by Daisy Styles
‘Seriously, Bella,’ Ava said, ‘I thought you wanted to get away from this place and your family?’
‘I did ‒ I do ‒ but if further training is going to help me get a better placement, then I don’t mind staying on a bit longer, especially now that I work below stairs with you interfering old bats!’ she added with a giggle.
‘We’re glad you’re staying, Bella,’ said Ruby, and gave her friend a big hug. ‘We love you to bits!’
Not used to open shows of affection, Bella, clearly touched by Ruby’s emotional outburst, quickly wiped a tear away. ‘Thank you, Ruby, I love you all, too.’
Ava surprised them all by suddenly saying, ‘Shall we cook a farewell dinner for our first official code girls?’
Bella, Maudie and Ruby nodded.
‘Why not?’ said generous Ruby. ‘They’ve worked hard enough these last six months.’
‘We’ll have to come up with an extra-special menu for the night,’ Maudie said. ‘Nobody will want macaroni cheese for the hundredth time!’
‘Let’s see what Peter can rustle up,’ said Bella. ‘I’m already fantasizing about roast goose and apple sauce.’
‘A goose in Norfolk in December – dream on!’ Ava mocked.
As they started to prepare the teatime trays, Ruby said excitedly, ‘Just think. Once the trainees have left, we can start to look forward to our own Christmas. I’m going to spend every free minute with Rafal.’
‘Don’t get too carried away, Ruby. There’s still the Walsinghams to feed.’ Realizing what she’d said, Ava quickly apologized. ‘Sorry, Bella.’
‘You’re right,’ Bella responded. ‘They will need feeding – if they’re here. With a bit of luck, they might go to their club in London, but, even then, we’ve still might have the RAF officers.’
‘Christmas doesn’t stop the war for them, that’s for sure,’ Maudie said compassionately. ‘Poor chaps, they’ll still be flying out on bombing raids.’
Ava nodded. ‘Let’s not get too de-mob happy, we’ve a few more weeks to go till Christmas.’
Bella and the Brig decided on 7 December for the code girls’ final dinner. Over the next few days, everybody got into the Christmas spirit. The excited trainees decorated the drawing room and library with paper chains they’d made from strips of brightly painted newspaper. Peter brought holly and mistletoe from the estate, and hung it around the doorframes, and tantalizing seasonal smells of steaming puddings and baking cakes drifted up from the kitchen.
Predictably, as Ava had foretold, there wasn’t a goose to be had in Norfolk, but Peter somehow got hold of a hare, a rabbit and a pheasant. Even with Peter’s contributions, though, the girls would have a job spinning out the meat between the number of diners.
‘Don’t worry. I got some tripe from the butcher in Wells,’ Bella told her astonished friends.
‘Tripe!’ shrieked Ruby. ‘How’s that going to work with game?’
‘It’ll be fine once it’s all cooked down with a good slug of sherry,’ Bella answered confidently. ‘Thank God I can still use Pa’s vintage booze.
Bella was right. The mixture was gently stewed with thyme, a splosh of Lea and Perrins sauce and an even bigger splosh of very expensive sherry, then Bella left it to cool and later she and Ava pulled the cold meat into a shape that roughly resembled a goose’s breast.
‘Depending on the angle you look at it,’ Ava giggled, ‘it could be a mock turkey, duck, cat or goose!’
Smeared with sausage meat flavoured with fresh sage and rosemary, it smelt wonderful.
‘But there are no legs,’ Ruby cried. ‘How can we offer them a legless mock-goose?’
Ava smiled and held up two large parsnips. ‘I read in a magazine about cooking on rations that parsnips tucked into a piece of meat looked a bit like drumsticks.’ As she spoke, she stuffed the parsnips either side of the fake goose’s breast. ‘They might look better once they’re roasted,’ she giggled.
When evening came, menus embellished with pictures of Father Christmas were left on the tables of the festively decorated dining room. Maudie had written on each in her best swirling script: First course: mackerel pâté and rye bread. Main course: mock-goose, roast potatoes, carrots, turnips and sprouts, rich gravy and stuffing. Dessert: apple pie and custard.
