Turn Left at the Daffodils

Dearest Jeffrey, Carrie wrote,

At last I have time to write to you properly. Things have been hectic these last few days but we seem, now, to have settled into a routine and tomorrow shift work starts for real.

There are very few of us, here. I can’t tell you what we do exactly, but I am attached to No.4. Signals as a driver, and though we mark our letters On Active Service, and they are censored, it means nothing more than that I am billeted Somewhere in England at the back of beyond in a a tiny gate lodge with Nan and Evie.

Carrie read what she had written, looking for anything that might not be allowed but decided that so far, there was nothing to invite the censor’s blue pencil or scissors. Somewhere in England was a term always used now, and could mean anywhere at all between the south coast and Hadrian’s Wall. She wondered who censored their letters. Sergeant James? She hoped not.

I am alone, here, tonight. Nan and Evie have gone for a long walk, in the direction of the village which is about a mile away.

Nan is very young – not yet eighteen – and delighted to be away from her ‘wicked stepmother’. Her eyes are enormous and brown, and her eyelashes are the longest I have ever seen. Nan and I room together; Evie, having a stripe up, has the small single bedroom. Evie is married to Bob, who is overseas and she writes to him every day.

Married. So what did she write to Jeffrey about their own wedding? She should tell him, she knew, that she could not wait for the day when they would be able to arrange it but instead she wrote,

I have been thinking about you and me, and if we will have a very quiet, village wedding. Long white dresses and veils are out, now, so if it looks like being a winter wedding, how about us being married in uniform? It would save a lot of fuss and bother and might be rather nice, don’t you think? As soon as we can get together, we must have a long talk about it…

Talk! Dear sweet heaven, it wasn’t the wedding she wanted to talk about! It was after the wedding that sometimes had her sick with worry, even to think about it. Oh, they had kissed and cuddled a lot and at times got quite passionate, which had been rather nice, but actually doing it…

And why did people refer to it as It? Wouldn’t lovemaking be a better word, though hers and Jeffrey’s coupling had been entirely without love. Just a taking, really, and she stupid enough to let it happen!

I think that in about another month, I might be able to put in a request for leave, but will have to talk to Sgt James (our boss lady!) about it.

When you get drafted to a seagoing ship, will you automatically get leave? If you do, perhaps I can try to get a 72-hour pass, so that at least we can talk together about things…

It all came down to talking, didn’t it? And how would she, when they did eventually arrange leaves together, be able to tell him about her doubts?

‘I didn’t enjoy what we did, Jeffrey.’ Would she, dare she, say that? Would her criticism annoy him or would he understand how she had felt and tell her, promise her, it would be all right between them, once they were married?

‘Oh, damn, damn, damn!’ Irritated, she walked to the window to stand arms folded staring up the lane, seeing nothing. What a mess it all was! And why hadn’t she told her mother about it?

Because she couldn’t talk to her mother about such things. Her mother had always been stuffy about what went on between married couples; had told her they found her under the lavender bush at the bottom of the flower garden and even though she had been very young at the time, she had known that babies grew in ladies ’tummies and the district nurse got them out.

She returned to her bed, pushed off her shoes and lay back, hands behind head, wondering if she were making a fuss over nothing; thinking that maybe every bride-to-be had doubts and worries. Maybe even Evie had had them?

Sighing, Carrie picked up her pen and pad.

I think about you a lot, Jeffrey, and miss you very much. But it is all the fault of the war, and there are many couples not so lucky as you and me – Evie and Bob, for one.

I hope you will get a ship, soon. It must be awful for you in barracks. I hated barracks when I first joined up but this place has more than made up for it. Nan and Evie and I get on fine, as I do with Corporal Finnigan and Private Fowler in the motor pool.

She flicked back the sheets and read what she had written. Not much of a letter to write to someone you would almost certainly marry before the year was out; not what a lonely sailor wanted to read. She bit her lip, and wrote,

Take care of your dear self. I love you very much and can’t wait for us to be married. When you read this, close your eyes and know that I am kissing you.

She read the letter again then ended it Yours always, Carrie.

She supposed that now she must walk to the NAAFI and post it. She wished she had gone out with Nan and Evie and thought that wherever they were, they’d be having a laugh. It made her wish all the more she was with them.

Evie and Nan swung along the narrow road, feet in step, arms swinging, respirators to the left.

