The farmer sniggered. ‘Take you out for a walk more loike it!’ he said. ‘Th’animal’s not used to walkin’ anywhere…Tessie’s job is to run around after the cows! Not like your townie dogs who prance along on th’end of a lead with their noses stuck up in th’air!’
Alice cut in quickly. ‘D’you have a dog at home, Evie?’ she said, and Eve shook her head.
‘No – ’fraid not. I would love one – but my parents are allergic to them, you see. And to cats,’ she added sadly. She glanced across at Mabel. ‘What about the other dogs…the Jack Russells?’ she said. ‘Would they come for a walk with me?’ Although the sheepdog was allowed to live in the kitchen, Tam and Tom were always outside in their shed, which was warm and dry and where their food and water was, or they’d be just wandering around sniffing at everything. But surely they’d like to go for a nice walk with someone for a change?
‘Probably not, dear,’ Mabel said kindly. ‘They’re a bit scatty, those too – well, they’re always on the hunt, see, for rats. They’re ratters. That’s what they’re ’ere for – and they do a good job of it, too. Always half a dozen bodies to clear up each mornin’,’ she added gratefully.
‘Rats!’ Eve said, clearly horrified. ‘Rats? I didn’t know there were any rats!’
But rats were not unfamiliar to Alice. When they’d lived in Hotwells, the animals were more common than the cats and dogs which roamed the streets. And Ada had told her once that her mother – the grandmother who Alice had never known – had actually killed one herself when she’d been trapped in a room with one, with no way out. Had crushed and crushed it against a door and the wall until it died. Which had sounded brutal to Alice when she’d been told about it, but Ada had explained that a cornered rat was a vicious creature and that self-preservation was the first instinct in that situation.
Walter Foulkes sniggered a second time. ‘Where there’s animals and their food about there’s always rats,’ he said, as if the fact pleased him. ‘You be careful one don’t run over yer foot and bite yer toe off!’
Alice decided that it was time someone changed the subject. She cleared her throat. ‘We were wondering if we could have the day off on Sunday, Mr. Foulkes,’ she said. ‘We’d like to go home and see our folks – and to bring back one or two things we could do with.’ Most evenings the girls liked to change out of their uniforms into their dresses, but they’d all agreed that they’d soon need some extra clothes – especially as the weather would be closing in soon.
Mabel didn’t bother for her husband to reply. ‘A’course you should have a day off,’ she said firmly. It hadn’t escaped their notice that the girls hadn’t mentioned the subject at all since they’d arrived. That they’d seemed to enjoy turning their hands to everything asked of them, never grumbling, not even when it was wet and mucky after it had rained. ‘It’s about time you did…you been workin’ very hard, all of you, haven’t they, Walter?’
‘Yeah, well, no complaints. So far,’ Walter said. ‘Though they still gotta learn how to milk they cows…you keep puttin’ off showin’ ’em, Mabel. ’ S’about time they did.’
‘Yes, well – I will show them…next week,’ Mabel said.
Alice returned to the subject of their day off. ‘We have walked to the village once or twice, on Saturday afternoons,’ she went on, ‘to post letters to our families…but it would be very nice to see them all again, and to catch up with their news.’ They’d also sussed out the one and only shop – outside which was the village’s solitary, ancient petrol pump – and as Mabel had said, the shop did seem to stock a huge variety of things. On the shelves there were cigarettes and tobacco, bacon and ham and eggs and other available tinned food stuffs, household goods, cleaning materials, brooms and dusters and a stack of plain white cups and saucers and plates. There were most of the bathroom essentials – even a small supply of rather dusty, nameless lipsticks (which Fay had picked up and discarded straightaway). And in the far corner of the shop there was a dark little booth which housed the post office – only open three days a week – where they’d bought stamps and writing paper and envelopes. And also, if anyone needed their shoes repaired, a little man arrived on Mondays to pick them up, returning them the following week.
