Читать книгу Turn Left at the Daffodils - Elizabeth Elgin - Страница 7

On the day the buff OHMS envelope arrived, it lay unopened in Carrie’s jacket pocket until ten that morning. Medical in four days’ time she read, dry-mouthed, in the privacy of the ladies’ lavatory. Friday, May 30 at 12.30. And since her lunch hour began at 12.15, it would save the embarrassment of having to ask the head cashier for an hour off work, and being obliged to tell him why she wanted it! She had wondered where she would be when Jeffrey’s leave began some time in August, and now she knew.

The time – ten days from the end of her initial training as a motor transport driver; the place – with the Royal Army Service Corps, somewhere in Wiltshire, and new recruit though she had been, she knew better than to ask for compassionate leave. You only got compassionate when it concerned husbands, or already-arranged weddings. You did not get it, especially in the middle of a training course, for a fiancé or wedding dates that might have been!

There had been a hurt letter from her mother and another from Jeffrey, telling her that the entire village was talking about her behaviour and asking were they or were they not supposed to be getting married? But distance gave her courage and she had replied in sweet relief, telling him that next time she was sure they could both come up with a date to suit everyone – and that she loved him, of course.

So now, on this last-day-but-one of August she stood in Lincoln station, kitbag beside her, respirator over her shoulder and with her, three equally curious ATS privates and a lance corporal. They had met up on the platform. Draft HP4. Report to the RTO on arrival at Lincoln, said their travel instructions.

There was a Railway Transport Office on all main railway stations, their purpose to aid the passage of servicemen and women and goods of military importance from Point A to Point B

‘I think I’ll see the bod in the RTO,’ said the lance corporal, who had quickly ascertained she was the only one with rank up, and even one stripe entitled her to take charge. ‘They’ll know where we go from here.’

She had quickly returned.

‘He says he hasn’t a clue where HP4 is. All he said was, “Oh. So you’ll be one of them…”’

He had settled his pencil behind his right ear and pulled out a list from beneath a pile of timetables.

‘All he knew, he said, was that he was expecting a draft of five, and when we’d all arrived he had a number to ring, so we could be collected. And he said to nip out smartly, because the WVS trolley was expected any time now and we were to get ourselves a cup of tea. We might be in for a long wait, he said.’

It was almost an hour after they had eaten beetroot sandwiches and drunk large mugs of tea -offered with the most kindly smiles – that an Army corporal, the stripes on his arms brilliantly white with Blanco, clumped past them and into the RTO, then clumped out almost at once, to confront the group.

‘Draft HP4, are you? Let’s be seeing your warrants, then!’

‘Where are we going?’ the lance-corporal wanted to know.

‘That, young lady, is not for you to ask, not with one stripe up it isn’t. So let’s be having you. There’s a transport outside, so collect your kit and get on board. The sooner we get going the sooner you’ll know, won’t you?’ he said with the satisfaction of someone who knew something they did not. ‘And you’re in for the shock of your lives,’ he added.

They sat on low wooden benches in the back of the Army lorry, holding tightly to the metal struts supporting the camouflaged canvas roof and had soon left Lincoln behind. Now they drove through open country with hedges and pastures and fields yellow with the stubble of newly-harvested wheat and barley.

Carrie gazed out over the tailboard to see flat countryside and a wide, open sky. Farming country, this, and not unlike the fields around Nether Hutton. She steadied herself as the lorry braked suddenly.

‘Hang on!’ called the driver, swinging into a narrow lane. ‘Nearly there now, girls.’

They dropped speed and climbed a small hill. Ahead was a wood and a church; to their right a gate lodge outside which a sergeant waved her arms. They stopped with a skidding squeal, then reversed.

‘How-do, sergeant. Got a load of trouble for you!’

‘Have you now!’ She stood, hands on hips, glaring into the back of the transport. Wide-eyed, draft HP4 stared back.

‘Right, then! I am Sergeant James.’ She consulted a pencilled list. ‘Tiptree, Morrissey and Lance-Corporal Turner, stay where you are. The other two follow me. This is your billet – for the time being. It’s called Priest’s Lodge and don’t take the downstairs front – that’s mine. If you shift yourselves and get settled in, you just might be in time for supper. Hang on a minute,’ she called to the driver. ‘Won’t be long.’