Always your left to leave your right hand free for saluting!

‘Tell me – did you have bad feet when you joined up?’ Nan giggled. ‘Gawd – all that square-bashing and them clumpy shoes – I thought I’d be a cripple for life!’

‘Mm. I had awful blisters, but you soon get used to the shoes, don’t you? And my soft pair will be lovely for dancing in. Do you think there’ll be a dance-hall in the village? Or a picture house?’

‘Don’t think so, but I reckon there’ll be a pub. Tell me, Evie, were you miserable when you joined up, because there must be sumthin’ the matter with me, ’cause I couldn’t wait to get into uniform. And I still like it.’

‘Not miserable about being in the ATS. Just unhappy that Bob had to register for military service, and knowing we wouldn’t see each other for heaven only knew how long. So I made a vow, the day I waved him off at the station. I was joining up, too. I didn’t care which service. The first recruiting office I came to, be it Army, Navy or Air Force, I told myself, would suit me just fine. I worked on a huge switchboard in Eastern Command HQ. There were a lot of us there; it took my mind off being away from Bob, yet now here I am in a little gate lodge in the middle of a country estate and the tiniest switchboard I’ve ever seen. I’ll be able to operate it with one hand behind my back! How about you, Nan?’

‘Can’t wait for morning. I wonder who my first signal will be from? And just look there.’ She pointed ahead as they rounded the corner to where a cluster of houses, a church and public house lay ahead of them. ‘Last one there buys the shandies!’

The public house at Little Modeley was called the Black Bull and was small and low-ceilinged and wreathed in cigarette smoke. Heads turned as they entered, then an old man with a pewter tankard in front of him smiled and nodded towards empty chairs beside him.

‘You’ll be two of them lady soldiers as have comed to the Priory,’ he said as they removed caps, gloves and respirators.

‘Er – yes. Very nice place,’ Evie conceded, dipping into her pocket for a half-crown. ‘What are you drinking?’

‘A half of bitter and thank you kindly, Miss.’

‘She’s a Missus,’ Nan said when Evie stood at the bar counter, ‘so don’t get any ideas, grandad. And me name’s Nan. I’m not married, and I’m not lookin’, either. But how did you know we were at Heronflete?’

‘You’ve been expected. Caused a lot of speculation in these parts when the government told his lordship they wanted him out. Gave him four weeks to pack up, and go. Us thought it would be the Air Force moving in, there being quite a few aerodromes around these parts, but then we heard it would be the Army and civilians…’

‘What have I missed?’ Evie put three glasses on the tabletop.

‘Nuthin except that it’s probably civvies in the big house and that the lord was given four weeks’ notice to get out,’ Nan shrugged.

‘So what did he call himself when he was at home?’ Evie pushed a half of bitter in the man’s direction.

‘Thanks, Missus, and cheers!’ He took a sip then poured the contents of the glass into his tankard, shaking out every last drop. ‘He was -still is, I suppose – Lord Mead-Storrow. Took it all very well, so talk had it.’

‘You’ve got to feel sorry for him,’ Evie sighed. ‘It must have been a beautiful place to live before it was commandeered. Wonder how many staff it took to run the place?’

‘Not staff, girl. Servants. That’s what the aristocracy employs. And they had to get out an’ all. Find other jobs. ’Twas the farmers I was sorry for, though they’ve been allowed to harvest growing crops. Last of the wheat and barley was cut a couple of weeks ago. Only root crops left, now. Turnips and sugar beet…’

‘Rotten, innit, when the government can take your ’ouse or your car or your railings and gates without so much as a by-your-leave. Did they give Lord Wotsit another place to go to?’ Nan frowned.

‘I doubt it. He’s got a house in London and another estate in Scotland. Him won’t be all that bothered. So what’s them civilians doing at Heronflete and why do they need such a big place to do it in? Must be something of national importance.’

‘Do you want to know something?’ Evie grinned. ‘There are a few guards and ATS personnel billeted in the gate lodges and a couple of RASC bods there, and the cookhouse staff, and having said that, you know as much as we do! I don’t know whether it’s one of the Services or civilians in the big house. Maybe we’ll find out in time, but right now we’re as puzzled as you are.’

And that, Evie thought, should have been the end of the matter and the old man should have picked up his tankard and joined the drinkers at another table, but still he lingered.

