‘My brother.’
‘Pleased to meet you, young feller.’
Kenny stuck out his hand, ‘Kenny Bosley, sir. Pleased to meet you, an’ all.’
The farmer blinked down at the young man’s outstretched hand. ‘Oh, I don’t think I’d better shek yar hand, lad. Not with my mucky ’un.’
Kenny laughed. ‘We’re used to it, Mr Clegg. Born and bred on a farm. Never afraid of good, clean dirt, our dad always says.’ He nodded comically towards the manure heap. ‘And especially not this that’s going to do Mrs Jackson’s garden a power of good.’
The big man laughed loudly. ‘Ah well, in that case, lad, put it there.’ And the two shook hands.
‘It’s very good of you to let us have it,’ Fleur said.
‘Pleased to get rid of some of it. I keep pigs, cows an’ chickens so there’s plenty to go at. Mind you, you’d be surprised at the number of folks asking for it nowadays. Now then, if I can hand over to you, I must get on wi’ me other work. Just mind you have old Prince here back for ’is tea, else ’ee’s likely to get a bit cussed and take off on his own. Trouble is,’ he added, laughing, ‘he knows ’is way home so ’ee won’t think twice about it.’ He paused and eyed Kenny again, his gaze running up and down him as if assessing him. Bluntly, though not unkindly, Mr Clegg said, ‘Home on a spot of leave, a’ ya, lad?’
The flush rose in Kenny’s face at once. ‘Well, no, actually . . .’
‘Ah, reserved occupation, is it? On yar dad’s farm?’ Now there was the tiniest note of disapproval in his tone.
Fleur caught and held the big man’s gaze. Quietly, she said, ‘Kenny’s only seventeen, Mr Clegg.’
‘I’ll be joining up next year,’ Kenny put in. ‘Soon as I can.’
Mr Clegg smiled. ‘That’s the spirit, lad. Pleased to hear it.’ His face sobered. ‘Same as me own boy. He joined up, though his mam wanted him to stay wi’ me on the farm. But I was in the last lot. Two years in the trenches, I was, and never a scratch.’ He paused before saying in a low voice, ‘I was lucky, though. I know that.’
Fleur nodded. ‘Our dad was too. He was wounded and has a stiff leg, but at least he came back.’ She bit her lip before she added quietly, ‘A lot from the town never did.’
‘Aye,’ the big farmer sighed heavily. ‘Bad business, it was. And now they’ve no more sense than to get us involved in another one.’ He sighed. ‘Aye well, I wish you luck, young feller. When you go. Good luck to you.’
Kenny nodded. ‘And I hope your son’s – all right.’
‘Aye, so do I, lad. So do I. He’s all we’ve got. If owt happens to him, the missis will never forgive me.’ His voice was low as he added, ‘Won’t forgive mesen, if it comes to that.’ Then briskly he shook himself and smiled. ‘Aye well, let’s not dwell on all that. Not when there’s work to be done. Look, I tell you what, you carry on here now loading up and if I’ve got me own work done, I’ll see if I can come with you. Give you a bit of a hand, like.’
‘Oh, Mr Clegg. Are you sure? You must have such a lot to do, ’specially if you’re on your own now.’
‘Aye, there is. But I’m never too busy to help a neighbour. Old Arthur Jackson used to work for me, see? Good man, he was. Worked on this farm most of his life – well, the latter part of it anyway. I’d like to help his widow.’
Fleur and Kenny grinned at him. ‘Then we’ll gladly accept your offer,’ Fleur said.
‘Right you are, then. Come and find me when you’re ready to go. In fact, come to the back door of the house. I’m sure the missis will find you a drink and a bit of summat to eat.’
‘There you are, you see,’ Kenny said, as the farmer moved out of earshot. ‘What did I tell you? Even a nice man like Mr Clegg questions why a big lad like me isn’t in uniform.’
‘Yes, but you soon will be, won’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ Kenny said, firmly. ‘And the sooner the better.’
At that moment, a cloud crossed the sun and a sharp breeze brought a chill to the bright day. Fleur shuddered, then snatched up the fork and attacked the pile of manure as if her life – and Kenny’s too – depended upon it.
‘By heck, you’ve done a grand job with this back garden,’ Mr Clegg said three hours later as he stood surveying all their hard work.
