A Christmas Wish for the Land Girls

by Jenny Holmes

  ‘I mean, what do you make of that situation?’

  ‘Oh!’ A surprising new thought flew into Joyce’s head. It came out of the blue with a force that rooted her to the spot.

  ‘And the blindfold fell from her eyes!’ Evelyn said with an affectionate shove.

  ‘I didn’t realize.’ In her mind’s eye Joyce saw Geoff and Giles at the Christmas hop, chatting quietly in a corner, making no moves to join in with the dancing. Their heads were together. Giles was explaining something, Geoff was smiling and nodding. ‘Are you quite certain?’

  ‘One hundred per cent.’ Evelyn had known for a few months that the two men were more than good friends. The dawning of the light for her had come during Giles’s previous visit when she’d been doing gardening work at New Hall and caught sight of him and Geoff in the kitchen in their pyjamas. They sat close together at the table, elbows touching while Geoff spread marmalade on Giles’s toast then fed it to him.

  ‘Well, I wish them luck,’ Joyce said without hesitation. Two good, kind men to be respected and left in peace.

  Evelyn nodded. ‘Same here.’

  No more was said. It was time to get back to work.

  *

  My darling Edgar,

  I realized earlier today how lucky I am to have met you and I wanted to write it down and send this letter to you post haste: I AM SO LUCKY! There is no one in this world who could compare. Every day I miss you more. You’re in my head and in my heart and will be for ever. You know that my dearest wish is for the war to end and for us to be together.

  I hope by putting this down on paper I can make it come true. Please write back to me as soon as you can.

  The words of longing poured out on to the page, a strong current of pure love that would flow between them though war had forced them apart.

  Joyce sat for a while in her dimly lit attic room, hearing Alma’s footstep on the landing and a short while later Laurence’s stronger tread. A door shut and there was silence. The candle flickered. Joyce continued to write.

  The news here is that Hettie White’s funeral will take place on Wednesday this week and that Les hopes to be there. Also, there was a great to-do on Sunday over the vicar mistreating his evacuee. Fingers crossed that this will soon be sorted out.

  She paused again, pen poised, wondering whether or not to include her latest talk with Evelyn in the letter. It would be hard to do justice to her new friend’s heartbreaking situation in two or three short lines so she decided against it.

  I’m enjoying my forestry work at Acklam, learning on the hoof. I hope to move on soon from snedding to cross-cutting and stripping bark then to tree felling and eventually on from there to learning the ropes in a saw mill. That would mean doing a four-week course at the Timber Corps depot near Rixley. I would need approval for a transfer from Mrs Mostyn and I wouldn’t want to leave Mr Bradley in the lurch. Luckily, Alma Bradley is now willing to learn how to work with the sheep and so my role here may soon be surplus to requirements. Alma has been through a lot and I’m glad to see that she’s happier and more settled than when I first got here.

  I had meant to keep this letter short, my dear, but here I am running on. Still, before I close, I want to promise you that my love for you runs deep and will never change. I miss you more than I can say – now, as Christmas draws near and we long more than ever to be with the ones we love. Carry this letter with you, along with the picture you have of me, close to your heart.

  Dearest Edgar, I send you all, all, ALL my love,

  from Joyce. xxxx

  *

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ Dorothy insisted as Brenda put on her coat to go down to New Hall. After two whole days cooped up in the house, she was bored to tears so she sprang to her feet and headed to the door.

  ‘Oh no, you don’t.’ Cliff stood in her way. ‘I’ve had strict instructions not to let you go anywhere.’

  ‘Get out of my road!’ Trying to push her way towards the kitchen door, she overbalanced and fell against the table. ‘Ouch, that hurt! Cliff, I’m not a baby – I can go where I like.’

  ‘Not if I have anything to do with it. Just sit down and let Brenda go on her own.’

  ‘I won’t be long.’ Brenda jammed on her hat. I’ll take Sloper; I’ll be there and back before you know it.’

  Dorothy gave a sigh of defeat. ‘I want to know everything, do you hear? Who says what – every last word.’

  ‘Right you are.’

