by Tania Crosse
Dropping onto her haunches, she buried her face in the animal’s thick fur and wept until her heart would break.
*
The gradual lifting of darkness crept beneath Meg’s closed eyelids and she began to stir. Dawn was breaking, the birds starting their early morning chorus as if greeting the new day with joyous, tuneful song. It was early May, possibly Meg’s favourite month of the year when the world was full of hope and renewed life.
The bed was warm and comfortable, and she stretched out a sleepy arm to touch Ralph’s strong, toned body next to her. The space was cold and empty. He wasn’t there. The familiar churning took hold of her yet again, that horrible sinking feeling settling deep down in her stomach as reality lurched back into place.
It was no good lying there, wishing it away, because she knew it wouldn’t go. The best thing was to rise from the bed and get on with the day. The cows wouldn’t mind being milked a little early if she got there before Cyril, and she could enjoy nature’s tranquil peace before the rest of Robin Hill House awoke. She cared deeply for each and every one of the people with whom she shared her life, but sometimes she felt the need to be alone, and this was one of them.
As ever, Thimble was ready for her early morning adventure. As they headed outside, a bank of mist was rising over the lake, but the sky was a pale, clear canopy that promised a warm spring day. The dew was thick on the luscious blades of grass in the field the cows were currently grazing, and the animals plodded over at the sound of the clanking buckets, ready for their heavy udders to be emptied. Meg nevertheless tethered them to the fence as it meant they were less likely to knock over the bucket beneath them.
By the time she’d finished and carried the pails of milk up to the house, the servants’ door had been unlocked and Meg was able to let herself inside. In the kitchen, Jane, Sally and Louise were already at work, the electric kettle starting to boil and the girls carrying through to the servants’ hall everything that would be needed for breakfast: marmalade and the jams they’d made the previous autumn, packets of Cornflakes and Shredded Wheat, and everyone’s morning ration of butter, cut into a tiny square by Ada the previous evening before she left for her little house in the village. Since Ralph had been called up for training, Meg had gone back to eating with the rest of the household, and so had handed her ration book back to Ada to be pooled with everyone else’s.
‘You must’ve been up early,’ Jane greeted her, observing the buckets full of milk. ‘Cyril won’t be pleased. He likes helping with the milking.’
‘I know. But it’s a school day for him,’ Meg reminded her, ‘so there really isn’t time anyway. But he can help me tonight instead. Can you give me a hand straining the milk?’
‘In a minute. I can hear the baker’s boy coming up the drive on his bicycle. I’ll just get the bread from him, and then I’ll give you a hand.’
Meg set everything up while she waited. She’d learnt it was best to get things done before Penny appeared with her brood. They were usually the first down, and Bella, who’d just mastered the new and exciting skill of walking, was apt to get under everyone’s feet.
‘There.’ Jane came back in and dumped an armful of loaves on the kitchen table, her face set in a scowl.
‘You don’t seem your usual self this morning,’ Meg quizzed her. ‘Anything the matter?’
‘Yes.’ Jane’s elfin face pouted. ‘Eric’s got his interview with the panel today.’
‘Ah, yes, of course.’ Meg cursed herself for forgetting. Despite being in a reserved occupation, Jane’s policeman sweetheart wanted to join up and was going before the board. Meg knew exactly how the scullery maid felt. Now twenty-four, as a full-time gardener capable of producing a good crop of food, Ralph would have been exempt from being called up had he been but a year older. But Meg was sure that he, too, would have tried to enlist anyway.
‘I just don’t understand him,’ Jane protested, starting to saw doorsteps from the first loaf.
‘I’m sure he feels he wants to do his bit,’ Meg tried to pacify her. ‘But try and cheer up. It’s a special day today, and you don’t want to spoil it by being grumpy.’
Jane’s eyes slowly opened wide as she remembered. ‘Oh, golly, yes. Nana May’s birthday. Crikey, can you imagine being eighty?’
