Turn Left at the Daffodils

‘Well, next time I go on leave I shall bring mine – and the little camping stove and kettle. I’m not looking forward to winter, Nan.’

‘Who is?’ Nan blew on her tea. ‘But what I’m more worried about is tomorrow night – that Chas will be able to make it, I mean.’

‘Yes – but if he doesn’t, you will be careful walking home on your own?’ Evie seized the opportunity. ‘Keep to the side of the road, because it’ll be getting dark, don’t forget.’

‘Don’t worry – I will. But I don’t even want to think that he mightn’t be there.’

‘You’re very taken with him, aren’t you Nan?’

‘We-e-ll, he is the first feller that’s asked me out. And he’s not a bit common and he talks luv’ly. He’ll be smashin’ when I’ve taught him to dance. He gets a bit scared talking to girls, so he’s never plucked up the courage.’

‘But he asked you!’

‘Nah! It was me asked him. I told him that if he didn’t get up on the floor with me, then some other feller would ask me – and I wanted to dance with him.’

‘Nothing if not direct,’ Evie laughed.

‘It’s the way us Liverpudlians are. Straight to the point. No messin’. I had a great time.’

‘I know. I was there, don’t forget! But you will be careful, Nan? You know what I mean?’

‘I think I do. And don’t worry. I didn’t come down with the last fall of snow, you know!’

And now they were back to snow again, Evie thought. And winter and sleeping with your undies under your pillow, to keep them warm.

‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘when Sergeant James will get the leave-roster going? I’m not due leave for two months yet, but you and Carrie and the two at Priest’s should be thinking about it before so very much longer.’

‘They told us when we first joined that leave was a privilege and not a God-given right.’

‘Yes, but you always get it, Nan. They like to throw rules and regulations at you, just to show you who’s boss. And someone,’ she grinned as a small round disc dropped, ‘is alive and kicking at the big house. Thought they must have gone into town tonight, to the flicks.’

She picked up a plug, pushed it in and said, ‘Switchboard.’

And Nan hugged her mug which was thick and white and shaped like a chamber pot and willed one of her teleprinters to shift itself and click out a signal.

‘I think,’ Evie said, ‘that it’s going to be one of those nights. There are times, I’ve found, when the war seems to take a breather for some peculiar reason. Ah, well, roll on ten o’clock…’

At ten minutes to ten, the green baize door opened and the Yeoman said, ‘Evening, ladies.’ He was dressed in his usual night rig and carried a notepad and pen, his tin-lid ashtray and a packet of cigarettes. ‘Busy?’

‘Nah. Boring, actually,’ Nan shrugged. ‘In fact, we decided that most of your lot must be out on the town, it bein’ Sat’day night. Packed up for the weekend, have they?’

‘Wouldn’t know. The high-ups don’t tell me anything. I’m not that important.’

‘Civilians, are they?’ Nan asked.

‘Some of them.’

‘So tell me, Yeoman, why don’t they have their own people looking after the teleprinters and switchboard? Why do they seem to need Army people to do it?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine, young lady,’ he said, walking into the kitchen. ‘Either of you want a cup of tea – and where is your sergeant, tonight?’

‘She’s here!’ They heard the door bang, then Monica James emerged from between the thick curtains covering it. ‘And why wasn’t this door bolted behind me when I left?’

‘Good evening, Sergeant. Tea?’ asked the Yeoman.

‘No thank you.’ She walked, shoulders stiff, to the switchboard. ‘Everything OK, Lance-Corporal?’

‘Fine. Nothing to report Sergeant.’

‘Transport’s waiting outside. Get your jackets on and off you go, then. And goodnight, Yeoman. See you at six…’

‘Night, then – but couldn’t we all be a little less formal. We’re all fighting the same war, after all. Couldn’t you and I throw caution to the winds and call each other Sarge and Yeo?’

He smiled, and it crinkled his eye corners and made him look much less serious, she thought. But still she said,

‘No thank you. As you said, we’re here to fight a war, so what would be the point in it? See you tomorrow – and bolt the door, please?’

Then she tugged her jacket straight, tweaked the peak of her cap and went to sit beside Carrie.

‘Well! The Navy’s laying on the charm. Call me Yeo, he said! But it isn’t on and don’t any of you forget it.’ She turned in her seat to glower at Evie and Nan. ‘They made it quite clear from the onset. Their lot doesn’t fraternise with our lot, so if they want to play cloak-and-dagger and treat us like we’re not to be trusted, then it’s OK by me!’

