Chaff upon the Wind

by Margaret Dickinson

  But it didn’t matter, she told herself, for by the time she dropped it into the glowing coals of the range, she knew the letter by heart.

  My dear Kitty,

  There’s not much I can tell you really for, because I am an officer and have to censor the soldiers’ letters home, I know too, what I must not put myself. Enough to say I am homesick and miss everyone, but the comradeship and the spirit out here are magnificent. I hope you are well. My regards to your son, and tell him the soldier now has his gun, though, Kitty, I wish with all my heart now, that I did not have it. I didn’t know what it would be like. I just didn’t know. I wish I were fourteen again and back in my room at home . . .

  His words had escaped the censor’s pencil for in themselves they said nothing, but to Kitty, who knew exactly what those last few words really meant, they told her everything. At fourteen, poor Master Edward had been suffering the life of an invalid and he was telling her that even that life would be preferable to the one he was now leading.

  He was telling her that where he was at this moment was hell on earth.

  ‘Oh Teddy, Teddy,’ she whispered into the flickering flame. ‘Come home safely.’

  And now, too, there was Miss Miriam to worry about.

  ‘What will that silly girl do next?’ Mrs Grundy ranted, slamming down the rolling pin so hard on the pastry she was rolling out that, sitting at the opposite end of the table, Kitty felt the vibration. ‘Madam’s sick with fear. First Master Edward, who she’s convinced will never come back, and now Miss Miriam fancies herself soothing the fevered brow and bandaging handsome soldiers.’

  ‘I don’t think Miss Miriam has any illusions, Mrs G.,’ Kitty said quietly. ‘I think she’s heard enough from T— . . . Master Edward’s letters to realize what it must be like out there.’

  The back door was flung open and crashed back against the wall, then they heard his stride and he was standing in the kitchen doorway. Kitty rose quickly to her feet. ‘I’m coming, Jack. I was just—’

  ‘Do you know who’s responsible for this?’ His voice boomed and his face was thunderous.

  ‘Responsible? For – for what?’

  ‘You.’ He jabbed his finger towards the cook. ‘Is it you, or one of your silly kitchen maids?’

  Mrs Grundy puffed out her chest in indignation. ‘Ya can stop ya ranting in my kitchen, Jack Thorndyke. Sit down and have a cup of tea and tell us what’s biting ya.’

  ‘Sit down? Sit down, you say? I’ve a good mind never to set foot in this place again. Aye, an’ I’ve a mind to tek me threshing tackle and leave his stacks to rot.’

  Mrs Grundy and Kitty exchanged a stricken glance. ‘Jack, what—?’ Kitty began but Jack took a step towards her and opened his clenched fist. On his palm, curling innocently, lay a white feather.

  ‘This. This was on me engine.’

  Mrs Grundy gasped and Kitty stared at the pretty thing lying in his strong hand. But its meaning was not pretty.

  ‘Who,’ he thundered, ‘put it there?’

  ‘Jack, maybe no one put it there,’ Kitty tried to calm him. ‘There’s feathers blowing all around the yard. Mebbe it just blew on to your engine.’

  Jack spoke slowly and deliberately through clenched teeth. ‘It was fastened to the wheel. Tied on with a bit of straw. That’s no accident.’

  To this Kitty could make no reply.

  Mrs Grundy seemed to recover first. ‘Tek no notice, Jack.’

  ‘I bet it’s one of the farmhands,’ he growled. ‘They’re leaving in droves. I’ll have no one left except Ben and women and bairns to work the tackle soon.’ He flung the feather to the floor, turned and strode outside again.

  ‘I’d better go and help, Mrs G.’

  ‘Aye, lass, you go. Bring the lad in here, I’ll keep an eye on him. Looks like you’re going to have ya hands full with ’im.’ She nodded her head towards the departing figure of Jack striding away down the garden path.

  He worked himself like a maniac and, like a tyrant, he drove the few workers left until they were almost dropping with exhaustion.

  Kitty, still with the worst job of all at the chaff hole, worked doggedly until her hair was clogged with dust, her throat parched and her eyes stinging and watering from the dust and with tiredness too. But still she worked on, uttering no word of complaint. Jack was like a man possessed, flinging coal into the fire box, pouring gallons of water into the tender. Poor Sylvie had never worked so hard in her life.