Five minutes later, she swung herself into the back of the transport with the ease of an acrobat.

‘OK, driver. Southgate Lodge!’

They bumped downhill and stopped at an even smaller lodge, standing beside gateposts of stone. It was pretty and ornate and everything the private with the Liverpool accent had ever imagined a country cottage to be. Roses grew around the door; late-flowering honeysuckle wound itself around iron railings.

‘Ar – innit a lovely diddy house.’

‘It’s sort of – cute,’ the lance-corporal was forced to admit. ‘Haven’t ever had a billet like this, before.’

‘Diddy, cute – well, don’t get too fond of it,’ the sergeant snapped.

‘With luck you’ll be in a Nissen hut before so very much longer – where I can keep an eye on the lot of you!’

Instead of, she thought grimly, spread all over the place and out of her reach!

‘Now – this is Southgate Lodge. Up that drive is none of our business, because up that drive leads to Heronflete Priory. The lane to your right takes you to the QM stores, the NAAFI, the cookhouse, the mess hall and the ablutions. Supper at six, then muster immediately after, so unpack your kit and have everything ready in case I decide on an inspection – OK?’

And with that she strode away, arms swinging, heels hitting the ground purposefully, sending dust flying.

‘I think,’ smiled the lance-corporal, ‘that Sergeant James isn’t very happy with the way things are here. And I’m Evelyn Turner, SBO-tele-phones. Evie.’

‘And I’m Nan Morrissey, teleprinters. Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.’

‘Caroline Tiptree, driver. Call me Carrie.’

‘Fine! So shall we take a look?’

The squat front door opened directly onto a small room. On two walls were leaded windows; on another, a fireplace. And taking up most of the space were two black iron beds and two brand-new lockers.

Evie opened a door to her left to find an even smaller room with one window, one black iron bed and one brand-new locker.

‘Looks like this one will suit me nicely. You two can kip together. And I get first choice because this,’ she pointed to the stripe on her arm, ‘says that just sometimes I can pull rank!’ She took off her cap and jacket and laid them on the bed. ‘Now – what else have we got?’

A low door led into a very small kitchen. It had two shelves, a corner cupboard and a white sink with a single tap, which she turned. At least there was water.

‘Let’s do a reccy outside.’

At the bottom of a small garden, overgrown with grass and brambles, were two brick sheds. One housed a water closet, the slab floor thick with dead leaves. She pulled the rusted chain and water gushed from the cistern.

‘Good grief,’ Carrie breathed. ‘All mod cons.’

‘At least it works,’ said Nan who was used, anyway, to having an outside toilet.

‘I think, though,’ Caroline frowned, ‘that we’ll be expected to use the ablutions up the lane.’

‘Yes, but this one will be smashin’ for emergencies. I mean, are we expected to hike up that lane for a wee in the blackout an’ all, in winter?’

‘I don’t think we’ll be here, Nan. We’ll be moved to a hut before so very much longer, if the sergeant gets her way.’ Evie pushed open the second door.

It was a coalhouse. In one corner was a pile of logs; in the other, a small heap of coal. A bow saw hung on the wall, a bucket and shovel beneath it. On a shelf, a clutter of dusty jam jars.

‘Hey up! There’s a fireplace in our room,’ Nan beamed. ‘Reckon we’ll be able to have a bit of warmth when the weather gets cold. Will we be allowed to, Evie?’

‘Don’t know, but don’t get too fond of this billet. By the time the cold weather comes we could be in a Nissen hut with a coke stove, if we’re lucky.’

‘Well, I’d rather stay where we are, stove or not,’ Carrie sighed. ‘Southgate Lodge is a lovely little place.’

‘Then let’s wait and see. And don’t say anything about the coal and logs, or someone will have them carted off sharpish!’ Evie said, with a year’s knowledge of Army life behind her. ‘And I think we’d better unpack and make up our beds. We’ve got an hour…’

* * *

‘All right! Settle down, girls.’

Four ATS privates and a lance-corporal, having eaten toad-in-the-hole with onion gravy, followed by sago pudding, were by now nicely relaxed and willing to give the sergeant their full attention.

