by Katie Flynn
Glenys’s mind dwelt rather sadly on this image for a moment or two, but presently she forced herself to return to her next move. She had decided that going away from the farm was the right thing to do. Thinking back over her past as she lay in the warm dark, she realised, perhaps for the first time, that she was woefully inexperienced. Sam had been kind to her, but he had never given any hint that he loved her, and she had no idea how one encouraged – or for that matter discouraged – a young man to show his feelings. Come to that, she did not even know how to show her own. She had been reared in an orphanage for girls, had gone to a school for girls, had even gone to a training college for girls, and then she had taught in a girls’ academy. Her months at Weathercock Farm, in fact, had been her very first experience of how pleasant a friendship with a young man could be. She had enjoyed Sam’s company immensely, but then Sam was not a young man; he was at least a dozen years older than herself, and a widower to boot. He had fathered two children and clearly, compared to herself, had a good deal of worldly knowledge. If I had agreed to marry him, Glenys told herself, it would have been an unequal match. I could help Taid run the farm, and I could look after the children, and help Nain run the house, of course. But the other side of marriage . . . she felt her cheeks glow at the thought . . . is a closed book to me, and one I don’t particularly want to open. If we were in love with one another it would be wonderful, but as it is it is just frightening, so I think the only choice I can honestly make is to leave.
Having made up her mind Glenys slid off the bed and went over to the window. She pulled the curtains back and looked out. The dark sky above was lit by a thousand twinkling stars, but when she looked to the east she realised that dawn could not be far distant. If she were to get away before anyone was up she must write her letter to Nain and pack her few belongings at once, then steal down the stairs and make for the railway station, though if she were to be pursued that would be the obvious place to look. And if Sam does come after me it will be proof that he truly does love me, even if he doesn’t know it, she told herself wistfully as she got down her trusty haversack from where it had been sitting on the top of her wardrobe, ignored now for many months. Yes, if he finds me, if he begs me to come back, I shall see it as a sign that I’ve made the wrong decision and will return with him to Weathercock Farm.
Chapter 16
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, with the straps of her haversack fastened and her shoes in one hand, Glenys was tiptoeing down the stairs. As she passed Sam’s door she was unable to prevent herself from glancing wistfully at it; she even slowed her downward flight for a moment, secretly hoping that the door would open and Sam would emerge to ask her what she was doing up at such an unearthly hour. But the door remained closed. That’s proof that he has no particular fondness for me, she told herself, starting off down the stairs once more. If he had he would have sensed my presence and got up to discover what I was doing creeping about the house at five o’clock in the morning. Deliberately, she came down hard on the sixth stair from the bottom, which always squawked when trodden on, and was almost outraged when no bedroom door creaked a response. Not even Nain, who had particularly sharp hearing, came out to see who was up so early. But as she gained the kitchen Glenys reminded herself of the events of the last week: Mr Chamberlain’s speech, coming on top of Nain’s party and the days of excited preparation that had preceded it, must have been the final straw. No wonder they were all sleeping soundly!
Automatically, she glanced up at the clock; heavens, in another hour it would be full daylight. She must buck her ideas up, for to be caught actually on the premises would be so embarrassing, and would call for so many explanations, that she would be forced to abandon her scheme. Then, halfway to the door, she saw the sandwiches. Glenys, who had had no supper, in fact had eaten nothing since a salad at lunchtime the day before, felt the saliva rush to her mouth. She approached the table, and saw that the sandwiches were not on a plate but on top of a small sheet of greaseproof paper, and beside them was an apple and a slice of farmhouse fruitcake. It looked almost as though Nain had prepared a picnic for her, knowing that she was going away. For a moment, Glenys felt as though someone had slapped her in the face; this was rejection, complete rejection! But then she thought of what she knew of Nain and realised that, if the food indeed held a message it was that Nain wanted her to know she was loved.