‘But Sergeant,’ Evie protested, ‘he is rather nice and he’s only trying to be friendly.’

‘Yes, an’ if we got to talking to him, maybe we’d find out what that lot are up to,’ Nan added.

‘They’ll tell us, if they want us to know. Now, do any of you want to stop off at the NAAFI for a hot drink?’

‘No thanks. We’ve been drinkin’ tea all night. An’ we’re on early shift, tomorrow. Best be off to bed. Thanks all the same,’ Nan said.

Nan Morrissey could not wait for tomorrow to come and for her shift to be over. Only then could she wash her hair, press her best uniform and polish her buttons. Then she would have a quick bite in the cookhouse and be off in the direction of Little Modeley and the Black Bull. And Chas, of course. Would be hell though, if he wasn’t waiting when she got there.

‘Well, that’s Private Morrissey on her way!’ Evie giggled. ‘Bless the girl, she was in a real dither. It’s her first real date.’

‘I know it is. She told me so. But – well – I wonder if I could have a word with you,’ Carrie hesitated.

‘Surely. I’ve written to Bob. Just got my bed to make up, then I’m all ears.’

‘It’s sort of – personal, Evie. About being married. Y’see, I can’t talk to my mother about it.’

‘Girls rarely can, I believe – talk to their mothers about things. So what’s bothering you? Getting wedding jitters?’

‘No. In fact I said to Jeffrey that I wouldn’t mind us being married in our uniforms – especially if it turns out to be a winter wedding. But it isn’t that, Evie. It’s what happens after that I’m worried about – and if you’d rather not talk about something – well – so personal, I’ll understand.’

‘Your wedding night, you mean? But haven’t you and he talked it over, yet? About whether you want children right away, or do you both want to wait till the war is over – things like that?’

‘I never even thought. Just don’t seem to be able to get past the when-it-happens-bit.’

‘You mean you’re worried about it? Oh, but you shouldn’t be. It’s wonderful, Carrie!’

‘Is it? Well, I didn’t think so…’ Carrie looked down at her hands.

‘So you and Jeffrey have been lovers?’

‘Lovers! Is that what you call it? And yes, we did it. He wanted to, so I let him. I just laid there, Evie, and looked at the ceiling, and when it was over I felt sick.’

‘Hey, come on now – don’t get upset. And remember, you don’t have to talk about it, though I think it’s best you do. Because loving, between two people, can be – should be – nothing short of breathtaking. It makes me go peculiar just thinking about it, and what I wouldn’t give right now to be somewhere with Bob for just an hour. And if it’s any comfort, Bob and I didn’t wait for our wedding night, either.’

‘Yes, but I bet you wanted to, Evie, and I didn’t…’

‘But why didn’t you talk to him about it, afterwards – tell him how you felt?’

‘What would have been the point?’ Red-cheeked, Carrie walked to the window, staring out, arms folded. ‘You don’t criticise Jeffrey. He’d throw a sulk. And anyway, I wanted him out of the house – before my mother got back, I told him. But all I wanted to do was wash myself all over.’

‘Well, the way I see it is that it’s a rum do if you can’t discuss things calmly and sensibly with the man you want to spend the rest of your life with – have his children, too. Was it really so awful, Carrie?’

‘No. Just not enjoyable, I suppose. I used to think that being able to do that whenever you wanted to must be really nice. But I suppose, if you want children – and I do – I’ll have to put up with things the way they are.’ She blew her nose loudly, then drew the curtains over the window. ‘Sorry if I embarrassed you, Evie. Tell you what – let’s nip up to the NAAFI – maybe have a half of shandy, or something? My treat?’

‘No thanks, Carrie. You and I need to talk and it’s best we do it here! Because you don’t have to put up with anything, you know. It should be an act of loving between you – and not you putting up with it. Sorry, love, but I have to say this – in my opinion, that kind of a marriage will be nothing short of a misery, for both of you! So let’s you and me have that talk, and then I suggest you write to Jeffrey and tell him what’s bothering you and how you can both put it right.’

‘Whaaat! And have someone here censor my letter – Sergeant James, maybe? Not on your life, Evie!’

‘So you’ll wait to talk to him when next you are on leave? Is that wise?’

