Poppy's War

by Lily Baxter

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You don’t now, but you will in the fullness of time.’ Mary lifted Poppy’s gloved hand to the light. ‘That’s real glacé kid unless I’m very much mistaken. I haven’t seen anything so fine since I worked at the manor house in Epping.’

  ‘I don’t care about the blooming gloves. All I want is to go home with you. Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘Poppy, love. You’ll be fourteen in April, old enough to leave school. If you come home you’ll end up in a munitions factory or doing some kind of war work that they’re all talking about. Your dad thinks that this is only a lull in the offensive and that if Jerry starts bombing London we’ll be in line for everything he can drop on us, being so close to the docks. We only want what’s best for you. Stay here and you’ll get a good education and be safe. Come home and who knows what might happen?’

  ‘But I belong with you, Mum.’

  ‘Of course you do, and we’ll be waiting for you when the war’s over. They say it can’t go on for long.’

  ‘Mrs Carroll doesn’t like me, and I know she thinks I’m a nuisance. The only person who’s been kind to me is Amy, and of course Guy.’

  ‘And it was Miss Amy who begged us not to take you home, not yet anyway. She sounds a really lovely lady, and you should be grateful to her and her young man. She said that he thought it was a good idea for you to stay.’

  Poppy was temporarily lost for words. If Guy wanted her to remain in Squire’s Knapp she could hardly refuse, even if it meant putting up with snide remarks from the likes of Violet, Nancy and Olive. ‘You’re sure the war won’t last long then, Mum?’

  Mary leaned forward, peering out of the window. ‘Oh my Gawd, it’s a bleeding palace.’

  They had just passed through the tall wrought iron gates leading to the arrow-straight drive lined by copper beeches. Their bare branches were iced with snow and the whole of the parkland glittered like a Christmas card.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Mary whispered. ‘I thought the manor was grand, but this is like one of them stately homes you see at the cinema on Pathé News, in between the feature film and the adverts.’

  At any other time Poppy would have been amused by her mother’s astonished expression, but her feelings were too raw to find anything amusing. ‘It’s just a house, Mum.’

  ‘And bigger than anything I’ve ever seen before. Just wait until your gran hears about this. She wanted you to come home today, but I know she’d change her tune if she could see this place.’

  For once Poppy did not care what Gran or anyone else thought about her temporary home. ‘Mrs Carroll won’t want me hanging around, Mum.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Mary said, craning her neck to get a better view of the imposing façade and with a wide flight of steps leading up to the main entrance. ‘When I spoke to her on the phone she was very polite and she left the final decision up to me and your dad. This is a chance of a lifetime, Poppy. With a good education you could get a job in a bank or an office up West.’

  The Bentley slid to a halt and Poppy waited for Jackson to open the door with a feeling of doom. She could tell by the rapt expression on her mother’s face that she was carried away with the notion that her daughter was going up in the world, and everyone knew that when Mum got an idea in her head there was nothing anyone could do about it.

  She scrambled out of the car, remembering to thank Jackson as he stood stiffly to attention holding the door for Mary, who slid off the seat displaying an embarrassing amount of stocking with a ladder running from the top of her shoe well past her left knee.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, bestowing a beaming smile on Jackson. ‘Nice place you got here.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He accepted the compliment with a nod.

  ‘Come on, Mum.’ Grabbing her mother by the hand, Poppy led her up the steps and into the house.

  ‘Don’t they lock their doors round here?’ Mary looked round the entrance hall wide-eyed and obviously impressed. ‘And shouldn’t we have used the servants’ entrance round the back?’

  ‘No, Mum. I’m allowed to come in this way now, and I can use the main stairs. Mrs Carroll said so.’

  ‘Well, I never did.’ Picking her way delicately as if walking on thin ice, Mary followed Poppy across the gleaming expanse of the polished parquet floor and up the staircase. She stopped halfway to the first floor, and glancing over her shoulder Poppy was amazed to see her mother take a clean hanky out of her pocket to wipe a real or imagined mark off the banister rail.

  ‘Mum, what are you doing?’

  ‘Sticky fingers,’ Mary said tersely. ‘I’d have a word with the charlady if I was Mrs Carroll.’