She wrapped the sandwiches and the fruitcake carefully in the greaseproof paper, put the food into her haversack and cast one valedictory glance around the kitchen; she had known more happiness here than she had believed existed. Then she propped her letter to Nain against the tin of Saxa salt and headed for the back door. It wasn’t even locked; had Nain realised that the key screeched in the lock like a lost soul? Had she deliberately eased her way? But it was no use conjecturing; Glenys shut the door as stealthily as she could, crossed the farmyard, and went through the little side gate into the lane. She did not know the time of the first train to anywhere, but remembered that the milk lorry had to get the churns down to the station to connect with it. She turned briskly towards the road. Already a sense of adventure gripped her. She told herself she could go anywhere, do anything. Now there was a war to take into consideration, she was pretty sure that someone with her experience of farming would be eagerly accepted as a worker. She had read an article – she supposed it was an advertisement really – raving about the wonderful work of the Land Army, which was manned, she believed, entirely by women. There were pictures on station platforms and in other public places of unbelievably glamorous girls clad in neat-fitting and elegant costumes, harvesting grain in sunny cornfields, picking apples or plums from leafy branches or crouching over full baskets of strawberries so beautifully painted that they looked real. Yes, I’d make a really useful Land Girl, Glenys told herself.
As the thought entered her mind she turned into the main road and was walking confidently along the verge when she heard a heavy vehicle approaching from the rear. Immediately her heart gave an excited little bump; it would be the old jalopy which Sam and Taid had agreed would ease their lives considerably. Or it might be the tractor, even though Sam said it needed twice the fuel . . .
It was neither. The disappointment Glenys felt when she looked over her shoulder and saw an army lorry behind her was almost overwhelming, but then common sense reasserted itself. She was still a long way from the railway station; if she could flag the driver down . . .
The lorry drew up alongside her, the window was cranked down, and a young voice said cheerfully: ‘Wanna lift, mate?’
‘Yes, please – I’m on my way to the station,’ she began, but was swiftly interrupted.
‘Well, wharra daft thing to do. Trains cost money; that is they do if you ain’t in the forces. You gorra train pass?’
‘No, but I’ve got money for my fare,’ Glenys said defensively. ‘Where are you going?’
The young soldier revved his engine impatiently. ‘All the way there and back agin,’ he said. ‘I deliver all acrost the country, wharrever they’re short of and wherever they’re short of it: Liverpool, Chester, Wrexham . . . Where’s you want to go? Only gerra move on, else I’ll be late for my first delivery.’ He revved the engine again, and almost as though impelled by the roar Glenys hopped up the step and into the passenger seat.
‘Thanks very much,’ she said breathlessly as the young man pushed the gear lever into first and the huge lorry hiccuped, lurched and began to move forward. ‘Did you say your first stop was Liverpool?’
The young man shrugged and swung the wheel, blinking his lights at another vehicle as the two passed. ‘Depends,’ he said airily. ‘I can take you to Liverpool; there’s plenty of work down at the docks for us drivers. Of course, now war’s been declared we’ll be on the go from morning till night, and from night till morning, come to that. What’s your trade, mate? Goin’ to work in one of them factories? I believe you can make uniforms, or parts for aeroplanes, or even guns and that in the factories on Love Lane.’
He chuckled. ‘Odd name for factories doin’ war work, wouldn’t you say? But they pays real well, and of course if you’re a docker you can’t go wrong.’ He glanced sideways at her and grinned ruefully. ‘But they don’t employ women on the docks, worse luck. So if you’re lookin’ for work, well they say the services always put a square peg into a round hole, so you’d best pick the factory you’d like rather than let the authorities choose for you. I tell you one thing: don’t you go suggestin’ that you’ll work in munitions ’cos the stuff them girls handle turns their skin yellow as bloody daffodils. I gorra cousin – Queenie, her name is – what works in munitions, an’ she’s been an’ gone and got allergic to some oil or other what they use.’ He turned to grin at his passenger. ‘Looks as though she’s got the measles, ‘cept she had ’em when she were five. Now the perishin’ government have said she can make parachutes, which is another thing they’ve got women a-doin’. Fancy yourself with a needle and thread?’
