The Willow Pool

‘Nothing at all. In their right and proper place ATS girls are a delight. But I don’t appreciate them in a long-haul convoy, Meg Merrilees. They’re just not built for driving heavy army lorries!’

‘No. I reckon they’d all rather be in their proper place at home, but a lot of them didn’t have much of a choice!’ Meg flung.

‘Now stop it, Mark! C’mon – let’s find Mummy!’

Polly took Davie’s hand, her happiness a delight to see.

‘Shall we?’ Mark indicated the archway with an exaggerated sweep of his hand.

‘Er – no, ta. I’ve got things to do – the hens, for a start.’ This was a family thing and she wasn’t pushing in. ‘And why did you call me Merrilees? My name is Blundell!’

‘You haven’t heard of Meg Merrilees?’ He was looking at her as if she were stupid.

‘No. Should I have?’

‘I’d have thought so. She was a gypsy, who lived upon the moors. It’s a poem!’

‘Oh. I see.’ She didn’t see, of course, because no one had taught her poems about gypsies. ‘Er – well – got to go. Nice meetin’ you,’ she added, remembering her manners.

‘Nice meeting you too. See you around. Bye, Merrilees!’

And he was gone, boots clattering on the courtyard cobbles, back straight as a ramrod. So sure of himself, she thought angrily; sure of his charm, the certain knowledge that his smiling gaze could charm the ducks off a pond! Likely he did that to all the girls he met, but it wasn’t goin’ to work with Meg Blundell – too right it wasn’t! Her insides were back to normal again. She was in charge of her emotions though she knew now exactly what Polly had meant about that boing! It had really been something – till she’d got the better of it, that was!

But for all that, her hand was just a little unsteady as she laid eggs as carefully as she was able in the bottom of the bucket. Meg Merrilees, for Pete’s sake! A gypsy, was she, because she couldn’t talk proper! Skittin’ her, was he?

Well, sod Mark Kenworthy, because he wasn’t gettin’ the chance to throw her into a tizzy again, she would see to that! Nell had been right. Likely he was no better than the rest of them, and out for one thing!

Well, she wouldn’t let him make a fool of her like some scally had made a fool of Ma! And anyway, would a feller like him, who could have any girl he took a fancy to, be interested in someone from a slum like Tippet’s Yard and who was illegitimate, an’ all? Bet your life he wouldn’t, so forget him, Meg Blundell; stick to your own kind!

Yet, for all that, she wondered if he could dance and remembered that Polly had said he could. Oh, heck! Imagine dancing with him. Close. It didn’t bear thinking about!

‘There you are! Where on earth did you get to, Meg? They’ve gone now, and you weren’t there to say goodbye! Mark asked especially; said I was to say so long to you – Davie, too.’

‘Ar, well, that was nice of them both, but I reckoned it was family, so I went to see Mr Potter, ask if he wanted anything doing. I heard them go.’ Such a hooting and laughing and crunching of tyres on the gravel drive, and she breathing a sigh of relief – or was it regret? – that they’d gone. ‘Less than two hours! Talk about a flying visit!’

‘Mm. They only had time for a sandwich. Mark looked in on Nanny, then went to sit with Gran, and Davie and I went to look at the hay at the brick house. Then we sat on the front steps as if we’d every right to be there, and talked and talked.

‘And I forgot to tell you! Mummy had a letter from a school friend this morning – they’ve kept in touch for years and years – and would you believe it, her daughter got married about a month ago. She sent a photo of the bride. Such a beautiful white dress with a full skirt and train.’

‘Don’t tell me. Bet she’s offered the lend of it!’

‘She has! Isn’t that lovely of her? And we are about the same height and build. She’s even offered her wedding shoes, which are size five, like I take.’

‘And will you mind being married secondhand, then?’

‘Of course not. And think of the coupons I’ll save. Davie and I were talking about it, and when he comes on leave we’re going to ask if we can get married before I’m twenty-one. It’s so awful, waiting, when we both know there’ll never be anyone else.’

