by Tania Crosse
‘Mmm, that was very nice,’ she said at last, pulling away, ‘but we’ve got to get on with this haymaking before the weather changes. And we’ve only got the tractor until the end of the day, remember. But if we get it all finished, I’ll let you have another kiss then.’
Ralph chuckled before turning back to his work. As Meg picked up the other pitchfork, the smile faded from her face as the distant sound of another aircraft engine reached her ears. Another war when the horrific memories of the last one were still so fresh in some people’s minds. At least her parents had been spared that. But, although it was true what she’d said to Ralph, that she never felt that they died so that she and Ralph would meet, she’d give anything to have them back.
Two
‘We’ll be taking in evacuees, and this time, you can’t say no,’ Clarrie stated firmly one Saturday evening when Wigmore had finally come home from the factory for the weekend, and had settled himself in a deckchair on the terrace. The stunning view down over the Kent Weald was as spectacular and peaceful as ever, the greens and emeralds soft in the summer evening light. But Clarrie’s heart was anything but at ease. She hated defying her beloved husband, but back in the winter, he’d refused to take in any Jewish child refugees from Germany. He’d had his reasons, which had indeed made sense. But this time Clarrie wasn’t taking no for an answer.
Wig raised his eyebrows to her as he sipped his whisky and soda. ‘Indeed, we can’t. We’re in what’s considered a safe area, and we have a large house. We had to fill in that form last year, remember? In preparation for a massive evacuation programme, should it be necessary. We’ll be obliged to take in evacuees, whether we like it or not. But, as it happens,’ and now he turned his loving smile on his wife’s anxious face, ‘this time, I utterly agree to it. These children will be on our side. Any old enough to understand will be happy that I help make armaments to use against the enemy, not hate me because I might make the very bomb that falls on their family trapped back home. So, yes, my darling. Open our doors as wide as you wish. I know you’ll make them all feel safe and loved. And if there are any troublemakers, at least they’ll speak English so we can deal with it.’
‘Oh, Wig, I knew you’d agree!’ Clarrie threw her arms about her husband’s neck, and just missed spilling his drink. It was terrible that children from all the big cities and other places considered vulnerable to bombing should have to be uprooted from their homes and evacuated to the safety of the countryside. But she would move heaven and earth to make it a happy time for any who came to Robin Hill House.
‘As I say, we don’t have much choice,’ Wig went on. ‘And if it’ll make you happy, take as many as you want.’ He smiled indulgently now. ‘But it mightn’t be as easy going as you think. It’ll be the first time many of them have been outside London, or whatever other city they might come from. And for most of them, the first time they’ve ever been away from their parents. They’ll be upset, lonely, frightened—’
‘Then it’ll be our job to make them feel welcomed and loved,’ Clarrie said emphatically.
‘Even so, you might find some of them rebellious. Some of them might not even know how to hold a knife and fork.’
‘Oh, surely not.’
Wig tipped his head at her. ‘You’d be surprised. I’ve seen such things with my own eyes, with the factory being in the East End. They could find it a huge wrench coming somewhere like this. And their language mightn’t be too savoury, either.’
Clarrie drew in a breath and held it for a moment, but she wasn’t to be deterred. ‘Well, we’ll have to educate them, won’t we?’ she grinned. ‘The important thing will be to keep them safe, though. And we can take some mothers and babies. Finding places to keep little families together won’t be easy, and we’ve got the space.’
‘Whatever you think, my dear,’ Wig nodded, and went back to contemplating his drink. God, it was good to relax for a few hours before getting back to the responsibilities of the factory. It was running to full capacity again, with well over a thousand workers employed by him, with all that entailed. To say nothing of all the machinery and the demands from the government on his engineering skills. When he could get away, it would be bliss to come back to his tranquil country estate and have his wife to himself. But this war was going to be different from anything else the country had ever seen.
He just hoped his fragile wife was strong enough to cope with the demands she was putting on herself. What strain would the sight of young children, mothers with babies, put on her? Did she realise what it would mean to her? Getting emotionally involved? It was bad enough how she felt about Meg, even though she thought she’d kept it hidden from him. But this?
