‘Wash house and privy out the back,’ the farmer said, as they came out into the wind again. ‘And that there used to be a pigs’crow, years ago.’ He gestured to a tumbled shed against the further wall. ‘No key to ’un, but you could store things there, if you can fight your way to it. Though mind if you go in. Don’t believe that it’s been used for years – there’s bound to be spiders and there might be snakes.’
But this did not deter her. She’d been bred a country girl, and she didn’t really want the shed in any case – though pa might like it if he came gardening.
‘I’ll take it,’ she told the farmer, and – when he looked surprised – she added quickly, ‘when I’ve shown it to my family and providing they agree.’
Pa was more measured, when he came to have a look. ‘I can see you like it, Effie – and it’s nearer us, so we aren’t likely to object, I don’t suppose. And an allotment might be useful for the lot of us – few extra leeks and that – supposing I have to time to come and work at it. But it’s a big decision for a woman on her own. Don’t rush into anything you might regret.’
‘I won’t!’ she told him. And she never did.
Patience’s wedding was a disappointing one – not at all what Martha would have wanted for her girls. It had to take place at the Methodists, of course, since the Strict Adherent chapel was too small to have a register itself, and arranging a special license would have taken far too long. So it wasn’t very homely, anyway – and Ephraim seemed to have set out to make it worse.
First, he had discovered, just a few days earlier, that the lady ‘organist’ who had agreed to play the harmonium for the two chosen hymns, had attended the Adherents’ Sunday school when she was young – before she went and joined the Wesleyans. That made her a ‘back-slider’ in Ephraim’s eyes and he refused to have her play, which offended everyone, with the result that there was no music or accompaniment at all. Even ‘God bless this holy union’ sounded thin and flat, and not even Grandfather’s booming tenor could disguise the fact.
Then he’d chosen to preach on self-denial just the week before, a homily on how mortification of the flesh was not reserved for Lent, and how greed and show were always signs of sin. So the True Adherents who had come to see him wed, had not dared bring any contributions to the wedding ‘tea’ – as people were doing more and more, with luxuries so scarce. If it hadn’t been for Dorcas looking out some pre-war jam and making some potato scones to spread it on, and Crowdie – bless him – sending round a piece of tongue, there would have been nothing for Martha to hand round afterwards except a dozen marrow jam-and-ginger tarts and fish-paste sandwiches made with horrid national bread. And she’d had problems getting even that – extras were so hard to come by nowadays.
So it was fortunate perhaps that so few people came – only a half-dozen of their Strict Adherent friends and the borrowed minister conducting the affair. And of course, there was the family – ten Tregorrans took up lots of space (the little ones had taken the day off school to attend) – and Grandfather was there, appearing to fill up an entire pew himself, though Dorcas and her husband politely stayed away. Methodists – like Edna Chegwidden – who might otherwise have come, had mostly sided with the affronted organist: ‘Nothing against you or Pattie, Martha,’ one of them had said, ‘it’s just I wouldn’t feel easy coming, after what he said to her!’ Though Martha had kept hoping that Edna might forgive and was secretly disappointed not to see her there.
It didn’t help either that Patience looked so glum throughout, more like a mourner at a funeral than a bride – while Ephraim’s high old-fashioned collar, his old black suit and usual solemn air, made him look like the officiating undertaker, standing at her side. But Pattie made her responses audibly enough, and looked respectable – if her Sunday outfit was still a little tight around the waist (though Martha had let it out as far as it would go) it was not enough to be conspicuous.
And so the thing was done. Pattie Tregorran became Mrs Patience Tull. Potato scones and pieces of sliced tongue – together with the tarts and sandwiches – were offered on trestles in the church hall afterwards and (with the young ones instructed not to eat too much) there was food enough to spare.