  Brenda had just come off the phone from speaking to Geoff about Walter Rigg. Dorothy had heard one half of the conversation and managed to fill in some of the gaps but Brenda was refusing to stop and explain, saying she must get down to the village as quickly as possible.

  ‘It’s not fair!’ Dorothy sighed out her usual refrain and sat down gracelessly.

  Cliff stoked the fire against the evening chill.

  Brenda slammed the door and was gone.

  After his first full day at the big house, Alan had almost stopped being afraid of every mysterious sound and shadow.

  ‘Call me Geoff,’ the vet had said at the start of the day as they drove out to farmhouses and cottages to look after people’s sick animals. But Alan couldn’t call a grown-up by their first name, however nice and kind they were. And Mr Dawson was one of the nicest people in the whole world, handing him humbugs from a bag in his jacket pocket and speaking softly to the sheep whose poor lamb had been born too early and died and to the horse called Captain at Acklam Castle who had gone lame for no reason.

  ‘When did you first notice it?’ Mr Dawson had asked the lady with red hair, who’d met Alan when he’d first arrived in Shawcross. The lady had looked worried and told him that the horse had been lame when she’d walked him out of his stable yesterday evening. It had been dark by the time Alan and Mr Dawson had arrived at the ruined castle and the vet had used a torch as he’d felt up and down Captain’s leg for swellings. Then he’d lifted up his big hoof and, after a lot of prodding, had found the culprit – a rusty nail that had worked its way into what he called the frog, which hadn’t seemed the right word to Alan but the lady had been relieved when Mr Dawson had used a pair of tweezers to pull the nail out.

  The lady and Mr Dawson had shaken hands. He’d asked her how she was coping on her own. She’d said, ‘Fine, ta!’ – a nice, breezy, pretty lady who had ruffled his hair and smiled at him as they’d left the yard.

  Now they were back in the big house. Mr Pickering had cooked sausage and mashed potatoes for their tea. When they’d finished eating it, he’d hugged Mr Dawson and said he would see him again in two weeks. They’d wished each other a Happy Christmas and Mr Dawson had looked sad for a moment when Mr Pickering had said goodbye.

  It was nearly bedtime and Alan was in the kitchen reading a Rupert Bear story when there was a knock on the front door and the Land Girl who’d stopped him from sliding into the river on Sunday came in without waiting to be asked.

  ‘This is snug!’ she sang out as she took off some goggles and a pair of big leather gloves.

  Geoff took her jacket and drew her towards the Aga where it was warm. Alan closed his book and waited warily.

  ‘No Giles?’ Brenda glanced around the room.

  ‘No; duty calls, worse luck.’ Geoff pulled out a seat at the table for her. ‘In the shape of a family Christmas in Melton Mowbray. But listen to this – and you too, Alan – I’ve managed to get hold of someone in the bishop’s office in Northgate. The bishop wasn’t there but I asked his secretary if there was a way of making a formal complaint against Walter Rigg.’

  At the mention of the name, Alan shrank down in his seat but Brenda gave the table a small thump with the side of her fist and said, ‘Good for you, Geoff! And then what?’

  ‘There was what you would call a pregnant pause on the other end of the line then the secretary asked what was the nature of the complaint. I told her what had been going on at the vicarage – slowly because she said she was writing it all down.’

  �
�Good again!’ Brenda breathed. She smiled and nodded at Alan. ‘And what did she say afterwards?’

  ‘That she would inform the bishop but that it would probably be the dean who followed it up. The dean is a chap called Ellis – Nigel Ellis. She said he would call me back as soon as possible – perhaps tomorrow. But then …’ Geoff paused for effect, raising his eyebrows and planting the palms of his hands on the table close to where Brenda sat. ‘Then the secretary lowered her voice and said she was speaking off the record but that this wasn’t the first complaint about Rigg that they’d received.’

  Brenda thumped the table a second time, making Alan jump. She whispered sorry to him then reached over to stroke his hand.

  ‘The last time it happened, the bishop called Rigg in and warned him to tone down the discipline in future and to remember that all evacuees had the right to be treated well by their guardians.’

  ‘And a fat lot of difference that made.’ Brenda pulled a sour face. ‘It would’ve been far better if the bishop hadn’t given him a second chance.’

