Wave Me Goodbye

by Ruby Jackson

  They were both silent. Although the county was on the flight path of many of the enemy planes that droned overhead – sometimes by day and night – in the sky above them, so far the farm they had not experienced a direct air raid. It would be so easy for some of the workers on this rather remote farm to forget sometimes that battles were being fought on the land, on the sea and in the air, and that lives were being torn apart all over Europe. Grace realised that her new Polish friends lived every waking moment with this awareness, as she herself thought of Sam Petrie and Daisy, and her other friends in action somewhere, especially Jack. Where was he? Why had he not answered any of her letters?

  ‘I have a friend in the WAAF, Jane; she’s got a boyfriend who’s teaching her to fly.’

  Both decided that flying a plane was more exciting than spreading muck all over fields or even cutting down trees. They chatted about various wartime occupations as they went back to the second tree and threw down their bags again.

  ‘No, Grace, every war job is vital and your friend Daisy wouldn’t be much use without the food you and me is growing, so let’s get on with it and cut down this bloody tree,’ Jane said solemnly.

  What went wrong? Were they too sure of themselves? They had successfully cut down one tree. Had they believed they now knew everything there was to know about the art of felling?

  Asked about this later, they said they had done everything exactly as they had done the first time.

  Jane made the initial gouge in the tree bark and she and Grace then each took a handle of the great saw, stood with legs apart to help their balance and began the back-and-forth movement of the teeth. Everything was exactly as it had been before but, somehow, the direction in which the tree was falling changed. How could that have happened? They watched in disbelief and, as they listened, they felt their hearts begin to pound. The tree groaned. Even its groan of pain or anger sounded different from the other one as it veered off course and fell – swiftly and noisily – towards Jane.

  ‘Jump, Jane,’ yelled Grace, but Jane, as if rooted to the ground, stood gazing in terror at the falling tree. It crashed through the tops of the trees in its path, slicing through the new green leaves so that they fell as if blown by the autumn’s first storm.

  It was Grace who jumped, her arms outstretched to push Jane over; there came a muffled thud and then silence.

  Initially, Grace was surprised to find that she could not move. Every bone in her body ached. She tried opening her eyes and was terrified to realise that they were already open and yet, she could see nothing. The realisation that she was lying half-on, half-off a soft, warm body, her face squashed into the ground – which, no doubt, accounted for the unbelievable pain in her neck – came swiftly and, with it, memory. Jane … the tree. She tried to move but was held down. Of course she was. The branches – thank God, not the trunk – of the felled tree were holding her down, and beneath her, Jane.

  ‘Jane?’ Her voice was no more than a whisper. ‘Talk to me, Jane.’

  The answering whisper was quiet but coherent. ‘Get off me. I can’t breathe.’

  Jane was alive. Thank God, thank God. ‘Jane, Jane, are you hurt?’

  ‘Get off me,’ Jane begged again. ‘You’re crushing me.’

  Grace tried to move but only a rustle of leaves showed that her efforts were useless.

  She still hurt but knew that somehow she had to get off Jane, who might be hurt very badly. ‘The tree’s on top of us, but we’ve been lucky. Honestly, we’ve been very lucky because it’s the top branches and they’re slender.’

  ‘I’m going to die,’ Jane whimpered. ‘Help me, please. I don’t want to die.’

  ‘You’re not dying, Jane, believe me, and Mr Fleming will come soon. Listen to me, please listen. I’m going to try to push myself off you. If I can get one hand on either side, I’ll try to push myself up but I’m worried that …’ No, she could not tell Jane that she was worried that if the other land girl had sustained some serious chest injury, her own movements might cause further damage.

  Grace felt decidedly sick and knew that a cold sweat had broken out on her brow. She had to get off poor Jane before … before she herself was sick. Her stomach was heaving and the old cramps, with which she was so familiar, were crunching her stomach. For days, she had prayed for it to start – how she would have welcomed the pain – but now, she had to look after the smaller girl and not worry about herself.

  Praying that every slight move she made would not hurt Jane, Grace managed to get her hands free and she slid her right hand onto the ground beside the left side of Jane’s chest and the other hand down onto the right. ‘I’m going to try to push myself up and off your poor chest. I’ll try really hard not to hurt you.’