‘Not really, no. But if I ever live to be that age, I hope I’m as sprightly as she is!’ Meg grinned, glad to have changed the subject. ‘We have got the cake hidden, haven’t we, in case she comes in here?’
‘Morning all!’ At that moment, Penny breezed in, carrying a protesting Bella while her two small sons raced through the kitchen towards the servants’ hall to see what was on offer for breakfast. ‘Did I ’ear you mention the birthday cake? Well, a darned funny thing it looks with cardboard instead of icing,’ she grumbled.
‘Need to save our sugar rations for other things,’ Ada reminded her, arriving through the servants’ entrance. ‘Cake’s sweet enough without proper icing. Well, what a lovely morning! It’s on days like this that I really enjoy my walk into work. Hard to believe…’ She broke off, shaking her head. She didn’t need to finish the sentence. They all knew how it ended. That we’re at war.
Meg, though, was determined to make the day special for dear Nana May. She’d bought her half a pound of her favourite pear drops in the tiny sweetshop-cum-newsagents in the village, since although sugar was rationed, as yet sweets weren’t. Meg had also painted a beautiful, ethereal watercolour of the irises by the lake, one of Nana May’s favourite spots. Mrs C had planned a birthday picnic down there for later in the afternoon, weather permitting, and it looked as if they were going to be in luck on that front.
Nana May thoroughly enjoyed her birthday, and when it was time for the picnic, Sally carried an upright kitchen chair down to the lake for her, since she found getting in and out of a deckchair too difficult these days. Meg had brought down a cushion to make it more comfortable for her. Clarrie had transported her own deckchair, as she saw no reason why she should be waited on now there was a war on. Everyone else had sat around either on one of the picnic rugs or on the grass that had dried out in the sunshine.
They’d feasted on sandwiches filled with their own eggs and watercress, and the delicious fruit cake that had been made possible by pooling their butter and sugar rations, and adding in a little margarine to make up the fat weight. It didn’t seem to matter that it was hidden beneath a hat of white cardboard as it was such a delicious treat. And all was washed down with copious cups of tea which wasn’t yet on ration, and milk from the cows for the younger children. Little Bella was so exhausted, her little tummy bulging, that she’d fallen asleep on one of the rugs, and everybody was trying to keep their voices down so as not to disturb her. They all knew how she could bawl if she didn’t have her afternoon nap!
‘Why don’t we all go and play a game of hide-and-seek,’ Mrs C suggested in an animated whisper, ‘then we won’t wake her up.’
Within a trice, everyone had leapt up, even Penny moving more quickly than she would have done six months previously, Meg noted, since she had actually lost a little weight and was consequently far more active.
‘I’ll stay with you, Nana May,’ Meg offered. ‘We can’t all desert you on your birthday!’
‘Are you sure, my dear? I don’t want to spoil your fun.’
‘Oh, I think I’ve played enough games of hide-and-seek and tag and what have you recently to last me a lifetime!’ Meg grinned, collapsing into the deckchair next to the old lady that Mrs C had just vacated. ‘Besides, Mrs C looks as if she’s having a whale of a time. I think she’s really enjoying having so many children to take care of, don’t you? She seems in her element.’ She paused to watch Mrs C happily directing everyone towards the woods where they’d find plenty of hiding places, and was surprised when Nana May answered her so candidly.
‘Poor Clarrie, she’d have loved to have had a family, so I suppose this has been the next best thing for her.’
‘Yes, I sup
pose so.’ Meg released a thoughtful sigh. ‘She is so very good with children. I’ve thought that before, when I’ve watched her running the village children’s party at Christmas. She doesn’t just organise it, she really takes part.’
‘She certainly does. And… and what about you, Meg dear?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. Will you be wanting a family?’
Meg blinked at her, taken aback by the forthright question. But then, Nana May was probably the most directly spoken person she’d ever met, with the possible exception of Penny. ‘I… well… I suppose so,’ she murmured. ‘Eventually. But all I really care about is that Ralph is still alive at the end of this war. And just now that seems a dreadfully long way off. I mean, things are going to get an awful lot worse. Hitler’s going to try to invade us, too, isn’t he?’ She glanced sideways at the octogenarian who pursed her wrinkled lips in defiance.
