The Meadow Girls

by Sheila Newberry

  ‘Ah, if it can be eaten, they will be,’ a man’s voice observed. Evie looked up, startled, at the airman with the sergeant’s stripes, who had entered after the others.

  He smiled. ‘May I join you ladies at your table? I’m just here to keep an eye on the lads, and to ferry them back to base in due course. I’m Dave Harrington.’

  ‘Evie Rowley,’ she returned. ‘My friends and colleagues, Miss Rhoda Jefferies and Mrs Noreen Jones.’

  ‘Glad to meet you! Colleagues sounds rather grand – d’you work locally?’

  ‘We teach – or lecture, if that sounds grander! – at the ladies’ college.’

  ‘I was a teacher – rather than a lecturer! – in civvy life, myself. May I buy you ladies another drink?’

  He’s nice, about our age, too, Evie thought. No doubt married. But not the type to deny it. He’s not handsome, but he has a cheerful grin and twinkling brown eyes.

  Evie was right: before they’d had a sip from the fresh glasses the photographs of his family were passed around them.

  ‘My wife, Vi. Pity the snaps are not in colour, she has the most striking auburn hair! Our son, named after me, Davy, he’s two and a half, and the baby in the shawl – she’s toddling now! – is Lucy, a miniature of her mother!’

  ‘Are they here in Lincolnshire?’ Evie asked.

  Dave shook his head. ‘No. When I was drafted here Vi took the children to her parents’ place in Surrey. They’re out in the country away from the danger areas.’

  ‘Were you flying in the Battle of Britain?’ Noreen wondered.

  ‘I was still training then. I was in a reserved occupation, but I volunteered for call up. I’m a sergeant-pilot, but some of this intake will definitely be high-flyers, if you’ll excuse the pun. They thrive on action. Is your husband in the forces?’

  Noreen said evenly, ‘I was widowed just before the war.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘We had four good years together. No family, in case you were about to ask. You see, we were in China then, and we always thought . . . we’d have children when we came home at the end of his working assignment there. I’m really fortunate to have been reunited with my college friends, so life is good again.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad about that,’ Dave said sincerely.

  Rhoda glanced at her watch. ‘Drink up, you two, or we’ll find the Amy Able blacked out inside as well as out . . .’

  ‘So long as you’re not locked out! Are you walking home?’ Dave asked.

  ‘Not likely, we’ve got our bikes outside and dimmed lights – it’s not far. It was nice to meet you, Dave. Thanks for the drinks,’ Evie told him.

  ‘I hope we meet again.’

  ‘I have a feeling we will,’ she said. While he was talking to her friends, she had been aware of his sidelong glances at herself. She wasn’t vain in the least, but he wasn’t the first man to find her attractive. And she had to admit to herself that despite their brief acquaintance she felt drawn to this nice man.

  The nights were drawing in, and now they often woke in the early hours to hear the roar of the big bombers leaving the base. They didn’t talk about their fears. In the morning life was normal – or as normal as it could be, in wartime.

  America was catapulted into the war on 7 December 1941, when Pearl Harbour, a natural harbour in Hawaii, where a great number of American ships were docked, was targeted by Japan, both at sea and in the air, with planes piloted by suicide bombers. The onslaught commenced just after dawn. It was a catastrophe on a massive scale.

  It was followed by a Japanese attack on the Royal Navy in Southeast Asia. Two great ships and crews were lost, the Prince of Wales and the Repulse.

  Great Britain and the United States were now united in their resolve to overcome the enemy forces.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Mattie said simply, for naturally, she and Griff had divided loyalties. They were now Americans, but still British at heart.

  ‘I hope you will forgive a word of advice in your ear,’ Rhoda said, observing Evie making ready to go out one Sunday afternoon. ‘You must know nothing can come of this friendship. I would hate to see you get hurt.’

  Evie replaced the hand mirror on her locker top. She turned her flushed face and looked at Rhoda. ‘You know me better than that. It’s just a visit to the pictures, and tea in the ABC. He tells me the latest news about his family and I’ll make him laugh at some of the pranks the girls get up to here. We won’t mention this bloody war – and don’t look so shocked at my language! – or the fact that there’s always the chance he might not be around for another date. He has never once made any . . . overtures of any sort, or compromised my maidenly virtue.’

