The Kew Gardens Girls

by Posy Lovell

  “Quaker, of course.” Adelaide nodded. “That explains it.”

  Louisa raised a questioning eyebrow. “Explains?”

  “Why he’s here and not off at the Front. They’re pacifists, aren’t they? The Quakers.”

  She’d bounced on her tiptoes as though she couldn’t spend another moment in one place.

  “I have to go, Louisa. I really just popped in for some fresh air, as I’m spending the entire afternoon winding bandages with my very dull aunt for company. Lovely to see you.”

  She blew Louisa a kiss and hurried off, leaving Louisa as she was now, staring after her in shock.

  “Pacifists,” she breathed. She found herself meeting Bernie’s gaze. Was she imagining it or did he look worried? Louisa couldn’t lie. She’d been thinking about Bernie a lot recently, wondering why he’d not enlisted or been called up since conscription began. He was single, unlike Mac, and neither too young, like Jim, nor too old. He was no longer a teacher—one of the protected professions—nor was he a clergyman, no matter what Adelaide had thought. And being a gardener was certainly not a vital job in times of war. In fact, the only reason she and the other women were at Kew was because all the male gardeners had joined up so there was no excuse there.

  Bernie broke the gaze first, and Louisa bent down again to tend to the daffodils.

  Why Bernie was still at Kew had been a niggle in the back of her mind, probably since she and Ivy went to the meeting where Mrs. Pankhurst had talked so passionately about conscientious objectors. She could have asked him outright, she supposed, but he seemed so fragile, she hadn’t wanted to hurt him. The evidence, though, was mounting. She felt a small spark of anger deep inside. Did he really think it was acceptable to avoid the war just because he was a pacifist? Weren’t they all pacifists on some level? She most certainly was, deep down. After all, she knew more than most how violence didn’t solve anything. She was confident, though, that the government and the king knew what they were doing. They’d never have gone to war if it wasn’t completely necessary. Because, after all, no one liked conflict, no one wanted to go and fight. But the sad truth was that was what was happening now. Men and boys were joining up and facing their fears. So why should men like Bernie, healthy, single, strong men, avoid the Front just because they were scared?

  “Coward,” she breathed.

  Next to her, Ivy looked up. “What’s that you’re saying?”

  Louisa took her arm and turned her away from Bernie so he couldn’t work out what they were saying if he happened to look in their direction.

  “Ivy, I need to tell you something awful. About Bernie.”

  Ivy’s face went white. “What’s happened? Is he ill? Is it his nerves again?”

  Louisa shook her head, pinching her lips together. “He’s a pacifist. A conscientious objector.”

  Ivy covered her mouth with her hand.

  “I know,” Louisa said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Almost certain. He’s not at the Front. He’s not ill, or married, so there’s no reason for him to be here.” She took a breath, trying to keep her annoyance under control. “He’s just decided that his life is worth more than the other men’s.”

  “Oh, Lou, I don’t think that’s it. He just doesn’t believe the war is the best way to sort things.”

  Ivy looked straight at her friend. “You should know that fighting is never the answer. Never did you no good, did it?”

  Louisa bristled at Ivy using her own awful experiences against her. “That’s different.”

  “Is it? Doubt Bernie would think so.”

  Louisa stared at her. “Did you know? Have you spoken about this?”

  “No,” Ivy said. “Least, not recently. But I knew the Quakers were pacifists.”

  “We need to ask him.”

  “Do we?”

  “Of course we do. We need to be sure. Mrs. Pankhurst says . . .”

  “Mrs. Pankhurst is not always right,” Ivy said firmly.

  Shocked, Louisa stopped talking.

  “The white feather campaign is not good,” Ivy said. “Of course I support women’s suffrage, of course I bloody do. But this is something different. Attacking men who could have a reason not to be fighting isn’t right, Lou.”

  Louisa looked at Ivy as though she was a stranger. She’d thought they were friends. Partners in the fight for women’s rights, working hard for the war effort. But perhaps she’d been wrong.