‘I’ll agree with you there. You and him look good together. Made me a bit envious, wishin’ I was close to someone. But I haven’t met him, yet …’

‘So you didn’t like Mark? Surely you found him just a little bit attractive?’

‘Listen, Polly, your brother isn’t for the likes of me. I’d be a right fool, wouldn’t I, to let myself fall for him?’

‘Why would you? And I’ve told you before, you don’t let yourself fall in love; it just happens. Seems pretty obvious that you just didn’t like him. A pity, that, when I’d thought we could make up a foursome when they’re home and go to a dance somewhere.’

‘I didn’t say I didn’t like him, and I certainly wouldn’t mind going dancin’ with him – in a foursome. But I wouldn’t let it go any further than that!’

‘You’re a strange girl.’ Polly frowned. ‘You seem so set against being in love. Why, will you tell me?’

‘I’m not against it!’ Meg coloured hotly, because she had fallen for Polly’s brother, if that boing! had been anything to go by. But his sort would take advantage of her sort. Stood to reason that any feller as good-looking as he was would think girls were there for the taking. ‘I – I’ll know when I’ve fallen in love, and when I do you’ll be the first to know. I wonder where they are now.’

‘Going like the clappers to make up the lost time, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Polly smiled dreamily. ‘Such a lovely surprise. And by the way, what did you do with today’s eggs?’

‘Left them in the wash house – didn’t want to come to the house, like I said. I’ll get them for you.’

She hurried off, glad to be away from Polly’s questioning and from her own downright lies, because to think of Mark kissing her made her go very peculiar.

But thinking about it was all she would do, because kissing and all that was what got girls into trouble, and she was living proof of it!

Yet mightn’t it be nice to give it a whirl? Just the once? For the heck of it?

‘Especially not for the heck of it, Meg Blundell, if you know what’s good for you,’ hissed a voice in her ear that sounded remarkably like Nell Shaw’s.

‘Oh, damn and blast!’

She shook the voice away, gazing intently at ten brown eggs, wondering why all of a sudden life seemed to have become so very complicated.

It was Sunday – six days more to cross off on the calendar – and they worked for the best part of the day on the hay on the brick house lawns, gathering it into lines with three-foot-wide wooden hay rakes. The better the day, the better the deed, Armitage said, and since the war didn’t stop on Sundays, he could see no reason why they shouldn’t get it cocked and loaded and safe in the barn by evening.

‘Right! Are you ready?’ They stood side by side, eyes closed, fingers crossed as the load of hay bumped past them. ‘Wish, Meg …’

And though she had never felt so tired in her life before, and there was a blister on her hand, Meg knew she had never been so happy, and hoped with all her heart that her wish to stay at Candlefold for ever and ever would be granted. Oh, please it would!

‘Tomorrow, if anyone asks, I’ll be able to say that Davie will be home this week. Think of it, Meg; this week. Seven whole days to spend together.’

‘I’m goin’ to miss you when you go off to Oxford.’

‘No you won’t. There’ll be Mark around.’

‘So there will. But I’m here to work, remember, an’ I’ll be busier than ever when you’re away.’

‘So you won’t be going out with my brother, if he asks you – which he will!’

‘You think so? Oh, I don’t think he will – me bein’ a servant, I mean.’

‘You’re not a servant. You’re Candlefold’s home help, and I’d miss you if you left. It’s my guess he’ll ask you out once Davie and I have gone to Oxford. Don’t be so prim, Meg. Say you’ll go!’

‘He hasn’t asked, yet.’ Mind, it might be fun for the heck of it, whispered a voice in her ear nothing at all like Nell Shaw’s. ‘Let’s wait and see, shall we, Polly?’

It was then they heard the bell and ran laughing down the lane to the far archway, then across the yard to arrive breathless in the kitchen.

‘All safely gathered in. Armitage says there’s the best part of a ton, and all good stuff for the war effort, and I’m starving!’ Polly gasped.

