by Tania Crosse
‘What, never been ter the Big Smoke?’ Cyril was amazed.
‘No, even though we’re so close just here. I’ve been to the seaside, though. But only twice, and only for the day. Not for a holiday or anything. Just like Leslie said the day you arrived, I’ve never had a holiday, either. But I never felt I needed one, living here.’
‘Yeah, I can see that. If I lived here, I don’t think I’d ever want ter go anywhere else. Some of our friends’ve been hop-picking in Kent for a holiday,’ Cyril volunteered. ‘But we never have. Our mum and dad could never be bothered. So where’s the hops round here? I ain’t seen none. Me friends said they grow right up high on wires, and men go round on stilts ter get the top ones.’
‘Well, there’s not so many hop gardens round here as there used to be,’ Meg explained. ‘Nowadays you find them mainly in the central part of Kent. But we’re right on the edge of the county here, almost on the border with Kent and Sussex.’
‘Oh, are we?’ Doris asked in surprise. ‘I didn’t realise. I’ll tell Mummy and Daddy in my next letter.’
‘I’ll show you on a map when you get home tonight. Or maybe they’ll show you at school, although I wouldn’t think so today. I think it’ll be pretty chaotic the first couple of days while they sort everything out. Ah, look, we’re nearly there. I expect you remember the village from Friday?’
As they came into the village, the older children were all eyes. Meg pointed out the handful of shops, although the only one they were interested in was the tiny sweetshop. On the other side of the extensive green stood the vicarage and the church, and beside it, the village hall and the school. Children were arriving from all different directions, gas masks hanging from their shoulders. How on earth the school was going to cope with this new influx, Meg had no idea.
She felt Doris grip her hand nervously at the sight of all these strangers, and Meg’s heart went out to her. Poor girl was so timid, and yet she wouldn’t know a soul as she’d got separated from her school in the evacuation. Thank goodness she’d be in the same class as Maureen, and maybe Joyce as well if different years had to amalgamate, and both sisters were very friendly. Nevertheless, Meg was determined to see Doris settled before she went home.
‘Meg, can yer look after Ed and Sammy now?’ Leslie asked, running up behind her and almost shoving the two little boys forward. ‘I can see some of our mates over there.’
Without waiting for an answer, he ran across to some other boys who were equally tattily attired, and a second later, Cyril joined him, throwing Meg a half-apologetic look as he scampered away. Meg took little Sammy’s hand in her free one. He’d only recently turned five and this was going to be his very first day at school. Meg must hang onto him in the milling crowd, and she had Ed as well, not forgetting Doris whose hand she could feel was shaking.
Meg was swamped with relief when Mrs C, who’d been walking ahead with Joyce, gestured for the two younger girls to go with her.
‘Maureen, Doris, why don’t you come with me?’ she encouraged them, holding out her hands. ‘I’ll find out what’s going on. I know the headmistress, Miss Wingfield. She’s on the village committee. Meg, can you hang onto Ed and Sammy for a minute longer? I think the twins can take care of themselves, mind,’ she chuckled, glancing over to where Leslie and Cyril were racing round playing a game of tag with their old school friends. Meg felt Doris let go of her hand and she saw her clutch one of Mrs C’s instead. And then, curiously, Meg noticed Mrs C give Doris such an affectionate smile that it set her wondering. But only for an instant. She had Ed and little Sammy to sort out. Although she did notice Mrs C seek out Miss Wingfield, the headmistress, who Meg recognised from some of the village events she’d been to over the past three years she’d been living at Robin Hill House. Mrs C passed Doris and the sisters into her care, and Meg was pleased as it meant Doris would feel less at sea among the chaos!
In the end, it was decided that the eleven- to fourteen-year-olds would attend an extra-long school day on Mondays and Tuesdays, and also on Wednesday afternoons, so that overall they wouldn’t miss too much time in the classroom. Five- to ten-year-olds, whose education wasn’t considered quite so important, would go to school on Wednesday mornings, and a normal-length day on Thursdays and Fridays.