‘You’ll be thinking, I shouldn’t wonder, that our circumstances are a little – er – different, and they are. We’ve been landed on what was some lord’s private estate – the War Office having turfed him out first.

‘The house is called Heronflete Priory, and before some bright spark asks if you’ll be required to act like nuns, let me assure you that the priory was pulled down over a hundred years ago, when the present place was built.

‘Round about the estate are various houses, all empty now, and a few cottages and lodges once lived in by estate workers. Life will seem a little complicated at first, but things will be sorted, never fear. So – this far – any questions?’

‘Yes, sergeant.’ A tall girl whose uniform was in need of alteration got to her feet. ‘I don’t understand any of it. Just what are we supposed to do, here? What kind of a set-up is this?’

‘It’s – we-e-ll…Now see here, you’re going to have to learn to keep your eyes down and your mouths shut. The set-up, as far as I can make out, commandeered the Heronflete estate in a bit of a hurry. I don’t know who they are, or where they are from; if they were bombed out of London or whether they chose to come here because of the isolation. But the Priory is out of bounds until we are told otherwise. We and the soldiers who guard the place, are here as backup. I’ve been told the switchboard and teleprinters are now installed, so tomorrow we start shifts.’

‘But what is our address? We need to write home.’

‘Address – 4 Platoon, D Company, Royal Corps of Signals, c/o GPO London. No mention of this place, or anything. And you will post your letters in the box provided in the NAAFI, unsealed, so they can be censored and -’

‘Censored? Somebody’s going to read our private mail?’

‘Yes, but the censoring will be confidential, so don’t for a minute think anybody is one bit interested in your love letters, or what you write in them. Nothing will be blue-pencilled unless it refers directly or indirectly to Heronflete. And what is more, you will not discuss this place when you are away from it – not when on leave, nor in pubs, dancehalls or cinemas or anywhere else.’

‘So they’re going to let us out from time to time, sergeant?’

‘Watch it!’ The sergeant did not allow sarcasm. ‘Of course you’ll be let out. You’ll have your time on shift and your free time, and just as any other out-of-the-way unit, transport will be laid on. The only way in which things are different is that this place seems to be a bit of a mystery, as yet.’

‘Seems, Sergeant? Don’t you know, then?’

‘I’ve been told – things – and doubtless I will be told more. But for the time being, watch what you say and what you write. If it’s of any interest, your letters will not need stamps. And that’s just about it for the time being. I’ll show you round. The mess hall and cookhouse you already know, and where the NAAFI is. In the ablutions you will also find facilities for doing your personal washing and drying.

‘I do not want to see items of an intimate nature or even shirts hanging on lines behind billets. You can send seven items of clothing to the laundry each week. All else, you will hang in the drying room off the ablutions.

‘So chop-chop!’ She walked to the door, then turned, eyes narrowed. ‘And smarten up! Caps on and look lively, or I’ll line you up and you can all march around the place!’

‘Y’know, this estate is lovely,’ Evie Turner sighed. ‘I wouldn’t like anyone to take it off me if it were mine.’

‘Then, if you ask me,’ Nan flopped on her bed, ‘any feller what has so much deserves to have it took off him!’

‘Nan Morrissey! You’re a communist!’ ‘Nah. Just believe in fair shares for all. Them houses we’ve just seen, f’r instance. It’s just like a little village and it all belonged to his lordship. Now me, I come from a grotty dump, with an outside lavvy and muck and soot all over everything. It’s goin’ to be like living in the country as far as I’m concerned, and it wouldn’t bother me if I stayed here for the duration.’

Southgate Lodge looked almost lived in, Carrie thought, now beds were made up and photographs arranged on locker tops. And a jamjar filled with roses and honeysuckle on the mantelpiece.

‘Well, I’m going to write to Bob,’ Evie smiled.

‘Your husband?’ Nan had noticed the lance-corporal’s wedding ring. ‘Where is he?’

‘RAF. Overseas – the Middle East, I’m almost sure. We got married on his embarkation leave. Seven days of heaven, as the song goes, then back to the ATS again. You two got boyfriends?’

