Wave Me Goodbye

by Ruby Jackson

‘Naughty pilot. Why’d he take his clothes off?’

  ‘To show his—’ began Grace, but was interrupted by shrieks of raucous laughter. ‘RAF uniform, you horrible lot.’ Blushing furiously, she tried to speak calmly to tell them how frightening the scene had been. ‘He needed to prove he wasn’t German. One of the farm workers actually said they planned to lynch him.’

  That silenced everyone and Katia was seen to make the sign of the cross.

  ‘Thank goodness you and Eva were there, Grace.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ Grace began, and then remembered that she had slapped the farm worker, Arnold, hard across the face. He would not be best pleased. ‘Lady Alice and Hazel were there very quickly and took charge.’

  Mrs Love pushed herself up from the table. ‘The whole world’s gone mad,’ she said. ‘You lot have a full day’s hard work ahead of you tomorrow. I’ll have something on the table before long, chips maybe, and I’ve got some tins of sardines; good day to use them up.’

  There were several disgruntled faces, including Grace’s, at this announcement. She loathed sardines and especially tinned ones – all that oil, she thought – but she said nothing.

  Connie did. ‘Can we put the wireless on, Mrs Love, get some music, Benny Goodman maybe, or Joe Loss, have a little dance around the kitchen?’

  ‘Stay away from the range with your jitterbugs.’

  Grace smiled, remembering being in Sam’s strong arms as he tried to teach her to waltz. ‘Find a waltz, Connie; one, two, three, one, two, three,’ and she held up her arms and danced to the other side of the table.

  ‘Think the bloke hit her on the head and all,’ laughed Connie. ‘La-di-da waltz, indeed.’

  ‘Polka,’ demanded Katia, holding out her arms to Liz. ‘I teach everyone polka. Is good, happy dance.’

  For the next fifteen minutes, Mrs Love stood half-turned to her rapidly frying chipped potatoes and watched joyful mayhem as the usually quiet, exhausted girls, tried to learn how to waltz, polka, or jitterbug to whatever music they could find on the little wireless. She saw smiles and even tears as the girls remembered happier days and perhaps dreamed of fun-filled days to come. She did not want to bring their silly, girlish behaviour to a halt but they needed to be fed. Luckily, Eva and perfectly fried chips arrived together.

  Realising it would probably save time in the long run, the girls gave Eva time to relate the whole tale, in Polish, to Katia while Mrs Love coaxed them to sit down and have their supper.

  ‘You can talk while you’re eating; sorry, it’s not what I meant to make tonight but the chips is lovely and, if you don’t like sardines, there’s Crosse and Blackwell’s Essence of Anchovies, a little of that on the side for dipping might be nice, or there’s always good old HP. My Tom loves his HP.’

  Grace wondered if she was the only one who found this new talkative Mrs Love rather strange. She knew too that she and Connie had never got on together but, lately, there had been a distinct thawing of the fairly icy relationship and she welcomed that. Life would be so much more pleasant for everyone if they pulled together.

  ‘Gone to sleep, Grace?’ Connie was banging the large sauce bottle up and down.

  ‘Sorry, just had a silly thought, nothing important.’

  ‘Katia is ready to tell us what happened. For goodness’ sake, Liz, we can pour and drink tea while we’re listening. Sit down … please,’ Connie added as Liz looked tearful. ‘I’m bigger and I’ll do it.’

  ‘There is not much to tell. The pilot’s name is Mateusz Jackowski, and he is in England since 1940. On return journey from … war, his plane began make strange noise, engine make stutter, stutter noise and he thinks, I must get out, but he is looking down and seeing workers in fields. He tries to make plane go away from fields and then he hears loud explode and nothing more until he is feeling wind on his face and then he is on the ground and people are running and shouting, very angry voices. Girl is shout, something hits his head. He tries to say, I am Polish because obvious they think he is German. Then he thinks he is dead for angels come.’ Katia laughed then, a delightful sound. ‘He thinks one angel speak English but one angel is definite Polish angel.’

  Everyone laughed at that and there was some teasing, until Connie loudly called them to order. ‘And is the poor chap all right? And what about the idiot who wanted to lynch him? I can’t believe an Englishman would try to lynch anyone, even a German.’

