The Land Girls at Christmas

by Jenny Holmes

  Una frowned. ‘I passed my medical with flying colours – eyes, ears, heart – the lot.’

  ‘Very well – beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.’

  If this was meant to throw Una, it had the opposite effect. Her dander was up and she drew herself up to her full five feet one inch. ‘I’ve worked on the looms for six years in Kingsley’s Mill without any complaints. I’ve never had to take a single day off work except for the week four years ago this December when I stayed at home to nurse my brother after he came out of hospital.’

  A frown creased Edith’s powdered brow. ‘As I say, I wish the recruitment criteria for the Land Army were a little more rigorous when it comes to physical aptitude, but sorry to say, these things are out of my hands.’

  Recruitment criteria? Physical aptitude? What was the daft bat going on about? And what kind of welcome was this? Una’s hands gripped her small brown suitcase more tightly and she clamped her lips firmly shut to stop a strongly worded retort from springing out.

  ‘Anyway, ours is not to reason why. My job is to take you out to your billet, which as you know is to be the hostel at Fieldhead House. There are twenty girls there at present, including Brenda, whom you just met. You will be allocated a single bed with two blankets and a change of sheets every Monday morning. One bath per week is permitted, according to a strict rota. Meals will be served promptly at seven o’clock in the morning and six in the evening, unless you make prior arrangements with the warden. You will take sandwiches with you to eat in the middle of the day. Is that clear?’

  As day, Una thought sulkily. ‘Yes, Mrs Mostyn,’ she replied.

  ‘Very well. Get into the car.’ Edith took Una’s case and placed it in the boot while Una slid onto the brown leather passenger seat. ‘You will be provided with a bicycle on which to ride out to the various farms in the locality. You do ride a bike, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes,’ Una fibbed. In fact, she’d never been on one in her life.

  ‘The work will be varied.’ Edith turned the car around in the yard, ignoring the red-haired lad’s protests as she drove too close to jittery Major. ‘It will include milking cows and cleaning out cowsheds, hen houses and stables. You will be expected to feed chickens, cows and sheep, dig ditches, thin turnips, bag potatoes, and so on. There will be no official training – you will have to learn on the job. Do you have any questions?’

  Feeding, digging, thinning, bagging – the words didn’t connect with any activity Una was familiar with so she quickly changed tack. ‘Yes. How much time off do we get?’ There must be some relief from farm work, surely.

  By now they were on their way, past a row of stone cottages and a chapel, out into open countryside before Edith replied. ‘Saturday afternoons and Sundays are free for girls to do laundry and catch up on letter writing, and so on.’ Behind the wheel, she cut a slight but stylish figure, tilting her carefully coiffed head backwards to peer out through the windscreen and tooting her horn loudly at stray pheasants and cats. ‘You will be homesick at first – that goes without saying. But bear in mind that this is your contribution to the war effort. We must all do our bit without complaining.’

  Una couldn’t argue with this so she let another silence develop, following the progress of a cloud of starlings as they rose from the ground and gusted overhead. She would be glad when they reached the hostel and she could meet the other girls. If they were all like Brenda, she felt sure she would like them and she would soon settle in. Meanwhile, she took in her surroundings.

  The single-lane road beyond Burnside grew narrower and steeper and the signs of habitation more scattered. Drystone walls criss-crossed the hillsides, sometimes rising almost vertically to craggy ridges – dogged feats of back-breaking building work that beggared belief. Every now and then they came to a roadside barn and more rarely still to a ruggedly built farmhouse whose roofs were covered in moss and whose small windows let in little light. Their front gardens were black and bare. At one farm, a dog heard the approach of the car and ran out into the road, straining at his chain. The farmer’s wife came to the door and called the dog’s name, turning her back on the car as she sent him back into his kennel.

  ‘That’s Mrs Peggy Russell,’ Edith informed Una. ‘Her husband died of pneumonia three years ago so the farm is run-down. We’ll help her with lambing when the time comes.’

  How was it possible for an elderly woman to live so far out here by herself? Una wondered. Wasn’t she frightened of having an accident, of falling down the stairs, say, and not being found for days afterwards? She was about to voice this thought when Edith slowed the car and turned in between tall stone gateposts then carried on along a straight, tree-lined drive towards an imposing house in the distance.