‘My sister’s done most of it,’ Kenny said and then, as Fleur walked away from them to fetch mugs of tea, he added slyly, ‘when she’s not on duty at the airfield.’
The farmer’s eyebrows rose. ‘Yon lass? She’s in the forces?’
Kenny nodded. ‘She’s a WAAF. She’s an R/T operator. Talks to all the aircraft when they land. That sort of thing.’
Mr Clegg pulled a face. ‘Tough job. Specially if you get to know the airmen, like.’
‘There’s one she’s particularly close to,’ Kenny confided.
‘Not the best place to be then,’ the big man murmured, but as Fleur came back their conversation ceased.
‘How are we going to get it all round to the back?’ she asked, handing out the mugs of tea.
‘Tell you what,’ the farmer suggested. ‘I’ll take it round into the field at the bottom of her garden and tip it there. It’ll be easier to chuck it over the fence.’
Fleur eyed the grass field where cows grazed contentedly. ‘Will the farmer who owns that field mind, d’you think?’
The big man laughed. ‘Shouldn’t think so. Them’s my cows and it’s my field.’
When Ruth arrived home, she stood staring in astonishment at the farmer on top of a pile of manure in the neighbouring field, rhythmically flinging forkfuls over the fence into the garden. Then at Fleur and Kenny, who were moving it and spreading it over the surface of the garden and digging it into the earth. All three of them were red faced and sweating, but they worked on as a team.
Kenny looked up and grinned at her. ‘Hi, Ruth. Come to lend a hand?’
Fleur looked up and grinned mischievously. ‘There’s another fork over there.’
‘Not on your nelly!’ Ruth was horrified. She wrinkled her nose. ‘Pooh, what a pong.’
Fleur closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. ‘Nothing like it. Best perfume in the world.’
‘Dead right there’s nothing like it, but I don’t know about the last bit. Eau de cochon? No thanks! Count this townie out. Tell you what, though, I’ll make you all a nice cuppa. Will that do?’
There was a heartfelt unanimous chorus of ‘Yes, please’, and Ruth held up her hand, fingers spread out. ‘Give me five minutes to get out of my uniform.’
‘Sounds heaven,’ Fleur called.
The promised minutes later, they stood in the tiny back yard, drinking tea, eating scones and admiring their handiwork.
‘What a’ ya thinking of planting, lass?’ Mr Clegg looked to Fleur as the leader of the venture.
‘Potatoes, carrots, leeks, cabbages. Runner beans in the front garden. Oh don’t let’s forget to take some of the manure round the front.’
‘It’ll cost you a fortune to grow all that lot,’ Ruth exclaimed.
‘Dad’s promised me some seeds.’
‘Now mebbe I can help you there,’ the farmer put in. ‘I’ll have a word with the locals and see if we can put a bit of a collection together. Not money, lass,’ he added hastily. ‘But a few seed ’taties, an’ that.’
Fleur’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, how kind of you. That’d be wonderful.’
‘Aye well,’ the man said gruffly, touched by her gratitude, ‘we’ve all got to pull together. All got to do our bit. There is—’
And they all chorused together, ‘. . . a war on, you know.’
Sixteen
Later the following morning, after a few hours’ sleep, Fleur reluctantly returned to digging out the foundations for the Anderson shelter. She’d managed to dig the oblong shape to a depth of about a foot when the curved sheets of corrugated steel arrived for the shelter.
‘Ya’ll need to be another three foot down, luv,’ the man who made the delivery advi
sed, nodding his head towards the hole.
‘I know. It’s harder than I thought. This ground hasn’t been dug over for some time and certainly not four-foot deep.’
‘Ah, well, I wish I could give you a hand but I’ve still three more shelters to deliver today. I’d best be getting on . . .’
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Fleur asked.
‘Nah, lass, ah’m all right. Had one at the last house.’ He set off back along the narrow garden path, having deposited his delivery near where Fleur was working. ‘Good luck, lass. I reckon you’re going to need it.’
‘Thanks!’ Fleur muttered wryly but she gave him a cheery wave.
She’d dug for another ten minutes and then sat on the edge of the hole for a breather when she heard the chugging sound of an engine that sounded vaguely familiar. ‘Can’t be,’ she muttered. The noise died away and she shrugged, stood up and, with a sigh, picked up her spade once more.
She’d dug five more spadefuls when a voice said, ‘You look as if you could use a little help, love.’
