by Ellie Dean
‘It seems to me that Ken has very strong opinions about most things without much thought for your feelings,’ said Carol dryly. ‘Perhaps it’ll be good to have some time away from each other so you can see things more clearly, and decide what you really want to do in the future.’
‘He does seem rather preoccupied with settling in at his uncle’s farm at the moment,’ Betty admitted, ‘and with me moving further away and starting the new post straight after Christmas there hasn’t been much chance of seeing one another.’ She looked evenly at Carol. ‘I know you’ve never really thought much of Ken, and although he’s a bit old-fashioned and inclined to want to take over, he’s a good man at heart.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ Carol soothed, although her friend had hit the nail on the head about Ken’s dubious ideas of working wives, seeing as how his mother and married sister put in as many hours as the men on the farm. ‘And the post in Beeson will only be temporary until we can all come back home to Slapton and then, if you still feel the same way about each other, you can take up where you left off.’
‘I suppose so,’ Betty murmured, ‘but what if absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder and Ken decides he doesn’t want me after all?’
Carol held her close. ‘Oh, Betty, whatever the outcome, you’re strong enough to pull through. Ken isn’t the only man in the world, and you’re pretty and talented and great company, and any man would be proud to walk out with you. But if you and Ken are meant to be together it will happen.’
‘Do you really think so?’
There was so much hope in her expression that Carol dismissed any thought she might have had that Ken was behaving badly towards this lovely girl and didn’t deserve her. ‘Of course I do. Now, forget about Ken, and tell me how you’re settling in over at Beeson.’
Betty became animated. ‘It’s quite a large building with two classrooms, an assembly hall, cloakroom and a big playground. The children are all ages, and I’ll be in charge of the youngest ones now that Miss Fortescue has joined the ATA. Miss Jones is Welsh, and has an unfortunate bossy manner when it comes to ordering me about, but she’s a good teacher and is very hot on discipline.’
She giggled. ‘The children call her “the stick insect”, which is very appropriate, because she is terribly thin and lanky, and wears dowdy brown dresses which look as if she’d bought them back in the twenties – which is a shame, because they make her look very old, even though she’s barely out of her thirties.’
She hurried on breathlessly. ‘My billet is on the top floor of the inn, which is a bit of a struggle with all those stairs – but it’s such a lovely cosy room, with the bathroom right next door, so I’m happy to darn well struggle. You must promise to come and visit very soon, Carol, so you can see it for yourself.’
‘I’ll come as soon as I can, I promise,’ Carol breathed. ‘Oh, Betty, I’m so glad you’ll still be close by. It would have been awful not seeing you for months on end.’
‘I feel the same way,’ she replied, returning the pressure on Carol’s fingers, her eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘You’re the only person I can really talk to, and I feel so lucky to have you for a friend – my very best friend.’
‘You’ll set me off crying in a minute, you soppy thing,’ said Carol, nudging her gently with her shoulder. She blinked back her own tears as they embraced. ‘Thank you for coming today, and for being the best friend any girl could have.’
They drew apart and smiled at one another before they began to walk back to Betty’s little car which she’d been permitted to keep because of her crippled leg.
‘We’ll get to see one another often,’ said Betty, ‘and I managed quite well today, even with the endless convoys and blocked roads, so I’m sure it’ll be a lot easier with us being so close from now on.’ She giggled. ‘At least I didn’t end up being hoisted over a hedge into a field, like some I could mention.’
Carol chuckled. ‘Yes, that was quite an experience, and one I definitely don’t want to repeat – but the sight of my mother bare-legged in her knickers and up to her ankles in mud is one that I’ll never forget.’
‘She’s quite a character, your mother. And certainly unlike any other I’ve met. I’m glad she managed to be with you through all this.’ Betty paused as they reached the gate and regarded the deserted lane, the boarded-up cottages and weed-filled alleyway that led to the abandoned Tower Inn.
‘Strange, isn’t it?’ she murmured. ‘Even the birds seem to have deserted the place.’
