by Ruby Jackson
‘Yes, Lady Alice,’ said Grace, without looking round as she walked out.
Grace went over the plans for ploughing with Hazel, who had been delighted to welcome her back to Whitefields Court. ‘Couple of the new girls have very little experience, Grace. We’ll need to start from scratch with them; ploughing’s maybe a step too far at the moment and I think I’ll ask Esau to bring them along, gentle, like. Liz was at a farm in Devon for a few weeks till she got ill and was sent home. Think the poor little thing had nothing but porridge, sandwiches without proper filling and bottles of cold tea. Her gran wrote a strong letter, saying as how it shouldn’t be allowed, some farmers working land girls like dogs for a few bob, outside lavatories, a bath once a week in an outhouse, if they was lucky. Taking advantage of the war, like the black marketeers. You try to get her to relax a bit; she’s terrified of her ladyship; hides if she sees her coming.’
‘We’re all scared of her at the start, Hazel. Liz’ll be fine. Is she any good at milking?’
‘Absolutely, loves animals and, funny thing, terrified of Lady Alice but not worried about great heavy beasts as could crush her like a fly on a windowpane. Lovely thing is, they seem to take to her an’all. Even that cantankerous old bitch Molly stays quiet with her.’
‘No kicking over pails?’
Hazel laughed and shook his head. ‘She’s got a gift.’
‘And won’t the Ag. Committee be surprised at how much more milk we’re sending them? Liz, the secret weapon.’
Grace enjoyed being alone in the field. She felt so in control. The little tractor was a joy to guide and, for Grace, there was not much that could compare with seeing a long straight line of beautifully turned soil. Pigeons and, on occasion, seabirds followed her and her splendid metal horse. It was exhausting work, especially when the plough did not slice cleanly through the earth. Hardened mud, stones and even thick roots tried her patience and the sharpness of the plough. Stones could cripple a plough and she had to be alert constantly.
She worked conscientiously for a few hours and then, hot, thirsty and tired, she stopped for a few minutes’ rest.
‘Grace, you are wishing a cup of tea?’
Grace laughed as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. When would Katia’s command of English make a sizeable improvement? ‘Yes, Katia, I want a cup of tea,’ she called out.
The Polish girl climbed over the fence and walked down the length of the field, a basket in her hand. ‘We are having tea, and a … one of these things, delicious.’
‘Scones.’
‘Look, Grace, is blossoms already.’
The girls were sitting on a hummock at the side of the field, their backs against the stone dyke. Mrs Love had sent the tea in a Thermos flask. It was hot, and the scones, thickly spread with farm-fresh butter, were, as Katia had said, delicious. Grace looked at the trees at which her Polish friend was pointing. ‘I think those are two really old apple trees, Katia. This field used to be an orchard.’
‘In Poland, we have orchard with many trees. Blossoms are very beautiful.’
‘Are you happy here?’
‘Happy? This is strange word. If you are meaning, can I forget for one second that I am not know where my family is disappeared, then, no, I am not happy. If happy means, can I look at pink and white blossom on a tree and … like this blossom, then, yes, Grace, for this time, I am happy.’
Grace felt dreadful. How could she have been so crass, so unthinking? ‘I am so very sorry, Katia.’
Katia smiled. ‘I know you are, and, yes, I like to be on this beautiful field and to live in beautiful house. I like you and I like Eva and especial to hear Eva sing. This Hitler stops her going in …’ she thought for a moment, ‘… you know what is conservatoire?’
‘I think so: a music school.’
Katia said nothing but wiped a crumb off her breeches before standing up. ‘When war is over.’
Grace, who found herself wanting to howl in despair at the cruelties of war, said instead, ‘Absolutely, Katia, when this war is over.’
Katia walked back towards the house, the much lighter basket swinging from her hand, and Grace returned to her ploughing. Her joy in it had gone, though, and she continued through duty not pleasure. Admonishing thoughts ran through her head. Sam is home and he is safe and I am moping because I cannot go to welcome him, while Eva, who has lost everything, still sings as she works … and Katia mourns for her friend’s lost chances.
