by Rosie James
Alice smiled a little secret smile, then scrunched everything up and put it all in the wastepaper basket. Except for that special motto…the one which had been in Sam’s cracker.
That was going straight into her little box of treasures.
Christmas 1941
Alice unpacked her small case, then ran down the stairs where Gloria was in the kitchen making them lunch. Gloria looked up and smiled.
‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to having you home for a few days, Alice,’ she said. ‘When did you say you had to go back?’
Alice made a rueful face. ‘On Saturday, I’m afraid, Mrs. Hammond,’ she said. ‘Because of course the farm doesn’t go on holiday! But the farmer said he thought they could manage without us for a few days.’ She smiled. ‘And the festive season seems to be bringing the best out in him,’ she said, ‘because he agreed for Roger to bring us all home in the van this morning, and to pick us up on Saturday, as well!’
‘Well, I should think so,’ Gloria said firmly. ‘He’s lucky to have you all down there, in my opinion.’
‘We did have a lovely little party with the family on Sunday,’ Alice said, as she helped Gloria carry some things into the small dining room. ‘Mabel is so sweet – she’d put some paper chains up, and we all had a cracker to pull.’ (Alice had noticed the simple little box of crackers up at the village shop.) ‘And I think they were very pleased with the presents we gave them.’ Especially Walter Foulkes, Alice thought – who had seemed quite touched when he’d opened his whisky and cigars – and he’d readily applied some of the fresh supply of liniment Eve had brought him.
‘Thankee for this, Eve,’ he’d said. ‘It’s certainly ’elped me fingers…they don’t throb as much as they used to. Not so much of a pain.’
‘Yes, an’ it’s stopped ’im being so much of a pain, as well,’ Mabel had said. ‘’Ee’s stopped grumbling half the night, and keepin’ me awake!’ But she’d smiled as she’d spoken. She was obviously intensely fond of her husband, –as he was of her – and she’d told Alice once that early in their relationship, they’d always attended the get-togethers the Young Farmers arranged, and that they’d particularly liked to dance. It had been difficult to imagine Walter being light of foot and gracing the dance floor.
The next night, Christmas Eve, Alice and Gloria went to midnight communion at Holy Nativity. It was full, and the carols resounded through the large building. Everyone, believers or not, enjoyed the carols.
As she knelt at the altar, Alice prayed for her parents, and for all the Carmichaels.
And for Sam…always and especially for Sam.
Although Alice had received a lovely Christmas card and letter from Helena, she’d heard nothing from Sam recently. Which didn’t surprise Alice. She knew that he had so much to learn, so much he had to achieve before he could go on to the next stage of a never-ending learning process to eventually become the surgeon he hoped to be. He had completed his five years at university and was now in the first of a two-year basic science degree, after which he had to do three clinical foundation years in a hospital before beginning the surgery programme. And there was apparently more, after that.
No wonder she hadn’t heard from Sam.
This was the third Christmas morning that Alice had been living at the house in Totterdown, and as she always had, Dora came in from next door to share it with them. And as usual, Gloria had pushed the boat out. All over the house she had put up the same trimmings she’d been using for years – there were balloons hanging from the lamp shades and, war or no war, they were going to enjoy their lunch! There were chicken portions wrapped in bacon and surrounded by Gloria’s own recipe for stuffing (can’t bear the boxy stuff, she’d often declared), there were small sausages and plenty of vegetables, the potatoes roasted to a fine, brown crisp.
And afterwards, Christmas pudding, the custard laced with a generous slug of brandy.
And as Alice sat enjoying every single mouthful, she remembered all the Christmases in Clifton…the elegance, the affluence…and here, in this little house in a Bristol suburb, the annual ritual was taking place all over again. And Alice was making no odious comparisons…to her, the simplicity of today’s occasion was as beautiful as anything she’d experienced before. Today’s hostess as generous as she could possibly be.