Ephraim himself had brought some cordial – made by his wife, while she was still alive, and none the better for being stored for years – so after the speeches (a short one from Toby and a much longer, earnest exhortation from the groom) the couple’s health was duly toasted in blackcurrant drink and tea. Then everyone went home – everyone but Martha and her older girls that is, who stopped to tidy up the hall and wash the borrowed cups and plates, while Constance and Toby walked the little ones back home. Toby was especially anxious to get back and change and hurry to the forge, praying that Sam had managed to keep the furnace hot. It was Wednesday and he could not afford to take the whole day off.
Ephraim and Patience set off on foot, as well. Ephraim would have thought it ‘vanity’ to have brought the cart – let alone have decorated it with wedding bows – so it was a longish walk for them across the fields. And in their best clothes too! Martha watched them, with a sigh.
At least she’d managed to arrange to take Verity and Prudence out there to the farmhouse yesterday and between them they had scrubbed the kitchen clean. They hadn’t been permitted to do anything upstairs, but the place would be a bit more welcoming for Pattie, anyway.
She shook her head. She had been the one to urge this wedding day – and now it was over and the problem of the baby had effectively been solved. Exactly as she’d asked the Lord to let it be. So why did she feel so gloomy? Ingratitude for blessings was a mortal sin. She’d have to pray about it – quite a lot – when she had time to think. But that would have to wait until tonight, when everyone was fed and all the children were asleep. In the meantime there was this hall to tidy and the dishes to be done.
Ned was sitting in the courtyard, playing draughts. It was chilly, but he was muffled up against the cold – the matron of the convalescent home was keen on her patients getting plenty of fresh air – and, after the stuffy hospitals and crowded trains – it was surprisingly pleasant to be out. His companion was another gas-gangrene sufferer, Fred Wills, who’d lost a leg through it and who’d travelled down with Ned from the London hospital – crammed into a carriage with a lot of badly wounded men. Most of them were officers on their way down to Penzance, where there was a different convalescent hospital – in what had apparently once been a manor house.
However, Ned and Fred (‘the terrible duo’ the matron had christened them at once) were only ‘other ranks’ and their destination was not a smart, converted, private residence, but this grim stone building surrounded by high walls.
‘It was the local asylum before the war broke out,’ Matron had informed them, as she showed them in and they were helped upstairs, ‘But they’ve moved the lunatics and turned the building over for wounded soldiery. And it has proved ideal in many ways: big dormitory wards with lots of room for beds, as you can see.’
She gestured to a pair of empty ones, right in the middle of the row. They were fairly basic, but they were neat and clean and after the jolting journey in the train, the fresh sheets and pillows looked inviting. One or two fellows were sitting propped up in their beds, or on chairs beside the window in their dressing gowns, and one called out cheerfully, ‘Come to join us, have you? Welcome to Ward Three. People in your beds left us yesterday – both of them off home.’
That sounded promising and Ned was about to say so, but Matron (a plump bouncy woman with a breezy air) had not finished with her explanations yet and waved them quickly on.
‘Through here—’ she thrust open an adjoining door – ‘you’ll find proper sinks and sanitation close nearby – though the baths are made of granite and not really suitable. If you need a bath we’ll bring you a tin tub of water up. Once a week is usual, unless the doctor advises otherwise. Now if you’d like to leave your kitbags in your lockers there, I’ll show you round downstairs
. I’ll get a nurse to help you down, of course – but try to use your sticks as much as possible.’
It was a mighty struggle, even for Ned who still had both his legs, but with assistance the two lads managed it though they were almost too exhausted to get more than the most general idea. There was a dining hall – a little like a mess, with trestle tables and forms on either side – an office for the doctor and a ‘surgery’, and another larger room, in which more men, all in convalescent blue, looked up from writing letters, reading books or playing cards.
‘This is the recreation room, where you can find a comfortable chair when you are well enough – though I hope to have you sitting out before so long, and even doing a little exercise. Strengthen those muscles, and with good food and rest, you’ll soon be right as rain.’
Fred made a face at Ned behind her back – which Ned understood at once. ‘Right as rain’ did not seem probable, with only two and half good legs between the pair of them.
