The Stanford Lasses

by Glenice Crossland

  He knelt on the ground, folded the sheet into four and edged it across his back, with the fold on top of his head, then straightened up beneath the weight and climbed laboriously up the ladder rung by rung. The smoke choked him, causing him to cough and splutter, but he climbed steadily. When he was high enough, he bent across the stacked hay, allowing the sodden sheet to slither over his head. He tugged it forward and his stomach lurched as the ladder slipped and steadied again. The sheet was flat over the hay; all he had to do now was unfold it. He climbed higher, until he could reach, and leaned over, lifting and throwing at the same time, smothering the burning hay. He crawled across the canvas, pressing, damping down the smouldering mass, ignoring the steam rising towards his face, scalding his cheeks and hands. He could do no more. He didn’t know if the fire was out, and was too exhausted to find out. Then, suddenly, the bales beneath the sheet collapsed under him, and he fell. He could vaguely hear Shep barking desperately to be let out, but then a searing pain caused everything to fade as he lost consciousness and lay still on the ground.

  Martha was uneasy, even before they reached the yard. She knew Sam would have released the dog from the confines of the house to silence his barking. ‘I don’t know what’s up with Sam,’ she said. ‘Either he’s going deaf in his old age or he’s fallen asleep.’

  ‘Perhaps he decided not to stay tonight after all,’ Ruth suggested.

  ‘No.’ Jack hurriedly unlocked the kitchen door. ‘He told me he’d keep an eye on the place. He’d never go back on his word.’

  The dog almost knocked the children over, but instead of greeting them excitedly and wagging his tail he charged across the yard, yelping as he reached the almost lifeless body of his old friend. Jack followed at a run with the others behind him. ‘Oh, my God.’

  The smoke was still rising from the damp hay littering the floor. There amongst it all lay Sam, his leg twisted beneath him. Jack carried the man into the kitchen and upstairs, where Martha insisted on his being put to bed in her room. ‘I’ll manage in with our Sadie,’ she stated as Jack hurried off to fetch the doctor, vowing as he went to have a phone installed. It was ridiculous not to have one, out here at the back of beyond. Why, someone could be dead by the time a doctor could be contacted. Aye, it was time he came up to date and arranged for electricity too. After all they could afford it, and Ruth deserved it – in fact nothing was too good for his wife and his new family.

  Sam had regained consciousness by the time he was put to bed, but in great pain, from what Martha diagnosed as a broken leg. Driving off in the wagon, Jack tried to fathom out how the fire could possibly have started. Sam would probably be able to enlighten them after recovering from the shock, but Jack remained mystified. Fortunately the doctor was at home and followed Jack back to the farm, where he dressed the patient’s scalded hands and face and disagreed with Martha’s diagnosis.

  ‘A badly sprained ankle and a torn muscle. I’ll be damned if I can understand why a man of your age should be prancing about in a hayloft at this time of night.’ Then he added with a chuckle, ‘You didn’t have a woman up there, did you, Sam?’

  Sam glared at the doctor. ‘The bloody place was on fire. That’s what I wor doing up theer, putting the bloody thing out.’ He glanced at Martha’s worried face. ‘I did manage to put it out, didn’t I, lass?’

  ‘Aye, you put it out, Sam, but how did it start, that’s what we’d like to know.’

  ‘Deliberately, that’s how. And if I’d of been a minute sooner ’e’d ’ave ’ad the pichfork up ’is arse.’

  Dr Swinbourne frowned. ‘You mean someone torched the barn on purpose? You saw him?’

  ‘Aye, well no, I didn’t see ’im do it, but I saw ’im rushing out of’t yard. I expect ’e was surprised to find anybody ’ere.’ The old man shivered. ‘Eeh, Martha, lass, I dread to think what’d ’ave ’appened if Shep ’adn’t barked. The whole place could ’ave been up in flames.’

  ‘Now, don’t go disturbing yerself, Sam,’ the doctor advised. ‘You’ve had enough upset for one night. You did exceptionally well, especially for a man of your age. But it’s a serious accusation. If someone did commit arson then I advise you to call the police.’

  Ruth was standing, white and anxious, by the door. ‘Why would someone want to do such a dreadful thing? Children I could understand, but a grown man! Didn’t you notice anything about him, Sam? I mean, was he fat or thin? How old would you say he was?’

