Whisper on the Wind

‘Toast?’ she demanded, forking a slice of bread, holding it to the coals.

And as if that were not enough, what about those Japs invading Burma? So what about the tea ration now? Not that she was at all sure that Burma had tea plantations, but those Japanese soldiers had taken a step nearer to India – which did.

But before very long there would be American soldiers in Britain which would be a help, she acknowledged, us having been on our own since Dunkirk. It had made a difference in the last war, though they hadn’t got themselves over in time to save Mr Fairchild, nor Tom.

‘Spring starts on the twentieth of March, doesn’t it, Aunt Poll?’

‘Spring starts when it thinks it will; when there’s no more flowers on that winter jasmine,’ she said, nodding to the window and the creeper, bright with yellow flowers, that grew around it. ‘You can’t say winter’s really gone till the last of those little flowers have fallen, so think on. That’s the day spring starts. Nature don’t have a calendar. And there’s Kath at the door with the milk. Fetch it in, lad, afore those pesky little blue tits start pecking at the top.’

‘It was Roz left it, not Kath.’

‘And how do you know that, then?’

‘’Cos she was whistling. Kath doesn’t whistle. Suppose Roz is happy because her boyfriend –’ He stopped, not at all sure he’d meant to say so much.

‘Because her what? Roz hasn’t got a boyfriend – well, maybe Jonty, perhaps.’

‘Jonty? Nah. Roz’s boyfriend is an airman,’ Arnie supplied scornfully, throwing caution through the window. ‘Her young man’s a navigator. And I saw him in the back of the RAF truck that takes the airmen to York when they go on leave. Roz’ll be whistling ’cos he’ll be coming back, soon.’

‘Away with your romancing, Arnie Bagley. Roz hasn’t got a young man.’ Except Jonty, maybe, and she didn’t seem as sweet on him as he was on her, come to think of it. ‘And you’re not to go saying things like that. Mrs Fairchild wouldn’t be pleased if she heard you.’

‘But it’s true!’ He coloured hotly. He wasn’t telling lies. ‘I saw them. Kissing. I’ve seen them ever so many times – well, twice. But they were kissing each other, both times.’

‘Now see here, young man; even if you did see Roz and some airman, you’re to keep quiet about it or you’ll land the lass in trouble with her gran. Roz isn’t old enough to have boyfriends – not yet.’

‘But she’s ever so old, Aunt Poll.’

‘You let Mrs Fairchild be the judge of that. You mind your own business and get on with your breakfast.’

Arnie bit savagely into his toast. He’d have thought Aunt Poll would’ve been interested to know about Roz and the navigator from the aerodrome. He wished now he hadn’t told her.

Polly pursed her lips, wondering how much truth there was in Arnie’s revelations and how much was the product of his over-active imagination. My word, but Roz had kept the young man dark – if young man there was. Talk went around the village pretty sharpish; surely, if there’d been gossip she’d have heard it, sooner or later. All there was to do in Alderby, most times, was gossip. But there was no smoke without fire. Kissing, were they?

‘Beats me how you get to know so much, lad,’ she muttered. ‘Seeing’s one thing; blabbing it all over the village is another.’

‘I haven’t blabbed! You’re the only one I’ve told!’

‘Then let’s see to it that it stays that way, shall we?’

Until she’d had time to think about it, that was. Until she’d got to the bottom of it and got the facts right. Only then could she warn the Mistress. Warn Mrs Fairchild? But maybe that wouldn’t be a good idea at all. Maybe it would do a lot more good if she were to have a quiet word with young Roz?

Oh, drat Arnie and that inquisitive little nose of his! Drat the lad, though of course he just might be right. After all, Roz was nineteen, or would be, come April. Happen who the lass kissed was nobody’s business but her own.

‘And will you go and bring that milk in,’ she said testily. ‘Like I told you!’

Kath leaned her bicycle against the kitchen wall and pulled the bell-handle on Ridings’ back door. She had thought, for one mad moment to walk boldly up the front door steps and lift the heavy iron knocker, but she remembered her days as a housemaid, and her courage left her.

‘Come in.’ Roz smiled, taking in the bright green pullover, the collar and tie, the shiny black shoes. ‘You do look smart.’

‘I was thinking much the same about you.’ She had been quick to notice the pleated grey skirt, the pale green blouse. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen you in real clothes.’

‘We’re in the little sitting-room, this afternoon. Gran said it could do with an airing, but it’s really in your honour.’ Roz nodded vaguely down the passageway. ‘I’ve been chopping logs for the fire all morning.’

