A Christmas Candle

by Katie Flynn

  The two girls had reached the wood as they talked and now Mabel stared at her companion, wide-eyed. ‘What a horrible school yours must have been,’ she said frankly. ‘You won’t get anything like that in the village, I promise you. Oh, you may get teased, but you won’t get bullied. And you say the teachers never told anyone off for the way they behaved?’ She snorted. ‘Of course there may be one or two of the evacuees who aren’t nice at all, but they’d have to be really horrid to make fun of someone who’d had an operation.’ She looked at Eve accusingly. ‘I trust, Eve Armstrong, that you did not join in what I can only describe as persecution?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t,’ Eve said indignantly. ‘And you’re right, it was a horrid school. Daddy was furious when I told him about the girl being called Baldy, and complained to the headmistress, but it was nearly the end of term and I don’t think she did anything about it.’ She looked thoughtfully at Mabel. ‘If someone threatened to give you a bloody nose, would that be persecution?’

  Mabel laughed. ‘Course not, unless they actually did it. Why? Has someone said that to you?’

  Eve looked fixedly ahead of her and a rhyme popped into her mind. Tell tale tit, your tongue will be split, and all the little pussycats will have a little bit. She had heard the cockney kids playing street games using the rhyme to tease each other, though with no malice in their cheerful voices, so rather than risk being a tell tale she shook her head.

  ‘One thing I do hate is tale-bearing,’ Mabel said rather primly. ‘Want another humbug? Once we get to the stream we can have a drink of water, because don’t humbugs make you thirsty?’

  Chapter Three

  When Eve and Mabel entered the kitchen Mrs Faversham had cleared the table and was washing up. She turned and gave the two girls a broad smile, jerking her thumb at Eleanor Armstrong, who was drying the dishes and piling them up on the scrubbed wooden table.

  ‘Well, your mother has found herself lodgings nearer Plymouth, Eve, and she’ll be leaving us in a few days’ time,’ she said bluntly. ‘You and Chrissie will be staying here with your uncle Reg and me, and very glad we are to have you, pet. Now, are you hungry? I saved some grub for you and Mabel; it’s in the meat safe, so get outside of that and then you can amuse yourselves until tea time. I shall need the table in here, so you can take your plates through into the dining room and clean up when you’ve ate.’

  Eve smiled to herself. All her worries had been for nothing, because it was pretty plain that her mother was as keen to leave her children as they were to be left. When it came to the actual parting Chrissie would undoubtedly cry, for his mother was always showering him with little treats, but he was at the age when getting his own way was more important even than little treats, and he doubtless thought he could bend Mrs Faversham and Eve herself to his will just as he did his mother.

  ‘Well?’ The impatience was back in Eleanor’s voice. ‘You said last night you thought it was a good idea. Don’t say you’ve changed your mind!’

  ‘Of course I haven’t,’ Eve said indignantly as Mabel emerged from the pantry with two plates of delicious-looking food. ‘Don’t worry – we’ll be fine without you.’

  At the end of the week Eve and Chrissie waved their mother off with a show of affection so convincing that Mabel asked anxiously if Eve was sure she had made the right decision in remaining on the farm. Eve smiled.

  ‘Yes. Mummy finds me a wretched nuisance most of the time and isn’t afraid to say so, and this last week Chrissie has behaved so badly that she’s been avoiding him as much as possible. She’s got her own life to lead, and I know she’ll come and see us as often as she can.’

  They had walked to the end of the lane to wave the taxi off, and now Mabel took one of Chrissie’s hands and Eve the other and they swung him between them all the way back to the farmhouse, much to his enjoyment. He shot into the kitchen, informed Mrs Faversham that his mother had gone, and demanded one of the scones she had just brought out of the oven. Mrs Faversham smiled at him, but Eve thought there was steel behind the smile.

  ‘Not till tea time, and that’s not for a couple of hours yet,’ she said firmly. ‘Off with the lot of you. I’ve been up to your bedroom, Eve, and it’s a rare disgrace. What’s more, you and Chrissie here will be swapping rooms with Lily and Miriam. You three will have more room in the attic and the land girls won’t have to worry about waking Mabel when they’re on early milking.’

