‘London! But I don’t want to go back to London.’
‘I’m not talking about now, you daft moo, but the war won’t last for ever.’
Ellen pulled back her cardigan to look at Socks.
He was almost under her arm, snuggled close, and though she wasn’t looking at her father she was aware of his words.
‘There isn’t an end in sight yet and, who knows, you could be here for years.’
‘Doug, I hope you’re wrong,’ sighed Hilda. ‘I’m going potty stuck here in the sticks.’
‘Well, thanks,’ Gertie snapped.
‘I’m not having a go at you, Gertie, and I’m really grateful that you took us in. It’s just that I’m not suited to life in the country, that’s all.’
‘Suited or not, it’s where you need to stay,’ Doug warned.
‘All right, don’t go on about it.’
Ellen’s emotions were mixed. She was thrilled with the kitten, sad that her dad would be leaving soon, but ecstatic at the thought of staying here with Gertie for a long, long time.
The next five days seemed to fly past, and soon Gertie was hiding her feelings of satisfaction as Doug said his goodbyes. It was irritating to see how Hilda clung to him, tears in her eyes, but touching to see Ellen doing the same.
Gertie shook Doug’s hand and then left them to it, pleased to hear the roar of the motorbike only minutes later as he sped away. It might take a few days, but then it would be back to normal, the three of them again living contentedly together.
Both Hilda and Ellen were in pieces when they came indoors, and Gertie did her best to sound sympathetic. ‘Oh dear. You poor things.’
‘I can’t believe how quickly the time went, and…and who knows when I’ll see him again…’ Hilda said as she dashed tears from her cheeks.
Ellen ran to pick up Socks, seeking comfort as she held the kitten close, and Gertie was pleased with her idea. Ellen had soon forgotten the pig in her joy at having her own pet, and as the farmer’s cat had just had kittens, the timing was perfect. Her own cat, Wilfred, rarely ventured indoors and so far hadn’t seen the kitten, but Gertie feared that fur might fly when he did.
‘How about a nice cup of tea?’ she suggested, deciding that there was time enough later to worry about Wilfred.
‘I won’t say no.’
Gertie busied herself with putting the kettle on the range and by time it came to the boil, Hilda had at last stopped sniffling. Gertie decided to try a touch of lightness as she poured the tea, saying with a smile, ‘I suppose you’ll be back to wearing trousers now.’
‘I suppose so. I never thought you’d get me to wear them, but must admit they’re comfortable. It was murder doing the planting in a skirt.’
‘Once summer’s here, we’ll all be in shorts.’
‘Things in London may have eased up by then.
I might be able to go back; to find us somewhere to live, a home for Doug to return to.’
‘Don’t bank on it,’ Gertie said. There was no sign of a let up, the Luftwaffe still bombing the city and, as Doug had said, they could be with her for years. At least she hoped so – the thought of Hilda leaving was more than she could bear.
Hilda turned over in bed, hating that it was winter again, and loathing life in Somerset. She had come here expecting the war to be over long before this, but how long had they been here now? Nearly two years, but it felt like ten, and so long, so very long since she’d seen Doug. At least in London she saw people, had friends, heard a bit of music and jollity; but nothing happened here to break the month in, month out of boring routine.
Hilda heaved a sigh. She had stuck it out for Ellen’s sake, and Gertie had seemed to sense how she felt, taking her to the village at least once a week now. Though Hilda enjoyed a bit of gossip with the shopkeeper, and one or two other villagers, she felt she had little in common with them. They were nice folks who seemed content with their lot, with their sleepy, tiny community, but even after all this time in Somerset, Hilda knew she’d never feel the same.
Ellen woke beside her and as soon as the sleepiness left her eyes she said, ‘It’s my birthday.’
‘I know. Happy twelfth birthday, but don’t expect much,’ Hilda warned. This would be Ellen’s second birthday in Somerset, but there wasn’t a lot on offer in the village store now, though thanks to Mrs Brandon she had a little extra something up her sleeve. It was Monday, and with the shop closed yesterday they’d have to go into the village to pick it up today. It was a special treat and sure to bring a smile to her daughter’s face.
