by Pam Weaver
Shirley turned her attention to Janet. ‘How have you been managing?’
Janet sighed. ‘Mr Roberts came to help with the milking. I never realized but he used to work here years ago, so he knows what’s what.’
‘He’s quite old,’ Shirley observed.
‘And he’s a bit slow, which is why Gil got rid of him,’ Janet said, ‘but he gets the job done. Anyway, he says he’ll help out for as long as we want.’
‘Did you ask Granny Roberts about staying there?’ Shirley could hardly bring herself to ask the question. She dreaded the answer, although she knew it was by far the best option for her friend and her daughter.
‘I did,’ said Janet, ‘and she says I can.’
Shirley smiled grimly.
‘Do you want to put that suitcase away?’ said Janet. ‘We’ve got the man from the ministry coming back this afternoon.’
‘He’s very persistent,’ Shirley remarked.
‘If they want to take over the farm,’ said Janet, ‘this is probably the best opportunity to do it, with Gil out of the way.’
Shirley’s heart sank. So this was it. What was going to happen to her and Tom now? He was a good worker, but would anyone give him a chance? It was more likely that the minute they challenged him, he’d clam up and go back into his shell. It was a great pity, because he was so good with animals, and if he had to leave the farm, he’d be devastated. Where would he go? Who would look after him? His future seemed bleak. Her future wasn’t so hard to predict: she’d have to go out to work, of course – a live-in post, which would give her a roof over her head. Perhaps she could find a job in Worthing. They said that the big stores even had a hostel for their staff. Of course, that would put paid to her dreams of going to teacher-training college, scholarship or no scholarship. And if they all parted, would she ever see Janet and Lucy again?
As she stuffed the suitcase under her bed, Shirley bit back her tears. Should she write to Auntie Doreen and Auntie Betty? She couldn’t imagine Auntie Doreen’s mum taking them in, and even if she did, Tom would hate it. ‘Pull up your socks, boy. Can’t you find something to do? Stand still! I can’t bear it when you sway like that.’ Mrs Kennedy’s bark really was ten times worse than her bite. Auntie Betty had enough to do running the shop, and she’d never allow Shirley and Tom to be at home on their own. They couldn’t stay with Auntie Betty either. Her place was very small. Besides, if she told Auntie Doreen and Auntie Betty what was going on, they’d be duty-bound to tell Mum. Oh dear, what a pickle she was in. Sometimes life was so unfair. With Easter only a few weeks away, what she needed was a proper plan.
CHAPTER 17
‘And how are we today?’ Nurse Fletcher smiled down at Florrie as she drew the blackout curtains and let the chilly morning air flood the room. Even in the depths of winter, the windows were left open. Florrie pulled the bedclothes up over her shoulders and snuggled back into the warmth of her bed. She yawned. She’d slept well. Today she was going for another treatment. Whenever she had the procedure, she always felt pretty awful for a couple of days afterwards, despite the fact they’d give her a local anaesthetic. The doctor would pump air between the chest wall and her lung to make it collapse. Once it was done, her chest was so tight that it was hard to find a comfortable position in bed. Gradually the air dispelled and her lung would begin to function again. The trouble was, almost as soon as it felt a little easier, she’d have to have another ‘refill’ and she’d be back to feeling lousy again. There was no getting out of it. This was the standard treatment for TB and it was repeated again and again. How many times had it been now? Four? Five? She’d lost count. The days merged one into another and everything became a grey blur.
Nurse Fletcher put a cup of tea on the bedside locker. ‘Rise and shine,’ she said cheerfully.
Florrie blinked at her in disbelief. She looked most peculiar. Her teeth and lips were a bright shade of violet.
Florrie’s expression must have told her something because Nurse Fletcher became concerned. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
Florrie pulled herself together. ‘Fine.’
‘Good,’ said Nurse Fletcher.
Florrie watched her go with a mixture of sadness and amusement. So Nurse Cook, Nurse Davies and Sister had caught the thief. Nurse Fletcher must have eaten the doctored chocolate. There was no other way she could have ended up getting teeth that colour. Oh dear. How embarrassing.
