The Land Girls

by Victoria Purman

  Daisy’s eyes widened and she looked as if she might faint. ‘We baked some with Nan this morning!’

  ‘Well, that’s lucky, isn’t it.’ The girls didn’t seem to want to let go of her and Flora found she didn’t mind very much at all.

  ‘The tooth fairy came lots of times this year,’ Daisy tried to whisper as she pulled her lips back and tapped an index finger against her little white teeth.

  Flora peered into her mouth. ‘I can see. I hope you put all those pennies in your piggy bank.’

  ‘We’re on summer holidays,’ Violet announced. ‘I’ve had lots of time for books, Miss Atkins. I’m reading Mary Poppins for the second time. Have you read it?’

  ‘No, I can’t say that I have. Will you tell me all about it?’

  ‘And we can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to.’ Charles’s deep voice seemed to echo right inside her. She lifted her gaze from the girls’ beaming faces to discover Charles smiling at her. Looking as strapping as a eucalypt, he slipped off his hat and nodded, his smile creasing his tanned face. She looked him over with a quick glance. He’d barely changed. His face was as familiar to her as if she’d last seen him only the day before. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were streaks of tan and pale skin. His blue eyes matched the wide sky above and he’d pulled his lips together but it didn’t stop them curving into the warmest smile. If anything, he looked happier than when she’d seen him last, his stance less hunched. Was it possible for a man of thirty-six years to have grown taller? Was he still as dear to her as he had been in January 1943? More than she had ever expected or believed was possible.

  ‘Hello, Charles,’ Flora managed. Something was buzzing in her ears.

  ‘Welcome back,’ he said.

  ‘I’m so happy to be here.’

  ‘Come now, girls.’ Charles laid a hand on each daughter’s shoulder and gently urged them away from Flora. And then he looked into her eyes. His expression transformed from fatherly approbation directed to his daughters into a broad smile just for her and she was suddenly holding her breath.

  ‘Shall we go? I’ll find your suitcase.’

  ‘Let’s.’

  The girls raced ahead of them through the dissipating crowd, and were already across the tracks and inside the Dodge, bouncing up and down on the back seat. Charles came towards her with her case, and they ambled along the platform.

  Charles scuffed a shoe along the bitumen. ‘You look very well, Flora.’

  ‘You too. Although I think you might have a few more wrinkles.’

  He raised an eyebrow in a teasing glance. ‘Do I now?’

  ‘Perhaps just a few.’

  He spoke to his shoes but his words were meant only for her. ‘I’m flattered you noticed.’

  She held her breath. ‘Of course I did.’

  Across the tracks, the girls waved to them.

  ‘Is Mrs Thompson all settled in Traralgon?’

  ‘Yes, just before Christmas. The timing worked out for the best, actually. I needed to be home with Jack for Christmas.’

  ‘I’m glad for you that you were.’ Charles repositioned his hat. ‘You deserved to be with your family. Flora …’ He stopped suddenly and Flora did too. Charles’s chest rose and fell on a deep sigh. He stepped closer to her, lowering his voice. ‘Please let me say once again how sorry I was to hear about your father.’ He reached for her, a hand resting on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘I wish I’d had the chance to meet him.’

  Her heartbeat quickened at his touch, at the implication of what he was saying. ‘Thank you. It’s been months now but when I think of home I still imagine him there, listening to the radio, drinking tea at the kitchen table. We had a deal. I used to give him my tobacco rations and in exchange I got extra tea.’ Fresh tears welled in her eyes and she swiped them away before they drizzled down her cheeks in front of everyone.

  Charles’s hand drifted from her shoulder to her elbow, to her hand, grazing her fingers. ‘It will take time. More time than you’ve had.’

  Of course Charles knew about overcoming grief. They exchanged a knowing glance and Flora closed her eyes for a moment to acknowledge what he’d said.

  ‘Did Melbourne change while you were away? Is it still filled with Americans?’