  ‘He certainly did, and what’s worse, at the very beginning, one or two of the others were right there with him,’ Grace told them. ‘I think he owes his life to his lovely Polish angel.’

  Grace waited until the land girls had stopped cheering Eva, who seemed to be rather embarrassed, and then asked if Lady Alice had said anything about the downed pilot’s condition or his treatment.

  ‘Is miracle, Grace. He is having only two breaked bones, and bad cuts on head and other places. They are want to examine inside of him and make stitches in him. Tomorrow, they will tell more. Lady Alice is come tomorrow, when we are having early cup of tea and she will ask many questions.’

  Mrs Love stood up. ‘That’s wonderful, girls. Now, I’ll wash up and you girls get away to your beds. Katia’s exhausted and Grace and Eva must be, too.’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Love, just one more question.’

  ‘What on earth, Connie—’ began Mrs Love, who was also very tired, but Connie didn’t wait.

  ‘Katia, is he handsome?’

  Katia and Eva looked at each other, spoke for a minute and then smiled. ‘Mateusz is very pretty.’

  ‘Woo hoo, we’ll draw lots to visit,’ said Liz, as the girls hurried upstairs.

  ‘Without chances, Liz,’ said Eva. ‘Matt is with no English and already he has see two, no, three angels in uniform.’

  NINETEEN

  How did she do it?

  Lady Alice knocked on Grace’s door before the shrieking of the alarm clock shattered the night’s silence next morning. She shattered the night’s sleep, too, but the girls groaned, muttered silent oaths and wearily climbed out of bed. ‘Seems we’ve been here before, Grace. Can you haul on some clothes and meet me in the kitchen? I’ll make some tea.’

  Grace, asking herself how her employer could possibly look so refreshed so early in the morning, mumbled some sort of reply, which must have been coherent as Lady Alice went off downstairs.

  Grace joined her as quickly as she could and accepted a large mug of strong, hot tea from Mrs Love.

  ‘One can’t put someone in prison for threatening to kill, Grace; at least, I think it might be a tad difficult to prove that Arnold was serious. He is known to be quite a bag of wind, you know.’

  There was silence as Grace tried to think of what to say. If she told Lady Alice that Arnold had also threatened her and had, in fact, ordered the others to ‘shove her out of the way’, would that be classed as a criminal offence? The first time she had had dealings with this particular farm worker she had eventually been sent away for ‘her own good’. She did not want to be sent away again. Whitefields Court was so much closer to dear, old Dartford – and, for the present, at least, Sam – than Newriggs Farm.

  ‘Has anyone ever warned you not to seek to join any of the Secret Services, Grace? Everything going through that pretty little head of yours is written loudly and clearly on your face. Don’t worry. We’ll make quite sure he never sets foot on this land.’

  Grace lowered her eyes as she thought of what Katia had told them, of what the pilot had said about Grace and Eva. He had called them angels in uniform. She would not let the ghastly Arnold do any more harm. No matter what the cost to herself, she had to speak. ‘That awful little man lifted a hoe and smashed it down on the head of a defenceless man, a pilot, fighting with our air force to keep people like Arnold alive. I was standing right beside him. The pilot, I mean, and I had no time to react, to do anything.’

  ‘So that’s how it happened. The doctors wondered if some part of the plane had hit him as it fell past him. I can’t thi
nk why he wasn’t killed, Grace; a guardian angel perhaps. Thank heavens his flying helmet stayed on his poor head.’

  ‘If that’s all, Lady Alice …’

  ‘No, it isn’t. Have you learned to drive yet?’

  ‘No, Lady Alice.’

  ‘Pity. Connie will have to do today. I plan to give Eva and Katia a few hours off, to go in to chat with Flying Officer Jackowski – if the doctor gives permission. Afraid that puts a lot of extra work and responsibility on you. Can you take charge of the three o’clock milking?’ She did not wait for an answer but continued, ‘Soon the evenings will be much longer and we can let crops take care of themselves for an hour or two while Connie gives you driving lessons. Such a shame Jack didn’t complete your lessons.’ She stood quietly for a moment, while Grace was wondering if she should stay or go to the early milking. ‘He’s had a particularly bloody time of it,’ Lady Alice continued after a while. ‘You’re not still writing to him, are you?’