This was war though, wasn’t it? And Clarrie had a heart as big as the ocean. He couldn’t put a halt to her generosity. All he could do was hope and pray that the old wound wasn’t reopened.
*
‘Hopefully Ralph won’t mind Bob moving in with him,’ Clarrie frowned, thoughtfully sucking the end of her pencil as she contemplated the brand new notebook in her hand. It was totally blank apart from the neatly written title on the front page: Evacuees. ‘He could go back to the cottage, but then Gabriel and Mary won’t be able to take anyone. And besides, I’d like to have both him and Bob in the house in case we get billeted with any unruly young boys. So if he doesn’t mind Bob being in with him, that’ll free up Bob’s room, and the other single up there is empty anyway. So that’s the male staff quarters,’ Clarrie went on, jotting something in her notebook. ‘The female quarters are all full anyway, so that leaves the three guest rooms. And then, of course, the chauffeur’s cottage has been empty since dear Vic was called up.’
‘Oh, I do hope he’s getting on all right,’ Nana May frowned.
‘Don’t we all. And it was lucky Wig can do his own driving, although he’s got enough on his plate as it is.’ Clarrie paused, biting her lip. But then her face brightened as she looked down at her notebook again. ‘Hmm, so let me work out how many we can take, then.’
Her mouth curved with satisfaction as she made her calculations. She was sitting out on the terrace in a circle made up of Nana May and all the female staff, enjoying the July sunshine. Below them on the levelled lawn, Topaz, the golden Labrador, and Trampas and Sunny, the two mongrels, all getting on in life now, were being encouraged into a game of chase by Meg’s young collie, Thimble, while the old man of the pack, Patch the terrier, was lazily sunning himself on the upper terrace by his mistress’s feet.
The women, however, didn’t have the pleasure of being able to relax. Each of them had on her lap a huge length of heavy black material, cut to fit the large windows of Robin Hill House. They were hemming the edges to stop them fraying before Bob and Ralph stretched them over the frames Bob had made. He’d devised an ingenious method of fixing them tightly over the windows with relatively unobtrusive clips, and with rubber seals on the blackout frames, little damage would be done to the ornate window frames themselves.
Nana May rested her sewing in her lap. Working with the heavy material was hurting her arthritic fingers, and she needed to rest both them and her old eyes that struggled with close work nowadays, even with her glasses. She bent her head towards Clarrie, lowering her voice warily. ‘What about the sewing room?’ she whispered so quietly that it was only Clarrie who could hear her. ‘The billeting officer might insist.’
Clarrie’s eyes flew open and met Nana May’s gentle gaze. ‘No,’ her voice trembled. ‘Surely we’ll be doing enough without that? Besides,’ she went on, her tone stronger now, ‘I think the sewing room’s going to be extremely busy with all these young people in residence, don’t you?’
The old lady nodded with a rueful smile. ‘I’m sure you’re right, my dear. But just be warned, eh?’
Clarrie raised her chin, filling her lungs with the pure country air, and then jerked her head before burying her nose in the notebook again, her lips moving silently. This was what she was good at, organising. It was what she’d t
hrown herself into after the tragedy that had very nearly destroyed her. And this was a chance to do what she had always hoped to at Robin Hill House: fill it with children.
Sitting opposite her, Meg glanced up from sewing the stiff material. When autumn arrived with its darkening evenings, it was going to feel like being in prison having to put up these monstrous things the moment they needed artificial light inside. But for a German bomber in the sky above, even a tiny flicker escaping from a window in the darkness could provide a target. That was assuming war broke out, of course. It was doubtless a vain hope, but perhaps it wouldn’t come after all.
Mr W had already brought home reels of the sticky tape that would crisscross the windows to help prevent flying glass should a bomb explode anywhere near. But surely, being out in the countryside that wouldn’t happen. That was precisely why it was planned to evacuate children and young mothers to the area, wasn’t it?
