Land Girls, The Promise

by Roland Moore

  Iris opened her eyes, her vision murky and hazy, the light was too bright. A ceiling with a spider’s web of small cracks emanating from a light bulb covered in a floral shade. She could feel bedclothes around her.

  She blinked, trying to focus, aware that she could hear a low moaning noise. And then she realised it was her. Something hurt, but she wasn’t sure what it was. She tried to haul herself up slightly, trying for a sitting position but failing. She fell back weakly on the pillow. A smell of sandalwood filled her nostrils as she started to black out again -

  The patent-leather shoes squeaked with each footfall as she ran. Before Iris had found this feature of her shoes amusing, happy to demonstrate it to any relative who would indulge her. But now the noise didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting there -

  Squeak, squeak, squeak.

  With great effort, Iris opened her eyes. Was she hearing the shoes? No, it had become something else, not a memory, but something real. Something that was here now. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a small metallic tea trolley being wheeled nearer to her.

  Squeak, squeak.

  Its wheels were making a noise on the wooden floorboards. On it was a bowl of water, its contents catching the light as small waves formed because of the movement. Iris glanced around, aware that she was somewhere strange, somewhere unknown. Was she back at Jordan Gate? A wooden wardrobe stood near the door. On top of it was resting the one familiar item in the room, her suitcase. But then her vision blurred again and she could only see the vague shapes.

  Where was she? What had happened?

  She felt something warm and wet as a cloth was dunked in the bowl and wiped around her face. Iris tried to focus, but her vision was coming and going. She could see the shape of someone in front of her, wearing something dark. As she squinted to focus, she saw it was a woman. Water got into Iris’s eyes. She realised the woman was washing her face. She stopped and put the cloth back in the water. Then Iris was aware of a hand grabbing her behind the head, moving her forwards, as a second hand brought a glass of water up to her lips. She couldn’t coordinate her drinking, so water spilt down her chin onto her nightie -

  Her nightie?

  Iris remembered running in her nightie, the pullover on top, running as the car chased her along the lane -

  And she remembered running before, ten years old in squeaky patent-leather shoes.

  Both times desperately trying to get somewhere. Recently it had been to escape Vernon Storey. When she was ten, it was -

  Why wasn’t she a better runner? Why hadn’t she got better?

  The woman’s hand let her head drop back onto the pillow and Iris felt tiredness wash over her again. She wanted to ask questions, she wanted to get up, but she felt disconnected, damaged and not really present.

  Where was she?

  She tried to focus as the trolley was wheeled from the room, but all she could see were vague shapes. A woman in black or at least a dark dress, the glint of the water in the bowl on the trolley, the wardrobe standing like a fuzzy monolith.

  Iris let her eyes close and sleep quickly took her.

  Sometime later - was it hours, days or weeks? - Iris opened her eyes again. One of her senses had roused her. She could smell something cooking. Baking. An apple crumble. Was she back home? Her mother was very good at making crumble. In the last letter that Frank had read to her, Margot Dawson had promised her daughter an apple crumble when she came home on leave. Maybe she was at home somehow. But, no, Iris hadn’t accrued enough service to warrant a weekend off yet. In a few weeks, she would be able to go home for a long weekend, the train fare paid for by the Women’s Land Army, but for now she had to keep working.

  Unless she had somehow been sent home early because she was hurt.

  Where was she?

  The quarry. Suddenly memories rushed back. Vernon! Iris remembered Vernon chasing her. What was he doing chasing her? She remembered tumbling like a rag doll down the side of the chalky cliff. But what had happened after? Maybe someone in the quarry had found her and sent her home? But even with poor vision, Iris didn’t recognise this room. It wasn’t one of the bedrooms at home. And it didn’t look like a hospital room. She wasn’t at the Manor House, nor in a room at Pasture Farm. She craned her neck, feeling it twinge with pain, to see the doorway. The wooden door with its glinting bronze handle was shut tight.

  “Hello?” Iris called, surprised at the weakness of her voice. It was barely a croaky whisper. She tried to moisten her lips for another go, but they felt cracked and sore. “Hello? Where am I? Please?”

