Land Girls, The Promise

by Roland Moore

  The Flag was a small, white-walled village pub with a thatched roof. Its tiny beer garden was overlooked by the ominous hills on which stood Jordan Gate, so even while they tried to relax, and even as the light faded, the girls had a constant visual reminder of what was waiting for them. Vanessa and Iris sat at a table in the garden, sipping ciders, while the other two Land Girls played darts inside. The pub was busy, full of farmers and trekkers spending their hard-earned pay on a few hours of relaxation at the end of the week. Vanessa smoked a roll-up as they talked about life on the farm. She revealed that she had been there for two months and she had been applying for a transfer for nearly as long. She was desperate to leave.

  “There’s no reason to move me if rats still need killing,” Vanessa said, licking down another roll-up.

  “I don’t know if I can stand it for six months,” Iris grumbled.

  “And that’s if your farmer back there keeps his word,” Vanessa said.

  “Finch will keep his word. I hope so anyway.” Iris felt a sudden doubt. What if he didn’t? She was gone, out of the way. Finch could resume his courting of Evelyn without anyone ruining the party. There was no one to sour his romance now. Why would he want to bring troublesome Iris back now he was shot of her?

  “Just be aware that you might be here longer than you think, that’s all.” Vanessa sipped from her cider and then took a drag on her cigarette. She was trying to fit as much in as she could, all too aware that they had been given a curfew of nine-thirty to be back at Jordan Gate.

  Iris went to the bar and got two more ciders. As she waited, she asked the bar man for a gin to keep her going. She downed it in one, feeling it burning her throat. Could she survive here for the rest of the war? And it wasn’t just her own survival that was troubling her. Part of her felt that she shouldn’t give up on Finch. Despite his faults, she cared for him. Surely she should go back, damn the consequences, and make him realise that Evelyn was a bad lot? There she was again, trying to fight everyone’s battles. But she couldn’t help it. Iris felt a desperate need to put peoples’ lives back together, a desperate desire to save people. It wasn’t just that she was a kind person. No, she knew the real reason for it.

  - black patent-leather shoes running, running, running -

  No, shut that away, shut it out. She winced as she tried to stop the painful thoughts coming back. She knew what would help shut them out. She asked for another gin. The barman gave her a wary look.

  “It’s my birthday,” Iris lied.

  He nodded and poured her another measure. Iris tipped it into her cider and took the drinks towards the garden, sipping hers as she went. It tasted disgusting, but Iris was determined not to waste it. A group of middle-aged itinerant workers - trekkers - were blocking the door to the garden, laughing and joking. Not really looking, Iris went to weave around them. Suddenly one of their hands grabbed her shoulder, gently pulling her back.

  “Here, leave off, what are you doing -?”

  Time stopped still as she turned to find herself looking into the small, wrinkled face of a middle-aged man.

  The face of Vernon Storey.

  Her legs turned to jelly and her mouth went dry with fear, opening and closing without any words. Sporting a beard and an exhausted look, he went to speak. This couldn’t be really happening. It was impossible. Iris tried to say something, but nothing would come out. She took a step backwards, away, dropping the drinks. The glasses smashed to the floor, explosions of golden liquid and glass silencing the room. Everyone looked around, but Iris was transfixed on the thin, gnarled figure in front of her.

  It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be here. How could he be here?

  No, no, this wasn’t possible.

  “Iris?” he said, softly and imploringly. Was he surprised too? His silky, sinister tones were the same, etched into her brain from before. His small brown eyes burning fiercely as they had in every nightmare she’d had since that ordeal in his living room.

  Finally, Iris managed to shrug off her paralysis. She found the strength in her legs to run. She bolted for the door and tumbled out into the back garden. But Vanessa wasn’t there! Maybe she had gone to the toilet. She wasn’t there to help. Iris scrambled to her feet, as Vernon moved slowly towards her, coming out into the garden, where darkness had nearly fallen.

  “Stay away from me!” she screamed.

