Mrs Boots Goes to War

by Deborah Carr

  Florence stepped forward to address them, happy to know that this small gesture of hers would go someway to making these several hundred brave soldiers happy and letting them know that, whether they had families or were alone in the world, they were respected and remembered by her and Jesse.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  January 1918

  The year began with yet more bad news when a boat taking Red Cross nurses, including Catherine Ball and Maud Brown from Nottingham, was sunk in the Mediterranean on its way to Egypt. Florence and Jesse attended the memorial service for the women at St Peter’s together with most of their servants, as well as Dorothy and John. Florence was beginning to feel like the war would never end and that this was how their future might be. There was so much heartache everywhere and she found that her only way of coping was to focus her attention on work and her family.

  She rubbed her temples as she walked through the hall to the baize door. She wished her headache would go and wasn’t sure why it was troubling her. Because she was worried about Jesse’s health, maybe? she wondered. Though that was always on her mind and was something she was used to fretting about. No, this was something else, she decided as she pushed open the green door and walked along the corridor towards the kitchen, where the smell of baking emanated, filling her nostrils with the familiar delicious scent of vanilla.

  She needed to speak to Mrs Rudge about the new rationing system, whereby each person was restricted to a weekly ration. It was far less than they were used to, but it was something they would have to ensure they stuck to. She wasn’t surprised after witnessing the horrendous queues outside butchers and grocers the previous year.

  ‘Good morning, Cook,’ she said, entering the warm kitchen. This must be the warmest room in the house, Florence thought, noticing the two layers of what would no doubt be a very tasty Victoria sponge served to them at tea later that day sitting cooling on two wire racks.

  ‘Good morning, Lady Boot,’ Mrs Rudge said, wiping her hands on her pristine apron.

  ‘That sponge smells delicious.’

  ‘Thank you, I hope it tastes good. Sir Jesse requested that I bake one for your tea this afternoon. I’m told that Miss Buttons and your daughter-in-law will be coming.’

  Florence had forgotten, which wasn’t like her. She decided to blame her lack of memory on having such a dull headache. ‘I’m sure we’ll all enjoy it very much.’

  Mrs Rudge moved a pan off the stove and then looked at Florence. ‘Was there something you wished to discuss with me, Lady Boot?’

  ‘There was. The rationing we’re now obliged to follow,’ she said, relieved that the sponge had been baked before she had to discuss the matter. ‘I gather each member of the household must hold a ration book and be registered at whichever shops we purchase our food.’

  ‘So Meadows tells me,’ Mrs Rudge said, looking concerned at the thought. ‘I suppose I’ll need to keep each of your ration books down here with me then?’

  ‘Yes, I imagine you will.’ Florence glanced at the larder in the corner of the large room. Each time she had looked in there it had always been filled with tasty things for Mrs Rudge to feed the family and servants. She wondered how the new rules were going to affect the household meals but hoped that with the new rationing in place food would be more evenly distributed to everyone in the country. It made good sense.

  ‘Please don’t hesitate to ask me if you need any help deciding on daily menus. I suspect Sir Jesse might find it a little difficult to go without some of the things he’s used to eating, but we are all in this together.’

  Mrs Rudge pulled a folded small poster from her pocket. ‘They haven’t given us very much to live off,’ she moaned, flattening the sheet of paper down on the scrubbed table and resting her finger on the list of ingredients that each person in Britain now had to be restricted to weekly.

  ‘Look at this, Lady Boot. We are only to have fifteen ounces of meat per person each week, and then there’s breakfasts. How am I supposed to make five ounces of bacon last? Thankfully, I’ll be able to supplement the breakfast with eggs that we have brought in every few days from one of the farms nearby, but that’s not very much at all. I don’t think it is anyway.’

  Florence walked over and ran her eyes down the list. Jesse didn’t have too big an appetite and over the years it had lessened, but she knew there would be many people, especially families with growing sons and larger husbands, who would find this lack of meat very difficult to cope with. She heard Mrs Rudge say something and realised she was still talking.

