by Annie Groves
‘I never thought of that either,’ Agnes said as the realisation hit her. ‘Oh, Olive, I have been so selfish. I’ll have to get a move on.’
‘Well, have your tea first,’ Olive said, before they looked at each other and laughed.
‘Have your tea first … that’s a good one, Olive,’ Agnes said, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. Suddenly the future seemed much easier to bear. But there was something she had to do first.
‘And what do you want, may I ask?’ Mrs Jackson looked down her nose as she opened the front door just enough to stare out at Agnes, who stood on the carbolic-smelling landing of the block of flats. Agnes noticed the stairs were still wet, as if they had not long been scrubbed, and she peered into the gloomy face of Ted’s mother.
‘Hello, Mrs Jackson, it’s me, Agnes …’
‘I know fine who you are,’ Mrs Jackson snapped. ‘Why are you here? There’s nothing here for you now. I told you at my son’s funeral that we didn’t want anything to do with you and I meant it.’ She was just about to close the door when Agnes stepped forward; she hadn’t expected to be asked inside.
‘Oh, I haven’t come to—’
‘And don’t think you can come around here with your hand out neither,’ cause my Ted never said nothing about no club money for you! I paid into that for years …’
‘I haven’t come around for money,’ Agnes tried to explain, but it was obvious Mrs Jackson wasn’t listening. ‘Well, there’s nothing here for you so you can scarper. Go on, off my step!’
‘I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving London, Mrs Jackson. I’m going to live on a farm …’ Agnes’s words seemed to have reached Mrs Jackson’s ears because she stopped her diatribe and thought for a moment.
‘A ruddy land girl! Well, that sounds about right, running away from all your responsibilities. I said to my Ted, I said, that girl will amount to nothing, that’s what I said.’
Agnes could feel her heart sink. She hadn’t come here for a confrontation.
‘I can’t see that lasting,’ Mrs Jackson said from behind her half-closed front door where Agnes could see only her head and right shoulder. ‘You’re frightened of your own shadow, you are. My Ted told me you are terrified of the dark.’ She shuffled a little and continued, ‘Don’t you know they’ve got no lights in the countryside?’
‘Ted offered to walk me home because of the blackout. It can be very dangerous.’
‘Caused me no end of grief, it did. My Ted’s dinner used to be freezing after he got in from walking you home and then all the way back here. Some people have got no consideration!’
Agnes refrained from asking if it would have been a hardship to put his dinner in the oven or perhaps make it half an hour later, as she didn’t want to inflame Mrs Jackson any further.
‘Who told you there are no lights in the countryside?’ Agnes was confused. ‘Of course they have lights – not in the lanes perhaps, but neither have we in the blackout …’
‘Don’t you be so impudent.’ Mrs Jackson’s sharp intake of breath told Agnes she hadn’t finished yet. ‘I am not having no foundling talking to me … coming around here with your airs and graces, working on a farm indeed! Get off my step!’
‘I just wanted to let you know, that all,’ Agnes offered, taking a step back as Mrs Jackson was getting increasingly riled.
‘And what makes you think we need help from the likes of you?’ The last part of the remark was a sneer. ‘So you can go about your bother and leave us in peace.’
‘If there’s anything that you ever need I’ll be at this address.’ Agnes handed Ted’s mother a piece of paper, which was snatched from her hands, and Ted’s mother read the address of the farm before shoving it roughly into the pocket of her apron. As she was about to close the door Agnes said, ‘If the girls want to come out to Surrey for a little holiday they are more than welcome.’
‘Hark at Lady Muck.’ Mrs Jackson’s wide eyes told Agnes that she was outraged. ‘What right ’ave you got to say who can and who can’t take holidays on farms? Tell me that!’ The door opened a little wider now so she could lean forward and thrust her chin in Agnes’s direction. ‘Coming round here with your airs and graces.’ Her hands were on her hips now and her words echoed around the stairwell for all to hear. ‘Who do you think you are, lording it over respectable people! We don’t take charity from the likes of you, lady.’
