by Katie Flynn
But at this point Taid interrupted. ‘You’ve been drinking, Pete, and at this hour of the morning too,’ he said quietly. ‘I saw you leaving the party last night with a bag full of food which my wife had given you; I hadn’t realised you’d taken that big flagon of cider as well till I saw it was missing. Now just you apologise for the things you’ve said.’
Pete sank back in his chair once again and the tide of colour receded from his face. He lowered his head, clearly not wanting to meet his employer’s eyes. There was a short silence before he spoke. ‘I’m sorry for what I said,’ he muttered. Then he looked up and the glance he shot at Glenys was openly malevolent before he dropped his eyes again, veiling them with their puffy lids. ‘Sorry, missus,’ he mumbled. ‘I didn’t mean no offence, but I’ve got no woman to cook or make a meal for me . . .’
His voice faded into the whine once more and Glenys saw her opportunity. The moment he lifted his eyes again she gave him her biggest and brightest smile. ‘I was rude and said things I shouldn’t. I’m sorry, Pete; I should have remembered that a man living alone has no one to cook for him.’ And then, unable to resist, she added: ‘But living alone doesn’t mean you don’t have to wash.’
Pete’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times and once more the look that he cast at her was unmistakably hostile. But then he must have remembered that Taid was listening to every word, for he gave a little bob of his head. ‘You’re right, of course, missus.’ He cast a wistful look at the food on the table. ‘I’d best be on me way then, but I’ll be back in time to hear that speech.’
Nain had been an amused listener, but now she too stood up, wagging a hand at Pete to indicate that he should sit down once more. ‘I won’t have it said that anyone who came to Weathercock Farm went away hungry,’ she said briskly. ‘After all, a man who’s drunk deep of our cider can’t be blamed for having no hold on his tongue.’ She turned to Glenys. ‘Give him a couple of rashers between two slices of bread and he can eat it on his way to the well. But you’ve learned some home truths today, Pete, and unwelcome though they might have been, you must take them to heart. So I give you fair warning, because that’s my way, that on the days you’re working for us you’ll get a bacon butty to eat in the yard and nothing more, until you stop smelling of sheep dung.’
Glenys expected a repetition of Pete’s outrage at the accusation of being smelly, but instead he took the big bacon sandwich she was holding out with a mumbled thank you, scraped back his chair and stood up, addressing himself to Nain. ‘Thanks, missus,’ he said almost humbly. ‘I’ll mind your words, and mind my tongue, too.’ Then he grinned round the assembled company, displaying his one yellow tooth. ‘Mornin’ to you all, ladies and gents.’
Everyone chorused ‘Good morning’, and said nothing else until the door had closed behind their visitor. Only then did Sam let out his breath in a long sigh. ‘Phew!’ he said. ‘That was a nasty one!’ He turned to Glenys. ‘Can you believe that nobody has ever criticised him before? It seems impossible. But he certainly behaved as though he were astonished that anyone should think him dirty.’
Glenys had been standing throughout the encounter, but now she sank into her chair, pulling her plate of bacon and eggs towards her. ‘I know I only spoke the truth – he really is filthy, and he smells like a midden – but it was wrong of me to say it in front of the whole family,’ she said remorsefully. ‘I expect that’s why the Davieses won’t have anything to do with him, but even so . . .’
‘Even so he had it coming to him,’ Taid remarked. ‘Now let’s forget Pete and get breakfast over and our chores done so we can come in and listen to the wireless with a clear conscience. Kids, you’re on egg collecting today, and mind you bring back a good basketful; Sam and I did the milking and now I shall have to load the churns on to the trailer and take it down to the main road because the milk lorry waits for no man. Glenys will want to get the housework done and a cold lunch prepared for later. Sam’ll check the flock and Nain can put her feet up.’ He held out a hand to Glenys. ‘Pete didn’t upset you?’ he asked in a low tone. ‘I knew he’d taken a flagon of cider but I never thought he’d drink most of it in one go, and at this time in the morning too.’
