by Tania Crosse
‘Ah, yeah, I see. Ooh, isn’t that the birth sack starting to show?’
‘You’re learning!’ Meg grinned back. ‘Right, let’s try and corner her.’
It took a minute or so, the ewes scattering as Meg and Mandy approached. But the two girls gradually managed to separate them until the animal concerned was caught in a group of just four. Meg was able to pounce on her, skilfully twisting the mother-to-be to the floor in the position that always calms a restless sheep.
‘If you can hold her down at that end,’ she instructed Mandy, ‘I’ll have a feel and see what’s going on.’
As Meg concentrated on putting all her knowledge and experience into play, the war and her crippling fears over Ralph’s safety drifted away. Just now, she was Meg Chandler again, farmer’s daughter, shepherdess, using all the skills she’d learnt from her beloved father since the cradle. In the dead of a still if chilly night, she was bringing new life into the world, each lamb a little miracle of nature.
‘No wonder she’s having difficulty,’ she reported calmly to Mandy. ‘It’s coming head first. She can’t manage it like that.’
‘Oh, so what can you do?’ Mandy asked in alarm. ‘She won’t die, will she? Oh, the poor thing. You won’t have to shoot her, or anything, will you, to put her out of her misery? I don’t think I could bear that.’
‘Good Lord, no,’ Meg reassured her. ‘We might lose the lamb, but we won’t lose her. No, I’ve just got to push the head back and try and find the front legs.’
Meg gritted her teeth, closing her eyes to deepen her concentration as she felt inside the ewe. Pushing a lamb back wasn’t something she liked doing, although she’d performed the procedure numerous times in her life. But it had to be done, and she fairly quickly managed to locate one front hoof and manoeuvre it into position so that the tip just became visible. The other leg was trickier, but soon the two feet were side by side.
‘How’s it going down there?’ Mandy asked anxiously since it seemed to her to be taking an awfully long time.
‘I need to turn the head slightly… and… there, it’s coming. Next contraction… There we are. Legs…’ Meg answered, easing out the tiny, slippery limbs. ‘Nose… and… we’re out.’
‘And is it OK?’ Mandy’s voice quivered as she watched Meg vigorously rubbing the skinny, motionless body with a good hank of straw. ‘And why’s it yellow like that?’
‘Meconium in the birth sack. Means it was stressed. No surprise,’ Meg explained as she swung the lamb gently upside down. ‘Come on, little fellow.’
Mandy didn’t really understand, but didn’t want to distract Meg as she laid the lamb down again and tickled a piece of straw up its nostril. It suddenly gave a sneeze and then seemed to catapult into life. It weakly lifted its head, scrabbling with its feet, its breathing still unsure.
‘Well, there we are. Welcome to the world!’ Meg grinned ecstatically. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, here comes another one.’
‘What, another lot of twins?’
‘Yes. And this one’s coming normally.’
Relief and joy quickened Meg’s pulse as she put the second white lamb next to its yellow-stained twin. She indicated to Mandy to release the ewe, which instantly struggled to its feet to nuzzle at its newborn offspring. Meg sat back on her heels to watch the double miracle, her heart spilling over with happiness that she’d managed to save both mother and baby, and a second lamb to boot.
It was what she was made for, to farm. And not just anywhere, but at this particular farm, in this very shed that had been at the heart of her life for so long. So while she gave the ewe a few moments to bond with her lambs, a tinge of sadness dulled the corners of Meg’s elation. This interlude of contentment, of being back home, wouldn’t last forever. And it was only courtesy of the war.
‘Right, then,’ she said, hurling her thoughts aside. And brusquely picking up the two tiny lambs, she carried them to one of the small, individual pens erected along the inner wall of the shed. The mother ewe instinctively followed, and Meg shut the new family safely inside. ‘Well, I think we deserve that coffee now,’ she announced, deliberately crushing her topsy-turvy emotions and pinning a smile on her face. ‘Don’t you?’
*
Clarrie strode up the driveway, her mind stimulated by her meeting in the village. She’d walked the younger children to school and gone straight to the vicarage to discuss the summer fête with the committee she still headed. She was buzzing with the new ideas that had been put forward, as well as the traditional stalls and entertainments that had been planned.
