Storm Clouds Over Broombank
Freda Lightfoot
Originally published 1994 by Hodder & Stoughton Ltd. 338 Euston Road, London NW1 3BH
Copyright © 1994 and 2010 by Freda Lightfoot.
All rights reserved.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. Nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN 978-0956607317
Published by Freda Lightfoot at Smashwords 2010
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Meg Turner is at last doing the job she loves. But life as a sheep farmer -unusual for a woman even in war time - proves tougher at times than she expected. With her loyalties divided she fears losing the one man she truly loves should he decide to go roving again. And dare she allow herself to love baby Lissa when her mother may return to claim her at any time? Kath is facing new challenges in the WAAF, but can she ever get over the guilt of leaving her child behind?
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Also by Freda Lightfoot available as ebooks
1940
Kath Ellis licked the envelope flap, slipped the letter into its appointed place, then quietly closed the door and turned the key.
‘Why do you bother?’ her friend, Bella, asked. ‘Either send the dratted thing or stop wasting time writing them.’
Hardly a week went by without her writing to someone back home. Her father, mother, Meg, even Jack, for all she had no wish to ever see him again. The letters were all there, neatly tied into bundles in her locker, stampless envelopes stuck down as if they’d already been seen by the censor. Except that she’d no intention of posting any of them.
Kath smiled. ‘They’re like a diary. Who knows? One day somebody may be glad to know what I got up to during these years of war. Were I to be no longer around.’
Her daughter perhaps?
Bella took the pen from her fingers. ‘Stop that this minute. I won’t have you tempt fate with such wild notions. My father thinks women in uniform are the lowest of the low, so let’s brave the local hostelry and prove it, shall we? We have two whole hours before the ten-thirty curfew, cocoa, and bed.’
Kath laughed. ‘Like good girls at school.’
Bella tucked Kath’s arm into hers as they clattered past the row of beds and left the Nissen hut. ‘You’re lucky if you went to that sort of school. No one gave out cocoa at mine, only verses of Old Testament to be endlessly learned, and the cane every Friday.’
Katherine Ellis only laughed. Not quite the glossy beauty she’d once been, her sleek blonde bob was cut short, although starting to grow again, the once perfectly manicured nails bitten to the quick. But there was still that elusive quality about her that spoke of a sheltered background, of a girl who had taken her natural attraction to men rather for granted, although the price she’d paid for that foolishness had been high.
‘I can just see you as a schoolgirl, all pigtails and short socks.’ Bella grinned. ‘I was a terror. Bigger than most of the teachers. Come on, old sport, tonight we celebrate the end of the dreaded training, for tomorrow we face the horrors of carrying our kitbags half across country to the outer wilds of East Anglia.’
Kath had met Bella on Euston Station. Surrounded by more girls than she had ever seen in her life, all chattering twenty to the dozen, the noise had been deafening. Then one black-haired, black-eyed girl of Amazon proportions had turned to her with a wry smile. ‘They’ll soon shut up when reality sets in.’
It had set in alarmingly early. The moment they saw the train backing into Platform One it came home to them that this was the moment of no return. When they boarded, they’d be on their way to becoming a member of the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force. They’d be a WAAF.
To Kath it had seemed the only answer after Meg rescued her from Greenlawns, the Home for Wayward Girls where she’d given birth to Jack’s baby and feared she might be incarcerated forever. When the pair of them had reached Liverpool’s Lime Street Station, Kath had pushed Meg on to the train and thrust Melissa into her arms, not even noticing the irony of relinquishing her daughter to the woman she’d betrayed, her one-time best friend. Kath had known only that she wasn’t fit to be anyone’s mother, that she had no love to give.
She’d boarded the next train and come straight to London on the money the home had given her, not knowing what she intended, nor caring very much. On reaching the Capital she’d tried a series of temporary jobs - waitress, barmaid, shop assistant - boring, mindless tasks, and always with the problem of where to lay her head. She used the underground if she could get away with it, though it wasn’t, strictly speaking, allowed. The government had decided it would be bad for morale to hide like rats in a hole. Or a women’s hostel if she could find one, a park bench if necessary.
But then she’d seen the poster and the answer seemed suddenly obvious. In the WAAF she would be provided with food, clothing, a bed to sleep in, work with pay at the end of it, and no questions asked. One of hundreds of girls her indiscretions could be safely buried, if not forgotten. Worn out and feeling far from clean, she’d gladly signed up.
She hadn’t minded the weeks of hard training that followed. Nor had it troubled her in the least to stand for hours in the freezing cold, run up and down on the spot or do a half-day route march. She’d been forced to do far worse in the yards of Greenlawns. And it was a blessed improvement upon working in the laundry.
Kath hadn’t objected to the school-type lectures on mathematics, geography and morse code. She’d written her letters during some of the more boring ones, meaning at first to keep in touch. In the end her courage had failed her and the letters had stayed in her bag, then been consigned to the locker. For the moment.
‘So long as they don’t give us any more of those damned inoculations,’ said Bella. ‘I can take anything they throw at me, but those.’
Bella had been ill with fever and the shakes after the typhoid, tetanus and smallpox injections. Kath was thankful to be able to prove she’d already had them.
‘And no more of those unspeakably awful FFI examinations,’ Kath laughed. ‘Cavorting about knickerless is not my idea of fun.’
Hadn’t it been proved already, at the home, that she was free from infection? And no WAAF Officer could make a worse job of it than Miss Blake. Not that she admitted to anyone that she’d suffered the dreaded test once already.
Bella looked at her in open admiration. ‘Bloomin’ hell, I’ll never forget the way you walked in to that room. Cool as a cucumber you were. Everyone else was white-faced and trembling, or giggling and weeping from nerves, and you strip off your pink regulation panties as if it were common place. That isn’t what you were, is it, in real life? A stripper?’
