Alice's Girls

by Julia Stoneham

  ‘But what sort of a wife would I be, though, Marvin, if I was someone as broke their promises? Someone who didn’t keep her word?’

  ‘But what if it was the other way about?’ he asked her. ‘What if it was Winnie who wanted out of this plan of yours? Suppose she was the one who’d found herself a fella? What would you have done? Hey?’

  ‘I dunno!’ Marion sighed. ‘But anyroad she ’asn’t, ’as she!’ Marvin was chewing gloomily on the damp stub of his cigar.

  ‘Seems like it was a pretty weird arrangement for two lookers like you and Winnie to make! Most girls like you dream of meeting Mr Right and living happy ever after!’

  ‘Like our mums did, you mean? With too many kids and no money? Workin’ all the hours God sent? Livin’ in cold, poky little ’ouses. Dad down the pub! Not much “’appy ever after” in our street, Marvin!’ She looked at him and her expression softened. ‘Win and me weren’t much good at our lessons in school but we wasn’t stupid! We wanted summat better than what our mums ’ad!’

  ‘It won’t be like that with me, babe!’ he said, stroking the back of her hand. ‘I promise you it won’t be! We’d have decent married quarters right from the start; then, after a bit I’d buy us a house of our own.’

  ‘It’s not that, lovey! I’d live in a tent if it meant bein’ with you! It’s Winnie I’m thinkin’ of. Winnie and our plan we made!’

  Marvin’s cigar was beyond redemption and he abandoned it in his empty teacup.

  ‘Reckon we should talk to her. She’s your buddy, Marion. She won’t want to stand between you and your happiness.’

  ‘’Course she won’t, Marvin! She’d say I’m to wed you! She’d smile as she waved us goodbye! She’s a good egg, is my Winnie! But I can’t do it to her, Marvin, I just can’t!’

  For weeks the situation remained unchanged. Winnie insisting that Marion shouldn’t let their arrangement regarding the pub influence her response to Marvin’s proposal and Marion determined not to let down her oldest and best friend. Marvin continued to write affectionate letters and, whenever he could, visited his girl. The solution to the problem came from an unexpected quarter.

  Dear Marion and Winifred, the letter began. It was from Marion’s uncle Ted, whose advice the girls had sought, more than once, about the practicalities of realising their dream.

  I have been giving some thought to this plan of yours re running a pub and I reckon it’d be tough for you two, with no track record in the liquor trade nor the hotel trade neither come to that, to cut the mustard with the breweries or the law when it came to licences and so on. I was thinking that perhaps by now you might have gone cold on the idea and in a way I daresay that would be for the best. But it so happens that the landlord of the Red Cow, a few yards down the road from me, has just this week gone to his maker and his widder, Dolly, don’t want to stop there on her own. I’ve been doing his accounts for him these last couple of years to help him out like and although the place is a bit run down as it stands, I rate that pub as a good un. There’s a steady bar trade and Dolly’s been doing well letting out the bedrooms to commercial gentlemen. What I’m suggesting is that you two girls and me form a partnership. I’ll manage the business side of things, the accounts and all, and you two can run the bars and the bed and breakfast side. I could put up some cash for the deposit if you are still a bit short and with my contacts in the town I reckon I wouldn’t have no trouble getting a licence. Of course we would need to sort out the details money-wise so when you’ve had a chance to think about it drop me a line. I reckon you could get a few days leave couldn’t you, to come and have a gander at the pub and so on? Hope you are both keeping well as I am.

  Yours, Ted.

  Another letter had arrived at the farmhouse that day and was lifted down from the dresser shelf and read by its recipient.

  ‘You ought to be pleased,’ Gwennan told Evie. ‘Having your bloke come through the war without a scratch on ’im!’ But Evie clearly was not happy with the news of the imminent demobilisation of her husband.

  ‘’E wants me to leave ’ere and go back ’ome,’ she said, without any enthusiasm at all.

  ‘Well of course ’e does!’ Marion said, impatiently. ‘And it’s just as well he can’t see the look on your face, Evie! What’s wrong with you?’

  Evie got up from the table without finishing her pudding.

