by Nancy Carson
This new relationship was what she needed to shut Stanley Dando out of her life forever. She wrote to him of her decision not to join him in Southern Rhodesia, and promised to return all the money he’d sent to pay for their passages just as soon as it was refunded. Alice and Maxine took this news with sulky disappointment but, to her surprise, neither Henzey nor Herbert seemed to mind. For Herbert, of course, it meant that he could concentrate his efforts on his new job, on which he was keen. Henzey already had an inkling that there was something promising afoot with Jesse, and some young beau had refocussed her own interest more locally, so she accepted the cancellation philosophically. She did not question why Lizzie seemed no longer interested in Stanley.
Lizzie now realised she’d been far too hasty in deciding to emigrate so soon after losing Ben; in even considering marriage to Stanley. Her judgement had been clouded by sweet memories of those stolen hours of pleasure. Now she wanted time to acclimatise herself to her new situation. She was enjoying Jesse’s gentle courtship increasingly. She wanted to savour it; to relish the little things he did for her; to see his smile at things she did for him; to revel in the way her pulse rate increased whenever she saw him. These things reminded her of the way she used to feel when she was younger. She wanted time to appreciate them for what they were, untainted by any pressure to escalate the affair with sex. To rush things would have been to mar the gentle pleasure of it, to have cheapened it. They discussed this at length and Jesse understood. He’d waited nearly twenty years for her. A few months more wouldn’t hurt.
Jesse had finally despatched Sylvia, the wedding had been cancelled, and she was grossly put out about it. She sobbed with disappointment and frustration. Twice she had failed to secure the man of her dreams; but this time she did not suspect it was because of Lizzie. Jesse was concerned, however, that once she did – and sooner or later she was bound to – then all hell would be let loose. But they’d deal with that when it arose, if it arose, and not worry about it yet.
So life moved on. Lizzie’s thirty-seventh birthday came and went, as did Easter, when Herbert left school to take up full time employment with Jesse. The weeks seemed to fly, and before they knew it April was out. They sat around the tea table one evening in early May, Lizzie preoccupied.
‘Listen, there’s something I want to talk to you all about,’ she said, looking very serious. Her family looked up at her in anticipation of some great revelation. ‘It’s something I’ve been considering for a while now. You see, I fancy a change. I really fancy going away for a bit, somewhere different, now I haven’t got your father to worry about. So I thought, this September, our Alice, our Maxine and me, could all go to Bromyard for the hop picking. That way we could earn a bit more money. I’m sure I can get the time off at the bottling stores, and it’d mean you having a week or two off school. If you all agree I’ll go and see the woman who does the hiring. She’ll be about in a day or two.’
‘I think that’s a smashing idea, our Mom,’ Herbert said. ‘We don’t mind, do we Henzey?’
‘It’d be a nice change. Will Jesse be going as well?’
‘He’ll be too busy with his business. But he doesn’t mind me going.’
And soon enough hop picking time was upon them. On the morning of the 27th August they carefully packed up everything they were taking to Bromyard, checked it off against the list Lizzie had made, and put it all securely into the old tin trunk they’d borrowed from Beccy Crump. Jesse started his round an hour earlier than usual so he would be finished in time to transport them and the trunk to the station on his milk float. They were due to catch the two o’ clock train. Henzey wished them a nice time as she set off for work, certain she would miss them, but excited at the prospect of getting her first taste of independence and freedom. A lad called Harold Deakin had walked into her life and she had expectations of spending some time with him, without being questioned continually about it by her mother.
‘Keep your eye on our Herbert, Henzey,’ Lizzie said. ‘Don’t let him fall into bad ways. And mind what you’re up to yourself.’
They set off; Jesse and Lizzie and the trunk up on the cart, with Alice and Maxine following on foot. The station was teeming with families waiting for the same train. Half of Dudley was there, it seemed. Ten minutes later the longest train Lizzie had ever seen came steaming and clanking into platform two. It was longer than the platform itself.
