Andy laughed. ‘What an honour, being spoken of in the same breath as Mal! Can I just plead, in our defence, that Mal and I have been rather busy these past four or five years?’
‘So has Ash,’ Tess said. But he rings, writes, turns up on the doorstep and helps with the harvest or stands leaning against the cowshed wall and chatting whilst I finish the milking. I’m not saying he’s a saint because he can be
such
a – a bugger, but he’s good according to his lights.’
‘He’s in love,’ Andy said, half to himself.
‘No, he just thinks he is,’ Tess said at once. ‘Ashley’s known me a long time.’
‘So have I, dear Tess, and I’m extremely fond of you. But we’re just tried and true friends, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I would. And I wish Ashley could be as sensible as you, Andy,’ Tess said, spearing a very large chip. ‘It would be a real relief, believe me.’
‘Ah, but Ashley’s in love, and a man in love isn’t a sensible creature,’ Andy said softly. ‘Is there another cup of tea in that pot?’
Eighteen
‘
COME ROUND THEN,
Prince . . . atta boy!’
Susan was leading Prince and Pal patiently across the stubbled cornfield whilst Tess, Molly and a number of others raked the straw into piles so that yet more helpers could pitchfork the stacked straw on to the cart.
Just over a year had passed since the Normandy landings but though she had heard from Mal shortly after the camp had been taken over by the Allies, he was still not home. Knowing that the war was over, that he was almost certainly on his way back to her and was therefore not writing letters had been, Tess thought, hard to bear. But she was philosophical about it. One of the returned airmen had actually seen Mal at a reception centre and reported that he was fit, though thin. It was, once more, just a matter of waiting.
Furthermore, a good deal had happened during the past few months. The war in Europe had ended in May, with Germany’s unconditional surrender, but although the German prisoner of war camps were all in allied hands, a number of POWs, Mal amongst them, had still not actually arrived back in England.
‘It’s because he’s an Aussie, I imagine,’ Tess explained to anyone who would listen. ‘Someone from his station told me that they may well repatriate him to Australia, and then he’ll have to make his way back to Blighty under his own steam.’
The demobilisation was slower and more ponderous than Tess had imagined it would be, too. Janet hadn’t been demobilised, or demobbed as they were calling it, nor had Ashley, nor most of Tess’s friends, and Tess herself had agreed to continue to work for Mr Sugden until he had his full complement of farm hands back once more.
‘It’s a long business,’ Ashley had explained. ‘But once it begins to happen there’ll be civilians thronging the streets again. I’m not sure how most of us will take to civvy street, either. It will seem pretty tame after the last few years, I suspect.’
And on the home front, things had been happening too. Marianne and Maurice had got married down in Devonshire, on a week’s holiday, not telling anyone until after the event, and then Cherie and the happy couple had moved into a small house in Ipswich Road. Temporarily, Marianne said, until the Old House could be repaired and made fit for habitation once again, but she had been saying it for too long. Tess didn’t believe her and didn’t blame her for not wanting to live in Barton again. The house held too many memories for her, so how much worse it must be for Marianne, who had so nearly died there.
The house was thatched once more, thanks to Mr Thrower, who had somehow wheedled or begged – or possibly stolen – sufficient timber to replace the ruined rafters and had then used his reeds to replace the missing thatch. The spare room was still impossible to use, though the window was boarded up, keeping the worst of the weather out, but the other rooms were coming along. Tess’s bedroom had four good walls and most of a ceiling, and downstairs, apart from walls, ceilings and floors being dirty and water-as well as fire-damaged, the place was sound.
When the war’s over, Tess had told anyone who asked, we’ll get the work put in hand and then we’ll move back, but she knew it would take time. And now that the war was over, the shortages and the coupons and points just went on and on anyway. Marianne and Maurice were settled and they welcomed Tess in Ipswich Road at weekends. But Marianne knows, and I know, that I wouldn’t ever want to live in the city full-time, Tess reminded herself. I’m a country girl, I couldn’t be anything else, I wouldn’t be happy. What’s more, I can’t imagine living anywhere but around here.