  ‘Come on up to the nursery,’ Poppy said, hoping that none of the servants had witnessed her mother’s action. ‘There isn’t much time if you’ve only got an hour and a half before the bus goes.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to see your Mrs Carroll at one o’clock. It was good of her to make the time to speak to me. I’m sure she’s ever so busy running a big house like this.’

  In the day nursery a fire had been lit and the room was unusually warm and cosy. On a normal day Poppy would have had to put on an extra jumper and wrap her eiderdown round her knees when she wanted to sit and study. This was the first time she had been treated to such a luxury. Obviously someone was out to impress, she thought wryly, and, judging by the expression on Mum’s face, it had worked. A clean white cloth covered the table and a spread of cold boiled ham and pickles with bread rolls and a dish heaped with pats of butter had been laid out in readiness, as well as a whole apple pie accompanied by a jug of cream. Poppy was not certain if it was Mrs Toon or the mistress who had authorised such an extravagance, but Mum was smiling delightedly as she struggled out of her coat. ‘I wish your dad could see this, Poppy. He’d tuck in and no mistake. As for Joe, he could finish off that pie in one sitting.’

  Poppy took the coat from her and hung it on the row of pegs behind the door. ‘Sit down, Mum. Let’s eat before we have to face Mrs Carroll.’ She pulled out a chair for her mother.

  Mary sat down, smiling appreciatively. ‘Ta, ducks. You’ve developed lovely manners since you come here. You’re halfway to being a lady already.’

  But I’m not, Poppy thought miserably, as she took her seat. I’m still me; I haven’t changed. Why can’t you see that, Mum? I don’t want to go to that posh girls’ school where most of them look down on me because I don’t speak like them. I want to go back to being plain Poppy Brown from West Ham. ‘Bloody war,’ she muttered beneath her breath.

  ‘Did you say something, ducks?’ Mary paused with a forkful of meat halfway to her mouth. ‘This is a lovely bit of ham. I don’t know when I last tasted anything like it.’

  The meal dragged on but Poppy had lost her appetite.

  When they finally went downstairs she was surprised to find Amy waiting for them outside the drawing room. She extended her hand to Mary with a beaming smile. ‘Mrs Brown, how nice to meet you at last.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure, miss.’

  Poppy stared at her mother in surprise. She did not recognise this subdued version of the woman who could take on all of Mr Hitler’s army single-handed.

  ‘Poppy has done so well at school, Mrs Brown,’ Amy said enthusiastically. ‘She’s a real credit to you and your husband.’

  ‘I know that, miss.’

  ‘Anyway, here am I chattering on and you have so little time. What must you think of me? I’m sure Mrs Carroll would like to see you before you go.’ She opened the door and ushered Mary into the room.

  Poppy was about to follow but her mother shook her head. ‘No, ducks. Wait outside for me. I want to speak to Madam in private.’

  *

  Although it was only just after three in the afternoon, the snow clouds had brought about an early dusk and the wind whipped snowflakes into tiny shards of ice as it slapped their faces. Amy had insisted on driving Mary and Poppy to the village sq
uare and they huddled together with their backs to the wind while they waited for the drivers to unlock the coaches and allow the waiting families to board.

  ‘Let me come with you, Mum,’ Poppy whispered. ‘I’m not afraid of the bombs. I want to see Dad and Joe and Gran. Please take me home.’

  There was a sudden rush and scuffling as the coach doors flew open and adults and children jostled to clamber up the narrow steps. Mary stumbled as a man barged her without any apology but she regained her balance and took Poppy’s face between her hands.

  ‘It’s not sensible, love. Miss Amy will look after you and you’ll be ten times better off and a hundred times safer down here in the country.’

  Poppy clung to her mother’s arm. ‘But if they don’t start bombing London will you let me come home after Christmas?’

  ‘As soon as it’s safe you shall come home with bells on.’ Mary gave a wintry smile and, with an obvious effort, turned away to take her place in the queue.

  It was only then that Poppy remembered the brown carrier bag in her hand. She plucked at her mother’s sleeve. ‘I’ve got your Christmas presents here. There’s one for each of you. I chose them all myself.’

  Mary looked at her in amazement. ‘Well, I’m blowed! I don’t know what to say, Poppy.’