  ‘Nothin’’ she said. ‘I’m goin’ for a bike ride before it gets dark.’ Avoiding the inquisitive looks and the raised eyebrows of the other girls, she left the kitchen.

  ‘I reckon she’s seein’ someone!’ Marion announced. ‘All this traipsin’ about the countryside on her own and goin’ for bike rides!’

  ‘She likes the countryside, Marion, you know that,’ Alice murmured, stacking the pudding plates. ‘That’s why she chose to join the Land Army.’

  ‘There’s more to it than that,’ Winnie announced, carrying a stack of plates and following Alice out to the scullery. ‘What you don’t know, Mrs Todd, is that when us girls gets a lift into Ledburton for a drink at the Maltster’s, Evie often comes with us and then slopes off on her own. She turns up at the pub in time to come back ’ere with us lot. So where does she go to, eh? We reckon she’s meeting up with some bloke!’

  ‘While that poor husband of hers is fighting for king and country!’ Gwennan, who was eavesdropping, declared. ‘Disgraceful, I call it!’

  ‘And no business of ours!’ Alice said, firmly.

  ‘That would depend on who it is she’s seein’, wouldn’t it, Mrs Todd?’

  On the following Saturday night, when the few girls who had been into the village came home as usual together, in one noisy group, Evie, who had left the hostel when they had, was not with them.

  ‘She came with us as far as the church,’ Annie told Alice, ‘and then she went off on her own. For a stroll, she said. We waited for her at closing time, so we could all walk home together, but when she didn’t show up, we thought she might have started back on her own. But she hadn’t, had she? And we don’t know where she is.’

  With Edward John asleep, Alice sat reading in the light of her bedside lamp. By midnight she was nodding over her book when the click of the latch on the farmhouse gate brought her back to full attention. She was in the cross-passage by the time Evie had quietly pushed open the unlocked front door.

  ‘Come into the kitchen,’ Alice said, and when they were sitting, facing one another across the table and tears were rolling down Evie’s face, she asked her, quite gently, what the matter was.

  ‘I bin seein’ someone,’ Evie said. ‘I know I shouldn’t of and I never meant to, even though things between me and my ’usband ’ave never been right.’

  ‘Never?’ Alice asked. ‘Then why did you—?’

  ‘Marry ’im?’ Evie paused. ‘Lookin’ back, I shouldn’t of, ’cos I never really liked ’im much. Mum and I was on our own, see. My dad left us when I was little and we never knew where ’e was after that and there was no money. Mum took in Norman as a lodger. He was a lot older than me and Mum’s a woman as needs a man to take charge of things. And that’s what Norman did, see. He sort of took control of everything and pretty soon, when I turned sixteen, he decided we should get married and Mum agreed with ’im. I know I shouldn’t of done it ’cos I weren’t properly in love with ’im or nothing but ’e was kind to me then. He bought me clothes and took us to the seaside for our ’olidays and that. I got pregnant pretty well straight off ’cos that’s what Norman wanted. But it turned out I couldn’t carry the baby, and when I lost it, the hospital said I wouldn’t be able to ’ave no more kids on account of my womb was messed up. After that Norman ’ad no time for me. ’E said I wasn’t a proper woman no more and Mum always took ’is side. ’E sent me out to work and made me give ’im me wages. When ’e got called up I was glad and I thought p’raps ’e’d find some other girl and leave me. I know it’s awful but I even hoped ’e might get killed like so many of ’em did. I wanted to get away from Mum an’ all, so
when I ’ad to do war work I come down ’ere to be a land girl. I wasn’t lookin’ for no trouble, Mrs Todd, honest! But then I met Giorgio.’

  ‘Giorgio?’