‘I think you two should be warned,’ he said softly.

‘What about?’

‘About,’ he tapped his nose with a forefinger, ‘things…’

‘What things?’ To her credit, Nan was instantly on her feet. ‘Another glass, grandad?’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’

‘So what things?’ Nan was quickly back. ‘About Heronflete, you mean?’

‘About Heronflete Priory as has been in the Mead-Storrow family for generations. Before my grandad’s time, even. It was my grandad as told me. About Cecilia.’

‘And who was she when she was at home?’ Nan urged, eyes bright.

‘We-e-ll, nobody’s quite sure who she was, but it was on St Cecilia’s day that they found her.’ He paused, looking from one to the other. ‘So they gave her that name. Had to have a name, see, to bury her decent…’

‘You mean someone found a dead body at Heronflete?’ Now Evie was curious.

‘Nah. At the Priory. When they was pulling it down. Them Storrows was rich, so they decided on one of them houses that look like a castle. Knocked down what was left of the priory so they could build another place, grander than the one they were living in – the one that’s there, now.’

‘But where did they find the body? Came across a grave, did they?’ Nan’s eyes were rounder than ever.

‘Grave? Oh, my word no! Came across a skeleton. Shackled hand and foot. Walled up.’

‘Oh, my lor’. A nun, was it?’

‘Had to be. Men wasn’t allowed in priories. That poor woman must’ve been there for hundreds of years – before King Henry the Eighth looted the place, then had the roof pulled off. Must’ve caused great consternation, at the time. Lord Storrow’s ancestor got into a right state about it. Thought the terrible way the woman had died would bring bad luck to his smart new house. So he got a priest in, talk has it, and had the spot where she was found blessed, then gave the skeleton a Christian burial.

‘You can see the grave, still. About a hundred yards from the house, with a little stone there. A bit worn now, I believe, but you can still make out the name.’

‘That was a very decent thing to do. She’d have been ’appy about havin’ a decent grave. But we won’t be allowed to go and look at it. We can’t get up to Heronflete without a pass.’ Nan remembered the soldiers. ‘Nice to hear a story with a happy ending.’

‘Ar, but it wasn’t – a happy ending, I mean. That nun wasn’t taking it lying down. Her didn’t want to rest! Well, would you have done if you’d died the way she did? To this very day, she reminds folk about it, makes sure they don’t forget.’

‘Now don’t tell me she comes back a-haunting,’ Evie giggled, ‘because I won’t believe it. I have never seen a ghost and I’ve never met anyone who has!’

‘Then you should’ve spoken to the estate workers around Heronflete. People saw her…’

‘How many – and were they sober at the time?’

‘Folks saw her, that’s all I know. A figure in black, and not near the grave, either. Near the stables. People figured that it was in the vicinity of the stables that she died, when you saw plans of what the priory looked like, and took into account where it was set down.’

‘Well, I hope it isn’t true grandad, ’cause our friend works at the stableyard. It’s where they keep the transports, now.’

‘We-e-ll, chances of seeing Cecilia are rare. Only on two dates have folk come across her. In April – when people felt that’s when she might have been walled up – and on St Cecilia’s day, the time when her was set free, you might say.’

‘And when is that?’ Evie was still smiling, completely unconvinced.

‘In November, if you must know. When the nights are dark early.’

‘When in November?’ Nan’s tongue made little clicking noises and she gulped at her drink.

‘The twenty-second. Leastways, that’s what my grandad told me.’

‘The twenty-second!’ Nan got to her feet, pulling on her cap, wriggling her fingers into her gloves. ‘Come on, Evie. I’m goin’. Don’t want to hear nuthin’ more about ghosts!’ She slung her respirator, and made for the door.

‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Biting back a smile, Evie got to her feet. ‘Telling such fibs! G’night Mr-er…Nice to have met you.’

‘An’ you too, Missus. But I wasn’t fibbing. Honest I wasn’t!’

And then he began to chuckle.

‘Wait on! Don’t be upset,’ Evie soothed when she caught up with the indignant Nan. ‘You know there are no such things as ghosts. He was only teasing!’

‘Maybe he was, but they didn’t have to find the nun on my birthday, did they?’

‘Does it matter when the poor soul was found – if she was found, which I very much doubt. You should have seen your face, Nan. The old boy was having the time of his life, inventing a ghost and getting free beer into the bargain!’