  ‘Don’t open them till Christmas Day.’

  ‘We won’t, I promise.’ Mary took the bag as if it were the most precious thing she had ever been given and her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘There now, look at me getting all sentimental and slushy. But I got nothing for you, Poppy. In the rush to come down here I never had the time to wrap your present.’ She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘But there’s something I’ve always intended to give you on your twenty-first birthday.’ Her face was a study in concentration as she fumbled with the clasp, finally managing to unhook the slender silver chain that hung around her neck. She seized Poppy’s hand in hers and folded her fingers around a small glass pendant in the shape of a heart. ‘There, Poppy love. I want you to keep this. It’s all I got to give you.’

  Poppy’s cold fingers opened and she stared at the tiny pendant, her eyes wide and her bottom lip trembling. ‘But, Mum, I can’t take this. It’s yours and you always wear it.’

  ‘Your dad gave that to me, Poppy. He said he was giving me his heart. It was fragile like glass and could break just as easily. I’ve worn it ever since that day, but now it’s yours.’

  Poppy gulped and sniffed. ‘That’s really lovely, Mum.’

  ‘Take good care of it, and remember that I loved your father with all my heart.’

  Mary was about to board the coach but the parting seemed suddenly final and Poppy clutched her arm. ‘Don’t go, Mum. Please don’t leave me.’

  ‘I got to go, love.’ Mary cast an anguished look at Amy who stepped forward and put her arms around Poppy.

  ‘Take care of my baby, miss,’ Mary murmured as she was hustled into the crowded vehicle.

  ‘Don’t let your mother see you crying,’ Amy whispered. ‘Next time she comes I’m sure it will be to take you home.’

  Poppy hiccuped and blew her nose into the handkerchief that Amy produced from her coat pocket. Standing on tiptoe she craned her neck in an attempt to catch a last glimpse of her mother. The first coach started off with a roar of the engines and cheers from the passengers inside, followed quickly by the second coach. Poppy was rewarded by the sight of her mother’s white face in the rear window, and her pale hand fluttering against the pane like a butterfly trapped behind glass.

  That night Poppy cried herself to sleep. The fire had gone out and the temperature in the night nursery had plummeted so far that there was frost on the inside of the windows. Curled up in bed, Poppy clutched the glass heart, vowing that she would wear it for ever and ever.

  *

  There was the smell of woodsmoke in the air, mingling with the fruity fragrance of damp earth as Poppy leapt off the bus which always dropped her in the lane outside Squire’s Knapp. The great iron gates were unlocked and she squeezed between them, breaking into a jogging run in order to keep warm. It was bitterly cold but the snow had melted, which was disappointing as she had been hoping for a white Christmas. There were still patches of snow icing the rounded tops of the hills surrounding the village, and in places where it had not had a chance to thaw beneath north-facing hedgerows, but the gravel drive was clear and there was only a thin sheet of ice on the lake. She could see the ducks slithering about on their webbed feet as they searched for open areas of water and their comic antics made her smile. She sprinted up the stone steps and burst into the entrance hall where she was met by a rush of warm air filled with the scent of pine needles and resin. She came to a sudden halt, staring up at the huge tree that almost touched the ceiling. The dark green feathery branches contrasted sharply with the ivory background of the hand-painted Chinese wallpaper. Small red candles were clamped securely into metal holders and Amy was balanced precariously on top of a pair of ancient wooden stepladders as she attempted to fasten a silver star on the topmost branch. She looked down at Poppy with a rueful grin. ‘I was hoping to get the tree finished as a surprise for you when you came home from school.’

  ‘I’ve never seen such a big tree. Not indoors anyway.’

  Amy climbed down the steps and rested on the bottom rung. ‘I’m not too good at heights, Poppy. Perhaps you’d like to finish decorating the top of the tree and I’ll do the easy bits at the bottom.’

  Tossing her school beret, coat and gloves on a nearby chair, Poppy was only too pleased to have something useful to do. ‘I’d love to. We never had a tree this size at home.’

  ‘I must sit down for a moment,’ Amy said, leaning against the newel post. ‘Don’t look so worried; I just felt a bit dizzy.’