  Eve stared. She had been aware that various changes would follow Mrs Armstrong’s departure but she did not think there had been any mention of giving up their room to Miriam and Lily. In fact she was pretty sure that her mother had assumed they would keep the existing arrangement for whenever she or Daddy visited the farm. She opened her mouth to say so but Mrs Faversham cut her short.

  ‘Don’t worry, my duck, there’s the little spare room at the foot of the attic stair. We’ve arranged that if your mother or father wants to sleep over they can go in there. After all, the last thing they want will be Mr Gabble here’ – she jerked a thumb at Chrissie – ‘interrupting their sleep.’

  Eve smiled. It was the perfect solution, and though their mother might grumble at losing the use of the larger room Eve knew she would much prefer an uninterrupted night’s sleep to sharing a room with Chrissie.

  So the three children mounted the stairs and began the gargantuan task of clearing the Armstrongs’ room before climbing the second flight of narrow steps to the attic, where they found Lily lying on her bed reading a letter. Eve knew the older girl had a boyfriend who flew fighter planes; his name was Colin, and Lily wrote to him most days, receiving replies on thin airmail paper, for Colin had been posted abroad – to South Africa, Lily believed. He clearly missed his ‘golden Lily’, as he called her; a nickname which Eve considered entirely appropriate, for she thought that Lily, with her golden hair and slender figure, was the most beautiful girl she had ever encountered. But now Lily laid aside Colin’s latest missive and smiled at them.

  ‘Hello, kids,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Come to claim your new room?’ She stood up. ‘Give me two ticks and I’ll be out of your way – as you can see, Miriam’s packed her stuff already, so we’re nearly all set.’ She thrust the last of her things into a knapsack as she spoke, pulled the cord tight and hefted the bag on to her shoulder. ‘Right, that’s it. So if one of you could hand me Miriam’s pack, please, I’ll leave you to it.’

  As soon as the changeover had been completed the children clattered down the stairs and into the kitchen, just in time to see Mrs Faversham take a large casserole dish out of the oven and place it in the middle of the table.

  ‘First hot meal of the day is always the best – not counting breakfast, o’ course,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Spuds is bubblin’ on the range so they’ll be ready in five minutes, and Lily and Miriam will be here in no time, hungry as hunters as usual.’ She turned to Mabel and Eve. ‘Now, you two, Mrs Ryder popped in while you were upstairs to say that school starts next week. You’ve to go to the village hall at nine o’clock tomorrow morning to get your instructions.’

  ‘What about me?’ Chrissie said plaintively. ‘Eve mustn’t go anywhere without me; Mummy promised.’

  Mrs Faversham shook a chiding finger. ‘You’ll go to the rectory, young man, and take your orders from Mrs Ryder. And don’t you think you’re going to spoil my tea by whining and trying to upset your sister, or it’ll be straight to bed for you and not a taste of my good stew will you get. Which is it to be?’

  Chrissie sniffed the succulent smells which emanated from the casserole and turned worshipful eyes on Mrs Faversham. ‘I loves you, and I loves your cooking,’ he assured her. ‘Is there plum pie for afters? I did love your plum pie.’

  Next day Eve and Mabel ate their breakfast porridge and hurried off to the village hall, dropping Chrissie off at the rectory on their way. When he realised he was being left he began to grizzle and clutch at his sister’s hand, but Mrs Ryder picked him up and took him to the conservatory where
a number of children were already playing with the various toys the rector’s wife had collected. There was a large sand tray, a big box of wooden building bricks and a pile of rather tattered books, and to Eve’s relief Chrissie rushed straight to the sand tray, although she was slightly dismayed to hear him announcing boastfully that he would make a much better sandcastle than the one a small boy of about his own age was trying to construct there.

  Mrs Ryder smiled reassuringly at Eve. ‘He’ll be fine once he’s learned to mix with other children,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I take it he’s never attended a nursery school or play centre before?’

  Eve shook her head somewhat guiltily. ‘We had a nanny; Nanny Burton. She stopped him playing with other children in the park in case they were a bad influence. What time shall I call for him, Mrs Ryder?’