  Iris ran for the back gate, jumping over the low fence, as Vernon gave chase.

  “Wait, Iris!”

  Iris ran down the small high street, desperately looking for a house with its lights on, desperately looking for some sort of sanctuary. But the row of terraced cottages stood in darkness, the owners probably in the pub. Iris scrambled up a hill at the end of the street and bolted past a wishing well.

  “I will come for you, Iris. Mark my words!”

  The phrase echoed around in Iris’s head as she ran full pelt up the hill, tripping and stumbling on roots as she went. How could Vernon have been here? What was going on? She knew that she had to get away. The forest was nearly dark now and Iris crashed through foliage and past branches, twigs gouging at her face as she went. She jumped over tree roots and stumbled up the hillside. Finally she got to the top of the hill and threw herself against the trunk of a large oak tree. Then she risked a glance behind her, back down the hill. It was hard to see in the gloom, and the trees cast disturbing shadows that moved in the breeze. But after a few moments, Iris became reassured that Vernon wasn’t down there. She turned and went to continue running, when a man grabbed her mouth.

  Iris went to scream, but she couldn’t make more than a muffled noise of protest.

  She struggled violently, lashing out with her hands and kicking with her legs. It took a few seconds for her to realise that she wasn’t fighting Vernon. It wasn’t him. Her brain finally believed her eyes. It was Clarence, and not Vernon, who had grabbed her.

  “What are you doing running out here?” he barked.

  “Please. You’ve got to let me … me …”

  “What?”

  “We’ve got to go to the farmhouse and lock it! We’re not safe!”

  “Why?”

  “He’s here,” Iris said, pulling away from Clarence and running hysterically towards Jordan Gate. She couldn’t afford to wait to convince him. Clarence threw a final look down the hill and ran to follow her. He couldn’t see anyone. By the time he reached the farmhouse, Iris was already inside and clutching a large bread knife.

  “Put that down and tell me what the hell’s going on?” Clarence slammed the door behind him. Horace entered from upstairs, wearing an apron and a curious look. Agitated, Iris paced the kitchen as if she was a wasp confined in a jar. There were two men here, they might offer some protection. What if they knew Vernon? What if they were in on it?

  But as she spoke, she breathed deeply to try to calm herself, to try to make sense of the madness. She had gone for a drink in a village pub and Vernon Storey had been there. How could that have happened?

  “It’s Vernon. His name is Vernon.”

  “Who?”

  “The man I was running from.” Iris looked Clarence in the eyes. He didn’t look particularly sympathetic, but at least he was listening. “Back in Helmstead, he tried to kill me and he said that one day he’d come back for me.” Iris clasped her hands to her temples, trying to fathom what had happened. “He’s one of your workers. One of the trekkers.”

  “Vernon?” Clarence flashed a look to Horace, who shrugged. “There’s no one called Vernon.”

  “But there must be. He was with some of the others I’ve seen around here.” The farmhouse door opened and a concerned Vanessa Collins ran inside.

  “They said she’d run off in a panic,” she said. But Clarence ignored her. “We have to have all their names. And I’m telling you, there’s no Vernon.” He looked at Horace for clarification.

  Horace nodded and Clarence returned his gaze to Iris. “Have you been drinking, girl?”

  Iris felt a flash
of anger. How dare he pin this on drinking? She hadn’t imagined it. He had been there as plain as day. Her worst nightmare had returned. He had kept his promise to come back for her.

  “Has she been drinking?” And now he turned to Vanessa, keen to hear what she had to say.

  With some reluctance, Vanessa nodded.

  “And did you see this Vernon man?”

  “No.”

  “She wasn’t there!” Iris shouted. “And the other girls were playing darts. But they might have seen me drop the drinks.”

  “And what would that prove?” Clarence sighed and mulled this over. “Knew it was a mistake to allow you to take them off drinking. You have a few drinks and spook yourself out in the forest -”

  “I saw him! He spoke to me!”

  “There’s no Vernon,” Clarence shouted, his voice so loud that both Vanessa and Iris flinched.