  ‘How am I supposed to keep everyone to eight ounces of sugar each week? I think those who eat porridge will have to forego their spoonful of sugar.’

  Florence had thought about this on her way down to the kitchen. ‘We can obtain honey from one of the beekeepers,’ she suggested. ‘Honey on porridge is very tasty, I think. In fact, I prefer it.’ She couldn’t recall the last time she had eaten a bowl of porridge, but it seemed to be something that was troubling Mrs Rudge. ‘Sir Jesse and I can forgo our sugar in tea. It will do us both good. Then I think that if you collate half of the household sugar and margarine and can make a couple of cakes a week for everyone to enjoy in the afternoons, I’m sure we’ll all enjoy eating a slice. What do you think?’

  Mrs Rudge pursed her thin lips thoughtfully. ‘Hmm, I heard too that milk and flour is to be rationed, which will put an end to most of the puddings and cakes everyone is used to eating here at St Heliers. I suppose this is another way of us doing our bit, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re right, Cook.’ Florence clasped her hands together, determined to look more enthusiastic about the changes than she felt at that moment. ‘Thankfully, we have enough vegetables to bulk up our meals. Who knows, we might find that we enjoy eating less meat?’

  Mrs Rudge gave her a look that told Florence she wasn’t at all convinced by her suggestion. ‘Maybe.’

  The woman looked so down that Florence knew she had to cheer her up. She rested a hand on Mrs Rudge’s left shoulder. ‘I know it’s wearisome, Mrs Rudge, but we have to do our best to keep going. Sir Jesse and I have the utmost faith in your capabilities,’ she said. ‘Neither of us have ever eaten of a meal of yours that we didn’t think tasty and thoroughly enjoyable.’ Mrs Rudge’s face brightened as Florence spoke, encouraging her to continue. ‘I’m sure I speak for us both, and the rest of the household, when I say how much we trust you to work with these reduced supplies and continue to offer us delicious meals.’

  ‘Thank you, Lady Boot,’ she said. ‘I’ve been speaking to a couple of the cooks at neighbouring houses here in The Park and we’ve swapped a couple of recipes which we thought might help now food is so scarce.’

  ‘Really?’ Florence asked, sensing that Mrs Rudge needed to talk a little longer. ‘Can you tell me the sort of dishes you were discussing?’

  Mrs Rudge smiled. ‘Yes, well, let me have a think. There’s one called Saturday Pie. It was my idea. I saw it advertised in a magazine a couple of years ago. It’s made up of leftovers, you know, cold meat, that sort of thing.’ She thought for a moment and then, raising a finger triumphantly in the air, added, ‘You can add mashed potatoes, maybe some onions to give it a bit more taste and if you have some, then a few herbs.’

  ‘It sounds interesting,’ Florence said. ‘I know you’d make it taste delicious. What else was there?’

  ‘A pudding. Apricot Charlotte, I think it was called. That’s made with leftover stale bread and dried apricots. I think I’ll give that one a try next week sometime.’

  ‘Whatever you make for us, I know we’ll enjoy it, Cook.’

  ‘Thank you, Lady Boot. I’ll certainly endeavour to do my best to cater for the household’s requirements.’

  ‘I know you will,’ Florence reassured her. ‘But remember, should you need me to offer you any help with menus, or in finding alternative ingredients, then please do come to my study and ask me. Together, I know we can get through this difficult, dark time. After a
ll, we’re all in this together.’

  Florence noticed Mrs Rudge’s shoulders straighten and her chin rise in defiance at the new laws they all had to live by.

  ‘Yes, Lady Boot. As always, you are right. We will all do our best to work with what we have at hand. Thank you for coming to see me this morning. I’m feeling much better about it all having spoken to you.’

  Florence was relieved to have been of help to the loyal woman who had been feeding them for many years. ‘Thank you, Cook. I don’t know what we would do without you keeping us all fed so well.’

