by Anne Holman
Then her job had to be prepared for Margaret to take it over. And Sally had to be instructed to enable her to take over Margaret’s job.
By the time she got home she was feeling shattered. Carrying around the weight of the baby was tiring.
After parking the car in the barn, she walked around to the front of the cottage and saw on the front doorstep, a package.
Picking it up, Vera was alarmed. It had been delivered a military courier. Who had sent it to her – was it Geoff?
What could be in it?
CHAPTER TWELVE
TEARING off the wrappings of the package, Vera felt some slippery things fall out of her fingers onto the floor. Looking down she was amazed to see several smaller packets.
“What the devil are these?”
She pushed the dogs’ noses away, because they were just as curious as she was to see what she’d been sent.
Stooping down - which was now a little difficult for her with her bump - she picked up the fallen packets and spied the words: Best Quality Nylon Stockings.
“My goodness!”
Vera was overwhelmed. That American officer who’d taken Fred’s puppy had sent her six packets of nylon stockings! She had heard the Americans were generous – but six pairs! She felt like a queen.
Making sure she managed to get them all before the dogs took them off to play with, Vera sank into her armchair with the nylons on her lap with a broad smile on her face - and yet with tears of joy too. It was such an unexpected gift - a lovely present.
She felt exhausted and kicking her shoes off she closed her eyes she snoozed until Battle, Geoff’s dog, poked her thigh with his hard nose, reminding her she should get up and feed them. Battle was always ready for his dinner and would devour anything.
It wasn’t until later when they had all eaten and she was clearing away before going to bed because she felt too tired to even wait up for the nine o’clock news on the radio, that she noticed something else had been included with the nylon stockings.
Opening it she almost screamed with delight. There was a photograph of Fred’s Alsatian puppy, Freda. It was a lovely close up shot of the young German Shepherd dog, looking alert with her ears pricked up and showing her beautiful tan and black markings. The photograph showed Freda in a country area, with the glorious colours of the tree leaves of autumn – called, the Fall, in America – sparkling in the background.
Freda had certainly fallen on her four feet!
Vera felt so pleased to know the dog had found a good home - she didn’t really need to read the letter enclosed to say that she had. Yet Vera continued to weep. Partly because she was thinking of Freda being happy, but also of Gyp, her boyfriend’s mongrel, who was well looked after living with her. And then, Battle, Geoff’s Labrador, which, of course reminded her of him.
Geoff, where are you?
Despite her busy days, her pregnancy, which seemed to take all the stuffing out of her, Vera never forgot Geoff for long. She was always wondering how he was – hoping for a letter from him.
It was all she could do to crawl off to bed that night.
* * *
Colonel Geoffry Parkington, was thinking of his wife too.
He kept waiting for some news of her and was becoming more distraught that he didn’t have any. But then, he didn’t have the time to write to her either – other than a quickly written message - before he fell onto his bunk bed exhausted each night. He was constantly being expected to work out one engineering problem after another.
Weeks, and now months, had gone by since D-Day and the Germans were still fighting with all the skill at warfare they possessed.
The Allied armies push into Europe was not straightforward.
Dog tired, and dejected, Geoff was able to do his duty, keep his nerve and find answers when called upon to do so, but the longer they found him useful the more the army relied on him for help. Geoff made sure his juniors were given leave, and came back refreshed, but he had none – his senior officers found him irreplaceable. He could have demanded some leave, but he did not.
One morning he staggered when he got up. He’d got a headache. He couldn’t eat breakfast and couldn’t bear the sound of gunfire and mines exploding around him any longer.
Without thinking he crawled out of the foxhole he was in and walked over to the sick bay, when he heard a whizzing sound overhead.
A terrific explosion, followed by earth thrown up in front of him was all he remembered.
* * *
The winter days were approaching fast. Vera had received another very short message Geoff had written to her, which was she thought was curt and uninformative. He didn’t say where he was, or what he was doing. Worse, he didn’t say he loved her or longed to be with her again. He might just as well have been asking for reinforcements, she told the dogs who sat and listened to her complaint.
And she couldn’t reply because she didn’t know where to send his mail.
“To Colonel Geoffrey Parkington, somewhere in France – or maybe he isn’t there any longer?” she told the listening dogs, who merely wagged their tails.
She sighed as she fingered the crumpled note. “Well, I expect he’s up to his eyes in work and hasn’t had any time to do more than scribble this very short message. But I do wonder . . . if he still loves me as much as he used to. Anyway, I have work to do, so it’s no good crying over spilt milk.”
Vera was aware that the wives and families of many service personnel were constantly worried about their loved ones. Wondering what was happening to them and hoping they were safe. And of those who had received telegrams from the Army to say that regrettably their husbands, sons or daughters had been killed in the conflict.
Vera just hoped Geoff was all right. And she hoped she had not
spoilt his love for her by coming over to France with the information she knew he needed before D-Day.
She just longed to know that all was well between them.