  Mrs Ryder smiled. ‘When Miss Matheson has finished with you,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Off you go now. You’ll be told to which group you will belong and whether you are doing mornings or afternoons in school next week. Don’t worry about Chrissie; he’s an attractive little boy and will soon settle down.’

  The girls made their way to the village hall. They were by no means the first to arrive, since it was a good three miles from the farm to their destination, but others were even later and it was well past nine o’clock when the teacher addressed them. She explained that they would be divided into two groups, one of which would do their lessons in the morning for the first week whilst the second would be taught in the afternoon; the second week they would swap. They were to be divided roughly by age, and when Eve was asked how old she was she gave that useful reply ‘Going on twelve’, which meant she would be placed in the same group as Mabel. She wanted to stick as closely as she could to the only girl she knew in the entire crowd and expected that Mabel would feel the same, but her hopes were dashed when Mabel gave a squeak of delight and rushed to a tall dark-haired girl who looked about thirteen. The two hugged.

  ‘Joyce!’ Mabel squealed joyfully. ‘Whatever are you doing here? Auntie Flo told Mum you were being evacuated with your school to some place in the wilds of Wales. Are you going to stay at Drake’s Farm? That’s where Eve and I are living. Oh, I haven’t introduced you to Eve. Her parents are in Plymouth too … but oh, Joyce, it’s grand to see you again. I’m sure you’ve grown six inches since Easter.’

  Joyce was rosy-cheeked, her dark hair cut short in a Dutch bob. The glance she gave Eve was perfunctory. ‘Hello, Eve. I’m Joyce Epplethwaite, Mabel’s cousin,’ she said, and then turned her attention back to Mabel. ‘No, I’m not staying at Drake’s Farm, wherever that may be. I got a billet with the Huddlestons at the manor. Wouldn’t it be grand if you could move in there too?’

  ‘Oh, but the farm’s lovely,’ Mabel said rather uncertainly, ‘and Mrs Faversham’s a wonderful cook. Now if you could move in with us …’

  The two began an animated conversation and Eve turned away from them, sick at heart. Although she had barely acknowledged it until now she had secretly hoped that she and Mabel might become best friends, but this now seemed an empty dream.

  She looked wildly round at the mass of children and thought miserably that she had been foolish to pretend to be older than she really was. Should she confess to the teacher that there had been a misunderstanding? As she stood wondering what to do, she found herself suddenly addressed.

  ‘I say, Eve, we’re supposed to be separating into our groups now, you know,’ Joyce said. She smiled quite kindly at the younger girl. ‘Shouldn’t you be with the others of your own age?’

  Eve hesitated. It was the ideal opportunity to confess, to admit that she had fibbed in order to stay with Mabel, for she still had a lingering hope that when Joyce took herself off to Huddleston Manor Mabel would become, if not her best friend, at least a close one. Accordingly, she mumbled something to Joyce and then spoke directly to Mabel.

  ‘I fibbed about my age so that I could stay with you,’ she said defensively. ‘But I’m quite clever; I was head of my year at my old school so I dare say I’ll manage to keep up.’

  Mabel laughed, but Joyce’s smile had disappeared. ‘Self-praise is no virtue,’ she said. ‘Mabs and I were top too but you won’t hear either of us boasting.’

  ‘I wasn’t … I didn’t …’ poor Eve stammered, hoping Mabel would take her part, but it seemed that the conversation, so far as the older girls were concerned, was over.

  ‘Come on, Mabs, let’s find ourselves a quiet spot somewhere, away from all these kids,’ Joyce cut in. ‘We’re supposed to be writing down the work we’ll be expected to do on our own …’

  Eve turned away blindly, ashamed of the tears which rose to her eyes and blinking furiously to get rid of them. If Mabel moved to Huddleston Manor she supposed another girl would be evacuated to Drake’s Farm. She might be nice, of course, friendly and forthcoming, or she might be some stuck-up self-satisfied beast like Joyce, but whichever she was Eve would have to put up with her. But for the time being she must be sensible, and join her own group, so she straightened her shoulders and marched through the milling throng of children towards a kind-looking elderly man who was perched on one of the desks and was clearly there to answer questions. Eve smiled at him and held out her notebook.