‘Well, the offer’s there, take me up on it any time, Mrs Jackson,’ Agnes said, feeling guilty that she hadn’t called round sooner because, like now, she was sure she wouldn’t be welcome.
Agnes didn’t tell Mrs Jackson she actually owned the farm; the older woman probably wouldn’t believe it anyway and her thoughts were realised when Mrs Jackson said, ‘It’ll be a poor day in the workhouse before I take handouts from an outcast, my girl.’ She scurried back behind her front door. ‘Now if I were you, I’d make my way down those stairs and don’t come bothering us any more.’
‘Well, so long, Mrs Jackson …’ Agnes said.
But before she’d even finished what she was saying the door was slammed shut. Mrs Jackson couldn’t stand her when her son was alive, and Agnes was quite sure she hated her guts now that he was dead.
As she descended the stone stairs Agnes knew it would have been nice if Ted’s younger sisters could have come out to the farm in the summer for a bit of a holiday. It would do their chests the world of good being out in the open countryside instead of cooped up in soot-covered foggy old London, and it would be safer. Even if there hadn’t been many raids lately, there was always a chance that they would start up again.
Maybe, Agnes thought as she hurried out to the street, she would write a letter in springtime, inviting them to come. That would be nice. Her mind was busy now as she tried to quell the rising feeling of anguish as darkness drew in. She hadn’t been back to the buildings since Ted went – she refused to think of him as being killed. However, coming here brought it all back – the times when she thought Ted and her would set up house together and live happily ever after … But real life wasn’t like that, and Ted being taken was a tragedy, but the only way she would ever get over it was to move on, away from the underground and somewhere completely different.
Even though Agnes was sad, she felt as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She would never have forgiven herself if she’d left without letting Ted’s mother know she was moving. It would have been nice if she and Mrs Jackson could have been a bit closer. Maybe they could have helped each other in their grief. Things would have been so different if only she could have talked about Ted, maybe over a cup of tea, been a comfort to each other.
Agnes sighed as she made her way back to Article Row, realising that things weren’t going to change. Mrs Jackson didn’t like her and that was an end to it.
TWELVE
November 1943
Agnes looked through the crisscrossed tape that covered the window and down at Article Row. It was a sight she had seen every morning from the bedroom she had once shared with Tilly. The Row was peaceful now, not a soul to shatter the tranquillity of the new day and the beginning of a brand-new chapter of her life.
Her talk with Olive had proved to her that her independence was long overdue. She must stand on her own two feet now. And after seeing Tilly and the other ATS girls getting on with their lives and being free she knew that she had been protected long enough.
Her own life had always been one of safe routine; when she wasn’t working she had been sleeping or anticipating another air raid – if she was honest, her nerves were shattered too. But there was nothing to keep her here any longer. Barney was growing in size and stature, and stayed with Olive most nights, so Agnes didn’t have an excuse to stay put. She would miss Olive – of course she would – the woman had been so wonderful to her, a foundling, and she would feel the drag on her heart when she imagined little Alice, whom she had grown very fond of, calling out her name and getting no reply. But this too was not enough to keep her here in Lon
don and become a shell of the woman she truly was.
Looking down now she saw Sally mount her bicycle and glide down Article Row on her way to Barts; Agnes was glad she wouldn’t be here and had deliberately stayed here for an extra two days because Sally had been off work. She wanted to go alone. No goodbyes. No tears. It was better this way.
Agnes knew that the coast was clear for her to go downstairs and, taking one last look at the clean, tidy room she had once shared with Tilly, she sighed. These floral-papered walls had been witness to many secrets shared between herself and Tilly over the years. Agnes smiled now; if only they could talk.
Picking up her suitcase, which had lain on top of the polished wardrobe since she came here from the orphanage, her eyes swept the room for the last time. She would miss this room, this house, and the people in it. But not as much as she would miss the chance to be her own person if she didn’t take it. A chance she now knew she never would have had if Ted had still been alive. He would have dismissed her dreams with crushing indifference in favour of his mother, out of a misguided belief that his life revolved around her, because that is what his mother had led him to believe. However, Agnes knew now that she could not stay here just because she was scared to take a chance on the rest of her life. She would have no life while she stayed within the confines of her ghosts. She had to move on sooner or later – and later wasn’t an option.