Little remained of the original house, yet the surviving rooms and passages retained the spaciousness of a larger, grander place which the stone-flagged floors and uneven walls did nothing to dispel.

‘This house must have been really something,’ she murmured, the servant in her taking in the brass door-handles, the hard-to-clean leaded window panes, bellied with age.

‘I suppose it was, but what’s left suits us all right.’ Roz opened a white-painted door. ‘Gran, here’s Kathleen Allen.’

‘My dear, how kind of you to come.’ Hester Fairchild’s pleasure was genuine, her handshake firm. ‘You look chilled. Come to the fire, and warm yourself. You can look at our old ruin later.’

She stooped to place a log on the fire then sank back cosily into the well-cushioned chair. ‘Such a luxury these days, Mrs Allen – fires, I mean. And will you allow an old lady to call you Kathleen?’

‘Oh please, I’d like that. And you’re not old. I got quite a surprise, in fact. I’d expected – well, a grandmother, you see.’ Her cheeks flushed crimson. ‘Sorry. I – I meant –’

‘Don’t be sorry. Don’t spoil it. I’m not too old to enjoy a compliment. But tell me about yourself. I’m quite a busybody, given the chance.’

‘There isn’t a lot to tell.’ Kath looked around the small, snug room. Every piece of furniture was oddly matched, yet so right. A pair of brocade-seated chairs – Sheraton, were they, like those in the Birmingham town house? – a sofa with a faded, delphinium-patterned cover, china bowls of dried lavender flowers, a hand-embroidered footstool. Things passed down; old things, loved things, safe things. ‘I like being a landgirl. It’s the first big thing that’s happened to me – apart from Barney, that is.’

‘Your husband? Roz tells me he’s abroad in the Army. You’ll miss him.’

‘Yes, I do.’

The log began to crackle and flame, shining the brass fender, splashing the walls with fireglow. There were generations of Fairchilds in this room; Roz was lucky, knowing so precisely who she was.

‘Have you heard from him lately?’

‘Last Monday. Sometimes I don’t get a letter for weeks then six arrive, all at once. It’s like Christmas, then.’ Was like Christmas.

‘Christmas.’ Hester nodded, her eyes suddenly sad.

‘Why don’t we go out?’ Roz had recognized that faraway look. ‘Think we might have our walk while it’s still light – or take a look at the house if you’d like, and meet the rest of the Fairchilds. They’re a rum lot! Would you mind, Gran, if we did?’

‘Not a bit. Off you go. I shall sit here by the fire and listen to the wireless.’

‘Now don’t forget – you must be careful not to mention the prisoner,’ Roz whispered when they had closed the door behind them. ‘Nor Paul.’

‘I’ll remember.’

‘Right! I shall now bore you silly with the Fairchilds.’ With a flourish of her arm Roz indicated the stairs. ‘This is really the second-best staircase, by the way. The posh one was destroyed in the fire. And these lot,’ she nodded to the chain-hung portraits, ‘are all they managed to salvage of my forebears. Meet the folks!’

‘This is all so lovely,’ Kath said softly. ‘Far nicer than I’d have thought. I can understand your Gran wanting to hang on to it; and to think I called it an old ruin. But you love it, too, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course, but I wouldn’t go on about it like Gran does. I like the outside best – the old walls and the empty windows; so stark, somehow, yet so beautiful in summer.’ When the climbing roses were flowering, the honeysuckle and the clematis. ‘And if you could just see it, Kath, when the moon is full and it shinés through those great, empty windows – now that really is something. That’s when I love it most, I think – when it’s all sad, sort of, as if it’s remembering. But let’s have a quick look around here, then we’ll go out and I’ll show you what I mean.’

‘So what do you think?’ Roz demanded, as Kath saw for herself the strange beauty of a once-great house.

‘It’s amazing,’ she whispered, asking herself how the sight of rose-brick walls and stone-mullioned windows could be so disturbing, so poignant.

‘All this lot should have been demolished, really, after the fire but Gran wouldn’t hear of it. So my father left just the walls – an outline, I suppose, of what it had once been.’

‘I’m glad he did.’ Kath gazed fascinated at the forlorn beauty, wondering at its melancholy, and the waste. ‘Those windows are like empty eyes, but I don’t know if they’re looking forward or looking back.’

It was then, exactly, that it happened; when Roz, looking up, saw the predator like a great black bird, low in the sky.

‘Kath! Look! God, it’s one of theirs!’

Hands clasped they ran, crouching, for the shelter of the walls, heard the scream of the diving bomber and the terrible roar of exploding bombs.

