The Land Girl

by Allie Burns

  More tears came than she could fight off, those ones for John. She had trusted him, and he had surrendered half their home and put an uncle they hardly knew in charge of their estate. He’d told her to accept what was to come. But she wouldn’t. Her cheeks soaked, her face creased up, she turned away from the mirror and dived headlong on to the bed, face down, a fleeting care for the waves that Bassett had ironed into the front.

  But the only way she could defy John, and ask him why he had made such a terrible decision was if he were to walk through the door at that moment, and that could never happen.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  January 1919

  Dearest Theo,

  Wherever are you? It is January now and we are to stay on in London, but only for a short while, I hope, until we can return to Kent.

  Please write soon, Theo.

  Fondest wishes

  Emily

  As soon as Wilfred closed the front door behind him the morning he returned to work, she shot out of her room and down the stairs to find Mother. Her uncle had gone back to the office. The festive celebrations, such as they were in De Vere Gardens, were over. Mother was in the morning room being served her second breakfast course.

  ‘I’ll take my porridge now,’ Emily said to the maid.

  She noted the headlines on the front page of The Times and then pushed it away. Uncle Wilfred’s newspapers tainted the morning room, bringing a heavy cloud of unrelenting mourning and international unrest into the house.

  More trouble brewed in Germany. There had been another revolt, the uprising crushed within four days and the leaders killed.

  ‘Grandmother said she’d like to see you,’ Emily said once Bassett was out of earshot. Mother speared a burgundy nugget of kidney with her fork and didn’t reply.

  Concentrating her efforts on pouring the tea, Emily continued: ‘Did you sleep well?’

  The door to the yellow room had creaked open and then shut shortly after she’d gone to bed herself. Her relief that the two of them had separate rooms had been short-lived. She’d been in the house for several nights and each night she’d been stirred from her own sleep by footsteps on the landing below.

  ‘Quite well,’ Mother said.

  Emily stirred her tea, but eyed her Mother discreetly, as a bowl of porridge was slid under nose. She preferred it as sweet as possible. The cook added too much salt for her liking, but she’d have to be content with a light dusting of sugar. She blew on her porridge. Gosh, she was hungry. She ate, not minding the saltiness or that it burnt her mouth.

  Once finished, Emily pushed away the empty bowl. It was swept up from the table and a plate of kipper fillets appeared. Morning sickness might be behind her, but her stomach flinched at the pungent salty aroma. The porridge sat heavily, too. But the butter melted on the top kipper and cascaded onto the plate in a way that she couldn’t resist.

  The room was silent but for the clink of the cutlery against the china and then Mother sliced a fried egg in two and the yolk oozed and merged with the bloodied kidneys. Even without Wilfred there, the staff were ever present, whispering in one another’s ears.

  Emily stabbed right through a chunk of kipper, making her fork screech across the china while Mother popped in the slice of fried egg.

  ‘We should go today,’ Emily whispered. ‘To see Grandmother.’

  ‘Wilfred won’t allow me,’ Mother said.

  Emily couldn’t eat any more. Her plate was removed with a remaining kipper on it. Tiger the tomcat at the farmhouse would have been first in line for that.

  *

  In the end, Emily went to Grandmother’s flat by herself. She’d had enough of De Vere Gardens. When she arrived at the Belgravia mansion flat, her Grandmother was just winding up a small meeting in the drawing room with a group of men she introduced as ex-officers – sons and nephews of Grandmother’s friends that she had rounded up to tackle the cause of the ex-soldiers in East London with lung damage. Thousands had perished from tuberculosis since the war’s end courtesy of London’s dirty air.

  ‘The thought of it keeps me awake at night,’ Grandmother concluded, the black feathers on her hat twitching. ‘We must act, and quickly, to save lives.’ And the men all nodded in agreement. She’d been quick to dismiss Grandmother’s fundraising as unimportant, but it was clear that she was making the most of her position in society to make positive changes for the less fortunate. ‘These men may live a matter of miles from where we sit today, but it is a very different world, a place where one won’t survive without robust health. These men need and deserve clean air, and we must see that they get it.’