  ‘Can I get you a cup of tea or something?’

  Amy sank down on the nearest chair and fanned herself vigorously with the cardboard lid off one of the boxes that contained glass baubles. ‘I’m fine, Poppy. I’m just excited, that’s all.’

  A shiver of anticipation ran down Poppy’s spine. ‘It’s Guy, isn’t it? He’s coming home?’

  ‘Yes, he’ll be home for Christmas. Isn’t that absolutely wonderful?’

  ‘Spiffing. I can’t wait to see him in his uniform.’

  ‘Shh.’ Amy put her finger to her lips. ‘No one knows that he’s enlisted in the RAF but us, Poppy. It’s going to come as an awful shock to Mr and Mrs Carroll when they find out that he’s left medical school. It’s our secret until Guy sees fit to tell them.’

  ‘I won’t tell a soul,’ Poppy said, touching the glass heart which was now her talisman against all evils. ‘When will he be here?’

  ‘On Sunday; Christmas Eve,’ Amy said happily. ‘This is going to be the best Christmas ever.’ She paused as she was about to hang a large red ball on the tree. ‘I’m so sorry, Poppy. What an idiot I am. I’d quite forgotten that this will be your first Christmas away from home.’

  ‘That’s okay. I was upset at first when Mum told me I was to stay on here, but at least I know they’re safe and well at home.’ Poppy curled her fingers around the glass pendant that hung around her neck. ‘Mum thinks the war will be over soon.’

  ‘Let’s hope so, Poppy. I sincerely hope she’s right.’

  The house seemed to burst into life on Christmas Eve, and even Violet seemed less surly than usual when she slapped Poppy’s breakfast tray down on the day nursery table. ‘I’m off as soon as I’ve cleared the dining room, so you won’t get waited on hand and foot until Wednesday when I’m back on duty. You’ll have to look after yourself for once, Popeye.’

  ‘I’d be quite happy to fetch my tray from the kitchen,’ Poppy said warily. ‘It wasn’t my idea to eat on my own up here.’

  Violet shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘But you’re one of them now. Look at you, all dolled up in them nice clothes Miss Amy bought for you. I wish I had a fairy godmother to spoil me like that.’

  ‘She’s very kind,’ Poppy said quietly. ‘I n
ever asked for any of this.’

  ‘No, but you got it anyway. I wish I’d been evacuated from bloody Barton Lacey and sent somewhere glamorous like Hollywood. I’d love to be in pictures; maybe I will one day.’ She whisked out of the room without giving Poppy a chance to reply, although she had given up sparring with Violet long ago. She found it easier to ignore the silly nickname and her constant sniping.

  When she had finished her bowl of porridge laced with brown sugar and cream, and eaten two slices of toast covered in Mrs Toon’s homemade strawberry jam, Poppy decided to take the tray back to the kitchen and save Violet’s legs. In any case, she had purchased small presents in Woolworth’s for the servants below stairs with the half-crown that Amy had slipped into her hand telling her to spend it on herself.

  The aroma of boiling ham and hot mince pies floated up the back stairs as Poppy made her way to the kitchen. The fierce heat hit her like a slap in the face as she pushed the door open with the toe of her shoe. Mrs Toon was up to her elbows in bread dough while Nancy, who had been taken on to help in the kitchens during the Christmas festivities, was stirring something in a pot on the stove and Olive was busily polishing silver cutlery and placing it on a tray. Violet clattered in from the scullery carrying a tray laden with clean plates. ‘I never meant you had to start today, Popeye,’ she muttered.

  Mrs Toon stopped kneading the dough. ‘What’s going on, Violet?’

  ‘I didn’t tell her she had to bring the tray down, honest, Cook.’

  Mrs Toon wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her floury hand, leaving streaks of white on her flushed skin. ‘We’re a bit busy as you can see, miss.’

  ‘I haven’t come to disturb you,’ Poppy said, looking around for a clear space in which to place the tray, but all the work surfaces seemed to be covered with plates of food and baskets of vegetables waiting to be peeled. ‘I brought you a small present each,’ she added shyly.

  ‘That was kind, miss.’ Mrs Toon nodded to Violet. ‘Take the tray from Miss Poppy and put it in the scullery.’