  The sound didn’t carry. She spotted the alarm clock on the bedside table and a plan formed in her fuzzy brain. With great effort, Iris lifted her right arm, shocked to see that her fingers were bandaged with a splint. Had she hurt them in the fall? Her hand fumbled towards the bedside table and she managed to hook her fingers behind the clock and knock it off, its ringers clattering on the wooden floor. Iris listened, tensing every muscle, as she heard footsteps on the stairs. Someone was coming.

  Iris was running along the country lane, with Vernon at the wheel of the car, chasing -

  The door handle turned and a woman dressed in dark green entered. Slightly clearer now. She wore a hat and gloves, her coat complemented with a fur stole. It was Evelyn Gray.

  “Hello, Iris. You took quite a tumble.”

  Iris tried to move back, to somehow snake herself out of the bed and away onto the floor, but her legs hurt too much. She winced as she leaned on the mattress, pressing against her bruised elbows.

  “I wouldn’t try to get up. Nothing broken, as far as I can tell. But you might have concussion. Is your vision a bit blurry?”

  “What am I -?” Iris struggled to say the words, her throat dry with fear.

  “What are you doing here? I’m making you better. If I’d have left you at that quarry, you’d probably have died of exposure. Mind you, when Vernon ran to your side, he thought you were dead. So that’s a blessing, isn’t it?”

  Iris flashed a terrified look. Vernon rescued her? Where was he? How had he brought her here? How could that have happened? It was all too much to think about. She felt her head spinning with confusion and pain. She tried one last time to haul herself up in bed, but felt dizziness consuming her. She slumped back on the pillow, unconscious. Evelyn Gray looked coldly at her. She picked up the alarm clock, replaced it on the bedside table and left the room.

  Iris tumbled into a fitful sleep, fragments of memories competing to attract attention, as if they were a roomful of excited children.

  Iris is in Brian Marley’s room. They sit on the floor kneeling in front of each other and Brian moves forward. He smells of toffees and he kisses her, chastely, on the lips. After they are done they both race downstairs to go outside and play football. Brian lives two doors down from Iris and she has known him most of her young life.

  As she bursts out of his front door, she sees her mother, Margot Dawson. Her eyes are large and fearful. Something is wrong. “Iris?” she says, grabbing her daughter and pulling her towards her. Margot kneels down, her voice deliberate and brittle. “I need you to do something. Can you do it for me, darling?” -

  Grown-up Iris swigging from the bottle of carrot whisky in her room at Pasture Farm. She hears the wind outside blowing the tree branches against the side of the house.

  “I will come for you, Iris. Mark my words.”

  She tries to shut out the awful words, the awful thought of Vernon looming over her as he tried to throttle her -

  Iris pushing at Joe’s hands as he struggled with her in the alleyway. Get away, no, get away -

  At Shallow Brook Farm, Evelyn pushing Iris on the floor, knocking the wind out of her. Iris hearing her scrabbling around for the pieces of paper and the photograph from the box as darkness -

  Running through the forest, with her arm around Frank, as a bullet smashes into a nearby tree -

  Patent-leather shoes, a 10-year-old girl, running, running -


  Sometime later, Iris awoke with a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She guessed it was night-time as there was no light coming in through the curtains. The whole house seemed still and dark, an eerie quietness hanging over the place. She tried to move herself up in the bed, and this time she managed to sit up a little, blocking out the discomfort from her bruised arms. Her head didn’t feel quite as fuzzy but her legs were sore and bruised. She looked at her injured right hand, splinted with a bandage wrapped around it. She tentatively lifted the sheets to see what damage had been done to her legs. A motley patchwork of purple, brown and black bruises covered the skin. There was a bandage around her right thigh, so she assumed she must have cut the skin in her fall. Flexing her splinted fingers, Iris wondered if she had enough strength to get out of bed. She knew she had to escape. The photo had shown that Vernon and Evelyn knew each other. And now Vernon had brought her here, to Evelyn’s place. So it made sense to think that Vernon might be here too. Yes, she had to get out.