Kath giggled. ‘No, but maybe I should have tried it. It might have paid better than a waitress job at the UCP.’ The best of it was that Bella would have accepted her just the same if she had been.
‘Undoubtedly, and with better tips. Only snag would be all those men gawping at you. Give me the shivers, that would. I’m off them myself.’
Kath grinned. ‘Right now I’m inclined to agree with you.’
Bella cast her new friend a sideways glance as she handed over a half pint glass of cider. ‘Got your fingers burned, did you?’
‘You might say so.’
‘Well, that’s another thing we have in common. No romantic story of partings and promises to wait for me either. My old man put five bob on the table, told me he was off to join the Army and ta ta. That was the last I heard of him. No letters, no pay cheque every month, not even a telegram. I can only assume that he’s alive and well and keeping out of my way, which is fine by me. Not a marriage made in heaven, I can tell you, more like in Epping Forest.’
‘Any children?’
‘Nope. Nor do I ever intend having any, smelly, demanding creatures that they are. My mother had one a year for fourteen years then dropped dead. That ain’t for me.’
A vision of a small crumpled face came into Kath’s mind and she took a quick draught of her cider.
‘Steady on, it’s stronger than it looks.’
‘When do you think we’ll get our uniform?’ Kath asked. ‘When we get to our new posting?’
‘Let’s hope so. You look like you might be off to Ascot in that posh suit. Not to mention that fancy tan hat. Have you nothing else to wear?’
‘I lost all my luggage,’ Kath lied.
‘Poor sod. Well, at least take off the hat in here or they’ll double the price of the drinks.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t think.’ Kath realised the outfit spoke of money and class but Aunt Ruby never had sent on her other clothes and this was all she possessed in the world.
Even if she’d been dressed in rags, her background would still have shown. It was all there in the way she held her head, the swing of her walk. If she was unaware how her instinctive style, her air of self-confidence, were all signals that Katherine Ellis was sure of her place in society, it also showed how little she cared.
But it would be a misinterpretation, a travesty of the truth to assume she was that same socialising, careless Katherine of long ago. Were anyone to take the trouble to look closer they might find some surprising contradictions. A few calluses and blisters in unexpected places for one thing, as well as the hard-bitten nails. But the almost insolent arrogance hid her fears well, for she didn’t intend anyone to probe too deeply.
Let them look and see me as I really am, she thought. A woman who has been to the bottom and is clawing her way back out of the pit. Let them see courage, guts, and a warning to stand clear and not dare to bully me or I’ll blast their socks off! Greenlawns had introduced her to physical pain but had failed to destroy the intrinsic strength she held inside. Not so reckless as she once was, nor so restless, but a whole lot tougher.
So let the WAAF do its worst.
It was a dull, cloudy day in the early summer of 1940 when Kath and Bella arrived at Bledlow, together still thanks to some crafty swopping of postings on their part. A light drizzle had started and a thick mist was blowing in from the sea.
Italy had declared war on Britain and France. Housewives were stripping their kitchens of pans to make aeroplanes. Churchill was talking of Britain’s finest hour, but depression was rife and the forces were pulling in new recruits as fast as they could, even women.
‘You would think they’d be glad to see us, wouldn’t you? Instead of leaving us hanging around,’ Bella said as they staggered off the bus with their kit bags to stand uncertain and abandoned on the cinder path, wondering where they should go next.
‘At least we look like WAAF girls now.’
‘This tie is strangling me already.’
They’d been issued with a basic uniform at last and for all it was either five sizes too big or fitted where it touched, most of them, particularly Kath, had been glad to get it. It made them seem more professional.
There’d been much complaining, of course, and desperate swops made to try to find a near match in size. But the blue jacket and skirt for all its coarse newness, even the stiff-collared shirt that chafed her neck, seemed an infinite improvement upon the shapeless overall of Greenlawns.
A voice loud enough to lift the dome off St Paul’s sounded across the parade ground. ‘You two Waafs! Cut along and get signed in and stop standing about like dummies. There’s a war on, you know.’
They fled through the first door ahead of them. Unfortunately it was the wrong one. A sea of blue uniforms met their eyes all right, but there were men inside them and not women. And some of the bodies didn’t have uniforms of any sort on them.
‘Oh, dear lordy, let’s get out of here.’
‘Hey, look who’s come calling, chaps. Two new little darlings. Lost your way, have you? Come over here. We’ll explain the drill to you.’ A riot of whistles and cat calls greeted this remark, and as one the girls turned and fled, giggling madly, straight into the Waaf Officer. ‘Checking out stores already?’
Kath choked. ‘Sorry, we - um - made a mistake.’
‘Ma’am.’
‘Ma’am.’
‘And you salute an officer, Waaf, every time you see one. Didn’t they teach you that at training?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Kath dropped her bag and attempted a salute. She wasn’t very good at it, and Bella was even worse, looking very like a lamp post gone wrong.
‘I hope the Airforce hasn’t made a bigger mistake in taking you two on. If you’d care to follow me you might give us the benefit of your name and number while I have the pleasure of directing you to your quarters.’
Kath trusted the officer’s soft tones even less than her official one. Dragging her kit bag behind her, Kath gabbled out rank and number and followed Bella along the cinder path.
The Waaf Officer stopped. ‘Do you have a problem with your kit, Airwoman?’
Kath shook her head, glancing beseechingly at Bella. Whenever she tried to swing it up on to her shoulder she very nearly decapitated herself or else flung herself off her feet. When there was no wall to prop it on first, Bella gave her a hand to lift it.
‘I didn’t quite catch your reply.’
‘No, I don’t have a problem.’
‘I think you do. Ma’am.’