‘A feast!’ Maudie declared, as they laid the hot dishes on trays ready to be taken into the dining room, where they had also set up a gramophone (borrowed by Bella from upstairs) so the diners could be entertained by Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra as they ate their supper.
‘I wish we’d thought of paper hats,’ said Ruby, as she and her friends entered the room. The mood was not quite what they’d expected.
‘I thought we might get a cheer, or a burst of party poppers,’ Ruby whispered. ‘Everybody looks like a bomb’s dropped.’
The code girls raised a smile when they saw the piping-hot food, but they certainly didn’t stand up and applaud the hard-working cooks.
‘What’s going on?’ Ava muttered to Maudie as they set the dishes down, ready for serving.
The Brig enlightened them. Rising to his feet, he said solemnly, ‘Thank you for all your efforts, we really do appreciate it, but before we eat, can we stand in silence and pray for the many souls lost today in the bombing of Pearl Harbor.’
The jolly, festive meal the girls below stairs had worked so hard to produce, and which the trainees had been looking forward to, was eaten in subdued silence. Bella didn’t dare to play the gramophone on such a tragic day. The trainees thanked the cooks as they left the dining room, but there was no getting away from the fact that the meal they’d planned with such excitement had fallen on a bad day.
‘How were we to know the Japs were planning on bombing Pearl Harbor the very day we’d set for the leavers’ dinner?’ Ruby said sadly.
‘Better we hadn’t bothered at all,’ sighed Maudie, as they staggered back downstairs with the dirty dishes. ‘It’s not exactly a night to celebrate, is it?’
When the Brig saw Bella’s weary expression, he couldn’t stop himself from relieving her of the tray she was holding, loaded up with greasy plates.
‘I’ll take that.’
Bella was too sad to argue. With tears in her eyes, she gratefully handed him the tray. ‘How many died?’ she asked.
‘Not clear yet, but it must be thousands,’ he replied. ‘And no warning ‒ though it looks like the scheming Japs have been planning it for months.’
Below stairs, Rafal and Tom were waiting for the girls in the kitchen.
‘We needed company,’ Tom said, pointing to himself and then at Rafal, who looked even paler than usual.
Like an unhappy child, Ava plonked herself down on Tom’s knee and buried her face against his shoulder. ‘We’ve been down here cooking all day and completely missed the news,’ she said guiltily.
‘I’ve been in the surgery all day, I’ve only just heard the news myself,’ Tom said.
Rafal was holding Ruby in his arms. ‘So many dead,’ he said sadly. ‘I pray God to help.’
Ruby stroked his silky fair hair. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Sit yourself down and I’ll make some tea.’
As she put the kettle on the Aga, the Brig appeared with the loaded tray. ‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked politely. ‘I think we all need company tonight.’
Introducing himself as Charles Rydal, he shook hands with Rafal and Tom.
‘You Mr Brig?’ Rafal asked.
Looking a little uncomfortable, the Brig replied, ‘Upstairs, I am the Brig but down here –’
He didn’t get to the end of the sentence.
‘You Brig ‒ up and down, too!’ Rafal insisted.
Clearly amused, Charles Rydal smiled across at Bella, who was covering her mouth, trying not to laugh.
‘ “The Brig” it is, then,’ he chuckled.
As Ruby poured strong tea for everybody, Tom asked, rather apologetically, ‘You wouldn’t have anything stronger than tea on offer, would you?’
&nb
sp; Ruby turned to Bella, who nodded; she knew exactly what they all needed.
‘I could beat my sister Diana to a fine bottle of brandy,’ she said, and she set off purposefully towards the wine cellar.
Maudie, Bella and the Brig, Ruby and Rafal, and Ava and Tom sat around the kitchen table drinking tea and sipping the very best Walsingham brandy for well over an hour.
‘One thing’s for sure, America is up to its neck in the war now,’ said Tom, draining his glass then, holding it out for a top-up. ‘Here’s to the Yanks!’
‘To the Yanks,’ came back the collective response.
Tom was right. A few days later, Adolf Hitler declared war on the United States of America.
13. Walsingham Christmas
As the departing code girls packed their cases and booked their train tickets home, the girls below stairs felt like a heavy weight was slowly lifting from their shoulders.