  ‘Ya’ll have yon belt breaking,’ Ben nodded towards the governor belt, ‘if you drive ’er too hard.’

  Jack, climbing to the top of the drum to help feed in the crop, merely glowered at his workmate. Shaking his head, Ben calmly carried on working at his own pace, steadfastly refusing to have his rhythm disturbed by Jack’s temper.

  But in the end it was Ben, big, quiet Ben Holden, who at last threw down his pitchfork and climbed down from the top of the drum. ‘I’m doing no more work today, Jack. I’m fair done in and if I work another minute, I’ll be toppling into yon drum along o’ the sheaves. Call it a day, man. We’re all fit to drop and as for young Kitty there, why, I don’t know how that lass is still standing upright.’

  ‘You mind ya own business, Ben,’ Jack growled, ‘where she’s concerned and leave me to mind mine.’

  The two men glared at each other, standing only a foot apart, yet Ben thrust his face even closer. He was perhaps the only one there who could match Jack Thorndyke in physical strength. ‘Well, if that’s ya attitude, Jack, I’ll be away to me home and me family and come the morning, I’ll be going into the town to volunteer.’

  ‘What? Don’t be a fool, man. There’s no need for you to go.’

  ‘No, there’s no need. I know that, Jack. But there’s a need within me. I’ve been feeling it. Me, a big strong chap, staying safely at home while others not ’alf as strong have gone to fight for their country. And I’ve no wish to find a white feather tied to me pitchfork one morning.’

  There was silence around them now, for all the workers had downed their tools and were listening to the exchange between the two men.

  Jack reached out and grasped the front of Ben’s jacket, but the big man caught hold of Jack’s wrist and they stood, locked together, neither giving way, just glaring at each other.

  ‘Did you – put that – that thing on my wheel?’

  ‘No, Jack, I didn’t. You should know me better than that after all the years we’ve worked together. Nor do I know who did. But the way you’re so upset about it, it must have struck a chord of guilt somewhere in you, now mun’t it?’

  Jack let out an angry curse and flung the man away from him. ‘Go then. Go, and good riddance. I don’t need you.’ He flung his arm out to encompass all of them standing around. ‘I don’t need any of you.’

  He turned and strode away, disappearing into the gathering dusk while the other workers dispersed, muttering among themselves.

  ‘I’m sorry, lass,’ Ben said. ‘I didn’t mean it to happen like this. I was going to tell him, all quiet like, get him to see how I feel, but with this feather business . . .’

  Kitty laid her hand on the big man’s arm. ‘I know, Ben, I know. But I wish you weren’t going.’

  ‘Aye well,’ he said, his big shoulders drooping suddenly. ‘I feel it’s me duty.’

  Kitty smoothed back the hair from her damp forehead. ‘I must go and get Johnnie and go home. Take care of yourself, Ben.’

  It seemed as if they were the words she was saying far too often these days. First to Edward, then to Ben, and now here she was standing awkwardly beside Miss Miriam on the station platform, waiting for the train that would take her to London to become a VAD nurse.

  ‘Do take care of yourself, Miss Miriam.’

  Miriam smiled thinly and her voice was husky as she said, ‘I only wish you were coming with me, Kitty . . .’ adding so softly that Kitty hardly heard the words, ‘this time.’

  They were both remembering the last time they had sto
od on this platform.

  More strongly, Miriam said, ‘And you take care of yourself. You’re looking dreadfully tired these days, Kitty. And I’m sure you’ve lost weight.’

  ‘It’s just the work, miss. With all the fellers going off to the war . . .’ She did not need to say any more for Miriam nodded.

  ‘I know. But look after yourself and – and Johnnie.’

  It was the first time Kitty could remember Miriam saying her son’s name, actually voicing his name aloud.

  There was a whistle from down the line and a sudden flurry of activity cut off any further conversation. When the train drew in, the porter loaded Miriam’s luggage into the guard’s van and then she was on the train and leaning out of the window and waving. ‘Thank you for coming to see me off. I didn’t want Mother to come. She’s upset enough.’ She pulled a face. ‘And as for Father, well, I’m not exactly in favour at the moment. I’ll write, Kitty, and you must write back and tell me all the news about – about everyone.’