‘Not me. Wasn’t allowed to go out with fellers. Had to stay at home and look after me brother -stepbrother -’ Nan amended firmly. ‘My real mum died and me dad married again. Then he got killed in the bombing, so I wasn’t stoppin’. Shoved off to mum’s sister in Leeds. Me Auntie Mim. Best thing I ever did; that, and joining up.’

‘So life in the ATS suits you?’ Carrie liked the frankly-spoken girl with beautiful eyes.

‘You bet! Bed and board and no clothing coupons to worry about. Pay day every fortnight, and every brass farthing of it mine! But what about you, Carrie? Courting, are you?’

‘I’m – er – engaged, actually. Jeffrey. He’s in the Navy.’

‘And he didn’t buy you a ring? It’s unofficial, then?’

‘No. I’ve got a ring. But there was so much dirty work to do when I was training that I put it with my identity tag around my neck. Afraid it’s still there.’

‘Ar. I see…’

Nan did not see. If she had an engagement ring, no way would she shove it out of sight. ‘And I’ll take the letters to the post when you’ve written them, if you like. I’ll just do a quick one to Auntie Mim – let her know I’ve landed on me feet.’

For never before had Nan Morrissey seen so many trees and hedgerows, nor heard birds singing so loudly and so late, nor picked roses and honeysuckle to scent this diddy little room in this diddy little house, she thought with pure affection.

‘It’s smashing here, Dad.’ She sent her thoughts high and wide. ‘You’re not to worry about me one bit, ’cause I’m living in the country, now, like I always wanted to…’

She hoped he could hear her. She thought reluctantly about the Queer One in Cyprian Court and about Georgie, then blanked them from her mind as if they had never existed.

Dear Auntie Mim,

This is to let you know my new address so you can write to me. I think I will be here for some time; wouldn’t mind being here for the duration, it is so nice. Just three of us in a billet like a doll’s house. I’ll write more, later. Please write back to me, soon.

Love, Nan X X

‘Well, that’s mine written.’ She laid the envelope on the windowsill. ‘Think I’ll have a bit of a walk, till youse two have finished.’

Remembering to put on her cap she walked down the front path, taking deep breaths of air, marvelling at her luck, and though she had not grasped just what she would be doing here, she was content to be part of a set-up that was as different as could be from the barracks she had reported to, and the just as awful teleprinter training school. All bull it had been, and everything at the double.

Here, it was as if life had slowed down now the hectic weeks of her training were over, though not even in her dreams had she thought to be sent to such a place.

The gateposts either side of the drive that led to Heronflete were ornately patterned in stone and there had obviously been gates there. Probably, Nan thought, taken away to be melted down for war weapons, like gates and railings all over the country. The government in London took anything they wanted; for the war effort, they said, and if you told them it wasn’t on, they took not one blind bit of notice, and accused you of being unpatriotic!

She thought about the lord, and if he had been a bit miffed when the War Office took his house and all the estate, and it made her wonder what had happened to the workers and the farmers and their animals, because they had had to get out, too.

A funny old war, you had to admit, but she was glad she had joined it and met up with Evie and Carrie, though Sergeant James was a bit of a martinet, Nan brooded.

She gazed up a wide driveway with oak trees on either side and which turned abruptly to the left about two hundred yards on. Round that bend she might be able to see Heronflete, even though one big, empty house was probably the same as another. It intrigued her, though, for the simple reason that they had been told it was none of their business, though if it were none of their business, why was she and four others – and the sergeant an’ all – here in the first place?

The gravel of the drive crunched beneath her feet so she stepped onto the verge, walking slowly, carefully. The grass was damp with evening dew, and long. Probably because there were no gardeners now, to cut it. Must have upset a lot of people, having to pack up and find somewhere else to live. Not fair, really, but what was fair, when you thought, about a war?

She reached the curve in the drive and crouched in the shelter of the trees. Just a quick peep. See what all the mystery was about.

‘You there! Halt!’ yelled a voice behind her.

She swung round, gasping at the sight of a soldier holding a rifle, and though he wasn’t pointing it at her, she was all at once afraid.

‘What are you doing here, then? What’s your name, girl?’

‘304848 Morrissey N,’ she gasped, eyes wide. ‘Didn’t mean to intrude. Was getting a bit of country air.’

