by Bowen, Rhys
“No, it isn’t,” Emily agreed tentatively.
“So we’re recruiting young women to work on the farms. Anything the farmer needs—harvesting crops, milking cows, making hay. It’s hard work, but rewarding, knowing that you are feeding the country. So what do you say?”
This was so far from what Emily had been anticipating that she couldn’t answer right away. She had dreamed for so long of playing her part, nursing the wounded like Clarissa—but working in the fields like a farm labourer? And out in the country somewhere, far from Robbie? It seemed like going from one prison to another. And yet she had wanted to do something useful, and this seemed to be where she was needed.
“Would I be stationed in this part of the world?” Emily asked. “Because my parents are nearby.”
“Of course. We have a training centre near Tavistock, and after that, you’d be sent to a farm somewhere in South Devon.”
I’d have days off, she thought. I’d be close enough to go and visit him. And it might be rather a lark to work in the fields with other women . . . “Then I’m happy to volunteer,” Emily said.
“Splendid.” The woman stood up and shook her hand violently. “You’ll not regret it. We give you a uniform, you’ll get training, and we pay you fifteen shillings a week. That goes up to twenty shillings when you become skilled. You’ll be lodged at the training centre, which is on a farm outside Tavistock, and after that, you’ll stay at the farm you are sent to. I’ll find the forms for you to fill in and then you are all set.”
She opened a filing cabinet, then looked up. “Just one thing. Once you sign up, you can’t just quit when you feel like it. You are part of the country’s forces as much as if you had joined the army. I want to make that perfectly clear.”
“I understand,” Emily said. She sat at a nearby table and signed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Emily waited until they were at the dinner table that evening to give her parents the news.
“So how was your excursion into town today?” Mr Bryce asked as he reached for the soup tureen. “Did you find yourself a suitable volunteer job?”
“Yes, Daddy, I did.”
“Well, what is it?” her father said impatiently. “Spill the beans. Don’t keep us in suspense.”
Emily took a deep breath before she said, “I’m going to be a land girl.”
There was a horrified silence.
“A land girl?” Mrs Bryce said at last. “And what exactly is that?”
“A member of the Women’s Land Army, Mother, as I’m sure you know perfectly well.”
“You’ll be working in the fields like a common farm labourer?” Mrs Bryce’s voice was now shrill. “Did they not have any more suitable jobs?”
“I’ll ask colleagues in Exeter,” Mr Bryce said, nodding to his wife. “I expect I can find you some kind of office work, or even teaching in a school.”
“But I don’t want to be stuck in an office, filing and making tea. And they need farm workers, Daddy,” Emily said. “The country is liable to starve if they don’t find women to work in the fields. I’m able-bodied.”
“But you are a gentlewoman. They meant that they need lower-class girls. Girls who are used to that kind of drudgery,” Mrs Bryce said, as if she were talking to a simple child.
“They don’t care how nicely we speak, Mummy. They are desperate. Anyway, I’ve said yes. I start training on Monday.”
Mrs Bryce glared at her husband. “Say something, Harold. Tell her that we utterly forbid her.”
“You can’t forbid me. I’ve already signed up.”
“Your father will go to the office and tell them that you made a mistake. You didn’t realize what you were committing to. He’ll tell them that he’s found you a more appropriate situation for a girl of your class.”
“No, Mummy. You don’t understand. I have enlisted, just as if I were in the army or navy. I am officially part of our forces. I’m afraid there is no going back.”
“This was an extremely unwise move on your part, Emily,” Mr Bryce snapped. “Absolutely thoughtless, and as you can see, quite distressing for your mother.”
“You should be proud of me, Daddy. I’m finally serving my country, and out of concern for you, I elected to stay at home and not volunteer abroad like Clarissa.”
Her father had now risen to his feet. His face was beetroot red. “Be proud of you? My daughter, a field hand? A peasant girl? I don’t care what you signed. You can go right back tomorrow and tell them that you have changed your mind.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not doing that. In fact, I’m rather looking forward to it,” Emily said. “Besides, you can’t stop me. I’ve turned twenty-one. I can now make my own decisions.”
“May I remind you that you are still dependent on us for money?” Mr Bryce bellowed. “You don’t have a penny in the world or a roof over your head apart from this house.”
“Actually, I’ll be given room and board and paid a small wage each week,” she said. “Oh, and they provide a uniform.” She softened her tone. “I don’t want to hurt you, either of you, but you have to let me make my own way. I won’t be in any danger. I’ll be fed and looked after, and I’ll be doing a valuable service. And when the war is finally over, then we can talk about my finding a job that you consider more suitable.”
Mr Bryce ladled leek and potato soup into his bowl. “Well, you’ve made your bed, young lady. Now you lie in it. No calling for us to rescue you when you find you can’t face another day of back-breaking toil, or you’re out in freezing rain with chilblains.”
“Actually, Daddy,” Emily said, accepting the tureen when it was passed to her, “I think it might be a lot of fun.”
“And where will you be stationed? Did they tell you that?”
“I’m being trained near Tavistock and presumably sent to a farm in South Devon. I won’t be too far from home.”
