Gracie's Sin

by Freda Lightfoot

  The memory of her mother standing at the door, delivering warnings of doom at ‘this ridiculous notion to be a Lumber Jack’. Disappointment had been bitter in her tone, showing not the slightest sign of amusement at Gracie’s correction that they were called Lumber Jills, not jacks; an attitude coloured by her lost dreams of the solidly respectable career in teaching which she’d so carefully mapped out for her only daughter.

  Her father’s reaction had been to gaze mournfully at her with an air of wounded reproach, guaranteed to fill Gracie with guilt, saying how he’d hoped she’d join him in the business, how he’d worked hard all his life to ensure that his precious daughter would have a good business to inherit and here she was throwing his generosity back in his face. He’d sent her to her room to ‘examine her conscience’, as if she were still a naughty child needing to be punished for missing Sunday School. She’d stayed there for a week on a diet of bread and water but it had made not the slightest difference. Her mind was made up.

  Though it hurt Gracie deeply that her parents were more concerned with their own, opposing, ambitions for their only daughter than her wishes on the matter, she’d held fast to her resolve. ‘I mean to go. I need to lead my own life.’

  ‘But how will I manage without you?’ Her mother had mourned. ‘You know what he’s like.’ Nodding darkly in the direction of the shop.

  Howell Freeman claimed to be Welsh, though he was born in Chester, and hated the English, including his own wife who hailed from Liverpool. Brenda Freeman, on the other hand, maintained that she’d spent her formative years in the best part of Cheshire and had married beneath her. The animosity between the two had been the blight of Gracie’s young life as each called upon her constantly to take their side, and to act as referee in their frequent arguments. She had never fully understood the cause of their failure to make a success of their marriage. There was perhaps too much of the ascetic in her father, while her mother pined for more money in her purse, pretty jew-jaws and a measure of independence she claimed never to have enjoyed, going straight from the strictures of a sheltered upbringing by her own father to that of a husband. But whatever the reason, Gracie was heartily cheesed off with being the sticking plaster which held the pair together.

  It was seeing the poster of the girl in the smart uniform which had finally made her recognise that it was time to break free; that her parents and their conflicting ambitions were no longer her responsibility. Such decisions are easily made of course. Carrying them out quite another matter. Yet Gracie had held to her resolve; had no intention of looking back, of apologising for her decision, nor showing one iota of regret.

  Now she considered this stranger, whom she liked instinctively, laughing as she vociferously complained about the vicious grip of the new hat as she rubbed the sweat from her brow, making her chestnut brown hair tumble down all anyhow about her flushed face. It was no doubt against the rules to remove the offending article while in uniform but Gracie sensed in this new acquaintance a healthy disregard for authority. Gracie’s own hat felt stuck fast to her head, as if she would never have the courage to take it off without permission. Yet this would be an inaccurate assessment of her own personality, for wasn’t she a rebel too, at heart, despite what she herself recognised as a too thin, insipid, prim and proper veneer.

  ‘I feel I’ve been travelling for days. God knows how I’ve managed to get here at all, the number of changes I’ve had to make. I’m worn out before I even begin.’

  Lou didn’t like to say that she was worn out too, because it was for an entirely different reason.

  ‘So what now?’ Both girls looked about them at the empty countryside, the gentle roll of green hills and what appeared to be acre upon acre of thick woodland. ‘If this is Bodmin I don’t reckon much to the town, do you? They don’t even have a Woolworth's. I suppose we have got off at the right place?’

  ‘I think the town is some distance off. Perhaps we could ask the station master, just to check.’

  Barely lifting his nose from his pint mug of tea he bluntly told them that they could catch a train to Bodmin Central if they’d a mind to go into town, otherwise they could walk to the camp, assuming they knew where it was. Having delivered this unhelpful information, he buried his nose once more in the mug and slurped loud and long on the thick brown liquid that comprised his afternoon tipple.

  The two girls returned to the empty yard. Here they settled themselves to wait with what patience they could muster, on a low stone wall. The wait was long and dull and boring. One hour passed by, then another. Halfway through the third a large grey cloud blotted out the sun and a thin rain started, cloaking the woods in a pale mist. They huddled together for warmth.

  ‘D’you reckon we should set out to look for this camp?’ Lou enquired.

  ‘And risk getting lost?’

  ‘You’re right. Better to stay put.’

  Their discomfort increased as the rain grew more persistent but they kept on talking, keeping their spirits up, using the time to glean a good deal of information about each other. They discovered that for all they had little, if anything, in common, there was an immediate bond between them.

  At eighteen, Gracie was, in fact, almost five years younger than Lou, and single, though she loved the tale of Lou’s register office wedding and the reception afterwards with three drunken sailors at the fish bar on the Barbican. Lou had been brought up in a mill town in a large, noisy family while Gracie, as an only child, had lived behind her parent’s village shop deep in the countryside. Lou claimed to be untidy, bossy, and cack-handed to the point of being all fingers and thumbs. Gracie admitted to liking things to be tidy and organised, with a fondness for any sort of craft, even needlework.

  ‘You could happen darn my stockings then. They’re allus full of bobbie’s winders. That means holes, if you need the translation.’

