Rose said, ‘I hope you don’t think I’m interfering but I’m concerned about Irma.’
‘Oh?’ A flash of curiosity, then as she noticed the interested group of children gathering about her Madge shooed them all away, closing the door on their cheeky faces. ‘Drive me mad, they do. So, what’s up with Irma?’
‘I think she gets very lonely living out in the forest, all on her own.’
‘She isn’t on her own.’
‘Well, I mean with Adam working all day on the farm, and the girls out in the forest, it isn’t easy for her.’
The eyes narrowed, turning into soft black raisins in the folds of doughy flesh. ‘So what are you saying?’
Rose smiled her angelic smile. ‘It’s none of my business, of course, but I know how much she loves children and I wondered if - well - if you don’t mind my saying so, you look in need of a helping hand here, with all your brood. Could she perhaps work in the shop? It would do her so much good to get out of that cottage a bit more.’
Madge’s face cleared. ‘Oh aye, she was always one for gadding was Irma. In her day, that is.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh aye. Allus enjoyed a good time, her and that lovely husband of hers. He died far too soon, poor man. Losing him so sudden made her rely too much on young Adam. Always a mistake. She’s a bitter woman now. Eeh, but you’re right, I'd be glad of a bit more help round here, with this lot round me feet all day. Tell her to call in any time and we’ll fix it up.’
Rose beamed. ‘Thanks, that’d be lovely. I’m sure it would do her a power of good.’
As she made for the door Madge stopped her, a clump of fat fingers on her arm. ‘How come she didn’t ask me herself? We’ve been friends for years.’
Caught off guard Rose floundered for a moment. She’d got what she came for, somewhere to send Irma for a good part of each day in order to leave the field clear for herself and Adam to get better aquainted. The next step was to oust the old battle-axe out of the cottage altogether. She knew Adam wouldn’t find it easy to persuade his mother to leave. Rose believed that getting Madge on her side might help. But how to achieve that? Rose decided that honesty was the best policy in this instance. She allowed a small smile to curl the corners of her lovely mouth, and glanced shyly at Madge from beneath her lashes. ‘The truth is, Adam and me, we’re walking out.’
Madge’s plump face broke into a wreath of smiles. ‘So that’s the way the land lies. You don’t want Irma to queer your pitch.’
Rose laughed. ‘Something of the sort.’
A plump fist thumped her in the shoulder. ‘By heck. You should’ve said. Send her round. I’ll keep her out of your hair. Everyone deserves a bit of fun in this bloomin’ war,’ and before she could launch into her latest concerns over her son, Rose thanked her, made her excuses and fled.
Adam was pleased, if a little nonplussed, by how well Gracie took the news that he was retracting his proposal. She didn’t seem in the least surprised, even confessed that she’d guessed there was something between him and Rose, and wished them both every happiness. That made him feel better, as it eased his sense of guilt.
‘You’ll come to the wedding then?’
Gracie laughed. ‘That’s quick. Is it all arranged?’
‘It will be, just as soon as I’ve spoken to the vicar. There’s no reason to wait, not with the war on, and me already set up here.’
‘Well, I’m delighted for you both, really I am,’ and she kissed his cheek. Just a friendly peck but it confirmed to Adam that he’d made the right decision. He felt no surge of excitement with Gracie as he did for Rose.
‘Thanks for being so understanding.’ In fact, the whole interview had gone much easier than he’d hoped. His mother was another matter.
‘You’ve what?’ Irma gazed upon her son as if he’d suddenly grown two heads. ‘You’ve asked that little madam to be your wife instead of lovely Gracie? Have you lost your reason? She’ll run rings round you, great gormless lump that you are.’
‘It’s no good you talking like that, Mam. I love her.’
‘Love!’ Irma said the word on a loud snort. ‘Remember Tim Benson, poor man. He thought himself in love with that Dora what came over from Barrow. Right piece of fancy goods she was. Ruined his life, she did.’