‘Mum, I feel a bit funny, sticky,’ Ellen said as she got out of bed. Her voice then rose to a yelp of fear. ‘Mum! Mum, I’m bleeding.’
Oh no, Hilda thought, already? What a thing to happen on her daughter’s birthday. ‘It’s all right. It’s nothing to worry about.’
‘But what’s wrong with me?’
Hilda fought for words as she flung back the blankets. As far as she was concerned, Ellen was far too young to be told the facts of life. Her tone was brusque as she said, ‘It’s just something that happens to all girls when they get to a certain age.’
‘But why?’
‘It’s just that things are changing in your body, that’s all, and this is going to happen every month now.’
Ellen looked appalled. ‘Every month!’
‘I know it sounds awful, but you’ll get used to it.
Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up,’ Hilda said, knowing that Ellen’s questions were far from over.
Ellen was still confused by what was happening to her, and felt too queasy to eat her breakfast. She also had little cramps of pain in her tummy, but was distracted now as her mother held out three packages.
‘Happy birthday and these are from me,’ she said.
Ellen tore one open, loving the blue scarf with matching hat and mittens. She was sure her mum must have unravelled her nice jumper to provide the wool and managed a smile. ‘Thanks, they’re lovely.’
‘I made them in the evenings when you were in bed.’
In the next package Ellen found a new vest, but finally, best of all, she tore open the last one to find a large, beautiful book of plant illustrations. Ellen could see that it wasn’t new, but loved it anyway and hugged it to her chest. ‘Oh, Mum.’
‘I managed to buy it from one of the villagers.’
‘Happy birthday,’ Gertie said as she came in and handed over a roughly wrapped parcel.
Inside Ellen found tweed trousers that had been cut down, the pains in her tummy forgotten now as she grinned. ‘Thanks, Gertie, but weren’t these your best ones?’
‘Yes, but you’ve grown out of your others, and will need warm trousers now that winter is here. Here you are,’ Gertie said, holding out a paper bag. ‘I got these too. I know you love barley sugar.’
Ellen smiled with delight, but then her mother spoke again as she held out another parcel, saying softly, ‘I thought I’d save this one till last.’
As soon as Ellen took it, she knew who it was from and ripped it open eagerly. Along with a letter, there was a beautifully carved wooden cat.
‘Oh, look,’ she said holding it up. ‘It’s from Dad.’
‘I know, darling, and he made it himself.’
Ellen stroked the cat lovingly and then placed it down to pick up the accompanying letter, her eyes filling with tears as she read it. She missed her dad so much, longed to see him again, and said sadly, ‘He…he doesn’t say he’s coming home. It’s been so long since his last leave and he must be due in port again soon.’
Socks rubbed against her legs and Ellen bent down to pick him up. He was a big cat now, sleek and lovely, but like Wilfred he’d taken to wandering. She looked at the beautifully carved one, her voice a croak. ‘Dad must remember Socks and that’s why he made me a cat.’
‘I’m sure he does, but don’t cry, love. It’s your birthday and it should be a happy time.’
‘Come on, Hilda,’ said Gertie brusquely as she rose to her feet. ‘You said you wanted to go to
the village. We’ll wrap up warm and, Ellen, you can wear your new trousers, along with the hat, scarf and mittens.’
Ellen felt uncomfortable as she pulled on her new trousers, hating that it might show. ‘I’m ready,’ she said returning downstairs.
‘Right, I’ll harness Ned.’
As Gertie went outside, Ellen saw her mother looking at her before she said, ‘I’m sick of seeing you in trousers.’
‘You wear them all the time too.’
‘Sorry, pet, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that, like you, I’m missing your dad and it’s always worse when we’ve had letters.’
‘It’d be lovely if he was here for Christmas.’
‘Yes, it would, but come on, it’s your birthday and it’ll be nice to have a ride into the village.’
‘Mum, I feel funny wearing this…this rag thing. Does it show?’
‘No, you look fine.’