  Una glimpsed the name, Fieldhead House, carved into each gatepost. The grandness of the house surprised her – it was three storeys high with tall pillars supporting a porticoed entrance and long windows down to the ground – the kind of dwelling where she could imagine ladies in crinolines and lace sweeping down long corridors and gentlemen in white breeches calling for their carriages to take them into town. As they drew closer, however, she saw that the stonework around the doorway was crumbling and the window frames starting to rot. Weeds grew out of the high gutters, downpipes leaked and chimney stacks leaned.

  ‘So this is the Land Army hostel?’ Una turned to Edith with a questioning look. ‘Or are there more modern buildings round the back?’

  ‘This is it,’ came the short answer. Edith stopped the car by the main door and got out to open the boot.

  Una looked up at what she took to be the bedroom windows and spotted several faces staring down at her. The owners of the faces made no attempt to hide their curiosity or to step back out of sight. Here goes! Una thought as she took her suitcase and followed Edith up a set of wide stone steps and through the open door. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  ‘There you are!’ a voice cried and a figure flew down the stairs at the far side of the black-and-white tiled hallway. It was Brenda, still in overalls but minus her wellingtons and her airman’s jacket. ‘Girls, Una has arrived,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Come and say hello.’

  Several figures appeared on the landing that overlooked the hallway. They studied the newcomer but didn’t hurry to follow Brenda’s lead. They were a mixed bunch, Una thought – some tall, some small, some pretty, some not. Take the round-faced, dark-haired one who leaned her elbows on the banister and assessed Una from head to toe. She looked sturdy, with strength equal to any man’s. By way of contrast, there was a tall, limp-looking girl whose breeches seemed to swamp her skinny thighs and who hung back in the shadows while the others slowly descended the stairs.

  ‘Which room will she sleep in?’ Brenda asked Edith.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not privy to that information. My job is simply to deliver new recruits safely to the door and make sure that they understand what’s expected of them now that they’ve signed up.’

  ‘Let me go and ask Mrs Craven.’ A curly-haired girl jumped down the last three stairs and shot off through a side door.

  ‘Thank you, Elsie.’ Edith looked at her watch then decided to follow her. ‘It’s time for me to leave Una in your capable hands,’ she told Brenda, who gave a mock curtsey behind her back.

  ‘There’s a spare bed in the room I share with Kathleen. You could have that,’ Brenda suggested to Una. ‘Ma C’s a decent sort. I’m sure she won’t mind us taking matters into our own hands. Kathleen, come and say hello.’

  A strikingly pretty girl stepped forward. Her fair, wavy hair hung loose around her shoulders and she was already changed out of her uniform into a blue blouse with zig-zag patterns and a white collar, teamed with wide navy-blue slacks and white canvas shoes.

  ‘Kathleen Hirst, meet Una … Oh dear, I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Sharpe with an “e”,’ Una said. Silly of me to bother about the ‘e’ at a time like this. She blushed bright red.

  ‘Una Sharpe with an
“e” – that’s the ticket. Kathleen, how do you feel about Una sharing our room? I think we’ll get on like a house on fire, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m sure we will.’ Despite her answer, a wary Kathleen looked as though she would reserve judgement. ‘Where are you from, Una?’

  ‘From Millwood,’ she replied with as much confidence as she could muster. The cool stares of her fellow Land Army girls were playing havoc with her nerves.

  ‘Me too. I was a hairdresser on Union Street. Do you know it?’

  Una shook her head. ‘I was in the weaving shed at Kingsley’s. They didn’t want to let me go, what with the orders for cloth for army uniforms rolling in. My answer was that there were plenty of older, married women queuing up to fill my shoes, given half a chance. We young ones should put on uniform and do our bit.’ No need to go on about it, she scolded herself. Nerves again – sometimes they turned her into a blabbermouth.

  ‘Let me show you our room.’ Brenda seized Una by the arm and led her up the curving staircase. ‘It’s number eight at the end of the corridor, overlooking the elm trees at the back of the house so it’s nice and private. The bathroom is just here on our left – handy if you need to spend a penny in the middle of the night.’

