Alice's Girls

by Julia Stoneham

  The carnage of Japan’s final, desperate days before its inevitable surrender had become obscene. Fanatical havoc was wrought by kamikaze pilots who, hurling themselves into the paths of planes and onto the decks of aircraft carriers, died in a futile blaze of glory at the cost of not only their own lives, but those of countless Allied naval personnel and aircrew.

  ‘Japan’s war is over,’ Roger sighed, reading the gruesome newspaper accounts. ‘Prolonging the death throes is intolerable and had to be stopped. That bomb will stop them. They’ll surrender now.’ But Japan did not surrender. It took another bomb, this time pulverising Nagasaki, to bring about the final capitulation.

  ‘The Japs ’as surrendered,’ Gwennan announced to the girls, on the fifteenth of August, as they arrived back at the higher farm, sweating and exhausted by a day spent loading straw onto the ricks.

  September the second was to be VJ Day, the official celebration of the end of Second World War, and with Marion’s wedding planned for later that month, the land girls were in high spirits, which the horrors of the atomic bombs and the hideous revelations at Auschwitz, Ravensbrück, Buchenwald and the other notorious Nazi concentration camps failed to diminish. Georgina, visiting the farmhouse, first attempted to inject some sense of awareness of these horrors into their buoyant mood and, having failed to do so, complained to the warden.

  ‘They don’t seem to realise what’s happened,’ she said. ‘I can’t make them understand! All they can talk about is Marion’s wedding dress! It’s incredible!’

  Alice, too, had noticed that the girls’ attention was focused, more or less exclusively, on the good news and that they seemed disinclined to dwell on the chilling facts which were emerging as the Allied armies entered the concentration camps of Europe and the Americans used their ultimate force to blast Japan into submission.

  ‘But it’s all over now, i’n’t it, Mrs Todd?’ Winnie said, cheerfully, when Alice attempted to draw her attention to the terrible suffering and massive destruction wrought by the war. ‘It’s peacetime now! The war’s finished and done with! Blue birds over the white cliffs of Dover and everything, eh?’

  ‘All the same, a bit of gratitude wouldn’t go amiss, young lady, for the sacrifices ’as folks ’as made!’ Rose admonished her. ‘And poor Mr Churchill! Got us through the war, ’e did, and before you can blink they’ve voted ’im out of ’is job and now we’ve got that Attlee for prime minister! ’E’ll be no good, you mark my words! You on’y ’as to look at ’im!’

  ‘But ’e’s promised to do ever such a lot for the workin’ man, Mrs Crocker.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, Winnie,’ Rose sniped back at her, ‘but if it weren’t for Winston, your workin’ man’d be Heil Hitlerin’ Adolf be now! And you girls’d be forced to lie with Nazi soldiers and bear sons as would grow up into stormtroopers! ’Ow would you like that, eh?’ Winnie considered this briefly. But she had more important things on her mind, such as whether or not she had enough clothing coupons left to buy new shoes to wear with her bridesmaid’s dress on Marion’s wedding day.

  A week after the Japanese surrender, Marvin Kinski arrived at the farm.

  ‘Sit down, babe,’ he instructed Marion, ‘and take deep breaths!’

  ‘Why?’ she cried in alarm. ‘What’s up? You’re never gonna jilt me, Marvin, are you?’

  ‘It’s worse than that!’ he said, taking her hands to steady her. ‘They’re shipping the regiment out on September fifth! I know!’ he said, watching her face fall.

  ‘It’s the sort of thing that happens when you marry a soldier, Marion,’ Gwennan announced without much sympathy and an obvious enjoyment of the drama.

  ‘You would ’ave to say that, Taff, wouldn’t you!’ Annie breathed.

  ‘But it’s true, though!’ Gwennan insisted.

  ‘And you always ’as to ’ave the last word, specially if it’s a nasty one, don’cha?’ Evie added.

  It was decided, in the circumstances and having checked that, at a pinch, Rose’s sister Enid could have Marion’s wedding dress ready in time, to bring the wedding forward and celebrate it together with VJ Day on the second of September.

  On the afternoon of the Saturday before Marion’s marriage, Annie came downstairs wearing a blue dress with a pattern of small daisies on it. In her hand was a wide-brimmed white hat, decorated with a blue velvet ribbon.