It wasn’t long before Gertie called out, saying as they set off, ‘As it’s your birthday, there’ll be no lessons for you today, especially as you did so well with your arithmetic yesterday.’
‘Thanks,’ Ellen said, but she really didn’t mind her lessons with Gertie. In fact, she made learning things fun. With Gertie’s way of bringing events to life, even history wasn’t boring, though Ellen knew she still struggled with geography.
‘It’s good of you to teach Ellen so much,’ said Hilda, ‘but once we’re back in London she’ll be able to go to a proper school again.’
‘That could be years away.’
‘Since the beginning of the war and that awful Blitz, there aren’t many bombing raids on London now.’
‘It still isn’t safe,’ Gertie warned.
‘Mum, you aren’t thinking about going back, are you?’ Ellen interrupted. ‘I don’t want to go. I want to stay here.’
‘All right, don’t go on about it. I didn’t say we’re leaving.’
They were all quiet then, the mood subdued, and Ellen doubled over as her tummy cramped. Gertie turned her head, her smile sympathetic.
‘Your mum told me that you’re menstruating. It’s a rotten thing to happen on your birthday.’
Ellen said nothing as she tried to get to grips with a new word. Menstruating, so that’s what they called it. She hated it – hated that she would have to go through this every month and she still didn’t understand why.
‘Nearly there, Hilda,’ said Gertie as at last they neared the village.
‘Good, I’m flaming freezing.’
‘It’ll get worse before it gets better.’
When they reached the general store, Ellen was about to climb down, but her mum said, ‘There’s
no need for you to come in with me. Stay with Gertie.’
‘But…’
She was ignored, her mum hurrying into the shop.
‘What’s going on, Gertie?’ Ellen asked. ‘Don’t ask me, darling.’
It wasn’t long before her mum was back and clutching a cardboard box that Gertie leaned down to take from her while she climbed onto the cart.
‘Mum, what’s that?’ Ellen asked curiously.
‘Nothing much, a bit of shopping, that’s all. Right,’ she said, taking the box from Gertie, ‘we can go back to the cottage now.’
Ellen was puzzled, wondering how her mother had finished her shopping so quickly. ‘Aren’t you going to the butcher’s?’
‘No, now enough questions and let’s get home.’
As Gertie eased the horse out into the road a truck tooted from behind. As she pulled over, the sound of singing reached them as the vehicle passed. The tarpaulin was raised at the back, and they saw several women dressed in breeches, with green jerseys visible under open coats, all of them sporting brown felt hats. Some of them waved and Ellen waved back.
‘It’s the Land Army girls.’
‘The Land Army was first set up during the Great War following disastrous attacks on our merchant shipping,’ Gertie said, using this opportunity to give Ellen a history lesson. ‘We import about sixty percent of our produce, and with so many ships sunk during that war, Britain came close to starvation. The Land Army was formed and the girls carried out vital work in increasing our agricultural output. They were disbanded in 1919, but as we’re now in the same position, the government has re-formed the Land Army. Those women are invaluable to farms, either arable or dairy to increase production, and, though it’s jolly hard work, it’s once again vital.’
‘Rather them than me,’ Hilda said.
Gertie refrained from saying that both she and Ellen had been working the land for ages on her smallholding, and she didn’t know what she would have done without their help. When they left, she’d be lost – but as there was no sign of the war ending, thankfully she didn’t have to worry about it yet.
When they got back to the cottage, Hilda safely stowed the cake. Mrs Brandon had kindly offered to make it, insisting that she had enough ingredients hoarded to make it special. And it was, Hilda thought as she peeped inside the box.
‘Let me look,’ Gertie whispered as she came
alongside, placing an arm casually around Hilda as she leaned forward. ‘I told Ellen to go upstairs and change into her old trousers.’
Hilda tensed. When Doug had left seventeen months ago she had missed him so much, and had thought nothing of it when Gertie had comforted her when she cried. The trouble was that since then Gertie still took to throwing an arm around her at every opportunity. Equally casually, Hilda moved away, saying, ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, very pretty, and Ellen’s going to love it. Is it fruit or sponge?’