She ploughed on and, eventually, felt a little better. Lady Alice had brought the Polish girls to Whitefields Court. Why? Newriggs was primitive in comparison to the house in which they were now living but the Flemings had done their best by the land girls, and, compared with the farm where poor Liz had spent a few miserable weeks, Newriggs was palatial.
Grace caught up with the new land girls as they walked back in the sweetly smelling air to the house for lunch. ‘Have a good morning, girls?’
They were all chatty. Hazel, Esau and Walter had worked with them and Liz had been particularly impressed by Walter, the head dairyman.
‘He was ever so helpful, Grace, and he actually said I had a gift for cows.’
‘That’s terrific, Liz. Are you going to go out on deliveries?’
Liz hung her head but said nothing.
‘She will when I’m driving.’ Connie Smart answered for her. ‘I’ll drive and lift the churns, and Lizzie here can run in and out of the houses. By the way, her ladyship says as how you started driving lessons, Gracie. Get very far?’
Grace looked up at the much taller and heavier land girl and knew that for some inexplicable reason she had made an enemy. But she was no longer the timid little girl who had been sent to this farm almost two years before. ‘No, Connie, but I’m delighted that there is another driver.’ She turned to Liz. ‘Hazel says that Walter knows everything there is to know about cows. If he says you have a gift, he means it.’
‘And here’s her ladyship’s little pet telling you, too, Liz, so now you really know.’
Grace was taken aback, so strident was the note of dislike in Connie’s voice. She decided to ignore the remark about ‘little pet’ and to continue doing as she had been told, which was to make all the girls feel welcome.
‘When I first came to Whitefields, I found Hazel, Esau and Walter always willing to explain things I didn’t understand. They’ll be the same with all of you.’
‘And some of us more than others,’ said Connie. ‘They even had time for them conchies, even the dafty who feeds the chickens, though maybe our head girl here will tell us all about him.’ She stopped deliberately and looked challengingly at Grace. ‘It was something about getting blind drunk and trying to kill someone from the village, wasn’t it?’
Grace was so shocked that she stopped walking and, with the exception of Connie, the others automatically stopped beside her.
Aware that she was now walking on alone, Connie halted and looked back. She stared at Grace, as if daring her to say anything.
Grace hated confrontation but she could not allow Harry to be maligned. Yes, he was taking time to recover from the injury, and his memory was not what it had been, but he was not, as Connie so crudely put it, daft. ‘Not a good idea to mouth off about things you know absolutely nothing about, Connie; that could get you into a great deal of trouble. It’s not just the other local farm workers who are loyal to one another; there are men with principles on this estate. And, by the way, it’s Grace. Not Gracie.’
‘I know all about it, Gracie. You don’t catch me staying here, sucking up to the aristocracy in my five minutes’ free time. I cycle into the village every spare minute I get. There’s some people there only too willing to spill the dirt on this place.’
How much to say, if anything? Grace gave herself a mental shake. ‘There was a spot of trouble at a dance, girls, and I’m afraid a farm labourer from the village actually went to gaol for injuring Harry McManus, a decent man, a conscientious objector, who worked hard on this estate and wh
o is slowly recovering from a serious head injury. I’ve already warned you, Connie, but Hazel and the other men on this farm would not be pleased if they heard you talking like this.’
The bigger girl pushed her face closer to Grace’s. ‘And you’re going to run to tell your friend, Alice in Wonderland, I suppose. Mrs Love did say you two is tight.’
An exasperated voice shouted from the back door of the great house. ‘You lot want your dinner? Then move. If not, we’ll share it. You got till a count of ten. One, two …’ Without waiting to see their reaction, Hazel turned and walked into the house, slamming the heavy door behind him.
Two of the new land girls started to run. ‘He doesn’t mean it,’ Grace called after them. ‘Mrs Love cooks more than enough for everyone.’
‘Even squirts like this one,’ said Connie, giving the much smaller Liz a vicious push in the back, which sent her sprawling to the ground. Grace moved to intervene but Liz had already picked herself up. She turned on Connie.
‘You don’t scare me. I been dealing with fat bullies all my life. Now, keep outa my way or I’ll set the bull on you.’