  “He might be here under a different name.” She looked imploringly at Horace, but he stared impassively back. “Surely he could be under a different name?”

  Clarence had had enough. He turned to Vanessa and lowered his voice to a whisper, the sort of whisper that a doctor would use when expressing concern about a patient’s mental health. “Take her back to the barn and see she gets some rest. And keep an eye on her.”

  Iris started to complain, but she found that Horace was steering her towards the door. “You heard what he said.”

  Vanessa opened the door and led the way. Iris followed her to the barn, looking nervously at every shadow around the silos. Was Vernon out here? Hiding like one of the rats? By the time they got to their beds, Vanessa gave Iris a chunk of bread to eat ‘to soak up the drink’. Iris waited for her back to turn and she pocketed it in her coat. She knew she might need it later. But for now, a plan was forming in her head. Vanessa had shut herself off again and she was the uncommunicative soul that she had been when Iris had arrived. Iris supposed she had ruined things for them all. They would never be given permission to go to the pub again, thanks to this seemingly hysterical display. Iris didn’t have the energy to talk. She knew she would have to leave this place. Otherwise Vernon would wait until the barn was in darkness and he would creep in and throttle her. She had no choice but to escape. She would go back to Pasture Farm. She would convince Fred Finch that Evelyn was using him and then everything would be all right. Yes, that’s what she would do.

  She waited for Vanessa to go to get changed, and then Iris slid out of bed. She put her jumper over her nightie and stashed the rest of her Women’s Land Army uniform in her suitcase. Slipping on her boots, Iris crept as quietly as she could from the barn. Once outside, she pushed the door until it was nearly closed. The moon was high in the sky, illuminating the silos and the ground like the slightly unreal lighting of a movie set. Iris crept past the farmhouse and reached the first silo. To get out of the main gate without being seen from the farmhouse, the easiest route away from this place, she had to move in a loop around the silos.

  As Iris emerged from one side of the silo, she nearly cried out in shock.

  Maureen was standing in front of her, on her way to the farmhouse. She eyed Iris and spotted the suitcase, knowing immediately what Iris was doing. Maureen looked towards the farm. Would she raise the alarm? Iris realised that she was in two minds.

  “Listen, you can come too.”

  “What?” Maureen looked surprised by the notion.

  “He’s using you and you don’t seem happy. Come with me. Go your own way. But you have to leave right now!” Iris hissed as loudly as she dared. The mangy black dog padded its way around the silo to see what they were doing. Iris chose to ignore it.

  “I am leaving. But I have to do it my way,” Maureen protested.

  “Why wait?”

  “If I go now, I’ll be a deserter, won’t I? But if I stay they will send me home and I’ll be free.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t have to run away to finish serving as a Land Girl …” Maureen said.

  Suddenly the penny dropped and the awful realisation of Maureen’s desperate plan hit home. “You think that if you get pregnant, you’ll get sent home?”

  “I know it,” Maureen muttered. “Paragraph 11 of the rules says they have to send you home. I hate it here, so I thought that my best bet was to seduce him.”

  “Please don’t,” Iris protested. “Come with me and you can serve at Pasture Farm. It’s nice there and you won’t be a deserter. And you won’t be having that man’s child!”

  Maureen looked towards the farmhouse. “You should go. I have to go inside. I won’t tell him I saw you.”

  “At least tell me you won’t do it. Get pregnant.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Leave here and head to Helmstead. You’ll find Pasture Farm a couple of miles from the town. Ask for Esther. She’ll take you.”

  “You should go.”

  Iris realised that arguing would be futile. And she had to leave right now. She picked up her suitcase, the cold night air biting at her uncovered calves, and walked off as quickly as she could. She moved around another of the silos and could see the gate of the farm up ahead. She would be unlucky if she was spotted now, as it would mean that Horace or Clarence were in the parlour looking out along the driveway. Iris had no choice but to chance it. She set off as quietly and as quickly as she could, swinging her case. She had reached the end of the drive and the salvation of the gate, when a new threat appeared. The mangy black dog was at her heels. It looked excitable, jumping up at her, as if it might bark at any time. Iris willed it not to make a sound.