It was such an outrageous thought that Hitler might well start dropping bombs on civilians, even if it was so-called collateral damage. There’d only been a handful of instances of that sort of atrocity in the previous war. But air power had been in its infancy then, and if what had happened in the recent Spanish conflict was anything to go by, whole towns and cities could be flattened in one air raid.
Meg’s heart sickened at the thought. She was fundamentally a pacifist. But as Ralph had recently pointed out, you only needed to think of how Hitler was treating the Jews in his own country and the horrific events of the Kristallnacht in November of the previous year to wonder what he was capable of. How else could you deal with a demon like that if not by destroying him, even if it meant a terrible war?
‘Nana and I had better go through all the bed linen,’ Meg thought aloud, glad to have something practical to consider that would divert her thoughts. ‘I think there’s a few old double sheets that we can cut out the worn middles from, and sew the outer sides together to make singles. And if that doesn’t give us enough and we can’t buy any extra ready-made sheets, maybe we can get material and make them.’
‘Who’s going to do all the laundry is what I want to know,’ Ada Phillips, the cook, grumbled. ‘Louise and Sally just about manage it between them now, but with a complete houseful and doubtless lots of wet beds, how are we going to manage? And you’d better add rubber sheeting to your shopping list, if you don’t mind my saying so, Mrs C.’
‘What a good idea, Mrs Phillips.’ Clarrie immediately jotted it down. ‘Thank you.’
‘And how am I supposed to cook for so many mouths?’ Mrs Phillips went on. ‘I’ve only got one pair of hands, and if Louise is going to be up to her elbows in smelly sheets all the time—’
‘We’ll just all have to pitch in together, Mrs Phillips, so don’t worry.’ Meg had to bite her lip. She knew the cook had a kind heart, but she still got agitated when she felt under pressure – even just the thought of it – so Meg was sure sparks would fly. But she went on to pacify her, ‘If we can take a couple of mothers with tiny ones, they should be able to help. And if we have some older girls, they can help as well. Just think, you can teach them some of your wonderful culinary skills.’
Culinary. Now that was a word Meg wouldn’t have used before she came to Robin Hill House. She mightn’t even have known the word. She couldn’t remember, it all seemed so long ago now. But Mrs Phillips was preening herself, so it had done the trick anyway.
‘I’m not sure they’ll all be used to anything fancy, though,’ Clarrie added doubtfully. ‘They’ll just want good, solid English food, but I know you’ll make it tastier than anything they’ve had before.’
‘They do say most of them will be from poorer families,’ Nana May put in. ‘But whoever they are, we’ve got to remember they’ll be away from home and frightened, so we must all do our best to welcome them. But I’d suggest, Clarrie dear, that you put all your best things into storage. I’m not suggesting anything might be stolen, but with a houseful of children, things could easily get broken.’
‘Oh, my goodness, there’s going to be such a lot to do.’ Clarrie released a not unhappy sigh.
‘And they’re only allowed to bring one small case each, aren’t they?’ Meg said. ‘And one small toy that fits in it? So perhaps we could do a collection in the village for clothes and toys?’
‘What a wonderful idea! I’ll organise something at the next village committee,’ Clarrie exclaimed delightedly.
Meg glanced across at her, bitten with curiosity. The thought of impending war made her feel sick. Her father had been lucky to survive the last one unscathed, but the horrors he’d seen were so unimaginable that he’d never spoken of his experiences. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, this war was likely to be different, involving civilians, or God forbid, invasion. Which was worse, Meg didn’t know. Certainly Hitler wouldn’t just let them get on with their lives. So, was she beginning to see Mr W’s point of view after all when she’d questioned the morality of his making shell cases at the factory?
What she did know was that she was scared. Scared of bombs dropping on innocent people, although there were unlikely to be any in the Kent countryside. Scared for all the men who’d be fighting. Scared, more than anything she’d ever known, for Ralph. At twenty-three, he and Bob had both been too old for the six months of military training all twenty to twenty-two-year olds had been obliged to undertake. But if war broke out, conscription would follow. And Meg quaked at the very thought.