  ‘So, what’s to be done?’ she blurted out.

  All heads turned to face her. She had only meant to wait quietly at the back of the room until Grandmother had finished. The faces of the men turned her way shone as if they’d been polished with beeswax, all except one, who looked like it was a great effort for him to be there.

  Grandmother introduced each man by name. She nodded and repeated, ‘Pleased to meet you,’ until she got to the tired-looking chap. He was familiar, but she couldn’t think …

  ‘… And Captain Ellery.’ Of course! Her smile garnered a quizzical frown from Grandmother. She was about to point out that they’d actually already met, but his green eyes were flat, and uninterested. She tidied away her loose hair, glancing up furtively once Grandmother spoke again. It was definitely him – the same sea-green eyes. The man who’d convalesced at HopBine, who’d liked her Turkish delight.

  While Grandmother continued with her rallying speech she took in his long legs, how he wrung his hands. His green-eyed gaze suggested he was far away. Somewhere else altogether. He appeared to have more lines on his face than the others, but it was tiredness not age that had faded him. His shoes wore a lustrous sheen that wasn’t in keeping with the rest of his appearance.

  ‘What do you think, Captain Ellery?’ Grandmother asked in a way that suggested he was another of her pet projects. ‘Could some visits to the seaside possibly be enough to stem all of these deaths, or do we need to look at something more drastic such as rehousing the men?’

  ‘We could consult with a doctor …’ Captain Ellery had a soft voice, gentle, little more than a whisper. It was familiar to her too. ‘Beautiful,’ he’d said as her Turkish delight had melted in his mouth.

  ‘It’s such an expensive business though,’ said one of the other men. Emily involuntarily sneered at him, for interrupting Ellery.

  ‘You are resourceful men and men of means too,’ Grandmother said. ‘That’s why you are here. You can find a way, I’m quite sure. I intend to ask my son for a donation, but there can be no guarantees there I’m afraid.’ She flattened out her curled lip with a beaming smile and pushed herself to standing with her stick to bring the meeting to its end.

  Emily met Captain Ellery’s gaze. It was the perfect opportunity to remind him they’d met before, but he turned away as soon as their eyes met and faced the front after that.

  The meeting finished shortly afterwards. Emily noted when they would convene again; perhaps she could come along too. Energised now, with Grandmother to herself, she raced through her account of the situation at De Vere Gardens.

  ‘He is controlling her, and she’s letting him.’

  Grandmother nodded with a heavy head. It was as she’d suspected.

  ‘And, John put him in control of the estate. He cleared the debts and now Wilfred owns half of it, and he doesn’t believe women should work now the war is over.’

  ‘Well, I’m in agreement with him there,’ she said. ‘You only have one choice, and that is to persuade your mother to leave.’

  Dearest Theo,

  I shall go on writing, because what else can I do? Shouldn’t you be back with us by now?

  Fondest wishes

  Emily

  Dear Sirs,

  I write in connection with my husband, Officer Williams of the Wakefield Regiment. I am writing for news of his whereabouts. I’m afrai
d he might be in hospital, or worse, as he has not written since the Armistice was signed. He doesn’t yet know that he’s going to become a father later this year and I wish to tell him the news as soon as is possible.

  Any information would be most gratefully received.

  Yours sincerely

  Emily Williams (Mrs)

  Dearest Martha,

  I wonder how you all are on the farm? Have you begun to plough the fields yet? Will Mr Tipton use the Fordson, or is he determined to let it rust now I’m gone? How many sheep are with lamb? I often imagine you walking Bob up and down with the plough. It might sound strange to anyone else, but I know that you will understand when I say that I envy you your aches and pains from lifting stones, and the sensation after standing up from thistle weeding. Please write to me with every detail to colour this grey and brown world with a vibrant Kentish green.