  ‘Only if you’ll help carry my kit bag.’

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  They beamed at each other, well suited.

  They were at least alike on two things: an eagerness to do their bit for the war effort, and to have fun and enjoy life while they could. Dusk had begun to fall and it wasn’t so easy now to pick out the thread of road, or the shape of the woods and hills beyond.

  ‘Looks like we might be spending our first night camped out in the station yard,’ Lou drily remarked, and was instantly interrupted by the roar and cough of a lorry’s engine, the grinding of gears and a loud tooting of a horn. It lurched to a stop in a huge puddle, spraying them both with muddy water. A freckled, oil-streaked face appeared through the driver’s window, looking decidedly harassed. ‘Lost the use of your legs then, you two?’

  ‘We didn’t know where to go, and were afraid of causing trouble by getting lost,’ Gracie said, surprising Lou by her spunk at being prepared to speak up. From the look of her, she didn’t appear to be the sort to say boo to a goose.

  The girl frowned. ‘Weren’t you given a map?’

  Both looked at each other in dismay. Were they? Neither could remember. Arrangements had been made so quickly and so much had happened to each in such a short space of time, they couldn’t be entirely sure. This time it was Lou who frantically attempted to disguise their confusion. ‘The station master told us somebody would fetch us, if we’d the patience to wait.’ A slight stretching of the truth and the oil-streaked driver snorted her disbelief, clearly doubting its veracity.

  ‘Bert knows only too well that hell could freeze over before we namby-pamby any new girls here. Well, don’t stand their gawking. We haven’t got all night. Hop aboard.’

  The flat back of the lorry being six foot from the ground, hop was not the word which sprang to mind as the pair struggled to clamber aboard, without losing either their belongings or their balance. They were laughingly assisted by half a dozen other girls who commiserated with Lou and Gracie’s rain-soaked state, though they themselves were well protected in capes and sou’westers. The bedraggled pair landed unceremoniously, flat on
their stomachs, completely winded and all dignity long gone. With nothing to hold on to but the sides of the wagon, and the road being full of pot holes it proved to be a hazardous trip. For the whole of that terrifying, lurching journey, they clung on to each other for dear life, quite certain that at any moment they would roll off the back and be left for dead on the open road, while each of them privately wondered what on earth they had let themselves in for.

  The lorry drove through a miscellany of roads and tracks that led through the dense woodland which fills the valley of the River Fowey, passed over a small humped bridge before finally turning left through a pair of ornate gates by a small square stone lodge with a single smoking chimney. Inside, unseen from the road, a young girl stood at the kitchen window, hands resting in the hot, soapy water. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, leaving a soap bubble caught in a shining black curl as she watched in silent envy. The lorry trundled past, as it did every day, to and fro, backwards and forwards, morning and night full of happy, laughing girls. She had grown accustomed to the sound, yet marvelled that they could still find the energy to sing after a long day working in the woods.

  Rose had once been fond of singing herself. She’d always believed in starting each day with a light heart but that had been before certain individuals had devoted the rest of it to draining that exuberance from her.

  Almost on cue, the sound of squeals and a different sort of laughter came from the living room behind her, followed by the voice of her brother, slurred with drink.

  ‘Come here Gertie, me sweet maid, let me warm ye up. Rose, when you’ve finished, fetch in another load of logs, there’s a good girl.’

  Rose let out a heavy sigh but made no response. She hadn’t sat down for more than a minute since she’d left her bed at six, or was it five this morning. There always seemed something needing to be done, some task to perform, even now, at the end of a day, when she’d thought herself free at last.

  She leaned forward to get a better view of the road but it was quite empty now of the lumbering vehicle. Despite the mud and the rain, the long tiring days felling, the sparse food and probably harsh discipline at times, Rose wished she could be one of them; one of the laughing girls in the truck so that one day it might carry her away from this existence she called a life. She longed for this impossible dream with all her young heart. She envied their freedom, their energy, their ability to laugh at nothing. Most of all, she envied them the warmth of loving companionship.

  Rose couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a friend of her own. She had a vague memory of playing with some children long ago on a beach, so she must have had friends once, mustn’t she? But then, perhaps not. The only one she could truly recall ever having, was her darling mother. Sometimes Rose’s heart ached with the pain of losing her.

  When Eddie had got this job at Clovellan House, she’d thought they’d landed in heaven. It had been the first good thing that had happened to them in over two years, ever since poor papa’s death which had followed on so quickly after Ma’s that Rose had thought the pain would go on for ever. Everything would be better now, she’d thought. Eddie would feel he had a purpose at last, that he was valued, and his temper would improve. Now she knew different. His inexplicable resentment against her had continued to fester, quite beyond her comprehension.

  No matter how hard she tried to please him, however much she assured him of her deep respect and love for him, her darling brother, he seemed determined to hold her responsible for what he perceived to be his parents’ rejection of him. Rose knew it was only because of the deep grief he suffered, but her own helplessness in the face of such misery filled her with sadness And, beautiful as it was, the empty rooms, the formal gardens, even the woods around them, seemed to echo with her loneliness.