‘All right. I believe you. But somebody ought to have told you that up here is out of bounds.’

He jabbed a forefinger at a red and white barrier and the sentry boxes either side of it.

‘I’m sorry. You won’t say nuthin’ to Sergeant James, will you? I’ll be in dead trouble if you do.’ Nan fixed him with a wide-eyed stare.

‘Is that what she’s called? Her that goes around thinking she can give orders, you mean? Face that’d crack, if she smiled?’

‘That sounds exactly like our sergeant,’ Nan breathed. ‘I don’t want to land myself in trouble, first day here. You’ll not tell on me? I won’t ever come up here again.’

‘You can come up this drive, but only if you have a pass saying it’s all right, ’cause you’ll have to get past me and my mate over there, and we’re very particular who we let in! Now on yer way, girlie, and don’t try it on again without permission or you’ll be on a charge – see?’

‘Yes. Much obliged, I’m sure.’

Nan turned and ran, not caring about the noisy gravel, still shocked by the sentry, and his gun.

‘Hey, you two!’ She burst breathless into the lodge. ‘Up that drive! There’s sentry boxes and soldiers and one of them copped me, peepin’ through the trees. Came up behind me with a gun, and -’

‘Nan, you idiot! Weren’t we told it was none of our business? Now you’ll be in trouble.’

‘No I won’t, Evie. He said he wouldn’t tell on me – this time. An’ he said you can get up there, but only if you have a pass.’

‘So did you get a look at the place?’ Evie asked.

‘No, I didn’t, and I’m not trying it on again. I didn’t expect to get caught but they’re there, where the drive turns suddenly. Barrier across it, an’ all.’

‘Then it must be very secret if they’ve got guards there.’ Carrie folded the single sheet of notepaper and tucked it into an envelope addressed to Jackmans Cottage. ‘I’ve finished, now. Just quick notes to mother and Jeffrey. Maybe I’ll come with you to the post. You finished, Evie?’

‘Mm. Just the envelope to see to…’

My darling,

To let you know my new address and to tell you that I love you, love you, love you. I’ll write, tomorrow, to explain in great and loving detail just how much, and how desperately I miss you and want you.

Take care, Bob. You are so precious to me.

She printed the PO address on the back of the envelope then, placing it to her lips, gave it to Nan.

‘Bless you, love. I won’t be long from my bed. And I’m not hiking to the ablutions, either. I’ll make do with a quick wash at the kitchen tap and a walk down the garden. Don’t be too long, will you – just in case the sergeant decides to check up on us.’

‘I’m going to like Evie,’ Carrie said as they took the right turning to where the cluster of buildings stood. ‘Poor love. Just seven days of being married, then heaven only knows when they’ll see each other again.’

‘So when are you getting married, Carrie?’

‘Don’t ask! I’m already in trouble for not setting a date for the wedding.’

‘So why don’t you want to get married? And why aren’t you wearing your ring? Have you and your feller had a nark, or sumthin’?’

‘N-no. It’s just that everybody seems to be pressuring me into it, and I want a bit of breathing space.’

‘Why?’ Nan could think of nothing nicer than being married to a man who was decent enough to buy a ring, and make things official. ‘I’d like to be married – when I’m a bit older, I mean.’

‘And I want to marry Jeffrey, but when I want to. And I want to be one hundred per cent sure.’

‘And you aren’t?’ Nan sensed drama.

‘No. About ninety-five per cent, I’d say.’

She wished she could tell Nan why; that she was unsure about the really-being-married side of things, and that Jeffrey hadn’t been very considerate when that happened. But Nan was little more than a child. Hardly eighteen, if looks were anything to go by. It wouldn’t be right to talk about that to her. Mind, she had the most beautiful come-to-bed eyes, though she didn’t seem aware of it; eyes that could get an innocent like Nan into trouble, if she wasn’t careful.

‘Then you’re nearly there, wouldn’t you say,’ Nan laughed.

‘Almost. Jeffrey’s next leave, perhaps. Isn’t this the most beautiful evening?’ Time to talk of other things! ‘If we weren’t in uniform, we could be forgiven for thinking that there isn’t a war on at all, out there.’

‘Ar,’ Nan sighed, completely captivated. ‘Wouldn’t mind stoppin’ for ever.’