‘He’s got to get to the coast at the other side of the Channel first. And he’ll have the British Bulldog spirit to contend with. We’ll fight him off, mark my words.’
‘I hope so.’ Meg’s voice was suddenly tiny. ‘But many will die doing so. I-I just hope Ralph isn’t one of them.’
She almost squealed the last few words, and had to brace herself against the tightening in her throat. The tears that stabbed the back of her eyes. It didn’t seem right, sitting there in the sunshine, watching the still, calm waters of the lake when it could all dissipate into dust.
Dear Nana May, though, didn’t offer her any ridiculous platitudes. Instead, she said in a quiet, steady tone that quivered with sincerity, ‘You know, when I was young, I was always jealous of my friends who’d found someone to love. Were getting married. I never did, and I thought they were so lucky. But when the last war came along, I realised that I was the one who was lucky. Because I didn’t have anyone like that to lose. Love is the greatest gift life has to offer. But it can also be the most cruel.’
Meg lowered her eyes, and clasping her hands against her chin, let her tears drip silently over them. How wise the old lady was. Oh, Ralph. Ralph. She felt a light pressure on her arm. And when she looked across, a knotted old hand was touching her sleeve.
Twelve
‘Are you all right, Mrs C?’ Meg frowned as she passed across the back of the hall. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
Five minutes earlier, Meg had answered the telephone to Mr W who had asked to speak to his wife. Meg had found Mrs C and had left her to it, not imagining there was anything out of the ordinary. But now the good lady, having returned the receiver to its cradle, was standing rigid by the side table, her face as white as a sheet.
She stared at Meg for several seconds, and then her brow slowly wrinkled. ‘Come into the drawing room, and we’ll turn on the wireless,’ she articulated in a small voice, and turned the corner into the wide corridor that led to the drawing room.
As Meg followed her, she could see that she was shaking, and Meg’s heart began to pound. Mrs C, she had learnt over the years, could be very strong if she could see a practical way to face a problem, but she was also extremely sensitive to other people’s suffering. Meg realised this must be one of those moments, and she wondered what on earth had happened.
Meg saw that Nana May, who was already sitting in the drawing room enjoying the May sunshine streaming through the open French doors, had also recognised that expression.
‘Clarrie, dear, is anything the matter?’
Mrs C paused as she stepped towards the radio on the sideboard, and supported herself by leaning her hands on the back of one of the armchairs. ‘Wig just rang,’ she answered in little more than a whisper. ‘It’s all over London. Germany swooped into Holland and Belgium and Luxembourg overnight, and they’re attacking French towns on the border. And the government’s in uproar. They’re calling for Chamberlain to resign. The Labour Party are refusing point blank to serve in a national government under him.’
‘Oh, Lord.’ Meg watched the old lady’s face blanch. ‘And who’s going to take his place? We need someone really strong if things are going to get worse.’
‘It’ll be between Lord Halifax and Winston Churchill, won’t it?’ Meg put in, emerging from her own shock.
‘Yes,’ Mrs C gulped, regaining her own composure. ‘Who knows how long France will hold out, and then it’ll be Britain. We need someone with the mental strength of an ox to fight back, and Churchill’s the only one who fits the bill. That’s what Wig thinks, anyway, and he’s had dealings with Churchill, as you know. So, let me turn on the wireless and see if there’s any more news.’
Meg stood where she was, lips bunched, and glanced across at Nana May. The look on her face was unfathomable as she threw Meg a wan smile. Germany was on the move. Something was happening at last, all the months of agonised waiting at an end. But it was hardly a relief, for God knew what horrors would be in store for them all. And now the country appeared to be without a government or a leader.