  “I agree that we need to be sure,” she said coldly. “Which is why I think we should ask him.”

  She turned back to face the herbaceous border, where Bernie was weeding diligently.

  “Bernie!” she called.

  “Don’t,” Ivy said. “Don’t ask him.”

  “Bernie!”

  With slow, deliberate movements, Bernie put his trowel down and stood up.

  “Could we have a quick word?” Louisa called.

  Like he was wading through treacle, Bernie plodded toward them, his head hanging. Louisa glanced at Ivy, who looked wretched, and for a moment she thought of ignoring this. Of pretending Adelaide had never popped into Kew, had never recognized Bernie or let slip enough information for these suspicions to surface. Then they could all just carry on gardening, and Bernie could continue Ivy’s lessons, and everything could go back to how it was. But then she thought of the troops she’d seen getting on the trains in town, heading off to the Front. Just young lads, with their whole lives ahead of them, looking ashen and scared but going all the same. Why should they go if Bernie didn’t? She thought of her brother, Matthew, who was safe at home in Kent because he was a farmer, and wondered how she’d feel if she knew he was in the mud on a battlefield. She’d feel awful, she thought. Terrified for him. Again she felt that bubble of anger and she spun on her heel to face Bernie as he approached.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, his forced joviality at odds with the stricken expression on his face.

  Louisa took a breath.

  “Bernie,” she said, raising her chin. “Are you a conscientious objector?”

  Chapter 11

  Bernie didn’t speak for what seemed like an age. Ivy stood stock-still, looking from him to Louisa and back again. She didn’t know what to say to make things better. Perhaps there was nothing she could say.

  Eventually Bernie nodded slowly.

  “I am a Quaker,” he said. “We’re committed to peace.”

  “But this isn’t peace, Bernie,” Louisa said. “It’s war. And we all need to do our bit.”

  Ivy half expected Bernie to crumple. He always seemed so unsure of himself, so fragile. But now he looked more confident than she’d ever seen him.

  “It’s war, and it’s wrong. I will not be a part of it.”

  “Why should you stay safe while others go and risk their lives?” Louisa was growing red in the face, but her voice was still calm. Ivy could see the truth in what she was saying, even though she herself didn’t think the war was a good thing, either. She felt conflicted, torn between her two friends.

  Bernie opened his mouth to speak but shut it again as Mac approached.

  “Everything all right?” he said, looking at them all and frowning. Ivy thought he must be able to feel the atmosphere between them. Bernie was almost quivering with tension as he stood, staring at Louisa. Louisa herself looked furious, with red spots on both cheeks.

  “Fine,” Ivy said, forcing a smile. “Just saying how quickly the daffs come and go.”

  Mac nodded. “There’s no better reminder of the passage of time than working in a garden.” He put his hand on Bernie’s shoulder. “I need to have a quick word with you all. Can you join the others in the break room?”

  Ivy glanced at Louisa to see if she knew what this was about, but she remained stony-faced as they followed Mac across the lawn to where the rest of t
he gardeners were gathering.

  Ivy perched on the wall beside Jim. Bernie hovered at the back of the group, and Louisa, pointedly, made her way to the opposite side to him and glowered at him from where she stood.

  “It’s all falling apart,” Ivy muttered out of the side of her mouth so Jim could hear her but no one else. “Bernie’s a conchie and Lou’s got her knickers in a twist about it.”

  Jim looked shocked. “What? When did this all happen?”

  “Just now. One of his old friends . . .”

  She stopped talking as Mac clapped his hands for attention.

  “I wanted to say thank you to all of you for stepping up and becoming a valuable part of Kew Gardens,” Mac said. Ivy made a face. This was very out of character for their normally gruff and unappreciative boss. “With the men gone, we’re left to rely on you girls . . .”

  “Oi,” said Dennis, another junior gardener who’d been too young to enlist, like Jim. Everyone chuckled, and Mac rolled his eyes.

  “Thank you, Dennis,” he said. “As I was saying, we’re relying on you to keep things going while the men are away.”

