by Ruby Jackson
‘It was super, Mrs Love, the biggest bath I’ve ever seen in my life. And a friend –’ she stressed the word and hesitated for a moment before continuing – ‘a friend gave me a bar of chocolate.’ She looked at the hungry men sitting waiting patiently at the table. ‘It’s big enough for us to have a piece each with our cuppa.’
Mrs Love smiled and looked as if she was about to speak, but Harry spoke first. ‘I thought I saw the postman’s bike. So you’ve got a sweetheart somewhere, young Grace. Happen he’d like you to eat all of it, thinking of him with every delicious morsel. Young Jack here read something the other day about introducing sweet rationing. Being talked about, isn’t it, lad?’
Jack did not answer and it was Esau who broke the silence: ‘Can’t have a bit of her chocolate before I have my tea. Was them venison sausages I saw coming out of the freezer, Jessie? That’ll be a right nice treat and good for us an’ all, my late wife always said. Scotch, she was, an’ that’s where venison comes from. Ever had it afore, lad?’ he asked Jack, but carried on talking without waiting for an answer. ‘His lordship has a place in Scotland. That’ll be where this comes from.’
Mrs Love had been filling plates that she put down in front of each of them. She had served them at dinnertime, too. She did not sit down to eat with them but stayed near the great range, fussing with the fire and the enormous blackened kettle that sat on a hotplate. ‘I do have venison sausages for tomorrow’s dinner, Esau, and, yes, a friend of his lordship brought a box down for the house. Last year’s culling, of course, but they’re better, having been fed on grass all year. They’re like cows and sheep: need a hand from farmers during the winter.’
Perhaps the short lecture on animal husbandry was too much for the hungry workers gathered around the table because, for a time, the scraping of a knife on a plate or an occasional cough were the only sounds that disturbed the silence.
Mrs Love turned to Grace and Jack. ‘Were you thinking it odd that we keep meat in a freezer and yet much of this great estate is still not on the National Grid? We have several generators and, believe you me, the earl is as anxious as anybody to get rid of them. His lordship has offered to house refugees. He – and Lady Alice, naturally – are aware that there are many unused rooms in this magnificent old house. The displaced of Europe will be made welcome, and with freezers, they hope to be able to feed them adequately.’
‘The others not eating with us, Mrs Love?’ Grace’s voice sounded loud in the large room.
‘The others go home at teatime, Grace. Esau eats his main meals here, but you do your own porridge of a morning, don’t you, Esau?’ Mrs Love turned to the older man.
‘I could do my own tea, too. Not so well as you cook, Jessie, but I was learned to make a good barley soup.’
Silence fell again.
At last, when the atmosphere was becoming oppressive, Harry spoke: ‘Saw you in the cornfield today, Grace. Weeding’s a never-ending job.’
Grace smiled. ‘Like ditching.’
‘I like it better than the buses. Good fresh air, no difficult passengers, and young Jack here to explain things; nothin’ this lad don’t know.’
Jack was clearly embarrassed. ‘Don’t know a thing about buses.’
‘Can you drive, Jack?’ Grace had remembered her early-morning conversation with Lady Alice.
Again he seemed ill at ease. Could he be embarrassed by his obvious advantages?
‘Sorry, Jack, I don’t mean to be nosy; it’s just that Lady Alice needs someone to help her drive the milk lorry.’
‘If you’ve all finished eating, pass the plates down to the end of the table. The tea is ready and there’s a box of biscuits. It’s Jacob’s 1940 Assorted but it’s never been opened; two each.’
The question of Jack’s driving ability was shelved. Grace drank her tea and took one digestive biscuit when the tin was passed to her. Mrs Love was correct. Even though the biscuits had been in the box for some time, they were still crisp.
Esau drank two cups of tea and ate his allotted biscuits very quickly and then stood up, wiping his mouth with his hand. ‘I’m off home and I’ll see you all tomorrow. Weeding the corn, Jessie?’
Mrs Love nodded but got up and walked him to the door.
Grace stood up, said, ‘Good night’ to the two men, who were still drinking tea. She was not expected to wash dishes and so intended to go to her room, write at least two letters, and then fall into an exhausted sleep.