‘Oh, Mam, don’t start. I’m not Tim Benson, and Rose isn’t Dora, or a ‘piece of fancy goods’. She’s not what you think. She’s not a city girl at all. She used to grow tomatoes and cucumbers, all sorts of vegetables on a big estate in Cornwall. Even fruit for her own jam. She’ll settle on the farm grand, I know she will. Anyroad, like it or not, we’re getting wed, and there’s an end of the matter.’
‘Well!’ said Irma. ‘Well, I never did.’ It was the first time, the only time in her recollection, that he’d ever defied her. She pursed her crimson mouth to show her disapproval, but when that failed to move him, wagged an admonishing finger. ‘Don’t come crying to me when it all goes wrong. You’ll rue the day, m’lad. See if you don’t. You’ll rue the day you ever clapped eyes on that little hussy.’
‘Don’t call her that!’ Adam’s patience snapped, his tone one which brooked no argument. ‘I’ll not hear another word against her. She’s to be my wife, and I’ll have her treated with proper respect. If you upset her, you upset me, remember that, Mam.’
Irma’s eyes filled with a rush of quickly manufactured tears as she realised she’d overstepped an invisible mark. ‘Eeh, I’m sorry love. I'd not fall out with you, not for the world. You’re me only son, after all. All right, I’ll admit it, she’s not what I would’ve chosen for you but if she’s who you want, I’ll not stand in your way, lad. I want you to be happy.’
‘We will be happy. I just don’t want any trouble, that’s all.’
‘There won’t be. I promise.’
Adam nodded, appeased by what he saw as contrition. ‘And I shall expect you at the wedding. We both will.’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Irma dryly remarked.
He felt satisfied that he’d made his point; really quite pleased he’d dealt with an emotionally tricky situation so well. In his heart Adam knew that without the prospect of Rose’s love to look forward to, it would have been quite beyond his ken to stand up to his mother in this way. Whistling softly to himself, he went happily off to see the vicar, quite forgetting to mention that his new bride expected his mother to move out.
Gracie was heartily relieved to be free of the responsibility of Irma’s match-making, as well as Adam’s painfully awkward courtship, but she felt desperate to see Karl. The PoWs hadn’t worked with them for a week or two and she was in an agony of frustration. Her mind was in a turmoil of emotion, filled with questions, busily devising persuasive arguments against why he must not get involved in any reckless escape plan. She had to make him see that waiting patiently for the war to end was their only hope. If only they could have the chance to talk, like other couples do. How simple life would be. But then if they were like ordinary couples they wouldn’t have this problem.
Whenever she and Lou wheeled their bicycles along the lane to post their letters, Gracie would be constantly scanning the prisoners on their exercise drill, searching for a glimpse of his familiar figure. She was so fearful that Karl might simply have gone, without even a goodbye.
At last he came, with Erich beside him as usual. The pair simply turned up One day, with their guard, and got on with their work. Gracie struggled not to reveal the rush of pleasure that lit up her face at sight of him, yet felt oddly conspicuous, as if people must be watching her. She was almost sure she saw Rose glance curiously at her and make some remark to Lena but no, it was probably only her fraught imagination.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him and almost didn’t care if they did notice. A part of her wanted the world to know of their love, as if in some way it might protect him. Desperate to snatch a few moments alone with Karl she was thwarted by Alf, who kept the two men working with him on the felling. There w
as no opportunity for a single moment alone. Only once, when Gracie was handing out cheese sandwiches, did she risk a comment, as bland and inconspicuous as she could make it since the others were sitting close by and could easily hear.
‘I was in a terrible rush this morning and chose boring old cheese yet again. Always a mistake to take the easy option. One should never make decisions in a hurry, don’t you agree?’ Gracie stared hard at him as she held out the sandwich, willing him to understand that she wasn’t talking about choosing her lunch.
He glanced up at her, the love that shone from his eyes carefully hooded by half drawn lids. He grunted something noncommittal as he politely took the sandwich from her, though she saw he’d brought his favourite black bread with him, which his mother sent him from home. ‘Dankerschon.’