‘Well, I think he meant it. He was real serious about it – couldn’t have made all that lot up on the spur of the moment. But there’s one way to find out. We’ve got to ask around and see if anybody has come across a grave with a stone marker. I reckon that guard what came up on me from behind the other night would know.’

‘So what do you say to him, Nan? Excuse me, but have you seen a nun’s grave on your travels? You’d have to tell him, then, about the man in the pub, and he’d laugh his head off at you! So, repeat after me! There – are – no – such – things -as ghosts!’

‘All right, then – there are no such things as ghosts. But I’m goin’ to find out all I can about that grave. A hundred yards away from the house, didn’t he say?’

‘Yes. And Southgate is much farther away than that, so it’s extremely unlikely that you’ll ever see the nun – if she exists, that is.’

‘Ghosts don’t exist, Evie. If they existed, they wouldn’t be ghosts. And I think we should warn Carrie to be careful of that stable block. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind goin’ to the NAAFI when we get back – have a big cup of hot cocoa.’ Cocoa, Nan reasoned, was safe and sane and helped you to sleep.

‘What! Had you forgotten – the NAAFI hut is right beside the stables,’ Evie giggled.

‘I know it is, but it’s April and November that’s the hauntin’ season so we’ll be all right tonight, Miss Clever Clogs. Now, are you goin’ to hurry up, or what!’

Nan Morrissey wanted the thick walls of Southgate Lodge around her – and before it got dark, an’ all!

Carrie locked the door of Southgate Lodge, placed the key on the door lintel, then made for the NAAFI, Jeffrey’s letter in her pocket.

‘Hi, there! Have we got news for you!’ A breathless Nan at the gate. ‘You aren’t goin’ to believe this in a million years!’

‘So tell me,’ Carrie smiled, glad to see them. ‘You found the village pub and they were giving free drinks!’

‘Garn! Better’n that, Carrie. Heronflete’s got a ghost! An old feller in the pub told us.’

‘Don’t take any notice. He was pulling her leg. There are no such things as ghosts. You tell her, Carrie!’

‘What? That I don’t believe in spirits and ghosts and things that go bump in the night? But I did, once – when I was a kid. But walk with me to the NAAFI. Tell me about it?’

So, breathless and flush-cheeked, Nan told all, and when she had finished and when Carrie had posted her letter she said, ‘OK? So do you believe the old feller, Carrie?’

‘Well – once I might have, but since you ask, Nan, no, I don’t. When I was little, there was a big old house near the village. Empty, and falling down and dangerous. Chunks falling off it all the time. We weren’t supposed to go there, but the lads in the village couldn’t keep away.

‘They didn’t want girls with them, so they told us awful tales about headless ghosts and bloodstains on the floor. Said that was why the place was so neglected – because no one would live there because they’d been frightened away by the hauntings. None of it was true, of course. Jeffrey and Todd had invented it all. Stupid of me to have believed them. So – shall we have a mug of tea whilst we’re here? My treat.’

And Evie said thanks, she would, and Nan said could she have cocoa to help her to sleep?

‘So here’s to ghosts,’ Evie laughed, raising her mug of tea.

‘Don’t mock.’ Nan sipped her cocoa gratefully. They made smashing cocoa, here; put Carnation milk in it so it was worth the extra penny. ‘And you believed once, Carrie, even though it was only a leg-pull. So tell me – I know Jeffrey’s the feller you’re engaged to, but who is Todd – your brother?’

‘No, though we were brought up together. My father owed his father, you see.’

And, with remembering in her eyes, she told them about how, before he died, her father had made provision for his batman’s widow and her young son; out of gratitude, that was.

‘Todd was nearly fourteen when he left us. Marie, his mum, died very suddenly of diphtheria so he went to his Auntie Hilda, in Lancashire.’

‘Did you miss him,’ Evie asked softly.

‘I did. He’d always been around, then suddenly there’s this lady come to take him away. I wanted him to stay with us, but my mother said she couldn’t be held responsible for bringing him up; that it was best he should go to family. I cried a lot.’

‘So where is he, now?’

‘Haven’t a clue, Nan. He never wrote, nor came back to the village – not even to see his mother’s grave. I’ve never been able to understand why, because before he went he said he was going to marry me one day and I told him I’d like that very much. My first proposal – aged twelve…’

‘Rotten of him not to write, for all that.’