But Matron was oblivious. ‘Now I’ll have a pot of tea sent through to you, this once – since you have missed the urn. It comes around at three o’clock – starting with the bed-bound cases in Wards One and Two. I’ve put you in Ward Three, with the semi-ambulants. Most of the men there will improve enough to leave, barring new infections – and so should both of you – but only if you’re prepared to work at getting strong. Now are there any questions? I think I’ve shown you everything and there is work to do.’
There were a lot of questions – naturally there were – but Fred and Ned had both been soldiers at the front and knew that the best information did not come from those in charge but from other fellows in the same predicament as yourself. But, when they were finally permitted to undress and get to bed and rest, their ward companions did not have much critical to say.
‘Grim old place, of course,’ the fellow in the next bed told them cheerfully, between deep puffs on an aromatic pipe. ‘And that’s the first thing that always strikes your visitors, supposing you have any. But when you’ve been knee-deep in mud and blood for weeks, like most of us – it’s more like heaven than your family would believe. Matron’s not so bad, though she can be sharp – quite a dragon if she thinks that you’re not trying hard enough. But the nurses …!’ He sketched a curvy shape with his remaining hand – his right arm and shoulder had been blown off by a shell. ‘Next best thing to angels—’
‘Especially one or two who are devils underneath!’ one of the other men put in, unexpectedly. He had a bandage over both his eyes and could not move at all without a guide, but he gave a bray of laughter, and the rest joined in.
It was more encouraging than the other places he had been; people here believed that they were getting well, though they weren’t in such a hurry to improve that they wanted to get back and find themselves fighting in the mud again, as apparently had happened to one or two who’d gone. But there was improvement, almost instantly. The very fact that one could go outside, or sit and make an entry in the ‘effort book’, where patients were encouraged to draw or paint or write – instead of lying helplessly in bed, while people did things to you – made you feel that you were coming slowly back to life. Ned was even learning to play draughts, though Fred was far too good at it and beat him absolutely hollow every time.
Ned had just made a move, now – inadvisedly – and Fred was wreaking havoc on the board by hopping over several of Ned’s draughts to capture them and claim himself a queen, when Ned looked up and saw a figure coming through the gate.
‘Mother!’ He was so astonished that he tried to stand and sent the board and all the pieces spinning to the floor. ‘Ma!’ He even permitted her a kiss. ‘They only let me write you yesterday, to say that I was well enough for visitors. I can’t believe that you have come so soon.’
His mother bent to pick the pieces up. ‘Came the minute that I got your letter. Course I did – what else would you expect! Mind, I had been hoping that they’d send you to Penzance! But there are trains to Truro several times a day, and it wasn’t hard to manage once I’d put my mind to it.’ She was panting with exertion, but she’d got the board and plonked it on the table with the draughts. She turned to Fred. ‘How d’y do? Sorry to have spoiled your bit of game.’
‘Fred Wills – my mother,’ Ned said hastily. ‘Fred’s been teaching me.’
Fred nodded. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Chegwidden!’ But he was already reaching for his sticks. ‘No offence, but I’ve done enough for now – so I’ll hobble off inside. In any case you’ve come to see your son.’
He said it ruefully. Poor old Fred, he came from Manchester, which Ned had learned was many miles up north. (He blushed to remember that he’d once exclaimed, ‘Isn’t that in Scotland?’ which made Fred laugh a lot, and caused Ned to wish he’d paid more attention to Geography at school. The teacher had a roller-stamp which made a map, and you had to write the names of places in – cities and towns and rivers – but Ned had always copied from the board without attending much to what was where.)
‘Seems a nice fellow,’ Ma remarked. ‘But never mind all that. How are you in yourself?’ She said it with a smile, but Ned noticed that her eyes were bright with tears. It quite surprised him. He was accustomed to thinking that he was doing well, and was feeling smart in his bright blue uniform. He knew, of course, that he had lost a lot of weight, and his leg looked all peculiar and wasted at the top, but it had not occurred to him that she’d be shocked at what she saw.