Shirley and Janet were together in the kitchen when they heard a car drawing up outside. Shirley was washing up at the sink. ‘The man from the ministry is here,’ she said. It seemed strange to have visitors without the dog barking. Janet took Lucy off the breast, tidied herself and then put the baby onto her shoulder to burp her while Shirley opened the door and let him in.
‘Philip Telford,’ he said, offering her his hand. Now that he was close up, she could see that he wasn’t the same man as she’d seen before. Mr Telford was younger, and he had an honest, open face. Shirley shook his hand and introduced Janet as the head of the house in Mr Oliver’s absence. He turned towards Tom, but he slipped out of the door and headed towards the big barn.
‘Don’t mind my brother,’ said Shirley. ‘He doesn’t mean to be rude. He just doesn’t understand some things.’
Mr Telford gave her a knowing nod and sat at the kitchen table in the chair she had indicated. Janet had put Lucy back into her crib, and Shirley was making some tea.
‘Mrs Oliver,’ he began, ‘as you know, the country is at war. At this moment, we import seventy per cent of our food and the War Agricultural Committee is tasked with making sure that every farm is as productive as possible.’
Janet poured from the teapot. ‘Biscuit?’
Mr Telford shook his head. ‘It is rumoured that later on this year, every farm in the country will have been surveyed. The Ministry of Agriculture will have the power to requisition any farm that is inefficient and place it under their control. The farmer himself may even be replaced by a tenant farmer of the ministry’s choice.’
Shirley and Janet exchanged a glance.
‘I understand,’ said Janet, ‘and it doesn’t surprise me that Oliver’s Farm is one of them. When do you plan to take us over?’
‘Not yet, Mrs Oliver,’ said Mr Telford.
Janet gave him a puzzled look. ‘But Gil . . . my husband believes that—’
‘I’m afraid that your husband has rather jumped the gun,’ said Mr Telford, ‘if you’ll forgive the pun. We merely wanted to make him aware of what was coming so that we could advise him of a suitable course of action, but I’m afraid he refused to discuss anything with my colleague.’
Janet blinked. ‘Silly old fool,’ she muttered. ‘All this for nothing.’
Mr Telford looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Perhaps if I could take a look around—’ he began.
Janet put up her hand. ‘If you want to explain it to me, you’re wasting your time,’ she said. ‘You see, I’m planning to—’
‘Janet,’ Shirley interrupted sharply. ‘Before you say anything else, could I have a word?’
Janet looked nonplussed. ‘Shirley, I’ve already explained how I feel . . .’
‘Please,’ Shirley said earnestly. She turned to Mr Telford. ‘Mr Telford, would it be all right if you started your look-around on your own? I want to talk to Mrs Oliver for a second or two and then we’ll join you.’
Mr Telford followed her lead and rose to his feet. Taking his clipboard in his hand, he looked at Janet rather uncertainly. ‘I’ll start with the milking shed, if that’s all right, Mrs Oliver?’
Janet nodded and he left the room. As soon as the kitchen door closed, she looked at Shirley with a frown. ‘Now, what’s this all about?’
This was turning out to be a good day. Florrie had gone for what she thought would be another screening and refill, but this time it was different. Dr Scott had a smile on his face when he walked back into the treatment room with her X-ray.
‘You’ll be pleased to hear that the
shadow on your lung is a lot smaller, Florrie,’ he said. ‘I think we can move on to the next stage of your treatment.’
Florrie’s eyes lit up. Progress. Progress at last. After six months of stagnation, she was beginning to improve.
‘We still have a long way to go,’ he cautioned, ‘but everything is heading in the right direction.’
‘So what happens now?’ Her voice cracked with emotion.
‘I think you can begin with a little light exercise,’ he said. ‘Nothing strenuous, of course, but you can get out of bed for an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon.’
Florrie beamed.
‘You can also go to the bathroom to wash,’ he went on, ‘and you can sit up in bed for the rest of the day.’
