Presently, they made their way outside and into the yard where Roger was waiting for them.
‘Morning,’ he said easily, grinning down at the girls, and once again not believing his luck. They were all so smashing- looking – even in their uniforms – and always so friendly…he’d been wondering who was going to turn up. Living out here and working on the farm as he had for most of his life, Roger didn’t meet many new people…certainly not new women…and the village girls, most of whom he’d been to school with, were hardly exciting company any more. And a lot of them had moved on, and out.
Now all he had to do was to show these city types the ropes. And he was going to enjoy it.
‘You’ll be up the top today,’ he said as they fell into step beside him. ‘We didn’t manage to get up to the potato fields last night, did we?’ He glanced down. ‘It’s another pot boiler, so good job you’ve got those hats on!’
After a good five or six minute hike, they came to the field. Roger pushed open the gate and went in and the girls followed him. And for a few seconds neither of them uttered a word as they stared around.
The field went on for ever, disappearing into the far distance…almost further than the eye could see…with rows and rows and rows of plants rustling gently in the slight breeze. Wheel barrows and long-handled forks were there by the hedge, and Roger said –
‘Well, there you are, help yourselves to that lot! They’re ready to come up so there won’t be any problem.’ He picked up one of the forks. ‘Approach the plant from the side, see, like this, and start gently so as to try and not damage any potatoes, then dig, lift and shake.’ With his strong brown hands and muscular arms, the task seemed easy going for Roger, and he’d lifted half a dozen plants in a few seconds. ‘Then just fill up your buckets with the spuds, and chuck the plants into the wheelbarrows,’ he went on, ‘and I’ll return with the trailer every now and then to take everything down to the sheds.’ He stood back. ‘Have a go,’ he suggested.
The girls each picked up a fork and started digging, and as Roger had said it wasn’t a complicated assignment – it was just that it appeared to be endless. Fay glanced up from under her hat.
‘Um – how long d’you think it’ll take us to finish this particular field, Roger?’ she said. Farmer Foulkes had intimated that there was more than one. ‘It’s a far bigger area than I’d thought it was going to be…d’you think the war’ll be over before we dig up the last spud?’
Roger laughed at that. He liked a woman with a sense of humour. ‘Get away with you,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Once you get going it’ll get easier and easier.’ He grinned. ‘But it might take you a couple of days,’ he admitted.
He stood with his hands on his hips watching them for a few minutes – enjoying seeing them tackle a job which none of them had ever done before. It was funny having women on their land – women who managed to look good, look enticing, even when wearing those brown uniforms. And they were getting on with the job without question. Fay had already lifted a dozen plants, and Alice seemed to know exactly what to do as she lifted and pulled, though Eve seemed at a bit of a loss, standing back now and then as if hoping the potatoes would pop up by themselves.
But of the three girls, it was Fay who intrigued Roger Foulkes. There was something about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on – not that he had that much experience of women, he admitted – but she seemed different. One on her own. With a sort of devil-may-care attitude, as if she could take on the whole world if she wanted to, single-handed, and everyone had better look out. And he liked that. But he also sensed that she was hiding behind something, hiding behind the persona she liked to portray, hiding behind a kind of veneer. Roger shrugged at his own introspection. None of that really mattered as long as these Land Girls managed to convince his father that they were worth the money he’d be paying them.
But the best thing he liked about Fay Reynolds was that she certainly seemed fun to be around – good for a laugh, good for a joke…they were all giggling about something now, as they worked, at something Fay had just said. Yet Roger instinctively felt that you’d better be careful not to go too far with her…not to overstep the mark. To play the game – whatever it was – on her terms. And that she had her own very specific point of no return.
She stood back now and went towards him, carrying an armful of plants and her almost-full bucket of potatoes over to the wheelbarrows. She poked her tongue out at him as she went by. ‘Wha’ ya staring at, Roger Foulkes?’ she enquired breezily. ‘Ain’t we working fast enough for you?’
‘Oh…’course you are…you’re doing fine,’ Roger stuttered, suddenly embarrassed. He hadn’t realized that he’d been standing there watching them for so long.
‘Well, that’s all right then!’ Fay exclaimed. ‘It wouldn’t look good to get the sack on our first day, would it?’