  ‘Ooh! Like that frock!’ Winnie said, encountering Annie in the cross-passage. ‘New, is it? You suit blue! And that’s the hat you wore at Georgie’s wedding! What’s the big occasion?’

  ‘Hector’s taking me shopping in Exeter.’ Annie’s answer was deliberately vague and she had coloured slightly as she spoke. ‘He’ll be here in a minute to fetch me.’ Winnie was instantly curious.

  ‘Since when d’you wear a posh ’at for goin’ shoppin’ in bloomin’ Exeter?’ she wanted to know. ‘And what you got in that bag?’ she added, eyeing the larger than usual handbag that Annie was carrying. She was saved from further interrogation by the arrival at the farmhouse gate of Hector’s car, and she moved quickly past Winnie, out through the porch and down the path to join him.

  When, later that evening, Annie had not returned to the hostel, Winnie wanted to know why. Alice, contriving to look more innocent than she felt, told the girls that Annie had asked for and received permission to have an overnight pass.

  ‘But she’s with Hector! Where’ve they gone to?’ the girls wanted to know.

  ‘They may be visiting friends,’ Alice told them.

  ‘Annie ’asn’t got no friends round ’ere!’ Gwennan declared, her sharp eyes fixed on Alice’s face.

  ‘Well, perhaps Hector has,’ Alice said coolly. ‘You can ask her tomorrow, Gwennan, when she gets back.’

  It was supper time on the Sunday when the girls heard the familiar sound of the bull-nosed Morris engine and a few moments later, as it drove away, Annie joined them in the kitchen. Almost instantly Marion spotted the gold band on the third finger of her left hand.

  ‘Annie Sorokova!’ she said, her face colouring with indignation. ‘You’ve on’y gone and got married! You ’ave, ’aven’ cha? Well I’ll be …! You done it to beat me and my Marvin to it! You rotten little cow!’ There where howls of laughter and Annie had to be hugged by everyone and then scolded for keeping her intentions from them.

  ‘You knew, di’n’cha, Mrs Todd!’ Evie announced, her usually grave face, for once, wreathed in smiles. ‘You knew all along and you kep’ it to yourself!’

  ‘What could I do?’ Alice laughed. ‘I was sworn to secrecy!’

  ‘But why, Annie? Why di’n’cha tell us?’ the girls demanded. Annie smiled, sat down at the table and explained to them that there were several reasons for her silence.

  ‘First off, Hector and I are not religious, so we didn’t want to get married in church. And then Hector was only told a couple of days ago that they want him to start his new job on the fifteenth, so …’

  ‘But what about your ’oneymoon?’ Marion wanted to know. ‘Aren’t you ’avin’ no ’oneymoon? No engagement ring and no ’oneymoon! I dunno what things is comin’ to!’

  ‘Well, there was last night!’ Annie happily confessed. ‘And we’re going to Amsterdam. That’ll be a sort of honeymoon but it’s mostly because of Andreis’s mural. There’s a museum being opened, see, to do with the German persecution of the Jews, and Andreis’s mural is to be on permanent display. They wanted Georgie to come too, ’cos she was the one who helped me keep the painting safe in the loft ’til the War Artists people could come and fetch it – but she’s too busy getting ready for New Zealand she says. So it’ll be just Hector and me!’

  ‘Ooh!’ Evie’s voice was tinged with envy. ‘You are lucky, Annie! Just Hector and you! In Amsterdam … Oh, Annie!’

  ‘There’s romantic!’ Gwennan added, impressed and even benevolent.

  ‘It’s getting like “Ten Green Bottles” this place,’ Rose announced the next day. ‘First off we lost poor Chrissie. Then Georgina j
oined the ATA. Then that girl who left to join the ENSA, never can remember ’er name … and young Nora, goin’ back to ’er posh folks. Then Hester, poor lamb … Marion’ll be on a boat to America before you can blink and Winnie’ll be off to run ’er pub! Then there’s Annie, over to that Dutch place and then up north! ’Twon’t be long afore the boss closes this place down. Tell the truth, I’m surprised he ’asn’t done it afore now!’ Rose paused, finally having reached the point where the question which interested her most could logically be asked. ‘And what about you, Alice? There’ll be no one ’ere but you and Edward John! Then I s’pose you’ll be packin’ up and movin’ to London for to do your designing work, eh?’