‘The big problem is going to be transport,’ Fay said now. ‘Did you say the charabanc goes to Bristol on Sundays, Mrs. Foulkes?’
‘Yes, it goes at ten from the war memorial,’ Mabel said, ‘but I’m not sure what time it gets back.’ She turned to Roger. Could you find out, Rog?’
‘I don’t think it’s very wise to count on that old banger,’ Roger said at once. ‘The bally thing breaks down all the time.’ He leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes and giving the matter some serious thought. Then – ‘I could take the girls in the pick-up, couldn’t I…two could sit alongside me, and the other one would have to make do in the back…it’d be a bit uncomfortable, that’s the only thing. But at least they’d be sure of getting there. And back. We could sort out the time arrangements.’
The pick-up was the Morris van, usually with a long trailer behind, which had tarpaulin on two sides. The van was driven, most days, down the long drive to take all the produce from the farm – the milk churns, eggs, bedding straw, potatoes and other root vegetables. And sometimes the occasional pig or goat on its way to be slaughtered. Although Farmer Foulkes was a pretty good shot with his gun to kill off rabbits or rats, slaughtering his animals was something he never did, preferring to leave that to others. Everything, apart from the animals of course, was always left stacked carefully by the roadside, ready to be collected by the appropriate person, or persons, for onward transportation. It didn’t matter if the lorries were late arriving because the produce was always perfectly safe, nothing ever stolen. And the same principle applied everywhere, because no one bothered to lock up when they left their farms or houses. Theft of any kind was virtually non-existent. Roger was the only one who could drive, and he had to make the journey from the farm to the entrance many times each morning to take everything down the long lane.
Now, the farmer looked up sharply. ‘Wha’ you want to go into Bristol for?’ he demanded of Roger. He didn’t like the idea of the pick-up using some of their precious petrol for gadding about.
Roger folded his arms and looked straight at his father. ‘I told you before, Dad – I need a new part for the tractor – and I’ve got a mate in the town who I know will have one to sell me.’
‘Huh – on a Sunday?’ the farmer said. ‘Ain’t no shops open on a Sunday!’
Roger raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘Trust me, Dad – he’ll sell me one on a Sunday.’ He looked around at the three girls in turn. ‘So – we’ll be killing four birds with one stone, won’t we.’ He couldn’t help smiling at his own little joke, and was rewarded by Fay throwing her head back and laughing.
Eve spoke. ‘But I don’t live in Bristol, so will we be able to go to Bath as well, Roger?’ she said. ‘Will it be much out of your way?’ She hesitated. ‘We did seem to be driving for hundreds of miles when we were brought here. I didn’t know where I was.’
‘That was probably because there were so many drop-offs before us,’ Fay said. ‘But I don’t suppose it was hundreds of miles.’
‘Don’t you worry about that, Eve,’ Roger said, smiling across at the girl. ‘I know a good enough route that’ll take in Bath on the way to Bristol. And it shouldn’t be more than an hour, all told.’
Walter Foulkes shuffled in his chair, clearly not too happy at this proposed arrangement, but Mabel spoke up, as usual.
‘Well – good, then, that’s settled,’ she said, getting up to clear the pudding dishes. ‘And if I were you, I’d make an early start on Sunday – well, you’re used to early starts now, aren’t you, luvvers, say 9 o’clock? And then on the way back p’raps not too late ’ome, because Monday’s are always busy, aren’t they?’ She looked down at the girls. ‘It’ll be lovely for you to see your families, luvvers. They must be missin’ you,’ she added.
Alice was pleased that they were going home – it would be good to see Gloria, to tell her about the goings-on at the farm, and to hear her news. And it was only Tuesday, so if they posted their letters today they’d arrive tomorrow morning in time for the recipients to reply if the proposed visit wasn’t convenient. Despite the war, Royal Mail was always reliable, the post seldom failing to arrive. But anyway, these days no one moved very far from their homes, and it was unlikely there’d be no one about to greet them.