A familiar numbness, one she’d felt too often, cramped Meg’s muscles. Her thoughts flew across the miles to where Ralph had been training with the RAF. He’d promised to ring whenever he could, but ever since he’d left the previous month, Meg’s soul had been in tatters. At long last, she’d found some true happiness again, only for it to be snatched away almost immediately. Her heart yearned for him, for his physical presence. She kept trying to tell herself that while he was in training, he was safe. But how safe was the future going to be for any of them? Reluctantly, mechanically, she forced herself to perch on a chair while Mrs C was clumsily tuning in the radio.
*
It wasn’t until just before the nine o’clock news that evening that Neville Chamberlain broadcast to the nation. With the younger children and the three girls already in bed, the adults and the twins had been sitting on the terrace outside the open French doors to the drawing room, drinking in the warm still evening, and relishing the peace – while it lasted. Clarrie and Nana May had remained inside, glued to the wireless, and called everyone in when the speech was announced.
Mr Chamberlain said that he had resigned, and that Churchill was forming a new government. The hour had come when the country was to be put to the test. They were all to rally behind their new leader and, with unshakeable courage, work and fight until the wild beast that had sprung out of his lair was finally disarmed and overthrown.
It was the speech of a patriot. Afterwards, the residents of Robin Hill House sat in stunned silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts. It was beginning.
*
Clarrie was sitting in a deckchair on the terrace, enjoying the last peaceful moments of the June afternoon before she went inside to change for dinner. Just because there was a war on, she wasn’t going to let her standards drop, even if she had to dress herself nowadays. She wasn’t going to disturb Nana May who’d dozed off in the comfortable armchair that had been carried out from the drawing room for her. All was quiet for a few minutes as Penny had gone upstairs to change Bella’s nappy, taking Johnny with her, while Joyce and Maureen were keeping an eye on Sammy and Ed while they played on the rough grass down towards the lake. With school over for the day, the twins were busy tending the lower terrace, three quarters of which they’d worked hard to turn into another huge vegetable plot. But for that, it was still impossible to believe that anything was any different. That the country was at war.
Clarrie released a deep, wistful sigh. Across the Channel, both the Dutch and Belgium armies had quickly fallen after the German invasion, leaving the British and French troops fatally exposed. The most extraordinary event had then taken place when flotillas of small boats manned by civilians of all ages had risked their lives to join the Royal Navy in rescuing the hundreds of thousands of soldiers trapped on beaches under constant bombardment from the Germans around a place called Dunkirk. Never had the British spirit been so united. On the final day of the evacuation, Churchill had made such a rousing speech that Clarrie had choked on her tears. We shall nev
er surrender still echoed in everyone’s head. And now, with Italy, too, having declared war on Britain and France, Churchill was apparently trying to prop France up, even though the Germans had already reached Paris. But it seemed to Clarrie a lost cause. And then what? Glancing at the four dogs, Clarrie’s heart saddened. She did still miss Patch, but that was nothing to what might be in store.
Just a few feet away, Meg was taking a well-earned break from her chores. Her closeness brought a contentment to Clarrie’s soul. She could not have loved her more if she really had been her own daughter, although she would never let on to the young woman. It might be nearly four years since Meg’s parents had died in that tragic accident, but Clarrie understood that she should never presume to take her mother’s place in Meg’s heart.
It hadn’t been a school day for the junior children, but Doris was sitting in the deckchair next to Meg, her fiery red curls bent over a letter that hadn’t arrived for her until the second post. It was from London, so was probably from one of her parents. The child reminded Clarrie more physically of little Rosebud, but it was still Meg who felt like her daughter come back to her.
Suddenly, Doris gave a sharp gasp, and her hand went over her mouth, eyes wide and staring at the thin paper that had fallen into her lap. Clarrie at once sat up straight, but Meg was nearer and put a hand on the younger girl’s shoulder.
‘Anything the matter?’ Meg asked gently.
‘It’s from Daddy,’ Doris hiccupped, and when she turned to Meg, her chin was wobbling. ‘He’s been called up. Into the navy like he wanted. But it’s immediate and he won’t have time to come here to say goodbye. And he and Mummy were going to come for my birthday next week.’