The Victory Garden

by Bowen, Rhys

  “I’ll shove him in the next sack, so help me,” Maureen muttered as he walked away.

  By the time they were taken back to the training centre at night in the back of a jolting farm cart, they were too tired to do anything but flop into bed.

  “Talk about a baptism of fire.” Mrs Anson looked almost grey with exertion. She stumbled, but Emily caught her.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Emily asked her. “Is this too much for you? Because we can tell Miss Foster-Blake.”

  “No, I’m fine,” Mrs Anson said. “Just not used to it, that’s all. Neither are you. But I’m not going to give up. My husband must have felt the same way when they put him through army drills. I’m doing this in his honour.”

  She’s brave, Emily thought. They are all brave.

  The next morning, they awoke to the sound of rain drumming on the roof above.

  “Would you look at that!” Maureen said. “Makes me quite homesick for Ireland.”

  Alice gave a disgusted snort. “You must be the only person who is delighted to see rain.”

  “Not delighted. Just homesick,” Maureen said.

  “We won’t have to work in that weather, will we, miss?” Daisy asked.

  “I’m afraid there’s a van already waiting outside,” Emily said. “We do have mackintoshes.” She tried to sound cheerful, but she felt as disheartened as they did as they boarded the van.

  The field had turned into a sea of mud. They picked the potatoes with freezing fingers while the rain lashed at their faces. At lunchtime, they staggered to the shelter of a barn, where they gratefully drank cups of tea provided by the farmer’s wife. She looked at them with understanding. “I imagine it’s a bit of a shock to you, isn’t it?” she asked. “Farm life takes a bit of getting used to. It will be better when the sun comes out.”

  They wolfed down great hunks of bread and cheese and pickled onions to go with the tea, then trudged out into the rain again. After several hours of more labour, Emily was staggering to the edge of the field to deposit her basket of potatoes. She slipped and slid in the mud and almost went down. She had been concentrating so hard on not falling that she had kept her eyes on the ground ahead of her. When she looked up, she saw two figures standing under umbrellas, watching her.

  “Emily!” Her mother’s voice echoed out across the field. “Just look at you. What a disgrace. Covered in mud and hauling potatoes like a peasant. If your grandparents could see you now, they would be appalled. Put that basket down instantly and come with us.”

  “I’m working, Mummy,” Emily said as she reached them and deposited the basket on the trestle table. “I can’t leave. I’m in charge of my girls.”

  “It’s all right,” her mother said. “Daddy has arranged things with your supervisor. Miss Foster-Blake. He knows her, apparently. So it’s all squared away.”

  “What is?” Emily asked. She started to tip the potatoes into the waiting sack.

  “You’re leaving this fiasco. Daddy’s arranged a proper job for you with a solicitor in Exeter.”

  “You’ll board with his family during the week and come home to us at weekends,” her father said. “Mr Davidson says he’ll even train you to use a typewriting machine. That will be a useful skill, won’t it?”

  Emily fought to stay calm. She was conscious that the other women were observing her with interest. “You have no right to interfere like this, Daddy,” she said. “I’m over twenty-one, able to make my own decisions, and I’m staying on here. I’m needed. If these potatoes aren’t picked, they’ll rot, and the country is already desperately short of food.”

  “A job that any low-class girl could be doing and should be doing,” Mrs Bryce said. “But not someone who was reared for better things. You surely can’t tell me you’d rather be toiling in the rain and mud than helping a solicitor in a safe and dry office?”

  “I can’t say it’s particularly fun at the moment, but on the whole, yes, I am enjoying it. And I’m performing a valuable service for my country.”

  Mrs Bryce gave an exasperated sigh. “Say something, Harold. Tell her to come with us immediately.”

  “I will say something.” Mr Bryce frowned. “If you persist in disobeying your parents, then you are on your own. If it’s your life, then you lead it. You will no longer be welcome at our house.”

  Emily took a deep breath to calm her rapid heartbeat. “Very well.” She held his gaze, chin stuck out defiantly. “If that’s what you want. But I will not be bullied or dictated to. I’m not a child any more, and I’m prepared to make my own way and my own mistakes if necessary.” She looked up as Daisy staggered towards her with a full basket. “Over here, Daisy. Here, let me help you. Get the sack.”

  “Come, Marjorie. You’re getting wet, and we are wasting our time,” Mr Bryce said.

  Her mother hesitated, turned to leave, then swung back again. “It’s that boy, isn’t it? That Australian. I know you’re still seeing him against our wishes. We checked with the hospital he was sent to. He’s the one that’s put these rebellious ideas into your head.”

  “No, Mummy. The ideas were already there. I just had no way to implement them before,” Emily answered as she held open a sack to receive potatoes.

  “Then good luck to you, that’s what I say,” Mrs Bryce said. “I hope you will enjoy living in squalor in the depths of Australia.”

  With that, she stalked off, her dainty shoes slithering in the mud.