‘I can hardly believe it’s almost six months since I arrived here,’ Ava said, brewing up for her friends.
Peter arrived with a couple of fresh mackerel.
‘Yum!’ said Bella, happily.
‘You can thank the local fisherman for these,’ Peter explained. ‘He’s always had a fancy for you, miss,’ he told Bella with a cheeky wink.
Not a vain woman, Bella pulled a funny, flirty face. ‘My God! Me and my Norfolk sex appeal!’ she giggled.
Bella washed her hands and gutted the mackerel. ‘We’ll serve hot toast with mackerel pâté tonight. Once I’ve bulked it out with egg and oatmeal, it’ll go a lot further,’ she said, gleefully scooping out the innards and ripping off the greasy skin.
‘I’m sure you were an executioner for the Spanish Inquisition,’ Maudie teased, wrinkling up her nose at the sharp, tangy smell of the gutted fish.
‘Be sure to keep some of that back for Rafal and Tom,’ Ruby begged. ‘They need feeding up.’
Bella laughed out loud. ‘If ever two men were well fed, it’s Rafal and Tom!’ she exclaimed.
Whenever Raf wasn’t on duty at Holkham airfield, he drove over to Walsingham Hall to spend every spare minute with his beloved ‘Rubee!’ He was there so often, he seemed like part of the furniture, though, being the gentleman he was, he never took advantage of his situation. He was always helpful and considerate, carrying heavy sacks of food and vegetables to and from the pantry. He sometimes gave Peter a hand in the vegetable garden, and he always ‘brew tea’, as he called it, for the tired girls after they’d finished serving.
Bella envied Raf and Ruby their ease and familiarity together. She wished the Brig would pop down to the kitchen, like he had the night they’d heard about the bombing of Pearl Harbor. It had been a sad but companionable evening. It was clear that everybody had liked the Brig, and Bella had felt inordinately proud of him. He was so clever and wise, but he was funny, too, and seemed to enjoy the company below stairs as much as they enjoyed his. Maybe he was too busy, or wary of intruding? Bella thought. Or maybe Miss Cox had tied a ball and chain around his ankle!
She wondered what the Brig would do over Christmas. Did he have a bachelor flat in London? Did he have an old mother to visit, or a sister with a large family who took care of him over the holidays? She realized that, though they’d spent many evenings together in the library, she really knew very little about him, while he seemed to know almost everything about her. Not that he’d asked ‒ she’d chatted openly and easily about her home, her education and, though her family were not her favourite subject, the Brig knew everything he needed to know about them.
Fortunately, her family weren’t about very much these days. His lordship was off on shooting parties up and down the county, and her mother was in London with Diana, who was busy pretending to look for war work. Astonishingly, Edward had ‒ finally ‒ got a job working for the War Office.
‘Doing what?’ Bella asked her mother, who’d telephoned to tell her what had been happening.
‘Intercepting and translating German memos,’ her mother had replied. ‘At least I no longer have to hang my head in shame whenever friends enquire about my son.’
When Bella told the Brig of her brother’s new post, he grinned. ‘I wonder when that wayward sister of yours will snap into action?’
Bella shrugged. ‘Probably the day peace is announced.’
The suppertime gong curtailed their conversation. Bella hurried to the kitchen, where she loaded the mackerel pâté and hot toast on to trays, then dashed upstairs, followed by Ruby, who was carrying Maudie’s spicy cinnamon rolls.
Behind her, Ava chuckled to herself breathlessly.
‘I’m looking forward to not running up and down these flaming stairs every five minutes during the Christmas break,’ she declared.
The following morning, Dobbs drove Lord and Lady Walsingham home from their London flat, then, to the girls’ surprise, he appeared, rather breathless, in the kitchen.
‘Her ladyship has asked me to inform you that she will be hosting the traditional Walsingham Christmas dinner this year.’
‘They’re staying?’ gasped a stunned Ava.
Dodds nodded. ‘Yes, those are her ladyship’s plans.’
‘We thought they might be going to London,’ Ruby said, hopefully.
Bella quickly took control of the situation.
‘Thank you, Dodds,’ she said, firmly but politely.
When Dodds had slipped away, the four girls stared at each other.