  Kitty nodded and tears prickled her eyelids as she waved her hand in farewell. When the train was a distant speck, Kitty was still standing on the edge of the platform staring down the line.

  Miriam had said his name. For the first time ever she had spoken of her son. But instead of bringing joy to Kitty, it was like a knife in her heart.

  Forty-Three

  In the month that the war entered its third year, Johnnie was five years old. When threshing started in the winter of that year, Jack decided that his son was old enough to help. ‘He can carry the water to the barrel near the engine and release an older boy for other work.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Jack. He’s too little,’ Kitty argued.

  Jack glared at her. ‘I worked alongside me father and me uncle for as long as I can remember. It never hurt me.’

  Kitty returned his glare placidly. Quietly, she said, ‘Have you really no memory at all of your mother? Or – or of any woman? Didn’t anyone try to stop you being put to work so young?’

  The frown on his handsome face deepened and the shadow that Kitty had once before seen in his eyes was there again. His voice was full of harsh bitterness. ‘I’ve told you before, I don’t know owt about me mother, at least . . .’ His voice dropped as he added, ‘At least not much.’

  Sudden realization flooded through Kitty. She stepped forward and put her hand on his arm, moved to deep compassion for this man. ‘But – you knew her name, didn’t you, Jack?’

  His eyes were dark as he looked down into hers. Slowly he nodded and his voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. ‘Aye, that’s all I did know. All I ever knew about her was her name.’

  Very softly, Kitty murmured, ‘Sylvie.’

  And now, all Jack could do in reply was to nod, for in that moment he could not speak.

  Kitty put her arms about him and laid her head against his chest. ‘Johnnie can help in the yard, Jack, just so long as you don’t expect him to do more than he can manage. And I’ll be there to keep me eye on him.’ She leaned back now to look up at him, and smiled, trying to lighten the anguish the man had relived for a brief moment. ‘Because I’m Queen of the Chaff Hole now, aren’t I?’

  She was relieved to see a smile curve his mouth. ‘It’s not the best of jobs, Kitty. But at least it’s safe. I can’t risk you disappearing down into the drum, if I was to let you go up on top.’

  For an instant his arms were tightly about her and he bent his head and kissed her hard on the mouth. He rubbed his face against her hair and then sighing said, ‘I must go. I’ve got the boiler tubes to clean out and steam to get up before the men arrive. Sir Ralph’s sending some of his lads over this morning.’

  She smiled too. ‘Right you are. We’ll be there by the time you’re ready to start.’

  When Kitty told Johnnie what had been decided, he jumped up and down and clapped his hands. Kitty had to laugh. ‘Anyone would think I’d just told you it was Christmas tomorrow.’

  The boy grinned up at her. ‘It’s better than Christmas. I won’t have to go to school, will I?’

  ‘Oh yes, you will, me lad. You’re not getting out of that.’

  The boy’s face fell. ‘Aw Mam . . .’ he began.

  She ruffled his head and promised, ‘But you can help after school and at weekends.’

  They arrived in the yard to find four young boys she had not seen before standing about looking as if they didn’t know what to do. Jack was not quite ready to begin. He was still oiling up and, every so often, stoking the fire. ‘Ten minutes, Kitty, and she’ll be up to pressure,’ he called. ‘Can you explain what they have to do?’

  Kitty nodded and raised her hand in acknowledgement. Then she turned to the young men. For a moment she glanced around at their boyish faces. ‘Nathaniel should be here in a minute,’ she said, referring to the elderly man who now helped Jack in Ben Holden’s place. ‘Between them, he and Jack run the engine and feed the drum on the top. One of you can go up there with Jack as band cutter for him – that’s to cut the twine round the sheaves as they’re passed down to you from the stack.’ She paused, calculating. There were not nearly enough of them to do all the jobs. Sighing, she went on, ‘We’ll have to manage with one on the stack being threshed and only one instead of two on the straw stack.’ She pointed with her finger towards the elevator positioned at the end of the drum. That was where the straw was thrown out by the beaters and fell on to the tines, to be carried up and dropped over the end to build another stack. ‘You . . .’ She put her hand on the shoulder of the fourth boy, not yet assigned to a job. Of the four, he looked the strongest. She smiled ruefully. ‘You and me will have to cope with everything else. I’ll mind the chaff hole and, in between, carry the coal across. Can you manage the bag end where the grain comes out? It’s heavy work ’cos you have to barrow the full sacks into the barn yonder.’