Her thoughts inevitably wandered to her Meg, prompted by the hope that she would produce some more of her lovely paintings again for both the village auction and the raffle. Clarrie’s heart had been left bleeding when Meg had announced she was joining the Land Army and was going back to work at the farm that had been her former home. Clarrie’s soul had felt empty and hollow, and she was so glad to have the company of Penny and Ada, Gabriel and Mary, and all the younger people under her roof.
There was plenty to keep her busy, of course. With so many mouths to feed, they had been lucky to retain Jane as a maid, but Louise had been conscripted. With her caring nature, it came as little surprise that she’d chosen to train as a nurse. It meant that Clarrie needed to undertake her share of cooking and cleaning, washing and ironing, but she had no problem with that. In fact, she relished her new role, and she continued to help the children with reading and schoolwork, or taking them on walks or arranging a picnic in the grounds – even if the filling for the banana sandwiches was only parsnips from Gabriel’s store, boiled and mashed up with a drop or two of banana essence!
But if only she could still have darling Wig and dear Meggy by her side. At least Meg was safe, or as safe as any of them were. They often spoke on the phone and Meg had kept her promise to visit regularly, at which times, Clarrie fought to contain her elation.
Clarrie was able, though, to fear less for Wig these days. Hitler still appeared to be concentrating his forces against the Russians in the east, and had Rommel fighting for supremacy in North Africa. But Canterbury had been severely bombed at the end of May – the twins swore they could hear it – ironically at the same time the RAF had launched a huge attack on Cologne, followed by a massive raid on the military manufactories in Essen and the Ruhr the next night. Would the Fuhrer, as he was known, retaliate? Perhaps Wig wasn’t as safe at the factory as she prayed, and that sinking feeling descended on her stomach once again.
The mood inside the house lifted her spirits, though. As she came into the kitchen, the door to the servants’ hall was propped open to allow the warm, summer air to circulate, and through it came the strains of a seventy-eight record of Vera Lynn singing ‘Red Sails in the Sunset’ being played on the gramophone. At least it made a change from ‘Wish Me Luck’ or ‘We’ll Meet Again’ which always made Clarrie want to cry.
‘Hello, Clarrie, ducks! How’d yer meeting go? Wanna cuppa?’ Penny asked all in one breath, hoisting Bella up onto her hip and waving the teapot in the air with her other hand.
‘Oh, yes, please, I could murder one.’
‘Pretty weak, I’m afraid. Not much of this week’s tea ration left,’ Ada warned, busily grating carrots to make a cocoa-flavoured ‘chocolate’ pudding.
‘Oh, well, there’s a war on, you know,’ Clarrie found herself joking. ‘Where’s Nana May?’
‘Resting her eyes in the drawing room. Or at least, that’s what she says,’ Ada winked knowingly.
Clarrie nodded with a sad smile. The old lady was really showing her age recently, dozing off several times a day. Clarrie could tell she was missing Meg, too, by the way she perked up so much whenever Meg came to visit.
‘I’ll just make sure she’s OK when I’ve had that cuppa. Oh, by the way, I saw an old tramp along the lane. He’s got a bad limp, poor thing, but he just made me feel uneasy, somehow.’
‘I could get Eric to check him out,’ Jane offered proudly. ‘He
’s calling in after his shift. He’ll be here soon.’
‘That mightn’t be a bad idea. Never know. He could be a German spy, though what there is to spy on round here, I don’t know.’
‘Well, here’s yer cuppa, Clarrie, ducks.’
‘Thanks, Penny. On second thoughts, I’ll take it with me.’
Clarrie picked up her cup of tea and wandered along the corridor into the drawing room where Nana May was napping in one of the armchairs. She felt her heart strain as she gazed down on her dear old friend. With Wig at the factory most of the time and Meg working away, how ever could she manage if she lost this other rock of her life?
The French doors were wide open onto the terrace with the sun streaming through. Trampas was lying just outside, and lazily cocked open one eye as she came to stand on the threshold. Gabriel and the twins were working out in the grounds somewhere, and all seemed idyllic. What a pity they were in the middle of a war.