After the meal, she heard her parents talking. Her mother was still inclined to be weepy, but her father said, “It could be worse, Marjorie. At least she’ll be safely away from men and well supervised. And it’s not as if she’s going to be in danger. And the war should be over soon, so you’ll have her home again.”
“I suppose you are right,” came her mother’s tearful reply.
Relations with her parents were frosty as Emily packed a bag and left on Monday morning. Her mother hardly said a word, and almost refused to lend her a suitcase to carry her things. Her father did agree to drive her to the station. For a while, they drove in silence, then he said, “You realize this is an act of pure selfishness on your part, and ingratitude after all we have done for you. We sacrificed to send you to a good school. We wanted the best for you. And now you have broken your mother’s heart.”
Emily swallowed hard to keep her temper in check. “What would you have me do, Daddy? Stay at home quietly until we all realize that there are no suitable men coming home from the front for me to marry? And you can watch me become a bitter and lonely spinster?”
Her father cleared his throat. “No, of course not. I understand you want to spread your wings a little, make your own way in the world. But a more fitting position could have been found for you. I’m sure one of the solicitors I work with could find work for you in his office, or one of the families we know would welcome you as a governess.”
“How is being a governess in any way superior to being a land girl?” Emily could hear her voice rising now. “A servant to a family we know? How could Mother hold her head up high knowing her daughter was a servant?”
“A governess is more than a servant, Emily.”
“Only by a little. She is a prisoner in the schoolroom. She takes her meals alone, shunned by the family. Besides, I have already made up my mind. I have volunteered, and there is nothing more to be said.”
“As you say, there is nothing more to be said.” Her father snapped the words. “Well, I’ll be interested in how long you can stick it.”
They pulled up outside the station. H
e hauled out her suitcase, put it on the ground and drove away without saying goodbye. Emily felt a fleeting moment of panic, watching him go, but then she took a deep breath and went to buy her ticket.
As the train took her away from home, she felt an absurd sense of elation. For the first time, she’d be free. This opinion changed within half an hour of reporting in at the railway station in Tavistock, where a bus was waiting to transport the women to the training centre. There were eleven other women of various ages. They assessed each other shyly while murmuring polite how-do-you-dos as their names were called. An Irish girl with bright red hair looked around the group. “Well, don’t look so gloomy, all of you,” she said, laughing. “It’s not a funeral we’re going to, you know.”
There were grins as they boarded a waiting bus. Emily sat next to a girl who looked ridiculously young. She sat hunched over, staring down at her hands as the bus revved up and drove off.
“I’m Emily,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Daisy, miss.” The voice was scarcely loud enough to be heard.
“You don’t have to call me miss. We’re all the same now, you know.”
“Sorry, miss, but I’ve been in service all my life, and you’re clearly from a good family, so it wouldn’t seem right.”
“All your life?” Emily chuckled. “You don’t look much more than twelve.”
“I’ve just turned twenty, miss. That’s the youngest you can be to join up. But I’ve been in service since I was twelve. And my mother before me with the same family. She was head parlourmaid, and then she married the groom. I was born above the stables, and when I was twelve, I went to work in the big house.”
“Where was that, Daisy?”
“Moorland Hall, up near Okehampton.”
“Did your parents mind you going away from home?”
“My mother died a couple of years ago.” Daisy looked up now. She had a soft, sweet face surrounded by wispy, light brown hair. “And my dad, well, he doesn’t care. He’s hardly ever noticed I exist. He’s a little too fond of the drink, if you must know the truth, miss. But the family keeps him on because he’s so good with the horses.”
“I see.” Emily looked at her with pity. “And the family didn’t mind?”
“It wasn’t up to them, was it?” Daisy said, for the first time sounding defiant. “They couldn’t stop me, although the housekeeper did say she couldn’t guarantee there would be a place for me when I came back.” She looked down at her hands again, encased in black cotton gloves. “I saw how hard my mum worked all her life, and I made up my mind that I wanted something better for myself. So when I heard that they were looking for land girls, I thought I’d take my chance.” She looked up at Emily, studying her with interest. “But how about you, miss? You surely didn’t have to be a land girl. You could have got yourself a proper job in the town if you’d wanted to work.”
“I could have, but I heard how desperately they needed women to work in the fields, and frankly, I wanted to escape from my home. My mother is desperate to marry me off. And she’s forbidden me to see the young man I like again. He’s in the naval hospital in Plymouth—not too far on my day off. So this suits me splendidly.”
Daisy actually laughed. “You’re quite a card, miss.”
“Do call me Emily, please.”
“All right. Emily then. So why doesn’t she approve of your young man?”
“He’s Australian, for one thing. He doesn’t know the right way to behave in our sort of society. He thinks it’s silly that you can’t speak to someone unless you’ve been introduced. You must know how it is. Who sits next to whom at a table. Which fork to use.”
“I know all those little things are important to your kind of people. I’ve had to polish the silver—all those knives and forks. And I had it drummed into me that I must never be seen by the family when I light the fires.”
“You had to light the fires?” Emily asked.
Daisy nodded. “I had to be up at five. Get the copper started to heat the bathwater, then take the coal up to all the bedrooms and get the fires going before anyone wakes up.”