  Una hung back. ‘Shouldn’t we wait until we get the go-ahead?’ There didn’t seem to be any sense in jumping the gun, but Brenda was having none of it.

  ‘Here – what do you think?’ She flung open the door.

  The bedroom was large and chilly. It contained a small fireplace, a large mahogany chest of drawers, a washstand and three single beds – one with a bare mattress and two neatly folded grey blankets. The bed nearest the window was badly made, with sheets and blankets askew and hair curlers scattered across the pillow.

  ‘I know.’ Brenda sighed when she saw Una’s gaze fall on the untidy bed. ‘Kathleen’s the limit as far as tidiness goes. And would you believe it – she faints at the sight of blood and is scared of the dark.’

  ‘La-la-la!’ Kathleen had followed Una and Brenda into the room. ‘Not true! You can’t believe a word Brenda Appleby says.’

  ‘All right then – she did pass out at her first sight of Emily Kellett wringing a chicken’s neck but she hasn’t done it since,’ Brenda conceded. ‘But I swear, hand on heart, that I found her in the yard of the Blacksmith’s Arms one night last week, quivering like a jelly when she had to walk back home all on her ownio.’

  ‘I can’t say I blame her.’ Una didn’t fancy the long walk along unlit lanes either. She laid her case on the unmade bed, awash with anxiety as she thought of the days ahead. ‘They won’t make me wring chickens’ necks, will they?’

  ‘No, that’s usually left to the farmer’s wife.’ Brenda winked at two girls who had drifted into the room after Kathleen. ‘Anyway, it’s nothing to fret about. Once the chicken’s head is clean off, wifey puts it back down on the ground and watches it run around in circles for a minute or two until eventually it runs out of steam. That’s it – one more poor chicken is bound for the pot.’

  ‘No!’ Una stared wide-eyed.

  ‘Without a word of a lie,’ Brenda said solemnly then burst out laughing. ‘Now, pigs – they’re a different matter. Nobody likes to hear a nice fat porker squealing while its throat is being cut, not even me. The sound carries from here to Timbuktu.’

  Una put her hands over her ears. Volunteering for the Land Army had just become the worst mistake she’d ever made. Not only could she not ride a bike, but she’d never walked down an unlit road or been anywhere near a headless chicken, let alone a pig in its death throes.

  Kathleen took pity on her. ‘I told you – don’t listen to Brenda,’ she said as a matronly figure in a white apron came into the room. Kathleen turned to the newcomer with a winning smile. ‘Mrs Craven, it’s all right if Una takes Eunice’s old bed, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ the warden readily agreed, taking in Una’s small stature and pale face and judging how many bowls of porridge and fish-paste sandwiches it would take to build her up. The new girl’s coat hung off her like a scarecrow’s jacket and was six inches too long if it was an inch. Still, she seemed to have a bit of backbone about her and might do well enough in the end. ‘Unpack your things and put them in the bottom drawer. You can hand over your coat to me, if you like – I’ll see if I can unpick the shoulder seams and take them in for you. I might as well alter the hem while I’m at it.’

  Una responded with a wan smile. ‘Ta very much. This was the smallest size they had.’

  Relieved of her coat, the other girls could see just how slight Una was.

  ‘Goodness gracious, there’s not an ounce of flesh on her,’ the round-faced, sensible-looking one commented, sturdy arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the doorpost.

  ‘That’s Joyce Cutler giving you the once-over,’ Brenda commented. ‘Otherwise known as the Warwickshire Amazon.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Joyce said. ‘I grew up on a farm outside Stratford-upon-Avon. We farmers’ daughters can’t afford to be weaklings.’

  ‘They must put something in the water down there,’ Brenda said with her customary wink as she dragged the lanky girl with straight, dark hair into the room. ‘And this is Jean Fox. She’s a town girl, like you and Kathleen. She worked in a bank, no less.’

  Not like me, then. Una knew there was a world of difference between a mill girl and a bank clerk, and she immediately felt she had little in common with the sour-looking Jean. She watched the stocky, homely-looking warden leave the room carrying her coat over one arm then forced herself to engage in conversation. ‘How long have you been a Land Girl, Jean?’