Presently, after the table had been cleared and the dish-washing done, the three sat by the fire and exchanged their gifts, all exclaiming gratefully as they unwrapped theirs. There were a few bath-time luxuries, a head scarf, warm bed socks, chocolate bars, toffees and mints, and Dora’s present to Gloria was a hand-made arrangement of holly and garden leaves in a small basket, all sprayed with tinsel dust, and decorated with red ribbon. Despite the obvious deprivations caused by war, there were still some things in the shops.
Presently, as Gloria gathered up all the wrapping paper, she said firmly –
‘Now – Tea leaf time! I’m dying for my cuppa and some fortune-telling! Better the day, better the deed!’
Alice smiled inwardly. If she’d ever needed one, this was Dora’s entrance fee into Gloria’s house, and Alice was sure that the little ritual took place most evenings, especially since the war. It had to be just wishful thinking that a reassuring message might actually be revealed in a few tea leaves left in the bottom of a cup.
Now, with the night darkening outside, they sat together solemnly at the dining table and drank their tea. Gloria was the first to finish hers, swilling the dregs around rapidly and tipping them into her saucer. She peered at the cluster of leaves in her cup.
‘Oh – look, Dora! What on earth are you going to make of this? There’s a lot going on here!’
For the next few minutes, Dora took her time analysing what she was seeing in the three cups – her own included. In Gloria’s, she could see a small – just a very small – health warning but no need to worry – and then some unexpected good luck might be happening on Sunday…after midday…
And in Alice’s Dora saw extremely good health, a minor concern about a loved one – and then – wait a minute…yes…yes…definitely – Yes! A love heart! And a wedding ring!
Mid-morning on Saturday, the little Morris van trundled along the roads out of town and into the countryside. Roger was feeling very up-beat – it was going to be good having the girls back on the farm.
He glanced at Eve and Alice who were sharing the passenger seat next to him, and raised his voice so that Fay could hear from the back.
‘So – have you all had a good time, then?’ he said, wondering if any of them had acquired a new boyfriend during their break.
Fay yawned loudly. ‘Not really, but it was lovely seeing my gran,’ she said. ‘She had some friends in, and we all had a good Christmas dinner and plenty to drink. But apart from that – nothing else.’ She yawned again. ‘In fact, I’m looking forward to going back to the farm.’
Eve spoke up. ‘Well, yes…I’m quite pleased the holiday is over,’ she said. ‘Not that I didn’t enjoy being home with my parents – but four days seemed long enough. There wasn’t really much to do, and we’re so used to being busy all the time now, I sort of missed that…missed the challenge of getting up early and of getting…’
‘Mucky?’ Roger suggested. Though he doubted that, especially in Eve’s case.
‘No – of knowing that the animals depend on me,’ Eve said. ‘Not only me, of course, but…I like giving them their feed, I like seeing them come running up to me. And the cows are so sweet and patient. I like milking the cows.’ She paused thoughtfully for a second. ‘I’d like to pick up every one of the chickens and give them a hug.’
Roger grinned. ‘That might surprise them,’ he said. He glanced over at Alice. ‘What about you, Alice? Good time?’
She nodded quickly. ‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘My landlady couldn’t have been nicer…despite everything, it felt like a real Christmas.’
Silence fell for a few moments as they travelled along the quiet winte
r roads. And Alice made a face to herself as she thought of Dora and her fortune-telling nonsense. Honestly, how ridiculous to think for a single moment that anything, anything at all, could be read from a few random tea leaves left in a cup! Belief in such a thing must surely be restricted to the simple-minded!
But if it gave Gloria pleasure – so what was wrong with that?
And if Alice’s heart had lifted skywards for just a second or two – well – what was wrong with that, either?
Chapter Thirteen
April 1942
Spring time was definitely the best time of year to be working on a farm, Alice thought. The days were warmer and drier, new growth was appearing everywhere, and even the animals and birds seemed more content.
As usual, there was more than enough for everyone to do – planting of all the new crops had begun in earnest – turnips and maize for next winter’s feeds – swedes, beet, potatoes and all the green vegetables produced on Home Farm. And the everlasting feeding and watering of the livestock. The work was constant and often back-breaking but the girls got on with it as usual, without complaining.