‘Well, I think the girls are too young to be expected to walk Ed and little Sammy to school and back,’ Mrs C decided when they finally set off home. It had taken so long to sort everything out that it had been decided it wasn’t worth starting classes that morning, so the younger children were heading back to Robin Hill House, leaving just the twins for their first afternoon. ‘So I’ll be happy to go with them.’
Meg couldn’t help feeling that Mrs C was delighted with this new responsibility. It wasn’t unheard of for her to walk into the village by herself, but Meg was surprised how eager she seemed to do so, there and back, twice a day, three times a week. Mind you, she could probably visit one of her friends or other committee members in the village on Wednesday mornings so that she only had to do it once on that day. Meg was relieved, though, that the task wouldn’t fall on her shoulders. She really didn’t have time, what with her other duties and the farm and the animals to take care of.
‘Perhaps Mrs Higginbottom could do some of it,’ she suggested, ‘especially once we pick up this pram, and she can take Bella with her. And there’ll probably be room for little Johnny in it, too. After all, she’d have had to do it if she’d been at home in London.’
‘Well, maybe she might,’ Mrs C replied, almost reluctantly, it seemed. ‘But I really don’t mind.’
Meg mentally shrugged, but a little frown pinched her forehead. She’d witnessed how good Mrs C was at organising things with the Coronation Tea and other village events. But the older woman seemed to have thrown herself gleefully into everything to do with the evacuees. Nana May had confided in Meg a long time ago that Mr W and Mrs C had wanted children but they’d never come, but Mrs C’s zeal over her young charges really seemed to have given her a new and fulfilling purpose in life. So perhaps she was just deriving as much pleasure as she could from her role as surrogate mother while the opportunity lasted.
*
‘Blooming battleaxe!’ Mrs Higginbottom grumbled in a deliberately loud voice as she shouldered her way into the kitchen with Bella screaming in her arms and Johnny snivelling about her skirts. ‘Putting on airs and graces just ’cos she’s an Enumerating Officer or some such! Well, I told her straight. No one bullies Penelope Higginbottom. It ain’t my fault Bella decided she was hungry just as we went in. And she frightened poor Johnny and made him cry, too. Coming in here, throwing her weight around and upsetting everyone, just when we was all settling in so nicely!’
Mrs Higginbottom, or Penny as she wanted to be known, plonked herself down in a chair and unbuttoned her blouse to feed her yelling daughter. She never seemed to worry whether or not there were any men present, although in fact at that moment, there weren’t.
‘Oh, and she said ter send the next one in,’ she remembered in an afterthought.
Meg glanced about the room. Penny was absolutely right that the last few weeks had gone smoothly and that everyone was getting along like one big, happy family, apart from the Durrs who continued to keep to themselves. Today was 29th September, National Registration Day, and every man, woman and child had to be entered on the register, just like a census. It was all to do with identity cards, ration books and conscription for those eligible when the time came. And any other planning the authorities might need to do.
The occupants of Robin Hill House had been allocated to a Mrs Blagden who had marched in and taken over Wig’s study for the hour or so it would take to register everyone who lived there. Being a Friday, the children who should have been at school had been given the day off for the purposes of registration, although Clarrie had sat in on each of their interviews to make sure there were no mistakes. But now it was the turn of everyone else.
Meg supposed she ought to go next as Jane
was cowering in the corner, and even the ebullient Sally looked a bit reluctant. When it had been her turn, Mrs Phillips had come out complaining that Mrs Blagden hadn’t liked the fact that although she was the cook, she lived in her own little house in the village. The enumerator had already started filling out the form before she’d given Mrs Phillips the chance to tell her, and she was somewhat put out when she had to start afresh.
‘OK, I’ll go next,’ Meg offered. She wasn’t going to be bossed around, either!
‘Good luck, then,’ Mrs Phillips and Penny chorused, and everyone laughed since the two women of totally different character seemed to think so very similarly.
Meg nodded, and strode confidently out into the corridor. She nevertheless knocked politely on the study door. After all, you had to admit that this Mrs Blagden would have several other houses to visit during the day as well.
‘Take a seat,’ the officious woman said without looking up as Meg went into the room. ‘Now, full name, please.’