  ‘Over a year.’ The answer came slowly, unaccompanied by a smile.

  ‘And how do you like it?’

  ‘Not at all.’ This reply was quick and emphatic. ‘It’s slave labour, if you ask me – scratting around in a turnip field on our hands and knees, tying sacks around our heads and shoulders to keep off the rain.’

  Una’s stomach tied itself into a knot but she did her best to sound upbeat. ‘You know what they say – we all have to do our bit.’

  Jean and Kathleen seemed unconvinced but Joyce and Brenda chorused their agreement.

  ‘Come on, girls – let’s leave Una to her unpacking.’ Brenda took the lead as usual. ‘It’ll be supper time before we know it. Boiled beef and cabbage – six o’clock on the dot.’

  To Una’s surprise, Jean was the last to depart.

  ‘It beats me why they gave you Eunice’s bed,’ she said with a grim shake of her head. ‘Especially when she’s not even cold in her grave.’

  This was another shock to Una’s system and she let it show. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She died, didn’t she?’

  Various images flashed into Una’s mind of poor Eunice being caught up in the spikes of a giant threshing machine or else treading on an unexploded landmine in a farmer’s field. ‘Where did it happen?’ she asked.

  ‘Here in the hostel kitchen,’ Jean explained in a voice that conveyed no emotion, though there was a dark glint in her eye that made Una dread what was to come. ‘It was me who first smelled the gas.’

  ‘Gas?’ Una echoed.

  ‘Yes, Eunice stuck her head in the oven while Mrs Craven was in town collecting the week’s rations and we were all out at work. She’d timed it just right and given up the ghost long before we found her. Dead as a door nail.’

  Una grimaced then shuddered.

  ‘It turns out she was expecting,’ Jean explained with unconcealed glee as she sauntered out of the room. ‘Three months’ gone and no one knows who the father was. Eunice made sure she took that little secret with her to her grave.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lying in a dead girl’s bed, Una lay awake listening to the slow, regular breathing of Brenda and Kathleen and to the wind whistling through the trees in the copse of elms behind the house. The window frame rattled and the floorboards creaked whenever any of the girls in
the rooms along the landing needed to use the toilet. She had kept her socks on in an attempt to keep warm and was glad she had brought her thick winter nightdress with her.

  If it was as cold as this in early November, she dreaded to think what it would be like when the frost really took hold.

  At four o’clock, just when Una was at last drifting off to sleep, Brenda sat up in bed with a start.

  Una opened her eyes to see her throw back her blankets and creep over to the window. ‘Blooming thing,’ she muttered as she drew back the curtain and tried to wedge a rolled-up sock into the frame to stop the rattle. On her way back to bed, she noticed that Una was also awake. ‘How are we meant to get any shut-eye with that racket going on?’

  ‘I can’t sleep either,’ Una confessed.

  ‘That’s common when you first get here,’ Brenda sympathized, reacting to the disgruntled moan from Kathleen’s bed by beckoning to Una to get up and follow her out of the room. ‘Your head’s in a whirl, thinking about home and wondering why on earth you let yourself in for this in the first place.’

  They were out in the dark corridor and creeping towards the stairs. ‘Where are we going?’ Una wanted to know.

  ‘To the kitchen, for a cup of cocoa. Might as well, since neither of us is likely to get another wink of sleep before daybreak.’

  Una followed obediently, down the stairs and into the hall where they went through the side door into a shabby corridor, dimly lit by a paraffin lamp at the far end. Yellow paint was flaking from the damp walls and there was a musty smell that made Una wrinkle her nose. But when Brenda opened the door onto a large kitchen lit by electric light bulbs and warmed by a wood stove set into an old inglenook fireplace, the smell disappeared.

  ‘Hello, Elsie,’ Brenda said to the girl who sat with her back turned, warming her hands at the stove. ‘You must be on the early shift.’

  Una noticed that the girl was already fully dressed and recognized her as the helpful one who had run off to find the warden soon after her arrival. She was small and wiry, with a healthy head of curly, light-brown hair and a face that seemed to be permanently smiling.