‘Oh, sorry, ma’am.’ And to Kath’s great mortification, the Waaf Officer stood and smilingly waited while Kath manoeuvred, with considerable difficulty, the long heavy bag into place.
‘You look in need of more training to me, Airwoman.’
‘It’s my narrow shoulders. The thing keeps slipping off. Ma’am.’ Kath attempted to explain but saw by the frosty expression she was wasting her time.
At the Guard Room they booked in and were directed to their billet. With thoughts of hot tea and a soft bed to lay their tired bodies they reached it at a smart pace.
Yet another Nissen hut lined with beds and heated, if that was the word, by an ancient coke stove that no doubt belched out more smoke, dust and fumes than warmth. Kath dropped her bag with a weary sigh. Fortunately this was summer so that was a pleasure in store for later.
Waaf Officer Mullin, or Mule as she came to be known, attempted to show a more human side to her nature. ‘Get yourself unpacked. There’s hot water for a bath if you’re quick. Be in the Mess Hall by six.’
‘Oh, blimey, this is good,’ said Bella, falling prone on to her bed. The springs creaked ominously, the mattress was as hard as the iron bedstead, but she didn’t care. ‘Utter bliss.’
‘Don’t get too comfortable,’ Kath warned, her own eyes half closed in almost instant sleep. ‘We have to be quick, remember?’
But before the delectable promise of hot water and food dragged them from their beds, an air raid warning sounded and then they did move very quickly, blindly rushing out to follow a trickling mass of people who seemed far from pleased at being interrupted, and confusingly not all going in the same direction.
‘Blooming Hitler. I’d just got my head down.’
‘Where’s the shelter?’ Kath asked one passing Waaf.
‘Shelter? Ditch more like. We call it a slit trench. Most people only bother when it’s really necessary, and if it’s dry, for obvious reasons. New, are you? I’m Liz Parry.’
‘Ellis. And this is Kendrick.’ Kath felt quite pleased with herself for picking up the correct style. ‘Does it show very much that we’re new?’
‘Your tie is all wrong for a start. It’ll work loose that way. And you’ll need to spend every evening polishing those buttons to get a lovely mellow shine. Then you might not look such complete rookies.’
‘This tie’s near choking me.’
The girl called Parry laughed and her serious face lit up. She was pretty, Kath decided, with her golden curly hair and neat figure. Reminded her a bit of Meg.
The sound of the siren was overwhelming coupled with the awesome roar of aircraft overhead which would, Kath was sure, at any moment blast them out of existence. It was the nearest she had come to danger and she was not to know they were Stirlings taking off, rather than German bombers coming in. She flung herself into the trench and landed in a huge crop of nettles. Her shouts of agony brought forth no sympathy from anyone, only laughter and ribald offers to rub her down all over with Calamine.
The All Clear sounded and nobody took any notice of that, either. She and Bella seemed to be the only two in the entire camp who had shown any concern.
During an almost sleepless night of itching, despite Bella’s ministrations with the said lotion, and the fear of a bomb being accidentally dropped by the noisy aircraft that seemed to be taking off every five minutes right over their hut, Kath spent the time worrying over how ill prepared she was. She thought of the lectures she hadn’t properly listened to, the drills she’d skipped. Had she missed anything really vital? What could one do to make a good life for oneself in the WAAF and avoid being ridiculed by the Mules of this world?
Someone gave her a mug of tea sometime before dawn because she happened to be still awake.
‘Thanks.’ Kath sipped gratefully at it then set it on the shelf above her bed while she started on yet another letter describing her arrival. It was about then that she fell asleep, to be awakened by something hard smacking her forehead and a trickle of warm liquid running down her face.
‘Dear God, I’ve been hit.’
‘Where, where?’ Bella was by her side in an instant.
‘My face. Oh no, my face. I can feel blood all over it.’
A torch was brought and shone into her face. A moment’s startled silence then laughter, pure and true, from a whole gaggle of interested girls.
‘You’re covered in tea,’ giggled Bella. ‘Decorated by a splendid pattern of tea leaves.’
‘It’s the vibration from the returning aircraft. Sometimes nearly shakes this place to bits,’ chuckled Liz Parry. ‘Oh, but the expression on your face! It’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in weeks.’
It was the final humiliation.
Kath decided she didn’t much care for being new. It made her feel gauche and uncomfortable and could clearly have disastrous consequences. Nor did she care to be laughed at. Whatever she needed to learn, she would learn it. Fast.
On their way to the Mess Hall, dreaming of hot tea and bacon butties, they came again upon Waaf Officer Mullin.
‘Ah, Ellis and Kendrick, sleep well on your first night, did we?’ Beguiled by the officer’s smile Kath answered quite naturally. ‘Yes, thanks. Bit noisy but could have been worse I suppose.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear. I must have a word with the pilots and try to get them to turn the engines down. Can’t have them disturbing your beauty sleep.’
Kath flushed deeply, most unlike herself.
‘You weren’t the little Waaf who imagined herself shot with a pot of tea, were you?’ And when the flush deepened, the officer smiled with pure delight. ‘What a prize you are, Ellis. How did we amuse ourselves before you came?’
Kath ground her teeth together and said nothing. She had learned patience in a hard school, so if this dreadful woman expected, or wanted her to retaliate and humiliate herself further, she’d mistaken her mark.
Bella was ordered to report to Signals after breakfast. ‘Ellis, you can take yourself off to the drivers’ unit.’
‘But I was to be on the switchboard.’
Mullin looked at Kath as if she were something unpleasant the cat had deposited upon the drawing room carpet. ‘Not questioning the service are you, Airwoman?’
‘No, ma’am. It’s only that I understood we could choose our own trades.’