  “Please be quiet,” she hissed.

  The dog started to jump even more and it started to whine. Iris grimaced. No, please no.

  How could she stop it?

  Then she remembered the bread in her pocket. She pulled it out and threw it on the ground. The dog hungrily wolfed it down and Iris used the distraction to lift the latch on the gate and head off. She picked up her pace, knowing that although she was free of the farmhouse, she had about eighteen miles or so to walk before she got to Pasture Farm.

  Iris walked and walked. She had the vaguest idea of the direction but whenever she reached a junction or crossroads there was no helpful signpost. Her big fear was that she would end up back where she started. She followed the quiet country roads, keeping near to the hedgerow. It was all so desolate and sparse, and she didn’t pass another person. Owls hooted and rats scurried. The squall of foxes mating would startle her, their screams like howling babies, but still she kept doggedly on. She had contemplated opening her suitcase at the side of the road and putting on her full outfit for warmth, but decided instead to keep going. Keeping moving would keep her warm. The night sky started to shift from a velvety black to a bruised purple and Iris knew that she was heading towards dawn. How far had she gone? She had no idea. The roads stretched on and on, miles of identical hedgerow. Her feet and legs were aching and her hand held onto the suitcase with all feeling gone from her fingers. She longed to see the welcoming, warm lights of Pasture Farm each time she reached a bend in the road. Maybe the next bend would have a familiar sight around the corner.

  Iris reached a crossroads. It looked familiar. She was certain that she had seen it with Finch in the car. Or was it her imagination? A mind playing desperate tricks on her to convince her she was going the right way. Suddenly a noise broke the serenity of the night, a strange and at first unfamiliar noise. But then Iris recognised it. A car engine. Some way down one of the lanes forking from the crossroads, a car was ambling its way along, faint yellow beams emanating from the slits of the blackout tape on the headlights. Iris had a few moments to decide what to do. She could push herself back against the hedgerow and hide, waiting for it to pass. Or she could flag it down and ask for a lift. Seeing as she had been walking for hours, she decided to risk it and flag down the car. As it got nearer, Iris put down her case and stepped into the road. Even though the lights were dim they meant that she coul
dn’t see beyond them. She couldn’t see what type of car it was. She waved her arms and, to her relief, the car slowed to a halt in front of her. Because of the lights she couldn’t see it was a dark green Riley Nine.

  As the driver’s door opened, Iris moved around the car towards her benefactor.

  “Thanks so much, I was -”

  And then she recognised the familiar, tight grin and the dark little eyes amid a sea of wrinkles. Vernon Storey.

  Iris backed away, stumbling over her feet.

  “I need to talk to you, you stupid girl!” Vernon shouted, running towards her. But Iris batted him off and ran hell for leather back the way she had come, her case forgotten and abandoned. She had never been so desperate to escape something, so aware of her body’s limitations when it came to running for an extended time. Why hadn’t she got better at it? Why hadn’t she practised?

  A warm summer’s day and a ten-year-old girl was running as fast as she could.

  She blotted it out. She didn’t have time for that now.

  Black patent-leather shoes running fast down a cobbled street -

  No, not now.

  She just needed to escape from Vernon. That had to be her sole focus. She felt her lungs bursting as she powered down the lane, her nightdress billowing as she went.

  Vernon ran back to the car, got in and turned it in the road. And then, with a squeal of tyres, the car ate up the gap between them. Iris realised that she needed to get off the road. She ran onto the verge, jumped the ditch and launched herself at the hedge. Behind her, she could hear the car braking and Vernon getting out to pursue her. The hawthorn hedge was eight feet tall and she had to scramble up, against the spikes that were intent on bringing her down. A thorn ripped open her forearm, but Iris didn’t have time to scream. She hauled her legs up, finding some sort of purchase point, and then pushed up again to find somewhere to grip.