‘No, not at all,’ Glenys said firmly. ‘I hate sewing and I’m rotten at it. I’ve been working on a farm this past year, so I thought the Land Army would probably suit me best. And I’m volunteering, not being conscripted, which should make a difference, shouldn’t it?’
‘The Land Army? Have you seen their uniform? Them awful baggy breeches are enough to put anyone off, as well as them great clumpin’ shoes. I seen ’em at dances, a-treadin’ on their partners’ feet wi’ their great hooves. Now Liverpool’s a port, so there are plenty of them little Wrens in their black silk stockin’s . . . but what’s wrong with the army, eh? You’ve not mentioned the army and it’s the one service I can really tell you about . . . the ATS, I should say.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Glenys said sarcastically. ‘Got a girlfriend in the ATS, have you? If so, I can understand your enthusiasm . . .’
The young man drew the lorry up behind another of the same ilk. ‘Girlfriend? Don’t you have eyes in your bleedin’ head?’ he said scornfully. ‘I’m in the perishin’ ATS.’ He snatched his cap off his head, revealing that he – or rather she – had a neat bun of light brown hair on the top of her head, and turned to face her passenger. ‘Well I never bloody did! You thought I were a perishin’ feller, and me with a figure what’s the envy of the rest of my section!’ She laughed uproariously, jerking the lorry into first gear once more and beginning to creep forward. ‘Well, to be took for a perishin’ feller!’ she repeated.
Glenys clapped her hands to her hot cheeks. ‘I’m most awfully sorry, but the fact is it’s still dark and it never occurred to me that a woman could drive a huge lorry like this one. I know there were women in the last war but I thought they were mainly Land Girls and nurses . . . but I’m very, very grateful and I’d like it if you’d tell me how you came to get the job of a driver.’
Her companion snorted. ‘Forget the Land Girls, and you can’t join as a nurse unless you really are one, if you see what I mean. What’s wrong with the ATS?’
‘Nothing, nothing at all,’ Glenys said hastily. She felt she had put her foot in it and was remorseful, especially since the driver had been good enough to give her a lift. ‘Tell me all about it; the ATS I mean,’ she added. ‘I hadn’t really considered which service, and I only thought of the Land Army because of my previous experience. Do you think the ATS could find a niche for me? Before I moved into Wales I was a fully qualified teacher in a girls’ private school, with a certificate and everything,’ she added rather self-consciously. ‘I don’t suppose it would be very helpful, though . . .’
Her companion whistled. ‘I should think they’d jump at you!’ she said frankly, as the slow-moving line of vehicles drew to a halt once more. ‘Tell you what, I’ll drop you outside the TA office in Liverpool . . . no, no, I’ve got a better idea. You said you have money for your fare; there are cheap lodging houses near the docks and one of ’em – the fellers call the landlady Mrs Churchill, ’cos she’s rare fond of old Winnie – lets us gals have a room cheap. It’s not a long way from the recruiting office, so you could stay there whilst you make up your mind.’
Once more the traffic edged forward and, to Gleny’s dismay, as the lorry began to pick up speed the driver turned to her and thrust out a hand. ‘How do you do? I’m Dorothy Ward, Dotty to me friends.’
‘I’m Glenys Trent,’ Glenys said as their hands met. ‘I say, do keep your eyes on the road. The lorry ahead is going to stop, I feel it in my bones.’
Her companion chuckled. ‘You’d better apply to be a driver – Driver Mechanic is what they call my section. I’m not saying the pay is particularly good, you can earn more in other trades, but the training is first class, and though there’s a lot of sitting around you’ll get exercise right enough. Still, you’ll get a load of information from the recruiting office.’
Glenys sighed, bidding farewell in her mind to the possibility of breeches and a green jersey, WAAF blues, a Wren’s black silk stockings and a nurse’s cap and apron. She owed this young person more perhaps than mere thanks. Aloud, she said: ‘I shall apply for the ATS, Dotty. Will they issue me a uniform at once?’
Dotty gave a crow of amusement. ‘Because of old Chamberlain – the gals call him “Potty”; I expect you can guess why – recruiting offices are goin’ to be overwhelmed. You’ll be lucky to get an armband at first, though once they realise you’ve gorra proper qualification I dare say they’ll find up a uniform from somewhere.’