Now that all that awful treatment was behind her Florrie could scarcely take it in. It sounded wonderful. She had been on bed rest for so long. It wasn’t easy eating and drinking while lying down, and even doing her flowers had to be done leaning back on two or three pillows. She’d managed to keep up her journal, and every now and then, Dr Scott read it. He’d asked her to bring it today.
‘This is really helpful,’ he told her.
The nurse began to wheel her from the room. ‘One other thing,’ Florrie said.
Dr Scott was leafing through her journal, but he looked up again.
‘Am I still on the government scheme, or do I have to pay for myself now?’ She’d toyed with the idea of saying nothing, as perhaps she’d get another few more weeks of free treatment before they even noticed, but then she remembered how grateful she’d been to have been given two bites of the cherry already. She mustn’t be greedy. There were others in the queue, perhaps far more deserving of financial support. She dreaded what he would say, but she felt obligated to raise the subject.
Dr Scott scanned her notes. ‘I’ll see what I can do, Florrie,’ he said.
Florrie could hardly believe her ears. Part of her wanted to protest that she didn’t deserve special treatment, but if she did that, she’d be a fool. She knew for a fact that it cost five guineas a week to stay here, and that didn’t include Dr Scott’s fees. Edna had told her it cost her twenty guineas every time she saw her doctor. Florrie had some savings, but they would run out very quickly if she faced doctor’s bills on that scale.
Back on the ward, there was an air of excitement.
‘You’ll never guess,’ said Belinda, a new girl who had been on the ward for about ten days.
‘Nurse Fletcher has been dismissed?’ said Florrie.
‘Whatever made you say that?’ said Tina, surprised. ‘Actually, she’s gone off in a huff to see Matron. She says everyone on the ward has been accusing her of stealing.’
Florrie made a small sound. ‘That’s not really true. I bet nobody accused her of anything. She condemned herself by her own actions.’
When she explained what she had seen, everybody began to grin.
‘So that’s why she kept her hand over her mouth when she was talking to Ward Sister,’ said Tina.
‘It is stealing really,’ Belinda observed. ‘Those chocolates were meant for all the nurses.’
‘I almost feel sorry for the girl,’ said Florrie. ‘She must have been very embarrassed.’
‘Rightly so,’ said Tina. ‘After all, she was caught red-handed.’
‘Or was it purple-mouthed?’ Belinda asked, and they all giggled.
There were three letters waiting for Florrie on her bedside locker. She took in her breath excitedly. For someone who was only used to the occasional postcard, this was almost a deluge of mail. Which should she open first? When she looked more closely, there was no contest. She recognized Shirley’s handwriting on one envelope and tore it open. It had been written over a period of several days, the first part dated a week ago.
Dear Mum, I hope this finds you well and getting better.
Oh yes. Today, I was told I am improving.
I miss you. We both miss you.
And I miss you too, my darlings.
We don’t have a lot to do on the farm at the moment. The ground is too hard for digging and we can’t use the plough. Mr Oliver is cleaning out the ditches and repairing fences, but we can’t help him with that. Tom is really good with milking. The cows seem to like it when he does them. He’s learned how to harness the horses and he enjoys grooming them.
Did I tell you I can make butter? First, I have to separate the cream. Then I churn it in a special thingy. When it goes really thick, I drain off the buttermilk and then pat it into a butter roll. It’s not hard at all. I quite like working in the milk parlour.
I am doing extra work for the exam. It’s at the end of March. Think of me then, won’t you? Miss Smith says if I work hard, I should pass. I don’t know what I shall do when I leave school, but there are plenty of shops in the village. Perhaps I can get a job in one of them until I know if I have won the scholarship.
Better go now.
Love you, Mum.
Shirley and Tom xx
Florrie pressed the precious letter to her chest and closed her eyes as she whispered a little prayer that they would all be together soon. ‘Please God let it be sometime this year.’