  ‘Yes.’ She hesitated, knowing the effect her next words would have on the warden. ‘He’s one of the Italian POWs … Oh, I know we’re not s’posed to talk to ’em, Mrs Todd, and I never. Not for ages. But there was this day when ’e was workin’ on ’is own. They trusted ’im, see, the guards did. ’E was fixing a drinkin’ trough and I’d broke me ’oe and been sent up to the ’igher farm for Ferdie Vallance to mend it, and there was Giorgio and there was me and … And after that we managed to see each other quite often. It weren’t easy, but since VE Day the guards ’aven’t bin that fussy, and quite a few of the prisoners sneak out of an evening. I’m that fond of ’im, Mrs Todd, I really am! I’ve never felt for anyone like I do for ’im! Not ever in me life! We made this plan. see, for when the war’s properly over. ’E’d apply to stay ’ere in England – they can, see, if they’re ’ard workers and their farmer wants ’em. Giorgio works for Mr Lucas and ’e thinks the world of ’im. I was gonna get work down ’ere and be with ’im. That’s all we want, see. Just to be together. Only Norman gets out the army in two weeks and in ’is letter ’e says if I’m not home when ’e gets there ’e’s comin’ down ’ere to fetch me! What’ll I do, Mrs Todd?’

  Since Georgina had been released from the Air Transport Auxiliary and was dividing her time between her parents’ home and Christopher’s cottage it soon became necessary for her to arrange some form of transport other than her brother’s motorbike.

  ‘It’s just not on, Georgie,’ Lionel complained. ‘You use the blessed thing more than I do!’ The solution to the problem had been lying at the back of one of the Webster barns for the last twenty-odd years. The Brough Superior had once been the pride of the young John Webster. On it he and Isabel, during their courtship and the early years of their marriage, had ranged the valleys of the Exe, explored Dartmoor, and in the summers, visited favourite beaches on the South Devon coast. With the arrival of first Georgina and then Lionel the bike became redundant as a form of family transportation and had, because John had been unable to bring himself to part with it, stood ignored and almost indistinguishable from a clutter of disused farming equipment which had accumulated over the years. With the combined efforts of both his children, John set about restoring the basically sound machine and Georgina was soon roaring through the countryside, rejoicing in her independence.

  During the weeks preceding her wedding and while officially living at her parents’ home, she frequently stayed overnight with Christopher at the woodman’s cottage.

  ‘You reckon ’tis proper?’ Rose enquired of Alice as the two women assembled the ingredients for a stew for the land girls’ supper. ‘Them two, shacked up together and not yet wed? What be ’er folks thinkin’ of, I ask myself!’

  ‘It’s only a matter of weeks until the wedding, Rose, and these days—’

  ‘These days …’ Rose interrupted, blustering with self-righteousness, ‘all you get “these days” is excuses for bad be’aviour if you ask me!’ She clattered a saucepan or two to emphasise her disapproval. This seemed to relieve her and after a moment she asked Alice if she had been invited to the wedding.

  The occasion was to be a quiet one which only immediate family members and a few neighbours would attend. Alice was included, but of the Post Stone girls only Annie, who had always been close to Georgina, together with Hector as her escort, had been invited. As Georgina had no young cousins, she asked Edward John to act as page boy.

  ‘Page boy?’ he asked, suspiciously. ‘What do I have to do?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ Georgina told him. ‘You just walk down the aisle behind me and hold my flowers while I’m being married.’

  ‘Flowers?’ he asked, doubtfully. ‘I have to hold flowers?’

  ‘Only a very small bunch,’ Georgina reassured him, ‘and only for a minute or so.’

  ‘I don’t have to wear a lace collar or anything, do I?’

  ‘Goodness no! Your school uniform will be fine. Would a white carnation in your buttonhole be acceptable, d’you think?’

  On the south side of the Websters’ home, which was rather more than a farmhouse and slightly less than a manor house, someone had once constructed an orangery which, as the years turned, had become a conservatory. Four wide, glazed doors connected it to the dining room, and while it was hoped that fine weather would allow the reception to take place on the terrace outside the old orangery, its fragile glazing would, in the event of rain, provide shelter and easy access to the house. Isabel and John stood in the humid warmth of its quiet interior, diffused light filtering through overgrown palms and creepers. One or two ancient wicker chairs leant drunkenly, as though about to topple over and tip their flat and faded linen cushions onto the tiled floor.

  ‘Bit of a clear out?’ John suggested. ‘Couple of hours with the pruning shears? Get rid of those chairs and hose the spiders out …?’

  ‘I suppose it is a very romantic place for a quiet wedding,’ Isabel sighed, having imagined something grander for her only daughter.