  Rose’s curiosity brought Alice’s dilemma into sharper focus than she welcomed. The time was approaching when she could no longer avoid the difficult decision she was being forced to address. She had no doubts now about Roger. On every level their relationship was strengthening. Their intimacy was intensely satisfying, their trust absolute. She shared many of his opinions, and where she did not, enjoyed the way he debated, putting forward his own views and evaluating hers. She loved him. There was no doubt of that. She adored him. But she had adored James. She had fallen in love with him and married him. For years they had been happy. Or was it merely happy enough? Had she, in those early years of her marriage, felt as confident and as easy and as valued with James as she now felt with Roger? Hadn’t there always been something in her relationship with James that produced a small, cool area of uncertainty? And didn’t that uncertainty have something to do with James always being so much in charge of everything? Always controlling. Always making the decisions and managing their lives, hers, his and Edward John’s? When, in 1937, their son was four years old and she wanted another child, James had vetoed the idea on the grounds that with a war looming it would not be prudent. In 1943, when their house was bombed, Alice had been overruled when she wanted to rent somewhere safer but still close enough for James to reach his work at the Air Ministry and where the family could remain together. But James had moved his wife and nine-year-old son to Devonshire where he had virtually abandoned them in favour of the young woman who eventually became his second wife.

  This damage to Alice’s self-esteem was huge and her initial reaction had been to protect herself – by becoming independent – from ever again being exposed to a similar experience. She had achieved this, and for more than two years now had provided for herself and her son. She had discovered and developed a skill which was about to provide her with a healthy income. She already made her own decisions. She could soon have her own home and the same self-determination that many educated, intelligent, modern women wanted and were increasingly achieving. She would, in fact, be like her friend Ruth. Ruth. Smart, successful and alone. But did she want to be like Ruth? Did she want, for instance, to put her own ambitions before the happiness of her son, who dreaded the prospect of life in London? Did she want to see Roger’s face when she told him she was withdrawing from his life? That she was rejecting him and everything he was offering to share with her? Did she want to continue to be alone? If only something would happen to show her which decision was the right one. Although she was not a religious woman she went, one quiet afternoon, and knelt in Ledburton church for half an hour, asking for guidance. But she had received no sign. No shaft of light illuminating an appropriate text or drawing attention to one or another of the saints. What was she expecting? A challenging glance from the Archangel Gabriel? A knowing smile from Lucifer? A look of mild reproach from the Virgin Mother?

  She returned to the hostel where, before long, Rose’s voice demanded her attention and focused her thoughts.

  ‘Think you’ll enjoy life in London, do you, Alice? Wouldn’t catch me movin’ there! All them ’ouses an’ folk pushin’ and shovin’! Ferdie Vallance couldn’t get back quick enough that time ’e went up there for to fetch ’is Mabel ’ome! What a to-do that were! Still, it’s what you’m used to, I daresay. You’m used to London town and we be used to Post Stone valley!’

  ‘I’ve become quite used to Post Stone valley myself, Rose. And Edward John loves it here.’ For a while Rose looked at her in silence. Then she sighed.

  ‘Well, I daresay you could stay here if you ’as a mind to. You knows what I means, Alice, dear … but I’ll not pry no further into something as bain’t my business …’ She got to her feet and began to move towards the kitchen door. ‘And it’s time I was thinkin’ about getting my Dave’s dinner started. Such an appetite that boy’s got, you wouldn’t believe. Even though he be still pinin’ for ’is Hester.’

  Alice sat for a while, staring out through the open door into the familiar yard. At the still, afternoon light and the soft shadows of late July. But she had to choose. She must make this huge decision. For Roger. For Edward John. And for herself.

  Since Hester had been released from the Land Army and returned, widowed and pregnant, to the Tucker smallholding on the north side of the moor, the state of the run-down property had, like her father’s health, continued to deteriorate. While he lay, stripped of mobility, his useless limbs wasting, his wife’s time and energy consumed by nursing him, Hester contrived to sell enough produce to feed them all. Each week, while her mother minded the eight-month-old Thurza, Hester would fill punnets with the fruit from the overgrown patch of strawberries, raspberry canes and blackcurrant bushes, hitch a ride into Bideford, and return with the few groceries that the money from the fruit had bought.