‘So you can, as a rule.’ The mild tone was dangerously sweet. ‘It happens that we find ourselves short of drivers at present and you, I see from your form, were one of the fortunate few civilians who could afford a motor. Now isn’t that splendid? How useful you are going to be to us, Ellis.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Kath saluted and was at once reprimanded. ‘No saluting unless you are wearing a cap.’
‘No, ma’am.’ Oh lordy, would she ever get used to this?
Kath wondered, poignantly, how she could have come to mess up her life so thoroughly. She could be at home now, at Larkrigg Hall, helping her mother do something suitable like holding fund-raising tea parties for the soldiers, or perhaps a little light volunteer work at the local hospital. Except that her mother had disowned her because of her carelessness in daring to bring an unwanted, unsuitable child into the world.
‘Have you done your morning chores?’
‘Um,’ Kath glanced at Bella despairingly, not knowing quite what chores Mullin referred to. ‘Ma’am?’
The officer sighed, looking delighted at finding this new recruit wanting yet again. ‘Before you report in, you can sweep out your billet and give the floor a good scrub.’
‘What, all of it?’
Mullin smiled. She’d had this type of girl foisted upon her before. A classy little madam who thought she was easing her social conscience by volunteering, then wasting everyone’s time by asking too many questions and thinking herself above discipline. She probably didn’t know one end of a sweeping brush from the other.
‘Yes, Ellis, all of it. Think you can manage that, do you? Concentrates the mind wonderfully, scrubbing, don’t you think?’ Kath bit hard upon her lower lip. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Best get on with it then. A delightful new experience for you to try.’
‘Oh, but. . .’
‘But?’
Kath pushed the thought of breakfast regretfully from her mind. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Certainly, ma’am. At once, ma’am,’ cut in Bella smartly.
The two of them returned bleakly to the Nissen hut. Worse, Mullin followed, and while Bella swept, she watched with obvious pleasure as Kath filled a bucket with hot water and added a good handful of soda crystals.
‘More, Ellis. We want the floor clean, don’t we, not a murky mess?’
Kath added more, a vicious cocktail that would make any fair hand bleed. Except hands like hers, which were hard as leather after the Greenlawns’ laundry.
She plunged them into the scalding water without a flinch, lifted out the brush and began to scrub. Her arms and shoulders moved with a long practised rhythm, and using a separate, well-wrung out cloth, Kath swiftly and efficiently mopped up the excess water leaving not a streak upon the polished floor.
It took no more than a moment or two watching this process for Mullin to frown in puzzled surprise. It was all too apparent, to her experienced eye, that Ellis had done this job before. Odd. She would never have thought it.
‘Surprised your mama didn’t have a housemaid to do this job for you, Ellis.’
Kath hid a smile. ‘No, ma’am.’
Irritated, Mullin snapped her fingers. ‘Jump to it then. Remember Parade is at 8.45. Prompt. And since you are so skilled at the task, you can scrub out Picquet Post as well. And don’t forget the outside lobby. Call me when you’re done then I can check it. Jump to it, Airwoman, jump to it.’
‘Great,’ said Bella with resignation when the Officer had gone. ‘Next time you’re asked to do something, make a bad job of it, will you? We can kiss goodbye to any breakfast after all this lot.’
‘Sorry, I…’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll forgive you. Thousands wouldn’t.’
Driving was a doddle after that, Kath decided. She was issued with a staff car and instructed to drive one of the Commanders to another station. The mist had lifted and the sun was shining. Liz Parry managed to sneak her out a bacon buttie, which quite perked her up.
Besides, she was young and filled with optimism at having escaped from Greenlawns, thanks to Meg. A mug of tea would be waiting for her when she got back from this run, which would go down a treat.
Taking everything into account, life wasn’t at all bad. Were it not for the awful guilt and loneliness she felt inside at betraying her best friend and abandoning her daughter.
1941
In a summer with a late spring and an indifferent July, a few days’ sunshine to dry up the land and the fleeces on the sheep were all the farmers had needed to set the clipping off. The early morning mists had lifted like a fair woman’s feather hat to reveal sunshine and beauty beneath. Satisfied the dry spell would continue for the two or three days necessary, the Turners of Ashlea, the Davieses and Meg, had gathered, ready to visit each farm in turn to shear the sheep.
The sheep had been brought down from the heaf, a jostling throng, growing ever larger as flocks joined on from neighbouring heafs. Meg had counted every one of hers as they passed through her gate, to make sure they were all safe and well.
‘Yan, tyan, tethera, methera, pimp,’ she’d chanted, in the traditional way, enjoying the sound of the old celtic words as she’d sat on the gate, marking off each five on a slate in her hand. As she counted, she felt as if they were bombers bringing Charlie safely home from a raid.
Whatever satisfaction it had given her to see how her flock had grown, near two hundred and fifty now, not for a moment did she underestimate her good fortune. While London had been battered almost daily in recent months, here on the Westmorland hills the sun shone, the sheep bleated and all seemed to be perfectly normal. No blitz for them.
‘You’d never think there was a war on, would you?’ said Sally Ann, coming up beside her and uncannily catching her thoughts.
‘We realise it when we listen to the drone of bombers in the sky, and hear the vibration deep within the ground as some other poor soul is getting it,’ said Will Davies, not pausing in his labours as he started on the next sheep. Sitting astride his special stool, in a row with the other clippers, he turned the ewe belly up, the head tucked beneath his arm while he cut the fleece, not too close and with no pulling of the flesh which might form ridges, till the wriggling sheep was released, looking oddly naked and highly affronted by the indignity of it all.
‘Or when we have to queue an hour and a half for a paltry few ounces of margarine, or barter precious eggs for extra sugar to make jam. I can’t remember the last time I saw an orange or a tin of fruit,’ Sally Ann mourned.
‘Trying to get a can of paraffin for the lamp the other day was like asking for gold,’ Meg agreed. ‘I’d love to try that,’ she said, her mind clearly still on the clipping.