  Emily noticed her hands were trembling as she held open the sack. She felt as if she might be sick. They were her parents, after all. Her home. A place where she had once been loved and protected. She fought back the temptation to call after them, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I love you.” But saying those things would mean giving up Robbie, giving up this work, and she knew she wasn’t going to do either.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Crammed together in the back of the van on the way home, the other girls crowded around Emily.

  “Was that your mum and dad?” Maureen asked.

  Emily nodded. She had been in shock and close to tears ever since the encounter. She didn’t dare herself to speak or she was afraid she might cry now.

  “They were certainly going at you, weren’t they?” Alice went on. “What was all that about?”

  Emily took a deep breath. “They had come to take me away,” she said. “They think this kind of work is beneath me. They’d gone behind my back and arranged to have me released. They’d even found me a job in a solicitor’s office.”

  “And you didn’t take it?” Maureen asked. “Are you out of your mind, my girl? A good job in a nice dry office and maybe a lawyer husband in your future?”

  Emily had to laugh at this. “Mr Davidson is seventy if he’s a day, and yes, I suppose it would have been a good job in many ways. But I’d already agreed to do this and I’m not letting anyone down.”

  “Good for you,” Ruby said. “We’d miss you if you went away.”

  “She looked like a right old cow, your mum, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Alice said. She put a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, love. You’ve got us now.”

  Miss Foster-Blake was waiting for them when they arrived back and were taking off their muddy boots and sodden mackintoshes in the mudroom behind the farmhouse. “Well done, ladies. A tough day’s work and you came through admirably . . .” She broke off when she saw Emily. “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you again,” she said. “Your father pulled strings for you.”

  “Strings I chose to ignore,” Emily said. “I made a commitment here. I’m not backing out of it, whatever my parents want.”

  To her surprise, Miss Foster-Blake smiled. “Well done. That takes spunk. And duty and loyalty. I like that. You’ll do well in life, Miss Bryce.” As Emily headed into the house, she called to her, “Oh, and a letter came for you today. From your young man, I believe.”

  Emily ran up the stairs and snatched up the envelope from the table. Robbie wasn’t as good at wri
ting letters as she was, but each note from him was precious to her.

  My dear Emmy,

  I have some news. I was going to say good news, but you probably won’t think that it is. I have been certified fit to go back and join my squadron. I leave on Monday. So this will be the last time we’ll see each other for a while. I’m really hoping we can spend the whole day together on Sunday. Do you think they would let you get off work early on Saturday and you could come into Plymouth and we could have the evening together then? I know there are boarding houses close to the hospital where wives and sweethearts stay when they come to visit. I could arrange to put you up in one of those. Let me know right away and I’ll get things arranged.

  I can’t wait to see you, my darling girl,

  Your Robbie

  Emily sat on a bottom bunk, not moving, staring down at the letter. She knew it was inevitable that this was going to happen, but after a day of physical exertion and the horrible scene with her parents, it was one thing too many. She felt tears welling in her eyes and tried to squeeze them back. She had never cried in public before. She pressed her hand to her mouth, then looked up as Alice came into the room. “Good news, love?” she asked. Then she saw Emily’s face. “Oh no. It’s not bad news, is it?”

  “It’s my sweetheart, Robbie. He’s been in hospital, and now they’ve certified him ready to go back to his squadron in France. This will be the last chance I have to see him.”

  Alice put a bony arm around her. “You have a good cry, my love. That always helps.”

  “I’m not a very good crier, I’m afraid.” Emily attempted a smile. “But I’m so worried for him, Alice. At the convalescent home where we met, the nurse told me that the life expectancy of a flyer was six weeks.”

  “He’s survived this long, hasn’t he? With any luck, the war will be over before you know it.”

  “Oh, please God, I hope so,” Emily said.

  She splashed cold water on to her face so that Miss Foster-Blake would not see she had been crying and went to find her. She was in the small office going over paperwork.

  “Next batch of recruits due to arrive on Monday,” she said, looking up as Emily entered. “Only seven this time. Not enough, really. Still, I expect we’ll muddle through. Did you want something?”

  “I have a special request,” Emily said. “Would it be possible for me to get off a little early on Saturday and go into Plymouth? You see, my young man is about to be discharged from the hospital there and sent back to France. It will be the last time I see him for a while. So then we’d have Saturday evening and Sunday together.”

  “Saturday evening or Saturday night?” Miss Foster-Blake asked sharply. “I don’t think that would be a wise move, Miss Bryce. You have your reputation to think of.”

  “Oh no,” Emily said, blushing. “It’s not like that at all. Robbie is still in the naval hospital. He said he’d fix me up with one of the boarding houses where the wives and sweethearts stay. He’s a very respectable person, Miss Foster-Blake.”

  “Your parents didn’t seem to think so. They told me he had been a bad influence on you.”

  “My mother doesn’t like him because he’s Australian. He doesn’t care a fig for our petty conventions, and he’s not the sort of match she would have made for me. But he’s a good person.”

  “So you plan to marry him after the war and go to Australia with him?”