‘It’s Peddlesbury,’ Roz gasped. ‘A hit-and-run!’ No time for a warning; no time for the wailing, undulating air-raid siren. A lone bomber had slipped in, unseen and unmarked. ‘Run, Kath. Run!’

Hester was standing in the kitchen yard, her face pale and anxious.

‘You’re all right! What was it?’

‘A sneak raid on Peddlesbury,’ Roz choked, breathless from running. ‘Another one. Come inside, Gran.’

‘Oughtn’t we to go down to the cellars?’

‘No. Think it’s all over now. Short and sharp. Hope it isn’t like last time.’ Last time there had been many killed and injured. ‘Are you all right, Kath?’

‘I think so, thanks.’ Just that it had brought back the airraids on Birmingham she had thought forgotten; reminded her of wailing sirens and fearful, waiting silences; of listening, breath indrawn, for the menacing drone of aircraft engines and the sick-making, tearing sound of exploding bombs. And afterwards, leaving the shelter to breathe in the stench of destruction; a mixing of dust, fire and water-doused timbers. Sometimes, too, the stench of death. ‘I’m fine. I don’t suppose it’ll come back – will it?’

‘Shouldn’t think so. That sort just come in low under radar cover, then get out as fast as they can. That one’ll be over the North Sea by now.’

‘Yes. Of course.’ Kath was thinking about Peacock Hey and how very close it stood to the aerodrome. Most of the girls would be there; today was their day off, too. She was glad that she was here, at Ridings, and felt guilty because she was glad.

‘I think,’ said Hester Fairchild firmly, ‘that after that we could all do with a cup of tea.’

Jonty came, smiling apologetically, as they were finishing tea.

‘Thought I’d better come over – just to make sure you’re all right,’ he said, his eyes concerned.

‘Jonathan, how kind. Have you time for a cup of tea?’ Hester smiled. ‘And we’re fine. Have you heard anything about it?’

‘Not a lot.’ He declined the tea. ‘Dad heard in the village that two of the bombs hit Peddlesbury and the other fell in a field.’

‘So they’re all right at Peacock Hey?’

‘I’m almost sure so. One bomb fell near Nab Wood, well away from the hostel and the two that hit Peddlesbury got the runway. By the way, Kath, I’ll ride back with you if you let me know what time you’ll be leaving.’

‘I’ll be all right. It’s good of you, Jonty, and thoughtful, but I’ve been in a few air-raids, remember? I’ll manage, thanks.’

‘He’s such a nice young man,’ Hester remarked when Jonty had left. ‘So kind; so hard-working.’

‘Yes, he is, Mrs Fairchild. I owe him my life; him and –’ She stopped, remembering Roz’s warning. ‘I – I think he’s handsome, too,’ she said, wildly. ‘I – I mean –’

‘I know exactly what you mean.’ Hester smiled obliquely at her granddaughter. ‘Though Roz doesn’t think so, do you, darling? Roz, I’m afraid, just pooh-poohs me when I tell her I think he’s very fond of her.’

‘Gran, for goodness’ sake!’ Roz pouted. ‘I like Jonty; I like him a lot, but I refuse to fall in love with him just because you like him and think he’d be good for Ridings.’ She rose from the table, pushing back the chair noisily. ‘Excuse me, please. Must fill up the teapot.’

‘Jonathan,’ Kath said hurriedly, wanting to atone for being the unwitting cause of Hester’s hurt glances and the flush in Roz’s cheeks. ‘I didn’t realize that was his real name.’

‘His Sunday name.’ Hester smiled, serene again. ‘And forgive Roz her quick temper; we blame it on that red hair …’

In the kitchen, Roz already regretted her outburst. She’d almost said that she was in love with someone else, though she’d bitten on her tongue in time. She must learn to be more careful.

Darling Paul, I miss you so, need you so, though she had to be glad he wasn’t at the aerodrome when the bombs fell. And she hoped with all her heart that the bombs really had fallen on the runway, like Jonty said; hoped they’d fallen slap bang in the middle of it and made two great craters that would take days and days to repair. She longed for him to phone her. Perhaps tonight he would get through.

The call for which Roz had so desperately prayed came as Kath was preparing to leave; just as she shrugged into her jacket and put on her hat Roz ran to answer its ring, pointedly closing the door behind her.

‘I’ve enjoyed this afternoon such a lot, Mrs Fairchild – bombs and all.’ Kath smiled. ‘Thank you for letting me see your home. It’s – it’s just lovely.’