Grace realised that it was she who was supposed to be in charge here. ‘Dinner first, girls, and then I think Hazel said there’s harrowing needs doing.’
Grace was amazed by Liz’s reaction. The girl had worked on a farm where she had received little food and absolutely no kindness and had only told her sad story after she had been taken ill. Now, here she was challenging a much taller and heavier bully. Was Liz able to stand up for herself because she had a loving family behind her? They walked together into the kitchen. As the others chorused, ‘Sorry, Mrs Love,’ Liz hung back just inside the door with Grace. ‘She’s scared of the cows, Grace.’
‘And you’re not. What about the bull?’
‘Walter says he’s gentle. Treat him nice and that’s the way you’ll be treated.’ Liz looked at Grace out of eyes that had seen a great deal of misery. ‘You have to be sorry for Connie; she doesn’t know how to be gentle. Maybe no one was ever been gentle with her.’
Grace, who had been afraid of many people in her life – her sister, bigger girls and boys at school, Miss Ryland in a bad mood, even Connie, because she recognised the malice in her – felt an affinity to the younger girl. ‘Tell me if she gives you any trouble.’
Liz smiled. ‘I’ll be all right. She won’t come near the dairy, if she can help it. Can I say something, Grace, even though you’re in charge?’
‘Of course, Liz. That’s why I’m here.’
‘Connie’s looking for trouble; it’s all she understands. When she sees no one’s out to get her, she’ll calm down. And don’t worry so much. I came up hard. I can handle myself – and the Connies of this world.’
In a happier frame of mind, Grace and Liz moved into the kitchen. Mrs Love had made chicken soup, using the bones of the chicken they had had roasted for dinner the day before. Since it was still too early for leeks, she had used onions, garlic and parsley – which always seemed to be available – to flavour the stock and the rice. ‘Another month …’ she said to the newcomers, ‘give me another month and you won’t believe what the kitchen garden will produce.’
The meal over, the girls dispersed to the various jobs Hazel had arranged for them. Harrowing could not begin on Grace’s field as the ploughing was unfinished, so Grace returned alone to the field and began to work. There was a chill breeze blowing and she was glad of the hard physical work, which kept her warm. She carried on until darkness began to fall. Utterly exhausted from the full day of backbreaking work, Grace wondered if she could stay awake long enough to join the others for tea. Perhaps there would be time for a bath; soaking in a lovely hot water would be refreshing.
‘There’s tea in the pot, if you want a cup, Grace. Two or three of the others fancy a lie-down before tea. Don’t think some of the younger ones are used to a full day’s hard work.’ Mrs Love was kneading dough on the scrubbed table. She laughed. ‘Maurice took two of them to meet mangles and Dave was showing nettles to some of the city ones.’
‘Everyone knows what a nettle looks like, Mrs Love.’
‘Maybe, if it’s two feet tall and growing right in front of you, but they’re sprouting up all over the place at this time of year. Maurice was laughing with Hazel about one of the city girls mixing up nettles and blackberries. She certainly won’t mix them up if they get growing, will she?’
Grace agreed that a mix-up was unlikely. ‘Shame to have to cut back all the blackberries. I love them.’
‘The prettiest flower is a weed if it’s in the wrong place, and, with the Agricultural Committees coming in snooping every time you turn round, Hazel needs to make sure food crops are growing everywhere they can put down a root; and if that’s in a nettle bed or a blackberry patch, then nettles and blackberries has got to go.’
Grace agreed with her in principle, especially about getting rid of the nettles; after all, nettle soup was the only edible item she had ever heard was produced from the plant, and just how much of that could a nation swallow? But blackberries were different. Yes, they had to be destroyed if they were growing among food crops but, what if cuttings were taken and new plants grown somewhere else, over a wall perhaps? She would talk to Hazel.
In the meantime, she went upstairs, just imagining how the lovely hot water would ease her aching muscles.
In her room, her eyes immediately sought the chest of drawers where she kept her box of treasures. Aware that there were still letters to read, she took out the box and then an unread letter. Nothing of any interest. It had taken only a few moments. Surely, there was time for one more.
