Читать книгу The Land Girl - Allie Burns - Страница 11

July 1915

Dearest Emily,

They have delayed my leave – they can’t spare us. I’ve been promised it should be next week now if I am fortunate enough to escape, or there is a shell with my name on it heading my way first.

I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed that I won’t see you at King’s Cross. Your letters have been the only good thing to come my way since I’ve been here, but I understand the reason why. I’ll linger outside the Telegraph Office just in case you change your mind and can meet me there.

Try not to be too hard on your mother – I’m sure she’s being truthful when she tells you that she thinks it’s for the best if you don’t work, even though you may disagree.

Yours

Theo

The chickens scattered to escape the sizeable boots of Mrs Tipton as she stepped out of the farmhouse door and grabbed John by the shoulders. She pulled him close, thumping the air out of him by patting his back with the palm of her hand, even though she’d only seen him the day before. ‘Ah, what a sight to see the three of you together again at the farmhouse. In you all come now,’ she said as she tugged John over the threshold.

Mrs Tipton poured them each a tea. ‘I’ve been working on him,’ she said.

Emily’s back straightened. It was the first time Mrs Tipton had mentioned the idea of Emily helping on the farm in weeks. ‘The more those women run circles around him, the more his resolve is weakening. Sometimes with men you just have to wear them down – it’s the only way.’

Before their tea had cooled enough to drink, Mr Tipton crashed into the kitchen shouting. Mrs Tipton raised her eyebrows at Emily.

‘Blasted women, blasted women!’

‘Whatever’s happened, dear?’ Mrs Tipton slid a cup of tea in front of him.

‘I thought those cows were temperamental.’ He threw his brown felt hat across the room. ‘Those beasts have nothing on women. I should never ha’ taken them on. They’re either jawing …’ he mimicked a busy mouth snapping up and down with his four fingers against his thumb ‘… or booing …’ he mimed rubbing his eyes with his fists.

‘You upset one o’ them again, have you?’ Mrs Tipton asked, tight-lipped.

‘S’not hard, it really isn’t,’ he said, kicking the table leg with his boot. ‘Another one, Annie, I think she called herself, has just packed her bags. They’re strong enough to lug their cases to the station when it means they can get out of here. You noticed that too, have you?’

Mrs Tipton nodded in reply. ‘What you need is a ganger,’ Mrs Tipton said with a wink to Emily. ‘And look who the wind has blown in for us, eh?’ She gestured with raised eyebrows towards Emily.

Mr Tipton furrowed his brow. ‘No disrespect, but what I need is more men. Cecil, you’re home for the summer. Couldn’t you help us out a bit, lad?’

Cecil’s gaze shifted about in the uncomfortable silence that followed. Cecil? Mr Tipton couldn’t be that desperate for help, surely to goodness. John caught Emily’s eye behind Cecil’s back; despite her disappointment at being overlooked again, it was too much to imagine Cecil milking cows and they both crumbled into laughter.

‘What?’ Cecil straightened his back, and his tie. ‘I think I’d command respect rather well amongst the workers.’

‘A good farmer leads from the front,’ Emily told him, clutching her stomach and grinning. After the drama up at the house, and John’s looming departure for the Front, the laughter warmed her insides.

‘It’s not that ludicrous a prospect, surely?’ Cecil asked.

John and Emily nodded at one another and said in unison: ‘Oh, it is.’

‘I really don’t see what’s so funny.’ Cecil frowned.

‘Oh, come on, Cecil,’ John said. ‘Can you really see yourself muck-spreading, digging, weeding …’ Cecil’s mouth had wrinkled up. ‘My point exactly. You won’t have time to loll around with your book, or write a thesis about the land ownership of the upper classes and the plight of the serfs. Whereas Emily here worked alongside me on the vegetable garden and I was tired and ready for a rest long before her.’

‘Exactly,’ Mrs Tipton agreed.

‘I’d like to try,’ Emily said. ‘Perhaps a trial?’