‘Aye, I dare say you would. The sheep mightn’t be too keen,’ laughed Will, and Meg conceded that although the farmers accepted her as one of their own, shearing was a skilled task. Their confidence in her had not quite reached that level. Watching Will peel the fleece from the neck down each side, then as the sheep was flipped over, off the back like a banana skin, she didn’t wonder at it.
She stood ready with her stick with the rounded end to dab her mark on the back of the clipped sheep. Rust red for Broombank sheep, so that if one ever wandered too far another farmer could check it, together with the ear mark, in his Shepherd’s Guide and know to which farm it belonged. Come the autumn meet, wanderers could be returned to their rightful owners.
Sally Ann moved out of the way while Meg deftly brought another ewe to the clipper, who never left his stool. Six or seven minutes for each sheep, though some could manage one in less if it didn’t kick about.
‘I heard the other day that Miss Shaw has had a telegram about her nephew.’ All hands paused as eyes, bleak and questioning, were raised to Sally Ann’s flushed face.
‘Eeh, no. He was nobbut a lad.’
‘Lost at sea. Missing, presumed dead, it said.’
After a long silent moment while hands were stilled and thoughts turned to that bright-faced boy who a few summers ago might have been chided by these same farmers for some youthful misdemeanour, shears started to clip again, long breaths exhaled. Life moved on.
A chill ran through Meg and she rubbed her hands together, sore from holding and turning the sheep, and greasy with the lanolin from the wool. Think positive, that was the secret. Charlie said so.
‘On Charlie’s last leave he was like a dog with two tails. Talk, talk, talk about his dratted aeroplanes and how he’d been promoted to navigator. I told him that I wished they’d promote him safely home again. Call the whole war off as a terrible mistake.’
An impossible dream. It was just that she couldn’t bear to think of her young brother in those terrible raids over Germany and France, and prayed each night as she added a few lines to the regular letters she sent him, that he would survive the next, and the next.
And where was Jack? She hadn’t heard from him in an age. His letters were becoming more and more rare.
‘The war will run its course,’ Will said, with a farmer’s natural pragmatism. ‘Nothing you can do will alter that. Work hard and keep faith.’
‘I try to,’ Meg agreed. It was easier to do the former than the latter. Charlie was no longer a boy and Tam often told her she worried too much over him.
But then she too was a different Meg to the young girl of four summers ago. This Meg, the one who had lost the man she loved to her best fried, was tougher, quieter and more thoughtful. If she didn’t laugh or feel ready to give her love quite so recklessly as that other girl had done, then she at least felt more sure of herself, more certain of where she was going. At least now she had control over her own destiny, her own future. She had Broombank and her sheep. She had Effie, Tam, Sally Ann and her family about her. She was happy in her work, doing her bit to produce good food for a war-torn country. This was the nearest she would probably ever get to peace of mind.
Meg wished that everyone could be so blessed.
Seeing the suspicion of tears in her eyes, Sally Ann stepped closer. ‘You look tired. I’ll do that for a while.’ She took the marker stick from Meg’s hand. ‘Go and rest. Effie says she’s put the kettle on.’
Meg eased her back. ‘I won’t say no.’
‘I reckon Will wouldn’t mind a break either, would you, Will?’
‘I’ll do a few more, then your Dan can take over for a bit.’
Meg smiled at Sally Ann. ‘You want me to watch the children at the same time?’
‘No, you don’t have to worry about them. Hetty has them all in hand. At least as far as they will allow her to. For such small bairns they’re as wick as fleas. They run rings round her sometimes.’
Will laughed. ‘And doesn’t she just love it?’
Sally Ann’s gaze drifted lovingly over to the far meadow where her two children sat with the kindly Mrs Davies in the long grass, a small group of curious cows nosing around them. Young Daniel, the baby, was lying on a blanket, kicking at the delicious joy and freedom of having sun on his chubby legs. Nicholas was curbing his more natural, boundless energy to studiously attempt to thread a daisy stem through the slit Hetty had made with her thumb nail, to form a daisy chain. At thirteen months old, he was a sturdy, well-formed little boy, round-faced and bright-eyed, golden hair shining in the sun. Sally Ann loved him so much in that moment, her heart ached.
Beside him, quieter and far more serious than her companions, Lissa attempted to do the same. Three months older than Nick, yet she copied his every action.
‘Sometimes I worry over that child, she’s too quiet by half.’ Sally Ann spoke before she’d thought to guard her words.
Meg frowned, her eyes resting quietly on Melissa, pretty as a picture in the flower meadow. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it. I just take it for granted that she’s not a chatterbox like your Nick, nor half so naughty. She’s so small and delicate, like a little fairy, and no trouble at all.’
‘Perhaps a bit too good, don’t you think?’
Meg laughed. ‘What would you have me do? Tell her to be noisy and rough?’
‘I suppose it does sound a bit silly, but somehow it isn’t quite natural for a child to be so - so obliging, so mature. I’m sure she understands every word I say. She’s far more intelligent than our Nick.’ Sally Ann laughed. ‘Not that that would be difficult.’
It was a conversation that came to mind that evening as Meg asked Effie to put the child to bed.
‘Will you see to her? I can’t spare the time from the shearing,’ she casually remarked, eating a sandwich on the hoof to keep her going. There would be food for all later, though not eaten in the barn as they would have done before the war, with a fiddle and the lamps all burning.
Instead, all the workers would crowd into the kitchen, everyone having contributed something, due to the difficulties of rationing. Chicken soup thickened with potato flour, stewed apples sweetened with dried figs. But they were lucky here on the farm, having their own butter and eggs. And Ashlea had provided some ham.