  ‘Fat, and definitely not young. Waddling, rather than running. I’d ’ave caught ’im if I ’adn’t ’ad the fire to deal with.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you did, deal with the fire I mean. Many a person would have panicked.’

  The doctor was packing his bag. ‘I’ll leave you a letter. Just in case, I’d like you to have an X-ray. To be on the safe side. Will someone be able to take him?’ He glanced at Ruth.

  ‘Yes. Oh, yes, we’ll see to it.’

  ‘In the meantime, a couple of aspirins won’t go amiss.’

  ‘Aye.’ Martha was already fussing with the bedclothes. ‘Don’t you worry, doctor, I’ll take good care of ’im.’

  Jack saw the doctor out into the yard. ‘I should keep an eye on him, Mr Dolan, for the shock. It could be a day or two before it affects him. Call me if you’re worried.’

  ‘Aye, thanks, I will. And thanks for coming so prompt like.’

  ‘The least I could do, considering the man’s never called me out before. In all my years in Cottenly I’ve never had to treat Sam Robins.’ He chuckled. ‘Must be a healthy occupation, farming.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Jack frowned. ‘It’s a rum job though, doctor. The fire, I mean. Why would anyone do such a thing?’

  ‘God only knows. Spite? Jealousy? I’ve come across some queer folk in my time, liable to do anything. Still, I’d keep my wits about me, if I were you. There’s a lot at stake with the farm.’

  ‘It’s the family I’m worried about,’ Jack said. ‘They mean more to me than any farm.’

  The doctor started up the car, with a great crashing of the gears and a few curses. He remembered the place Ruth Wray had lived in before the death of that brute of a husband and was thankful that the lass had found herself a good man like Jack Dolan. ‘Yes, I’m sure they do.’ Then he bade Jack goodnight.

  ‘Goodnight to you too, doctor.’ Jack walked slowly to the Dutch barn. ‘Oh, God.’ He could see the whole place burning away in his mind’s eye, and old Sam lying dead amongst the carnage. He would call the police first thing in the morning.

  Sophie Hancock looked at the shoes her husband had thrown on the hearthrug the previous night. She took them to the kitchen, got out the shoe polish and brushes and attempted to clean them. Then she realised the mud would have to be scraped off before the blacking could be applied. Where the devil had the man been to get them in such a state? Never at a board meeting. Nor did she think he had been to his club. More than a couple of drinks and his snores could be heard through the wall and even downstairs. No, he definitely hadn’t been to his club. She brushed at the soft black leather, wondering why on earth she kept on doing his dirty work. Pride, probably. Though there was no semblance of love left in their marriage, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being able to fault her housekeeping. Instead, she kept his wardrobe in perfect order. Immaculate white shirts, pressed trousers and clean undergarments daily. In fact, to the eyes of the world, Sophie was the perfect housekeeper, and indeed the perfect wife. And so she would have been had it not been for the man’s infidelity. And now it had begun again, despite his pleadings and denials of the past year.

  She dumped the toast on the table, poured the tea just as he entered the room and walked out without saying one word. If he was up to his philanderings again she would no doubt hear about it sooner or later, and this time he would lose not only his bedmate but his housekeeper too. Sophie Hancock had suffered enough humiliation and had made up her mind that next time she would leave him. To hell with keeping up appearances; she had h
ad enough.

  Had Sophie but known it, her husband had gained no satisfaction from his previous evening’s activities. In fact he was regretting approaching the Dolans’ place at all, particularly as he was worried that the old man had caught a glimpse of his face. Not that the man knew him personally, but the problem was that being a public figure Hubert Hancock was frequently photographed for the press, especially the local Express, which almost everybody in the area read at some time. What the devil had the man been doing anyway, hiding away in the outbuildings in the dark? He might have given him a heart attack. He held his head between his hands. He hadn’t slept at all, listening for a sign that the fire brigade had been called out. Now he had the devil of a headache and would no doubt spend all day waiting for the police to turn up. He smiled wryly. All he had to do was to deny any knowledge of a fire. No one would argue with the departmental manager, not if they had any sense. He was a powerful man and almost every family in Cottenly had someone in his employ. Well, perhaps not so much now with the war on, but even the men away fighting would need jobs to return to after the war.