‘I appreciate you wanting to help,’ Mr Tipton said. ‘And you know I’ve always enjoyed having you around the place and you have a better understanding of the land than most, but I’ve had so much trouble. I don’t want any more. I can’t even risk you, Miss Cotham.’

‘It is her farm,’ Mrs Tipton reminded him. ‘She has every right to take good care of her family’s assets.’

She had been bending her husband’s ear for months now, and he was beginning to cave in.

‘Won’t you give me a chance to prove myself?’ Emily pressed on. ‘If you’d like, I can sign up with the government’s scheme and get some training.’

‘But she won’t need it,’ John added. ‘She knows these fields and this farm well enough. She’s watched you since she was a girl.’

‘And I can supervise the girls – you won’t need to bother yourself with chasing them about.’ It would be wonderful if that was true. Just as John had said, she mustn’t listen to the naysayers. She had to believe in herself; that was half the battle.

‘This war isn’t going to be won any time soon,’ said Mrs Tipton. ‘You’ll have to take on more women. You won’t have any choice in the matter.’

Mr Tipton’s shoulders sagged at the prospect.

‘And Master John is the head of the household,’ Mrs Tipton continued. ‘His wishes have to be respected.’

Emily was impressed at Mr Tipton’s resolve, but he was definitely showing signs of succumbing – all three of them could sense it.

‘I know the land and the animals, Mr Tipton. I love this farm. Who better to be by your side?’

‘Mmm.’ He scratched his chin.

‘If it turns out that I’m not any good at it then I’ll leave,’ she said.

‘You’ll have lost nothing,’ John said. ‘But you’ve everything to gain.’

Mr Tipton narrowed his eyes, suspecting he’d been ambushed. ‘And what does your mother say?’

Emily exhaled. He had them there.

‘She’s coming around to the idea,’ John said. Even without the financial problems, Uncle Wilfred storming out and John returning to the Front, Mother wouldn’t have given a moment’s thought to Emily’s desire to become a land girl since she dismissed the idea months ago. But Mr Tipton didn’t need to know that.

‘If only those new girls had half your stamina, but I can’t go against your mother’s wishes. If she says no, then the answer’s no.’

‘Very well, it’s a deal then.’

Emily searched John’s face for a clue as to what exactly he knew that she didn’t. Had John managed to persuade Mother too?

‘That’s sorted then.’ Mrs Tipton rubbed her hands together.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ John whispered. ‘We’ll win Mother over, you’ll see.’ He cleared his throat and raised his voice.

‘Go on then. Shake the man’s hand.’ She spat on her hands like she’d seen men do in West Malling on market day, clenched his fleshy palm tight and pumped it for all it was worth.

‘She has all the makings of a land girl this one,’ said Mrs Tipton.

They were halfway there. Please, oh please, let John be right about Mother.

*

Dearest Emily,

I have been told I go on leave tomorrow. I know what you said, my dear, but I am ever hopeful of an encounter with you, no matter how brief, to brighten my spirits and warm my heart for my return to Blighty. I will be passing through King’s Cross between one and two o’clock on Thursday, I shall pin a hankie to my lapel, so that you might recognise me.

Fondest wishes

Theo

‘Do you realise what time it is?’

Emily held her breath and froze at the top of the ladder, steadying her brimming basket of cherries. She’d lost track of time. Working did that to her: the whole day flew by and she didn’t notice.

‘Is it just you?’ she called down.

‘Of course,’ John said with amusement in his voice.

‘You aren’t going to tell Mother on me, are you?’

‘Have I ever yet?’ John asked as she steadily clambered down from the canopy of the red-dotted tree and jumped the last few steps, only noticing now that all of the other workers had emptied their baskets and finished up for the day.

‘You’re running out of time to convince her,’ Emily said, lugging her cherries to the large bathtub-shaped bin and tipping them out. ‘I might just borrow your old work clothes, register with the Corps, and let her try and stop me.’

‘Better I think if you have her blessing,’ John said. ‘One war is quite enough.’

Emily propped herself on a rung of her ladder. She’d never volunteer without Mother’s approval and they both knew it. She didn’t have it in her to disappoint or disobey. She might tug and pull at the apron strings and sneak about on the farm when Mother wasn’t looking, but she wouldn’t cause problems when the family already had enough.