But the most exciting aspect of this time of year was seeing all the little new-born calves. Eve, especially, was enraptured.
‘They’re called our “springers”,’ Mabel said, as she, Alice, Fay and Eve leaned over the rail watching the small, perfectly formed creatures nuzzling their mothers. ‘But look – see? There’s two of ’em there not getting’ the ’ang of things yet,’ Mabel added, going inside the pen and bringing the calf to the cow, trying to persuade it to latch onto the teat. ‘There you are, my lovely, that’s it. You have a good old swig,’ she suggested. And after a few moments the calf began to suck.
The pen, smelling headily of manure, straw, warm animal and milk, was lovely and warm, and Eve said, ‘Will they be staying here all night, Mrs. Foulkes?’ She didn’t want to think of these small animals being shooed out into the fields.
‘Oh, these won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few weeks, luvver,’ Mabel said, coming out and fastening the pen. ‘They need a bit of warmth and comfort ’til they get goin’.’
Fay glanced over at Eve. The girl was such a softie, Fay thought, and clearly besotted with all animals, big or small. And it was strange how Evie – and all of them – had got so used to the farmyard smells that no one ever mentioned that now. It was part of the job, and part of their lives and it had become perfectly acceptable. Fay smiled to herself as she remembered Alice saying that she liked the smell of the chicken meal so much she’d like a spoonful herself… Yes, it was funny, remarkable really, how soon the human mind could adapt to any situation, where and when necessary.
It was Saturday, almost the end of April and the days were lengthening rapidly. There was even a hint of summer in the air as one evening after their meal the girls wandered out for a last stroll before bed. Roger was with them because he’d suggested that they should all go together up to one of the top fields where, back in the autumn, he had taught Fay how to do some hedge-laying.
‘She made a proper job of that,’ he said, as he fell into step beside them. ‘And it’s looking a treat with all the new growth coming on now.’ He grinned down at Fay. ‘She didn’t need telling twice how to handle a billhook – but I wouldn’t like to upset her when she had one of the things in her hands!’
They reached the field in question, and Alice and Eve had to admire Fay’s handiwork. The branches had been bent and laid along neatly, horizontally, one after the other, providing a secure barrier for the animals. And Roger nodded with renewed satisfaction as he examined all the work they’d done together at the end of the year. Fay was clever, a natural. So easy to work with.
Later, all three got into bed at last. Eve was in a particularly happy mood as she sat up, her arms hugging her knees.
‘I just adore those little calves,’ she said. ‘They’re so sweet, aren’t they?’ She paused for a moment. Then – ‘I’ll try ringing my parents in the morning – they said in their last letter that they hoped to be properly connected by this time. We’ve never had a telephone before,’ she added, lying down and stretching her arms above her head lazily.
Fay was lying on her back with a cigarette in her mouth trying to blow smoke rings, and failing.
‘I’ve never been able to do it,’ she grumbled, stubbing out the end and yawning loudly. She glanced over at Alice. ‘Wha’ you reading, Alice? she said. ‘Not flippin’ Jane Eyre again, surely?’
Alice smiled – feeling slightly irritated. Was she never going to be given a moment’s peace to read ever again, she asked herself? But the small paperback in her hands immediately put her negative feelings to rest. She looked over at Fay.
‘No, I’m giving Jane a rest for a bit,’ she said. ‘And this is…this is only a book of poems I was given at Christmas. That’s all.’
That’s all? That’s all? What did she mean that’s all!
‘Oh blimey,’ Fay said mildly. ‘Bloody poetry. I don’t know what anyone sees in it. Just an awkward, long-winded, roundabout way of saying things that could be said in half the time if you ask me.’ She sniffed. ‘I was always rubbish at it – well I was rubbish at most things if I’m honest.’
Alice turned her back slightly and snuggled down under her quilt, smoothing her fingers over and over the pages of the small book which had been enclosed with a letter and card at Christmas. It had been held up in the post, and had been waiting for her when they’d all got back from Bristol on the day after Boxing Day.