  She pulled at the bedclothes, which had been tucked in such a way as to form a restrictive harness over her body. With effort, she managed to pluck the sheets free. Then, slowly, she was able to slide her bottom around and bring her feet so that they hovered just above the floor. Her feet were dirty, chalky and bruised. When she had been brought here, Evelyn obviously only had the time or inclination to tend to her most immediate problems, patching her up with bandages but not washing her. Iris flexed her toes and brought them softly down on the wood. It felt cool beneath her feet and she paused for a moment, to catch her breath. She was surprised how the exertion of getting up was tiring her. Gingerly she pushed herself up from the bed, a bolt of pain coursing through her hand. But she was upright, even though her legs wobbled slightly under her weight. Iris took a tentative step forward, mindful of being as quiet as possible.

  Creak.

  The floorboard protested as she stepped on it and Iris muttered a silent curse. It had sounded loud to her, in the still of the night, but was it enough to bring Evelyn running? She stood motionless, listening for any movement outside the room, watching the door handle. After a few seconds, she was satisfied that the noise hadn’t woken anyone, so she took another tentative step. To her relief, the second floorboard didn’t make a sound. She was three steps from the door now. Iris glanced back at the wardrobe with her suitcase on the top. She didn’t have the strength to lift it down or the time to get it. She would leave it for now and just worry about getting herself out of this place. She took another step forward and the next floorboard creaked slightly, although not as noisily as the first one had. Iris was aware that her breathing was speeding up and perspiration was beading on her forehead; an intense weariness trying to take over her body. She took another step and she was now close enough to open the door.

  Iris swallowed hard, bracing herself for what she might find on the other side.

  “I will come for you, Iris. Mark my words!”

  She gripped the handle, wincing as she forgot about her splinted right hand. Maybe the fingers were broken. She wasn’t sure. She gripped the handle with her left hand and pulled it quietly down. The door didn’t open. She tried it again, mindful of making too much noise. But then she realised that the door was locked. Of course it was!

  Disappointed, Iris felt as though she wanted to scream. Could she scream? Maybe there were other houses nearby and someone would hear her scream. Yes, maybe. But if this place was a cottage or a house on its own, she could be in trouble. It could be a big gamble to take. Iris bent down to look through the keyhole, in the hope of seeing some more of the house. Perhaps she could see where the stairs were or the other rooms. But she couldn’t see anything. The key was in the lock on the other side.

  Feeling crestfallen, Iris carefully retraced her steps to the bed, avoiding the creaky floorboards. She scooped herself back into bed and pulled the covers over her legs. Sleep didn’t come. Instead, she sat in bed, in the semi-darkness, wondering how she would escape this place and what would happen to her if she didn’t.

  After Sunday service, Martin and Frank returned to Pasture Farm and set off on his pony and trap to see Iris. It was a hot, sunny morning, but with enough breeze to make it a pleasant ride. Nevertheless, by the time they had got near Jordan Gate, Martin felt his shoulders burning and he noticed that Frank’s face was reddened by the sun. Frank asked Martin to open the gate at the farm, so he hopped down from his seat. A mangy black dog was circling around on the other side, so Martin flashed a questioning look back at Frank. What should he do? Frank tethered the reins and got down. He neared the gate, reached into his pocket and showed something to the dog. It sniffed with wary interest and then bolted off as Frank threw it as far as he could.

  “What was that?” Martin asked, as they unhinged the gate and ran back to their ride.

  “Toffee,” Frank replied. “Should keep him busy.” And he mimed a dog laboriously chewing a sweet. Getting back into the driving seat, he clicked the reins, moving the horse forward. As they neared the farm building, a tall, saturnine figure with a shock of black, slicked-back hair came out and eyed them suspiciously.

  “I’ve got all the trekkers I need,” Clarence Trubb growled. After a moment, he was joined by a thin young woman with blonde hair. Dressed in Land Girl clothes, she stood nervously at his side, looking haunted.

  “We’re not trekkers,” Frank said.

  “We’re from Pasture Farm. Came to see Iris,” Martin offered.

  Clarence continued to eye them with contempt. Martin and Frank exchanged a look. This was going well.