  He cheered up, ate the deliberately burned toast and prepared for another day. He was disappointed that taking revenge on Ruth Wray had brought him so little satisfaction, but there was always another time. He set off for the office, without a word from his wife, and wondered how long she would be prepared to keep up this Sent to Coventry business. She would stall of it soon, he was certain of it.

  Thanks to Sam, the damage to the barn turned out to be less than at first thought. It was the old man who had suffered the most and every step was agonising. The X-rays proved the doctor’s diagnosis correct: no broken bones but a lot of internal bruising as well as a torn muscle and sprained ankle. Sam was warned to expect a lot of pain. ‘Keep the ankle moving and rest the thigh,’ he was told.

  ‘Bloody silly fool,’ Sam commented as Jack helped him into the taxi to bring him home. ‘What am I supposed to do? Leave me leg at ’ome and tek me ankle wi’ me?’

  Jack laughed, despite his anxiety. ‘Just keep turning yer ankle, Sam. It’s back to bed for you when we get home, for a day or two at least, until the bruises come out.’ Jack was thinking about the shock more than the injuries, but Sam seemed to have taken things in his stride.

  Martha was ready with the comfrey when they got back. ‘Nothing better than comfrey for sprains, according to young Olive.’ She then bound a wet crêpe bandage round the swollen ankle.

  ‘She’s turning out to be worse than Old Mother with her concoctions,’ Ruth answered, but her mind was far away. If someone was out to destroy the property, she wondered if her children were safe. She had made up her mind to fetch the twins home from school rather than let them make the journey through the wood on their own. Frankie had protested and made her promise not to wait outside the playground. ‘People’ll think we’re sissies, won’t they, Sadie?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sadie agreed, ‘and they’ll laugh at us.’

  ‘Like they laugh at Michael Dandridge,’ Frankie grumbled. ‘He’s a sissy.’

  ‘That’s not fair. You shouldn’t call people names. Besides, there’s no such thing as a sissy.’

  ‘Yes, there is. It’s the same as a lass-lad.’

  ‘Well, don’t you call him names, he can’t help the way he is and you’ll only upset him. You just be kind to him.’ Ruth couldn’t argue about Michael; he had drawn her attention with his immaculate appearance and the way he played in the girls’ yard and shunned the boys. She had also noticed how happy he had seemed when dressed as Angel Gabriel in the nativity play. Ruth had wondered at the teacher’s wisdom at casting the boy in a role that called for a girl’s nightdress and a halo. Surely she must know how his classmates would tease him.

  ‘Well,’ Frankie compromised, ‘just wait at the edge of the wood where nobody can see you.’

  Ruth had agreed but she still couldn’t help worrying, despite the fact that Sergeant Reynolds did not consider the incident to be of a serious nature.

  ‘A tramp perhaps, resting in the warm barn, probably having a smoke and then dropping his cigarette end accidentally. An isolated incident in my opinion.’ Sam had pointed out that the man hadn’t looked like a tramp, and if he was one he was a very well-dressed one with plenty of meat on his bones.

  The sergeant hadn’t seemed unduly worried. After all, old Sam was knocking on in years and no doubt his eyes weren’t all they should be. Jack had agreed, after the sergeant left, that there was very little evidence to prove it had been done deliberately and, in an effort to relieve his wife, said they should all try to forget about the fire.

  ‘Forget?’ Martha Dolan stared at her son. ‘How can we forget, with poor Sam looking like he’s been run over by a tramcar?’

  ‘I know, I know, and if I could lay my hands on whoever did it, they would end up in exactly the same state as Sam. But I can’t, and what I’m saying is, what can’t be altered is best put behind us.’

  ‘Jack’s right, Ma,’ Ruth conceded. ‘All we can do is look after Sam and get him better.’ But her words belied her feelings and she kept a watchful eye on Margaret, making sure she stayed within sight of the house, and that Shep was kept out in the yard as her bodyguard.