Carol looked up at the top of the ruined tower where there had always been jackdaws roosting, and suddenly realised Betty was right. The birds had gone, and there was no birdsong but for the faint mewling of the gulls down on the shore. ‘It all makes it seem so final, doesn’t it?’ she murmured sadly.
Betty nodded, and gave a last glance down Church Lane towards the chantry. ‘I’d better get going before the rain sets in,’ she said reluctantly.
‘I’m sorry I can’t even offer you a cup of tea before you go, but—’
‘That’s all right, Carol,’ she interrupted. ‘I didn’t come for tea, but to see you.’
They hugged fiercely, then Betty clambered into the little black Austen and slammed the door. She wound down the window and leaned out. ‘I’d wish you a happy Christmas, but it doesn’t seem appropriate, so here’s to 1944 in the hope it will be a much better year.’
‘I’d drink to that if I could. Drive carefully, Betty, and I’ll see you very soon.’
With a nod, a smile and a clashing of gears, Betty drove the little car down the hill and was soon out of sight. When silence was restored, Carol took one final look back at the church and cemetery, and then with a heavy heart made her way home for the last time.
The short row of cottages nestled against one another beneath their thatched roofs, the front gardens stripped of vegetables, the windows either heavily taped or boarded up. There was no smoke rising from the chimneys, and not a sound broke the profound silence. It felt to Carol as if the whole village had died, for it had taken on that same aura that had imbued Rosemary Cottage when Edith Rayner had passed away.
As she approached Thyme Cottage the front door opened and Dolly bustled out, accompanied by Nipper and carrying a large screwdriver. ‘What on earth are you going to do with that?’ Carol called.
‘I’m removing all the brass,’ said Dolly, attacking the dolphin-shaped knocker vigorously. ‘These empty cottages are an open invitation to the light-fingered.’
‘I doubt they’d bother with a bit of brass,’ said Carol, bending to grab the dog’s collar to stop him from digging in the empty vegetable plot.
‘You’d be surprised. Brass can fetch a bob or two at a scrap metal dealer’s.’
Carol chuckled. ‘How on earth would you know that?’
Dolly grinned back at her and winked. ‘You’d be surprised at what I’ve learnt over the years.’ She finally managed to undo the screws and went back inside, her heels clattering on the bare floorboards and echoing through the empty rooms. She placed the knocker in a box with all the brass door knobs, and chucked the screwdriver in after it before closing the box and adding it to the stack by the door.
‘How long before Ida’s due to arrive?’ she asked, reaching for her coat.
‘She should be here in about half an hour.’
‘Then I’ll take Nipper for a bit of a walk while you say goodbye to the cottage,’ said Dolly, clipping the leash to his collar.
‘There’s really no need, Mum.’
‘Well, I don’t agree,’ she said, giving her a soft kiss. ‘You need peace and quiet to say au revoir. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.’
As the front door closed behind her, Carol felt the silence of the cottage settle around her, and with it came the memories – sweet memories of those precious times with David. She wandered from room to room, seeing David carry her over the threshold on their wedding day; remembering how they’d snuggled on the couch by the fire during the long
winter evenings, planning all the things they wanted to do to the cottage to make it their own, and how he’d always woken her in the mornings with a kiss and a cup of tea.
Carol eventually returned to the hall and realised that now the house was empty the memories – although poignant – no longer hurt. She could look back with fondness, feeling blessed that, although their time together had been short, it had been full of love, warmth and togetherness. ‘And that’s what I’ll take with me,’ she murmured into the silence.
There was a scratch of a key in the door and Dolly came in with Nipper, her expression anxious. ‘I haven’t been too long, have I? Only Nipper refused to come when I called him and I had to chase him halfway through the village.’
Carol smiled at her and ruffled the dog’s ears. ‘Edith said he was stone deaf, but I think he just chooses not to hear. The next time the vet calls at the farm I’ll get him to check him over.’
Dolly took off her gloves and cupped Carol’s cheek. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, really, so please don’t worry about me.’
Dolly regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You certainly seem to be more positive.’
