Land Girls, The Promise

by Roland Moore

  But what if he could find the man who’d tipped off the Germans?

  Maybe then he could get some justice for the relatives, for his friends. A crazy thought tumbled into his mind. What if Captain Cosallo had known he had beaten up Frank Tucker, but he was letting him off the hook so he could finish the job? Two weeks’ leave. Two weeks to get that son-of-a-bitch collaborator and make him pay. Maybe that was what Cosallo was up to. Although it was unofficially sanctioned army business, Cosallo was giving him time to finish the job. Could that be true?

  Joe felt giddy. He knew he would be stepping over the line. He knew that it could be the end of his army career. But didn’t he owe it to all his buddies? Cosallo would have done the same for his friends at Operation Torch, surely? That’s why he mentioned it. That’s what this whole thing was about, wasn’t it? This was Joe’s war. This was his destiny.

  This was his chance to put things right.

  Chapter 8

  The mid-morning sun played on the stream as Iris clattered the egg cart over the bridge into the village. She was grateful to be out and away from the farm, having endured a sullen silence in the kitchen before she left. The fact that Esther wasn’t venting her emotions worried her. It felt like something had been irrevocably tainted and changed, and that the relationship between Iris and the rest of the inhabitants of Pasture Farm would never be the same again. If Finch’s wedding went ahead, Iris knew already that she probably wouldn’t be invited. But less trivially, she felt that something was being concocted; a punishment for her bad behaviour. It might very well have been paranoia, but there was a feeling of wheels being put in motion behind her back. She hated having to wait to find out what it would be. She hated the feeling of failure. She wished she could get a second chance.

  Iris stopped the cart outside the butcher’s shop, pushing the brake up with her foot. She took a tray of eggs inside and left them on the counter. Coming out again, she saw a familiar figure across the village square. Joe Batch was standing with two other soldiers smoking cigarettes. He spotted Iris at the same moment and the two of them looked uneasily at one another for a second. Then Iris decided to take charge. She left the egg cart and walked purposefully towards him. Joe indicated to his friends that he would be with them in a moment. He eyed the approaching Iris with caution. She stopped a couple of feet away from him and squinted against the sun.

  “I didn’t know,” she said.

  “Didn’t know what?”

  “About the attack at Panmere. I’m sorry. It explains why you were all riled up with Frank. But you still shouldn’t have done it.”

  Joe nodded his gratitude at her understanding nature. “I guess.”

  “I could have reported it, but Frank didn’t want to make a fuss. And sometimes we deserve a second chance, don’t we?” She said, hoping that Esther might share the same sentiment.

  “Thanks,” Joe said. “And I’m sorry again. About what I tried to do with you. Outside the film.”

  Iris felt heat rising in her throat. Thinking about that upset Iris more than thinking about Joe’s savage attack on Frank. That was personal to her, an assault that made her wary of Joe Batch, and perhaps of all men with their seemingly charming smiles. Iris had tried to process it and make allowances, and when she viewed it objectively she hoped it wouldn’t colour her feelings towards other men in the future. She knew they weren’t all like that. Even Joe Batch wasn’t like that most of the time. But she wanted answers, or an apology at the very least.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked.

  They stood looking at each other for a moment, Joe shaking his head and looking at the ground. And then Joe broke the silence. “I’m a good guy. It’s this war that’s turned me upside down. First my pal, Chuck, and then the attack. It’s all been too much. And if you never want to see me again, I’ll respect that. I’m a bit messed up right now.”

  Iris nodded.

  Joe’s face fell.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean yes. No, that’s not what I meant,” Iris said quickly. “I meant I understood what you were saying, not that I didn’t - stop talking, Iris.”

  “And?” he said, amused by her.

  “Things have been horrible for me too. So maybe we could give it another go.”

  This time Joe’s face broke into a grin, his white teeth gleaming. “We should go somewhere later. Just to talk.”

