Authors: Maggie Bennett
‘I’ve had enough of it, Mum,’ declared Dora when she came in for breakfast on this misty March morning. She pulled off her boots in the scullery, and washed her hands under cold water at the sink. ‘I’m sick and tired of the way he treats us, and as for that silly little giggling Pam who never does a hand’s turn in the house, I could slap her!’
Her mother sighed in sympathy, and could not disagree, but Dora had made up her mind. ‘He’s nothing but a slave-driver, and I’m getting out of this place,’ she said.
‘Oh,
no
!’ Mary protested. ‘Your dad and I would miss you so much – you’re our one comfort now. And where on earth would you go?’
‘Don’t know yet, but somewhere I can work for Britain rather than Billy,’ her daughter replied. ‘I’ll go to the Labour Exchange in Everham, and offer my services.’
‘Do think about it, dear, and have a word with your dad,’ said Mary with a sigh, but Dora had nothing more to say. A thought had crossed her mind, and not for the first time, that Howard Allingham was somewhere in France, a soldier fighting in defence of his country. Poor Howard – she could not return his love, but now wondered if she should have pretended a little, and given him some consolation as he went out to face danger and possible death. She could not forget his face on that Sunday morning after church when he had said goodbye to neighbours and friends in North Camp. Everybody had wanted to shake his hand,
and Lady Neville and Mrs Kennard had kissed him. He had held out his hand to her, and she had shaken it, but there was no kiss, not even the briefest peck on his cheek; she had looked into his eyes, and quickly lowered her gaze.
I should have kissed him
, she now accused herself.
However bad the news of war, spring had returned to earth again, bringing a green mist of early foliage on the trees, and the orchards were sweet with pink and white blossom. A tall, fine-featured young woman stood at the door of St Peter’s church hall, waiting for two friends to join her – and there they were, smiling in anticipation as well as a degree of apprehension.
‘Come along, girls,’ she said. ‘Let’s go in and offer ourselves up!’
Dora Goddard grinned, and Valerie Pearson was thankful for Rebecca Neville’s offer to accompany them before the recruitment board run by the Women’s Voluntary Service. Inside the hall, all was bustle and activity; long trestle tables were set out with senior members of the WVS interviewing female applicants of all ages and sizes. There was a queue, but Rebecca led Valerie to the table where Lady Neville sat, and pushed her forward.
‘You’re next to see her, Valerie, so take a few deep breaths and get ready to answer her simple questions,’ she whispered with a distinctly unladylike wink, then returned to Dora who was waiting for the next vacant chair.
‘Good morning, Miss Pearson!’ said Isabel Neville pleasantly. ‘How very nice to see you, and isn’t it a beautiful morning! I’ve been thinking about you a lot since I spoke to your mother, and we both agree that The Limes Nursery
at Everham would be very glad to have you as a part-time assistant. Have you thought about that?’
‘Yes, Lady Neville,’ replied Valerie who had been astounded at the change in her mother’s attitude since her ladyship’s visit, when a ‘discussion’ had taken place, though it had actually been shameless flattery on the part of Isabel Neville to persuade the lady that this had been her own idea. First she had remarked that a girl as sensitive as Valerie could not possibly work in a munitions factory, but that there were other openings, such as working as a part-time nursing assistant on the wards of Everham Hospital, or helping to care for children placed at The Limes while their mothers worked on munitions.
‘She’d learn First Aid and basic nursing skills,’ said cunning Isabel, not mentioning the changing of nappies and wiping runny noses. ‘Just two days a week would be most helpful, and I’ve spoken to Mr Richardson at Thomas and Gibson’s. He’s willing to take on a young girl just out of school to replace Valerie when she’s not there. I am sure that you can spare her, Mrs Pearson – in fact that would count as your own war effort.’
Seeing Valerie now sitting before her, it seemed that her diplomacy had worked.
‘So, Valerie, shall we go for a trial period? You’ll be given a special pass to use on the bus to Everham and back, though it would be a very good idea to learn to ride a bicycle. How do you feel about this?’
Valerie spoke up and said she would try to do her very best. She shook Isabel’s hand with mixed emotions, but also with determination to succeed at the Limes; what would John Richardson say when he heard about this? Shy, timid little Valerie caring for children!
Dora Goddard sat down in front of Councillor Mrs Tomlinson who was now wearing the grey-green uniform of the service, and the silver and red badge with the letters WVS under the King’s crown, for Her Majesty the Queen was their new President.