  ‘Would you have minded too much, if he had?’ Rhoda challenged her.

  ‘I’m not going to answer that!’ Evie picked up her bag, and brushed past Rhoda without her usual cheerful rejoinder of ‘See you later, then!’

  Dave was waiting outside the Amy Able gates, in his four-wheel drive. It was a windy, chilly January day, and the landscape seemed as grey and leaden as the skies.

  ‘Hop in!’ he invited. As they drove off Evie wondered if Rhoda was watching from the upstairs window. Their exchange had unsettled her.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he enquired.

  ‘Not really. It seems that some might, well, be thinking we are more than just friends,’ she said, in a rush.

  ‘What rot!’ he said robustly, but he kept his eyes on the road ahead. ‘Your friendship means a lot to me, I admit, but—’

  ‘You would never dream of cheating on your wife,’ she concluded.

  The conversation ceased there, as they’d arrived at the cinema, and after parking the car, joined a long queue outside, stamping and shuffling their feet in the cold. Evie turned up the fur collar on her plaid coat, which she’d bought before clothing was rationed. It had seemed extravagant at the time, but in this bleak weather she was certainly appreciative of its good quality.

  Ninotchka, starring Greta Garbo, was a couple of years old, but still a box-office draw in small country towns. Fans were particularly eager to see this film, because for the first time, as proclaimed on the billboard outside the cinema, GARBO LAUGHS! The Pathé newsreel brought the audience back down to earth, with grim reminders of the Japanese advances in Singapore.

  They drove past the teashop, but before Evie could say anything, they drew up outside the George Hotel.

  ‘I thought we should have a special meal together on my last evening,’ Dave said in a matter-of-fact way. ‘I’ve booked a room – and before you jump to the wrong conclusion, it is a private sitting-room. Dinner will be served to us there.’

  She made no attempt to get out of the motor. ‘I have to be back at the Amy Able before 9.30. I don’t understand. Are you . . . leaving here?’

  ‘I shouldn’t really say anything about this at all. Some of us are being deployed elsewhere. I couldn’t just vanish without saying. I’ll have you back at college on time.’

  There was a modest fire warming the small room, which had ugly dark wallpaper, a couple of hard-backed armchairs, and a table laid for two. Dave pulled the curtains across the window. The blackout shutters were already in place.

  The landlord’s wife brought in the first course. ‘Rissoles’, she said apologetically. ‘I can recommend the gravy though, made with good stock. Our home-grown vegetables, we store them in the cellar. Your beer, sir. Port and lemon for the lady. Would you care to listen to the wireless?’

  Dave looked at Evie. ‘No thank you. I must say this looks very nice . . .’

  The rissoles were piping hot and indeed tasty. The apple tart which followed was tart, as sugar was used sparingly. The Bird’s custard powder was mixed with dried milk.

  When the table was cleared of dishes, they sat opposite each other in the armchairs. ‘Let’s talk, say all the things we should have learned about each other, but haven’t. You first, Evie.’

  ‘All I can say is,
I know what’s the most important thing in your life – your family.’

  ‘Nothing about how you really feel about me – how you suspect I feel about you?’

  ‘No. No!’

  He stretched out his hand towards her, but she kept her hands resolutely folded in her lap. ‘Please, Evie . . .’

  ‘You would regret it for ever if you betrayed your wife.’

  ‘I see your resolve is stronger than mine. I really didn’t bring you here to make love to you, you know. I miss Vi terribly. She’s not here. You are. I think it’s highly probable I won’t see either of you again,’ he said flatly.

  ‘I think we should leave now.’ Evie rose. He stood up, in turn. ‘I’ll fetch our coats,’ he said.

  They parted outside the main gates of the Amy Able. She didn’t resist when he pulled her to him and kissed her. ‘Goodbye,’ he murmured.

  ‘Goodbye. Good luck,’ she managed in return.