  Your friend

  Emily

  ‘Families are such complicated beasts, dear,’ came Grandmother’s unhelpful reply when Emily telephoned her again after Mother had been in bed with a migraine for two days. ‘But in the long term she’ll thank you for encouraging her to leave. She doesn’t love him at all.’

  Staying another moment with her uncle was unbearable, and she couldn’t allow Mother to remain either.

  ‘While I have you …’ Grandmother continued, ‘I’m friends with Captain Ellery’s mother. She’s terribly worried about him. He won’t return to work and he sits in his room all day with the curtains closed. We thought some company his age might lift his spirits.’

  Emily agreed – of course she could help. The doctor had advised the baby needed regular fresh air. It would be the perfect excuse to get her out of De Vere Gardens.

  ‘And don’t worry. I’ll make it very clear that you’re married and expecting.’

  Emily swallowed her laughter. Of course she would.

  *

  She and Ellery strolled in silence to the end of the road. There was so much she wanted to know about this quiet man that she didn’t know where to begin. But it didn’t matter – she just enjoyed the rhythm of his stride, the clip of his boots, fresh air and leaving the problems in De Vere Gardens behind her.

  They crossed Kensington High Street at the corner of De Vere Gardens to join Hyde Park near the Round Pond and her mind began to settle. They wove in and out between the nannies pushing baby carriages until they came to the Serpentine and the grass fell away towards the water.

  A lone fieldfare, driven to the city by the cold snap, jumped from branch to branch. It had a delightfully plump, speckled belly.

  ‘He’s a long way from home,’ she said. ‘I used to work alongside those birds all the time when I was a land girl.’

  ‘The birdsong reminds me of the trenches now,’ Ellery said.

  Oh dear. So much for encouraging him to talk about his time in Kent; instead she’d managed to remind him of the war.

  ‘So, your family are from London, I understand,’ she said.

  ‘Your grandmother mentioned that your husband is missing,’ he said by way of reply in a soft voice that invited her to lean closer.

  Her cheeks began to burn. So he’d heard about that. ‘Oh, did she?’

  ‘She meant well. Enquired whether I could offer some advice, help you track him down.’

  Of course she had. She bit her lip. Grandmother was so much more than a gossip. She’d proven that already with her charity to help the men with lung troubles. Her concerns for her daughter-in-law had alerted Emily to the difficulties at De Vere Gardens.

  ‘I’ve written to the War Office,’ she told him. ‘I hope they might know where he is.’

  The Captain nodded slowly, his hands buried deep in his trench coat pockets. A boy in long shorts righted a toy yacht that had capsized in the shallows. The Captain gazed at him too.

  ‘You could write to his CO. Write to his friends and family perhaps.’

  She sighed. ‘Thank you. I will try that.’

  ‘Do you think he wants to be found?’ Ellery asked.

  She smarted at the directness of his question. He was staring straight at her making her skin tingle. His eyes weren’t as green in this light; they had a deeper, hazel hue around the centre if the light caught them in the right way.

  ‘I really don’t know. And, if I am perfectly honest, I don’t even know if I want to find him. That probably makes me a terrible person, given my condition. But if things were different …’ She tailed off. If it wasn’t for the baby or the problems at home she would have given up on Theo by now, but he deserved to know he was going to become a father, deserved a second chance at being the husband he’d promised to be, all that time ago.

  ‘The war did strange things to us all,’ Ellery said. ‘Our challenge is to accept who we were then, and not blame ourselves for the things we did.’

  Her hand was reaching out towards his arm, before she caught herself and pulled it back. He understood her predicament and didn’t judge her, or Theo, but he had problems of his own and she mustn’t expect too much from him.

  He sighed, frowning heavily. His pained eyes were trained on the water, but seeing something else altogether, she suspected. The things he had done, actions he fought now not to blame himself for, would be very hard to accept.