‘Suppose not, especially since everybody expects we’re going to be married when we can manage to get leave together. My mother – Jeffrey’s mother -the entire village thinks it. Be a bit late for talking, won’t it?

‘And Evie, since you are acting in loco parentis, sort of, I think I’d better get the whole lot off my chest! I didn’t have to volunteer. I needn’t have joined up till I registered. And my age group hasn’t come up, yet. I really think,’ she rushed on, eyes on her hands, ‘that I joined up on purpose.’

‘To get away from Jeffrey, you mean, or to get out of getting married,’ Evie demanded, wide-eyed. ‘Do you realise how very serious marriage is – and how very wonderful it can be?’

‘I’d like to think we could be like you and Bob, but we’re not. Do you know that when you talk about him your eyes go all far away, and tender? And do you realise that you touch your wedding ring, too?’ Carrie whispered. ‘And hadn’t you thought that I wear my engagement ring round my neck because I say I don’t want to get it greased up?

‘And I didn’t join up to get away from Jeffrey, or get out of getting married. It was really, I suppose, to get away from the pressure. Everybody seemed to assume that that’s how it would be. I wanted time to myself, to think it out.’

The tears came then, hot and salty, and she covered her face with her hands and wept. And Evie sat on the bed beside her, and held her close, and said, ‘Sssssh. Seems to me you’ve been bottling this up for far too long, Carrie Tiptree, and when you are ready, you and I are going to have a good talk about things, before young Nan gets back. And talking about our Nan,’ she smiled, offering a clean handkerchief, ‘I wonder if her young man made it or if she’s on her way back, now – stood up and fed up!’

Private Nan Morrissey turned the bend in the road and saw the Black Bull ahead. No one was waiting there. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes early, so where should she wait? Inside the pub, or outside? She remembered Grandad and decided to wait in the car park to the left where she wouldn’t be so conspicuous – especially if Chas didn’t turn up.

She heard the banging of a car door, and footsteps and then, ‘Nan!’

‘Hi!’ she called, hurrying to meet him.

‘I was sure you wouldn’t turn up.’ He took her hands in his, kissing her cheek.

‘And I was sure you’d be flying. I decided to give it till half-past, then shove off back. But you’re here. I wanted you to be.’

‘You did, Nan? Truly?’

‘Honest to God. Now – are we goin’ inside for a drink, or shall we have a stroll and a chat, before it gets dark?’

‘Whatever you want. We could, of course, sit in the car…?’

‘The car? You got a motor, Chas?’

‘I sort of share one. She’s a little darling. Come and meet her?’ He led her to a small car, a baby Austin, with one door tied up with wire and a mudguard missing. ‘We call her Boadicea.’

‘You call her what!’

Nan knew about Queen Boadicea. Indeed, she’d had nothing but admiration for the tribal queen who rebelled against the Romans who shouldn’t have been in England the first place!

‘But Chas – that motor isn’t one bit like a war chariot! Not the one Boadicea drove. Pulled by horses hers was and it had steel blades sticking out of the wheels so anybody that got a bit close got their legs cut off at the knees! That little thing shouldn’t be called Boadicea!’

‘What, then?’ He grinned.

‘We-e-ll – something like Violet or Primrose. Something delicate, sort of – and helpless!’

‘Sorry, Nan. Boadicea she is.’ He patted the bonnet with a gentle hand. ‘It was my turn to have her, tonight. She belonged to an air-gunner who didn’t make it back, so we kind of took her over.’

‘But where do you get petrol from?’ Petrol was severely rationed.

‘We sort of come by it. You can usually get hold of the odd gallon if you know where to look. And Boadicea goes a long way on a gallon.’

‘Y-yes. Well, I suppose we’d better go inside. I fancy a glass of shandy. How about you, Chas?’

‘Anything you say. I reckon we’ve got a lot of talking to do. And I’ll run you back in her.’

‘Do you know where my billet is – in the dark, I mean, and without lights? And can you find your way back to the aerodrome, from Heronflete?’

‘Darling girl, I can navigate my way to Berlin and back in the blackout – and without lights, too. Boadicea might have seen better days, but I trust her implicitly.’

‘Then I’ll be glad of a lift, only I haven’t got a late pass. I’ll have to be in by half-past ten or I’ll be in trouble.’

‘Don’t worry. We’ll have you home in good time.’ He took her hand, pulling it through his arm. ‘Like I said, you & I have a lot of catching up to do.’