  The Tuckers lived on eggs from their underfed hens, the milk of two ageing nanny goats, and stews made from the rabbits Hester trapped and simmered with stringy turnips, carrots and parsnips which had self-seeded in the neglected and stony soil. There was no chopped wood for the copper or the bath tub, so their bedlinen and their clothes were rarely laundered and their bodies seldom washed.

  While Hester struggled to keep Thurza safe, clean and fed, her mind drifted over the events that had brought her to this situation. Although she mourned Reuben and was aware that, should she choose to, she could make the journey to his parents’ home in Bismarck, North Dakota, and raise his daughter there, something restrained her, preventing her from seeing this as an obvious and perhaps even happy solution. She was unable to banish from her mind her father’s harsh denunciation of her disobedience to him when he had forbidden her marriage to Reuben and cursed her with eternal damnation for flouting the rules of his own, fanatical convictions, convincing her that tragedy and pestilence would, in consequence, strike her and all those close to her. Reuben’s subsequent death, Dave Crocker’s injury and the onset of her father’s sickness had persuaded Hester to believe in this curse.

  Although the US military authorities delivered to her post office savings account the widow’s pension to which she was entitled, she had left the money untouched, regarding it as the ill-gotten evidence – in her father’s eyes – of her fall from grace.

  Running parallel with this conviction, Hester also had a subconscious and unexplored sense of guilt involving Dave Crocker. There had been, she now sensed, something in her relationship with Dave that was inappropriate to a young girl engaged to marry someone else. Dave had been, she had persuaded herself at the time, more like a brother to her than a potential suitor. Yes, he had danced with her, taken her tobogganing, even admired the engagement ring Reuben had put onto her finger on the night of the Christmas party, but that had been innocent fun, hadn’t it? Or was it something more? Something which, despite enjoying it and even being curiously excited by it, she had chosen to ignore? And was it, perhaps, this sensation of possible guilt, rather than her father’s curse, that had made her unable to accept Dave when, last summer, in the cider orchard, he had proposed marriage to her, possibly too soon after Reuben’s death? She had rejected him then, not because she found him unattractive or did not believe he would prove a good father to the child she was carrying, but because of a sense of betrayal where her dead husband was concerned. Even six months later, with Reuben’s baby s
afely born, when Dave had sent the child a dolly for Christmas and Hester a letter, repeating his commitment to the two of them, she could not bring herself to answer him. Now the months were passing and time, for Hester, was nothing more nor less than a succession of days spent in an unremitting and exhausting sequence of work, her only reward the smiles of the little girl who so closely resembled her.

  Then, one day, not long after the war in Europe ended, a lorry hesitated at the Tuckers’ gate and someone climbed down from its cab, waved his thanks to the driver and approached the cottage.

  Hester, from the distance of the strawberry patch, did not at first recognise him. He was taller and more robust than she remembered. The army greatcoat, discarded by a demobbed soldier he had met on the train from Cardiff and a size too large for him, added to the impression of grown manliness.

  ‘Zeke!’ she exclaimed, and Thurza, from her pram, waved her arms and shouted her own greeting to this interesting stranger.

  He approached the two of them, kissed his sister, bent down to acquaint himself with the smiling baby and enquired, although he knew, ‘Who be this, then?’

  ‘’Tis Thurza,’ Hester told him. ‘Me daughter!’

  ‘That’s easy to see!’ he laughed. ‘With that ’air and those eyes she couldn’t but be yorn, Hes!’

  They went into the cottage and Hester was pouring boiling water into the teapot when their mother came down the stairs from their father’s bedside. Zeke stood to kiss her cold cheek.

  ‘Father bain’t no better, then?’ he asked her.

  ‘No,’ she told him, glancing briefly at her daughter, ‘nor likely to be.’ She looked Zeke up and down. ‘Army finished with you, then, ’ave they?’

  ‘Yes, Ma. ’Tweren’t the army proper, though. Just coal minin’. Bevin Boys they calls us. Got demobbed early, ’cos of Father bein’ sick.’ He paused, glancing at her bleak face, before continuing. ‘So’s I could come ’ome to see what I can do to ’elp out ’ere.’