At the end of the day, after they’d eaten a generous meal of baked gammon with the family, Alice, Fay and Eve were in their bedroom, thankful at last for a chance to have a rest. They’d lit their candles again, though by now they’d got used to the poor light from the ceiling bulb, managing very quickly to feel their way around for what they wanted. Unbelievably, it was already beginning to feel less strange…even a tiny bit like home…
Fay was sitting on the floor, soaking her feet. She’d half-filled the basin with warm water and was leaning back on her elbows, gazing up at the ceiling.
‘That was not a job, that was an endurance test,’ she said emphatically. ‘Once or twice during the afternoon I thought I was hallucinating – I thought I could hear voices…and not just yours!’ She swished her feet around in the water gently.
‘You might have had a touch of sun stroke,’ Alice suggested from her prone position on the bed. ‘It was certainly hot enough…my mouth was so dry at times I nearly choked.’ She glanced over at Eve who was sitting cross-legged on her pillow, her hands poised in front of her as if she was praying. She’d hardly said a word at supper, but had managed to finish everything on her plate. In spite of the basket of bread and cheese, apples, and flasks of tea and elderflower cordial that Mabel had sent up to the field, they’d all been famished by the time they’d sat down to eat at 8.30…it had been a long, long day.
‘You’re quiet, Evie…are you feeling OK?’ Alice enquired.
‘I’m not feeling too bad, thanks,’ Eve said. ‘But my hands feel really sore…look – the skin’s broken in a few places and it’s stinging.’ She examined her fingers, flexing them gently as if trying to ease away the pain. ‘I suppose wearing gloves would be frowned on, might slow us up – if we’d been given any in the first place,’ she said.
Alice smiled to herself. She hoped Eve wouldn’t bring out the little white ones she’d been wearing yesterday. Yesterday? It felt as if they’d been away a month already!
‘I think Roger was pretty pleased with how much we got done today,’ Alice said. ‘I heard him talking to Mr. Foulkes –who I gather had gone up to the field himself later, to check up that we hadn’t been wasting time and lying around sunbathing…and they both seemed to agree that we’d done all right.’ She turned over, trying to ease her aching back. ‘So we’re going to be doing it all again tomorrow, but at least we know what digging potatoes is all about.’
Eve looked at her a touch reproachfully. ‘You said it was fun, Alice,’ she said. ‘When you used to do it.’
‘Yes – but we only had one or two rows!’ Alice said. ‘Not hundreds and hundreds and hundreds!’
After a minute she looked down at Fay. ‘Is there any chance that we might have the basin soon, Fay – you know, like before dawn breaks?’ Alice’s own feet were throbbing like a set of drums.
‘’Course,’ Fay said amiably. ‘Just as soon as one of you passes me a fag. It’ll be the first one today and I’m getting desperate.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Eve said at once. She got off the bed and opened Fay’s handbag, then took a cigarette from the packet and struck one of the matches. ‘Shall I light it for you?’ she said. ‘Because your hands are wet, aren’t they…’
Alice raised an eyebrow slightly, and Fay said – ‘Yeah, go on…Thanks, Evie.’
Eve put the cigarette into her mouth, touched the end with the lighted match, then drew in gently, just enough for the cigarette to glow, following it with one or two brief puffs. Then she went across, bent down, and put it in Fay’s mouth.
For once, Fay was almost lost for words, and Eve said – ‘Thanks. I’ve always wanted to see what smoking was like.’
‘Well –as you didn’t inhale, that wasn’t really smoking,’ Fay said, smiling, ‘but if any of mine go missing, I’ll know who’s nicked ’em.’
At last, with the candles snuffed, they were all ready to lie down and go to sleep. And perhaps it wouldn’t take her quite so long tonight, Alice thought, perhaps she was so tired the bed might even begin to feel comfortable…
By now, they’d all stopped talking, and her gaze slid across to the others. Fay still had her eyes wide open, and aware that she was being watched, she turned her head and gave Alice a quick smile.
And as Alice smiled back, she couldn’t help thinking about Fay’s life behind the counter at Woolworths, and about her father, and why she wanted him killed. What a dreadful thought that was!