  “Let’s talk now.” Iris looked around to see if anyone was watching. She felt she had burnt all her bridges and she was going to be punished anyway. So why not go out in style? She felt butterflies filling her stomach. She had never misbehaved like this before. She walked with Joe back past the butcher’s shop, ignoring the egg cart that had been left outside. Before she left she wanted to put Joe straight about Frank. They found themselves in a nearby field by the stream that ran along the edge of the town. They sat on the grass and looked at the water. Joe made no immediate attempt to get amorous with her, to her relief. But that didn’t stop her feeling as if she was behaving wildly just by being there; just by shirking her work.

  “It looks so peaceful, doesn’t it?” he said, pointing towards the slow-running water. “The fish in there, they don’t know what we’re going through, the awful stuff that’s happening. That’s why people behave oddly. They think they could be dead tomorrow.”

  “Frank Tucker isn’t the traitor,” Iris said.

  Did she see a flash of anger momentarily filling Joe’s eyes? If she did, he shrugged it away, covering his feelings. “Let’s not talk about him. Not now.” He stared back at the stream. “Let’s not spoil it.”

  Iris wondered about her impending punishment and whether her days at Pasture Farm were numbered. She might never see Joe Batch again. Would she regret not having kissed him, not having put her hands on his muscular arms? Forty years from now, she might regret not being spontaneous, not taking a risk. As Connie often told her ‘you want to regret the things you do, not the things you don’t.’ If these were her last few days at Pasture Farm, she wanted something good to remember.

  Part of her wondered about kissing him, but had no idea how to do it. She was guessing that grown-ups didn’t position themselves facing each other stiffly, like she and Brian Marley had when they were ten. But she dismissed the idle thought. She was attracted to Joe, but she didn’t want to kiss him. Not after the way he’d behaved. If she wanted something good to remember, it wouldn’t be kissing Joe.

  But to her surprise, Joe seemed to have ideas of his own. He leaned forwards, slowly, tentatively, and his warm, full lips moved towards hers. For a moment, she thought how easy it would be to give in. But something snapped inside her, a sensible side that appeared just in time for her to take back control. She wasn’t Connie and her life was already full of regrets, one more wouldn’t matter.

  “Sorry, I -” she said.

  “What is it?” Joe replied, slight annoyance in his voice.

  “This is what happens in films. It’s not what happens in real life.”

  “Hey, it can be.”

  “Not in my life.” Iris said. “I don’t have long here. This may be the last time I see you. And I wanted to make sure that Frank will be all right when I’m gone.” Yes, that would be the good thing she would remember. The time she protected Frank.

  “Stop talking about that man!” Joe snapped. “Jeez. What have the two of you got going on?”

  Iris felt her cheeks flush with anger. How dare he suggest that she and Frank were more than friends? “That’s your trouble, Joe. You can’t believe that two people can just be friends.”

  Before Joe could respond, a shrill voice screeched, “What on earth are you doing?”

  Iris looked around to see a stony-faced Mrs Gulliver staring at them. She was standing on the path that lead from the village, open-mouthed in disbelief at what looked like a young couple canoodling on the river bank. Iris didn’t have the inclination to point out that this wasn’t what it seemed. Instead, she jumped to her feet, threw a final look of contempt
at Joe and ran off across the field.

  She made her way back towards Shallow Brook Farm, her mind buzzing with conflicting thoughts and emotions. The last few days had all been too much. She knew she was going to be punished. She knew that this might be the end of her days in Helmstead. But whatever was going to happen, Iris had put Joe straight. She had protected her friend. And whatever else happened now, Iris was going to face it head-on. That was all she could do.

  A meeting was taking place around the kitchen table in Pasture Farm. A parade of grim faces, no one relishing the task at hand. Esther Reeves, Fred Finch, Joyce Fisher, John Fisher and Martin Reeves. Martin was allowed to be present against the wishes of his mother. Esther was concerned that he might tell Iris what they were doing, and she didn’t want that particular cat let out of the bag just yet. Or worse still, he might just argue her corner without listening to the facts. Esther hoped they could be fair but thorough. And the emotional pleadings of a 16-year-old boy who was sweet on Iris Dawson would only hamper things. She went to take a sip of her tea and caught Finch switching his cup with hers.