‘Mm. I was really upset. And what was worse, I hadn’t got his aunt’s address and my mother had lost it, so I couldn’t write and ask him how he was. Perfidious creatures, men are. I still think about him – sometimes.’

‘But of course you do. You always remember your first love. Only natural. But you’re happy with Jeffrey, now.’

‘Of course I am, Evie.’

‘So why don’t you wear your ring,’ Nan demanded bluntly.

‘You know why not. But I promise you that if ever we go out to a dance, or anything, I’ll wear it.’

The sun was setting as they walked back to Southgate Lodge. Low and red in the sky promising a crisp September morning, then sun to break through and melt away the early autumn mists.

‘Soon be time to draw the blackout curtains.’ Evie unlocked the door. ‘And this is the first time in my entire Army career that I’ve ever had the key to my billet! It’s so – different – here. Too good to last, if you ask me.’

‘And why shouldn’t it last,’ Nan demanded, taking off her cap, unbuttoning her jacket. ‘I always dreamed of country cottages but I never once thought the Army would billet me in one. If I have any say in the matter, I’m stoppin’ here for the duration.’

‘Ghost and all?’ Evie teased.

‘All right, then. Mock if you want, but it’ll be a different kettle of fish, won’t it, when I find that grave marker.’

And find it she would or her name wasn’t Nancy Morrissey who was a member of the Auxiliary Territorial Service and would be eighteen in November. On the day – or night, most probably – that the ghost walked!

‘Er – anybody goin’ down the garden to the lavvy before it gets dark? I’ll nip down with you, if you are…’ Nan was nothing if not careful.

‘OK. Let’s all go,’ Carrie grinned. ‘We can hold hands. Safety in numbers, I suppose, in case we meet Cecilia!’

Which made Evie remark that she’d had enough of the ghostly nun for one day, and could they please remember there was a war on and tomorrow they were on early shift; their first shift at Heronflete and it began at six in the morning!

It made Carrie remember to make sure the alarm clock was set for 5.20, and Nan to ponder just how much wiser they all would be after that first shift. And it made her feel glad she would be working in the old estate office and not in the stableblock, with Carrie.

And oh, my goodness! If only the Queer One at Cyprian Court could see her now!

Five

Sergeant James slammed the flat of her hand on her door marked SIGNALS OFFICE: NO ENTRY then stood, hands on hips, mouth rounded in disapproval.

The blackout curtains on the windows either side of the door were still drawn even though, because of Double Summer Time, it had been light for half an hour. She bought down her hand again, then relaxed a little at the sound of bolts being drawn back and the scrape of a key in the lock.

A man said, ‘Oh – hi…’ He was rubbing the back of his neck, and yawning. ‘Sorry, Ma’am. Was having a zizz…’

‘Please do not address me as Ma’am. I am not an officer.’ She stepped inside, followed by Evie and Nan. ‘And are you allowed to sleep on night duty? What about the switchboard and the teleprinters?’

‘They’re fine. I put the alarm bell on the switchboard and the printer starts up automatically if a signal comes through. Which it didn’t. All night.’

‘I see. Draw back the curtains, Morrissey, and open the windows.’ She glared at a tin lid filled with cigarette ends. ‘And will you take that with you when you leave, please?’

‘Sure. No problem,’ he smiled.

Nan took a sneaky look. He wasn’t half bad. Tall, fair, dressed in black pumps and navy trousers and polo sweater. Too old for her, of course. Must be at least thirty.

‘I thought there were to be two night operators.’ The sergeant took off her cap and jacket and began the process of rolling up her sleeves to the elbow. ‘And how do I address you?’

‘Well, you are a sergeant and if I were in your mob, I’d be a sergeant too. But in the Navy, I’m a petty officer – P O, I suppose.’

‘So that’s your name? P O? Fine by me.’

‘Well, no,’ he smiled and that smile was quite something, Nan thought reluctantly. ‘I’m in Signals like yourself but my rank is that of Yeoman of Signals – not petty officer. I’m addressed as Yeoman – or Yeo, when you know me better.’

‘Quaint…’

‘No, sergeant. It’s the way it has always been. There were Yeomen and Chief Yeomen of Signals in Nelson’s day, so who are we to change it? The Royal Navy floats on tradition, you know.’