  Flora was happy for the change of subject. ‘Still busy. Still full of uniforms. It’s funny but it feels too crowded for me now. I’ve grown so used to space all around me and a big sky and the smell of the earth, and vegetable crops far more productive than my sad little Victory Garden in the back yard at home. After my father … well, Jack takes absolutely no interest in war cabbage and tomatoes. What hadn’t gone to seed was dead. I took the hoe to it and cleared all the weeds out when I was home.’

  ‘Have you heard from Frank?’

  ‘Yes. He’s not much of a writer these days, but just before Christmas we received a funny little thing. A field service post card. It was small and grey and all it had was our address on one side and then a whole series of lines on the back to cross off if they didn’t apply. Like code or something. Frank had left untouched the lines that said I am quite well. And I have received your letter. Jack and I were very grateful to see he’d put a big line through the words I have been admitted to hospital. So he’s safe, as far as we know.’

  ‘I suppose there’s not much time for writing where he is,’ Charles said, and the meaning of his words hung heavy in the air between them.

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘And Jack? How is he?’

  Flora’s spirits brightened. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. He’s engaged.’

  Charles seemed inordinately pleased for a man he’d never met. ‘Well, that’s terrific news. Congratulations to him. Who’s the lucky young lady?’

  ‘Her name is Doreen and she’s very sweet. She’s a typist in the AWAS. She’s completely besotted and so, should I say, is he. She doesn’t give a jot that he wasn’t able to go to war.’

  ‘She sounds like a very special young woman. Think she’ll be good enough for your Jack?”

  Flora laughed. ‘If she tries very hard, I believe she might be.’

  They crossed the train tracks and could hear the girls calling out to them to hurry.

  ‘Charles, I hope your Christmas tree is still up. I’ve brought presents and I thought … I thought we might have a delayed Christmas dinner.’

  ‘You didn’t need to do that,’ he said.

  ‘I wanted to. I love seeing the girls happy. I couldn’t help myself.’

  ‘Hurry up, Daddy.’ Daisy was leaning out the car window. ‘I’m hungry.’

  He lowered his chin and shook his head, laughing ruefully. Flora laughed back at him. With her suitcase packed in the boot, Charles slipped behind the wheel and started up the car. The girls bounced up and down on the back seat, causing a cacophony of metallic squeaks in the cabin.

  ‘Can we tell her now, Daddy?’ Violet asked, excitement pitching her voice up an octave.

  ‘We have a puppy,’ Daisy whispered loudly.

  Violet and Daisy almost leapt over the seat and into Flora’s lap.

  ‘He’s black but we didn’t want to call him Blackie.’

  ‘Or Charlie, because that’s Daddy’s name.’

  Charles chuckled.

  ‘And Daisy wanted to call him Fluffy but I thought that sounded silly.’

  ‘His name is Frank,’ Daisy announced. ‘But we call him Frankie, don’t we, Daddy?’

  Flora caught Charles’s gaze. ‘Yes, we do. He’s very cheeky. We thought the name was just right. He’s our good-luck charm, isn’t he girls?’

  Flora looked out the passenger window so the Nettlefolds didn’t see her tears. ‘From your lips to God’s ear,’ she whispered as they drove home to Two Rivers.

  Mrs Nettlefold greeted her at the back door with a warm embrace and a scrutinising once-over. ‘Look at you. Are you sure those people in Geelong have been feeding you right? You look wiry, my dear girl. I have scones just out of the ov
en. I know they’re your favourite.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Nettlefold. That’s very kind. I hope the past year has treated you well.’

  She gave a reluctant smile. ‘I can’t complain. Come to the kitchen when you’re ready.’ Flora couldn’t miss Mrs Nettlefold’s long glance at her son. The girls had run off into the vines and Charles was carrying Flora’s suitcase in one hand and his hat in the other and as he strode towards the house, Flora watched him. She remembered his pale-blue collarless shirt from the previous summer, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his work trousers and dusty boots were a sign that he’d been working on the block before he’d gone into Mildura to pick her up. He was a good man. A fine man, who’d made a life with his daughters and his mother there at Two Rivers. His letters had revealed to her that it hadn’t been the life he’d expected, and Flora had immediately understood what he’d meant. If either of them had had the luxury of choice, they would never have wished to have met each other under these circumstances.