When she looked at Mrs C, though, the older woman seemed different. Meg had always detected a reserve about her, maybe even a sort of sadness, something Meg couldn’t put her finger on. But the moment the billeting officer had come recently to discuss evacuees with her, Mrs C had appeared to come to life. While everyone else was enshrouded in gloom, she seemed to be in her element. How very strange, Meg considered, and got back to sewing her blackout blind.
Three
‘Pass the biscuits, would you, please, Louise?’ Sally asked as all the staff sat around the table in the servants’ hall for their afternoon tea. ‘Did you make them? They look really good.’
‘Yes, I did,’ the kitchen maid smiled proudly. ‘Under Mrs Phillips’s guidance.’
‘She’s the makings of an excellent cook.’ Mrs Phillips gave one of her rare, broad smiles. ‘As well she might, having been learning under me for four years.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t find the cook passing on her skills to others at the last place I worked,’ Sally assured them. ‘Can’t tell you how happy I am here,’ she added coyly, throwing a subdued smile at Bob whose eyes, Meg noticed, lit up in return.
Yes, Meg thought to herself as she carefully poured the tea, one of the duties that had been assigned to her as parlourmaid. It had been pure chance as well as tragedy that had brought her to Robin Hill House. Before Fate had placed her in such dire straits, domestic service had never entered her head. She was a farmer through and through, and even if she enjoyed the privileges of being parlourmaid, looking after the animals and running the farming side of the small estate remained her passion. But, oh, yes, she appreciated how lucky she was to be part of such a liberal household that cared nothing for the old, rigid ways of such prestigious establishments. It was 1939. The Great War had changed many things, yet nevertheless, she knew that the way Robin Hill House was run was mainly down to the attitudes of its owners.
Meg passed a cup to Mrs Phillips first, and then the other cups were passed down the table to the other staff, so perhaps there was some protocol that was still adhered to. Sandwiches and biscuits were also passed around the table, everyone helping themselves. It was such a happy place, based on trust and mutual respect. But the tranquillity was about to be broken.
The door opened and Nana May walked into the room. For not the first time, Meg’s heart sank to see that the old lady she had come to hold in such affection always used her walking stick even within the house nowadays. Chairs scraped on the old, wooden floor as everyone stood up out of love and deep respect rather than
tradition, and both Ralph and Bob sprang forward to help Nana May into a chair. But she waved them away.
‘Thank you, boys, but I’m not stopping.’ Her face was grave as her eyes embraced everybody in the room. ‘I’ve come with some news. You might’ve heard the telephone ring a few minutes ago. It was Mr W ringing from London. The news has just come through. Germany signed an agreement with Russia earlier today. Apparently it’s all over London. Newspaper boys are calling it out in the streets, and it’s going to be in the evening papers. But we thought you ought to know straightaway.’
A hushed silence settled on the room. Lips pursed and brows tightened. It was only as the old lady turned and Ralph went to hold the door open for her that murmurs began to break out and people sat down again, their minds distracted from the ample tea before them. Nana May’s stick could be heard tapping on the terracotta tiles of the kitchen floor, and Ralph disappeared for a few moments, presumably to hold open the other doors for her. By the time he returned and sat back down at the table, lowered voices were muttering wary thoughts as stomachs quietly churned.
‘It’s coming closer, then.’ Everyone turned as Mrs Phillips grasped the edge of the table with a resounding thud, her expression grim. Easily ruffled was Mrs Phillips, but just now her expression was one of calm, if bitter, acceptance.
‘What is?’ Jane piped up after a moment’s silence. ‘The war? I don’t really understand.’
Mrs Phillips audibly drew in her breath. It was hard not to be exasperated by Jane’s naivety, but then her simple, trusting nature was what made her such a joy.
Ralph had taken a mouthful of his tea, and met Meg’s gaze across the table. She saw his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. She just wanted to forget the world, to be locked in his arms, to kiss that little well at the base of his throat.
‘Can you imagine a map of Europe?’ he asked Jane patiently. ‘With Russia out to the east?’