*
Phew, that had been close!
Nathaniel Green breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God his disguise was so good that his own mother wouldn’t have recognised him. The filthy, ragged overcoat and battered hat rammed down low over his eyes had served him well in the nine months since he’d deserted. With the long, grey, wispy wig and matching false beard, and dirt smeared over what was visible of his skin so that you wouldn’t know if his face bore age lines or not, a quick glance from a stranger would assume he was an old man. With the added limp and a certain way he’d learnt of letting his mouth droop to one side, it looked as though he’d had a stroke.
It was a bit like play-acting, and Nathaniel found it all rather fun, fooling people so well, including the Military Police who’d never managed to get anywhere near him. This wasn’t the only disguise he used, of course. That would be pushing his luck. And sometimes he needed to move freely, which this stupid, flapping coat prevented. If he was looting a bombed-out area in the middle of the night, for instance, he needed to be as stealthy as a cat against the darkness, black balaclava hiding the paleness of his face.
He hadn’t made a bad living for himself. The old forger who’d produced documents for him in several different false identities had also given him contacts in Liverpool, Manchester and Sheffield, places that had been heavily bombed earlier in the war. The looters still had stashes of stolen goods, and with his assumed charm, Nathaniel had become the perfect middle man for selling them on, often to unsuspecting clients. He was soon involved up to his neck in black marketeering. But it could be a dangerous game working with criminals, never mind avoiding the authorities, and Nathaniel preferred to be his own man.
That was why, when Canterbury had received a pasting recently, he’d swiftly come back down south. There’d be rich pickings to be had. He’d keep to small items, things people who’d been bombed out of their houses would be so desperate for that they’d pay the earth for them. Even such insignificant things as soap, especially now that it was on ration, and stockings – if he could get hold of any – would bring in a fortune! Unless you were lucky enough to know one of these friendly GIs who were beginning to be stationed over here, a woman was reduced to wearing socks, like a little schoolgirl. Not that Nathaniel minded the idea of having a young schoolgirl in his clutches!
He’d wondered vaguely if he shouldn’t try to track Esme down, now he was back in the area. But he didn’t have a clue where to look. He wouldn’t find her at Robin Hill House, that was for sure. After what had happened, they’d never have her back!
But… His vicious mind started whirring. It all came down to that Meg Chandler, didn’t it? If she and her parents hadn’t been driving that bloody horse and cart along the road, he’d have remained in his cushy job as the Stratfield-Whytes’ chauffeur. Of course, at some point, he’d still have been conscripted, especially as it had been announced that petrol rations were going to be withdrawn altogether on the first day of next month, so he wouldn’t have had a job anyway. But he wouldn’t have had that bleeding sergeant major breathing down his neck all the time because he was an ex-gaolbird! And he would have had the opportunity to express a preference for which force he wanted to join. In which case, he’d have chosen the RAF, and who knew, he might have made it. As a chauffeur, he’d learnt a lot about engines and was a darned good mechanic. He could have made ground crew, and been safe throughout the war. Of course, German bombers had attacked British airfields especially in the beginning, but you stood a far better chance than if you were cannon fodder in the army!
Oh, yes. Meg Chandler had a lot to answer for! She’d ruined his life, and if he could make her pay, even in a small way, it would bring him some satisfaction. And then perhaps he could put the smouldering anger behind him and finally move on.
So, was she still at Robin Hill House? It was certainly the obvious place to start. And so, for the past week or so, he’d been spying on the place, hiding in the bushes and hedges near the house, watching through binoculars the comings and goings at different times of the day. He’d seen the cook – Mrs Phillips, if his memory served him right – walking to and from her home in the village every day. Old Wigmore – bloody stupid name – had only appeared at the weekend, but then he had his factory in the East End to keep an eye on during the week. Of the young men, damned Ralph Hillier and that Bob Whatever-his-name-was, there was no sign, but then they’d have been conscripted, the poor fools.
Nathaniel sneered pleasurably when he’d spied young Jane. She seemed to have turned into a confident, attractive young woman, and to think he’d had her in his hands! But he didn’t see any of the other maids who’d been there in his time. In fact, the only other residents appeared to be kids, evacuees by all accounts. He’d seen a tubby woman pushing a brat of about three in a pushchair as she’d walked three little boys to school, presumably, since she’d returned without them.