  ‘Miss Atkins!’ Violet emerged from the vines with a wriggling, furry, pitch-black bundle in her arms.

  ‘So this must be Frankie,’ Flora cooed. He looked as if he might have a touch of labrador in him, with his broad head and soft ears. His paws were already huge. She tugged on one of them and leant down to press her lips to the top of his head, and before she could jump back he’d licked her nose with a loud slurp and then wriggled free. When he gambolled off into the vines, Violet and Daisy dashed after him and he answered their shrieks of laughter and giggles with playful little barks.

  Flora looked around and breathed in the scent of earth and fresh air and space. The chickens were scratching in the dirt of the hen house as they had the past January. Marjorie was right there in her usual place chewing cud under the peppercorn tree but there was something new under its weeping branches. A bench and a round table. Flora walked over to it and sat on the rough-hewn seat. From her vantage point, she could see the vista she’d dreamt about almost every night since January. Rows and rows of vines in lines that snaked away into a blur. The crisp and warm blue sky overhead, still cloudless. The river way beyond in the distance.

  The back door slammed and she looked up. Charles was walking towards her, his long loping stride so familiar, his smile broadening the closer he came.

  ‘I see you’ve gone and ruined my surprise,’ he called to her.

  ‘I have?’

  He waved a hand. ‘That is my Christmas present to you.’

  ‘This bench?’ Flora ran a flat hand over it, a slab of river red gum, its surface rough and old and as red as the earth.

  He came to sit beside her, close enough that his arm brushed her shoulder. ‘Merry Christmas, Flora.’

  They sat in silence for a long while, taking in the quiet and the view. Flora took off her Land Army hat and ruffled her hair. Charles reached for it and she passed it to him.

  ‘What would we have done without the Land Army?’ He rubbed a thumb over the badge pinned to the crown of her hat. ‘Me and all the other fruit blocks in the district.’ He cocked his head to the vines. ‘They’re not far off being ripe. A couple of days, I reckon. You’ll have plenty of time before then to sit here and look at the view.’

  ‘That sounds just perfect to me. Maybe you’ll sit with me, unless you have work to do.’

  ‘I can make time.’ Charles dropped her hat on his own head and raised his eyebrows in a question. ‘What do you think?’

  She laughed. ‘I don’t think it fits,’ she said, and she tried to snatch it back from him but he was too fast and his fingers were around her wrist. Something shimmered deep inside her. Charles’s breath seemed to catch. Then he loosened his grip, slid his fingers into hers.

  ‘I found the tree down by the river. The drought, I reckon. It’s taken a toll on the red gums along the banks. I hauled it up here behind the tractor. It gave me something do over winter. I needed something to distract myself, something to make the months fly.’ His fingers entwined more tightly around hers.

  It was too hot to shiver but she did. ‘It’s perfect. Although I’m not sure I’ll be able to take it home in my suitcase.’

  His booming laugh filled the air and Flora let herself feel truly happy for the first time in what seemed like forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘I don’t like them.’ Daisy sat on a leather bench in a shoe shop on Deakin Avenue in Mildura, pouting stubbornly. Charles, Flora and Violet stood at her side, staring down at the new pair of brown leather sandals that had just been strapped to her feet by the shoe fitter.

  ‘It’s not a question of liking them,’ Charles told her, his expression stern. ‘It’s a question of size. You’re back at school in a few weeks, Daisy, and your old sandals are no good.’

  No one wanted to admit the truth: that Frankie had fossicked under Daisy’s bed and chewed the straps apart. They couldn’t bear to chastise the puppy so they ignored his misbehaviour entirely.

  ‘They feel funny.’

  ‘Mine feel fine,’ Violet added, placing one foot in front of her as a ballerina might to admire the turn of her own ankle.

  ‘You’ll get used to them.’ Charles turned to the shoe fitter. ‘We’ll take them. Thank you.’

  Daisy burst into loud and frustrated tears. Charles frowned and Violet rolled her eyes. Flora gave Charles a subtle nod. ‘Isn’t Mrs Nettlefold after some brown shoe polish?’

