but James spent more time on his bottom than he did on his feet. Bess, on the other hand, took to ice-skating with the same enthusiasm as she did to horse riding, and rarely fell over.
James joined the party, as Bess hoped he would, but was immediately dragged onto the lake by Polly and Laura. ‘Be gentle with me, girls, it’s been a long time since I’ve skated,’ James shouted, as the two land girls led him round the lake. At first they were gentle, and skated slowly, but by the time they’d lapped the lake and returned to the Peacock lawn, to where Bess and the others were sitting, they’d picked up speed. As they approached the onlookers, the girls let go of James’s hands, turned their feet slightly to the side to slow down, and came to a halt at the edge of the lake. James, imitating a tap-dancing windmill, ended up on his bottom.
Mr Porter arrived with two jugs of hot chocolate and Mrs Hartley, hard on her old friend’s heels, carried a tray of cups and a tin of roasted chestnuts, which Iris counted out into three-cornered paper bags. Mr Porter banged the empty roasting tin like a gong and shouted, ‘Come and get it.’ And when everyone was safely sitting on the tarpaulin, Mrs Hartley gave them each a bag of chestnuts and a cup of hot chocolate.
Bess had never had so much fun on New Year’s Eve before. The land girls who had stayed for Christmas, or who had returned in time for the New Year, made sure of that. Everyone missed Annabel, of course, who had returned to Kent on Boxing Day. She didn’t tell Bess, or anyone else, why she had to go back. Not that it mattered. The servicemen had either gone home for Christmas, or back to their regiments, so she wasn’t needed in the west wing. Even so, Bess thought it strange that she’d left Foxden without seeing James.
As the afternoon wore on the temperature dropped. Snow clouds filled the sky and as darkness fell, so did the snow – and the party came to an end. It had been a long day, which everyone had enjoyed. The parents of the village children arrived and after a few minutes – it was too cold to stand about chatting – they took their tired offspring home. Mr Porter and James, deep in conversation, strolled round the grounds, and Nanny Friel and Nurse Ambler rounded up the children, who looked worn out and for once didn’t argue about going to bed. Polly, Iris and Mavis made a final check of the lawn for rubbish before going to their billet, and Mrs Hartley, Laura, Sylvia and Bess took the plates and mugs to the kitchen and wa
shed them up.
‘Why don’t you go up, Mrs Hartley? Bess said. ‘We’ll finish off down here. You look tired and you have to be up early in the morning.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ Mrs Hartley said, taking off her pinafore and yawning. ‘Thank you for your help, girls. See you in the morning.’
‘Goodnight,’ the girls said in unison.
As soon as the washing up was finished Sylvia said, ‘I think I’ll turn in too.’ She bowled the tea towel that she’d used at the row of hooks where it usually hung and by some miracle it caught on the first hook and held fast.
Laura and Bess had seen the incredible fluke and began to laugh. Sylvia polished the nails of her right hand on an imaginary lapel and waited to be congratulated. Instead Laura pushed her out of the door, laughing.
After she had put the last of the dishes away, Bess walked across the room to the kitchen door. She reached out and was just about to lock it when she heard footsteps outside. She caught her breath. ‘Laura? Sylvia? Is that you?’
‘No, it’s me – James. Sorry to call so late, but it’s such a lovely night, I didn’t feel like turning in.’
Relieved that the caller wasn’t an intruder, Bess opened the door.
‘I know you check on the horses last thing, and wondered if I might accompany you?’ James said.
‘Of course, I was just on my way to the stables,’ she lied. Mr Porter would have checked on the horses while she was clearing away the dishes.
‘Sable’s getting older,’ Bess said, as they walked across the yard. ‘I put a blanket on her on cold nights.’ She unbolted the top of Sultan and Sable’s door and both horses came to her. Sable was wearing her blanket.
‘Good old Mr Porter,’ Bess said, stroking Sable’s nose. ‘He looks after you doesn’t he, girl?’
‘Good old Mr Porter? You’ve changed your tune,’ James teased.
‘Yes, I have,’ Bess admitted. ‘I didn’t really know him before we worked together. But now I know him, I understand him, and I like him very much. I’ll let you into a secret. I couldn’t do the job I’m doing here without him.’ Bess gave both Sable and Sultan a carrot before closing their doors.
Foxden Acres (The Dudley Sisters Quartet Book 1) Page 23