Carol nodded. ‘When I was going round the cottage I realised I’ve been clinging to all the sad memories, when I should have been concentrating on the happy ones – and there are many more of those which I will cherish. David wouldn’t have wanted me to live in mourning, shut away in here with only regrets for company, but until now I haven’t had the will to accept that. This move is the spur I need to make a fresh start – to look more clearly at my life and learn to enjoy it again.’
‘Those are brave words, my darling, and I’m very proud of you and the strength you’ve shown these past weeks.’
Carol hugged her. ‘I must have inherited that strength from you,’ she murmured against the soft powdered cheek.
Dolly giggled. ‘I don’t know that I can take all the credit when your grandparents were the ones who raised you. They were the strong ones, Carol – I just pretended I was.’
Carol regarded her mother with interest. ‘Surely it wasn’t always a charade?’
Dolly shrugged. ‘Not always, but it was my defence against a world that saw only a woman who’d made too many mistakes, caused a scandal, and then abandoned her children. It wasn’t easy to live with the knowledge that I was guilty of all that and more – and I’m sorry I couldn’t be the mother you both really needed.’
Carol took her hands as she looked into those regretful eyes. ‘We both knew you loved us,’ she said softly, ‘so there’s nothing to forgive you for. You did what you had to do and Granny and Grandpa were utterly wonderful to us, so please don’t harbour any regrets for what might have been.’ She smiled. ‘Besides, who needs a mother tied to the kitchen when we had glamorous, exciting you? We were far better off the way we were, and I think both of us have turned out all right, don’t you?’
‘Wonderfully well,’ said Dolly gruffly, squeezing her fingers.
The moment was broken by the sound of hooves in the lane, and as Nipper ran round in circles barking, Carol embraced her mother. ‘I love you, Mum. Don’t ever change.’
‘I love you too,’ said Dolly with a break in her voice. ‘Write often and I’ll try to get back down very soon.’
They drew apart and Carol took charge of the leash to stop Nipper escaping as Dolly opened the door.
Ida stood by Hector, who gave a snort of pleasure at seeing Carol again before rolling his eyes at Nipper, who was straining to reach him. ‘Who’s this then?’ asked Ida cheerfully as she bent to fuss over the dog.
‘This is Nipper, and he’s coming with me to the farm.’
Ida raised a brow. ‘Jack’s all right with that, is ’e?’
‘He’ll have to be,’ said Carol firmly, lifting the dog onto the cart and tethering his lead firmly to the seat.
‘Well, I don’t fancy yer chances,’ muttered Ida. ‘Old Ma Burnley don’t like dogs.’
‘Then I’ll have to find some way to change her mind,’ said Carol, patting Hector’s neck to reassure him that Nipper was quite harmless despite all the noise he was making.
Ida helped carry the dismantled bed and small couch from the house, and when the last box had been placed carefully on the wagon and lashed down with rope, Carol locked the front door. She felt quite calm as she handed the key to Constable Betts, who’d appeared as if by magic at the gate.
‘Good luck, Mrs Porter,’ he said tipping the edge of his helmet with his finger before strolling back up the hill.
Carol was thankful Nipper had finally shut up and was settled with his nose on his paws keeping an eye on Hector, who was now munching an apple. She turned to Dolly and embraced her. ‘Drive carefully, Mum,’ she said earnestly, ‘and write as soon as you can.’
Dolly gave her a hug and a kiss, said goodbye to Ida, and then turned quickly away to climb into the car. She settled behind the wheel, checked her appearance in the rear-view mirror, turned the ignition key, and with a wave of her hand, drove up the hill at some speed, making the tyres screech as she disappeared around the corner.
‘Blimey,’ breathed Ida. ‘Your mum’s quite something, ain’t she? But she don’t ’alf drive fast.’
Carol laughed. ‘She does everything at that rate, and yes, she is certainly unique.’ She climbed up next to Ida, drew Nipper onto her lap and looked over Hector’s head as they set off. The sun had come through the clouds at last, and she’d taken the first steps into what she hoped was a more optimistic future, so she wouldn’t look back.