Meg bent down and dropped a quick kiss on the child’s soft curls. ‘Sorry, but Meg is busy tonight.’ A shaft of guilt pierced her heart. How often had she said those words? Too often, perhaps, in recent months.
Lissa said nothing. She merely wrapped her arms about Meg’s leg for a moment till she had won another kiss, then went, happily enough, Meg was sure of it, with Effie, up to bed.
She watched a moment longer as the child climbed the stairs on all fours, one step at a time. Deep down Meg knew that she did love her, for all she’d fought against it. How could she not when the child was there, a living presence in their midst, and in her heart. Sometimes it was hard to appreciate that Lissa wasn’t hers at all. In all these long months, more than a year now, there had been no word from Kath. But Meg still remembered that day, in every tiny detail. The appalling sight of what months in that home had done to her once beautiful friend, and the horror she’d felt when she’d realised whose child this was.
There had been times when Meg had thought the pain would never go away.
For months afterwards she’d been in a sort of panic, as if she wanted to run from the truth except that there was nowhere to run. Jack had cheated on her, with her best friend. So she’d turned her face away from the child who provided, all too clearly, the evidence of that betrayal. She had seen that Lissa was fed and well cared for, by Effie, and Hetty Davies, while Meg continued to torture her mind with questions. What had she done wrong? Why hadn’t she been enough for him? Hadn’t he loved her? Questions to which there were no answers.
At one time she’d thought she might never get over it, but then she hadn’t reckoned on her dear friends, on Effie and Tam. Tam O’Cleary, the Irishman who’d walked into her farm one day looking for Kath, the girl he’d met quite by chance in Southport and who for no reason had gone missing. Curious and concerned he’d followed the only lead he knew, back to her old friend Meg. Why he stayed Meg couldn’t rightly say, or explain why it was so important to her that he did. Then there was the unstoppable Rust, her beloved dog who, despite a vicious injury caused by her stupid brother Dan, absolutely refused to give up and retire. With their help Meg had painstakingly put her life back together again.
But deep inside, largely unacknowledged, there still burned a resentment, and a fear. She still held herself back a little from Lissa, rarely touching her, scarcely speaking to the child at times, afraid to show the love she secretly felt in case one day Kath should return, and she lost her. Where would she be then with no one to love at all?
Tam came in, interrupting her thoughts for which she was thankful.
Meg busied herself scribbling on a sheet of paper at the table.
‘Not writing him another letter?’ There was a mocking tone to his voice that made her hackles rise.
‘If you mean Jack, yes, I am as a matter of fact.’ She tilted her chin at him in defiance, eyes flashing the message that it was none of his business what she did.
Tam snorted and went to pour himself tea. ‘Must be months since he replied to any. Why do you bother?’
It had seemed too cruel to continue to hate Jack for some youthful misdemeanour carried out one hot, lazy summer when they had all been silly and young. Meg had done her best not to condemn, and certainly couldn’t bring herself to call off their engagement, not when he might lose his life any day in the war. She’d waited for Christmas by which time the war would be over, before she told him. But the festive season had come and gone, Jack had been sent overseas without ever coming home, so she’d said nothing. Meg continued to write to him every week, telling about the farm, Effie learning to read, Dan getting to be quite full of himself as a contented married man and working for the Government War Committee. Always happy things. ‘A man deserves cheerful letters when he’s fighting a war. This is not the time for recriminations, or sending him a Dear John letter.’
‘Why you still feel this loyalty towards that eejit, I can’t work out.’
‘Well, there it is, I do.’ What other option did she have? The three of them had vowed a friendship for life and, foolish or not, Meg wasn’t going to be the one to break it. Whether Jack knew it or not, he was still Lissa’s father. Their lives were still inextricably linked.
Tam quietly sipped his tea while he gazed at her with steady eyes, reading her thoughts with uncanny precision. From above came the sounds of a child’s voice, objecting to being put to bed. ‘Did you ever tell him about Lissa?’
‘Nope.’
‘You don’t think he has a right? What if he were to be killed, or captured. He’d never know then, would he?’
Meg swallowed the hard lump of guilt that came to her throat. ‘It’s Kath’s job to tell him, not mine.’
‘But Kath isn’t here. We’ve no notion where she is. And the child needs a parent. Isn’t it a bit hard on her, not to be knowing who they are?’
‘She has us. She’s too young to understand.’ Kath could take Lissa back when the war was over. She would have the right to do that, if she so wished. Kath was the child’s mother after all. Meg’s stomach clenched, as it always did, at this thought. How would she cope with losing Lissa? How did you prepare yourself for fresh pain? However much she tried to avoid it she knew it would be there. Work was her release, her protection, and she must keep her mind firmly upon her plans for Broombank.
She wanted to go to her now, soothe the tears away. Better not. Leave Lissa to Effie.
She set the letter behind the clock on the dresser. She would finish it later. ‘I have to get back to the sheep.’
‘Can’t you hear her crying?’
It was always Tam, if Effie was busy or failing to cope, as now, who comforted Lissa and put her to bed. He’d seemed happy enough about that as he missed his own large family back in America. Now he was frowning, almost glaring at her, sounding fierce and uncharacteristically tough. ‘She wants you.’
Meg took no notice. ‘Be quick with that tea,’ she said. ‘You know we can’t work after dark with the black-out.’
The child’s piercing cries caused her to flinch but she set her mouth firm as she pulled open the door and went back to the sheep, her heart beating twenty to the dozen. Lissa was not her child.
Kath decided quite early on that Parade was a horror she could live without. In those first few weeks at Bledlow, she soon discovered that you were excused Parade if on duty. After that she usually managed to avoid it by being hard at work polishing her vehicle so early that she was often picked out to drive the top brass somewhere or other.
Kath found that she loved her job and was almost grateful to Waaf Officer Mullin for denying her the opportunity to become a telephonist. Driving about the countryside was much more fun.