‘You will stay in touch, won’t you, Agnes?’ Olive said quietly so as not to wake the child. Of course Olive was up early to see her off. Agnes nodded, unable to speak now. ‘We could come to you for Christmas? What do you think?’ Olive offered, and Agnes frantically nodded, unable to speak.
‘You will take care of yourself, won’t you, Agnes?’ Olive asked, giving a little nod of her head, which she always did when she was trying to rein in her emotions.
‘No, Olive, I’ll let myself go to seed like an old lettuce,’ Alice half laughed, half cried, and as tears streamed down her cheeks she clung to Olive and said into her shoulder, ‘Of course I’ll take care of myself, and you look after yourself too. You have been like a mother to me, Olive.’
‘Oh, don’t, you’ll have me crying next.’ Olive laughed, but behind her laughter there were tears in her voice. ‘Even though you grew up in the city you have the country in your heart – you will be fine, I’m sure.’
‘I will, and I’ll write every week to let you know how I’m getting on.’
‘I’ll look forward to reading your letters, Agnes, and I’ll keep you up to date with what’s going on here, too.’ Olive could feel her heart racing and the tightness at the back of her throat that heralded tears – it was like losing Tilly all over again. But she promised herself she would not cry in front of Agnes; the girl was going through enough.
The beep of Archie’s car horn told Olive it was time for Agnes to leave.
‘Hello, Archie,’ Olive said as he came to the front door and picked up Agnes’s suitcase. He looked a little preoccupied and said only a fleeting hello back.
In the hubbub of ‘goodbye’s and ‘take care’s, Olive didn’t have time to dwell on Archie’s unusual behaviour until he turned round before getting into the driver’s seat of the Wolseley motor car and said in a grave tone, ‘Olive, will you be here when I get back?’
‘I can be, Archie, I am doing a couple of hours at the Red Cross shop and then I have the afternoon free.’ Olive was delighted that Archie wanted to talk to her. He had been very cool of late and she didn’t like it. Maybe he wanted to explain what troubling him, but a whisper of uncertainty hovered in the back of her mind and niggled, and she wasn’t sure why. They hadn’t had a difference of opinion as far as she was aware. They agreed on everything usually.
‘Was that Agnes I saw getting into Sergeant Dawson’s police car this morning?’ Nancy Black asked as Olive was leaving for the church hall.
Olive gave a long sigh. She had been hoping to avoid Nancy and her awkward questions, knowing that Agnes wouldn’t want it broadcast all over the Row that she had come into property.
‘Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Olive?’ Nancy asked as she joined Olive walking to the top of the Row. ‘After all, it must be serious if Sergeant Dawson is using regulation fuel to give Agnes a lift somewhere …’
‘He kindly offered to take Agnes to her new home while he was passing through,’ Olive said, trying to be as vague as possible.
‘Passing through where?’ Nancy pressed on like a dog with a bone. She wouldn’t give up once she thought there might be a bit of juicy gossip in the offing.
‘I think it’s what they call classified information, Nancy,’ Olive said, avoiding the question as best she could.
‘Agnes’s whereabouts are classified?’ Nancy asked unconvinced. ‘Well, I never …’
The official car, Olive knew, was used only for police business as a rule, but as luck would have it Archie, given that he was the local police sergeant, just happened to remember a file he had to deliver to the village police station near the farm.
Olive gave a wry smile, suspecting the file could have waited until the end of the month, as was usual, but she knew Agnes had been determined to leave today before her courage failed her altogether, and Archie had very kindly offered to drive her to Surrey. At least this arrangement put Olive’s mind at rest, knowing that Agnes was in safe hands.