Fleur stopped, looked up and then dropped her spade with a squeal of delight. She flung her arms wide as she scrambled out of the hole. ‘Dad! And Kenny too! Whatever are you doing here?’ Her face clouded. ‘Oh, there’s nothing wrong, is there? Is Mum all right?’
‘She’s fine,’ Jake laughed as he gathered his daughter, earthy hands and all, into a bear hug.
‘Then why are you here?’
‘A little bird told me you were planning to put up an Anderson for the old folk to use and finding the digging a bit tough.’ He shrugged. ‘So, here we are. We thought a little help wouldn’t come amiss.’
‘Come amiss!’ Fleur echoed. ‘You’re heaven sent!’
‘Right,’ Kenny grinned. ‘I’ll go and get the tools out of the boot while you take Dad to meet Mrs Jackson. And I’ve no doubt Harry will be popping his head over the fence any minute now . . .’
Right on cue, as they moved towards Mrs Jackson’s cottage, the old man appeared round the corner with his usual greeting, ‘Now then, lass.’
Fleur and Kenny leant against each other, unable to stem their laughter, but Jake merely smiled broadly and moved towards the old man, his hand outstretched. ‘You must be Harry. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Jake Bosley, Fleur and Kenny’s dad.’
Harry beamed as he shook hands. ‘I’m real glad to meet you. You’ve a fine couple o’ bairns, Mr Bosley.’
‘Jake – please.’
If it could, Harry’s beam widened even further. ‘Have you met Mary yet?’
‘No. We were just on our way in to say “hello” before we get digging.’
‘Ah. Come to give the lass a bit of a hand have you. It’s a big job on her own and I’m afraid I’m past that sort of digging mesen else I’d’ve . . .’
‘Of course,’ Jake said and put his hand on the old man’s shoulder.
‘Well, come and meet Mary. I’ll introduce you. She’ll be glad to meet you an’ all. Thinks a lot of yon lass, an’ that lad o’ yourn an’ all. Tells me he can’t wait to join up.’
Jake’s face sobered. ‘Aye.’
Harry stopped on his way towards the back door of the cottage and faced Jake in surprise. ‘You don’t sound too pleased about it.’
Jake sighed. For some reason he couldn’t at this precise moment fathom, he felt he could confide in the old man. ‘It’s not me, it’s his mam. She . . . she wants to keep her chicks safely at home and because we live on a farm she can’t understand why they even want to go.’
‘Were you in the last lot?’
‘Aye. I volunteered.’
‘Then you know why they want to be involved?’
Jake nodded. ‘Oh yes. I know why.’
‘We lost our lad in the last war. Nearly broke my Doris’s heart when the telegram came. But we were still proud of him. To this day, I’m proud of him. The only sad thing is that these youngsters have got to do it all again now. Don’t seem right, does it?’
‘No. It doesn’t. But they’ll do it. They’ll do it all right.’
‘Oh, I know that. Whilst we’ve got young ’uns like yourn there . . .’ He nodded towards Fleur and Kenny. ‘And that young feller of hers, then we’ll win. No doubt about that. It’s just – well – what we might lose along the way, eh?’
Now Jake couldn’t speak for the sudden fear that arose in his throat, so he just gently squeezed the old man’s shoulder.
Harry nodded understandingly and then opened the door and called cheerily, ‘Hello, Mary, love. Got a visitor for you. Fleur’s dad.’
Mrs Jackson was standing at the kitchen table, her hands floury as she rolled out pastry. She looked up and smiled a welcome as Harry opened the door and ushered Jake into the room.
‘Sorry I can’t shake hands but come in, do. You’re very welcome.’ She glanced beyond him. ‘Is your wife with you?’
‘Er – no. She stayed to mind the farm. But Kenny’s here.’
Mrs Jackson’s beam plumped up her cheeks so that her glasses rose. ‘He’s a lovely boy. So helpful. Please, Mr Bosley, do sit down. I’ll make a cup of tea.’
‘No, no, don’t trouble just now. We’ve come to help Fleur with the shelter for you both.’
Mrs Jackson gasped and pushed up her glasses to wipe a tear away, leaving a smudge of flour on her face. ‘How kind you all are.’