  Rhoda and Noreen didn’t question her about her delayed arrival back. But that night, as they settled down in their narrow beds, she told them: ‘Nothing happened. Nothing at all . . .’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  CHRISTMAS 1943

  Megan’s last shift on the general ward in the hospital, where she had been working since she’d graduated last summer, was on Christmas Day, her eighteenth birthday. She was paid thirty cents an hour for basic domestic duties, and Mattie insisted that she should save her earnings for the future.

  ‘Perhaps you will decide on a career in nursing,’ Mattie said hopefully.

  ‘I don’t think I’m cut out for that, Mom. Oh, I’m real glad to be helping out the way I do now, though I hate being on bedpan duty – and the patients say I make ‘em smile.’

  ‘Haven’t you any idea what you might do, after this?’

  ‘Wait and see, eh?’ Megan knew, of course, what she intended to do. She just wasn’t sure that her mom and dad would agree with her choice.

  The nurses sang favourite carols and the few patients who had not been able to get home or had no family to care for them, sat up in bed, or in chairs with a blanket over their knees, to open the presents the hospital staff had delivered. The cleaners hovered in the background, to watch. They would collect up the torn wrapping paper and generally tidy the ward before going off duty. It was late afternoon.

  Megan was thinking about Tommy. He was a long way from his own home in Canada. Tommy was somewhere in England, attached to the RAF. She’d posted him a photograph of herself, with the message, Love always, from Megan. The photographer’s art had made her look like a film star, she mused. Surely he would see how grown-up she was now.

  With a start, she realised that her name was being called. Sister Julienne was holding out a parcel. ‘Miss Megan Myfanwy Parry – please step forward!’

  As Megan did so, voices were raised in song once more, some old and quavery and out of tune, a pleasing baritone from one of the doctors, but all knew the words: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU – HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU – HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR MEGAN, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!

  *

  There was more warbling back home, where the family had kindly postponed opening their own presents and sitting down to their Christmas dinner until Megan’s return. They’d been joined as usual by Sybil and Lloyd and, for a few hours, Max, who was fortunate to have leave from the army before going overseas to the battle zone. He was six months older than Megan and had joined up immediately he left school.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t manage to get out and buy you one present, let alone, two,’ Max apologised. ‘But I do have a little something for you, don’t worry.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know you were coming today, so I’ve nothing for you, either!’

  Griff fastened his and Mattie’s gift, a gold chain and heart-shaped pendant round her neck. ‘Oh, you still smell of carbolic – but this is with our love,’ he said.

  ‘Mom, Dad – it’s beautiful! Thank you so much.’ Megan’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I’ll have a quick squirt of Sybil and Lloyd’s scent, eh?’

  ‘Do you mind,’ Sybil smiled. ‘It’s Chanel No 5 and so no squirting, just dabbing!’

  ‘You can open the pendant,’ Mattie told Megan. ‘Put a tiny photo inside, or a lock of hair. Not your father’s, he can’t spare any, these days.’

  ‘Cruel woman, your mom,’ Griff said fondly.

  Megan postponed her announcement until after they’d eaten. She thought, Dad will understand, he’s more placid than Mom. He’s always smiling since he left that dreary job at the garage, just after America went to war. He loves his work in the planning department at the aircraft factory, he’s doing something worthwhile again . . .

  Max gave Megan his present when he thought no one was looking. A small box, which he slipped into her hand as they sat side by side at the table. ‘Don’t open it now – it’s not much, but I hope you’ll wear it and think of me,’ he whispered.

  She said in her forthright way, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t have time for shopping this Christmas. I thought you’d be too busy too, so—’

  ‘You needn’t make excuses. Just say you’ll knit me some socks.’

  ‘What makes you imagine I can knit?’ she challenged, but she didn’t feel irritated, as she usually did, at his persistence. He was a goodlooking fellow, tall and athletic, but, despite the uniform, he still seemed immature compared with Tommy.

  Griff and Lloyd were sharing the carving duties, one with the turkey, the other with the ham. Not quite the spread of pre-war days but, as Mattie observed: ‘We’re so fortunate. Evie is still eating college fare, and Ronnie’s Fanny is feeding the five thousand she says, on short commons . . .’