She looked appreciatively around her as the horses wheeled close to the hedge, scattering straw as they went. It was so beautiful, this supposedly dull Norfolk countryside! Rain had fallen earlier, but now the sun was peeping from behind the clouds and the atmosphere was warming up once more. Birds called, searched for food, took wing to sweep inquisitively low across the gold of the half-cut field. On every leaf in the hedge raindrops glittered like diamonds in the sun and the sky overhead burned a deep sapphire blue. Beneath her sturdy wellingtons the stubble steamed gently, and Tess knew she was beginning to steam gently herself. She loved harvesting, watching the combine harvester gobbling the tall, pale yellow crop, but the rain, when it fell earlier, had sneaked down inside her waterproof so though that garment now hung on a convenient hazel twig in the hedge, the shoulders of her jersey and the collar of her shirt were both extremely damp.
Straw was insidious what was more, it got everywhere, even inside your boots, and if you were careless when cleaning yourself up you’d be chasing grains in your clothing for days, and of course the rain meant mud – her wellingtons were knee deep in it. Still, she’d have a swill-down under the pump when they got back to the yard, and get out of these dungarees, and take off the neatly tied headscarf and hope to God she hadn’t got straw particles in her hair. Ashley was coming over this evening to take her to a dance in the city and then to run her back to Staithe Cottage for her two days off; she didn’t want him complaining that she had left his car looking like a stable.
Tess divided her time conscientiously between the Throwers and her stepmother, but secretly enjoyed her time with the Throwers more. She and Mrs Thrower always spent at least part of the time in the Old House or its garden and Tess loved seeing it gradually returning to its old self. And in May Janet had managed to get ten days’ leave and had come home. The two of them had had a marvellous time, revisiting old haunts, talking over old times. And discussing new relationships, of course.
For Janet had a boyfriend, a serious one after a great many casual friends.
‘I wondered if it was ever goin’ to happen, an’ then Stuey come along,’ she said with infinite content as she and Tess had strolled around the Broad, arm in arm. ‘He’s in the Navy, he was in Scotland, wi’ me, but his ship went off down south to get the troops over for D Day. Since then he’s been either in Portsmouth or at sea so we’ve been parted. We’re both waitin’ and hopin’, same as you and Mal.’
‘What’s he like, your Stuart?’ Tess asked.
‘Oh . . . medium height, reddish hair, green eyes, lots of freckles,’ Janet said dreamily. ‘Truth to tell, Tess, he in’t as good-lookin’ as some fellers I bin out with, but it in’t good looks what matter, in the end. We – we seem to
fit,
somehow.’
‘That’s exactly how I feel about Mal,’ Tess confessed. ‘He’s nowhere near as good-looking as Ashley Knox – remember Ashley? – and not as clever as Andy Anderson, either. But when we’re together, nothing else matters but him.’
‘And you’ve not been together for more’n two years,’ Janet said. ‘Ma said you’d only known each other for a week. In’t love wonderful, Tess?’
‘It is. And of course it isn’t just when we’re together that he’s the only thing that matters, it’s all the time,’ Tess said. ‘We’re lucky, Jan.’
‘Yes, I reckon so. But . . . that don’t stop me prayin’, old Tess. War’s war, and . . .’
‘I know, I know. When I first heard Mal was safe I was so relieved and happy that I went around singing and smiling all day. I was full of plans for what we’d do when he came home, after the war. Life seemed so bright! And then, of course, not that much later, I began to think. A friend of mine lost her brother, he was shot escaping from his camp, and of course I managed to convince myself that Mal would escape too. For a bit I was too terrified to think straight. And it put a stop to all my plans, wham, as if they’d been made by another person, in another life.’
‘I’d ha’ been the same,’ Janet admitted. ‘Poor old Tess! Though now, of course, with the whole shootin’ match over, you’ll be seein’ him pretty soon.’
‘I’m sure you’re right. But I try hard not to think too much about it. I just put it out of my mind and get on with my life. And I’m going to do that now, too. I wonder what your mum’s cooking for supper tonight?’
That had been last May, with Europe in a turmoil as the Allies overran it. Now it was almost August, the war was finally over, and still she hadn’t heard. Tess followed the cart to the next pile of straw and began to fork it into the cart. Dear Janet, how lovely it had been to see her,’ and how nice to be able to talk about Mal non-stop to someone who understood! Though it had reminded her of the terrible dangers that Mal must have faced before he was finally put into the camp, and resurrected all the old, nagging worries that something awful might be happening to him now.
‘You all right, Tess? I’d offer to change over, only I’m covered in horse dribble and sweat and there’s no point in two of us getting like it.’ Susan turned and grinned at Tess from her place by the horses’ heads.