And Nan let slip a little sigh, and thought how nice it was to be walking arm in arm with a young man who called her darling girl. And, of far more importance, a young man who hadn’t stammered once since they met. Now that really was something!

‘Feeling better now?’ Evie asked softly.

‘Yes. And sorry I made such a show of myself. I can usually cope with things. I’ve had to, y’see, me being what you might call a fatherless only child. And you must think I’m dreadful, leaving my mother on her own like I did. But it seemed to be the only way out. And I’m not making a fuss, truly I’m not.’

‘You’ve every right to make a fuss. Getting married is for life, Carrie, and best you sort yourself out now than be sorry, afterwards. And can I just say, that in my opinion, Jeffrey should have been a bit more – well – careful, when it was your first time. Bob was lovely – so gentle – but it seems to me that Jeffrey just rushed in without any talking – y’know, love words – or coaxing and kissing. And touching, too. Touching is very important; makes you want to as much as he does. But then, it might have been his first time, too – had you thought about that?’

‘No I hadn’t. I suppose it could have been like that for him, too. But why didn’t he tell me, instead of just demanding and snatching, Evie? I think I’d have felt a bit better about it if he’d been straight with me.’

‘Yes – we-e-ll – you’re both going to have to be honest with each other, and both of you must try not to be accusing, or bitter. Just try to talk -or write – as friends; loving friends.’

‘I’m not writing to him, Evie. I know it would be far the best way because I could set out my feelings more carefully and without interruption, too. But the thought of my letter being censored – oh, no. And it would be the same for Jeffrey, as well.’

‘Then what you’re going to have to do is write it all in a letter, keeping nothing back, and then stick a stamp on it and post it in a pillarbox like civilians do. We’re going to Lincoln on Saturday – surely you can manage to post one without been seen? It’s the best way out, in my opinion.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that, Evie. After all, even if I were caught, it wouldn’t be Heronflete I’d be writing about, would it? It would just be -’ She hesitated, sighing deeply. ‘Well, it would just be about my love life, wouldn’t it. Or the lack of it.’

‘You’ll give it a go, then? All it needs is an unbiased, uncritical letter telling Jeffrey how you felt about what happened that night, and how willing you are to work things out between you so that, when you do get married, everything will be much less embarrassing. You do want your wedding night to be something to remember always, don’t you Carrie?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Just to think of a loving and gentle husband, caring about how she felt and wanting to make things wonderful for them both, made her feel more understanding towards the Jeffrey who had been so uncaring and brash that it had made her almost dislike him. ‘Thanks a lot, Mrs Turner. And I wish I’d talked to you like this ages ago.’

‘Ages ago, Carrie, we didn’t know each other well enough. And bless you for calling me Mrs Turner. I was Mrs Turner for a whole week, after which I became Turner, or lance-corporal again. And heavens! What is that awful din outside!’

‘Sounds like a threshing machine in pain!’

Carrie put out the light as Evie made for the front door, calling ‘Who is it? Who’s there?’

‘It’s me – Morrissey. Who did you think it was?’ Nan giggled. ‘And it was only Chas turning Boadicea round. She’s a bit naughty in reverse gear, he said.’

‘Boadicea? Have you been drinking Morrissey?’

‘No, Evie. We’ve been talking, mostly. And listen – there she goes, up the hill by the wood.’

They heard the sound of an engine protesting at so steep a hill, then the grating of gears and the parping of a horn.

‘That’s Chas letting me know he’s got her under control again.’

‘We’d better get inside. It’s turned half-past ten and I wouldn’t put it past the sergeant to do a sneaky check on us tonight – especially after all the commotion. And got who or what under control?’

‘Boadicea. She’s the little Austin they have as a runabout at Chas’s place. She’s very old and lots of bits have dropped off but they’re all very fond of her, so don’t mock her. And if I called your pick-up a rattletrap, Carrie, then I take it all back. You don’t know what rattletrap means, till you’ve been driven in Boadicea.’

‘So are you going to tell us about it,’ Evie prompted, a little alarmed at the flush in Nan’s cheeks and the shine in her eyes. ‘You had a good time?’

‘Luvely. And fingers crossed that we’ll both be able to make it on Tuesday. Chas says he’ll pick me up at Priest’s, so’s I don’t have to hoof all the way to the Black Bull, and would you mind if I don’t tell you, about it just now? So much happened, see, that it would take half the night.’