  ‘Rose, d’you hear me? We’re bloody freezing in here.’

  ‘Coming.’

  Chapter Two

  The rain had finally stopped as the lorry continued along a private drive through open parkland, thus allowing the girls to catch enticing glimpses of a rambling stone house between a row of elm trees. Granite walls, ghostly pale, stood out against the deepening blue of dusk with rows of hooded windows seeming to glow like jewels. Built around a large forecourt, the house sported battlemented walls, formal gardens, neatly clipped topiary and stone balustrades along its elegant terraces.

  Gracie thought for one delicious moment that they were about to be billeted in a stately home but the lorry turned away from the house and drove on, labouring up a gentle slope with much crashing of gears. By the time it finally drew to a halt it was almost dark and she could see very little but a range of huts, what might have been a large marquee and a queue of girls making their way into it. The whole site appeared to be surrounded by a belt of dark green beech woods. They climbed stiffly down from the lorry, nursing their many bruises, and instantly sank deep into mud.

  ‘Oh great! This is all we need. Do not attempt to carry your kitbag over this, little Titch. I’ll carry both,’ Lou announced, and did so, one on each shoulder.

  Following a supper of Spam, lettuce and tomatoes, they found themselves billeted in corrugated huts, each one accommodating twenty girls in bunk beds. Gracie and Lou chose to share one near the door.

  ‘Might be useful,’ Lou pointed out with a sly wink, opting for the bottom one since she claimed to be less agile than her smaller friend. Gracie guessed that she meant it would be convenient for allowing its occupant to slip easily in and out of the hut, should the need occur.

  They quickly stowed away their gear in the adjoining lockers, then made up their beds with the sheets and blankets provided but, instead of a mattress, found they were expected to sleep on “biscuits”. These were so thin and hard, it was necessary to have two, or even three on top of each other. That first night Gracie hardly slept a wink, as the “biscuits” slipped about, defeating sleep entirely. Then it seemed she’d no sooner managed to get off to sleep when they were woken by the loud clanging of a bell. It was barely six-thirty. Lou leapt out of bed shouting ‘Fire!’ which made the other girls laugh. But the new recruits soon learned that snatching a few extra minutes sleep was unwise as that bell meant action.

  ‘Stand by your beds.’ A stentorian voice rang out, followed by the wheezing figure of Matron. A substantial woman, whose uniform was as severe as her unforgiving face, she rolled, rather than walked into the room. She was so huge, Lou half expected her feet to make imprints in the planked floor.

  Inspection had begun.

  That first morning it was made clear that a somewhat lenient attitude would be taken. Hereafter it would be very different. In future by the time inspection was called, they needed to be up, washed, and dressed in their shorts and PT shirts with beds neatly made and lockers tidy, ready to march outside for physical training the moment it was over.

  ‘Good lord,’ Lou complained. ‘Have we joined the army?’

  ‘Indeed you have,’ came the strident voice once more. ‘The Women’s Land Army, and don’t you forget it!’ Despite the promise of leniency, a few unfortunates were unceremoniously stripped of their coverings and tipped from their bed. A rude awakening to the day.

  Sleepy girls stumbled over each other in their efforts to line up at the wash basins, find the right clothes and make their beds, all apparently at the same time. Once everyone was finally dressed, they were given stringent lessons on folding and stowing away gear, polishing badges and shoes, and how to make proper hospital corners. Lou foolishly asked what these were as she’d never had to do one before and received a brisk lecture in return for her honesty. She was made to strip her bed and remake it, not once, but four times until she had done it to Matron’s complete satisfaction.

  ‘Got it now?’

  Arms and back aching with the effort of her labours, Lou hastily assured her that she had.

  ‘Excuse me, Matron. Could I just have a word?’ Gracie approached the enormous woman, looking rather like a kitten addressing an ele
phant for all her manner was friendly, almost chatty, as if they were two old friends who’d stopped for a gossip over the garden wall. Lou held her breath. What on earth was coming now? ‘Could I just say that these “biscuits”, as you call them, are most dreadfully uncomfortable.’

  ‘Are they indeed?’ Matron’s tone was so freezingly pleasant, Lou could almost see the icicles forming on her breath. ‘I dare say you have a feather bed at home?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ said Gracie, in pleased surprise that Matron should know such a thing. ‘Feather beds are so comfortable, aren’t they?’

  ‘Well you won’t get a feather bed here.’

  ‘No, no, I didn’t expect to.’ Gracie seemed to treat the growling response as some sort of joke and smiled sweetly at Matron, who gazed impassively back. Lou briefly closed her eyes and issued a silent prayer to the Almighty to strike her friend dumb within the next half second. Unfortunately, He must not have heard for Gracie blithely continued, ‘but I do think we should have proper mattresses, else how will we get any rest?’

  There was a collective indrawing of breath. Matron was clearly not a woman to mess with. Lou took a step closer to her friend’s side, as if to offer protection from the retaliation which would surely come, or at least alert Gracie to the dangerous path she trod. Apparently oblivious of the warning, Gracie was off again.

  ‘Oh, and then there’s the matter of the lorry.’