  “He hasn’t asked me yet.” Emily felt herself blushing. “But if he does, I think I might say yes.”

  “Where does he live in Australia? In one of the cities?”

  “No, on a big farm in the outback. A sheep station, he calls it.”

  “Think about it very carefully, won’t you? Thousands of miles from home and a life of drudgery. None of the things you are used to, I’d imagine. No nice shops, theatres, educated people to talk to. And a harsh climate.”

  “I know. He’s done everything he can to put me off. He’s even told me it’s no place for a woman.”

  “There you are then. At least he’s honest.”

  “But these last weeks have proved to me that I can cope with hard conditions. And I really think I love him. What if he’s the one I’m meant to be with? The one I’ll be happy with?”

  Miss Foster-Blake stood silent for a moment. “You’re a sensible girl, Miss Bryce. I expect you’ll do the right thing. Very well, I give you permission to leave at four and be back by Sunday evening.”

  “Thank you, Miss Foster-Blake.” Emily beamed. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  “I do know in wartime we have to take any sliver of happiness that is offered to us,” the woman said. “Now go and clean yourself up. You’re still covered in mud.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  By Saturday, the weather had cleared up, and a fresh breeze was blowing in from the sea as Emily hitched a lift into Tavistock and then took the train to Plymouth. Robbie was waiting downstairs in the hospital foyer, dressed in his uniform, his hair slicked down. He looked different from the boy in the dressing gown with the unruly hair, and she was reminded of the evening at her party.

  “You made it,” he said, holding out his hands to her. “I was afraid that old battleaxe of yours wouldn’t let you go at the last minute.”

  “She did give me a warning against unsuitable young men with evil designs,” Emily said, laughing.

  “And how do you know I don’t have evil designs?” he retorted.

  Emily felt herself blushing. “Because I know you,” she said.

  “Too right. I’ll always treat you with respect, Emmy. You’re a quality girl. You deserve only the best,” he said. “Right then. Let’s deposit your bag at this guest house, shall we? It’s not much to look at, but the blokes tell me they take good care of you there. The navy lieutenant in the next bed said he put his wife up there when she came to visit.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” Emily said. “After sleeping six to a room in the most uncomfortable bunks that creak and groan every time one turns over, I’m sure it will be like heaven.”

  He went to take her bag.

  “You don’t have to do that. I can manage,” she said.

  She watched a frown cross his face. “Emily, I’m certified fit to fly a plane,” he said. “I can carry an overnight bag, I promise you.”

  They set off together. Robbie slipped his hand into hers. She looked up to give him a little smile. He still walked a little stiffly, she noted, but he was making a supreme effort to stride out. As they approached the harbour, they could see fishing boats bobbing in the water in a wide estuary. Green fields came down to the banks on the far side, and as they watched, a ferry left the far shore, coming towards them. It was a peaceful scene, as if war were only a nasty rumour, far away.

  “Here we are.” Robbie led her to a house in a terrace that faced the water. Across the front was painted “Seaview Guest House.”

  “I’ve checked it out,” he said. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean.”

  The landlady was all smiles when Emily was introduced. “A local girl, are you? He said you were from Devonshire yourself.”

  “I am. Near Torquay.”

  “Fancy that. I’ve a sister who lives in that part of the world. And this young man is all the way from Australia. Left his homeland to come and fight for us. I call that noble, myself. Now, if you’d like to see your room . . .”

  She started up a steep and narrow staircase, moving with surprising agility for one of considerable bulk. She opened a door to reveal a tiny room with nothing more than a single bed, a chest of drawers with a mirror on it and a washbasin against the wall. As Robbie had said, it was nothing fancy, but clean.

  “Bathroom down the hall,” the landlady said. “Breakfast at eight. Cup of tea whenever you’ve a mind for it. And I lock the front door at ten.”

  They thanked her. Emily left her overnight bag and followed Robbie down the stairs.

  “You must be hungry,” he said. “I thought we’d get a bite
to eat and then maybe go to the cinema. A real date for a change.”

  “I’d like that.” She smiled at him. “I hardly ever go to the pictures. It’s a real treat.”

  “I asked your landlady about where to eat,” he said, “and she told me of a place that does the best fish and chips. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but it’s wartime, isn’t it? There aren’t many cafes open, and when they are, they serve the most disgusting muck.”

  “Robbie,” Emily said, laughing. “Do you know what I’m used to these days? A great hunk of bread with cheese and a pickled onion for my lunch and a big vegetable stew for supper. That’s what I’ve been living on. Fish and chips sounds heavenly.”

  The cafe was situated by the docks, looking out over the water. Late sunlight still sparkled, painting the scene with a rosy glow. Inside, it was not at all fancy, but it did have red-and-white-checked tablecloths and a small vase of flowers on each table. They sat in the window, facing each other. Two large mugs of tea were brought, and then two huge plates of cod and chips with a plate of bread and butter.

  “Stone the crows,” Robbie said. “This is more food than I’ve seen since I left home. And fish and chips is quite a novelty for me. You don’t find fish where I come from.”