‘But everything was all right?’ Evie persisted. ‘He didn’t – er -’

‘Try anything on? Course he didn’t. But I hope it’s allowed for him to kiss me goodnight?’

‘Of course it is – and I’m not quizzing you, Nan. I haven’t got the right. I’d like to know, all the same, that Chas acted – well – like -’

‘Like a gentleman,’ Carrie supplied gravely.

‘Of course he did. He is a gentleman. And I’ll just do a quick nip down the garden.’

‘You’ll be all right, Nan?’

‘Course I will!’

The kitchen door slammed and Carrie said, ‘Well, if falling in love makes you that brave, then I’m all for it. And mark my words, Nan’s in love.’

‘Then I hope she doesn’t get hurt – after all, Chas does take more risks than most – flying, I mean.’

‘She won’t get hurt, Evie. She’ll be all right. Nan’s sort usually have a good guardian angel.’

‘Then I hope Chas has one, too.’

Evie really meant it, because Nan was so very young and this was her first falling in love. And probably Chas’s, too. Not twenty-one yet, but old enough to fly over Germany.

Evie hoped that Charles Lawson had a very vigilant guardian angel.

Seven

Carrie waited outside Priest’s Lodge. Three o’clock, Sergeant James had said, after which she would drive to Southgate, collect Evie and Nan, then set out for Lincoln. She drummed her fingers on the wheel, going over her instructions in her mind.

‘You can park behind Lincoln Barracks, no problem,’ Freddy had told her. ‘Best place to leave the truck, then nobody can get at your petrol. And Norm can take the big car to pick up the late shift. What’ll you be doing with yourself this afternoon, Carrie?’

‘Just having a look at the shops and maybe I’ll get something to eat if I can find a café.’

Carrie had felt uneasy. Not about driving through Lincoln for the first time, nor finding somewhere to park, but about the letter she was going to post sneakily in the first pillarbox she came across.

That letter to Jeffrey had not been easy to write. She had torn up several attempts before deciding that pussyfooting would get her nowhere. Straight and to the point it would have to be – and as reasonable as she could make it without seeming to criticise.

Dearest Jeffrey,

This letter will be very hard to write, but write it I must because something has been upsetting me for a long time – since the night mother was out playing whist, in fact – and we did something we should not have done. I was not proud of myself for giving in because I would rather have waited until our wedding night.

What we did made me feel so guilty, Jeffrey, that I did not enjoy it, and I know I should have, so can we talk about it, and will you at least try to understand how I feel, and what a terrible scandal there would have been in the village, if something had gone dreadfully wrong?

I cannot think about our wedding, you see, without remembering that night and how it upset me. And yes, I know I should have said something at the time, but I was too embarrassed and just wanted to forget it.

I do not know what I am trying to say, exactly, except that I want you to put my mind at rest and tell me it will be absolutely wonderful when next it happens – which will be on our honeymoon, I hope.

This letter is not meant to criticise you. I just think that we were both a bit hasty and spoiled something that should really be very precious.

I think I have put this badly, and I am sorry, but when next we meet I hope we will be able to talk to each other freely and frankly and put things to rights.

I am posting this letter sneakily, so you need not worry that someone had read it, and I hope you might be able to find a way to do the same when you reply to it. After all, things concerning you and me should be read by you and I only.

Write back very soon, and tell me you understand, darling. And tell me I am being an idiot, and that of course our honeymoon will be something I will never want to forget.

With love.

A disjointed, rambling letter with words tumbling out higgledy-piggledy; a letter she wished she need never have written, but one which, now it was in her pocket, she was glad that she had.

‘Wakey wakey, Tiptree!’ Sergeant James placed her respirator at her feet, then banged shut the door of the truck. ‘You were miles away!’

‘Sorry, Sergeant. Just thinking that once we get there I’ll be all right. Corporal Finnigan told me where to park. It’s just a bit awkward, with no road signs.’

‘Agreed, but necessary. Can’t have the enemy knowing where he is if he decides to parachute in!’

‘But I thought there wasn’t going to be an invasion, Sergeant. Not now that Hitler’s invaded Russia…’

‘The rate that man’s going at, he’ll be in Moscow by Christmas. Mind, it’ll be snowing there soon, so heaven only knows what’ll happen when everything is frozen over. But chop-chop, girl, and pick up the other two!’

‘Yes, Sergeant.’ Carrie could see Southgate at the bottom of the hill, and Evie and Nan waiting at the gate.