  He took a breath.

  “And that’s going to include me, I’m afraid. It seems conscription for old married chaps like me is just around the corner, so after a bit of chat with my missus, I’ve decided to get in early and enlist.”

  There was a stunned silence among the women—and Dennis, Jim and Bernie.

  “Did you know about this?” Ivy hissed at Jim.

  “Didn’t have a clue,” he said, looking as surprised as she did.

  Louisa was the first to speak.

  “I can’t say we won’t miss you,” she said. “But you’re doing the right thing, Mac.”

  She went over to him and took his hands in hers.

  “You’re a brave, good, kind man and you’ve taught me—all of us—so much in our time at Kew. You can be sure we’ll keep things going while you’re away and I promise you’ll be impressed with what we’ve done when you get back.”

  Mac looked chuffed to bits by Louisa’s little speech and gave her a brief hug to show it. Ivy was less pleased. She felt as though Lou had really been talking to Bernie. But she joined the throng of gardeners gathering round Mac to wish him luck and ask questions about who’d be in charge and what was going to happen while he was away.

  “I’m not sure, exactly,” Mac was saying. “Let me get myself down to the recruitment office and find out when I’ll be off and then we can plan.”

  “It’ll be soon, right?” Ivy asked Jim, who still looked surprised. “They don’t hang about.”

  “Dunno,” he said with a shrug. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough, eh, Den?”

  Dennis grimaced. “Guess so.”

  “Ivy, could I have a quick word?”

  Louisa was there, looking pale and worried. She led Ivy away from the group. Over her shoulder, Ivy could see Bernie watching them. He seemed resigned rather than concerned as he watched them talk.

  “There’s a meeting tonight,” Louisa said. “I wasn’t going to go because I think it’s just a few people, but we should. Given what’s happened.”

  Ivy blinked at her. “What’s happened?”

  “With Bernie.”

  “Why do we need to go to a meeting about Bernie?” Ivy was bewildered.

  “To find out what we should do, now we know he’s a conchie.”

  Ivy glared at her. “Why should we do anything?”

  “In a few months’ time, Ivy, men we care about could be fighting the Germans in the trenches,” Louisa said. “Your Jim could be going over the top, running toward death.”

  Ivy felt dizzy at the thought. “Don’t, Lou,” she said. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  But Lou wasn’t stopping.

  “And Mac will be there first. Grumpy, funny Mac, who really prefers plants to people and who’s been so kind to us. He’ll be there in the mud. Frightened.”

  Ivy winced.

  “But Bernie will be tucked up, safe and sound in his warm bed in Battersea, Ivy. Snuggled up under his blanket, reading his precious books and not troubled by gunshots or mortar fire. Do you think that’s right?”

  “No,” Ivy whispered. “But . . .”

  “But, nothing. We need to tell someone.”

  “I don’t want to.” Ivy felt wretched. There was no right way as far as she could see it. The war was absolutely wrong in her opinion. She didn’t think anyone should have to fight. But they were fighting and Louisa had a point. Why should lads like her Jim go to the Front, if Bernie stayed behind? Nothing made sense anymore.

  “Will Mrs. Pankhurst help?” she said hopefully. “Will she know what we should do?”

  “I have no doubt,” Louisa said.

  “Then I’ll come.”

  * * *

  As it turned out, Mrs. Pankhurst did have a very clear idea about what they should do, but it was not what Ivy had wanted.

  “White feather,” she said as soon as Louisa had explained their predicament at the meeting that evening. “Cowards like him should be exposed and then enlisted. He can’t hide behind your flowers much longer.”

  Ivy closed her eyes for a second, hoping that when she opened them again everything would be different. But it wasn’t.

  “As many as you can,” another woman said, handing Louisa a bunch of the delicate feathers. Ivy wondered how something so pretty could hold such a nasty meaning. It was like the flowers, she supposed. Marigolds symbolizing despair, or a pretty petunia standing for anger.