Before today, he’d not seen anything of the aging gardener and his wife, nor of Mrs Stratfield-Whyte, or the old dear who was her companion, but she was probably kicking up the daisies by now. He’d noticed two young lads of about fifteen or so working in one of the fields on either side of the driveway, weeding some sort of flat cabbage. Nathaniel would try and nick a few of those if he got the chance. He knew a greengrocer he could sell them to. But to his extreme annoyance, Meg Chandler never once put in an appearance.
Nathaniel felt cheated. Maybe he’d simply missed her. With frustration burning inside, he’d become bolder. He’d try his tramp disguise and patrol the lane more freely. He’d just give it one last go, and then he’d give up on the whole idea. But he hadn’t expected, though, to almost bump into Mrs Hoity-Toity Stratfield-Whyte as she walked along the lane in the opposite direction. It had sent an arrow of fear darting through him, but she’d passed by on the opposite side of the tarmac and hadn’t given him a second glance. He’d kept his head down, but his eyes had shifted surreptitiously in her direction for any sign of recognition, but there hadn’t been any.
When he felt it was safe, he retraced his steps. Hiding behind the hedge, he watched her disappear down the driveway, but she didn’t look back or seem to be in any hurry – as she might have been if she’d taken any notice of him and wanted to do something about it.
Nathaniel pouted his lips as he began hobbling away down the lane. He was disappointed, but it was time to give up. Meg Chandler had moved on. He would have to accept it and concentrate on his illegal goings-on. It was like a game of cat and mouse that he rather enjoyed. Only he was always the winner, and the stupid authorities didn’t have a clue.
It was a few moments later, though, that Nathaniel got the fright of his life. If the silly fellow hadn’t alerted him by his jolly whistling, Nathaniel wouldn’t have realised there was someone coming. As it was, after the scare of almost coming face to face with Clarissa Stratfield-Whyte, Nathaniel was a bit jumpy, and swiftly drew back through a convenient gap in the hedge.
Thank God he had! Coming round the bend was a bobby on a bicycle! Quite a young chap, and Jesu
s, he looked familiar, although Nathaniel couldn’t think why. The constable cycled past at a rate of knots, although his mouth was curved in a smile, so it didn’t look as if he’d been summoned. And even if Mrs Stratfield-Whyte had called the police about a tramp in the lane the instant she’d got inside, they couldn’t possibly have got there that quickly, especially on a bicycle. Nevertheless, Nathaniel’s heart quite literally missed a beat as the young copper turned in at the ever open gates of Robin Hill House.
Nathaniel sprang from his hiding place, brambles scratching at him in his haste, and raced away down the lane as fast as his pretend limp would let him. He wouldn’t be back, that was for sure. And any ideas of having revenge on Meg Chandler would have to be forgotten. What a pity.
Twenty-Five
‘I’d forgotten how good you are at art,’ Mandy commented, looking over her friend’s shoulder. Meg was adding the detail to a beautiful sunset backwash against which the bare branches of a massive oak tree were silhouetted in an intricate web like black lace. ‘I don’t know how you can visualise how things look in the winter when we’re in the middle of summer.’
Meg glanced up at her with an easy smile. ‘It’s not difficult, not when it’s somewhere you’ve known all your life. I’m doing a set of four of the same scene but in the different seasons. Spring was the hardest, trying to get the right bright green for the leaf buds but with the dark brown of the branches as well. It’s not as if an oak tree has spring blossom or anything to show you when it’s meant to be.’
‘Oh, will you show it to me?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ve almost finished what I wanted to get done on this today. Not in any hurry to get home, are you?’
‘No. Mum was only cooking Woolton’s pie, and it’s no worse when it’s cold than when it’s hot,’ Mandy grimaced.
Meg had to hide her smile. When Ada made it, the vegetable pie was actually pretty tasty, but then Mandy’s mum was hardly the best cook in the world, to put it politely! So Meg bided her time, waiting for Mandy to continue.