Only once after that did he glance across in her direction, his eyes telling her to have faith and courage, to believe in his love. Blinded by a sudden rush of tears, Gracie got the crosscut saw caught in a knot on the wood and wrenched at it with impatience. Blood spurted and she looked blankly at her hand, stunned by the sight of an open wound where the blade had cut deep.
‘Stupid girl. You shouldn’t be using that saw on yer own.’ As if it wasn’t bad enough that Alf had again spotted her behaving carelessly, Lou insisted she get on her bike right away, and head straight for the doctor’s surgery.
‘It might need stitches. You can’t take any chances. That cut looks deep.’
She tried to protest but it was no use. Gracie was forced to leave and the next day was put on to paperwork until the wound healed a little. She gave up all hope of ever seeing Karl again.
Though the squad worked well together on the surface, Lou could sense a deep river of gloom and unease running beneath. People were growing short tempered; making mistakes and growing careless. Gracie was either a bag of nerves or fell into long silences, not at all her usual placid self. As for Rose, the bright and cheerful girl who’d once seemed so keen to be a part of their team tended to burst into tears at the slightest provocation. Tess and Lena spent far too much time sitting playing cards in their room above the Eagle’s Head, and even Jeannie had been a bit below par in recent weeks, clearly affected by the general mood of depression all round.
It was this evidence of low morale which brought Lou out of her own doldrums. Here she was, a newly promoted forewoman and her team was falling apart before her eyes. What good would that do? Either for themselves or for poor Gordon, wherever he was. There was nothing she could do about her husband, except wait and hope for the best. But there was something she could do about her friends.
The autumn days were golden with sunshine, warm and sweetly scented with woodland bonfires although they were growing ever shorter and soon another winter would be upon them. Lou decided that a change of scene might be the very thing to buck everyone up, before it was too late. She didn’t announce her decision until she’d made all the necessary arrangements.
She’d planned it all. Fourteen days working on a logging project up at Loweswater. They’d sleep in an old army tent, cook on an open fire, swim in the lake, have a lovely time in the back of beyond, she told them. ‘It’ll be just like old times. Porridge for breakfast, sardines or cheese sarnies for dinner, and sweaty socks put out to air each night. But no singing in the morning, please. A dawn chorus really gets on my wick.’
Nobody cheered or smiled, or welcomed the proposal. And no one expected to have the energy to sing, or were in the least fooled by Lou’s counterfeit brightness even as they admired her courage and agreed to give it a try.
Only Gracie openly objected to the idea of two weeks away and suggested that perhaps one week would be sufficient.
Lou said, ‘Fourteen days. That’s the agreement. We’ll still be working, don’t forget. It’s not entirely a holiday,’ and that was an end of the matter.
Chapter Twenty-Two
They drove out on the coast road. To the right rose the folds of the Lakeland hills, climbing ever higher to frost bleached mountains dappled by purple heather. To the left lay lush green pastures that swept down to the slate grey Irish Sea. They passed through mining villages, rows of stone cottages stoutly facing the open fells and the harsh winds that blew across them. Then the lorry rattled on over an empty landscape broken only by the solid dark shapes of Herdwick sheep with the blaze of white on their regal heads.
They parked up the lorry by the side of the lake and only then realised they would have to transport everything across by boat and as they didn’t have one of those, would be forced to trek all the way round, following the woodland path. There was a strong scent of resin in the air, smoky blue hills in the distance, the rocks and roots underfoot were slippy with moss. The sighing of the wind through the trees and the gentle chuckle of waves lapping on the shingle made Gracie shiver, the sense of loneliness seeming suddenly acute, as if they were balanced on the very edge of the world.
Would this be how it would feel without Karl, without the hope of ever seeing him again? This aching emptiness, as if a part of her were gone forever? She shook the notion away. Being morbid wouldn’t help one bit.
In the smooth flatlands at the foot of the lake lay a white walled building which they learned later to be Watergate Farm. It was here, each morning, where they would come to collect milk and even the occasional egg, if they were lucky and the farmer’s wife generous.