John examined a cherry. ‘You do know that Mother needs you more than she lets on. She’s never been good at putting these things into words. But I can’t see a reason you couldn’t work on the farm and go home to her at the end of the day.’

‘She says it won’t look good to the young men she invites over to meet me. Apparently being outspoken counts against me as it is, I need to at least look the part.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose if we need the money I will have to assist the search for a husband.’

John popped a cherry into his mouth. She examined his face, waiting for him to say more, but he was checking his watch again. ‘John, Mother isn’t the only person who can’t put things into words. Are you going to tell me what went on with Uncle Wilfred the other day?’

‘Nothing. A reunion,’ he said. ‘We ought to go.’ For his last night John had invited some guests over for supper at HopBine. ‘You know Lady Radford is always the first to arrive. We can’t have her steering the conversation.’

He didn’t catch her eye. He was too brave to admit it, but it was obvious he would stay on with them if he could.

She put a cherry into her mouth and savoured the burst of sweetness. She contemplated asking him about the conversation she’d overheard, but she didn’t want him to know she’d been sneaking around listening in, and her hurt at being excluded from the discussions might seep through and with so little of his leave left there was no place for recriminations.

They walked back across the paddock towards HopBine in silence, but as they approached the cut-through in the hedge by the cedar avenue, she pulled him back.

‘If there is anything I can do to help, anything at all … I don’t like to think you’re carrying a burden, or that I’m being left out because you think I can’t cope, because I can.’

John ran his hand through his hair and cast a lingering glance towards the gables of the house their father had built. ‘I know. But you mustn’t worry, everything has been taken care of. There’s no urgency to find a rich husband.’ He winked. ‘And besides, you’re looking after Mother for us, which is a huge weight off my mind, I can tell you,’ he said. But there was something else, he was searching her face as if trying to decide whether to say it, and then he blurted out: ‘If anything should happen to me … once I’ve gone …’

‘No!’ she said. ‘Please don’t start with that, John. Nothing will happen to you. Do you hear me?’ He’d never admitted to his own mortality before now. ‘You’re to come home safe and sound.’

‘I’ll do my best. But if I’m injured I need you to promise me that you and Mother will pull together and accept the decisions that have been made. It won’t do to have the family divided, and Mother will count on you. I have said much the same to Cecil, and as much as I love my brother, I recognise that he is too caught up in changing the world to ever put the family first – so it will fall to you. You have a good sense of responsibility and the family will depend on that.’

‘John,’ she said, ‘you’re scaring me. The way you’re talking, it’s so final. Please stop.’

‘Emily, the war is worse than I’d ever imagined. I believed them when they said it would be over by Christmas, that I’d be home by now, but there really is no sign of it ending, or even easing off.’

Emily had read the Bryce Report about German brutality in the papers and the sinking of the Lusitania by a German U-boat, killing more than a thousand people. All the news was so remote though, surely the danger wasn’t so great for her capable brother.

He reached inside his suit jacket and removed a small diary. ‘In these book pages, I’ve recorded the name, number and trade of every man I’ve lost.’ He held the small, dog-eared book aloft. ‘Their faces come to me in my dreams, memories of a joke they once made, their nickname, a habit. I harbour the knowledge that I censored their letters, read their personal messages, tried to check but not intrude. All are dead or lost now. I’m sorry.’ His voice had reduced to a whisper. ‘I’ve shocked you.’ He took hold of her hand. ‘You shouldn’t know any of this, how bad it really is – it’s best that you don’t, but it’s why I have to ask you to promise me to take care of Mother and make the best of the situation that befalls you.’

She levelled her gaze, her own body stiff as if trying to repel the truths John had just shared.

‘We’re in trouble, aren’t we?’ she asked, doing her best to match her tone with his own determined and brave one.

‘We should have sold up, before the war. I’ve made mistakes.’

‘Well, I’m glad we didn’t. This is our home.’