But in the meantime she had a lot to do – which was just as well because it prevented her from brooding.
She had to encourage Sally to read and write recipes, and to fill in forms for provisions. And train Margaret to take over her job, although she was quite sure Margaret was well up to the work. Older than Vera, and a natural leader, Margaret was competent, although a little exacting, which didn’t make her as popular as Vera had been with the canteen staff in the various British Restaurants they had to supervise.
“I have difficulty thinking of meals to advise the cooks what menus to prepare,” Margaret said one day as she drove along to visit a Restaurant along a country road in the pouring rain. “Food rationing is becoming more and more impossible to cope with - we can’t just give the diners potatoes and carrots every day.”
Vera admitted it had become a serious problem. Competent though Margaret was, she didn’t have a lot of imagination. So Vera said, “Well I’ll try and dream up some recipes for you when you take over. There are lots of free food can be made from looking around the countryside.”
“Such as?”
Vera went into the possibilities of using blackberries from the hedgerows, and field mushrooms, and fallen apples, which anyone could go out and pick to make wholesome recipes. “Homemade pickles and chutneys are very good with bread and cheese. Of course it takes time to collect and prepare but older children can be helpful.”
“I didn’t think how much work was involved when I agreed to do your job.”
Not only was the weather gloomy – so was Margaret.
Vera knew despite her own personal worries she had to buck Margaret up.
“You’ll get used to it,” said Vera as cheerfully as she could. “Anyway, I notice you’re much more confident at driving now, aren’t you?”
Margaret gave a little laugh. “Yes, I like it. Tom has been pretty good at teaching me – when he gets the time. And he allows me to use this car of his – and his petrol ration.”
“What does Tom do?”
“He�
�s a farmer - in a reserved occupation.”
“Does the farmer want a wife?”
“He says he does.”
Vera waited to hear whether Margaret had agreed to marry him, but she said nothing more about their relationship. After awhile she asked, “Anyway, you and Tom, and little Deanna, seem to be getting on well.”
“Mmm. Yes, we do.”
“Enough to make a happy family?”
“I dunno.”
They had to wait because a herd of cows were blocking the road, as they changed fields – and the cows were in no hurry.
Vera could sympathise with Margaret not knowing whether she should marry a man who had let her down in the past. Vera, herself, had a problem looming ahead in her marriage. She didn’t like to tell Margaret how difficult Geoff had been. And how unappreciative he’d seemed when she’d gone to France. And now she hadn’t heard from him for ages . . . “marriage doesn’t prevent troubles with men,” she said.
“How’s the baby layette progressing?” Margaret changed the subject not wanting to dwell on their men folk difficulties.
Vera smiled, “The things you gave me are splendid, thank you. Mum helped me to get nappies and the main things sorted, so now all I want is the baby!”
They both laughed.
And they continued to laugh when they got on to discussing the effort young Sally was making to improve her education - and Sally’s dramatic show of exasperation when she found learning difficult.
Margaret explained, “I asked her to read the recipe the other day and to get the others to prepare what was needed. And you’d never guess what she did. She said that the word, tablespoonful, looked like, teaspoonful, to her. So all the puddings turned out looking bright pink with too much cochineal in them. And Sally’s face was just as bright in colour when she saw the mistake she’d made. She was on tenderhooks when the desert was served in case anyone complained about them. But they were gobbled up – and the children loved the strong colour!”
Vera laughed. “Well it taught Sally a lesson. I’m sure she’ll be more careful to read the recipes accurately in future. But we all make mistakes - ”
The cattle on the road had moved on and Margaret started the car again, saying, “The good thing is, Sally is working at improving her reading, writing and arithmetic - and in the long run it will pay her to persevere. So encourage her Margaret. ”
“Oh I do. Although she calls me everything under the sun after I correct her – ”
“I’m sure she’s only letting off steam because she finds it so difficult. But after the war and the British Restaurants are closed, Sally will be able to get a job in catering anywhere.”
Margaret sighed. “Vera, do you think the war will ever end?”
“We are winning. But the both the Jerries, and the Japs, are resisting, strongly – our soldiers are meeting stiff opposition – it’s just a matter of time now before they are defeated. In the new year we will be having a Victory parade.”
Margaret merely grunted, “I hope you’re right. How’s Geoff’s job going?”
Vera didn’t like to say anything, but she knew she must. “Well, his big project went well – but now he is engaged in mending roads and building bridges that were destroyed in the bombing.”
“It must have been awful, being there as you were.”
“It was. A nightmare.” Vera’s mind was too full of memories to what to talk about it.
They drove on in silence.
Margaret asked, ““But Geoff is safe now, isn’t he? If he’s working behind the fighting as the army moves on?”
“Yes,” Vera agreed, “I can only hope he is well behind any danger. He told me before I left him that he was going to build temporary bridges and assist the French to repair damage after the bombing.”
Vera dare not go on to tell Margaret how concerned she was that she’d noticed that Geoff was beginning to show signs of becoming an older man with the huge workload he was being told to do. But she didn’t have to because they had arrived at their destination.