‘Have a nice time, then, Lizzie,’ Jesse said, lingering.
Alice and Maxine jostled their way into the carriage to claim three seats.
‘I shall miss you, Jesse. I’ll write just as soon as I can.’
He took her hand. ‘See if you can write fifty pages.’
‘I’ll try. I’d better get on the train now. Thanks for the lift, Jesse.’
Jesse stood and watched her board the train, then made his way home, heavy hearted. He would miss Lizzie. The next few weeks would be hard. While he knew he had Lizzie’s affection, he still found it hard to believe that, after so long, she was finally his. He, too, loved their easy, mellow relationship. They could talk about anything and had no secrets. He didn’t yet believe the time was right to start pressurising her to consummate it, though he longed for her. That in itself would present problems, for there was nowhere they could be alone long enough. At her house the children were always hovering, if only outside, and at the dairy house his mother would be doing likewise. But he was in no rush. The time and the place would present itself surely enough; and both would recognise it.
It was certain, though, that the dairy house would not be the venue. Whilst Maxine had cause to visit his mother frequently, by virtue of her music lessons, Lizzie never did. There always had been, and there still was, an invisible barrier between her and Ezme Clancey. Jesse was aware of it, but could not comprehend it. It was, he knew, a legacy from the old days, when he used to hear his mother make bitchy remarks about Eve. Such professional rivalry over dressmaking should have died with her, but evidently it had not. It was bitterly frustrating. He wanted to tell his mother how happy he was that he and Lizzie were courting, but her reaction would not be favourable. She expected him to settle down with somebody a cut above Lizzie Bishop. Eve Bishop’s daughter would not be good enough. Tom Dando’s daughter was, however, and Ezme could not understand why Jesse was unable to commit himself to that fine girl.
Whenever Jesse called to see Lizzie he never confessed to Ezme where he was bound, unless it was to say he had a message for Herbert. It was easier to lie, and to tell Ezme he was going to The Junction for a pint, or The Dog and Partridge. Ezme, though, was not stupid. She had her suspicions, but was unwilling to ask Jesse outright whether there was anything going on for fear the truth would confirm them. She would not have been able to countenance it. So while she sometimes watched him cross the road, and turn into Lizzie’s entry more times than might be considered decent, she cast it from her mind, telling herself it really was young Herbert he was going to see. She believed what she wanted to believe. There were times when she couldn’t help saying unkind things about Lizzie, but those times merely succeeding in alienating her son, for whenever Ezme made some such comment, he would counter it vehemently and think what a stupid, twisted old woman his mother was.
Jesse was forty-six, and his heart was set on settling down sooner or later with Lizzie. If he could manage to do it with his mother’s blessing, all well and good; if he could not, then so be it. He wanted nothing more than for Lizzie to be his bride, and neither his mother nor anybody else would be allowed to stand in the way of that. And with Lizzie, of course, came a ready-made family. It would please him more than anything if he could father a child of his own but, at his time of life, he would hardly grieve if he didn’t. He and Lizzie were now enjoying each other’s company on a regular basis, and there was no earthly reason why they shouldn’t eventually become man and wife. It was up to him to let her know the extent of his hopes and dreams.
*
In Bromyard, Lizzie and t
he girls were met from the station, along with all the other hop pickers, by a train of wagons and carts pulled by massive shire horses. The tin trunk and all their belongings were piled onto the wagons with everybody else’s, but they had to walk the couple of miles to Pickett’s Farm alongside the wagon. The living accommodation was primitive. First, the overseer took them to a vacant cow shed, and pointed out the space allocated to them. A few bales of straw had been provided for bedding, and Lizzie decided that they should make one big bed to accommodate all three. Their own blankets, laid over the bales, lent a vague feel of home. They’d been advised to bring along extra sheets to use as screens between them and the living areas of other families, thus creating a little privacy, for there would be little enough of it.
Alice suspiciously watched the family garrisoned adjacent to them. Few men went hop picking, but the head of that particular family was present, lining a galvanised bucket with straw.