  “Fred!” she admonished.

  “Yours was a better colour. Stronger,” said Finch, batting away her concern. He didn’t seem to know why anyone would have a problem with him switching mugs. It was a habit that annoyed Esther as he was always doing it. Changing a plate of food because another looked better, switching drinks because one might have more in it. She guessed that he only did it because it made her so mad.

  After taking a slurp of the mug that was formerly Esther’s, Finch cut to the chase. ‘So what do we do?’

  What could they do? Esther knew at least one option.

  “We could drum her out,” Esther said. “She gets disciplined and thrown out of the Women’s Land Army.”

  “Mum!” Martin protested.

  “Martin!” Esther snapped back. It had taken four minutes for him to stick up for Iris, and he hadn’t even finished hearing them out yet. “I wasn’t saying we would drum her out. Only that we could. It’s one option.”

  “So she’d be disciplined for bad behaviour and sent home?” Finch said, mulling it over himself. He felt conflicted. He liked a happy home and he enjoyed having the Land Girls around the place, but he also wanted his courtship of Evelyn to go as smoothly as possible. If Iris had a grudge against her, it could be unpleasant for everyone. And it was unfortunate on another level as he liked Iris. She was a sweet girl, well, most of the time.

  “What has she actually done?” Joyce asked, busy scraping a fingernail across the grain of the wood on the table. She seemed keen not to meet anyone’s eye.

  “She accused my fiancée of all sorts!” Finch stormed.

  “Fiancée? You haven’t asked her yet, have you?” Joyce said.

  Esther didn’t want the meeting derailed by discussing the minutiae of Finch’s love life. She tried to keep things on track with a simple list of Iris Dawson’s misbehaviour. “She’s drinking. That’s the main worry. Most nights, by the look of her in the morning. She’s like a bear with a sore head. She falls asleep on the job and -”

  “Mum!” Martin said. “She’s not been like that when I’ve seen her.”

  “Well, maybe she’s already had a crafty nap by the time she sees you!” Esther shook her head. “And besides all that, her mind is all over the shop. She sees Vernon in every shadow. She made up this stuff about Evelyn hitting her. She ripped Evelyn’s handbag off her lap and threw all the things in it over the floor.”

  “Just because she doesn’t want me to marry her,” Finch grumbled.

  “Why would she make that up, though?” Joyce asked. “She’s a good girl, not one for flights of fancy.”

  “Sorry, love, but you might be wrong on that one,” John interjected. “What was it she made up the other day?”

  “That her mum had kissed Errol Flynn,” Esther confirmed. “She told it to the doctor, as bold as brass.”

  Martin frowned at John for bringing this up, as if he’d personally been betrayed. He got up from the table and made his way to the kitchen door.

  “Martin!” Esther said.

  “Leave me alone.” Martin left the room.

  “Do you think he’ll tell her?” Finch asked.

  “Not if he knows what’s good for him.” Esther sighed. She opened her ledger, a large, heavy book with pastel-coloured lines decorating the width of the pages. This book contained all of her notes about the business of the Women’s Land Army; everything from absences to dates of birth of the girls. Tucked inside was a small red book, printed by the Ministry for Agriculture and Fisheries, which contained the codes of conduct for the members of the Women’s Land Army. Esther didn’t really need to look at it as she was so well-versed in its contents, but she wanted to check it for peace of mind. To make absolutely certain.

  “A lot of the poor girl’s problems seem to stem from that business with Vernon,” Esther stated. When she said the man’s name there was a slight revulsion in her voice, but perhaps only Freddie Finch picked up on it. The truth was that Esther had her own history with Vernon Storey. It had been a dark point in her life, one that she didn’t want to dwell on. Martin had had an accident that had affected his vision. Knowing he needed an operation to repair the damage, Esther set out to raise the necessary funds. But she found it practically impossible to raise all the money she needed. That’s when Vernon had made his offer. He would give her the money for Martin’s operation. Esther was overjoyed, until she realised this was no altruistic action. Vernon wanted to have sex with her in return. Esther had wrestled with this horrific dilemma, but with time running out for Martin, she agreed to the offer. For his part, Vernon had kept his word and paid up, but the incident had left Esther feeling bereft, and waves of revulsion would wash over her whenever she thought about that man. Finch had found out what had happened and consoled her as best as he could. But nothing could take away the shame of what she had done. So yes, Esther had her own history with Vernon Storey. But for now, she focused on the matter in hand.