  She left the kitchen feeling much better and it wasn’t until she reached the hallway that she realised that her headache had almost gone. There was so much to consider nowadays, she thought as she walked through to the living room. She felt certain that the difficulties they were all now facing and the new ways in which everyone in Britain had to alter their eating habits would surely change everyone of them somehow.

  To think that only four years ago, they had never considered being short of food. Then the biggest issues she had faced, apart from Jesse’s declining health, were his relationship with John, her daughters getting married and bearing grandchildren for them, and how well their business was going. Now, they and everyone else had to think about every mouthful they ate, and each day were confronted with the suffering of others, because of this seemingly never-ending war.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  8 March 1918

  Florence was enjoying her poached egg on toast when Jesse gasped and the colour drained from his face. Florence almost dropped her fork when she looked across the table at him, terrified that something was wrong with him, or that something might have happened to someone they knew.

  ‘What is it, my love?’

  He swallowed and indicated the broadsheet in his hand. ‘They dropped a massive bomb near Paddington Station last night in one of their wretched bombing raids.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘They’re saying here that it was probably around two thousand pounds in weight.’

  Florence had no idea what damage something of that magnitude might cause, but knew it must have been devastating to properties and families living in the vicinity. ‘But that’s horrendous,’ she cried.

  ‘It is, my dear.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘It says that one of the casualties was Lena Ford.’

  Florence recognised the name but was unable to place it. ‘Remind me who she is?’

  ‘She wrote the lyrics to that song with Ivor Novello. You know, the patriotic one people sing a lot. What is it now?’ He hummed to himself briefly before raising his hand triumphantly. ‘“Keep the Home Fires Burning”, that’s it.’

  Florence sighed. ‘Poor woman. How tragic. And to think how much comfort her words have brought to people.’

  They sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts as they continued their breakfasts. Florence struggled to swallow every mouthful, but refused to waste food when others were going without. When she had finished, she drank a mouthful of tea, sadness threatening to overwhelm her. ‘Where is all this going to end?’ She thought of her children and the impact this seemingly endless war must be having on them. ‘I’m glad I’m no longer young and about to start a family with all this terror and uncertainty in the world. I feel for our children and the other younger people just starting out.’

  He sighed heavily. ‘As do I. When I think how much they all have going against them now, it troubles me greatly. What will be left when this finally ends? How are we all expected to cope? I can’t help worrying what state this country will be in when this war is finally over. It’s frightening.’

  Florence agreed. She was relieved when he turned his attention back to his broadsheet. She hated to cry in front of him but felt worn out from years of fear and struggling to be strong. Florence dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her napkin, and took a deep breath to rein in her emotions. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand this interminable situation.

  Florence focused as much as she could on work. It helped her not to worry too much about all the bad news Jesse mentioned to her each day. Slowly, the weather grew warmer and, finally, it was April 1918. Florence reread a letter she had received from Margery telling her the exciting news that she would be coming home on leave for two weeks to celebrate her twenty-sixth birthday. She couldn’t wait to see her youngest child again. It had been far too long since the last time Margery had been back home.

  Florence understood her daughter’s dedication to her canteen and the other women she worked with as well as all the hard work they were doing and the vast number of men they had helped. However, the break at home would surely do Margery good and Florence planned to spend as much time with her daughter as possible.

  ‘Darling,’ Florence called, rushing with her arms wide to welcome Margery as she walked into the hallway. She had been irritated not to have finished her daily meetings and accompanied Meadows to the station to collect Margery, but she was here now. ‘I thought you’d never get here. Was the train delayed?’

  Meadows carried in Margery’s bag, a worried look on his face as if Florence thought he might be the cause of their delay arriving home. ‘Miss Margery caught a later train than the one you had expected,’ he said. ‘I’ll take her bag up to her room.’