‘What’s he doin’ that for, Mom?’ Alice whispered.
Lizzie laughed. ‘So’s it doesn’t make a noise when they pee in it.’
‘Does that mean we have to pee and that in here?’ Maxine asked, looking around the cowshed, fearful that they would have no privacy at all.
‘Only at night. There’s proper earth closets during the day, but they’re locked at night for some reason.’
Next morning they befriended other families as they got used to their new environment, familiarising themselves with the cooking and feeding arrangements. Lizzie saw that experienced hop pickers had taken steamers, in which they cooked several dishes at a time. It was all done on a communal open fire outside, adjacent to the living quarters. Everyone dined at trestle tables, and some families used sheets of newspaper as a table-cloth. It was rough, but it promised to be good humoured.
Work started on Monday morning. The Kites soon learned how. First they were allocated a section of a field, referred to by the overseer as a ‘house’. They were to pick all the hops in their house. The hop vines were trained to grow up strings attached to a series of wires stretched at different heights between posts, the highest about eighteen feet. Alice wasn’t the tallest, but she had the job of pulling the vines down from the netting using a long pole with a hook attached. Lizzie and Maxine would then strip off the hops and throw them into a crib, which was a hessian sack slung between wooden supports. From time to time a man known as the busheller would come along and transfer the hops from the crib to a wicker basket. Volume was the method of measuring the amount of work done, and thus the amount they would be paid. But Old Sourface, as Alice decided to call him, annoyed her tremendously when he squashed down the hops as far as they would go in his basket to produce as little volume and as much weight as he could, to their detriment.
It was hard, rough work. Their appetites were voracious, fuelled by the heady smell of hops drying in the kilns no more than a hundred yards from where they worked. After they’d eaten they often accompanied other families to one or other of the local pubs, and relaxed with a drink and a singsong. It was a way of life entirely different from the one they were used to, but they were enjoying it. The holiday atmosphere and the comradeship rendered even the work pleasurable, and time flew.
Lizzie wrote to Henzey and Herbert, and received a reply saying what a lovely time they were having at home without their mother’s discipline. Jesse, in his letter, said how much he was missing her. The only impediment now to their future was his mother, seventy-two years old, and strong as a horse.
*
On the third warm and sunny Sunday morning in Bromyard, a smartly dressed man appeared at Pickett’s Farm in a taxi-cab. He wore a dark, three piece suit and a starched collar. A gold fob watch sat in his waistcoat pocket, its gold chain hanging loosely across his chest and secured through a buttonhole. On his head was a black bowler hat, and in the lapel of his jacket was a red rose. He walked up to the farmhouse and tapped on the door with the silver knob of his walking cane. When it was opened he introduced himself as Jesse Clancey.
‘I’m looking for a Mrs Lizzie Kite. She’s working here with her two young daughters.’
‘Ar, there is somebody o’ that name, sir,’ the portly farmer Pickett replied, scratching his groin. ‘Moind you, oi’m ’anged if oi know what she looks like. She’s one o’ them new ’uns. Oi got that many families here, oi can’t ’ope to get to know ’em all, specially the new ’uns.’
‘Any idea where they might be?’
‘Well, she ain’t workin’ today, that’s for certain. None of ’em works of a Sunday.’ He sauntered along the path that ran under the front window and, on tip toe, peered over the hedge at the side of the house. ‘Here, if you come here, sir, you can see some byres. See that caravan there? I’ll lay a shillin’ she’s with all them folk standin’ round it.’
‘What is it? What’s going on? Is it gypsies telling fortunes or something?’
‘It’s the gospel van, sir. We always observe the Sabbath. Mr Archibald Smedley comes here every Sunday durin’ hop pickin’ and conducts a service. They’ve been at it nigh on an hour already. One more hymn should see to it.’
Jesse pulled his fob watch out of his waistcoat pocket and checked the time. ‘Thanks very much. I’ll toddle over to ’em then.’
The farmer pointed to a gate further down the lane. ‘That’s the way in, sir.’