‘You must come again – often. Don’t wait to be asked, Kathleen. I like having young people about the place. Come for Roz’s birthday and stay the night, if the Warden will let you. She’d like that, I know.’

‘Your gran has asked me to stay the night for your birthday – in April, isn’t it?’ Kath said to Roz who had offered to walk as far as the gate lodges with her, and to call in on Polly to make sure she was all right. ‘I didn’t know what to say because you’ll probably be out somewhere with Paul. That was him on the phone, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. He won’t be ringing again; I’m seeing him on Tuesday night, fingers crossed.’

‘Look, Roz, I know it’s none of my business, but I think you should tell your gran about him. How you get away with it beats me. How do you manage to meet him so often without her knowing?’

‘I tell a lot of lies, I’m afraid. I have to, Kath. I know what she’d say, you see. She’d stop me seeing him.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure. I know her better than you do. When you bring up someone else’s child, you’re just that bit extra careful. Gran’s always been like that, where I’m concerned. She’s been mother and father and guardian angel to me. She won’t ever change.’

‘Try her?’ Kath urged. ‘Just try her?’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Promise?’

‘I said I would, Kath. Were you very frightened when the bombs dropped?’

‘Scared witless, for a couple of minutes.’ Okay, Roz. Change the subject, if that’s the way you want it. But it isn’t going to go away. ‘It’s times like that I wish I’d been born a man.’

‘Why, for heaven’s sake? Men can be afraid, too; they just can’t show it, that’s all,’ Roz countered hotly.

‘I know, love; I know.’ My, but she’d been jumpy today. Missing Paul, of course. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I know men get afraid. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

‘And I shouldn’t have been so snappy, but it’s awful, sometimes. Gran, I mean. She really would like me to marry someone who’d be good for Ridings and right now Jonty fits the bill, poor love. I wish she wouldn’t go on about it.’

‘She’s only thinking about you, Roz. She’s brought you up and you can’t blame her for wanting to see you happily married. I wish I’d had someone like her, when I was growing up.

‘And that’s something else, you know. Does your grandmother know about me – really know, I mean? Does she know I was an unwanted child; that I grew up on charity, in an orphanage? Would I have been so welcome, if she’d known?’

‘What do you mean, if she’d known? She does know. I told her ages ago. I know she can be a bit funny sometimes, but your being brought up in an orphanage wouldn’t worry her at all. She’d say it wasn’t how you started out, but what you’d made of yourself that mattered.

‘But you’ve got a real chip on your shoulder about that place, haven’t you, Kath? You’d think orphanages were dens of iniquity, or something. What you’re really so miffed about is your mother having left you. That’s really your bête noire, isn’t it?’

‘My what?’

‘Your black beast, pet hate – your bugbear; just like Gran and her Germans.’

‘I suppose it is. And it wasn’t all that bad at the orphanage. It was just that I didn’t really belong to anybody.’

‘Well, you do now. You belong to Barney and to everyone at Home Farm and to me and Gran – right?’

‘Right.’ Kath smiled. ‘Sorry if I got a bit hot round the collar. I meant well and I’m still not going to take back one word about your telling your Gran. Just think about it, will you? She’s a lovely person; she might understand more than you think.’

‘I know. You could be right.’ Roz pushed open the gates then placed a kiss on Kath’s cheek. ‘It’s good to have someone to talk to and I’ll think about what you’ve said. Goodnight, Kath. Go carefully.’

Roz wouldn’t think about it, Kath brooded as she rode along Peddlesbury Lane. She’d go on meeting Paul and telling lies about it, nothing would change; except if anything were to happen, that was. And if it did, when it did, how was she to tell her grandmother, then?

‘Oh, you silly, muddle-headed girl, why do I worry so about you?’ she demanded of the darkness around her. ‘Just why, will you tell me?’

Alderby St Mary buzzed with bomb-talk. It ranged from the total destruction of RAF Peddlesbury, to ‘a lot of fuss about nothing; only one Jerry plane and all three bombs missed!’

Polly Appleby alone was in possession of the facts for she had got them from Home Farm’s landgirl when she left the milk. Peddlesbury had been hit; two bombs on the runway but, apart from a lot of broken window panes, no one hurt. And Kath should know, since Peacock Hey was nearer to the aerodrome than Alderby.

Polly said as much to Hester Fairchild. ‘Could have been a whole lot worse,’ she said, fastening her pinafore. ‘Kath knows all about bombing, poor lass; thought she’d be safe in the country, I shouldn’t wonder. But it only goes to show that nobody’s safe these days from them dratted bombers.’