Roger stood up as well, passing some plates across the table. ‘Good thing you’re going this Sunday,’ he said, ‘because next Saturday night is the Welcome Home concert and that always ends very late…you wouldn’t be fit for a thing next morning.’
Mabel shook her head at him. ‘Honestly, Rog…stop yer teasin’.’ She looked down at the girls again. ‘See, we have a little do for any local lads who come ’ome on leave,’ she explained. ‘It always takes place in the village hall, and the local children put on a concert, doin’ their party pieces and recitations. It’s always very good – bless their hearts – an’ we ’ave quite a nice supper that everyone contributes to. And at the end of the evenin’ the boys are given a ten shillin’ note each, to spend on their leave.’ Mabel sighed happily. ‘Well, it’s a lovely chance for everyone in the village to ’ave a get-together, and to show our appreciation of our brave boys.’
Alice glanced at Roger. Perhaps he would like to have had the chance to go into one of the Services, she thought. But farming was a reserved occupation, and he couldn’t possibly be spared – Farmer Foulkes would certainly be in a pretty mess without him, because Roger, obviously younger and stronger, seemed to bear the heaviest burden, sometimes working sixteen-hour days. Once, he’d briefly mentioned that he’d enjoyed spending a year at an agricultural college, but the war had put a stop to that.
Everyone stood now, helping to clear the table, and Fay said –
‘Well – it’s really kind of you to offer to take us home on Sunday, Roger,’ she began, and he cut in, grinning down at her.
‘It’ll be my pleasure,’ he said, meaning it. It would be good to get away from the farm for a few hours, and have a couple of pints in town with his mate. Thank God beer wasn’t rationed ( it never was). And to have a couple of women sitting nice and close alongside him on the journey would be an added bonus.
‘And don’t worry – I don’t mind sitting in the back,’ Fay told him sweetly.
By now, Saturday evenings – after their meal – had been set aside for the girls’ weekly baths and hair washing. And it was amazing, Alice often thought, how quickly the three of them had become used to each other in a personal sense…sharing a bedroom and daily washing facilities had soon become normal, and after the first couple of hip bath experiences, that, too, had become commonplace. In fact they all looked forward to the one evening when they had the kitchen to themselves, when they could take as long as they liked over sprucing themselves up, with no interruptions. For one thing, Walter Foulkes only ever seemed to appear at meal times, and Saturday evenings were Roger’s one night off to meet his friends at the Wheatsheaf.
The kitchen – always heady with the lingering scent of baking bread – was where the ablutions took place. The huge room, dominated by the long refectory table down the centre, had a massive granite range to one side, on which a large black kettle was always gently steaming, ready for tea-making. Above the constantly lit log- and coal-fired range hung a long, wooden, three-tiered drying rack which could be raised and lowered as required. Mabel, of course, did all the washing for everyone, afterwards winding everything through the big mangle in the scullery, her capable hands and arms flexing and straining as she turned the handle to squeeze the water out. After which, everything was pegged outside on the line. Along with sheets and towels, this always included pairs of anonymous thick white hose and Mabel’s large vests and bloomers, and the farmer’s various items of underwear, all of which eventually found its way onto the airing rack above the range to finish off. Even though the consistently good weather had done a good enough job.
But the girls preferred to wash their smalls themselves upstairs in their room, hanging everything to dry on an ancient wooden clothes horse which Mabel had thoughtfully provided. Fay had been adamant about this at the beginning.
‘I do not want my pants and bras being washed next to Walter Foulkes’s long johns, thank you very much,’ she’d said to the others after Mabel had invited the girls to let her do their washing for them, ‘And I certainly wouldn’t want them exhibited on the rail for general observation either,’ she’d added vehemently. And Alice and Eve had been in total agreement about that.
So on Saturday evenings, two black cauldrons, monstrous things, were lugged in from the scullery by Roger, filled with water, and set to heat on the range. And with her usual foresight, Mabel always made sure the water was ready well before it was needed.