Jesse made his way briskly along the lane, through the gate, and into the field. He headed along a rutted track towards the gospel van just as a stirring version of ‘We plough the fields and scatter’ rose up, disturbing the magpies in the trees. He put his hand up to shade his eyes as he sought Lizzie among the congregation; and then he saw her, singing lustily, Alice and Maxine at her side. He watched for a few seconds, smiling to himself, savouring the welcome sight of her. Then Lizzie spotted him. Her eyes lit up, and with a broad grin, he raised his hat. He saw her whisper something to the girls, and leave them to make her way unobtrusively through the chanting congregation, towards him.
She looked well and happy, and her face and bare arms were tanned. It seemed natural to want to embrace her, but he decided he must exercise some self-control in front of the other hop-pickers – especially on a Sunday – especially during a religious service. After the months of undemanding wooing, of kind attention, and enjoying the companionship of this handsome, young woman, he missed her more than he thought possible. Never would he find anyone more suited to him, and he was sure she now felt the same about him.
He could never have guessed just how much their fortunes would meander before he might ever have a chance with her. He recalled her years ago, dressed up in her Sunday best, walking elegantly past the dairy house. How he used to long for her. Sometimes he would wait for her to walk back, pining for her as she stopped to talk to her friends. He would see her laughing, her eyes bright, and always with a charming look of devilment in them as if she were about to shock everybody with a scandalous display of some sort. Now, twenty years and five children later, as she hurried over to him, dressed for roughing it, but still with that engaging look in her eyes, she was no less beautiful.
As she reached him, he slipped his big hand around hers and squeezed it.
‘Jesse, this is a nice surprise, and you looking so smart as well,’ she cooed. ‘Why didn’t you say in your letter you were coming?’
‘I wanted to surprise you. Oh, you look a treat, my darling. What have they been feeding you on? Here, let’s have a look at you.’ He stood back a step and eyed her up and down. ‘I reckon you’re just about right. I’ve never seen you looking better.’
The congregation continued singing their hearts out, fifty yards away.
‘Well that’s a blessing. Anyway, how’s our Herbert? Have you seen Henzey?’
‘They’re fine. They send their love. But listen, I haven’t come all this way to talk about Henzey and Herbert. I’ve missed you, you know, Lizzie. I couldn’t keep away any longer. Oh, it’s good to see you.’
‘Oh, Jesse. It’s
good to see you as well. How’s your mother?’
‘Fit as a fiddle … Lizzie, if it weren’t for Mother I’d ask you to marry me straight away. You know that, don’t you?’
She sighed. ‘Oh, Jesse, I’m that flattered, but I’d reckoned as much. There’s nothing I’d like better, either, than for us to be married. But let’s not think about it yet, eh? Not while your mother’s alive.’
‘I know, my darling. But I want you to know how I feel. I love you, Lizzie. With all my heart and soul I love you. I can’t wait to marry you.’
The congregation was just finishing itsamen, and the only sound for a few seconds afterwards was the gentle rustling of the leaves in the trees.
She looked into his kind, grey eyes. ‘I’ve thought about it a lot – you and me, Jesse. There wouldn’t be anything amiss in it would there? I mean me being a widow less than eighteen months and all that?’
‘Nothing amiss at all. But I don’t want to saddle you with my mother. Not after all you’ve been through these last ten years. The trouble is, she’s ever likely to live till she’s a bloody hundred.’
‘Well, there’s no rush. I wouldn’t think of it till Ben’s been dead two years, anyway. And that isn’t till next May.’
He sighed, a frustrated sigh. ‘As long as we both know where we’re headed.’
‘I think I’ve known all along. Ever since that night I decided I wasn’t going to Southern Rhodesia I’ve known …’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Listen, they’ve finished singing hymns now, and we’ve got rabbit stew for our dinners. Shall we go for a couple of halves at the Red Cow when we’ve fetched Alice and Maxine?’
‘Sounds like a good idea.’
Chapter 24