  ‘I’m in the wrong group,’ she informed him. ‘I’m nearly ten, not nearly twelve. I wasn’t evacuated with my school or anything like that; my mother and father have left me and my baby brother in the care of the lady who owns Drake’s Farm …’

  When the alarm went off Eve was already awake. Listening to the noises coming from the farmyard below, she glanced across the long low room at the sleepers in the other two beds, and sighed. Much to her dismay, Mabel had managed to get a billet at Huddleston Manor so that she and Joyce could be together, and that, of course, left an empty place at Drake’s Farm.

  Mrs Faversham had been disappointed to lose her paying guest and had intended to advertise for a replacement, but the authorities had, for once, been on the ball and before many days had passed Mabel’s place had been filled by a genuine evacuee, a girl of around Eve’s own age who had missed the first wave of evacuation due to a nasty attack of mumps.

  The newcomer, Connie Hale, was nothing like Mabel. Although she was pretty, with curly dark hair and a pair of wide blue eyes, she was no substitute for the girl Eve had hoped to make her friend. For one thing, it soon became apparent that she was not happy. She hated the country and made it pretty plain that for two pins she would have returned to the city whence she had come. She boasted of her home life in Liverpool, of a large and imposing grocery shop owned by her father, of the staff he employed and the school she had attended. She had assured Eve that she had come top of her class so often that she was taught amongst children at least two years older than herself, and though she ate everything which was put before her she never admitted that the food was anything special and assured Eve, and anyone else who would listen, that her mother provided meals far superior to those enjoyed by the inhabitants of Drake’s Farm.

  Eve had been prepared to try to like Connie, but it was hard going and very soon impossible. Connie boasted of her educational superiority, but since her spelling was atrocious, her arithmetic worse and her reading, so far as Eve could see, about the level of a seven-year-old’s, Eve soon learned to take everything Connie said with a pinch of salt; a very large pinch. Eve’s own full name was Eve Deborah Armstrong. Connie claimed her middle name was Ariadne, after a Greek goddess of amazing beauty, but by the time she told Eve this, Eve was already wise to her stories and simply stared without comment.

  ‘It is Ariadne,’ Connie had said angrily. ‘Just because you tell fibs, Eve Armstrong, that doesn’t mean I do. Why, I bet you don’t even have a middle name, so no wonder you’re jealous of mine. I’ll tell Auntie Bess you called me a liar, and she’ll be mad as fire.’

  ‘Tell her what you like,’ Eve had said placidly. ‘And I do have a middle name, but I don’t go telling everyone about it. In fact I don
’t like it much; it’s too fancy, so I never use it.’

  ‘Oh,’ Connie had said rather blankly. But after a moment or two the blank look had disappeared. ‘Well, if you’re ashamed of your middle name, that’s up to you. I’m proud of mine. I was called after my great-grandmother, who was a famous singer in the music halls.’ She had grinned spitefully at Eve. ‘I just thought you’d like to know.’

  From that point on things had gone from bad to worse between the two girls. But now, peeping out of the window, Eve saw that it was one of those autumn days which come so rarely but are so delightful, with soft sunshine, a warm breeze and the ground thick with the gold and brown of fallen leaves. Lily and Miriam had obviously finished milking and were herding the cows back to their pasture, so Eve pushed her head a little further out of the window and waved violently, giving vent to a quiet ‘Whoopee’ as she did so.

  ‘Who’s champion cow this morning?’ she called. ‘When I learn to milk it will be Rosaline, because she’s my favourite and Auntie Bess says cows give down more milk if they’re being milked by someone who’s fond of them.’

  Lily looked up and grinned. ‘Today’s champion is Snowdrop. She filled her pail so full I had to fetch another. If you come down you can have a glass of milk whilst it’s still warm.’

  ‘Yuck!’ said a scornful voice behind Eve. ‘I hate warm milk; it’s bad for you. My father says …’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ Eve said, though not maliciously. ‘Milk’s not bad for you; why do you think the school gives us those little bottles to drink with our elevenses? Why should your father think it’s harmful? Doesn’t he sell it in his shop?’