‘Good morning, Mrs Tomlinson,’ Dora said politely.
‘Good morning, Miss Goddard,’ came the formal reply. ‘Well, at least we know where
your
talents lie – a farmer’s daughter through and through, so I wonder you don’t consider staying on at Yeomans’ Farm.’
How much shall I tell, Dora had wondered before attending the recruitment drive at the church hall instead of the Labour Exchange at Everham.
‘No, Mrs Tomlinson, I need to get away from the farm, though I shall be sorry to leave my parents,’ she replied. ‘I’ve lived there all my life, and want to see more of the world.’
Mrs Tomlinson nodded. ‘Ah, I understand – and so the obvious place for you would be the Women’s Land Army, and a posting away from North Camp – am I right?’
‘Well, no, not exactly, Mrs Tomlinson. I’d like to have a change from farm work for a while.’
‘Oh? What had you in mind?’
‘I’d like to join the army, Mrs Tomlinson – the Auxiliary Territorial Service, and to go wherever I’m sent.’
‘Well, to join any of the women’s services you’d have to apply directly to the relevant headquarters in London, and they would interview you and you’d need to pass a medical examination. I see that you’re now twenty-two, and if that’s what you really want to do, there shouldn’t be any difficulty. In fact I can just picture you in your khaki uniform, changing a tyre on an army jeep! Good luck, Dora, and let me know how you get on.’
‘Thank you so much, Mrs Tomlinson.’ Dora held out her hand with such a radiant smile that the Councillor wondered why she was so keen to leave home.
Rebecca next took her place facing Mrs Tomlinson who greeted her warmly but with some surprise.
‘Good morning, Rebecca. I’d have thought that you’d discussed your plans with your parents.’
‘I have indeed, Mrs Tomlinson, and I’ve made a decision,’ answered Rebecca with a smile. ‘But I haven’t come to waste your time. My parents particularly want me to speak with you and hear your opinion.’
‘Certainly!’ replied the councillor. ‘I’ll be happy to give it. I can see you driving an ambulance, sending messages by wireless telegraphy and all sorts of essential duties.’ She leant forward and lowered her voice as she continued, ‘We’ll be needing all the women with your skills for the services. The war isn’t going at all well, with Hitler invading Norway and Denmark, and no good reports of the expeditionary force in France.’
Rebecca knew that Sir Cedric was of the same mind. ‘But it’s excellent news that we’ve got Mr Churchill as Prime Minister,’ she said with conviction.
‘I agree, but my heart goes out to poor Mr Chamberlain who must be broken-hearted, and from what I hear, he’s a very sick man,’ Mrs Tomlinson said with a shake of her head. ‘But now we must talk about
you
and how best to use your talents, Miss Neville!’
‘I’d like to be a land girl.’
‘Really?’ The lady was clearly surprised. ‘I’d have thought you’d go for something more in touch with people, like one of the women’s auxiliary services of the army, navy or air
force – you’d soon be promoted to officer status, I’m sure.’ She frowned slightly. ‘Do you really think you’d enjoy winter on the land – having to rise on a bitterly cold morning to milk the cows, and mucking out after them?’
‘I’ve always got on well with horses, Mrs Tomlinson, so I think I could manage a herd of cows!’ smiled Rebecca.
‘And digging up turnips in frozen ground?’ persisted Mrs Tomlinson.
‘I think I could do as well as poor Tess of the d’Urbervilles, yes!’
‘And there’s the isolation to consider, you being such an outgoing person – are your parents really in agreement?’
‘They understand the reason for my choice, Mrs Tomlinson.’ It was Rebecca’s turn to lower her voice. ‘Half our merchant ships bringing food from America and Canada are being sunk by the U-boats, and the longer this war continues, we’re going to have to grow our own grain and feed ourselves or face serious food shortages. The Land Army is going to be a vital service, just as much as the others, and I would like to become a regional organiser, which means I must get at least six months’ experience at the grass roots, as it were.’
Mrs Tomlinson nodded. ‘Yes, I think I follow you. And where would you start?’
‘Well, there are a couple of farms in this area, such as Yeomans’ – they’re going to be short of hands, with two men left to join the army, and – er – Miss Goddard leaving.’