And Alice couldn’t help being sorry for Eve who seemed to feel guilty at being alive. That, too, was a dreadful thought…
All this introspection was reminding Alice of her own life, and that she’d promised to write to Gloria as soon as she could. She hoped that Gloria was OK, living in the house by herself.
And now, almost drifting off, Alice thought about Helena… Helena had no idea that Alice was in the Land Army doing her bit, because she hadn’t told her. (The call-up had all happened rather quickly.) In fact, she hadn’t told any of the Carmichael family. All their letters had become a little less frequent lately. But she would write to Helena soon, Alice assured herself. She knew Helena would be interested.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Eve sat up and got out of bed, pulling out her suitcase for something inside. Then she moved over to the others, holding out her hand.
‘I’d forgotten about these,’ she said softly – even though there was no need to whisper – ‘And once they’d entered my mind, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep without one. I hope they haven’t melted too much.’ She passed a small bar of Fry’s milk chocolate to Fay and Alice, then tore off the paper of her own and began to eat, her expression ecstatic.
Without the slightest hesitation the others did the same. Was there anything more delicious in the whole world than a bar of milk chocolate…whatever the circumstances…
‘We can call this our first midnight feast!’ Alice exclaimed. She knew all about midnight feasts! ‘We’ll have to think of something to have for tomorrow…’
‘And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,’ Fay agreed, finishing her bar and licking the paper until it was completely clean. ‘Thanks, Evie!’
‘I just can’t believe that I had room for another thing after that supper,’ Alice said, as she finished hers. ‘And I didn’t think to pack any sweets…..
‘Oh well, – I’d actually bought these bars for my parents, but they told me to put them in my case instead,’ Eve said.
‘Well then – thanks very much, Evie’s mum and dad!’ Fay exclaimed, flapping the empty wrapper about in the air like a flag. ‘Not my usual night-cap – but it’ll do nicely for now!’
Chapter Four
Bristol 1930
‘Well, I hope you’re counting your blessings, Miss!’
The maid’s flat-toned voice intruded unpleasantly on ten-year-old Alice’s thoughts as she unpacked her small bag of clothes and began putting them in the bottom drawer of the cabinet.
‘I’ll remember to do that, Lizzie,’ she said calmly, glancing up at the young, uniformed figure standing in the doorway of Alice’s new room – the room she would be sharing with her mother from now on.
‘Humph’, Lizzie snorted. ‘Anyway, you and your Ma were only asked to live in because of your Pa being killed. That’s what Cook said.’ A thin smile played on the pale lips. ‘A stroke of luck that he was, then, eh?’
Alice straightened up, tossing her thick, dark plait over her shoulder angrily, her green eyes flashing with savage indignation. Although her father had never been a constant member of the family – well, how could he be, with his job – Alice had always loved him dearly and the thought that anyone should think it was a good thing he was dead was obnoxious. She moved purposefully towards Lizzie – who involuntarily took a step back, realizing she’d gone too far.
‘Don’t you dare say that,’ Alice said quietly. ‘My papa was a valued member of the crew – the captain told my mother. And they were sorry that he’d died. Everyone was sorry.’ Alice bit her lip hard. She was not going to shed even one tear in front of the maid, even though the lump in her throat was nearly killing her. ‘What you just said Lizzie was…despicable!’
‘Ho! Hoity-toity! Des…des…picabubble…am I? What sort of word is that?’ Lizzie retorted.
Well, if you read some books you might know what the word meant, Alice thought.
Reading had been Ada, Alice’s mother’s solace during her lonely hours, and she’d instilled the love of literature in her daughter. Alice could read fluently by the time she was six, and she was seldom away from school.
‘Oh, just go away, Lizzie, I’ve got things to do,’ she said airily, turning away.
Alone at last, Alice sat on the edge of the big double bed for a moment, her eyes welling up with the tears she’d managed to hold back. Although her father had only ever been back for one week at a time, and then gone again for six, Alice always looked forward to his home-coming, for them to be together again, just the three of them, in the two-bed terrace house they rented in Hotwells. And Alice’s father would always bring them little presents from wherever he’d been, and tell them how much he’d missed them while he’d been away.