They pitched their tent in Holme Wood, far enough away from the water’s edge to avoid flooding, well away from the logging chute, yet safely within the shelter of Carling Knot which rose up behind the woods like a dark knob on the landscape. Lou announced that each morning they would climb or race each other up this hump of a hill, for exercise.
‘Not every morning?’ Lena said, eyes widening in dismay.
‘No, no, of course not.’ Lou agreed. ‘Not every morning. Some days we’ll swim in the lake, or go up that one instead,’ indicating Darling Fell, the hill on the opposite shore, below which they’d parked their lorry.
The beauty of the spot alone should help to heal their wounds, Lou thought, as she said her usual prayers for Gordon’s safety that night, tucked deep inside her sleeping bag. She prayed too, that the silence and peace of this place would do the same favour for her.
In a way it did feel as if they were raw recruits again, back in Cornwall. They half expected Matron to storm in at any moment and shout “stand by your beds” Except that this was worse.
Here, there was no morning queue for the wash basins because there weren’t even any bathrooms. Tess and Jeannie dug a latrine, while Lena and Gracie filled water buckets, at least on that first morning. For lighting they had a hurricane lamp, and there was neither table nor chairs, nothing more than an old wooden bench upon which three people could sit, at a squeeze. They took it in turns. There were no bunk beds, only blankets pinned together to use as sleeping bags on the hard ground. Gracie had already learned to scoop out a hollow in the compacted earth in order to make it more comfortable, but then she’d been so tired by nightfall she could have slept on a washing line. The autumn dawn had a sharpness to it and she’d woken early to lie worrying about Karl and the proposed escape plan.
How could he even consider helping Erich? Why take the risk? Fear swelled in her like an unstoppable growth, destroying the last fragile traces of her happiness. She felt as if she must fight to claw her way up from some dark place where she’d really rather stay with her head under a pillow. It would be warm and safe, and she’d wait there until the war was over and Karl would be free to love her. In the beginning, the war had seemed like a game. Now she saw only the tendrils of its evil, spreading and poisoning everything in its path. Once she’d been young and thirsty for adventure. Now she felt like an old woman who had lived too long.
Tess’s voice came out of the cold grey dawn. ‘God, this is awful. Why on earth did I give up my nice cushy post driving officers around in classy jeeps for this?’ And since everyone shared her dismay at their living condit
ions, nobody had a reasonable answer to offer.
‘Some holiday,’ Jeannie groaned, burying her head deep beneath the blankets.
Tempers grew ever shorter in the overcrowded sleeping conditions and there was none of the friendly chatter, or the sharing of confidences that they’d enjoyed at the initial training camp. The girls took to avoiding each other, spending more time out in the open although slowly, bit by bit, the chores got done, the camp was set up and a routine established. Flour and oats, tins of spam, powdered egg and sardines were all stowed away safely under a tarpaulin, where hopefully they wouldn’t get nibbled by marauding red squirrels or other wild life. Tess built a fireplace for cooking with a crane to swing over it, upon which she hung a large billy can.
‘Now we can brew a cuppa,’ she proudly announced.
‘Home from home,’ Rose tartly agreed.
‘I think it’s great.’ This, surprisingly enough, from Lena. Everyone froze her with a quelling glare. She was really getting far too agreeable.
Steadfast in her determination to hold everyone together, Lou refused to become embroiled in argument. She pinned up a duty rota, listing who would be responsible for cooking, disinfecting the lats, or cleaning out the tent each day. To her great disappointment, instead of easing relationships, this seemed to create even more ill feeling.
‘You’ve got me on breakfast duty twice in the first week. That’s a bit much, don’t you reckon?’
‘Dinna ask me to light a fire with two matches.’
‘But I thought you were in the Girl Guides?’
‘Aye, but they drummed me out.’
‘How can I tidy this tent if there’s bedding and clothes scattered all over the place? It’s not my responsibility to clean up after other folk.’
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