  ‘Thank you, Meadows,’ Margery said, stepping into Florence’s arms and hugging her tightly. ‘Meadows is right. The channel was very choppy, and the boat was delayed a couple of hours. It meant that I had to catch a much later train and poor Meadows had to wait for me.’

  ‘I could have come to collect you if I’d known,’ Florence grumbled, aware that there was no way Margery could have got a message to her so that she could get there to greet her.

  ‘Never mind. I’m here now, thankfully.’ Margery breathed in deeply.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Florence asked, intrigued.

  ‘You smell heavenly, as always, Mother,’ Margery said, stepping back and gazing around the hall.

  Florence watched her daughter as she studied an arrangement of pretty pink flowers Florence had selected from the garden especially for her return, and smiled.

  ‘It’s so comforting being back here at home where everything smells of floral scents, beeswax polish and wood fires.’ She sighed and gave Florence a smile, closing her eyes briefly. ‘And I know that if I go down to the kitchen right now there will be even more familiar smells to tempt me.’

  Florence loved hearing her daughter speak so fondly about what it meant to her being back at St Heliers House with them. Florence hoped that her daughter wasn’t intending to hide her true feelings from her. She didn’t want Margery to pretend to be fine when they both knew that her experiences in France had made a lasting impression on her. She was going to have to take things slowly with Margery and allow her to settle back home in her own time. She would watch her and make sure that her daughter knew she could come to her with any concerns at all.

  Florence had made a special effort with the flowers and knew that the servants had done the same with the cleaning and the food. Margery was always so bright and popular with the servants and Florence noticed how the house seemed to shine more brightly whenever she was at home. There was certainly more laughter and joy in the place.

  ‘It’s wonderful to have you back again, and for your birthday, too.’ Florence put her arm around her daughter’s small waist. ‘I know I’ll never be able to fully understand what you’ve been through or witnessed while you’ve been away,’ she said quietly. ‘But I hope you’ll come to me if you ever need to talk about anything. I don’t want you to keep things to yourself that would be better shared. Will you do that for me?’ Florence watched her daughter as she took a deep breath and then looked at her, unshed tears in her large eyes.

  Margery nodded, slowly. ‘Yes, I will. Thank you, Mother.’ She leant into Florence and kissed her lightly on her cheek. ‘I think it’s going to take a bit of time for me to get used to being back here in the peace and quiet where every
thing is clean and calm.’

  ‘It’s bound to be that way,’ Florence said, hoping Margery would do as she had said. ‘Would you rather have something to drink first, or go and freshen up?’

  ‘I’d like to go and wash and change into clean clothes first, I think.’

  Florence gave her shoulder a gentle pat. She would have wanted to do exactly the same. ‘Then I’ll come with you up to your room to settle you in and make sure there’s nothing you need.’

  Margery laughed as they began walking up the stairs. ‘I’m sure you’ve thought of everything already, Mother. Oh, it is good to be back home.’

  Florence’s heart lifted to hear her daughter’s joy. ‘We’ve missed you so very much. I want you to enjoy your time at home before you leave again. I don’t mind what you want to do, whether it’s going to visit friends or family, but you must promise me you’ll take some time to relax. I’ve heard reports about how hard you and your assistants work at the canteen and you need to take some time just for you, don’t you think?’

  Margery nodded. ‘Yes, Mother. You’re right, as always.’

  They reached her bedroom and Florence welcomed her in. Margery stood in the doorway and took in the room. ‘Ah, more fresh flowers,’ she said, walking over to the dainty vase Florence had made up and placed on Margery’s dressing table.

  She watched her daughter lift the crystal vase and breathe the smell of the tea rose she had picked especially because she knew it was her daughter’s favourite scent. Margery looked at her and smiled before putting the vase back down.

  ‘I love this room. I always forget how sunny and pretty it is until I come back here.’

  Meadows placed Margery’s bag down and left the room.

  Florence wondered if this was always how Margery felt or if there was a reason she was feeling compelled to share her thoughts more. ‘Is everything all right, darling?’