  He seemed confused for half a moment. ‘Oh, yes. Violet, come and help me find some polish.’ Violet dutifully followed her father. When they were out of earshot, Flora crouched down so she could look directly at Daisy.

  ‘Can I let you in on a secret, Daisy?’

  The little girl sniffled.

  ‘When girls grow up big and strong, their feet grow, too. Your old shoes were already too small for your feet. Why, I saw you stub your big toe just last week when you were running back into the house from church on Sunday. Do you remember?’

  Daisy nodded and slowly looked at Flora. ‘Yes,’ she sighed dramatically. ‘It hurt.’

  ‘You have a big-girl hairdo now and I think you need a pair of big-girl shoes. You’ll be eight at your next birthday.’ Flora guessed that reminding her of that fact might cheer her up and support Flora’s somewhat flimsy argument. It seemed to be working. ‘That’s rather grown-up in my book.’

  Daisy’s lips began to curl into a smile. ‘It is my birthday soon.’

  Flora’s heart clenched. Would this young girl ever have a birthday unclouded by the memory of her mother’s death?

  ‘That’s right. Big-girl shoes for a big girl, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Atkins,’ Daisy mumbled and hopped off the bench. She took three little hops, declared, ‘They feel like real shoes,’ and then raced after her father and her sister. The shoe fitter gave Flora a thankful smile and, clutching a shoebox, followed Daisy to the counter and the till.

  Flora swept her hair away from her forehead, letting herself feel a little bit proud of her achievement in calming Daisy. She hadn’t had any experience with children before she’d come to Two Rivers but she seemed to be getting the hang of it. She heard whispering and stopped.

  ‘She’s one of those Land Army girls, isn’t she?’ It was said with a hiss of derision.

  ‘Yes, she is, but where’s her uniform?’

  ‘Aren’t they supposed to wear them when they’re out and about? Look at her, in those worn trousers and that floral shirt. And what are those things on her feet? Plimsolls?’

  ‘I swear that’s the same girl I saw at the Red Cross ball last year. Interesting that she’s come back to the Nettlefolds.’

  Flora felt a surge of something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Her jaw tightened and her teeth ground against each other.

  ‘Those Land Army girls say they’re up here to work, but I think they’re here to find themselves husbands. Charles Nettlefold is a catch, isn’t he? A widower and all. One of the girls from Stocks’ stole Mrs Geraghty’s
husband right out from under her last year. He up and left his poor wife and two children. Off to Sydney, they went. Utterly shameful.’

  ‘Who knows what sort of work she’s really doing out there on that fruit block.’

  Flora’s fingers clenched into fists. She breathed deep to stop herself saying something she would regret later. She was a Land Army girl, even if she wasn’t wearing the uniform that day while she was out on her own time shopping. Being a member of the Women’s Land Army meant she had a reputation to maintain and a standard to uphold in this community so she held her tongue and kept her head held high. She turned on her heel and strode past the two gossipmongers. ‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ she said with a forced smile before leaving them in her wake and pushing open the door with both hands splayed on the glass.

  She stood on the footpath, trying to collect herself. How could those women be so unkind? Land girls had left their homes, their other jobs and their families to come out to the country to work. Their labour had saved farmers in this district and no doubt hundreds of others around the country. Flora had never expected platitudes or parades but a little common decency and respect would have been appreciated. She’d put her whole life on hold while Australians fought in a thousand places around the world and those women could only believe that Flora and all the other Land girls had sacrificed their city lives just to find a man. She would have expected more from women. How many other people in Mildura thought the same? Had she been the subject of gossip last year too? She remembered old Mr Henwood and what he’d said, that she wouldn’t last a week.

  And then, in a flash, she remembered that Charles had written to her about him, telling her that he’d lost a grandson.

  Her anger drained only to be replaced by a wave of despair. Perhaps those gossipmongers hadn’t been touched by loss. How lucky they were when so many around them had. How could they not find it in themselves to be kind?

  The bell above the door sounded and Violet and Daisy ran to her. She turned, quickly trying to find a smile for them. ‘All done?’ she asked.

  ‘Daddy says we can have a banana sundae,’ Violet said.