  Jane said nothing.

  For a moment, Grace lay still, trying to calculate how many branches were on top of them. ‘It’s not the trunk. We’re really, really lucky, it’s only branches and not the big thick ones,’ she said again.

  Still nothing from Jane, but Grace could feel her breathing.

  ‘My friend Daisy, or her twin sister, could push themselves off and the dratted tree, too, Jane; really good athletes, runners especially.’

  ‘Just do it, Grace,’ came a feeble voice.

  Grace summoned up every reserve of strength, planted her hands firmly into the ground on either side of the inert body, took a deep breath and pushed. The light, leafy branches on her back did move. Her arms began to tremble with strain. ‘I mustn’t drop on her. Oh, please don’t let me drop on her,’ she whispered, and tried to straighten her exhausted arms. She felt herself weaken and the pressure on her already tired and sore body was unbearable – almost. With a supreme effort, Grace managed to hold the branches off while she tried to swing herself gently to one side.

  Realisation struck. Oh, God, if I do that, the branches will fall on her face. She could not hold much longer; she moved her left leg and felt it touch the ground beside Jane. Then, still bearing the weight of the branches on her back, she managed to slip off onto the ground. Her right arm was now lying on Jane’s chest and thus took the weight of the released branches.

  And at last, there was a gasp of relief from beside her. ‘Thank you, Grace, thank you.’

  ‘Actually, I think I should sue for damages or even have her arrested for assault.’ Jane, one arm in plaster and her face covered in bruises and pieces of sticking plaster, lay comfortably in her bed, surrounded by the other land girls had been who avidly listening, over and over, to what could have been a tragedy and was now becoming an exciting story.

  The two girls had been expected back in the mid-afternoon but, when they had not arrived, no one had seen anything strange. Neither land girl had ever sawn down a tree and so, naturally, they would take longer than an experienced feller.

  ‘It’s taken them a bit longer to get the hang of it,’ Mrs Fleming had echoed the suggestion. ‘They’ll be back soon lookin’ for a nice hot cuppa.’

  But when they had not, the farmer, not sure whether to be angry or worried, had taken the tractor and driven over to the field, where he had experienced the worst fright of his life. The two land girls lay motionless, side by side, under the top half of a tree. ‘My God, they’re killed,’ he yelled in shock as he jumped from the tractor.

  ‘No, we’re not,’ muttered a feeble voice. ‘I think Jane’s hurt but she can talk and move one arm. I’m all right, just can’t move any further and my arm’s given up trying to keep branches from smothering her.’

  In seconds, the farmer was beside them. He assessed the situation quickly. ‘Can you crawl out, Grace, if I lift the branches?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good lassie.’ He grasped several thin branches in his strong hands and pulled.

  Grace was now aware of pain all over her body. She had been so conscious of the need to help Jane that she had striven to ignore it, but now it seemed to intensify. Her shoulders, arms and legs ached from her attempt to push Jane backwards out of the proj
ected path of the tree. The lashing of the branches across her thin shirt added to that but the knifing pain in her stomach now eclipsed everything and she stifled a yelp of pain.

  Mr Fleming, all the muscles in his arms standing out like cords, strove to keep the tree from falling back on Jane as, painfully aware that he was unable to help her, he watched her struggle. ‘Check the lassie, if you can, Grace.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ came a feeble voice, ‘but I don’t seem able to turn over.’

  ‘I’ll help, Mr Fleming. What should I do? I could help you drag it.’

  ‘A skinny thing like you. Best run to the house an’ get the missus, if you can. Your face is a mess, lassie.’

  ‘Probably dirt,’ said Grace, trying to wipe some of the dirt from her hair and eyes.

  Grace moved over beside the farmer and grasped the branches. ‘We can try, please.’

  He looked at her. ‘One two three, pull,’ he said after a somewhat intensive scrutiny.

  Grace somehow summoned up reserves of strength and pulled with the much taller and stronger man. The tree moved.

  ‘Well done, Grace. Again.’

  Jane was free.

  ‘Should we get a doctor before she moves, Mr Fleming?’