Sam walked over to where Glenys had begun to wash up the breakfast things and put a hand against her neck, beneath the tumble of fair curls. ‘Don’t let it worry you,’ he said gently. ‘It isn’t often that Pete has a flagon of cider all to himself, and it clearly went to his head. By tomorrow he’ll have forgotten every word you uttered, and besides he’s in considerable awe of Taid. After all, Taid could sack him at any time and kick him out of his cottage; he won’t forget that.’
Glenys twisted round to look up into his face. ‘But I’m not his employer; he can be as rude to me as he likes and I’ll still have to feed him,’ she observed. She smothered a laugh. ‘But at least he won’t be coming into the house again. I don’t mind feeding him if I can do it at a distance.’
Presently the men and the children left to carry out their chores and Glenys began to clean lettuce, spring onions and radishes. Nain, sitting at the kitchen table slicing cucumber, looked keenly into Glenys’s troubled face.
‘I don’t doubt you spoke without thinking, but who can blame you?’ she asked reasonably. ‘Pete’s got a nasty tongue on him and a bad reputation amongst the village girls; that’s what you dislike, isn’t it?’ She had pulled the kettle over the fire earlier and now she got to her feet and made two cups of tea, pushing one across to the younger woman and raising her eyebrows. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’ she repeated. ‘You don’t like the way Pete leers, and some of the remarks he makes are not suitable for Jimmy’s ears, let alone Mo’s.’
‘I know,’ Glenys said. ‘But don’t worry, Nain. I can put up with him provided he doesn’t come indoors.’
Promptly at eleven o’clock Nain turned the wireless on, and the tenants joined the family in the kitchen. Pete came with them, for the first time since Glenys had met him wearing clothing which could not have stood up by itself. His face was pink instead of mud-coloured and his nails were not black-rimmed. He sidled in last, casting Glenys a look of mingled triumph and hatred, and she guessed that the cleaning up process had been as unwelcome as it was thorough. She would never have known what had happened when Pete went back to his cottage, had not Jimmy, having delivered Taid’s message to the tenants, seen Pete draw a bucket of water from the well. The little man had then knocked on the O’Connells’ door, and after he had had a brief chat with Liam O’Connell both men had disappeared into Pete’s cottage. Jimmy had not been able to resist creeping round the back and thus had heard every word of the story which Pete had told his neighbour, though he toned down the language slightly when he repeated it to Glenys.
‘That bitch won’t have me in the kitchen unless I’m clean,’ Pete had grumbled. ‘It ain’t her kitchen, conceited slut, but she’s got the old folk under her thumb so I’ve axed you here to help me fill my tin bath.’
‘Clean out the cobwebs, you mean,’ Liam O’Connell had said jocularly, in a not unfriendly tone. ‘All right, I’m game. The missus and kids are out looking for blackberries, so we shan’t be disturbed.’
There was a short pause and then, as Jimmy told Glenys later, the truth came out. ‘I’m not that keen on soap and water, so you’ll have to throw me into the tub,’ Pete had said. ‘But suppose you put a bucket of hot in with the cold, I dare say I wouldn’t fight you quite so hard.’
Gleefully Jimmy had listened as what sounded like a pitched battle took place inside the cottage, and presently a transformed Pete had come stumbling out of the back door. He had not seen Jimmy crouching behind the water butt.
‘He was mother naked and pink all over and cursing like a docker,’ Jimmy said happily. ‘He went into the old privy and came out lugging a tattered old bag. It must have had his clean clothes in it because when he and Liam staggered out of the cottage carrying the bath between them and emptied the filthy water on to that patch of w
eeds he calls a garden he was wearing clean trousers, and Liam was laughing fit to bust, and Pete told Liam if he told a soul he’d kill him. But he was laughing too, and he told Liam he could have the rest of the cider he’d nicked from the farm as a thank you. So I waited till they went back into their cottages and hightailed it back here.’
The kitchen was big, but by eleven o’clock it was full, for the tenants had brought their families, knowing that, whichever way it went, this would be a historic occasion. When the announcer introduced Mr Chamberlain complete silence descended, even the children ceasing their chatter, guessing from the way the adults behaved that they should not say a word as the thin, sad voice began.
I am speaking to you from the cabinet room at 10 Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.
