Читать книгу Thursday's Child - Tracey Friday - Страница 13

Chapter Eight

Early September was the start of the hop season and as always, the busiest time of year for the village. The steam train pulled up with a deafening hiss at Marden village station and the platform became awash with running children, stacked luggage and noisy chatter.

The few men who were not of fighting age or had been medically discharged, disembarked with all kinds of battered suitcases, bags and possessions tied up with belts and odd pieces of string. The women tried to round up the excited children as they held babes in arms, and toddlers, frightened by the pandemonium, clung to their legs. Locals turned out with handcarts ready to help the hop-pickers to their accommodation that would become their home for the next six weeks.

Horses and ponies waited patiently in a row outside the station harnessed to trailers ready to be loaded. Mr Sutton was there as well, ready to assist but also standing strategically near the horses, eagle-eyed with a bucket, never missing a chance to acquire good quality manure for the Manor’s precious roses.

The Squire, William and a few other key members of Primrose Estate were positioned down the platform, each carrying a clipboard with family names to indicate which hop-pickers hut to report to. The estate workers assisted with settling in the newcomers but the majority of them were seasonal regulars to the village and knew where to report. Like generations before, the hop-pickers converged upon the village at the invitation of the Squire who carried on the tradition of subsidising their train fare for the round trip.

Hopping season wasn’t all rosy for Kent as a whole. It was common knowledge that some villages had troublesome and uninvited guests turn up. But, in recent years extra policemen were stationed in the villages for deterrents where word soon got around. Mostly, the villagers looked forward to catching up with old friends.

Although this was work, comprising of hard, dirty manual labour, it was a holiday too, and the London mothers were grateful that their children would have six weeks of clean air and were able to run around freely and safely without getting into too much trouble.

On average, a family could expect to earn enough to ensure that their children had warm clothing and boots to see them through the winter months with perhaps a few luxury extras along the way if they budgeted right. The majority of the men who were dockworkers, sometimes came down at weekends to help out and also to have a few pints at the two village pubs.

It was all quite exciting and a little scary as Maggie had never seen so many people in one place before. She worried she would lose her mother in the crowd. She was also quite puzzled when she saw several people carrying what she thought were curtains.

“Why do they carry curtains?” Maggie asked her father just before they left for the orchards.

“They are to black out the light from inside the hut, so no light shines through. You know how we block out the light in the evening? It’s the same for the huts. Why do we do this Maggie, can you remember?”

“So the planes don’t see any light and drop a bomb on us, that’s why we cover the windows.”

“Yes, that’s good Maggie.”

“So why are all these people here, what are they going to do? Some were carrying pots and pans too!”

“Well, the hoppers cook their own dinner down at the huts so they need the pots and pans for this. They are here to pick the hop vines because there are too many hops for the estate workers to harvest. We need all the help we can get during this busy time and also help with clearing some of the trenches in the orchards in case there are air raids, because it doesn’t take long for the earth to fill them in again. We have to make sure they are safe.

“I’ll take you down there this year Maggie and you can see for yourself all the work that is done there.”

“On your bicycle?” she asked gleefully.

“Yes, on my bicycle!” he laughed, knowing full well that Maggie loved to ride on the back as he zoomed down the lane much faster than Iris.

Late in the afternoon, Maggie accompanied her parents to Foxden Orchard. A stocky man with a grey beard and wearing a flat cap and braces over his shirt came over to them. He had an air of dependability about him as he puffed on his pipe.

“Albert, good to see you again,” said William, extending his hand to greet the man.

“William, likewise,” said Albert, as the friendly handshake continued.

“Mrs Harris, you’re looking well,” said Albert, tilting his cap to Iris. “And who is this little lady?” He bent down towards Maggie.

“I’m very well Mr Dunn, thank you,” said Iris. “Maggie, this is Mr Dunn. He has been coming to Kent ever since he was a boy and now he brings his family.”

“Pleased to meet you young lady, you were just knee high to a grasshopper last year and too young to remember us I would imagine, but you had fun playing with all the children from London. I’m sure you’ll catch up with them in the next few days, there’s my Tommy and Vivien for a start.”

“Settled in alright, Albert?” asked William. “Anything more you all need for tonight?”

“We’ll be snug as a bug in a rug, William. The strange thing will be the silence would you believe, but we’ll all be out like a light in no time at all, it’s been a long day. It will make a very pleasant change sleeping out under the stars and not in a packed out underground station. Well, I know you’ve your rounds to do, so I bid you goodnight and see you at six in the morning.”

“Goodnight Albert, I’ll catch up with all the family tomorrow.”

The next month went by quickly, with the village adjusting to the hustle and bustle of the newcomers. The villagers had been horrified to hear the dreadful stories about the Blitz and the devastation that was happening only forty miles away. Sadly, there was always someone who knew of someone who had been killed either in the bombings or loved ones who had been killed serving in action.

Adults and children renewed friendships and everyone participated in the harvest of the hop vines. The weather continued to be excellent enhancing the crops with bushels aplenty and except for a few night air raids, as time went on, the war was almost forgotten.

Maggie and her parents became firm friends with the Dunn family and Maggie soon realised that Mr Dunn, like her father, was a master storyteller. Albert Dunn was a retired dockworker and he told stories of faraway places and people who travelled on impressive vessels. One day, Maggie heard him speaking about ships that came from Australia and the next day she excitedly showed him her Australian stamp. He was mighty impressed.

During a morning break, when adults and children alike were sitting having a drink and bite to eat, Albert decided to tell a story about one of the ships that docked.

“It was late in the afternoon and people were coming and going offloading their cargo…” he began. “Just then...” he stopped and looked around, engaging everyone’s undivided attention, “there was a strange noise.” He lowered his tone, as if to tell a secret. All hush surrounded the group who waited until he spoke again. “There was a thump, thump, thump noise,” he said, banging his fist on an upturned apple log. “Everyone around me on dockside stood still and we all looked at each other as puzzled as you could ever be. We hadn’t heard anything like it in our lives and we listened and listened some more. Suddenly, it became louder and louder and an echo carried the noise that seemed to surround us completely. There was nowhere for us to go and this noise was becoming more scary.” Albert stopped speaking and slowly lit his pipe, fully aware that his audience were hooked and awaiting his next word.

“Mr Dunn, what happened?” demanded Maggie, eyes wide with anticipation. He looked around the group and saw people nodding their heads, agreeing with her. He stood up and placed his pipe on the apple log, and without saying another word he walked slowly around the outside of the circle. All eyes were on him. In a split second, he swept Maggie up into his arms as she let out a playful scream. “And out came this big kangaroo,” he cried, “who bounced around the ship.” He bounced up and down like a kangaroo holding Maggie who was now giggling loudly. The rest of the group began to laugh as well and the young children applauded.

“Your stories get wilder all the time, Alby,” said Mrs Dunn laughing. “I don’t know where you get them from, husband of mine, I really don’t, just when I think I’ve heard them all, you come up with this.”

“Just a piece of fun me ’ol treacle, no harm done,” he said, placing Maggie back on the ground. “Right me china’s, back to work for the oldies and you young ’uns can clear the tea things away.”