At that moment Kenny pushed open the back door and deposited a box on Mrs Jackson’s table. ‘Just a few eggs and a bit of butter from our dairy. And I think there’s a chicken in there.’ He grinned. ‘Plucked and dressed with my own fair hands.’ He nodded towards Harry. ‘It’s for you both. And we killed a pig last week. Dad’s got a licence, of course. So there’s some sausages and a piece of pork. Oh, and a couple of rabbits as well, but I haven’t had time to skin them. But Fleur can do them for you.’
‘Oh, I don’t know what to say. I really don’t.’ Mrs Jackson was lost for words.
‘You’re looking after Fleur for us, Mrs Jackson. It’s the very least we can do,’ Jake said softly. ‘Now, where’s that pick we brought, Kenny? We’d best get cracking.’
The earth yielded willingly to Jake’s experienced wielding of the pointed pickaxe. When he paused for a breather, Kenny shovelled out the broken-up earth whilst Fleur ferried mugs of tea down the path. The hole sank steadily deeper. ‘Don’t make yourself late, Dad. You ought to get home before milking time.’
‘Just a few minutes more, luv, and I think it’ll be deep enough. Can you manage to put up the shelter?’
‘Yes, Robbie and Ruth will give me a hand with that as soon as they can.’
‘Where is Ruth? Is she due back soon?’ Kenny asked, pausing for a breather and mopping his forehead.
‘No, sorry, she’s on duty.’
Kenny’s face fell. ‘Oh well, give her my love, won’t you?’
Jake climbed out of the hole and brushed the earth from his trousers. ‘There. I think that’ll do.’
As they gathered the tools together to take back to the car, Fleur said, ‘Where’ve you built one at home?’
‘I haven’t.’ Jake laughed. ‘I can’t see us getting bombed in the middle of nowhere, can you? It’s different for these folk here, though. They’re likely to catch a few stray bombs being aimed at the airfield.’
‘Oh, Dad, I think you should build one. You never know.’
‘But we can’t even hear the sirens, love. Only very faintly in the distance and then only if we happen to be outside. If we’re in bed asleep, we’d never hear them anyway. Besides, your mam’d never use it. “Can’t waste my time sitting in here when there’s work to be done,” she’d say. You know she would.’
‘You might have to build one if you’re going to have Land Army girls.’
‘I don’t think I need them. Old Ron says he’ll lend a hand when he can.’
Old Ron, as Jake now called him, and his family had lived in a cottage on Middleditch Farm for as long as Fleur could remember. He’d worked
for her father and for the Smallwoods before that until his retirement a few years earlier. He was still fit and healthy and liked to help out at lambing and at harvest time.
‘You will when I go, Dad,’ Kenny said, throwing the spades into the back of the car.
Jake sighed. ‘Aye well, I’ll think about that when the time comes.’
‘You off, then?’ Harry hobbled round the corner of the cottage and stood beside Fleur as they all said their goodbyes.
‘Well, I think so, unless you can come back with us, Fleur? Kenny said he didn’t think you were on duty until tomorrow afternoon. Will it be all right? We could be sure to get you back tomorrow morning.’
Fleur forced a smile. Part of her didn’t really want to go home, didn’t want to face more antagonism and censure from her mother, yet she could see that both Jake and Kenny wanted to snatch another few hours with her. ‘I’ll risk it. I’ll just get my things . . .’
As she ran upstairs she was thinking: at least it might keep my mind off Robbie; but in her heart she knew it wouldn’t. Oh I wonder if he’s asked her yet, she couldn’t help thinking as she slipped out of her workaday clothes and back into her uniform. I wonder if he knows already . . .
Seventeen
‘Mother dear . . .’ Robbie began, using the more formal address he’d adopted as quite a young boy when he was trying to wheedle his way around her.
Meg smiled archly at him. ‘Oho, and what is it you’re wanting now?’
He took her hand and led her to sit on the sofa in front of the fire. ‘I need to talk to you.’
He’d been at home for two days and was due to return to camp the next morning. He was glad to have been there for he’d been on hand to help his mother bring his grandfather home from the hospital. The old man was much better, glad to be home and tucked up warmly in his own room upstairs. And now was Robbie’s last chance to talk to his mother.
‘Oh dear, this sounds serious,’ Meg said gaily. ‘What have you been up to now? Have I got to write an apologetic letter to your commanding officer – just like I had to so many times to your headmaster?’
Wish Me Luck Page 12