  ‘I agree, but I get the distinct feeling that Rigg won’t be given a third.’

  ‘Do you hear that, Alan?’ Brenda squeezed his hand. ‘It’s official – you won’t have to go back to the vicarage!’

  He let out a long, shuddering breath, slowly letting go of the terror that had gripped him by the throat ever since he’d set eyes on the vicar’s thick, plump fingers and the ruler that he kept tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

  ‘And now for my own news!’ Brenda beamed at Alan and Geoff. ‘I’ve been toying with an idea since yesterday but I held off from making a move until this evening because I didn’t know if it was the right time. Should I or shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Do what?’ Geoff studied Brenda’s face. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, her whole face was aglow.

  ‘Put in a telephone call to Dale End. Alan, do you remember going there with me to visit Judith?’

  The boy nodded slowly. Another big house a long way away, his sister wearing her grey pinafore, her hair in plaits. We have to be brave, Alan. Don’t let Mummy and Daddy down. The tears; that’s what he remembered.

  ‘I talked to Les’s brother,’ Brenda explained to Geoff. ‘I asked him if they intended to keep Judith now that Hettie … Hettie doesn’t need her any more. Donald said yes in his off-hand way; why not? Judith wasn’t any trouble. In fact, his father had taken quite a shine to her. They both found that they liked having the girl around. I asked him, did they fancy taking in her brother as well – eight years old and looking for a fresh billet?’

  ‘And he said yes!’ Geoff gave a grunt of satisfaction.

  ‘Blow me down, he did!’ She stood up and grinned at them both. ‘His father was in the study with him. Donald asked his permission while I was on the line. Arnold said yes straight away. It’s all settled.’

  Alan looked in wonderment from Brenda to Geoff then back again.

  ‘You’re going to join your sister,’ she explained in plain words that would sink into his fuddled brain. ‘For the time being – until the bombing stops and it’s safe to go home to your mummy and daddy – you and Judith will live together at Dale End.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Bernard grumbled as expected about Brenda’s request for leave but she’d banked on being able to sweet-talk him round.

  ‘Three days?’ With loud scrapes of his spoon he finished off the last of his porridge then squinted up at her.

  ‘Yes please, Mr Huby. I’ve already fed the hens and the rabbits and milked the goat this morning. I’ve left everything shipshape. And when I get back on Thursday I’ll put in the extra hours to catch up.’

  Cliff was in shirtsleeves, smoking a cigarette and reading the newspaper. Dorothy was still in bed.

  ‘Three days for a funeral?’

  ‘Yes. My fiancé’s sister died last week. Les managed to get compassionate leave. He’s on an overnight train travelling down from Glasgow as we speak. He has to go back on Christmas Eve.’

  ‘I see.’ Bernard shoved his bowl to one side. ‘Cliff, if I let my Land Girl go, will you lend a hand instead of sitting around on your backside?’

  A dismissive shrug was his answer, followed by a sideways glance at Brenda. On second thoughts, Cliff realized, there was an advantage in having Evelyn’s bolshie ally off the scene for a while. ‘Yes, why not?’ he mumbled.

  ‘Go on, then.’ Bernard gave way with a thin-lipped smile.

  Brenda thanked him and ran from the house to pick up a haversack already packed with clothes for the funeral, a nightdress and toiletries. Then she jumped on Sloper and sped down the lane under a sky that was slowly turning from dull grey to soft pink. There were no clouds and hardly any wind.

  She found Geoff and Alan waiting for her at the door of New Hall. Geoff was wearing his waxed jacket and flat cap, ready to set off on his rounds. Alan was in his navy blue mac and school cap, holding the shopping bag crammed with his possessions and with his gas mask slung across his chest – just as Brenda and Joyce had first seen him on the bus ride out to Shawcross.

  ‘You see?’ Geoff said to him as Brenda hopped off her bike. ‘I promised you she wouldn’t forget.’

  Brenda took the bag and strapped it behind the pillion seat. ‘It’s a lovely morning,’ she said to Geoff as she sat astride Sloper and held the bike steady while Alan climbed aboard.

  He nodded. ‘But go steady; the roads will be icy,’ he reminded her. ‘And good luck, Alan.’