‘Then off upstairs, the pair of you, for a wash. It’ll be on the table in two minutes. Roast rabbit, and gooseberries and custard for pudding. Away with you now!’ Mary Kenworthy smiled, feeling almost contented. Mind, there was always the war out there, ready to take all your waking thoughts if you let it, but on the credit side was a wagonload of good hay, and Mark and Davie coming home on Friday.

It was because of her relaxed mood that they decided to play gramophone records in Mrs Kenworthy’s room instead of listening to the nine o’clock news. Had they listened, maybe the shock of what Mrs Potter was to push through the letter box next morning might have been less acute. And since Polly always waited for the morning mail it was she who burst into the kitchen, eyes wide.

‘My God! Hitler’s invaded Russia! Go on – read it!’

‘Russia!’ Mary Kenworthy reached for her reading glasses. ‘Oh my goodness, let me see!’

The headlines in the Telegraph were large and unmistakable: ‘RUSSIA ATTACKED ON 1,800 MILE FRONT’. Agitated, she spread the paper on the kitchen table so they might read it together. ‘Yesterday, it was. Early in the morning. More than three million soldiers! And Mr Churchill was on the wireless last night. The one time we miss the evening news, and he’s on!’

‘It says he said we’d give Russia all the help we can; said he’d warned Stalin about it. Will our troops be sent there to fight?’

‘I – I wouldn’t think so, Polly. After all, we’ve never got on very well with the Communists, have we?’

‘But they are fighting Hitler now, so that makes them our ally!’

‘It says,’ Meg jabbed a finger, ‘that Mr Churchill offered any technical or economic assistance. There’s nuthink about sending troops.’

‘Oh, I hope not. And had you thought – Davie and Mark’s leave might be cancelled now?’

‘Darling, don’t upset yourself before we know what it’s all about,’ Mary Kenworthy soothed, ‘and I think we should spare a thought for the Russian people. It seems they’ve been terribly bombed and weren’t able to put up much resistance.’

‘Then Stalin should’ve listened to what Mr Churchill told him,’ Meg said matter-of-factly. ‘An’ if all Hitler’s soldiers and bombers are attacking Russia, they’ll maybe leave us alone.’ She remembered the seven-night bombing of Liverpool and was instantly contrite. ‘Mind, it isn’t very nice for them, gettin’ bombed.’

‘What shall we tell Gran and Nanny?’

‘I think we’d better switch on for the eight o’clock news, hear what the BBC has to say about it, then when we take up the breakfasts we’ll know better what to say.’

‘Gran’ll be all right, but how Nanny is going to take it is anybody’s guess,’ Polly shrugged.

‘Then it’s my guess that she’ll pull up the drawbridge and pretend none of it is happening,’ Meg offered.

‘So how about we get ourselves a cup of tea and a slice of toast and jam,’ Mary Kenworthy smiled brightly, ‘and listen to the news? Switch on, will you, Meg? Polly, cut the bread, please. And let’s all think how lucky we are safe here at Candlefold.’

‘And let’s hope them – those – Russians’ll give Hitler the shock of his life, ’cause he’s invaded whichever country he thought fit,’ Meg muttered. ‘About time someone stood up to him!’

Then she wondered what Nell and Tommy were thinking and saying about it back in Tippet’s Yard, and all at once she missed them and wished she could be with them – just for a little while …

Next morning low clouds blotted out the sun and not long afterwards it began to rain; drops the size of halfpennies making dark circles on the flags and cobbles of the yard.

‘Rain!’ Meg was dismayed, because it shouldn’t rain at Candlefold! Since she’d come here the sky had been blue, the sun constant. Now, all was gloomy and rain fell steadily. ‘It looks as if it’s set in for the day!’

‘We did need it, Meg. The ground was getting very dry.’ Mrs John said. ‘Armitage said that once the farmers had got their hay in, it could rain as soon as it liked.’