‘It’s all right, no point in both of us getting mucky. And we’ve only got another half-dozen loads, I’d say, and as soon as the straw’s all carted we can go back to the farm and start cleaning up.’
The girls and the Clydesdales slogged on, Prince and Pal beginning to show definite signs of wear and tear after a long day’s work in rain and sun. Both horses had white feathering on their mighty legs which was now matted with a rich mixture of clay and straw. Because Susan had done all the leading, it would be her job to groom the horses before she was finished tonight, but I’ll give her a hand when we get back to the yard, Tess told herself; I’ve got to have a bath or a strip-down wash when I get in, I might as well be truly mucky.
But mucky or not, in a couple of hours she would be wearing her nicest dress and her smartest shoes, with her hair washed and tied on top of her head, wafting round the floor in Ashley’s arms and – imagining that he was Mal.
She loved the dances, and told herself that she was allowing him to take her out at least partly for Ashley’s own sake. Whilst he took her around, at least he was meeting other people. Tess had had great hopes of an old school friend, Lucy, at one time, but somehow Lucy’s charms had failed to . . . well . . . to charm and Ashley had moved on, his heart intact.
Tonight would be especially good, Tess reminded herself, because Freddy was home, and would be introducing her fiancé, Flight Lieutenant Len Bulman, to all her friends. The happy couple were planning an early wedding and Tess had agreed to be a bridesmaid, though looking at herself now it was difficult to imagine such a bedraggled and filthy person decked out in primrose silk.
‘Whoa, Prince,’ Susan shouted, bringing Tess abruptly back to the present. ‘Last one, Tess! Stow it tight or we’ll be shedding all the way back to the yard, and Mr Sugden will send us out with rakes to clear the lane.’
Hastily, Tess bent to her work and by the time Prince and Pal were easing themselves and their burden through the gateway and on to the lane, she was able to glance back and see that the carriageway and hedgerows were clean.
‘Someone’s coming down the lane, I’ll pull over,’ Susan sang out presently. ‘It’s your Cherie, I think, Tess – she’s got a feller with her.’
‘That’ll be her Sammy. Can you imagine, my little sister with a real, flesh-and-blood boyfriend? Of course she’s sixteen, which is quite grown-up, but she’s still in school so . . . oh my God, my God, my God!’
Tess pushed past the horses and began to run up the lane as hard as she could go, whilst her heart raced and she tried to make sense of what she saw. Cherie was beaming up at a thin young man with rumpled, rather over-long brown hair, an ordinary sort of face, ragged clothing . . .
‘Mal! Oh Mal! Oh my love!’
He had seen her; he broke into a run as well and they leaped joyously into each other’s arms, hugging, kissing, exclaiming, and Tess felt tears begin to run down her cheeks and saw that his eyes were brimming, too.
He held her back from him suddenly, and began to laugh.
‘Oh, my word, Tess . . . you look like the straw man from
The Wizard of Oz
! You’re absolutely coated with straw!’
‘So are you, now,’ Tess said guiltily. She scrubbed at her tear-stained face with her filthy hands. ‘Oh, Mal, I’m so sorry, but it’s a miracle – I’ve been so horribly worried when peace was declared and there was no word from you!’
‘Came into the port of Liverpool yesterday, on board the
Arundel Castle
,’ Mal said, putting his arm round her waist. ‘It’s been a long time, Tess. But long or short, you’re still the prettiest sheila in the world. And you’ve not said a word to your sister . . . how about asking her how we come to be walking along together?’
‘Cherie, I’m so sorry,’ Tess said, craning round Mal to beam at her sister. ‘Susan said you were with a bloke and I thought it was your boyfriend and then I saw – I saw –’
‘He came to Staithe Cottage because he didn’t know how else to get in touch with you and I happened to be spending the afternoon there,’ Cherie explained. ‘He didn’t come to the farm because he thought you’d have finished landgirling – some hope! Your bloke has been hugged by total strangers this afternoon, haven’t you, Mal? Mrs Thrower, Mr Thrower, Mrs Rope, Glenda and Charlie . . .’
‘I enjoyed it,’ Mal said in his slow voice. He grinned at Susan, standing pop-eyed by the side of the road between the two great Clydesdales. ‘Hi Susan, I’m back!’