Here, in a place almost hidden from sight or sound of war, was a different life. Here, there would be no wailing sirens to send fear shivering through her; no crowded, sweaty air-raid shelters nor whole streets blasted into rubble. And no hospitals bombed.

Here, Nan Morrissey was as good as anyone else; her uniform saw to that. Here, no one seemed to worry about her accent nor the way her Liverpool bluntness might be misconstrued as rudeness. This set-up that seemed to baffle even Sergeant James was the right and proper place for her to be. It seemed, on this evening in late August, that Nan Morrissey had truly come home.

‘Ar,’ she sighed again. ‘Just wish me dad could see me now. He’d be made up for me, God love him.’

‘I’d like to think mine could see me, too. I never knew him, y’know.’

‘Last war was it, Carrie?’

‘Mm. He was badly hurt but it wasn’t his wounds he died of. It was the mustard gas, really. A slow death, it must have been. God! I hope they never use it this time around.’

‘Fighting dirty, poison gas is. Do you think them bods in Heronflete are up to something like that? Secret weapons, and that kind of thing?’

‘Back-room boys and boffins, you mean?

‘Dunno. But they’re up to sumthin’ or why all the mystery? You don’t need soldiers to guard nuthin’.’

‘They’ll tell us, perhaps – or maybe we’ll figure it out for ourselves. And it looks like Evie has fallen asleep and left her light on.’ Carrie nodded in the direction of Southgate Lodge. ‘Reckon we’d better see to the blackout, or Sergeant James’ll be down on us like a ton of bricks.’

The lance-corporal had not fallen asleep. She lay on her bed in blue and white striped pyjamas, writing pad in hand.

‘Hey up, Evie.’ Nan made for the window. ‘Time them curtains was drawn.’

‘Sorry. Got carried away, writing to Bob. Couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d write again – tell him about this new posting. What time is it?’

‘Still not quite blackout time,’ Carrie smiled. ‘And I’ve drawn all the other curtains. Couldn’t you sleep, Evie, or were you waiting for us to get back?’

‘No. Just got past it, I suppose. Posted the letters?’

‘We did,’ Nan beamed. ‘There was hardly anybody in the NAAFI – just a few soldiers, playing cards. And had you thought – we’re going to need cleaning gear. Better ask the sergeant for a chitty so we can get a brush and mop and things from stores – keep Southgate nice an’ tidy, so she can’t moan at us.’

‘I’ll see to it, tomorrow.’ Evie placed the cap on her fountain pen. ‘Y’know, this pen was Bob’s. It’s a good one and he didn’t want to take it with him when he went. Said I was to have it. I write all his letters with it. And oh,’ She closed her eyes tightly against tears. ‘I do miss him.’

‘Hey, old love, you’d be a very peculiar wife if you didn’t.’ Carrie took Evie’s hands in her own, holding them tightly. ‘And if talking about Bob helps, we’ll be glad to listen, won’t we Nan?’

‘Course we will. And we’ll send nasty thoughts to Hitler and that fat old Goering.’ Especially Goering, because it was him sent the bombers to Liverpool; his fault dad was dead.

‘Sorry,’ Evie sniffed, dabbing her eyes, forcing a smile. ‘You’ll know how it is, Carrie.’

‘Yes. Lousy…’

But was it all that bad? Had Carrie Tiptree ever been reduced to tears, just to think that Jeffrey had gone to war? Sad, granted, but never the obvious pain Evie felt.

Yet it was different for Evie and her Bob. They were husband and wife. Lovers. And that loving was good, it was plain to see by the softness in her eyes when she spoke about him. And Carrie knew when she was thinking about him, too. Perhaps Evie wasn’t aware of it, but she often fondled her wedding ring with her fingertips. Carrie Tiptree’s ring hung with the identity disc around her neck.

Mind, she was fond of Jeffrey – always had been. They’d grown up in the same village, for heaven’s sake, and she knew almost all there was to know about him. No one would be able to say theirs was a hasty marriage.

She shrugged and began to undress. She would get into her pyjamas, clean her teeth and splash her face at the kitchen sink. Then go to bed, even if she lay awake for ages.