  Billy was the only one for whom the upheaval had proved a blessing. He had stayed out longer than he was permitted, carried away by the banter and camaraderie of the young crowd. They had hung around eating a bag of chips and peas, with a liberal helping of fish bits on. But it was Joan Sanderson who had caused him to lose all track of time. He thought she was the prettiest thing he had ever set eyes on, apart from Olive, of course, and Olive didn’t count any more. Besides, she seemed old all of a sudden, and serious. Not like Joan, who was always laughing and had a dimple on one side of her mouth, which he couldn’t resist staring at. And she didn’t mind him putting his arm round her waist, and last night outside the chip shop she had kissed him for the first time, on the lips too. Afterwards she had let him walk with her as far as the end of her street. That was why by the time he set off for home he had already been half an hour late. And although Billy knew every tree root, every protruding rock and every dip in the path where the stream trickled down to the river, it had still taken him a while to make his way home in the darkness of the wood, and even though his mother was lenient when it came to his freedom he was still expected to be in on time to prevent her worrying. So he had been prepared for at least a telling off when he arrived at the farm. Instead, no one had even noticed he was missing. He had been able to sidle in and upstairs unnoticed and into bed, where he could think and later dream about his first sweetheart, the delectable, blue-eyed Joan Sanderson. Billy was sorry for Sam, but couldn’t help being thankful, all the same.

  Chapter Nine

  The night of the benefit concert had also proved an eventful one for Olive. It was the night Tom Baraclough had told her of his love for her. After the costumes had been packed away, the scenery dismantled and the chairs stacked in piles at one end of the hall, he had taken her in his arms and kissed her, with the pent-up emotion of many weeks. Olive had responded by pressing herself close and winding her arms round Tom’s neck, overwhelmed by unfamiliar sensations and a warm glow of elation. Then it had all been spoiled when Tom had told her he would be leaving in a few days to join the army.

  ‘Will you wait for me, Olive?’ he had asked, gazing deeply into her large brown eyes, saddened to see the tears welling there.

  ‘Oh, Tom! Of course I’ll wait, but I’m going to miss you so much.’

  ‘Me too, but it won’t be for long. I’ll be back.’

  ‘You will write, won’t you?’ Olive pleaded.

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’ll write every day.’

  ‘Only’ – Olive searched for the right words – ‘only my dad wrote regularly at first, and now we haven’t heard anything for going on three months.’

  Tom frowned at her words, knowing something must be wrong but not wishing to worry her. ‘Oh, the letters’ll hav
e been mislaid. I’ve heard how unreliable the mails are.’

  ‘Really? You think he’ll be safe then?’

  ‘Safe as houses. You’d have heard otherwise.’

  Olive smiled, her beautiful, radiant smile, then her face clouded again. ‘Oh, Tom, I do love you. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.’

  ‘Me too, but like I said, it won’t be long before the war’s over. Then we’ll all be home again, your dad as well.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting.’ Olive was silenced by Tom’s lips on hers.

  Tom wondered if he was being fair: she was so young and he might be gone a long time. But Olive had no doubts at all. No matter how long Tom was away, she would wait. She loved him, and that was that. She would carry on with her work for the war effort, and with Tom gone, she would experiment with her beauty products. The time would pass swiftly if she kept herself occupied. In no time at all, Tom would be back holding her close, but all the same she couldn’t help worrying about what the war was doing to her world. First of all her father, and soon to go, Tom, and if it went on much longer, Harry would be next. Olive thought of how her mother had changed over the past few weeks. She had sunk into a despondency even worse than when her father first went away. Not only was she neglecting the house, but she was letting her appearance go too. She no longer seemed to care about her hair and wore the same cardigan and pinafore for days on end. Olive and Bessie were doing their utmost to lift her out of her depression, and even little Mary was rallying round and helping with the household chores. Lizzie, however, seemed to spend all her days slumped on a kitchen chair, gazing into the fire. Little Ernest Edward no longer tried to persuade his mother to take him to the pictures or up to the farm; he knew it would be a waste of time. Jimmy wasn’t helping matters, either, by becoming involved in one escapade after the other. He was a constant worry to the family.

  Olive’s anxiety had continued long into the night after the concert, but it was mixed with another, unfamiliar, feeling, a feeling of belonging, and knowing Tom Baraclough felt the same. When Tom held her, it was as though their two bodies melded into one, fused together by a strange, warm longing, and even now, when they were apart, her body was still charged by it. Olive knew that even if he were sent to the other side of the world, the feeling of belonging to Tom Baraclough would stay with her until the day he returned.