  ‘I have been, Lady Alice, as a friend.’

  ‘Thank God that’s all he is. Nice chap, I don’t deny that, and if he gets through he’ll make a splendid doctor, but, quite frankly, I think he’d be hell to live with.’

  ‘Can I ask what you mean by bloody time of it, Lady Alice?’

  ‘I’m afraid his principles don’t appeal to everyone.’

  ‘But because of these principles and beliefs, he is doing incredibly difficult and dangerous work, and no, he has never actually told me anything, but I listen to the wireless when I can, and read the newspapers when I see them, and so I know that there are bullies in the army as well as everywhere else.’

  ‘We did suggest that we try to get him out, Grace, but he was quite angry, stupid boy. Still, I’m glad you’re not emotionally involved. You’re the sort that bends too much, and Jack’s one of those who refuse to bend at all; an impossible collaboration.’ Lady Alice made as if to head towards the door but then she turned back to Grace. ‘How was your old friend’s brother, by the way? Haven’t had a second to ask you.’

  ‘He was … very well, thank you,’ said Grace, annoyed to find that for some absolutely stupid reason, she was blushing furiously.

  ‘Like that, is it?’ said Lady Alice, this time definitely on her way to the door. ‘Leaves the way nice and clear for our Polish girls, and our Polskim pilotem’s bound to have chums, isn’t he?’

  Grace stood watching the heavy door close behind her. If I live to be a hundred, she thought, I’ll never be able to read people. Every time I think one way, something happens and I have to think the opposite. Thank God for cows. Feed them, milk them, let them graze in a nice green field, and they’re happy.

  No one else was downstairs and so she fetched her coat – which was hanging with several others on the outside of the kitchen door – put on her outdoor shoes and walked up to the dairy. The cows were there already and so was Walter Green, the head dairyman.

  ‘Well, hello, this is a nice surprise; I were expecting them Polish lasses, Grace. I hear that pilot lad is all right.’

  ‘His left arm is broken, and there’s another break, not sure where, and cuts and general bruising.’

  ‘And a clunk on his head, I hear tell.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace shortly.

  Walter smiled at her understandingly. ‘You want Arnold locked up. Don’t fret, Grace, it’ll depend on what the doctors say. The Whitefields won’t let him get away with it. Now we need to start milking or these ladies’ll be a hell of a lot angrier than Arnold and, believe me, they’re stronger.’

  Walter, of course, was the most experienced dairyman, and Grace knew that he would work down one side of the dairy much more quickly than she would. But she began at the beginning of her line of mature dairy cows, determined to do her best and to work as efficiently and professionally as she could. Half an hour or so later, Connie and Liz joined them, Liz working with Walter, and Connie, with a friendly smile, joining Grace. Knowing that Connie was not too fond of cows, Grace was surprised to see her, but she smiled encouragingly and continued milking.

  At last, the milking was finished and the cows ready to be taken out to the field by Liz and Grace. Now the milk had to be delivered and the dairy washed down, a hard and usually cold job.

  ‘Who’s delivering with you, Connie?’ asked Walter as he looked round the dairy, but he was reassured when he heard that Liz would join her as soon as they had closed the gate on the herd. ‘And who’s cleaning this place?’

  ‘No idea where everyone’s gone this morning. Probably the Polish girls are delivering with me because they’re getting time off this afternoon to visit the lad that got rescued yesterday. Have Susie and Beth been on cleaning detail lately?’

  ‘Wouldn’t know half the new girls if I was to fall over them, and I hear tell we might get some prisoners of war for the harvest.’

  ‘Hear that, Grace, prisoners-of-war for the harvest,’ Connie said as Grace returned, Susie and a rather older land girl whose name was Holly accompanying her. ‘Fancy an Italian myself, very romantic language, Italian.’

  ‘You’d know,’ said Liz, with a grin, ‘but what I heard yesterday was that there’s Yanks a few miles away.’

  ‘Real, live Americans. And you didn’t tell us?’ Connie was stunned.

  ‘I forgot. Somehow, a pilot baling out of a burning plane practically onto my head, sort of got in the way.’