  “Put them in his bag, his pockets, wherever you can. We need him to be ashamed of himself and his actions.”

  Ivy felt ashamed of her own actions, but she didn’t speak up until they were out of the hall where the meeting had been held and along the street.

  “You’re very quiet,” said Louisa.

  “I don’t want to do this. Bernie’s our friend. It’s a betrayal.”

  “He’s betraying every Tommy that’s out there already and all the ones who’ll be going soon,” Louisa said. “Not to mention his king and his country.”

  “He’s helped me so much.”

  Louisa shrugged. “I think this is helping him in a way. He should be doing his bit, just like everyone else. In twenty or thirty years’ time, how will he feel knowing all those men died and he stood idly by?”

  “‘Daddy, what did you do in the Great War?’” said Ivy, quoting the poster that adorned the side of every bus and all the escalators in the tube stations.

  “Exactly,” said Louisa. She sat down on a bench and pulled Ivy’s hand so she sat down, too.

  “I know it’s difficult, Ivy. I understand how you must be feeling. But this is wrong. Lord knows, I hate violence of any kind but . . .” She trailed off.

  “It’s all wrong,” Ivy said bleakly. “The war, the feathers, conscription, everything.”

  “I know,” Louisa said. She reached for Ivy’s hand.

  They sat there together for a moment, hand in hand, both feeling awful about everything. Ivy took comfort from the feeling of Lou’s fingers in hers. Louisa was a good person who understood better than lots of people how humans made others suffer. Surely she wouldn’t expose Bernie as a conchie and lead him to deal with the consequences?

  But no. Louisa was actually quiet because she was making plans.

  “I’ll get to Kew early tomorrow morning,” she said, almost to herself. “I can put one in his gardening bag, and his overalls, and wherever else I can sneak them.”

  “Louisa, no,” Ivy said. “No.”

  “I have to.”

  “Why?”

  Louisa shrugged. “Because he’s doing something wrong and I want him to understand that. And because I trust Mrs. Pankhurst, and if she says this is the right thing to do, then I believe her.”


  Ivy snorted. “Not everything she does is right,” she said. “Not everything the Suffragettes do is perfect.”

  Louisa raised an eyebrow at Ivy. “Is that so?” she said, her voice like ice.

  “Course it is. They make mistakes like anyone. Mrs. Pankhurst’s been awful to Sylvia, and the Suffragettes burned down the tea pavilion at Kew, don’t forget. And they smashed up the orchid house.”

  “That was years ago,” Louisa said. “Things have changed.”

  “Nothing’s changed,” Ivy said. “Nothing at all.”

  Louisa stood up. “We’re at war, Ivy,” she said. “And that changes everything. People’s priorities change. Their jobs change. Their lives change.”

  She glared down at Ivy, who was still sitting on the bench, her fight having deserted her.

  “I’m going to do this, whether you want to help me or not. And if you don’t . . .” She stopped and suddenly Ivy felt a rush of adrenaline and anger. She sprang to her feet and met Louisa’s defiant stare.

  “What?” she said. “If I don’t help you, then what?”

  The two women were inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes like boxers squaring up before a match.

  Louisa took a breath. “Then you’re not the person I thought you were, Ivy Adams.”

  Ivy pushed her hair away from her face and laughed joylessly.

  “Or maybe you were wrong about me all along,” she said. “You do this if it makes you feel better, Louisa, and I look forward to you coming to apologize when you realize it was wrong. And in case I’ve not made it clear, no, I’m not going to help you. When it comes to humiliating a man who I’m proud to call a friend, then you’re on your own.”

  She felt her heart thumping in her chest so wildly she looked down to check it wasn’t bursting through her rib cage. Ivy had never been a wallflower, never been afraid to stand up for herself at the market with her dad, with her siblings, arguing with her mum, or even with Mac when he was being difficult. But squaring up to an older woman over such an emotional matter was something new. She didn’t like it.

  “I’m doing this,” Louisa said with a defiant nod. “You’ll see.”