He reached across and gave her arm a squeeze. ‘All the better for seeing you,’ he said. And then, because it mattered very much, he added, ‘You didn’t bring a message from Verity, I suppose?’
Ma made a rueful face. ‘No, poor girl. I haven’t seen her since your letter came. She’d be here like a shot herself, if she only could, I know – but it’s no good you thinking that she might arrive. More chance of her going to Greenland, the way things are just now. Her father wouldn’t let her, in any case, of course – and Vee is far too well-behaved to go behind his back. Couldn’t if she wanted to – let alone the cost. That factory is working round the clock, now, seven days a week – and of course she won’t work Sundays, so that’s her one day off. And you know how much hope there is of her escaping, on the Sabbath day!’
‘She knows I’m here though?’
His mother shook her head. ‘Haven’t had chance to tell her – though I wanted to. Haven’t had a minute to see her since your letter came. I did pop round, in hopes of seeing her today, but that aunt of hers was in there – and that’s always awkward when Toby is about. Come about this wedding, I suppose …’
‘Wedding?’ Ned was instantly alarmed.
‘Oh, of course, I forgot you didn’t know. I didn’t know where to write you, when I knew that you’d moved, until I got your letter giving this address It’s that eldest sister, Patience – she’s getting wed today. Funny sort of business – she’s married Ephraim Tull.’ She shook her head. ‘I’d sooner marry a Chinaman, or nobody at all.’
Ned smiled. His mother had never seen a Chinaman, he knew – only as an illustration in a book – so to her it seemed the most unlikely thing on earth. ‘I met a Chinaman,’ he said, to her surprise. ‘He was in the hospital in France – he’d volunteered to join the army from Hong Kong.’
His mother gazed at him. ‘You’ve been in some rum places, Ned lad, haven’t you? I suppose you’ve seen a lot of foreigners?’
‘Shot at a few of them, as well!’ he grinned, and that seemed to break the ice. She wanted to hear what France was like – did they have houses like we had at home? And was it true they only dined on frogs and snails? So he told her, not about the mud and ruins, but about the churches and the estaminets and the places that he’d seen, when his brigade once had a fortnight’s respite back behind the lines.
They were still talking when the matron came and made him go inside (‘Now, Chegwidden! Before you catch your death’) and Mother had to leave to catch her train.
Four
It took all the energy that she could summon up to move into the cottage – or An Dyji, as it was called on official documents, to distinguish it from the farmhouse proper, though there was no sign anywhere on the property itself. The name meant ‘Little Cottage’ the land agent explained, and it fitted perfectly, so Effie thought of the place that way for ever afterwards.
It was surprising to discover how many items she possessed, though of course there was stuff stored upstairs in the police-house still, as well as the clothes and photographs and things she’d taken to White Cottage when she had moved in there. Even in crates, it was a wonder how she’d ever get it all across, without it costing pounds – even supposing she could find a waggoner. (With so many horses taken for the war, there were not the carts for hire.) But up popped Crowdie, his usual helpful self, offering to transport all her boxes on his cart and refusing to take even a shilling in return. Without him it would have been a much worse headache than it was.
Jillian had volunteered to come over on the day and lend a hand to help her to unpack. ‘And perhaps your Auntie Madge could spare an hour or two – although Samuel’s poorly and I know she’s pushed.’
‘That’s kind of you – you’ve been so good to me, all through – but Amy has insisted it’s her job to see to that,’ Effie said. ‘She’s so proud of being a “proper” live-in maid, as she calls it, that I didn’t have the heart to disagree!’ She did not add that there was a certain pleasure, too, in the idea of arranging things herself, in her own way. ‘Don’t be offended.’
‘Course not, silly thing,’ Jillian laughed in her easy-going way. ‘We’ll come to tea when you are settled in. See if there is anything we can help with then. I’m glad your Amy’s coming with you, she’s a lively little thing. I was talking to her, just before she left today, and she’s so excited by the idea of a bedroom of her own – you’d think it was a palace you were offering her!’
The Blacksmith's Girl Page 16