  “So maybe it would make sense to give Iris a fresh start. A change of scene.”

  John, Joyce and Finch mulled this over for a moment. John looked pained by the suggestion, whereas Finch was more sanguine.

  “Dumping her somewhere new isn’t the answer. She needs her friends around her,” John said.

  “She’ll make new ones,” Finch replied gruffly. Crossing Evelyn seemed to have evaporated any pity he might have felt for the young woman. “There’s the fen work in East Anglia. They’re crying out for girls.”

  Everyone around the table knew about the huge project to turn thousands of acres of fen land in East Anglia into suitable land for farming. A vast number of Land Girls from all over the country had been seconded for the job, operating heavy excavation machinery and tractors. Finch used to use the prospect of this work to tease Connie and Joyce. It had become a standing joke, the ultimate punishment. “If you don’t behave, I’ll send you to East Anglia”. But now he was actually considering it for real.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to send her home? Back to her mother?” John asked.

  “Not when there’s a war on and we need people working,” Finch replied.

  “I think she should have one more chance to straighten herself out,” Joyce offered. “This sounds like the only option that leaves her with her pride intact.”

  “I agree,” Esther said, perhaps relieved that someone else had suggested this leniency first. “I will talk to her.”

  “How’s that going to change things?” Finch blustered. “She tried to turn me against my fiancée -”

  “She’s not your fiancée!” Esther said.

  “She will be.” Finch wasn’t happy about this turn of events. “I’ve put up with a lot of things in my own house, but having one of the girls making up lies about Evelyn.” He shook his head to emphasise the seriousness of this offence. “I’ll not stand for that.”

  With the meeting adjourned, Esther wrote up what h
ad been discussed in her ledger. She hated this part of her job. It was fine being a maternal figure to the girls, laughing with them, helping them, but the disciplinary side of things brought her out in a cold sweat. With a heavy heart, Esther put on her hat and coat and walked over to Shallow Brook Farm to break the news to Iris that she would be leaving Pasture Farm.

  Iris made her way slowly back along the lane. Her stomach was in knots but she felt pleased that she had talked to Joe about Frank. Since the riverbank, Iris felt different somehow. In a small way, she felt she had taken control of her destiny. So many people had, often unknowingly, controlled her life. Her mum had urged her to join the Women’s Land Army; Esther controlled her time at the farm, dictating meal times and curfews; Finch ordered her around. And perhaps an insidious feeling of failure - from all those years ago - predisposed her to taking such orders. It was easier to do as you were told. It was easier to let others shape your destiny. Because taking control meant that you could fail again -

  - Black, patent-leather shoes were running as fast as the young girl could go as she raced over the cobbles to -

  And Iris didn’t want to fail again.

  But she had made a small breakthrough in standing up to Joe Batch. No one had ordered her to do that. Iris rounded a bend and saw the familiar, brooding spectre of Shallow Brook Farm. The skeletal scarecrow of her broom stood in the yard. It was back to reality.

  Martin was in the lane, idly kicking stones with his shoe. He smiled awkwardly as Iris approached.

  “What’s the matter?” Iris asked.

  Martin shrugged. “They’re not happy with you.”

  “I didn’t think they would be.”

  “I tried to stick up for you. But maybe if you could stop with the drinking, it would help.”

  “I don’t drink all the time.” Iris bridled.

  “It’s all that idiot soldier’s fault. He was the one that got you into alcohol.” Yes, Joe had given her the first drink at the dance, but it had been her decision to drink more to blot out the terror she felt at night. She was to blame for that.