‘Meg Chandler,’ Meg replied, and then added quickly, ‘No, I’m sorry. My proper name is Marguerite Rose Chandler. I’ve always been Meg, so I forget sometimes.’
Mrs Blagden gave her a sour look as she wrote on a form. ‘And I suppose you’re another maid, though why it takes so many servants to look after one house, I don’t know.’
‘No, actually I’m not.’ Meg kept her voice steady, suppressing her own anger at the woman. ‘I mean, I do help out in the house. Five evacuees need a lot of looking after if you’re to make them feel at home, on top of all the extra cooking and washing and ironing. But I’m actually the estate manager. A farmer.’
She saw Mrs Blagden look up sharply. ‘But… you’re—’
‘I know. A girl. But I’m still a farmer.’
‘Oh.’ Mrs Blagden pursed her lips as she crossed out the letter M – for maid, Meg imagined – that she’d started writing, and put farmer instead. She then took further details from Meg before writing out an identity card for her. ‘There you are. Carry it with you at all times, just like your gas mask. Guard it with your life. And if you’re stupid enough to lose it, you must report it at once.’
‘Of course. And by the way, just to warn you, if you speak to Jane like that, you’ll frighten her so much she won’t even be able to remember her own name.’
Mrs Blagden’s face turned puce as Meg spun on her heel and walked out of the room, head held high. The woman had got her gander up right and proper! It reminded her of the time after the accident when the whole world seemed to be against her, and everyone was trying to tell her what to do. She took a deep breath to calm herself down, and stepped through the kitchen door.
‘Right, I’m done,’ she called. ‘Next one. I’ll go and round up everyone else.’
It was good to escape outside, and she drew deeply on the fresh air. She hurried across to Gabriel and Mary’s cottage where she knew they’d be waiting to be called together with young Ed, and then she went in search of Ralph and Bob. She found Ralph first, digging manure into a patch in the walled kitchen garden.
‘She’s a right old tartar,’ she told him as he spiked his garden fork into the ground.
‘Well, I suppose she’s got a lot to get through today,’ Ralph reasoned. ‘And everything’s got to be accurate. I mean, people are going to be conscripted from this register, so they’ve got to get it right. And,’ he hesitated, seeing the angst on her face, ‘they say there’s going to be a whole range of reserved occupations. Men in specially skilled industrial jobs, all sorts. Including farmers and professional gardeners producing food. Only… there’ll be age limits within that. I was too old for the military training that took Vic away, but I’ll be below the age limit for gardeners. So, my darling, I will be called up. You know that, don’t you?’
He took Meg’s hands in his, ignoring the dirt on them, and his soft brown eyes gazed into her sapphire ones. He could see the fear and the sorrow collecting along her lower lids, deep pools of anguish. She had been through so much in her young life, and now this horror had come to ruin the peace she had eventually found. He pulled her against him, tucking her head beneath his chin. He loved her so much, his heart ached. No matter what happened, he had to survive. They both needed to survive whatever was coming. They had to be together in the end. Or life would have no meaning.
But all either of them could do was hope and pray. And have faith.
Eight
Autumn 1939
Cyril Langport leant on his spade and gazed up at the two small aircraft streaking across the clear autumn sky. ‘What d’yer make of this phoney war, then, eh, Meg? There ain’t been nuffing happening. Even that first blooming air raid turned out ter be a false alarm.’
‘Strikes me, the longer it goes on the better,’ Meg answered grimly. ‘Gives us more time to build up our weapons and defences.’
‘Like them planes, just like that Churchill fellow always said we’d need ter.’
Meg gave a wry chuckle at the way Cyril had put it. ‘Yes. Mr W says the government should’ve listened to Mr Churchill’s warnings sooner. Everything he said about Hitler has proved right.’
‘In charge of our navy now, ain’t he, Churchill? Like he used ter be donkey’s years ago.’
‘That’s right,’ Meg agreed, impressed at Cyril’s knowledge. Despite initial impressions, both the twins were very intelligent. ‘And moved into Admiralty House, by all accounts,’ Meg continued. ‘But talking isn’t going to get the chores done. So, are you all right there?’