‘She’s taking her rightful place on her father’s farm, if you must know, Nancy,’ Olive said, unable to bear the heavy silence, certain that Nancy would prise the information from her at some point. ‘After all, what’s the point of paying for lodgings when she has a perfectly good place of her own – in the countryside, too?’ Olive’s words sounded calm, even light-hearted, but inside she was crying as she recalled the young girl who had come here four years ago with only one change of clothing – and even that was too big for her diminutive frame.
But Olive was now satisfied that Agnes had grown, not only in stature since then, but in spirit, too, and she hoped that the decision she had made to move to Surrey was the right one – and God willing, if Hitler kept his bombs away from London she would always have a place here in Article Row.
*
‘So, are you looking forward to being a land girl?’ Archie chuckled, which encouraged Agnes to relax. ‘It will be a lot different from your life in London, I expect.’
‘I’m looking forward to farming now that I’ve got the goodbyes out of the way,’ Agnes answered, ‘and I’m glad that there was only Olive in the house. It would have been so difficult to leave if everybody had been there – but Olive always knows the right thing to say.’
‘I always thought that way, too,’ Archie said sadly, ‘but it seems I was wrong.’
‘In what way, Archie?’ Agnes asked. She could never imagine Olive and Archie thinking ill of each other, they got on so well.
‘Oh, it’s nothing, I’m speaking out of turn …’ Archie said, checking the main road before turning right onto the Surrey road. They were quiet for a moment and when Agnes did eventually speak, her tone was a little guarded.
‘You don’t think she’s a skinflint, do you, Archie?’
She could feel the atmosphere change in an instant and her fears seemed to be realised when he said, ‘No Agnes, of course not. Olive is the most generous woman I know, but it saddens me to feel this way about her … This war has changed a lot of people, I know that,’ he offered hastily, ‘but I never thought Olive would succumb to …’
‘To what, Archie?’ Agnes felt alarm zip through her and her pulse quickened; as far as she was aware Olive was the same now as she always had been: kind, helpful and would do anything she possibly could to help people. What would she ever do to make Sergeant Dawson talk about her like this?’
‘It was the pendant,’ Archie said on a sigh, as if reading her thoughts. ‘I never thought she would ever accept black market goods – even if it was for her daughter’s birthday.’
‘Black market!’ Agnes could not believe h
er ears. ‘Surely you don’t think that of Olive?’
‘I heard her saying to Dulcie …’ Archie said, and then he stopped to recall exactly what he had heard. ‘I distinctly remember Olive telling Dulcie that she hadn’t bought the pendant in a jeweller’s.’
‘That’s because she didn’t,’ Agnes answered, nonplussed, wondering what Archie was getting so het up about. ‘I can’t see why you are so concerned, Archie.’
‘So you know where she got the pendant?’
‘Of course I know, but I am under strict instructions not to let on about it,’ Agnes offered, as Archie shuffled in the driving seat, his anguish obvious now.
‘I knew it!’ he exclaimed. ‘I knew she would want to keep it quiet – who wouldn’t?’ Archie’s usually kind, honourable expression was replaced by a wide-eyed exasperation, and Agnes wondered if he was having one of those attacks she had seen so many times before, when perfectly capable men suddenly went a little agitated after being underground for so long.
‘Keep what quiet, Archie?’ Her voice was as calm as she could make it; to get overexcited at this point might make things worse.
‘Look, she’s even got you thinking it is fine, now.’
‘Well, I don’t mind at all. After all, it’s the thought that counts, I say.’ Agnes could not see what the problem was. Tilly had been perfectly happy with her gift. ‘Olive said she didn’t want Tilly thinking she was being a cheapskate, that’s all – but I told her that Tilly would love it no matter where it came from …’
‘Cheapskate? What on earth are you talking about, Agnes?’ Archie turned and looked at Agnes as if she had gone quite mad.
‘I can understand Olive not wanting Tilly to know, but—’
‘Agnes, will you please get to the point!’ Archie’s patience was very thin now and it was taking every ounce of his willpower not to yell at her – but he would never do that; Agnes was far too sensitive for that kind of treatment.
‘She didn’t get the pendant from a jeweller’s,’ Agnes said, picking up the conversation.