And Ada never once complained about the fact that her jovial husband spent much of his leave down at the pub with his friends, often coming home so drunk she had to put him to bed to sleep it off. And when, one day, Alice had commented on this fact to her mother, she had been gently rebuked.
‘It’s the way with some people, with some men, Alice,’ she’d said. ‘Your Pa needs to have one or two drinks when he’s ashore. God alone knows how he – how his ship – survived the Great War. He…he deserves to be able to relax when he’s ashore.’ But Ada herself never touched a drop of anything, and refused to have alcohol in the house.
‘It’s the devil’s medicine, Alice,’ she said once. ‘Remember that.’
Ada was a spare- framed woman, prematurely grey, with shrewd eyes and a nature to match. She’d always known that the man she loved was not the sort to be relied upon, so three years ago she’d applied for the post of nanny to the five children of Professor Edward Carmichael, the eminent Bristol surgeon. And she couldn’t have known that the day she was ushered into the vast, high-ceilinged morning room at the big house in Clifton for her interview with Helena Carmichael, it was to change her and her daughter’s life for ever.
Mrs. Carmichael was a classically elegant woman with aristocratic, high cheek bones, widely spaced blue eyes and a perfect, sculptured mouth. Her blonde hair was swept up into a large shining knot on top of her head, and her pale, unblemished hands were calm and unhurried as her fingers turned the pages she was holding. Ada, slightly awe-struck to be in the presence of such a person, instinctively buried her own work-worn hands behind her bag, trying not to feel a lesser mortal. But Helena Carmichael’s friendly manner quickly laid any fears to rest, and after almost an hour’s conversation together, she’d said –
‘Well, I was very impressed with your letter of application, Mrs.Watts, and together with the glowing reference given to me by the vicar of St. Stephen’s church, I am quite certain that you are going to suit us very well…very well indeed.’ She’d glanced again at the papers in front of her. ‘So… I have great pleasure in offering you the position.’
‘Thank you, Madam,’ Ada had said quietly.
‘But of course – before you agree, I am sure you would like to meet the children? They are upstairs in the nursery.’
Ada had followed her future employer up the dark-oak winding staircase to the first floor, the whiff of polish, of orderliness, of affluence, making her senses swim briefly. She had never been anywhere like it before, but she had known such places existed because she had read about them often enough in classical literature. She wondered briefly if Mrs. Carmichael and her kind knew anything at all about how other people lived, just a mile or so away from here…the poverty, the squalor. Ada’s house was not squalid, and they were not that poor because her husband was employed. But the seven children living next door had no father that anyone was aware of, and often no shoes on their feet, either. Ada regularly took them in a basket of food when she knew things were really bad, and when the last baby had been born she’d helped another local woman to deliver the child, and for some months afterwards had done their pathetic washing.
Upstairs on the first floor, Ada had been ushered into the massive nursery where the children spent most of their day, overseen by the present nanny who was soon to depart to have her own child.
There were two sets of twins – the boys, David and John who were five, and the girls, Rose and Margaret, who were just two. None was identical, but they all shared the same tousled, curly hair, the same dark eyes. They were alert and interested as they gazed up at Ada.
‘Well, here they all are, Mrs. Watts,’ Helena Carmichael had said. ‘A tutor comes in each morning for two hours to teach the boys their lessons, and if at times it becomes necessary, I can always get you extra help with the girls. And of course, you have yet to meet Samuel, our eldest, who is ten, well almost eleven, and at boarding school. But he’ll soon be home for the holidays.’ She had glanced at Ada quickly. ‘And your own daughter…Alice….she is seven, I think you said?’
‘Yes,’ Ada had replied. Then, summoning all her courage she’d said deferentially – ‘Could I…may I have your approval that Alice comes up here at the end of each school day at 3 o’clock? I…I would not like to think of her home alone until I get back much later in the evening.’
‘Of course you have my approval!’ Mrs. Carmichael had replied. ‘And Alice must have her tea with you and the children. Cook bakes cakes most afternoons.’
‘Thank you, Madam,’ Ada said.
‘But…’ Helena had frowned briefly. ‘It’s surely going to be a very long walk for Alice all the way up here to Clifton, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, Alice is more than capable of walking the distance,’ Ada had replied at once. ‘She is strong, and very capable…a very sensible child. She will be happy to give me a hand with the children sometimes…I know she would love to read them their bedtime stories.’