  Brenda manoeuvred the bike to face the gate. Thank you, she mouthed to Geoff above the roar of the engine.

  He waved them off then stood in the doorway until the bike had crested the bridge and sailed on past the gloomy vicarage, watching until it disappeared from view.

  *

  On the journey to Attercliffe the sky turned from pink to blue. The hedges and fields were white with hoar frost, the puddles at the sides of the road frozen solid. Brenda whizzed on between stone walls, past twisted hawthorn trees and grey roadside barns then slowed down to cross a fast-running ford where glittering icicles hung from bushes and Alan clung on tighter as they splashed through the shallow water and pigeons rose from the overhanging oak tree then clattered away.

  ‘Not long now,’ Brenda promised as they climbed up the hill towards Kelsey Crag – the landmark that separated the two dales. Once they saw the rooftops of Burnside spread out below them, Brenda felt happy to be back on familiar ground. She knew these lanes and hills like the back of her hand, picturing Una, Elsie and Kathleen as they set out from Fieldhead on their bikes for their day’s work, feeling the nostalgic pull of old places and faces.

  ‘Not long,’ she said again as they coasted through the village, past St Michael’s where Grace and Bill had got married, past the Blacksmith’s Arms, the post office and the row of terraced cottages, and out along the moor road towards Attercliffe, finally creeping up a zigzagging single-track road until they came to the top and gazed like two eagles on the valley below.

  ‘You see that spire?’ she said over her shoulder.

  Alan kept his arms wrapped around her waist as he craned his head sideways.

  ‘That’s Attercliffe.’ Her heart soared as they made their descent. ‘And here we are at Dale End,’ she told him. ‘Where you’ll be staying from now on.’

  *

  The curtains were drawn, the dark house locked into a period of deep mourning.

  ‘The people who live here are sad,’ Brenda warned Alan as they waited at the door. ‘Someone they love has died.’

  Would Les be here yet? Would it be him greeting her, his arms enclosing her, his mouth murmuring soft words?

  The door opened and it was Donald in a dark suit with a black tie, standing stiffly, his face pale and shadowed.

  ‘Les is still on his way,’ he told her without her having to ask. ‘His train was held up just outside Carlisle. Come in. We’re in the sitting room.’

  He took Alan’s bag and put it down at th
e bottom of the stairs then led the way across the hall into Hettie’s favourite room overlooking the garden. Arnold stood with his back to the French windows, all in black, his grey hair neatly parted and his posture ramrod-straight, as if to give way to grief even for a moment would be to open floodgates that could never be closed. He acknowledged Brenda with the smallest of nods.

  Judith stood next to Arnold, her hands clasped nervously in front of her, looking up at him as if waiting for permission.

  He nodded for a second time and she ran across the room, pigtails flying. She flung her arms around her brother’s neck.

  ‘Give up, you’re strangling me,’ Alan protested as he pulled away, cheeks red, eyes brimming with tears.

  ‘Welcome to Dale End,’ Donald said from the doorway. He glanced at Brenda as if seeking her approval.

  Thank you, she mouthed for the second time that morning.

  Alan’s tears fell. The gold-framed pictures on the cream walls grew blurred and the sofas and chairs, the tables and footstools crowded in. His sister held his hand tight.

  ‘Go ahead, Judith,’ Donald prompted gently. ‘Take Alan upstairs and show him to his room.’

  Joyce worked with Alma in the pre-dawn calm of the milking shed. The cows were back in their barn and newly filled bottles rattled along the conveyor belt in the dairy next door while the two women mucked out and hosed the stalls.

  Outside it was still scarcely light. Half an hour earlier Laurence had set out in the Land-Rover to take feed to the few remaining sheep left on the fell. ‘I’ll leave them out until after Christmas if I can,’ he’d told them. ‘Then I’ll bring them in for lambing.’

  ‘When’s your next driving lesson?’ Joyce asked Alma as they worked. It was the first time she’d seen her wearing trousers and noticed how well they showed off her slim hips and waist.

  ‘On Sunday, if Laurence finds time to teach me.’

  ‘You’ve already taken to it like a duck to water.’

  ‘Thank you. I hope it wasn’t beginner’s luck.’