Councillor Mrs Tomlinson considered for a moment, and then said slowly, ‘If you went there you’d be near at hand for your mother who’s in constant anxiety over your brother Paul. Well, if she and your father agree, I’d better agree as
well – though I must give you a piece of advice, Rebecca. Don’t go there as an employee. Wear the Women’s Land Army uniform and be paid by the service, not by the farmer. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘I understand very well, Mrs Tomlinson, and I have no intention of being intimidated by Billy Yeomans. I’m not a member of his family, you see.’
‘Good! Then I wish you the best of luck,’ said Mrs Tomlinson, adding privately in her head,
and the same to Billy Yeomans
.
The Ladies’ Hour had ended, and Isabel Neville had listened to the somewhat embarrassed sympathy of its members. Grace Nuttall had not attended for some time, and Isabel thought what a pity it was, both of them having a son in the armed forces, yet as sisters they could not share their anxiety with each other. While Grace moped at home, Isabel kept herself busy with WVS duties, and at times felt utterly worn out. She leant back on the now vacant sofa, and closed her eyes. She was roused by a tentative male voice.
‘Lady Neville – Lady Neville, may I have a word?’
‘Philip!’ she said, sitting up at once. ‘I’m sorry, I was dozing off. Thank you for your playing once again – and for the lessons to the Perrin boys. Was there something you wanted to talk over?’
‘Not really, Lady Neville, and I’m very sorry to disturb you,’ he said awkwardly. ‘May I say that you and Sir Cedric are often on my mind, daily in fact – and your son Paul in my prayers. I admire the wonderful example you set us all.’
‘Oh, Philip, how good of you – but I’m no more deserving
than countless others with sons away. These are dark days for all of us, but thank you, I—’
And to his consternation she put a hand to her face and began to cry quietly.
He sat down beside her. ‘My dear Lady Neville—’ he began helplessly.
‘Oh, do call me Isabel, all my friends do,’ she said, sniffing away tears and trying to compose herself. ‘I’m sorry, Philip, please excuse me.’
He took a large white handkerchief from a pocket, and handed it to her, not knowing whether to go or stay.
‘Please – Isabel, it’s I who am sorry, for causing you distress. Please forgive me.’
‘You were in the last war, Philip, as my first husband was. He came through it, but he was changed. He was no longer a clergyman, and died in the influenza epidemic afterwards. Paul is his son, and I dread that he—’ She paused for a moment, and then continued, ‘If it were you, Philip, going to fight in France—’
‘If it were me, I wouldn’t go!’ he burst out. ‘I couldn’t! Not through all that hell again. I’d drown myself in the Blackwater first, rather than face those guns – oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I beg your pardon, Lady Neville, oh, my God!’ He hid his face in his hands, and this time it was Isabel who offered sympathy.
‘It’s all right, Philip, I understand, don’t worry. I prefer it when people speak the truth.’ She wiped her eyes and stood up, holding out her hand. ‘Perhaps we’ve both benefitted by showing our true feelings, and we must pray for each other, Philip.’
She leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘God bless you.’
He left the manor in a dream. Hitler had invaded the Low Countries, and Belgium and Holland had surrendered to the Nazis; France looked likely to be next to fall, followed by almost certain invasion of Great Britain – but
she had kissed
him
, and something deep in his heart, long considered dead and forgotten, was stirring back to life, awakened after more than twenty years of suppression.
In his office Mr Richardson heard the ping of the shop door-bell as a customer entered. Would little Miss Nuttall be able to cope with this one better than the last two, when he’d had to go into the shop himself? It was nearly eleven o’clock and very quiet, which was just as well, because Miss Nuttall was struggling with her first job; it was all right if they only wanted a reel of cotton or elastic; it was when they needed advice on the best kind of material to buy for making summer dresses, or suitable matching buttons for a lady’s cardigan or a baby’s matinee coat. Mr Richardson kept his door open, and silently listened.
‘Good morning, Miss Pears – oh, my word, it’s Miss Nuttall!
You’re
lucky, Doreen – you’ve got yourself a nice, easy job here at Thomas and Gibson’s!’
‘Yes, madam, thank you. Good morning – and how may I serve you?’ recited Doreen as she had been taught by her employer and predecessor.
‘Goodness me, we
are
formal these days, aren’t we? Actually I’m looking for curtain netting for my downstairs windows. Those horrid black curtains have to be drawn at night, but at least we can look better in sunlight. What have you got?’