‘That’s as may be, but we have to be practical now.’

‘And is that why Uncle Wilfred came out of the woodwork?’

‘He offered to help, yes.’

At least John had told her the truth, and not excluded her again. He saw her as an adult and an equal, even if Mother didn’t.

‘Was it wise to take from Wilfred, do you think?’ Father had feuded with his brother for a reason; surely they couldn’t overlook that.

He shook his head. She wouldn’t push him. A tear ran down his cheek as he slid his diary back in his pocket, and she was crying too. It was no secret that war was awful. Theo had been more candid in his letters though much of what he wrote was censored. But John had been so cheery, he’d given the impression that he was living the charmed life he so deserved. None of the men should endure what John had just alluded to.

She offered him her handkerchief, swallowed the huge lump of emotion in her throat. ‘You mustn’t lose hope,’ Emily told him. Her voice broke; her bottom lip trembled. ‘You’re terribly brave. And I want to match that by taking care of things here as best I can. You just concentrate on staying safe, and I’ll keep things going until you come home.’

*

The primrose yellow hallway at HopBine was already buzzing with guests when they returned. Emily announced their ‘hero’ and a round of applause broke out. The guests shrunk to the edges to make way for him.

Emily’s mother pinched her arm, and hissed into her ear to get changed. The blood-red cherries had stained the front of her white skirt.

‘And put on stays.’ Mother shook with rage. ‘Do you think nobody can tell?’

When Emily came back down, Lady Radford and her red-haired daughter, Clara, had cornered John. Clara had always been sweet on John, and Mother had always liked the idea of John marrying into a titled family, but John hadn’t felt the same way. He’d said she was too timid and willing to let her Mother speak for her, that a relationship with her would be a marriage with his mother-in-law. Interesting then, that with their financial problems Mother still placed her brother’s wishes above the family’s need, whilst encouraging Emily to marry anyone who came along.

‘Finch Hall is quite transformed. You must visit,’ Lady Radford was telling Mother and John. ‘The billiard room is a store. The smoking and drawing rooms are wards. I have to remind myself that it was once my home and not always a hospital.’

‘It’s wonderful to put the house to such good use,’ John said, though they didn’t need any encouragement and Mother was craning backwards, trying to attract the attention of Norah Peters.

‘Lady Clara is responsible for book-keeping,’ Lady Radford continued. ‘And you’re in charge of dispatching packages, aren’t you?’ she said, addressing Clara.

‘Mother has even conceded that I can push the soldiers around the lawn.’ Lady Clara raised her eyebrows.

‘We’re quite a formidable team aren’t we, dear?’

Emily forced a smile. ‘How wonderful,’ she said. Clara was so much more confident now she was a war girl. Even John was looking at her anew as if he didn’t recognise this new independent woman before him. He’d better not fall in love with her. She didn’t want to spend any more time with Lady Radford.

‘Although much smaller, you could volunteer HopBine House as a convalescent home for the men recovering from their treatment up at Finch Hall.’ Lady Radford surveyed the hallway and the upstairs. ‘You’d be able to offer ten beds here, quite easily.’

‘Oh no. I don’t think so,’ Mother said flatly. ‘I think we’ve done enough for this war – what with John amongst the first to join up. And I’m terribly busy with the knitting and sewing parties and putting together packages.’

John mouthed ‘go on’ to Emily, but anything she might say would only antagonise Mother for putting her on the spot in front of Lady Radford.

‘Mr Tipton is also cultivating more land for crops,’ John reminded Lady Radford. ‘He’s reducing the land given over to hops and setting more by for important crops like potatoes. For which he will need more manpower.’

Womanpower, was on the tip of Emily’s tongue, but Mother was tugging at a brooch that had become enmeshed in her lace trim and the look on her face forced Emily’s mouth shut.

‘And how is he managing without his labourers?’ Lady Radford asked, either oblivious to the tension or because of it. ‘You took many men with you when you joined up, did you not?’