19
Coombe Farm
Nipper had been very good on the journey up to the farm, sitting on Carol’s knees, his ears pricked, nose twitching at all the different smells coming from the fields, but now and again he’d give a soft whine and look up at Carol as if needing reassurance.
‘He’s a sharp little thing, ain’t he? said Ida, rolling a thin cigarette as the horse plodded along. ‘Reminds me of me grandad’s Patch. He was brown and white too, and the best ratter in Bow.’ She chuckled. ‘He were also the best thief, and ’e’d come ’ome quite often with a string of sausages or a pork chop. The butcher weren’t best pleased, but he never managed to catch ’im – went like a bleedin’ rocket, did Patch.’
‘I doubt Nipper can go like a rocket with his fat belly and stubby legs,’ laughed Carol. ‘And I hope he doesn’t share a talent for theft. It’ll be hard enough persuading Millicent to let me keep him, but if he turns to stealing, it will cause no end of trouble.’
Ida grinned as she ruffled the dog’s ears. ‘He’ll be fine, won’t ya, mate?’
Nipper gave a sharp bark and licked her hand as if to reassure her that indeed he would.
Hector plodded up the last steep incline and Carol left Nipper with Ida as she jumped down to open the gate. She’d no sooner opened it than Ida let out a shout of warning and she was just in time to see Nipper tumble off the cart and hurtle away, scattering geese along the way to the byres where he scrabbled and squeezed his girth through the gap at the bottom of the weathered door.
‘Bugger,’ hissed Ida, bringing Hector to a halt in the yard. ‘Sorry, Carol, but he were like greased lightning and I couldn’t keep ’old of ’im.’
‘We’d better find him before the Burnleys do,’ said Carol, quickly closing the gate and running after him, the geese now honking and flapping their wings in panic.
She’d almost reached the byre when there was an almighty kerfuffle from behind the door and Jack Burnley chose that moment to come out of the barn.
‘What be going on ’ere?’ he growled, his voice almost drowned by the honking geese. He glared at the two girls from beneath his lowered brows, and then was distracted by the sharp squeals and ferocious growling and scrabbling coming from within the large byre.
‘I can explain,’ said Carol hurriedly and then stared in horror as Jack reached for his shotgun.
‘You’m can explain later,’ he rumbled. ‘There be murder goi
n’ on in my byre, and I aim to stop the beast what’s causing it.’ He strode purposefully across the yard.
Carol grasped his arm. ‘You mustn’t shoot,’ she said desperately. ‘It’s only Nipper hunting rats.’
He came to an abrupt halt and stared down at her. ‘Who or what be Nipper?’
‘He’s a Jack Russell – and he’s mine,’ she said firmly.
‘I’ll see about that,’ he muttered, once more heading towards the terrible screams and growls.
‘What’s all this noise?’ demanded Millicent, emerging from the kitchen doorway swathed in a white apron, her furious gaze falling immediately on her husband’s gun. ‘Has a fox got in the henhouse again?’
‘Carol brought a blasted dog home and it’s causing a ruckus in the byre,’ he yelled at her.
‘Shoot it, then. Don’t want no dogs round ’ere.’ She advanced on Carol, Ida and Jack with a determined expression on her face as Pru and Maisie came running from the milking shed to see what all the fuss was about.
Carol hung on to Jack’s arm, desperately trying to stop him. ‘Please, Mr Burnley, don’t shoot him. He’s a lovely dog and is only doing what comes naturally.’
He shrugged off her clutching hand and opened the byre door. The squealing and growling had strengthened in pitch, and in the deep gloom of the interior, there was only a blur of movement.
Ida took advantage of Jack’s moment of stunned disbelief, grabbed the gun and quickly pocketed the shells before he had time to react. ‘You’d be daft to shoot ’im,’ she said. ‘Look what he’s managed to do in a few minutes when it would ’ave taken us hours.’
They all crowded in the doorway and as Ida switched on the light there was a general gasp. Whether it was of horror or admiration, it was hard to say – but what they were witnessing was more than murder; it was wholesale slaughter.