Chapter 15
WHEN THE TENANTS had departed, taking Pete the Sheep with them, Nain rose to her feet. ‘Well, now we know what we’re in for,’ she said briskly. ‘We’ve brought the Huns to their knees before and no doubt we’ll do it again, but we are ill prepared. Last time we were told not to hoard, but this time I think we should buy in anything which will keep. I dare say the shops will be out of tinned goods in a couple of days; we must make sure at least some of them are here.’
Taid spoke up. ‘Farmers have been treated pretty badly by the government in the past, but they’ll need us now,’ he said with some satisfaction. ‘They’ll have to stop bringing in cheap imports from foreign countries when ships have to face U-boats and torpedoes. Workers on the land will be needed more than ever before, though they’ll most be pretty old, I reckon, because young fit men will be needed in the armed forces.’
Nain was frowning. ‘I wonder if they’ll ask us to take any evacuees,’ she said. ‘I’ve been reading a lot about it in the papers – goodness knows I’ve been stuck in the house long enough to have written them myself – and it seems the government intends to get as many children as possible out of the cities, especially the ports, because they think there’ll be heavy bombing raids, as there were in Spain. So they want the kids safely in the country. I suppose if they ask us we’ll have to say yes, but now they’ve revived the Land Army there’s no doubt that a couple of Land Girls would be a lot more useful!’
Smiling at this eminently practical observation, Glenys glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece. Its hands pointed at noon. Sam and Taid, still chatting, went outside to resume their chores, while Jimmy and Mo lingered in the kitchen. ‘What’s for dinner, Auntie Glenys?’ Jimmy asked. ‘I know it’s usually cold on a Sunday, because we go to church for the morning service, but today’s different, isn’t it?’ He looked hopefully from her to Nain. ‘You made some pasties yesterday, didn’t you? I’m rare fond of a pasty.’
Glenys laughed, but shook her head. ‘It’s the usual Sunday lunch: luncheon meat, bread and butter and a salad which Nain made earlier. And don’t tell me that’s no meal for a hard-working man, because I’ve heard it all before.’
Jimmy sniggered. ‘Oh well, it was worth a try,’ he said. He held out a hand to his sister. ‘Come on, Mo; we haven’t finished collecting the eggs. I know we’ve cleared the boxes in the poultry house, but there’s always one of the hens who lays astray; how about coming with me and trying to find her nest?’ He looked up at the clock and then at the table, bare save for a salt and pepper shaker, and heaved a sigh. ‘Or you can help the women to get our dinner if you’d rather,’ he added. Mo shook her head and he started to push her in front of him out of the kitchen, but then he stopped short and turned her round to face him. ‘Why are you crying?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘I didn’t hurt you when I gave you a shove, did I?’
Once more Mo shook her head. ‘No, you didn’t hurt me, but I’s sad,’ she said in a small, choked voice. ‘When Nain and Taid were talking in the kitchen I remembered the Court and all the kids what was our friends . . . oh, Jimmy, I don’t want them to be killed by bombs or U-boats and torpedoes! Some of ’em were real good to us when we lived there; if a bomb fell on Nelly or Nutty I’d be real upset. But you think it’s all a lark, don’t you, Jimmy? Well, it might be a lark for us because we’re in the country already, but it will be real serious for kids what live in the Courts.’
Glenys put the handful of cutlery she had been holding down on the table and went straight to Mo. She picked her up and cuddled her, then sat herself down on a chair with Mo on her lap. ‘Mo darling, didn’t you hear what Nain said? The children are going to be evacuated.’
Mo reared up. ‘Does that mean they’ll come along and prick you with a needle, and shout at you if you yell, because it’s for your own good?’ she said fearfully. ‘I’ve had evacuation and I don’t want no more.’
Jimmy snorted. ‘Evacuation isn’t the same thing as inoculation, you idiot,’ he said loftily. ‘It just means you’re sent into the country to be safe. You want your pals to be safe, don’t you? And when they’re in the country they’re called evacuees, because they’ve been evacuated from their homes, see?’