‘Fruit! You must be joking; dried fruit is getting like gold dust. It’s sponge, but Mrs Brandon has sandwiched it with jam.’
‘I don’t know how she had the patience to make all those tiny little flowers out of icing sugar. I hate doing anything that’s fiddly.’
‘Gertie, let’s face it, you hate anything to do with cooking.’
She grinned. ‘Yes, that’s true, but thankfully you do it now. It’s nice to have you in the kitchen while I’m doing the mucky jobs outside.’
‘When it comes to the pigs, rather you than me.’
‘They’re clean creatures really, but I’d better get on with it,’ Gertie said, giving Hilda another quick hug.
Hilda stiffened, but seeing Gertie’s open smile she decided that she had to be imagining things. Gertie
was just being friendly, that was all. They were as close as sisters, and surely sisters occasionally hugged? Not that she had one to judge by and, like Gertie, she was an only child. Hilda was saddened. History was repeating itself with Ellen, and though she’d hoped to find that she was pregnant when Doug had left, once again her hopes had been dashed.
‘Yes, Gertie, you get on while I make a start on our lunch.’
‘Righto, but I can’t wait to see Ellen’s face.’
She’s just being nice, Hilda told herself yet again as Gertie hurried off, yet there was still a niggle of doubt…
At two o’clock, Hilda called both Gertie and Ellen inside. ‘Grub’s up, but before both of you sit down, I think a wash is called for.’
‘Oh…Mum.’
‘Don’t argue, Ellen.’
‘Come on,’ Gertie urged. ‘We are a bit dirty.’
‘A bit! It looks like the two of you have been rolling in mud.’
‘You look nice, Hilda,’ said Gertie, a soft smile on her face.
‘As it’s Ellen’s birthday lunch I thought I’d make a bit of an effort,’ she said, looking down at her skirt. ‘You two should do the same.’
‘I don’t own a skirt,’ Gertie said.
‘Ellen does, though she’s grown so much and I doubt the two she has would fit her now. Go on,’ she urged, ‘at least make yourself presentable.’
They were soon back, smiling with appreciation at the nicely laid table. ‘My, aren’t we posh?’ Gertie said. ‘It’s almost like being back in my father’s house.’
‘Hardly. For one we haven’t got silver cutlery, and this table only seats four, not twelve, but for once I’ve put a nice tablecloth on it.’
‘I think it looks lovely,’ Ellen said as she took a seat. ‘What’s for lunch?’
‘Vegetable soup.’
They all tucked in, and, once finished, Ellen was about to leave the table. ‘Hold on,’ Hilda said. ‘Stay there.’
‘Why?’
‘Never you mind.’
Hilda hurried to the scullery and, taking the cake out from under its cover, she lit the candles, but then suddenly, from nowhere, a strange feeling washed over her. No, no, she had to be imagining it, yet the sense of someone standing beside her, a presence, was strong. She wanted to turn her head, wanted to look, but, frozen with fear, she couldn’t move a muscle.
‘Come on, Hilda,’ Gertie called.
In that instant the spell was broken, leaving Hilda shaken and bewildered. At last she was able to
move, to turn her head, but saw nobody there. Still trembling, she picked up the cake, and somehow managed to plant a smile on her face as she carried it into the living room. Her voice sounded a bit quivery, but this was a special moment for Ellen and she didn’t want to spoil it as she sang, ‘Happy birthday to you…Happy birthday to you…’
Gertie joined in and Hilda saw her daughter’s delighted smile. There had been few real treats since the war had started, and suddenly she found her eyes moist with tears. If only Doug were here – if only he hadn’t missed his daughter’s birthday again. Hilda shivered; the incident in the scullery was still with her and now she almost cried out against the thought that crossed her mind. Of course it hadn’t been Doug. She didn’t really believe in ghosts, in spirits, so why was she letting it get to her? It was just fear, Hilda told herself, that was all, the day-in, day-out fear for Doug’s safety.