Soon the girls were engaged in looking over the kitchen, and inspecting the food being served.
“Plum Duff, was a good choice for a pudding, ” Vera told the cook who beamed to be praised.
The cook said, “My sister has a small orchard and gave me the plums.”
Vera smiled and said, “Coming here I was saying to Margaret that the local produce is the best to use if you can get hold of it. And the autumn is the best time of the year.” She always liked to give some encouragement as well as to point out any lapse in food hygiene she noticed. And as she was instructing Margaret too, she wanted her to be positive when approaching the staff. So she was pleased to hear Margaret ask the cook if she was bottling some beans and fruit.
“Yes, we are,” the cook nodded her head, “apple rings and salted beans we’ve done already. And a bee keeper gave us some honey.”
“Splendid!” said Margaret.
Later, driving back home they discussed the sharing of ideas was important. Everyone was busy and tired in wartime but a little help from ones friends worked wonders.
“And how’s your new diner lady, Mabel Hind, shaping up?” Vera asked Margaret, not wanting to say that she hadn’t been at all impressed by the new woman – but then she didn’t have to work with her.
“She’s OK.”
“But will Sally manage her?”
“Funnily enough, they get on quite well. Chalk and cheese.”
“Can Mabel keep an eye on Sally’s arithmetic, do you think?”
Margaret nodded. “As I say, they seem to get on. Sally is young and frivolous, but keen on cooking now, and she seems to look after the older woman.”
“Strange that.”
“Well, it isn’t because I was told Mabel was thrown out of the RAF as being unsuitable for service life.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t know the ins and outs of it but I understand Mabel has certain . . . difficulties. She’s not barmy or anything like that. She’s just, well as far as I can see, she’s just Mabel - an oddball. No harm to anyone, she works hard and is quite intelligent. You just don’t know sometimes what some people have suffered in their childhood.”
Vera knew Margaret herself had suffered from being an unmarried mother at a time when it was frowned on. So it was understandable that however tense Mabel was, Margaret would be sympathetic. And so would dear old Gladys. And young Sally was a cheerful friendly girl who would take anyone under her wing. All together the diner ladies, although different, worked together well as a team.
Vera was delighted to know the day was successful. Margaret seemed far happier now that she had spent the day learning about the job she was about to take over from Vera, as they arrived back at the farm.
And Vera hoped that there would be a letter to her from Geoff.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THERE was a letter waiting for her when she arrived home with the dogs she had collected from the farm. It was in a military style envelope and Vera grabbed it quickly without even closing the front door, and sank into an armchair to read it.
It wasn’t from Geoff - but it was about him.
The Ministry of Defence. Regret to inform you . . . Vera’s eyes became awash with tears as she scanned the typewritten letter. She swiped the moisture from them as she read on.
Colonel G. Parkington, Royal Engineers . . .
Casualty.
That was the word that stuck in her brain. Geoff had been injured.
She breathed heavily and was became aware that the dogs were looking at her with concern. It was remarkable how they knew she was upset.
It was some time before she could read the letter properly. But when she did. she found she had already gathered the most important information. Geoff had been brought back to England with war wounds, and was in a military hospital.
With a thundering heart Vera knew that for all she had already been through since the war began: losing her first boyfriend, Bi
ll, and the daily hardships wartime brought, as well as her hairy trip to France and seeing the devastation there - now she was faced with terrible uncertainty with what had happened to her beloved Geoff.
How badly hurt was he?
How long she remained in a trance she didn’t know, but she suddenly became aware that the light had gone and she was sitting in darkness. She supposed she’d been asleep. And she hoped the contents of the letter was just a nightmare. But it was not and she had to rouse herself and get on with her duties.
Even the dogs had crouched down and not prodded her to be fed.
Vera, she told herself, shake yourself out of this gloom.
Feed the dogs, feed yourself for the baby’s sake - and phone Mum in the morning because it wouldn’t be fair to phone her before she went to bed so that she would be worrying all night long.
Having settled her mind about what she had to do, Vera got up and went about her tasks like a robot.
She slept well because she’d had a busy day, and carrying the heavy baby around was tiring.
* * *
In the morning she looked out on a sprinkling of snow covering the landscape around the cottage. Blimey, snow before Christmas!
She had to phone the Ministry of Defence and find out about Geoff. Where he was and what injuries he’d suffered.
Having let the dogs out and made herself eat a little breakfast as she was trying to find the courage to make the phone calls when she heard whistling outside. The boy delivering the milk was ladling out her milk from the churn into her can.
“Morning, Mrs Parkington,” he said when she opened the door to pick up the fresh milk, “sorry if I woke you up.”
“Oh, you didn’t. I’ve been up for ages. What are the roads like?”
“Slippery. Don’t you go out, missus.”
“No I won’t Jim. Will you tell your Dad I won’t be bring the dogs over to him today, please?”