And she would lie awake, thinking about Jackmans and her mother and Jeffrey, too, because she had let them both down if she were to be completely honest. Her mother had given a little moan, then burst into sobs when told her daughter had had a medical and been accepted by the ATS, and there was nothing anyone could do about it, now.

Carrie remembered that night in vivid detail. A vase of roses on the little table beneath the window, petals reflected pink against the dark wood. An old copper jamming pan, placed on the hearth in the ingle fireplace, full of greenery. The soft armchairs, none of them matching. The fat cushions, made by her mother from remnants of bright material. She even remembered gazing at the ink stain they hadn’t quite been able to remove from the hearthrug.

He mother had gone very pale, then moaned softly, a bewildered look on her face. Carrie thought she would faint, but then she had gasped,

‘Oh, Carrie – such deceit. How could you? Why did you do it? I don’t understand.’

Her distress had been genuine. Carrie laid an arm around her shoulders, but her mother had shrugged it off.

‘You forged my signature, didn’t you, on the form?’

‘Yes, I did…’

‘Then I shall tell them about it; that it’s all been a mistake and you won’t have to go!’

‘It would be a waste of time, mother. I’ll be twenty-one long before it’s sorted.’ Carrie’s distress had been genuine, too.

‘So tell me, Caroline, just what happened to make you do such a foolish thing, and to be so underhanded about it, too.’

‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t. It was everything in general, sort of, and nothing in particular.’

Which was true, Carrie supposed, even though she had felt vague unease for a long time about the way her life was. And as for nothing in particular – she knew exactly what it was; the instinctive need to get away and have time to think; make sure that what her mother and Jeffrey’s mother wanted was what she, Carrie, wanted too. The doubts first surfaced the night her mother had gone out to play whist, there was no denying it.

‘You are all I have in the whole world, Carrie. Your place is at home, with me. And what am I to tell the village?’

‘I don’t think it’s anything to do with them. It’s between you and me and – and Jeffrey, I suppose…’

‘Then tell me what I am to say to Ethel Frobisher? How will I be able to look her in the face?’

‘You won’t have to. I’ll tell Jeffrey’s mother. And as for the wedding – well, nothing was planned exactly.’

‘No, but it was understood, I would have thought, the day Jeffrey gave you an engagement ring. Weddings usually follow, you know. And I don’t feel at all well.’

She hadn’t looked so good, Carrie recalled. That evening, there was genuine need for aspirin and a hot drink and it had been awful, afterwards, to lie awake, listening to her mother’s sobs.

‘Won’t be a minute.’ Carrie cleared her head of thoughts, making for the kitchen. And when she came back she said,

‘Put your slippers on, Nan. That stone floor is cold! And I’ll set the alarm for seven – that all right with you, Evie?’

And Evie said it was, but would they mind if she closed her bedroom door, and they said it was fine by them. After all, she did have a stripe up!

They didn’t talk, though. Nan curled up in her bed like a contented puppy and was quickly asleep. Which left Carrie to wonder about what was to come and when she and Jeffrey would be able to arrange leaves to allow a wedding – because they would get married, she was as sure of it as she could be. Yet only when she had laid out her thoughts and doubts, and only when Jeffrey had truly understood and promised to talk about things, so that everything would come right for them. Then Caroline Tiptree – Frobisher - would have Evie’s look of love in her eyes, too, when she spoke of her sailor husband.

She thumped her pillow peevishly, then settled down to listen to the night sounds because she knew sleep would not come easily. It never did, when you were desperately tired and in need of it.

She tried to think of Jeffrey, still in Plymouth barracks waiting for a draft to a ship, but could not, so instead she turned on her back and stared at the ceiling, telling herself that tomorrow was another day, a bright new start to her life as W/462523 Tiptree C. because that was who she was, now, for as long as the war lasted. A name and number.

Yet instead she sighed deeply and tried hard not to think of Jackmans Cottage and her bedroom with the sloping roof and tiny window – and the pigeon that nested in the tree in the lane outside and made a terrible noise as soon as daylight came.

A tear slipped from her eye and trickled down her cheek and into her ear. It made her annoyed to realize it was the first she had shed since leaving home almost two months ago.

She was not, she supposed, as tough as she had thought!