Dear Alice
Happy Christmas! We can still say this to each other, can’t we, despite the weird and worrying times we’re all having. I wasn’t sure where you would be spending the festive season, but to make sure you received this I decided to send it to the farm.
Unfortunately, I am not able to leave London for the holiday because I am on duty for most of the time – and when not on duty there’s always wretched study to be getting on with. I shall be sorry not to see my parents and the children in Wales, but they understand.
I was trying to think of something that I could send to you easily in the post, and when I was in a bookshop recently I saw this little pocket edition of favourite poems which seemed to jump out at me. That’s for Alice, I thought. So here you are. I hope you like it…I’ve read it right through myself, working out which ones might be your favourite. I’ve picked out favourite ones of my own.
All the lovely Christmases we had in Clifton seem hundreds of years away, don’t they? But life goes on, and it will go on, whatever happens, and one day things must get back to normal again. And when that happens, we’ll all be together and you and I will sit in a corner out of reach of any distractions and discuss these poems. I will personally see to it! And I hope we don’t disagree too much about our personal choices!
A happy Christmas, and I hope a more peaceful New Year for us all.
My very best and always good wishes to you, Alice –
With love,
Sam.
With love, did he say? With love? Alice had had to keep reading those two words over and over again – to make sure she wasn’t seeing things that weren’t there.
The following morning, Sunday, the girls got up a bit later than usual. Well it was officially their day off. Mabel never minded what time they came down to breakfast, and it was 8.30 as they went down into the kitchen.
Mabel was busying herself by the range, and she looked up as the girls came in. ‘Oh, there you are, luvvers. Sleep a’right?’ she enquired.
The question was irrelevant now. The girls always slept like logs.
They sat down, and Mabel brought over a large brown loaf and put it down on the bread board. ‘There,’ she said, ‘nice and warm, that is. After your porridge.’ She smiled at the girls. ‘Rog has popped up to the village to put petrol in the van but ’ee said ’ee wouldn’t be long. He ’elped me with the milking this mornin’ an’ I said he should have an hour off for once.’ She paused. ‘P ’raps you – the
four of you – would like to go off for a walk or somethin’…or go up to the pub for a drink ’afore lunch?’ It was so nice for Roger to have female company for a change, and Mabel knew very well that he liked the girls…liked being with them. And why shouldn’t he? It was natural, and there weren’t many women round here that you’d want to write home about.
‘We did go for a walk last night – to admire the hedge-laying,’ Alice said, picking up her dish and going over to help herself to porridge. ‘But it is a nice morning – and I wouldn’t mind another stroll.’
Eve agreed at once, and Fay said that a walk would be good so long as it ended up at the Wheatsheaf.
They were just finishing their breakfast when they heard the van drive up to the farmhouse door. Everyone looked up as Roger came in hurriedly, obviously disturbed about something as he slammed the door behind him, and Mabel said –
‘What is it…what’s the matter? Wa’n’t there no petrol, Rog?’
‘No…it’s…’ Roger hardly knew how to go on, then – ‘Put the wireless on, Mum…I’ve just heard up the village…Bath caught it during the night. A big one…it’s on the wireless…’ He almost wrung his hands at bringing back such terrible news and he looked down at Eve who had stopped eating and was speechless, her face visibly paling. But after a few moments –
‘What do you mean Bath caught it?’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘You don’t mean…Bath was bombed…’
Roger looked so miserable at bringing the bad news that Fay said hurriedly –
‘How much is actually known, Roger? Has there been a news mix-up, a mistake…or is this a fact?’ It seemed impossible, ridiculous even, that Hitler would waste his ammunition on a historic, gentle city like Bath.
Roger pressed his lips together, then – ‘Well, they’re saying on the wireless that it was obviously one of Hitler’s Baedecker raids, targeting certain cities to try and demoralize the inhabitants.’ Roger’s expression was grim, and he looked down at Eve, who was sitting, transfixed at the totally unexpected news. Bath bombed? It was unthinkable…no one had ever thought such a thing possible, even though air raid shelters had been erected in the streets – just in case.