Helena had nodded happily. ‘And you are quite sure that the hours will fit in with your own domestic requirements?’ she’d enquired. Ada was to come in by 8 o’clock each day to give the children their breakfasts, and to stay until 7 o’clock in the evening, after their baths. With Sundays and one afternoon off each week.
‘Quite sure, thank you, Madam,’ Ada had replied.
‘Then that’s all settled! We shall look forward to you being part of our staff…part of the family, Mrs. Watts,’ Helena had said.
‘Please call me Ada,’ Ada had said simply.
On the following Monday she’d arrived for work as arranged, and was formally introduced to Professor Carmichael. He was immensely tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a fulsome beard, already tinged with grey. His granite-black eyes twinkled behind the spectacles he was wearing, and when he spoke, his voice was deep, and reassuringly personal…and he had a way of tilting his head to one side slightly. Which Ada found very engaging.
‘I do hope you will be happy with us, Mrs. Watts,’ he had said, adding, ‘and don’t let those rascally boys get the better of you, will you?’
Then almost immediately he had left the house to go to the Infirmary where he spent very long days in the operating theatre.
And for the next three years Ada had revelled in her new position.
Alice, too, soon became used to this way of life, could hardly wait for the end of the school day when, as fast as her legs could carry her she would half-walk, half-run up Park Street, and Whiteladies Road and Blackboy Hill until she came to Clifton Downs and the auspicious rank of elegant dwellings owned largely by wealthy merchants of the city – the Merchant Venturers, many of whom had made their fortunes from the slave trade. She would let herself in at the tradesman’s entrance and to the wonderful smell of Cook’s baking, before going up the back stairs – never up the front stairs which were for family, Ada had instructed her – to the nursery where her mother would be doing some ironing or amusing the children or helping the boys with a simple lesson their tutor had left them, or sometimes getting them to recite a poem or two.
Then bliss! Cook would lay tea on the wide table by the window and they’d all eat her wonderful cakes and biscuits and little sandwiches, usually finishing up with fruit from a huge crystal bowl. Sometimes Mrs. Carmichael would come up at this point, but not often because she was very busy with her charity work. Mrs. Carmichael was an amazing woman, Cook said, and it was a pity there weren’t more like her.
For Alice, her only problem was Lizzie. Lizzie was fourteen years old and was brought to the house every morning and collected each day after tea. Her job was to run errands and do odd jobs and help the two cleaning ladies who came in every other day. Alice knew that Lizzie hated her.
‘Lizzie hates me,’ Alice said to her mother one day.
‘Hate is a terrible word,’ Ada replied.
Before even a year had passed, it was arranged that a car would arrive in the morning to fetch Ada, and another one to collect Alice from school in the afternoons. That was all to do with the foul wintry weather they were having, Cook said at the time. Cook knew the reason for everything.
Not only that, on the week of merchant seaman Watts’s leave ashore, Mrs. Carmichael insisted that Ada worked a much shorter day so that she could be at home to spend some time with her husband.
Alice had loved this new life, loved everything about it, and young as she was she recognized this part of her childhood as having a story-book feel. The best of all possible worlds…
But most of all she loved being with Samuel when he came home from boarding school. She would listen, round-eyed, to all his tales…that he was having to learn Latin and Greek, and learn great chunks of the bible off by heart. That they all had to do “prep” after lessons finished, and that the last meal of the day was “supper” at 6.30 and that the food wasn’t very nice – not as good as Cook’s. And that he had to be up very early each morning, how he shared a “Dorm” with seven others and that everyone had to make their own beds. And about the pranks they played on each other and that no talking was allowed after lights-out. He told her about the sports they played, and that he’d been chosen as captain of their Junior House cricket team. To Alice, it was a dream fantasy world and she devoured everything Samuel was saying in his gentle, well-modulated voice as if she could catch some of it for herself.
And soon, they’d begun to write letters to each other, Alice using her careful, rounded handwriting to tell him about the goings-on in the nursery, and of her day at school. And Sam would write back, almost at once, always addressing his letters to the house in Clifton.