  The pudding arrived, and generous portions were served, with custard and cream. Then they raised their glasses to salute Christmas and Megan on her special birthday. ‘To Megan, may you have a good year to follow!’

  It was time to tell them. Megan looked round at the smiling faces. ‘Well, it’s beginning well. I’m following Max’s good example and joining up before conscription. I’ve decided I want to train to be an army driver. In fact, I’ve already had an interview. I was asked what my strengths were and all I could think of was, I drove my mom to safety through a dust storm!’

  There was a stunned silence. Then Griff cleared his throat, stood up and said huskily: ‘We’ve always been proud of you, Megan, but especially today. Raise your glasses all of you, to a wonderful girl. Megan.’

  ‘Megan!’ they echoed.

  ‘You’re crying, Mom,’ Megan said, concerned.

  Mattie dabbed at her wet face with her table napkin. ‘I’ll miss you – but, oh, Megan, I know I would have done the same, at your age!’

  ‘Of course you would,’ Griff agreed, adding: ‘Didn’t cousin Bert once say you were a girl and a half, Megan? You certainly get that spirit from your mom!’

  Sybil tapped her glass with a spoon to gain their attention. ‘I’ve some news to impart, too. Lloyd and I have decided to close down the beauty parlour side of the business, for the duration. It doesn’t seem appropriate at this time. However, we’ll keep the hairdressing salon going, as we have more mature staff there, who are past call-up. Lloyd is concentrating on his laboratory work, and me – I am offering my services to the military hospital to help those service personnel who suffer burns or other disfigurement in the fighting. My skills at concealing scars and blemishes could aid rehabilitation, I’m told.’

  ‘Sybil, that’s a great idea!’ Mattie assured her. She thought, there must be something I could do, too, to help the war effort. Selling war bonds perhaps? Or maybe working in Bigelow’s part-time – they’re suffering from a shortage of staff now. Will we have a family gathering like this next Christmas, I wonder?

  ‘When are you leaving?’ Max asked Megan.

  Attention focused once more on Megan.

  ‘Next week,’ she said, ‘Mom and Dad, I hope that’s not too much of a shock!’

  Griff squeezed Mattie’s hand, answered for
them both. ‘Having made up your mind, the best thing to do is to get on with it! We’re behind you, all the way!’

  After the guests had departed, Megan helped her parents with the clearing up, then went off to bed. She settled under the covers, comfortable in old pyjamas, fingering the locket round her neck. She’d write to Tommy and ask if he had any spare Polyfotos, she mused. She didn’t need to say what for. She suddenly recalled the little box which Max had given her. She’d put it on her bedside table. She reached out, and opened it. His high school fraternity pin! With a rueful smile, she pinned it to her jacket. It was obvious what he meant by this gift. She’d thank him, of course, and wear the pin for friendship’s sake.

  The fierce hug he’d given her earlier when he was about to leave, the way he’d kissed her full on the lips for the first time and murmured, ‘Think of me – sometimes – Megan, please . . .’ had made her realise the extent of his feelings for her. Now, as she checked that the pin was fastened securely, she sighed. ‘I don’t suppose,’ she said aloud, ‘that Tommy thought of me, today . . .’

  April 1944. Somewhere in England

  Megan had come through her basic army training with flying colours. She had been flown over with other young women drivers to a secret location deep in the countryside. They were aware that they were here to chauffeur their superiors to important meetings, that something very exciting was about to happen, which could lead to a breakthrough in the hostilities, but they didn’t talk about it, even among themselves, or allude to it in letters home.

  She was becoming accustomed now to driving down narrow, leafy lanes, the lack of signposts, disguised or removed when there had been a very real threat of invasion after Dunkirk, even to the rain and ensuing damp conditions of an English spring. Banks of delicate, lovely wild flowers made Megan catch her breath. Land girls driving tractors; women riding bicycles with baskets on the front, and toddlers strapped in little seats behind, raised a hand in greeting as the staff car passed them.