  The farmer kneeled down beside Jane, who was now moving her legs tentatively. ‘My head hurts, and my arm,’ she told him.

  ‘Maybe we should—’ began Grace, who was desperately trying to remember everything she had learned when she and Daisy had attended first-aid classes in Dartford. They had had a booklet entitled Emergency Street First Aid for Air Raid Casualties. Surely, there had been something about possible head injuries.

  ‘A nice hot cup of tea and a lie-down and you’ll be fine, won’t you, Jane?’ Mr Fleming interrupted her.

  Jane agreed, and gingerly, with help from both Grace and Mr Fleming, she got somewhat unsteadily to her feet.

  They looked at the tractor. ‘Can you pull yourself up with your good arm, Jane?’

  ‘I’ll push you from behind, very carefully. Good job it wasn’t your right arm.’

  Jane held onto the tractor and pulled while Grace pushed her up and, with some strangled whimpering, poor Jane managed to get herself into the cab. ‘I’ve never been inside a tractor before,’ she managed bravely.

  Mr Fleming climbed in beside her. ‘Jump on the trailer, Grace,’ he called.

  Although Grace was completely incapable of jumping, she did manage to scramble onto the trailer, and in a few minutes they were making their way, as steadily as possible, back to the farmhouse where Mrs Fleming was becoming more and more agitated.

  ‘What happened? Are they all right?’ she called.

  The relief on her face when she saw that both girls were able to walk indoors, mainly under their own steam, was palpable.

  ‘She needs to see a doctor,’ said Grace. ‘I’m sure her arm’s broken.’

  ‘It’ll be a bad sprain. I’ve some lentil soup keeping warm in the oven. A plate of that will set you both up grand.’

  ‘Look at her; she can hardly stand up. I took a first-aid course at the beginning of the war, Mrs Fleming. That arm isn’t sprained.’ Just then, Grace gasped and doubled over in pain.

  ‘God in heaven, what’s up with you? Two hurt, Bob; we’ll have the Committee here and be closed down.’ Mrs Fleming was frantic.

  Grace straightened up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing, just a pain. Excuse me,’ and without another word, she ran from the room and outside to the lavatory.

  When she returned several minutes later, she still had a stomach cramp but her spirits were lighter. She had wept as she sat in the cold outhouse, but they had been tears of relief. She had prayed that her monthly cycle was simply late and now she knew that she had not miscarried and she was grateful. The guilt she felt because of her conduct was painful but Grace wondered how she could have borne the guilt that would accompany miscarrying a child.

  She was pleased that the kitchen was empty – her face had to be a real mess with tears and mud mixed. A note on the waxed cloth that covered the table said, ‘Grace, taken Jane to local infirmary. Have some soup and make yourself some tea.’

  Grace had no appetite for lentil soup, no matter how tasty. She went upstairs to the room she shared with two of the other girls, where she tidied herself before returning to the kitchen. A cup of tea was now exactly what she wanted.

  Around five thirty, the remaining land girls made their way back to the farmhouse for the evening meal and were surprised to see Grace putting out teacups. Quickly, she filled them in on the events of the day. ‘And so I’ve made some tea, good and strong, but I have no idea what to do about food—’

  ‘When did they go?’ Eva interrupted her.

  ‘I’m not exactly sure but it was mid-afternoon; we’d had our picnic.’

  ‘I once waited five hours in an emergency room,’ Sheila Smith informed them gloomily, ‘but it was in Carlisle and cities are bound to be busier.’

  Almost everyone had a tale of woe to share and they were so busy talking that they did not hear the Flemings’ ancient car as it bumped its way up the farm road.

  ‘Sorry we’re late, girls,’ were the first words they heard as a very pale Jane was ushered into the kitchen. ‘Poor Jane had a bit of an accident, silly girl, but she’s fine. Aren’t you, Jane?’

  Jane said nothing and Mrs Fleming continued: ‘I’ll take Jane upstairs and put her to bed. She’s not going to be much use for a day or two.’ She looked around at the girls. ‘Glad you made yourselves some tea. Now, I’ve a lovely cottage pie in the larder and if one of you could pop it into the oven and someone else cut bread – am I not after baking some lovely loaves just this morning – supper will be ready in no time. Come away, Jane, dear, slowly does it. Put the wireless on, girls. Maybe there’s something funny on as will cheer us all up.’