‘I didn’t think her ladyship would throw a traditional Walsingham Christmas dinner, not when there’s a war on,’ Ruby said incredulously. ‘We could end up cooking for the county!’
‘I’d imagined we’d have a few days off ‒ not necessarily Christmas Day, but some time to ourselves,’ Ava admitted. ‘I thought I might go home, or at least spend a bit of time with Tom.’
‘I was thinking the same about me and Raf.’ Ruby sighed glumly. ‘Looks like there’s going to be no rest for the wicked.’
‘They can’t force us to cook for a bunch of aristocrat toffs! It’s slave labour – insufferable,’ fumed Maudie.
Without saying a word to her friends, Bella ran up the back stairs to the first-floor library. She knew that at this time of the day her mother would be there, writing letters. Throwing open the door, she burst into the room, exclaiming, ‘Mummy! Are you seriously expecting the girls below stairs to cook for you and your guests over Christmas?’
Her mother laid down her pen and turned to her daughter, who looked flushed and untidy. ‘Of course,’ she replied coldly. ‘I am allowed to re-inhabit my home now that the ghastly brigadier and his dreary trainees are leaving, at least for a while.’
Gritting her teeth, Bella slowly repeated herself. ‘But they’ve spent the last six months working flat out!’
‘That was not my decision!’ he mother snapped. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s the least they can do. I think I deserve my home back sometimes, however briefly,’ she added haughtily.
‘But they were hoping to have some time off!’ Bella cried.
‘They’ll do as they’re told – they’re my servants!’
‘They are not your servants!’ Bella protested. ‘They’re hard-working young women who have been conscripted by the Brig – the brigadier,’ she quickly corrected herself. ‘Their remit does not extend to cooking for you and your guests on Christmas Day.’
‘I have checked with Brigadier Rydal,’ her ladyship retorted.
‘You’ve talked to the him?’ Bella gasped.
Her mother nodded curtly. ‘He agreed he couldn’t leave us without cooks at Christmas,’ she finished, with a triumphant smile.
Bella felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. Seeing there was nothing she could do, she spun on her heel and walked out of the library, slamming the door hard behind her.
Seething, she ran back down the stairs, her heart hammering in her ribcage.
She found the Brig in the library, puffing on his pipe as he read The Times. He looked up as Bella barged, red-fa
ced, into the room.
‘You gave my mother permission to exploit my friends below stairs, even though you know full well how hard they’ve worked and how much they need a holiday!’ she raged.
Dropping his paper and removing his pipe from his mouth, the Brig strode over to Bella in three quick steps. ‘I had no choice.’
‘Rubbish!’
Grabbing her by the shoulders, he stared hard into Bella’s pale blue eyes, which were blazing with anger.
‘You should know your mother better than anybody!’ he said, in a hard, quiet voice. ‘She has rights in her own home, and she is determined to exploit them. She said that she’d put up with six months’ incarceration upstairs and she wanted to celebrate Christmas in the traditional Walsingham style. The only compromise I could get out of her was that the staff would be granted some leave ‒ but only after Christmas. If your mother had had her way, she’d have had them working up until New Year’s Eve,’ he concluded, as he dropped his hands from Bella’s shoulders.
Bella knew, of course, how difficult and demanding her mother could be. She knew that Lady Walsingham would give the Brig no leeway but, perversely, she was angrier with the Brig than her mother.
‘I thought you were a bigger man than that,’ she said, and walked out of the room.
Below stairs, Bella burst into tears. Rafal, who’d arrived a brief half-hour early to pick up some RAF officers, immediately put the kettle on.
‘Looks like news is bad,’ he said quietly.
‘Is it true?’ Ava asked.
Now slumped at the kitchen table, Bella nodded her head. ‘Sorry,’ she answered flatly.
Faced with the reality of the situation, Ava, typically, got down to brass tacks. ‘How much work is it, really?’ she asked.
Ruby, who knew from years of experience exactly what a Walsingham Christmas involved, replied, ‘Formal candle-lit Christmas dinner for at least twenty, a Christmas tree as big as a house, cocktails, tiaras, house guests – a lot of bloody hard work!’
‘I’ve a damned good mind to walk out right now!’ Maudie said, pacing the kitchen floor in a blind fury.