She and Bella became great friends, often cycling into Bledlow itself for a drink at the pub, or visiting the Flicks, as they called the local cinema. Then there were regular dances at the station with no shortage of partners.
There were days when no one could manage to be cheerful, when yet another crew of smiling faces had vanished, or a plane had crashed on landing. Or, as once happened, a whole ground crew were blown to smithereens while trying to unload unused bombs.
But one way or another, despite the awfulness of the war, the weeks and months slipped by.
Mule continued to watch Kath, as stubbornly determined as her name to find fault.
‘What have I done to offend that woman?’ Kath asked Bella. ‘She never misses an opportunity to put me down.’
‘That’s what should have happened to her, when she was a pup,’ grinned Bella. ‘Aw, take no notice. It’s all jealousy because you’re eye-catching and come from a comfortable home. She certainly can’t lay claim to the former and possibly not the latter either.’
‘Not everything is as it appears,’ Kath said, a touch of asperity in her voice.
Bella’s eyebrows lifted slightly but she said nothing. Aware that her new friend never spoke about her personal affairs, she had asked no questions, seen no reason to pry. ‘Chin up. Don’t let her get to you.’
Kath’s diligence became a habit and after a while she got promoted to Aircraftwoman 1st Class. She bought the drinks that night. ‘Even Mule can’t stop me now. Maybe I’ll be giving her orders one day.’ Kath had a determination never to be in a vulnerable state again. It was a new experience for her not to be in charge of her own destiny. But ever since she had left Larkrigg, that’s the way her life had been. She meant one day to change it.
‘Don’t tempt fate,’ Bella warned, being overly superstitious.
Then one morning Kath’s efforts came to be noticed by a newcomer to the station - one keen-eyed Canadian, Ewan Wadeson, Wade to his friends, of whom there were many for he was known for his ready wit and generosity. He had groaned when first learning there were Waafs on this, his latest posting, but having seen the line up of drivers, was beginning to change his mind.
It was Kath’s swinging walk that first attracted him. A certain swivel to the hip which he found most interesting. And when she hitched up her skirt to get into the driving seat, his blood pressure almost peaked.
‘Boy, oh boy, what legs.’
Fraternising, or fratting as it was called, with other ranks was of course quite out of order. A hanging offence, almost. But Wade had always been one to take chances. The secret was not to get caught. He meant to get to know this new little sweetheart or his name wasn’t Ewan Maximillian Wadeson III.
He made a point of being at the depot by eight o’clock prompt the following morning.
‘Driver? Are you taken?’
Kath glanced up to find herself appraised by the most outrageously sensual blue eyes she had ever encountered. Several pips decorating the impressively broad shoulders brought her to attention. And her salute proved the value of hours of practice.
‘I need a driver today. Got several meetings to attend.’ It wasn’t strictly true, but in the Airforce, he’d discovered, you could walk around all day with a clipboard in your hand and no one would bother you.
He climbed into the back seat of the car.
‘Where to, sir?’ Kath enquired when they had been checked out of the station and were bowling down the road.
Wing Commander Ewan Wadeson was engrossed with trying to decide the colour of her eyes through the driving mirror. Green? Brown? Or somewhere in between.
He cleared his throat. His day was largely free since he was not on duty till the evening. But if anyone ever discovered that he had pinched a staff car, complete with Waaf driver for his pleasure for the day he’d really be up for the high jump. Best to make it look genuine to stop any loose talk.
‘Take me to Remlington-on-Sea. I have to speak to my opposite number there.’
Kath did so, and to the next airfield after that. She drove, in fact, from airfield to airfield all morning and well into the afternoon, getting in and out of the car so many times she was quite dizzy with it all, and light-headed from want of food. While Ewan Maximillian Wadeson had a smashing view of those lovely legs each and every time.
‘I’ll be about a half hour,’ he told her on one occasion. Taking a chance, as soon as he had disappeared from view she locked up the car and went in search of food.
She was nibbling her way through a limp sandwich when she decided to step on to a weighing machine. It stood at the door of an amusement arcade and was the kind that told your fortune as well as your weight. Might as well know what she was in for. But before she had time to open her purse a hand had slipped a coin into the slot and a voice spoke in her ear.
‘Ain’t nothing wrong with your figure, ACW Ellis.’ Kath jumped, dropping the unfinished sandwich.
‘Aw, gee, now see what I’ve made you do. Were you hungry? I didn’t realise. Look, why don’t I go and get us some real food? Er, you’d best wait in the car.’
‘No, no, I’m fine. Are you done now? Do you want me to take you back, sir?’ Kath knew only too well what trouble they’d both be in if anyone saw them talking like this.
‘You go to the car, Ellis. I’ll be along shortly.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She didn’t need telling again.
Kath had parked the car, as instructed, on a headland looking out to sea. Wing Commander Ewan Wadeson was sitting beside her in the front seat and the pair of them were eating fish and chips out of newspaper. Sinful, but nothing had ever tasted so good in all her life.
‘Do you mind if I ask you a question, sir?’ He seemed the approachable sort. Not like some of the stuffed shirts around here. Probably because he was a Canadian, Kath decided.
‘Sure, fire away.’
‘If one wanted to find out what had happened to someone, a friend say, how would one go about it?’
‘One would write to the Red Cross,’ he teased, mimicking her accent. ‘Sweetheart, is it? Missing in action?’ The tone had turned sympathetic and Kath warmed to him. He was also, she hadn’t failed to notice, a very attractive man.
‘N-no, not exactly. So far as I’m aware he isn’t even missing. He’s in the navy but I don’t know where he’s stationed.’
Wade moved closer. She had offered him just the loophole he needed to get to know her better. Never miss an opportunity, that was old Wade’s motto.
‘Not got a boy friend then?’