  ‘Let’s have no more nonsense with your Italians and Polish pilots and Americans,’ said Walter, who was now as grumpy as the placid Walter ever got. ‘What I want to know is, who is cleaning this dairy?’

  ‘We are, Mr Green,’ chimed Holly and Susie.

  ‘Good, and it’s just Walter. Get your aprons on and get started, for they’re out there making more milk for this afternoon.’

  Grace was smiling as she left the dairy. Somehow, Connie was not nearly so abrasive these days, and she and Liz, totally at odds with each other just a few months before, now seemed to get along well. ‘Human beings are extremely complex,’ Grace informed one of the large pigs scratching her back on a stone wall. The pig grunted and moved away.

  ‘Now where am I supposed to be?’ Grace asked Mrs Love as she returned to the kitchen.

  ‘The list’s on the board where it always is. Sit down and eat your breakfast, since you’re here. I’ve got some bacon, potato scones and some nice tinned beans.’

  The smell of bacon frying had enticed Grace all the way from the garden gate but, with so many new mouths to feed, what one could smell was not always what was left for late arrivals. Since she was ravenously hungry, she sat down, filled a large mug with strong, hot tea and settled to enjoying her breakfast. She had barely started when Holly returned.

  ‘Sorry, Grace, but the missus wants to see you. She says if you’re eating, she can wait but come round to the front as soon as you can.’

  Mrs Love railed at Holly for referring to Lady Alice as ‘the missus’ before Grace could say anything.

  ‘Sorry, Missus, but this is my fifth farm and I called the farmer’s wife “Missus” on every farm. I never been in the same place with a Lady anything before.’

  ‘Tell her, Grace, while I find some decent cabbages.’

  ‘Did you call Lady Alice “Missus”, Holly?’

  Holly nodded. ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘ “How droll”, whatever that means?”

  ‘Address her, speak to her, as “Lady Alice”, not “Missus”. She is not the farmer’s wife. She is, in fact, the farmer, and a very hard-working one, too.’

  Mrs Love returned with three late cabbages. ‘Glad you’re seeding today, Grace. I’m that tired of old vegetables and, honest, I like sprouts, I really do, especially fried with bacon and chestnuts, delicious, but if anyone brings me in another bag of sprouts thinking they’re doing me a favour … I don’t know what I’ll say. Just think, another month or so and we can have radishes, lettuce, fresh garden peas … mouth-watering, and, by July, new
potatoes.’

  But Grace was not listening. She had eaten Brussels sprouts every winter of the war, and had either enjoyed or not enjoyed the experience but, for some reason, when Mrs Love had started to speak, her mind had gone blank and had then filled with images of the ghastly frozen cabbages and sprouts from the unbelievable winter of January 1940. They had picked the vegetables, she and Daisy, and Daisy had said her mum would make soup – ‘waste not want not’ – and Mrs Petrie had indeed used the vegetables that Grace had worked so hard to grow.

  ‘You all right, Grace? You went all funny for a moment.’

  ‘I’m fine, Mrs Love, just remembering that first winter of the war. I had a little plot in the back yard. Two of my friend’s brothers helped us dig it. It was like digging through concrete; I don’t know how they did it but they got a plot long enough and deep enough for me to plant things, with some help from the girls. We shared fresh vegetables for a whole summer. Best peas I ever tasted. Sorry, think what you said took me back there.’

  ‘Well, you better get back here and go and see the missus.’ Mrs Love laughed. She glared at Holly, who was looking confused. ‘Don’t do as I do, Holly, do as I say. See you later, Grace.’

  Leaving her unfinished breakfast on the table, Grace ran round to the front of the ancient building. She saw it so seldom that it took her breath away anew to look at it. It wasn’t just the size; it was the sublime artistry. No plain functional wall of newly fired bricks with bleak rectangular windows placed every so often, but great stones hauled from quarries in the region and then carved and decorated by some master’s hand. Who was he or they, these masters? The history of England for hundreds of years was written in these walls. Did monks build their own priories? How much there was to learn.

  And I am living in this building, Grace said to herself, and even though it’s the servants’ quarters, I’m glad, and I’ll remember it always.

  Her euphoria wore off as she remembered that Lady Alice had sent for her. Her stomach churned, the palms of her hands began to sweat, and she felt sick.