Mother’s face was set while John explained that Mr Tipton wasn’t as young as he was, and they’d not been able to find enough help, how he was struggling to keep up with the demands from the government, and how the village women had proved troublesome, but that the Board of Trade were training up educated women to lead the volunteers and supervise them on the farmer’s behalf.

‘Tremendous idea,’ Lady Radford said. ‘The village women will be an asset, I’m sure, with the right leadership.’

Emily dared to meet her Mother’s gaze. Her lips were tightly pursed. She’d been right – it would never be that easy to convince her.

Lady Radford turned towards Emily, the penny finally falling into place with a clunk they could all hear. ‘Emily! A young, strong girl like you, who isn’t afraid of getting dirty, should be put to work. You shouldn’t be knitting, you must leave the lighter, less taxing work to the older women.’

Mother’s back straightened, her arms folding across her stomach. ‘I couldn’t spare her,’ Mother said.

‘Really?’

‘And she has a sweetheart of course,’ Mother added. ‘A charming young officer, by all accounts, from a good family.’

Ah. Emily’s white lie came back to haunt her. Mother thought she was busy solving their problems by finding a respectable husband, rather than corresponding with a corporal.

But Lady Radford wasn’t the least bit interested in affairs of the heart, only of war.

‘And what about Cecil?’ Lady Radford asked, forgetting about Emily now that Mother had sewn her into a pocket of domesticity. Cecil had been talking to Mr and Mrs Peters – the village solicitor and his wife – just next to them, and he turned now.

‘And what about Cecil?’ he asked.

‘Will you volunteer?’

Emily noticed how the crowd around them fell into hush as they waited for this answer. Mother became flustered, asking Lady Radford if she needed another drink, but their neighbour wasn’t to be put off, and Cecil wasn’t going to give her a fudge of an answer either:

‘I just haven’t been stirred by the call to fight,’ he confessed, as if casually telling them he wasn’t all that partial to something as trivial as caviar. The conversation around them died. It was always the sort of thing he might say, just perhaps he might have told the family first rather than announcing it to a room full of people who had loved ones at the Front right then.

Lady Radford’s eyes were wide.

‘I wish I could stand beside my friends, my brother. But I can’t.’

‘My dear boy,’ she began, ‘your country needs you. Now is the time to stand up and be counted, like your brother. Other men will follow your lead.’

‘Stand up and be blown to smithereens is more like it,’ Cecil retorted. ‘This war is for the capitalists, and it’s the average man on the street who is paying the price.’

‘Louisa,’ Lady Radford turned to Mother. Apart from one or two oblivious guests in the far corner, the entire party had abandoned their own exchanges now. ‘Like the Radfords, you are in a position to set an example to the rest of the village.’

Mother’s grey-blue eyes were wide, the colour completely drained from her face.

John stepped in, when it was clear that Mother was lost for words. ‘Cecil isn’t nineteen until January.’ Emily often forgot there was only a year between them. Cecil behaved as if he were so much younger. ‘And he doesn’t have to fight if he doesn’t wish to. The country needs men like Cecil to challenge points of view and make us think.’

‘Yes, well conscription will change all that. And they say it’s inevitable. One really can’t do enough.’ Lady Radford smiled sweetly. ‘John and Emily are commendable, but this war calls for everyone to do their bit. Everyone.’

The chatter slowly returned to the room and Cecil’s revelation, on the surface at least, had been glossed over. But there was no avoiding it. Cecil would go back to university the next morning and he wouldn’t be enlisting. Several guests slipped out early without even saying goodbye to John. Mother mingled for the rest of the evening, not once catching Emily’s eye. When they’d waved off the last of the guests and her brothers had gone to bed, Mother called her into her room where she sat propped up in bed.

‘Oh, my days,’ Mother said. ‘They will lock Cecil up you know. The way this government is enlisting men they’ll make an example of those who refuse. Oh my, two sons to worry about, on top of everything else. I can’t cope, I can’t breathe. Emily, will you help me up? My chest is quite tight …’

Mother’s skin had a tinge of blue to it. ‘Please drop your ideas, for your Mother’s sake. Don’t leave me, dear,’ she said. ‘Don’t leave me.’