‘I’ve put a pig in your bed, Grace.’ Mrs Love was in the hall.
For a moment, Grace was puzzled. A pig? And then, realising, she started to laugh. ‘Thank you, Mrs Love. It’s not really cold but that was very kind of you.’
‘We don’t want you catching cold on your first day with us,’ said the cook, and disappeared into the scullery.
Grace hurried up the uncarpeted backstairs and then along a linoleum-covered corridor to where the carpeting started – the dividing line between the servant areas of the great house, she thought, and the family part. That meant that she, Grace Paterson, land girl, was in the family quarters. Would that change when the several other land girls they were expecting arrived? As she opened the unlocked door of her room, she wondered idly where Jack and Harry slept and then rapidly pushed all such thoughts out of her mind.
First, she looked for her pig. She laughed when she saw its outline under the covers. What a woman of contrasts Mrs Love was: touching kindness one minute and grouchy martinet the next. Grace pulled back the covers to see the pig, the fat earthenware bottle that, filled with hot water, was used to warm cold sheets, or feet.
Megan didn’t use pigs, certainly not for me. I don’t remember one in the house at all.
Once again, she was beset with the annoying feeling that a distant memory was hovering just out of reach. ‘Who did give me a pig?’
Unable to drag up the memory, Grace hurried to undress and, then, once she was washed and ready for bed, she took a new writing pad, which she had bought at the station, and climbed into bed. Yes, buying Basildon Bond paper and envelopes had been the right thing to do. She wrote her new address and the date and then sat back to think about how to write the letter. She could make Mrs Petrie smile by telling her that she had been given a hot-water pig. ‘Imagine,’ she could almost hear Mrs Petrie say, ‘it’s so cold where Grace is, she needs a hot-water bottle.’
At last, Grace was really ready and the words flowed across the lovely blue paper:
Dear Mrs Petrie,
I am so sorry that I did not tell you that I had joined the Women’s Land Army. I wanted to do more for the war effort than file pieces of paper but it was wrong not to tell you and Mrs Brewer who have always been so good to me. Why the Land Army? I don’t know exactly but I just felt that it was the right place for me. Megan never told me anything about our family but sometimes I seem to remember being in a field and being happy. Silly, I suppose. As you can see, I’m in Bedfordshire. I was sent to a training place in Kent, not really so far from you.
She stopped writing, wondering how to tell Mrs Petrie about Miss Ryland and poor Olive, and decided to skim over the training experience.
The four-week course is over and here I am, the only land girl on this farm. More are coming and there are some real farm workers and two other men. There’s a cook, Mrs Love, and there’s Lady Alice, whose father owns the place. She helps with the milking, would you believe? Even drives the lorry and would Sally ever be jealous of her beautiful fingernails!! Please tell Daisy and Rose where I am. I hope they are both well and that the boys are safe and sound. I’ll stop now to write to Mrs Brewer. Thank you for everything.
She signed it and put the sheet in an envelope, which she addressed quickly, as if afraid that if she did not do it at once, she might not do it at all. Her letter to Mrs Brewer was almost an exact copy and that too was quickly put in an envelope and sealed. She would worry about stamps in the morning.
Feeling as if an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulder
s, Grace turned off the small bedside oil lamp that had been put in her room at sometime during the day, lay down and, within a few minutes, was fast asleep.
FOUR
A loud ringing woke Grace and, for a moment, she could not remember where she was. Then she threw back her covers and got out of bed. A quick glance at the clock, which had stopped ringing, told her that she had better hurry, or ‘scarper’, as Mr Petrie used to say.
She scarpered and, less than fifteen minutes, later was in the kitchen, hoping for a hot cup of tea. There was no sign of Mrs Love, but Jack Williams appeared through the scullery door.
‘Tea’s ready, Grace, and I’ll be going along with you on the milk run this morning. Have to learn the route.’
‘So you do drive.’
‘I don’t very often, but I can.’
She turned away from him in annoyance. Had he just corrected her grammar, pompous oaf?
‘I’ve made you angry and I didn’t mean to. My father’s an English teacher, and my sister and I used to try to be one-up all the time. Wasn’t your family like that?’