‘There’ll be no work done in the garden now,’ Polly shrugged, ‘so tell me what needs doing inside.’

‘If you wouldn’t mind, you and Meg can make up the beds ready for Mark and Davie, and give the rooms a clean – put out towels.’

‘If they come,’ Polly sighed, taking sheets from the linen cupboard.

‘Of course they’ll come. Give me one good reason why they shouldn’t!’

‘We-e-ll, Russia, for a start.’

‘Them Russians can look after themselves. Mr Churchill as good as said we wouldn’t be sending troops. But how about Nanny – sayin’ the Tsar would send the Cossacks in and soon put paid to the Germans?’

‘Nanny’s in another world. She just doesn’t want to know!’

‘So what would happen if everybody did the same, then? What if our lads in the Forces acted like she did? “Stick yer ’eads in the sand, lads! Pretend it isn’t happening!”’

‘Meg – don’t. It isn’t like you to be vindictive!’

‘All right! I’ll say no more! Let’s talk about Davie. Had you thought that when you wake up in the morning, there’ll only be three days to go?’

‘Go-to-beds, I used to call them. Y’know – how many more go-to-beds before Father Christmas comes.’

‘Then it’s four go-to-beds, and your Davie’ll be here and you’ll be wondering why you worried! Now chuck them pillows over, will you?’

‘Meg – don’t ever leave, will you?’

‘I won’t. And that’s a promise!’ A promise, she thought as she stuffed pillows into cases, she would do her utmost to keep. ‘Had you thought,’ she smiled, ‘that this rain will do the strawberries a whole lot of good – make them swell?’

‘So it will. You’re getting to be quite a country girl, Meg Blundell! Mind, enough is enough. If it rains too much they’ll rot, then Mr Potter will hit the roof. All our work wasted. Now, let’s get these rooms seen to, then we’ll have a chat with Gran. Being in bed watching it rain must be awful, and cold wet weather makes her joints ache more.’

‘Then we’ll try to cheer her up a bit.’ Meg liked Mrs Kenworthy, who was so grateful for even the smallest attention and hardly ever tugged on the bell pull at her bedside. And the old lady had remembered Ma, so it was almost certain she knew what had happened to her and even, Meg brooded, who the feller was. Yet Meg had insisted her mother’s name was Hilda and that her father died at sea, because she’d known instinctively the time had not been right for questions. Nor for answers either, because the Kenworthys might want to forget what had happened under their own roof twenty years ago, and all the upset it must have caused. ‘We’ve neglected her these last few days, what with the haymakin’, an’ all.’

‘Mm. But I enjoyed it, Meg. It was great stealing our own hay, and getting away with it, didn’t you think?’

‘Yes, an’ serve London right for nicking your ’ouse without a by-your-leave. We’ll do it again next year, eh?’

If she were still here, that was. If National Service didn’t catch up with her. If They said that helping to look after two old ladies and working sometimes in the kitchen garden to dig for victory wasn’t enough, and she had to go into the armed forces or get herself back to Liverpool to work in munitions. Big money to be earned there, but she didn’t want big money. A pound a week suited her very nicely and she wanted nothing to change.

‘Hey! You were miles away! Bet you were thinking about Mark!’

‘No, I wasn’t! I was thinkin’ about when I’m twenty and have to register. I don’t want to, you know.’

‘Nor me. When is your birthday, Meg?’

‘August the twenty-ninth.’

‘Goodness! And mine’s on the twenty-eighth, would you believe! Sometimes I wish I knew where I was born, but Mummy always says she was never told, that they got me from the Church of England Adoption Society, and they wouldn’t say. They don’t, you know. Where were you born, Meg?’

‘Lyra Street, Liverpool 3.’ The lie came easily to her tongue. ‘Mrs Shaw – the neighbour I’ve told you about – was there, helping the midwife, I believe.’

Lies, which led to more lies, and all the time wanting to say she had been born here at Candlefold.

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