Kath hid a smile. ‘Not at the moment, no. And you?’ she ventured, with a flash of her old recklessness.
Straight-faced he replied. ‘Nope, I haven’t got a boy friend either.’ Kath rolled her eyes. ‘You know what I mean.’
He chuckled. ‘The answer’s still no. Tell me his name, this guy you’re interested in. I’ll find out for you.’
‘You’re very kind.’ Kath rewarded him with the full warmth of her hazel eyes. The gaze held overlong as chemistry crackled between them, and after a stunned moment, Wade smiled an acknowledgement of it.
‘You’re some woman. You know that?’
She knew the dangers. She knew he was an officer. Out of bounds. Against King’s Regulations. As were most things, Kath decided, that were anything like fun. But to Katherine Ellis he was just a man, a rather fine-looking man: light brown hair, blue eyes, good teeth and a smile to melt your heart. But she was finished with men, wasn’t she?
‘Some might disagree with you,’ she said, very gravely.
‘Then they must be blind. This guy, I hate him already, what is he to you?’ Wade slipped one arm along the back of the car seat. Drat this war and the rules it created.
‘I told you, he’s just a friend. Well, engaged to my best friend, in point of fact. Or was.’
‘You sound doubtful. Is she about to chuck him?’ He longed suddenly to stretch out his fingers and caress the bare neck just inches away. This Waaf’s hairstyle might be as short as any man’s, but she was all female, no doubt about that.
Kath was staring out to sea, wishing she’d never started this dangerous conversation. ‘I’m not sure. It’s all a bit confusing. He’s called Jack Lawson, from Broombank in Westmorland. I’d be grateful for any information about him.’ She turned her beautiful eyes back upon Wade. ‘For the sake of my friend.’
‘Sure,’ he said, heart starting to thump with an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. ‘I’ll look into it.’
A small silence fell between them while each seemed to study the other, assessing, considering, liking what they saw. ‘I suppose we’d best be getting back,’ Kath managed at last.
‘I suppose.’
‘I’ll deal with these. Wouldn’t do for your image to be seen with chip papers.’
‘It would do my image wonders to be seen with you.’
Kath’s breath caught in her throat. ‘You don’t mess about, do you?’
‘Not as a rule, no.’
‘It would get me lynched.’
‘I know. Me too. That’s the pity of it. Damn war.’
Kath stared out to sea again. ‘Best not to think of it then.’
‘Reckon you’re right.’ His voice sounded far from convinced. ‘Wouldn’t do for folks to start thinking things.’
‘No, sir. ’Kath could feel the warmth and weight of his arm across her shoulder. It was pleasant. She’d forgotten how good a man could make you feel.
‘You know it’s as if I’ve known you for an age, not just one day. Tell me your first name, ACW Ellis.’
‘Katherine. My friends call me Kath.’
‘Aw, I like Katherine best. That’s a beautiful name. May I call you Katherine?’
‘My mother calls me that.’
‘Would it bother you?’ He saw the shadow cross her face, fleeting but not imagined, he was sure of it. ‘Okay, Kath it is.’
‘Thanks. Are you ready to go back to camp now, sir?’
‘Don’t be so formal, okay?’ Wade climbed reluctantly out of the car and got into the back seat. He adjusted his hat. ‘Back to camp, Airwoman.’
When Kath dropped him at the Officers’ Mess he nodded briskly to her, the smile gone from his eyes, completely professional. ‘I’ll be in touch about that matter, Airwoman.’ And he walked briskly away.
Kath stood holding the car door, at her very best salute. ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
‘You drove who?’ Bella’s eyes were popping. ‘Wow. He’s a real dreamboat. Aren’t you the lucky one. And here’s me with my ears glued to signals all day. I’m ferociously jealous.’
Kath laughed. ‘Don’t be. He’s an officer. A very grand officer, therefore untouchable. What are we doing tonight?’
Bella wrinkled her nose.’ Cedric has suggested a foursome.’
‘You mean Jimmy is all mine?’
Bella grinned. ‘Thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I suppose it’s better than staying in.’
‘Won’t argue with that.’
They huddled over the tiny mirror to get ready, fluffing out hair, sharing out what bits of make-up they possessed. Certain items were becoming hard to find, lipstick for one.
‘I’m sick of this uniform,’ Kath said. ‘Somehow it seems worse in summer.’ Her eyes met Bella’s enquiring gaze.
‘So?’
Flagrantly breaking rules, they slipped summer frocks on under their skirts and jackets, and with non-issue shoes tucked in to their greatcoat pockets Kath and Bella set off for an evening out.
They walked to the local hostelry since none of the four possessed the transport to try out distant, more exciting places, despite the obvious risks involved. But Kath soon decided that dressing up had been a bad mistake for she spent the entire evening fending off Jimmy in a corner.
It grew hot in the pub and she suggested they all go outside. Which proved to be a yet worse mistake, she soon realised.
‘Good evening, Katherine.’
Kath froze, turning slowly to find Wing Commander Ewan Wadeson gazing at her with open speculation. ‘It sure is a hot night,’ he said, eyes running over her figure in its silky dress, right down her bare tanned legs to her pretty summer shoes. ‘Wouldn’t you say?’
She was aware of the others standing fearfully behind her. If this man chose to, he could march them straight to the Guard House, forthwith, on a charge. ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling warmly, deliberately avoiding the use of the word ‘sir’.
His smile tilted the wide mouth to a sensuous curl and Kath responded similarly. He wasn’t going to report them, she could see it in his eyes. But he might want paying for the favour, later.
When they came off Parade Bella nudged Kath rather painfully in the ribs. ‘There he is. Glamour Boy is waiting for you already. He’ll complain about your being late. I can see why Jimmy doesn’t come up to scratch these days.’