  “She’s not here,” Clarence said, spitting a glob of phlegm onto the path.

  “She’s working in the fields?” Frank asked.

  “No, she’s bleeding well run off, hasn’t she?”

  “Yes, she ran off on Friday night,” Maureen offered, following it with an obedient look towards Clarence, who indicated for her to go inside. He’d take care of this.

  “I thought she’d be back with you lot by now, run back with her tail between her legs.” Clarence scowled.

  “We’ve not seen her. Friday, you say?” Frank asked, starting to worry.

  Clarence spied the storybooks in Martin’s hand. “So you might as well take your children’s books with you.”

  “Did she say anything? I mean, why did she run off?”

  “Some girls aren’t cut out for life here. We don’t run a cosy little setup like you’ve got at your farm. My girls are here to get their bloody hands dirty.” Clarence turned to go, “Now, piss off. I can’t waste any more time on her. I’ve got to replace her as quickly as possible.”

  Frank bridled, but contained his anger. “You’d better hope we find her.”

  “Or what?” Clarence said, relishing the idea of a confrontation.

  Frank stood his ground for a moment, staring into the wide face of his overfed opponent. “Or we’ll be back.”

  Martin was already back on the trap and turning the horse around, ready to leave. Frank didn’t take his eyes off Clarence as he hauled himself up onto the seat. Martin shook the reins and the horse started to trot away from Jordan Gate, passing a dog struggling to chew a toffee. As they got a mile along the country lane, Martin had to steer his way around a large group of men and women who were emerging from a small church. In the vain hope of seeing Iris, he glanced at some of the girls, obviously Land Girls stationed at Jordan Gate. He didn’t pay any attention to the men, the itinerant workers from the farm. If he had, he might have noticed Vernon Storey in amongst the crowd.

  As the sky started to turn purple, Esther poured more tea for the people gathered around the table at Pasture Farm. It wasn’t the happy and fun atmosphere of a few nights before when they had played Pontoon. Now, Frank, Martin, Finch and Esther were concerned about what had happened to Iris, their faces etched with worry.

  “I mean, what are the options?” Esther asked, pushing a cup and saucer towards Frank. “She’s run away from Jordan Gate?”

 
; “Or they’re covering up the fact she’s gone?” Frank offered.

  “What do you mean?” Martin asked, already looking nervous of the answer.

  “Girls have accidents on the farms. I’ve seen a Land Girl lose her arm in a threshing machine back on one farm. Some farmers might try to cover up things like that.” Frank sighed. “I’m not saying she’s had an accident, but it’s a place she’s not used to, equipment she’s not used to …”

  “Why didn’t you say this to me on the way home?” Martin blustered, alarmed by the prospect that Iris might have died.

  “Didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Well, I’m worried now! We should go back!”

  “We’re just discussing all the options, son,” Finch offered, trying to calm the situation. “So she’s either run away under her own steam, or she’s had an accident and they’re saying she ran away so they can cover it up. What else?”

  “I think she ran away,” Martin said. “The man who owns that farm is a real bastard.”

  “Martin!” Esther scolded.

  “Well, he is,” Martin said, sheepishly.

  Esther turned to Finch and Frank for confirmation. They’d both met Clarence Trubb, she hadn’t. Both men shrugged and nodded their heads. “He’s right. He is a bit of a bastard.”

  Esther took up the reins. “So the question is, where has she gone?”

  “She’d be back here by now, if she was coming. She’s had two days,” Finch said.

  “She wouldn’t come back here, not with your fancy woman,” Martin said, emboldened by being included in the discussion.

  “Here, you mind your lip!” Finch replied. Martin looked at the floor.

  “Would she go back to Northampton?” Frank asked, tired of the bickering and looking directly at Esther. The warden winced, knowing that it would open up a huge can of worms if she had to telephone Iris’s mother to find out. Especially if there was the chance that Iris might not even be there. And yet, the rules of the Women’s Land Army meant that any unexplained absence had to be treated as desertion. Esther had a duty to discover if Iris was hiding out at her family home. And if she wasn’t, well, then they would cross that bridge when they came to it.