‘Yeah, Meggy, I’m fine with these old girls.’ Cyril grinned, slapping the skin-and-hair rump of one of the sows rooting about beside him.
‘I can leave you to finish mucking out the sties, then?’
‘Yeah, course. Don’t worry about me.’
Meg nodded with a smile, and then left the farmyard to make her way up to the house. It amazed her how the twins had taken to country life. More than that, they seemed to relish it, and Cyril had really come out of his shell. He’d taken to the animals more so than his brother, and had mastered the skill of hand-milking the cows like a natural. Leslie still struggled, and Meg suspected that, despite his bravado, he was actually nervous of them. But she knew where he’d be – in the vegetable garden with Ralph and Gabriel.
The brief conversation had unsettled her. It really was like being in limbo, this waiting, and yet everyone dreaded it starting. Although exactly what it was going to mean, nobody really knew.
As she crossed the lawn up towards the house, however, her heart was slightly lightened. It was half-term, and Ed’s parents had come to visit him. Down by the lake, they were engaged in a mad game of tag with their son, and Clarrie, the three girls and little Samuel Higginbottom had all joined in. There might have been more children in the fray, but the family who’d occupied the chauffeur’s cottage had gone back to London.
Mrs Durr had marched into the kitchen one day the previous week with her two little girls in tow. ‘Where’s Mrs Stratfield-Whyte?’ she’d demanded.
Everyone in the kitchen exchanged glances. Mrs Durr was on the war path. Again.
‘I’ll go and get her,’ Meg offered, ‘if you’d like to wait here.’
‘Huh, don’t mind if I do. And you can give my girls a slice or two of that cake while we’re here,’ she ordered, ‘seeing as I can’t cook a thing on that blessed range thing.’
Meg had to stifle a laugh as she caught the affronted look on Penny Higginbottom’s face. Meg knew what the overweight woman was thinking. The cake had been made for the children living in the house, not for Mrs Durr’s two. Meg thought she ought to fetch Mrs C as quickly as possible, and found her in the drawing room.
‘Oh, dear, I wonder what she wants now,’ Mrs C sighed as they came back along the corridor. ‘Everybody else has made the effort to fit in perfectly, but that woman’s not been satisfied since the day she arrived.’
‘I know,’ Meg sympathised. ‘She’s got a lovely little cottage and all of us for company.
Some people are never satisfied, are they?’
Mrs C gave her a wry, knowing look as they went into the kitchen together. Mrs Durr’s girls were stuffing cake into their mouths as if there was no tomorrow.
‘Now what can I do for you, Mrs Durr?’ Mrs C asked in her most friendly tone.
‘I’ve come to tell you we’re not spending another day in that place,’ Mrs Durr announced fiercely, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Out here in the back of beyond, with nothing to do but wash the mud off your shoes. And that wretched range going out every five minutes. And it’s not as if there’s any bombs falling on London! Waste of time and effort. So, we’re packing up and I want a lift into the village to catch the afternoon bus.’
The woman stood there, glaring at Clarrie, whose eyebrows had slowly reached heavenwards during the tirade.
‘Well, I’m very sorry, Mrs Durr,’ she said slowly and deliberately, ‘but that simply isn’t possible. My husband has the car up in London during the week, as you know. He might be home tomorrow night, but it’s usually not until Saturday afternoon that he manages to get away. Of course, we can drop you in the van, but the girls would have to go in the back, and that’s none too clean. And it all depends on whether there’s enough petrol to spare from the month’s ration. But I can try and get you a taxi if you like. It might cost you a bit, of course. It would have to come all the way from Tunbridge Wells.’
Mrs Durr’s lips contracted into a tight little knot, and she grabbed each of her daughters by the collar. ‘Come along, girls. We’ll have to wait till the weekend.’ And she marched the two bewildered little souls out of the kitchen and back to the cottage.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Penny burst out in a guffaw of mirth. It was so infectious that in a few seconds, everyone else joined in the laughter. Meg was glad it was Thursday morning and while the younger children were at school, the twins were helping in the kitchen garden. She could just imagine Leslie mimicking Mrs Durr before she was even out of the door!