‘It was only a hit-and-run,’ Hester observed mildly, ‘and this time no one was hurt. We should be thankful for small mercies. Did you know that Kathleen came to tea yesterday? A nice girl. She’ll be good for Roz. Roz needs more young company than she’s getting.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Polly frowned, filling the kettle, setting it to boil. Roz was getting more company than her grandmother supposed. Polly had thought a lot about what Arnie told her, first deciding that it was nothing at all to do with anyone, then wavering, because Roz had been gently reared and happen it would do no harm if someone were to have a word with the lass. Just a gentle reminder about – things.

At that point she had shut out such thoughts at once. Even though it was a known fact that blood ran hotter in times of war, it wasn’t for Polly Appleby to sit in judgement on anybody’s morals. And who was to say that young Roz’s morals were in need of judging? She was surprised, therefore, to hear herself say, ‘The lass doesn’t do so badly for young company.’ She bit hard on her tongue. ‘Well, she goes to the dances with the rest of the village and –’

Her cheeks were burning, she knew it. Mrs Fairchild was looking at her in that way, and if she wasn’t careful the cat would be out of the bag.

‘And, Poll?’

‘And nowt, ma’am,’ came the too-sharp, too-ready reply.

‘What do you know that I don’t – that you think I don’t know?’

Polly turned, arms folded defensively across her middle. She had said too much.

‘Gossip,’ she said truculently. ‘Nowt but gossip, ma’am.’

‘About whom?’

‘I don’t like, ma’am. You know me. I don’t tittle-tattle about what’s none of my business.’

‘Poll, something’s troubling you and I know it’s nothing to do with Arnie.’

‘No. Not Arnie.’ Drat the woman and her probing.

‘Then let’s sit down and drink our tea and have a talk about it.’

‘There’s nowt worth the telling.’

‘Oh, but there is! You and I have known each other a long time and you only call me ma’am when you’re cross or worried. Will you pour, Poll?’

Sighing deeply, Polly did as she was asked. There was no escaping it now. Mrs Fairchild was a deep one and she’d not rest till she knew every last word of it.

‘It was nowt nor summat, really, and to tell the truth it wasn’t village talk, though if Arnie knows about it happen the village knows about it, an’ all. And I suppose it’s best coming from me; best you don’t hear it second-hand.

‘It’s Roz, you see. Arnie said he’d seen her with an airman from Peddlesbury. Twice. And that’s all I know, ’cept that Arnie said the airman had gone on leave.’

‘Then Arnie might well be right,’ Hester said softly, ‘because for the past week Roz hasn’t been out at all, nights. It fits, I’m afraid. It all adds up. I’ve thought for quite some time that she’s been meeting someone, and now I know.’

‘Not for sure, you don’t. Not for sure, ma’am, save that Roz might’ve met the same young man twice and perhaps danced with him a time or two. But you knew about the dances.’

‘Of course I knew. All Alderby goes to the Friday dances. It’s the other nights we’re talking about, Poll.’

‘Then you’d best tackle her about it.’

‘How, will you tell me? Do I blunder in like an idiot, demand to know who she’s been with and what she’s doing?’

‘You could, though I doubt it’d get you very far. Stubborn, that one can be and we both know it. But how you’re going to do it without causing an upset, I don’t know. You’re the one who’s good at things like that; you’ll have to find a way. The lass needs to be told. She’s got to know about such things, how easy they can happen and where they can lead. She’s your lass, and it’s up to you to tell her about – well, things.’

‘But she’s a country-bred girl, Poll. She knows about things.’

‘She knows about animals and wild creatures; happen it’s high time she knew it’s much the same for folk.’

‘Tch!’ Hester clucked. ‘I wish we’d never brought the subject up.’

‘Oh, aye? Wish we’d stuck our heads in the sand and hoped it would go away, then?’

‘No. You’re right,’ Hester whispered, fidgeting with the chain at her neck. ‘It won’t go away. Roz is meeting someone and I know she doesn’t tell me the truth about where she is. That’s the worrying part of it; the untruths. I’ve asked where she’s going and when she’ll be in but she never gives a straight answer. I know my own granddaughter and when she’s lying to me. For all that, though, I can’t risk asking her outright – and being told more lies for my pains. That, I just couldn’t take.

‘So I shall leave it for the time being and hope she’ll tell me. And maybe it isn’t all that serious. Maybe she’ll have a lot of boyfriends before she meets the right one. Perhaps then she’ll tell me about him, and bring him home to meet me.’