“Goodness,” Emily said. “No wonder you were so anxious to escape.”
“Those coal scuttles were ever so heavy, miss. I’m thinking carrying sacks of potatoes will be no trouble at all for me.”
The remark made Emily pause. Would she be required to carry sacks of potatoes? What if she was not strong enough for the tasks? What if they sent her home because she failed to measure up to their requirements? Well, she decided. She’d just have to make sure that she didn’t fail!
CHAPTER EIGHT
The bus had left the town behind and now drove through country lanes with hedges on both sides. Contented-looking cream-coloured cows looked up from their grazing as they passed. Then they turned in between granite gateposts and pulled up outside a square, grey stone farmhouse. Emily climbed down from the bus, conscious of the mud beneath her feet. She hoped the uniform included shoes, or hers would soon be ruined.
When the last girl had alighted from the bus, a woman came out of the farmhouse and brought them to order with a blast of her whistle. She was dressed in a khaki uniform jacket and skirt with a green armband attached and a badge on her rather ample chest. She reminded Emily instantly of her least favourite teacher at school.
“Attention, ladies,” she called in a voice that betrayed a lifetime of giving orders. “Welcome to the training centre, where you will learn how to become a useful member of the Women’s Land Army. You have enlisted to serve your country, and for this, your country thanks you. I am Miss Foster-Blake. I am the superintendent here, and I will be in charge of you until you are sent out to farms in the area. You will take your orders from me and from your instructors and do exactly what you are told at all times. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” came a few muttered responses.
“I said, is that clear?” she repeated.
“Yes, ma’am,” they shouted back this time.
“When you hear this whistle, you drop what you are doing and you come running,” she went on. “When I call your name, you will proceed into the farmhouse, where you will be kitted out with your uniforms. You will then go straight up to the dormitory, select a bed and change into your uniforms as quickly as possible. You will then report downstairs, where you will be briefed and given your schedule. Is this clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they chanted.
“I will now call your names,” Miss Foster-Blake said. “As your name is called, you will march briskly into the house. Alice Adams.”
A thin, scrawny woman glanced around nervously, then scurried into the house.
“Emily Bryce.” Emily was about to follow when the woman stared at her and asked, “Are you related to Judge Bryce?”
“He’s my father,” Emily said, blushing as she felt all those eyes on her.
She waited for the woman to say that this was not a suitable place for her and she should return home, but instead she said, “I am also a justice of the peace, and our paths have crossed several times. A fine man. Make sure you do him proud.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Emily muttered, and hurried after Alice Adams.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the farmhouse interior, she saw that a trestle table with piles of clothing had been set up along the length of a large room. Two women, already dressed in the khaki uniform of the Women’s Land Army, stood behind it.
“Take one of each as you move along,” one of the women said.
“What about sizes?” Alice Adams asked.
“There’s one size in most things, except boots. Then it’s small, medium or large. You’ll have a belt and an elastic waist in the bloomers. Get cracking.”
Emily followed her, picking up the khaki tunic, matching bloomers, a jersey, a mackintosh, a floppy felt hat and knee boots. Then she was directed up the stairs to a room on their right. Alice stood inside the doorway, looking around. It wasn’t a large bedroom to sta
rt with, and now three sets of bunk beds had been crammed into the space. There was a similar room behind it for the other six women.
“One of the good things about being at the top of the alphabet,” Alice said, grinning at Emily. “We get to choose beds first. Away from the window and the draught, I think, don’t you? Unless you want to slip out at night, that is. And a top bunk. You don’t want to find you’ve got a heavy girl above you, making the whole thing creak and groan.”
Emily hadn’t considered this. “Oh, you’re right,” she said, and commandeered the top bunk beside the one Alice had chosen.
“I’m not sure how we get down in the middle of the night if nature calls,” Alice said. She had a strong cockney accent, quite unlike the soft and slow Devon burr that Emily was used to.
“There’s a sort of ladder,” Emily pointed out.
Alice reacted to her cultured, upper-class voice. “Hark at Miss Hoity-Toity,” she said. “What are you doing here in a place like this? Shouldn’t you be at the fox hunt or the palace or something?”
“Shouldn’t you be in Whitechapel or Shoreditch?” Emily retorted.
Alice threw back her head and laughed. “Quite right. You got me there. I’m far from my home turf, ain’t I? If you want to know, I came down here with my husband, Bill, on our honeymoon before the war. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. All the gardens and the sea and the fresh air. Lovely, it was.”
“Where is Bill now?” Emily asked as she removed her jacket and hung it on the row of pegs.
“Dead. That’s where.” Alice looked up from unbuttoning her cotton frock. “He copped it a couple of years ago at the Somme. He managed to stay alive for two whole years, but just before he was due to come home on leave, he was gassed. They brought him home, but he didn’t stand a chance. Lungs were shot, you see.”
“I’m so sorry,” Emily said.
“Well, it’s not like he was the only one, was he?” Alice shrugged. “I reckon every family has got a story like mine to tell.”
“We lost my brother right at the start,” Emily agreed. “So you decided to come back here where you had happy memories.”