And after the first bathing session, the ritual became a straightforward and normal event. Fay and Eve had never sat in a hip bath before, but it was nothing new to Alice. It was the only amenity available when they’d lived in Hotwells all that time ago.
Of course, the girls could all have bathed separately, but it would have taken a very long time, and without even thinking about it they’d elected to make it yet another shared experience. They placed each bath next to each other, but back to back to allow a certain amount of privacy, then filled enamel jugs, provided for the purpose, with piping hot water from the cauldrons, carrying the jugs carefully over to start the filling process. It took about five or six minutes for the baths to reach a satisfactory level, after which, part-immersion took place.
‘Blimey,’ Fay had said on the first night, as she dropped her head onto her bent knees. ‘Here we are again – the three wise monkeys! What a bloody carry-on.’ But she wasn’t grumbling…especially as the Radox bath salts she’d bought at the shop – and was sharing with the others – made the water feel lovely. And as they’d idly swish their hands and feet gently around, the warm steam and softly perfumed bath salts always made them feel totally relaxed as they’d chat about the day.
Then they’d wash their hair while still in the bath, presently helping each other to rinse it off with fresh water carried over from the cauldron and part-cooled from the tap. And there were always plenty of good, comfortable towels to dry themselves with, and to rub briskly at their hair. That always took Eve the longest, with her thick and copious curls and sometimes the others would take their turn helping her, rubbing and brushing until it was done. Even the simple ritual of the collective hair-drying process became a pleasure…something unhurried and enjoyable, and Alice couldn’t help feeling grateful all over again at how her life was. How it had always been, as if someone, somewhere, was making sure she had everything she needed to make her happy.
The very next morning a letter addressed to Alice arrived in the post. Before she even opened it she recognized the writing. Helena!
My dear Alice.
I was so pleased to receive your letter and to know where you are living – and what you are doing. My dear girl…I feel so proud that you are doing your bit for the war effort…I sincerely wish that I, too, could be more use in that regard, but I have not been very well lately, and anyway what on earth would they find for me to do!
I know only too well that whatever task you are set it will be done with your usual quiet efficiency and good humour. But do be careful, my dear. And please do not wear anything red when you are near the bull!
All the children are safe and well at school, and the professor is, of course, still very busy at the Infirmary. He lives there almost permanently now, but does return to the Clifton house from time to time to keep an eye on things. He does come to visit us in Wales as often as he can, and I am always so pleased to see him. One of the hateful things about this wretched war is that so many are parted from their loved ones. But we shall all be back together again one day, I know it.
Sam is now training at yet another hospital in London. I am afraid we do not hear from him very often, but the poor darling is apparently always up to his eyes. He did ring me up – very briefly – but that was weeks ago! I pray for his safety every night. London is not the safest place to be.
Take good care of yourself, my dear girl. I am so proud of you – as Ada would be. One day we will surely all be able to return to our old way of life and some normality. What a lot we shall have to tell each other!
With my love to you – Helena.
PS
I have sent on your new address to Sam because I am sure he will be interested. Perhaps he will find time to write to you, even if he doesn’t to me! I know you used to exchange letters, and he was always very fond of you.
For several moments, Alice could hardly move from where she was standing. She was glad to be alone in their bedroom, the others having already been despatched to their various duties, because she wanted a few moments to drink in what Helena had written. She wanted a few moments to savour the words – words which included her name with Sam’s…as if the very act of joining them together in the same sentence somehow provided a precious link…
She read the letter again, more slowly, Helena’s lovely character shining through the page. How lucky, how immensely lucky, she, Alice, was to have been part of that family. How lucky that Ada had applied for the position of nanny to their children all those years ago.
Alice let her moistened eyes linger on the best bit of the letter. “He was always very fond of you.”
Then she put it back into the envelope carefully, and put it with the rest of the treasures in her suitcase.
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