  She let her back settle into the bench, stretched her legs out in front of her, her thighs brushing his with an electrical charge, while the winter sun soothed her bones, and warmed up the baby.

  ‘I’ve somewhere I ought to be,’ Captain Ellery said, his heels dragging across the ground as he pulled himself up.

  ‘So soon?’ she said, kicking herself for sounding too keen. ‘Grandmother hoped I might cheer you up.’

  He gave a wry smile at that, flipped up his collar. He sunk his head down as if the sun wasn’t shining at all. She must keep her behaviour seemly. She was expecting a child, searching for a missing husband. What if he responded to her? She wouldn’t think him much of a gentleman if he did offer her lingering looks or touched her arm.

  ‘Cheerio,’ he said, and with that he left her sitting on the bench alone. She gathered a handful of snowdrops from beneath the tree trunk to take back to De Vere Gardens and put in a vase, a reminder of those that grew beneath the monkey puzzle tree at home.

  *

  Dearest Emily,

  I have to tell you that we’re missing you at the farm. It really isn’t the same around here without you. I am now the worst at milking time for one thing!

  Mrs Tipton misses you too. It was her that urged me to write to you. When I last saw you, you spoke of taking the place over? I had hoped it might be true, that I might be your assistant and this wouldn’t all come to an end. It all seems quite fanciful now. Mr Tipton wants to retire and yet he says HopBine still lies empty. I suppose London has much to keep you there and you’ve forgotten about us here already.

  They are not far from being back up to strength at the farm now. The ole man longs to retire more with every passing day, but says he won’t leave your mother in the lurch. The Land Army haven’t demobilised us yet. They say it might be as late as the end of the season, what with demob in France still taking so long.

  We’re back up to eleven labourers now, only four shy of a full set, and there are men appearing over the horizon every day, out on the tramp searching high and low for work. It means us girls are on our bicycles and travelling to farms far and wide around the parish. The ole man says I ought to think of finding more work afore the harvest even.

  Yours in the field

  Martha

  First Corporal – Bramley Battalion

  Her pace quickened; Captain Ellery was waiting for her at the bench at the far end of the Serpentine.

  ‘I was rude to you the other day, especially going off like that.’ He stood as she approached. ‘I apologise.’ He spoke quietly, but as if he really meant it.

  ‘Did you come of your own accord, or did my grandmother send you?’ she asked, tilting her head to one side pl
ayfully and raising her eyebrows.

  He smiled. ‘You’ve found me out. She does make me feel as if I’m a small boy again. She’s doing a good thing with this project to help the East End soldiers though. Men like me never have to worry about money and that makes it easy to forget what privileges and freedoms wealth can give you.’

  She nodded. How true that was – and power too. Prosperity gave you the sort of power that allowed you to buy out your own family and leave them beholden to you.

  ‘At least you’re doing something useful with your capital; that has to count for something. I brought some bread for the ducks,’ she said. ‘Will you feed them with me?’

  She edged away from him as he sat down to keep a decent distance between them, but her gaze still strayed towards him while she broke up the bread and scattered it on the pond.

  ‘My uncle keeps talking about retribution,’ she said when the bread was all gone and she sat next to him again. ‘It’s surely time to rebuild, don’t you think?’

  And then there was Cecil. He would be released soon. What sort of future did he have now? Who would lead the rest of them into the daylight?

  ‘Perhaps it falls to the women to save us this time,’ the Captain said.

  ‘Do you think we’re capable then?’

  ‘Of course. The men made a mess of things. The women couldn’t do any worse.’

  Emily chuckled. ‘It’s not a glowing endorsement, Captain Ellery. I would love dearly to take on my own little world, but I’ve got more immediate concerns than rescuing mankind.’ She rubbed a hand on her pert belly. She chose her words carefully so as not to mention HopBine; the moment had passed for them to remember that shared experience. If he’d wanted to talk about it, he would have done by now. ‘I need to persuade my mother that it’s time to accept what’s happened, to go home and live this new life that’s been foisted upon us.’