  The girls assured her that they would take care of everything and they began to do what she had asked. But, as soon as they heard the slow-progress party reach far enough up the stairs to be out of earshot they put down whatever they were holding, turned up the wireless and sat down.

  ‘That arm’s in a plaster’ Two of the girl said, stating the obvious.

  ‘And her face is a mess and you’re not much better, Grace. That big bruise must hurt like hell,’ said Sheila. ‘What does Mrs Fleming say?’

  ‘Not much. I think there must be forms to fill in if one of us gets hurt, even if it’s our own fault.’

  ‘Was it fault of Jane?’ Katia asked.

  Grace’s eyes filled with tears. She was so tired and longed to go to bed but she was very hungry. ‘I don’t know. We did what we did the first time and that was perfect. I have lots of little scratches, from twigs and that’s what Jane has.’ She did not say that her body had protected Jane from the full impact of the tree’s fall. Neither had she any intention of telling them that her arms and her back were also covered in bruises.

  ‘We are in England where it is allowed to ask questions,’ said Eva. ‘We will ask.’

  Not even Fiona bothered to remind her she was in Scotland. ‘Let’s talk to Jane, first,’ she suggested, ‘and, depending on what she tells us, we can deal with it.’

  The decision made, they finished preparing the evening meal and sat down to wait for the Flemings.

  ‘Not worry, Mrs Fleming,’ said Katia, later. ‘Is late and we are all going in bed. I take plate to Jane and help her eat.’

  Mrs Fleming looked at them, indecision in her eyes. ‘If you’re sure, girls; it’s been quite a day and you working girls need a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘I’d be glad to help with the milking, Mrs Fleming,’ offered Grace. ‘You’ve had quite a day, too.’

  Her offer was refused. Mrs Fleming loved her cows and enjoyed working with them but, somehow, Grace’s offer had completely restored harmony between the girls and their employer. They did not go immediately to their rooms but went to the one shared by Jane and the Polish girls, where they
found the invalid propped up on her pillows. She ate a little of the food but was more thirsty than hungry.

  ‘Now, Jane, tell us what happened at the hospital.’

  ‘I was in a bit of a state; it really was painful. Mr Fleming said he’d take care of all the details and I was trundled off to have my arm looked at. Quite a bad break, the doctor said, and it hurt like hell having it set, I can tell you, almost as bad as when I fell on it, or was thrown on to it by our commando-in-training here.’

  Grace, unaware that Jane was teasing, looked distressed, and kind-hearted Sheila stepped in. ‘She’s only teasing, Grace. We won’t let her sue you. She knows – don’t you, Jane? – that you might have been killed if our Grace hadn’t pushed you out of its direct path.’

  ‘I was teasing,’ admitted Jane, ‘but, to tell the truth, I hadn’t actually thought about it because, one minute, I was cutting down the blasted thing, the next minute it was falling towards me.’ She looked at Grace, at her pale scratched cheeks. ‘Gosh, Grace, it landed on you really. You should have gone to the hospital too.’

  Grace attempted a smile. ‘Don’t worry, girls, got some scratches, that’s all. After all, it was the leafy branches that hit us …’

  ‘Because you pushed me backwards. You’re a heroine.’

  ‘A war heroine,’ added Fiona.

  ‘Nonsense. Katia, what was it you wanted to ask?’ Grace had rarely had so much attention and she did not relish it.

  ‘Jane has already answer. She did not speak with doctor, to tell him she has no proper training. Mr Fleming has do all talking, which is interesting because if he has speak five words in a row since I am coming in this farm, it is miracle.’

  ‘Maybe someone will come to question Grace, someone from the Ag. Committee or the land-girls’ office,’ said Sheila, ‘because he’ll have to report the accident.’ She stood up, her fingers to her lips. Ssh,’ she whispered, ‘someone’s on the stairs. That really was the best cottage pie, wasn’t it, Jane?’ she continued more loudly. ‘Delighted you’re not badly hurt, and now we really had better get off to bed.’