‘No,’ she answered shortly, and made to push past him.
‘Miss Paterson, I apologise. Please allow me to pour you a cup of tea.’
Grace walked back towards the range. ‘I can pour it for myself, thank you.’
‘Actually, you can’t. Sorry, Grace, I’ve just made it and it’s heavy, even for me.’
She nodded and mumbled her thanks. Jack carried the large teapot over to the table and filled two cups. ‘Going to be a lovely spring day. Harry’s sure there’ll be blossom on the apple trees in a few days.’
‘Cows wait for no man.’ Mrs Love had come in. ‘You hear Jack’s going along this morning, Grace? Her ladyship will pick him up and let’s hope he’s got that trench dug or there’ll be flood water all over the side lawn.’
Jack gulped his tea and set his cup down. ‘Thank you,’ he said to Mrs Love, although he had both made the tea and poured it. ‘Later,’ was directed at Grace as he left.
‘My Tom wants to learn to drive.’
‘I’m sure he will.’
‘But that coward got all the chances, didn’t he?’
Grace really did not want to become involved. Besides, what did she know about either conscientious objectors or Jack Williams, who had a sister and whose father taught English? ‘I really don’t think conscientious objectors are cowards, Mrs Love.’
‘Then why isn’t he in the Forces like my Tom?’
So they were discussing Jack Williams and not conscientious objectors. ‘They don’t believe in killing people.’
‘Neither does my Tom,’ said Mrs Love, ‘except Germans, of course. He wants to kill lots of them.’
Grace felt very, very cold. She put down her cup. ‘Golly,’ she said, as if she had just realised the time. ‘I’m due in the milking parlour. Sorry, Mrs Love; I have to dash.’
She was glad to be out in the lovely cool spring air and ran all the way to the milking parlour, dashing through the door just after Walter Green.
‘Dammit, woman, don’t scare my milkers.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Scrub your hands and then the udders.’
Grace hurried to obey. Carbolic soap again. When the war was over, she would never use anything but the finest, perfumed soap. Lady Alice had not arrived and, after she had milked three cows, Grace began to worry that she might have to milk the entire herd – I’ll never get the milk delivered if I’m on my own – but then she saw that Walter was milking the cows on the other side. She relaxed and it seemed that so too did the cows. Not even the feisty ones gave her any trouble but stood patiently while they were being milked and made no attempt to kick either Grace or her pails.
‘We’ll take them down to the buttercup meadow and then we can have breakfast.’
A meadow full of buttercups sounded lovely and Grace looked forward to seeing it as she walked along with Walter, helping him guide the lumbering cows.
They reached a vast field, where several enormous trees grew. A thick hedge on which there were already signs of blossom divided the buttercup meadow from its neighbour but, to Grace’s disappointment, there was not a spot of golden buttercup anywhere.
‘You don’t know much about the country, girl,’ said Walter, after he had explained the life cycle of several wild flowers. ‘This time next year, you’ll be amazed by what you know.’
‘I hope so,’ said Grace, and they walked up to the house to join the others in the kitchen.
With the exception of Esau, everyone was present. But no, on looking round, Grace saw that Jack was missing, too. She wondered where he was and found herself hoping that he would get some breakfast, but then she reminded herself that whether or not Jack Williams had breakfast was none of her business.
She sat down between Walter and Harry. Mrs Love carried over a large iron pot that she put on a heavy brass trivet. She lifted off the lid to reveal thick, creamy porridge. It was so hot that little bubbles kept popping up on the surface.
‘Porridge with cream this morning. That’ll set you all up till dinnertime.’
Grace stirred the pot of porridge, watching until tiny bubbles broke the surface. She could hear Megan moving about upstairs.
‘Come on, come on,’ she badgered the contents of the pot, for a hot steaming bowl of porridge must be on the table when Megan came down for breakfast.
The teapot? Had she poured boiling water in to warm it? The generous spoonful of fragrant tea leaves was ready beside the teapot. Megan liked a good strong cup of tea and never seemed to run short. To give her credit, her older sister was perfectly happy for Grace to enjoy the tea, too.