Eventually, she remembered that she had come up to indulge in a nice, hot bath. She almost sprang from the bed. Too late. She had lost her turn and … for what? The letters she had read had obviously been kept for sentiment only. She hurried down to the kitchen.
It was Eva who first said something about Grace’s obvious preoccupation. ‘Hello?’ she called across the table. ‘Are you ill, Grace, with tiring, with bored?’
Grace tried to smile. ‘Of course not.’ She sought to change the subject. ‘These rissoles are delicious, Mrs Love. What’s in them?’
‘Minced Spam, bits of grated cheese, parsley and one of Harry’s eggs. Amazing what an egg and a bit of parsley does to a meal. You do seem a bit preoccupied, Grace, and I never heard the bathwater. Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Maybe she got a letter today from somebody special,’ Connie said, laughing and continued eating.
‘No post today, or not so far, and it’s a bit late now,’ said Mrs Love, who was still looking at Grace. ‘By the way, girls, one of the men says as there was a bit of arguing and shoving earlier.’ She looked at Connie as she spoke and noticed how Connie averted her eyes. ‘Lady Alice won’t tolerate any nonsense in this house, which is, in fact, his lordship’s main residence and has always been a happy family home. Did anything happen today, Grace? I know you’re not the oldest but you are supposed to be the senior land girl.’
Grace looked directly at Connie who again found her Spam rissoles fascinating. ‘No, I don’t think anything happened that Lady Alice needs to know about, Mrs Love.’
‘Oh, but Liz—’ began Katia.
‘… was telling us how she has absolutely no fear of the bull,’ Grace broke in. ‘We take our lovely little hats off to her, don’t we, girls?’
The others, including Connie, agreed, and the meal went on quietly.
Mrs Love stopped Grace on the way upstairs after the evening meal. ‘A word, please, Grace.’
Grace had no option but to return to the kitchen with her. Once there, Mrs Love lost no time in coming to the point: ‘What’s bothering you, Grace? And don’t say “nothing” because I can see stress in every line of your body.’
‘I really am all right. It’s kind of you to worry.’
‘It’s my job.’
‘And it’s mine to help the new land girls, and that’s what I’m d
oing.’
‘Connie’s a bit rough and ready.’
‘She does her fair share.’
‘Old Esau saw her push Liz down.’
‘Liz is a match for her, Mrs Love.’
‘What bothered you when you went upstairs? And do stop lying to me, or fibbing, if you think that’s a better word.’
Unable to meet her eyes, Grace looked down. ‘I was really silly, stupid, in fact. I sat down and read two letters. I haven’t yet made time to read everything.’
‘Why don’t you give your box to Lady Alice to keep in the safe for you? Oh, by the way, she had a telephone message from Jack Williams. He hasn’t contacted you, has he?’
‘Why would he contact me?’ Grace knew she was flushed and could almost hear her heart beat. Jack, after all this time. ‘He didn’t telephone from over there, did he?’
‘Oh, no. What would that cost, if it even works from abroad? He got some leave and wanted to know about Harry.’
He cares about Harry and he was a medical student; he would be interested in Harry’s recovery.
‘That sounds like Jack. Harry really liked him, you know. He loved listening to Jack talking as they worked.’
Mrs Love took off her flowered wraparound apron and hung it on a peg near the sink. In doing so, she revealed a very beautiful blouse.
‘Wow, Mrs Love, that is pretty. Is it real silk? I don’t think I ever saw a blouse of real silk.’
Pleased, Mrs Love preened and then twirled so that Grace could see every detail of the pale pink, pure silk blouse. She pointed out the generous floppy bow at the neck, the small pearl buttons and the exquisite hand-stitching of the buttonholes. ‘Christmas,’ she said with a proud smile. ‘From my lad, my Tom, all the way from the Far East, wherever that is … They had a pass for a day and he spent all his wages on it.’
‘I can imagine. It’s really lovely and you look very nice in it.’
‘It’s for best, but sometimes I just have to wear it for an hour or two. Makes me feel wonderful. If your hands are clean, you can touch the bow.’