  ‘Well, it’s what she wants,’ her father said.

  It had always been the Websters’ intention to raise their children to value independence above all, but there were those who felt that this strategy had backfired on them when Georgina’s emigration plans had first been made public. Isabel had winced when people pointed out to her how far away New Zealand was. ‘Christopher’s contract is only for two years,’ she told them, as brightly as she could. ‘Then they’ll be home on leave, and quite possibly for good!’ But people shook their heads, sighed and gave anecdotal accounts of other young couples who had sailed off to the Antipodes and never returned.

  ‘Fancy Georgie on’y askin’ Annie to ’er weddin’,’ Mabel said with her mouth full. A group of the girls were eating their sandwiches in the cart shed one rainy midday. Mabel, who missed the camaraderie of the hostel, often joined the girls at lunchtime, sometimes alone, occasionally with one or the other of her twins on her knee.

  ‘Well, she couldn’t of asked all of us! There’d be too many,’ Gwennan said. ‘And they was always special friends, Annie and Georgie was.’ Gwennan, since her ‘miracle’, had, Alice noticed, become considerably quieter and less irritable. Whether she was biting her habitually spiteful tongue or whether her three years among people who were consistently less aggressive and critical than she had finally exerted a benign influence on her previously unpleasant character, Alice did not know. But the change in her was undeniable. When the girls suggested making a collection for a wedding present for Georgina, it was Gwennan who pointed out that as the couple were about to sail for New Zealand the last thing they needed was more in the way of luggage, and it was she who solved the problem, arranging for a photographer from Exeter to take a picture of all the girls, the farmhands, including Rose, Mabel and Ferdie, plus the children Scarlet O’Hara, Winston and Arthur Vallance, and with Alice herself and Edward John at the centre of the group. The photographer posed them charmingly, some perched on the farmhouse gate, a few on the low wall, others ranged in front of it, the old building, with its undulating thatch protectively held between the two solid chimneys, forming a familiar background. The photograph was enlarged and elegantly mounted onto a presentation card on which all the girls inscribed their names, together with goodwill messages to the newly-weds. Everyone was pleased with Gwennan for thinking of something so practical and appropriate, and when Alice voiced their collective appreciation, Gwennan, out of habit, attempted to conceal the pleasure she felt in their obvious approval.

  The wedding was to take place in the early afternoon. Hector had contrived to be in the area on official War Artists business and arrived, looking impressive in a suit. Annie was amazed by his elegance and even more delighted with him than usual.

  ‘It was Pottie,’ he told her, laughing at her surprise, when she went to the gate t
o greet him and stood gazing and smiling as he extracted himself from the confines of his bull-nosed Morris. ‘She absolutely forbade me to go to a wedding as I was!’

  ‘And how were you?’ Annie giggled.

  ‘Pretty much as usual, I suppose! Anyhow …’ he shot his cuffs, ‘what d’you think?’ His hair, which usually flopped over his forehead, was Brylcreemed and sleek. ‘The shoes are my own but the suit belongs to my brother Hugh and the tie is Father’s!’ She told him he looked wonderful.

  His eyes moved over her. He wasn’t sure what it was that made Annie so beautiful. It didn’t occur to him to analyse her appeal. Was it the lustrous dark hair? The heavily lashed eyes? The perfect proportions of her face? The generous, smiling mouth? The full-skirted, tight-waisted, pale-linen frock? He didn’t know. The sun glinted on the thick lenses of his spectacles and Annie could feel his smile bathing her in an irresistible warmth.

  ‘And so do you!’ he said. ‘Look wonderful, I mean. You look absolutely stunningly …’ There were no words for what he felt. So he simply wrapped his arms tightly round her and they stood, conscious only of each other and unaware of the smiling faces watching through the small panes of the farmhouse windows.

  The church in the village closest to the Webster farm, and hardly larger than a chapel, was festooned with hedgerow flowers, predominantly by towering foxgloves whose vivid purple was accentuated by the shocking pink of campions and punctuated by studs of brilliant yellow buttercups, all in a haze of Queen Anne’s lace and meadowsweet.