Not for the first time, Grace wondered why her sister had given her a home in the first place.
‘You all right, Grace? You’ve gone all funny.’ Mrs Love was standing with a deep white bowl of porridge in her hand, waiting for Grace, who seemed to be in a daze of some kind, to take it. ‘Didn’t I tell you yesterday …’
Mrs Love did not finish whatever it was she was about to say because Jack had arrived and, seeing the commotion, had gone to Grace’s side and was holding her wrist in his slim brown fingers while he looked at his watch.
At his touch, Grace started up, saw Jack holding her hand, and blushed furiously. She tried to pull her hand away but he tightened his grip so that she winced.
‘I’m taking your pulse, Grace; you’re fine. Probably, she just needs to eat, Mrs Love.’
Without another word, he moved away to sit beside Harry. Mrs Love continued to serve porridge. ‘She went all funny,’ she said, angrily, as she practically slammed a bowl down in front of Jack.
‘I’ll be with her on the milk run this morning and I’ll keep an eye on her. Nothing to worry about.’
Grace felt like bursting into tears. She had no idea what had happened, just that she had remembered something that had already swum away from her; something about porridge – but what? She felt stupid and was so embarrassed to find the others looking at her with concern. They quickly turned back to their breakfast bowls, when she looked at them and, for a time, there was no sound but the clinking of spoons and the pouring of tea.
Grace was first to finish.
‘You should tell her ladyship you’ve had a turn,’ said Mrs Love. ‘If she’s got him with her –’ she jerked her head in Jack’s direction – ‘she might get by without you this morning.’
Grace tried to smile. ‘It’s nothing, really, Mrs Love. I’m so sorry to have been a nuisance.’
She picked up Lady Alice’s coat and walked off towards the milking parlour.
Jack caught up with her before she had gone less than halfway. ‘Feeling better?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Good. Lady Alice terrifies me.’
Grace stopped in mid-stride. ‘Why? She’s working as hard as we are and she loaned me this coat.’
‘Perhaps that’s why I’m petrified. She’s destroying all my preconceived ide
as.’
They walked on and, just before they reached the milk lorry, Grace laughed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Nice laugh,’ said Jack, and Grace felt herself blushing again, but this time, in the nicest possible way.
‘You drive, Jack, and I’ll give directions. ’Fraid that means you’ll have to squeeze in behind, Grace.’
Grace, who had feared being stuck in the lorry with the heavy milk churns, was quite happy to squeeze into the back of the cab. Nothing could fall on her in this tight space.
Her worry that Jack would say something about her behaviour at the table was unfounded. On the way to the village Lady Alice told them that the next day they would also be expected to collect the milk money.
‘It’s quite simple: four pence halfpenny per pint multiplied by number, and two pence farthing the half-pint. Most of the villagers, have it ready with the jugs. Usually, they’re honest, but do a quick check.’
For the first time, Grace was thankful that she had spent so much time in offices. She could add, subtract, multiply and divide with the best of them.
‘Any difficulty with that, Grace?’
‘No, Lady Alice.’
‘Ten times four pence halfpenny?’
‘Three and nine pence.’
‘Bravo. I won’t insult you by asking you to divide farthings.’
‘I liked arithmetic. We had a dragon for a teacher and, every Friday morning, she used to write a circle of numbers on the board and then she’d yell questions at us, and in no order so you couldn’t work it out ahead, if you know what I mean. Some of us were pretty thick but we all learned to count.’
‘Fascinating.’
The tone with which the word was uttered made Grace want to curl up. Instead, she closed her eyes, knowing perfectly well that if they turned round, the two in the front could still see her even if she could not see them. She made a rather childish vow never to speak to Lady Alice again.
The only sounds in the lorry before they arrived in the village were rather distressing noises from the engine and the occasional clunk as churns brushed against one another. The lorry drew to a halt. Grace and Jack got out and walked around to the tailgate, so as to reach the milk. For a slender man, Jack was surprisingly strong. It took two men to lift the churns on as a rule and, although Jack asked for Grace’s help with the largest churn, he appeared to lift the smallest one easily.