Mo nodded. ‘I understand now,’ she said. ‘Might they come here, our Jimmy? Oh, and suppose they do come here and then write home and tell their mams and dads they’re with us. And then suppose the neighbours tell the Huxtables where we’ve gone?’ She rubbed her eyes vigorously. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, I just knew something nasty would happen when I woke up this morning and realised the party was over. And I didn’t go with Jimmy to the cottages so I missed seeing Pete in his skin like a poor dead rabbit . . . oh, aren’t I the most unluckiest girl in the world?’
Glenys laughed, gave the child a brief hug and stood her down on the kitchen floor. ‘You’re a very kind and thoughtful girl,’ she said. ‘Now, I really don’t need any help with a cold meal, so you run along with Jimmy and see how many eggs you can find. Dinner will be in half an hour, and though the pasties are for tonight Nain made an apple pie earlier for dessert.’
Jimmy seized the basket standing by the back door and the two of them went out, wrangling amicably over where the hen who laid astray was most likely to be, and Glenys settled down to lay the table and make some dressing with oil, cream and vinegar to pour over the salad.
Promptly at twelve thirty she went to the door to call the family in, and was quite surprised to realise that the sun was beaming down from a blue sky and the birds were singing lustily. Somehow Mr Chamberlain’s speech had ruined the lovely day, for her at any rate, and she could not help contrasting the way she felt now with the way she had felt yesterday. Yesterday had been perfect, the happiest day of her life so far, but today worries predominated, foremost among them the fear that Sam would feel bound to return to the sea. It was a dangerous place in peacetime, but in war it was much worse. Still, no point in fretting ahead of time, so with everyone seated she served out the food and tried to keep her anxiety to herself.
However, it was only natural that the war formed the main topic of conversation. Nain was quite frank. ‘Food will be rationed, and it will be the poor who suffer,’ she said. ‘The rich have a way of getting round regulations, which is why I said we should get hold of as many tinned goods as we could.’ She turned to Glenys. ‘You wait and see, my girl; we farmers and tenants will have no choice but to take in evacuees, which is only right and proper, but the folk at the hall and at the bigger houses round about will be making their plans this very minute. They’ll get relatives down from London and Cardiff and other big cities and when the billeting officer comes round they’ll show him that they’ve not a square inch of space left unoccupied. As for food, they’ll pay double price and get produce to which they’re not entitled.’ She chuckled grimly. ‘Oh aye, that’s how they behaved in the last lot and they’ll do the
same again, believe me.’
‘Then tomorrow the kids and I will go into town and buy up as many tinned goods as we can afford,’ Glenys said. She grinned ruefully at the older woman. ‘If the townsfolk have left us any, that is! Would anyone like more salad? Sam?’
Sam shook his head and pushed back his chair. ‘No thanks; I don’t fancy rabbit food today for some reason,’ he said. ‘Jimmy, can you and Mo manage the clearing away and washing up, if Glenys and I leave you to it? I’d like to take her for a walk; there are things we need to talk about. Is that all right with you, Nain?’
‘Of course it is. I’ll help the children with the clearing up, and then Taid and I will go up to our room and have a rest on the bed,’ Nain said. ‘It’s been a thoroughly disturbing day and the sooner it’s over the better.’ She sighed. ‘Two wars in one lifetime is two wars too many. And don’t you waste your time together talking about this war, because if you mean to go back to sea . . .’
Glenys looked at Sam with dismay. ‘Oh, Sam, no! It isn’t as though you aren’t needed here, because you are. And there are the children to consider, remember. They’ve already suffered the loss of their mother. Don’t leave them without a father as well.’
‘Who said anything about leaving them without a mother?’ Sam said as they left the kitchen, closing the back door behind them. ‘Glenys, my dear, I’m a good deal older than you but we get on extremely well and the children, it seems to me, think of you as something very much closer than an aunt. I know that when we first met I treated you like an interloper, an enemy almost, but since then I’ve grown to appreciate your many good qualities . . . oh, hell, I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I? But we’ve only known each other for seven months and I wouldn’t normally have spoken so soon . . .’
By this time they were in the lane and heading towards open country. Sam struck his forehead with the back of his hand and cast an apologetic glance at her. ‘I’m doing this awfully badly, aren’t I? But I know people will talk, and if I do as I know I must and go back to sea, you will have to face it alone . . .’