The second letter came from the army. It was marked ‘BFPO’ and had an official stamp on the front. She wasn’t sure but it looked as if the envelope had been opened and stuck down again. Florrie was puzzled. Who did she know in the army?
When she opened it, she looked for the signature first. Yours, Len. Good heavens, Len Greene! She would never have expected to get a letter from him, not in a million years!
Dear Florrie,
I was home on leave and came to the shop. Betty told me that you weren’t well, so I got your address. I am sorry to hear you are poorly and hope you will soon be well. If I get any more leave, I’ll try and come to see you.
That’s all for now.
Yours,
Len
Florrie smiled to herself. How kind, and knowing him, short and sweet as it was, it probably took hours to compose. She sighed. Funny how life works out. When Shirley and Tom’s dad had cleared off, Len had done some repairs on the house and helped to give the shop a lick of paint. She’d felt comfortable with him around. He was good-looking, steady and reliable. She had hoped they might be together, but she was still married to Sid and she couldn’t afford a divorce. Even if Len had asked her, she couldn’t have just lived with him. What would people think? She’d tried to put him off, but it was really hard. He never overstepped the mark, but she knew the feelings he had for her were the same as the feelings she had for him. But she couldn’t tell him, could she? She wasn’t free. So she let him go and hoped that he’d find someone else. Of course, she would have hated it if he had, but she convinced herself that for his sake, it was the right thing to do. As it turned out, Len had never married. He didn’t even seem to have a lady friend.
Florrie turned her attention to the third envelope. She didn’t recognize the handwriting . . . or did she? It looked vaguely familiar. It was signed Augusta Andrews. Florrie smiled. How nice of her to write and enquire after her health. Mrs Andrews always had been a considerate woman.
Dear Florence . . . Mrs Andrews always called her Florence. Her mother had the same name and so it helped to distinguish them one from the other.
I do hope this finds you well on the way to recovery by now. We are all well and as busy as ever. The German bombs we all expected haven’t materialized, so life has returned to normal.
I expect you are wondering why I am sending this letter. I’ll get straight to the point. I have had a visit from Ruth. It seems that after all this time, her adoptive mother has passed away and Hannah, as she’s now called, would very much like to meet you. How do you feel about that? You don’t have to decide immediately. Perhaps you would rather wait until you have fully recovered.
It seems almost providential that you asked after her the last time we met and now here she is, wanting to be put in touch with her birth family. Let
me know what you would like me to do.
Yours faithfully,
Augusta Andrews
Florrie stared blankly ahead. Her brain had gone numb. She felt as if a bomb had been dropped into her lap and was about to go off. She wasn’t sure how to react. She had never stopped thinking about Ruth, and now after all this time . . . How often she had longed to see her and explain why she’d had to give her up. Heavens above, she had only been sixteen when Ruth was born. Ruth would be twenty-three soon. She must know something of the ways of the world by now, but would she understand? What did she look like? Would there be a family resemblance? The thought of seeing her was wonderful, but then another thought crossed her mind. What on earth would she tell Shirley and Tom? The years rolled back and she saw herself, only a young slip of a girl, standing outside the doctor’s house. Mrs Andrews had been very understanding. The baby had only been a week old when she’d handed her over for adoption.
‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Florence,’ she’d said. ‘I can assure you that you are doing the right thing.’
But had it been the right thing? Florrie had worried about it for years. After all, Ruth was her own flesh and blood, and no matter how difficult things are, you don’t give up on your own flesh and blood, do you?
CHAPTER 18
Shirley chewed her bottom lip anxiously. She knew it was now or never. This was her one and only chance.
‘Well, come on,’ said Janet irritably. ‘What do you want to tell me?’
‘I don’t really want to tell you anything,’ she said, ‘but I have a suggestion. One that might serve us both.’
Janet spread her hands impatiently and raised her eyebrows.
‘It looks as if Mr Oliver may not be back for quite a while,’ Shirley said.
‘I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?’ said Janet. ‘He’s having treatment on his leg. Even if he’s lucky enough for it not to get infected, he’ll probably be in hospital for a week at least.’