  ‘Yes, missis. I’ll manage.’

  ‘Good . . .’ Kitty stopped. She had been about to say ‘boy’, but these lads were to do men’s work and deserved the title. ‘Good man,’ she said.

  The boys glanced at each other, grinned and shuffled their feet, but Kitty had the feeling that one little word would have them working for Jack Thorndyke until they dropped.

  ‘What am I to do, Mam?’ She turned to see Johnnie standing close by, listening wide-eyed to everything she was saying.

  She held out her hand to him but the boy ignored it. She let it fall to her side, feeling a pang of regret that already he was growing up. So soon, she mourned in her heart. But she forced a smile and said, ‘I’ve just had a good idea. Mrs G.’s got some smaller buckets in her kitchen. I’m sure she’d let us use them. Come on.’

  ‘I can manage the big one,’ Johnnie frowned, his glower so like Jack’s that Kitty’s heart constricted.

  She bent towards him. ‘I know you could manage it, of course,’ she agreed tactfully. ‘But this way, you’ll be able to carry two, one in each hand to balance the load. Just like your dad does.’

  The boy grinned, his fierce pride appeased, and followed her towards the house. Moments later they were standing in Mrs Grundy’s kitchen.

  ‘Why, Kitty lass, and little Johnnie too. Come to keep me company for the morning, ’ave you?’ She leaned towards him. ‘I’ve a fresh batch of scones’ll be out of the oven in five minutes.’

  The boy licked his lips, but said firmly, ‘I’m working today. I’m helping me dad.’

  Mrs Grundy straightened up. ‘Oho, a working man, is it? Ah well then, you’ll be wanting a man’s breakfast along with the rest, eh?’ She chuckled and then glanced up at Kitty. ‘An’ you could do with feeding up a bit, lass. I reckon you get thinner every time I see you.’

  ‘Mrs G., you’re sharper than a drawer full of knives,’ Kitty smiled, but did not contradict the cook. Then her face sobered. ‘It’s been difficult for Jack, you know, with all the best men going off to the war. Ben joining up was the last straw.’ She gave a quick laugh. ‘Hark at me mekin’ jokes and it’s no laughing matter
.’

  The cook shook her grey head. ‘No, I know it isn’t. And last week, when there was several local lads’ names in the casualty lists, well, I’m sorry to say it, but the feeling against Jack for not going is getting stronger.’

  ‘Is it? Oh no,’ Kitty groaned. ‘I just hope he doesn’t get to hear about it.’

  Milly, coming in from the scullery, said, ‘Even Bemmy was ranting on about him yesterday.’

  Mrs Grundy’s mouth tightened. ‘You listening at doors again?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘I can’t help hearing what’s said in here when I’m in the scullery. You’ve got a very loud voice, Mrs Grundy,’ she smirked. ‘Didn’t you know?’

  ‘Mebbe so, but I need it to keep you in line,’ the cook snapped.

  Milly turned to her sister. ‘You want to tell that man of yours to watch himself on a dark night.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’ The girl’s face was alight with malicious glee. ‘There was a feller over Nunsthorpe way walking home from the pub three nights ago. He’s another who ought to be fighting for his country. Well, he was set on by some lads. They poured whisky down his throat till he was just about senseless, then they dragged him to the recruiting office and made him sign up.’ Milly was laughing now. ‘When he sobered up, he was on a train to an army camp.’

  ‘And you think that’s funny, our Milly?’

  ‘Serves ’im right for being a coward.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. They couldn’t do that. What about the recruiting officer? He wouldn’t have acted that way.’

  ‘They broke into the office and filled out the papers themselves.’

  ‘But it wasn’t legal then.’

  Milly shrugged. ‘It’s what I heard.’

  ‘It couldn’t happen,’ Kitty insisted and added drily, ‘I wouldn’t put it past you to make it up, Milly.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ the girl shrugged. ‘I ain’t bothered if you believe me or not.’

  ‘There’s a lot of funny things happening nowadays,’ Mrs Grundy sighed. ‘Not very nice things either. Anyway, Kitty, what was it you wanted?’