The traffic began to move, this time more rapidly, and presently the two girls shared Glenys’s sandwiches and tea from Dotty’s flask. After that, as the stars paled and the sky brightened, Dotty told Glenys all about the ATS as seen through a driver’s eyes. ‘But could you drive already?’ Glenys asked uneasily.
‘No, the ATS taught me. I take it you can’t drive?’ Dotty said.
‘I’ve driven a tractor many times and Sam lets me drive his old jalopy into town, but I don’t know whether I’d dare to say I could actually drive,’ Glenys admitted.
‘Who’s Sam?’
‘Sam? Oh, he’s just the son-in-law of my old employer; no one of any particular importance,’ Glenys said airily, and realised as she said it that she was speaking no more than the truth. Regardless of Sam’s feelings for her, if she had felt anything stronger than sisterly affection for him she would surely have left him a note, and it had not once occurred to her to do so. But as the light grew stronger, Dotty’s chatter seemed to fade and Glenys realised that she was visualising the scene in the kitchen when the family assembled for breakfast. She sighed. She hated inflicting pain, but she told herself that she had done the right thing by leaving. So she sat up straighter and watched the passing countryside and would not let herself think of the people she had left behind.
In the farmhouse kitchen, Nain was already stirring the porridge and Taid was sitting in front of the stove, toasting slices of the bread which his wife had made the day before. He had seen the letter addressed to Nain leaning against the drum of salt but had said nothing, realising that his wife would probably read it when she had finished cooking breakfast, and presently Sam and the children clattered down the stairs. Jimmy and Mo began to do the tasks which they performed every morning, fetching jars of marmalade and Marmite from the pantry, checking that their books were in their school satchels, feeding the cats – there were three of them – with saucers of milk and finally sitting themselves down at the table as Nain served out porridge into five of the six dishes they had laid out. Mo stared at the empty dish. ‘Has Glenys already had hers?’ she asked plaintively. ‘I got up early ’cos it’s the first day of school after the holidays, only I know the corn harvest isn’t finished and I thought I’d ask Glenys if we could have a day off to help.’
‘Glenys isn’t here,’ Nain said rather guardedly, glancing at Sam, but there was no sign on his face of either distress or annoyance. So they did quarrel, Nain thought. ‘But she’s left me a letter, which I’ve not yet read. However, the time has come to do so. Eat up your porridge, children; whether it’s school or the h
arvest, you’ll still want to face the day with your stomachs lined.’ As she spoke, she picked up the envelope, slit it open and pulled out the page it contained. She read it quickly to herself and then aloud:
‘Dearest Nain and Taid,
‘You’ve been so good to me, so kind and generous, but I’ve thought it over carefully and listened to people talking, and this helped me to come to a decision. Whilst I am at the farm the government will think that Sam does not have to be here, which means he will go back to sea, leaving Weathercock in my far from capable hands. Of course we all know that it will be you and Taid who make the decisions and take the responsibility, but that’s not how the War Office sees things. If I leave, then Sam will almost certainly be allowed to stay, and for the children’s sake I have decided that I must be the one who goes . . .’
At this point, Mo flung back her head and howled like a dog, tears streaming down her normally rosy cheeks. ‘I don’t want my daddy, I want Glenys!’ she wailed. ‘He went away and left us before, and he’ll do it again.’ She turned a tear-blubbered face towards her father. ‘Where’s she gone? She must be goin’ by train . . .’ She leaned across and grabbed her brother’s arm, causing him to spill porridge all down his clean school shirt. ‘Jimmy, we’ve got to go after her. If we beg and plead ever so hard, maybe she’ll come back.’
Sam pushed back his chair. ‘I’ll go to the station and see what I can do,’ he said resignedly. ‘Just let me finish my porridge and I’ll take a couple of rounds of toast with me. If the porter can tell me where the train she boarded was bound, then I suppose I could follow her . . .’ He jerked a thumb at Mo. ‘And don’t give me any more cheek, madam, or you’ll get a good hiding.’