Roland Moore - Christmas on the Home Front

The train horn momentarily blotted out the chatter of people saying their goodbyes to their loved ones.

She caught sight of John making his way towards her from the end of the platform. He’d been to check the train times to see when he’d get to Leeds and he looked smart and dashing in his best suit, the buttons on his coat gleaming, his shirt collar immaculately pressed, a kit bag from his service days slung over his shoulder.

‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘Just give him my regards, won’t you?’ Joyce replied. ‘And get him to lay off the drink until he’s up and about.’

‘That’s easier said than done. As if he needs an excuse to drown his sorrows,’ John said, hoisting his kit bag up further onto his shoulder.

They both knew that Teddy liked a pint or two and neither John nor Joyce doubted that alcohol may have played a part in Teddy’s fall. The fact that the accident had happened soon after lunch only added to that suspicion. Still, accusations wouldn’t help the situation now. Joyce knew it was best for them to knuckle down and do what needed doing. The sooner John got there, the sooner he could get back.

As she stood with him, she noticed a red paper lantern hanging in the guard room window behind him. It was the sole concession that the station had made to Christmas, but at least some small effort had been made.

Joyce thought how Finch, at Pasture Farm, was planning to mark the occasion. He’d asked his daughter-in-law, Bea Finch, to bring his grandson with her so they could stay for Christmas at the farm. But she’d told him that she was settled in her new life in Leicester, so she’d invited Finch to come to them. After a moment of disappointment, Finch realised the benefits of this arrangement. He was cock-a-hoop at the prospect of spending time with them both before Christmas and then returning for a celebration with the girls at Pasture Farm. It was the best of both worlds for him. Two Christmas celebrations.

‘Try to be back for Christmas dinner, eh?’ Joyce straightened John’s tie. ‘If Finch can manage it, you can too.’

‘I hope to. Depends on Teddy. But I’ll write to let you know what’s happening. When I see him, I’ll know what the score is.’ John opened the door of the train carriage. The guard pressed his whistle against his lips and blew a warning that the train was about to leave.

Since he’d left the RAF, Joyce felt comfort that John was now working as a farm manager on a neighbouring farm. After worrying about each and every flying mission he went on, she could at least get a good night’s sleep knowing that he was sleeping safely in a similar room under two miles away. Joyce tried to put her feelings into perspective. Any separation they had to endure now was hard, but not as traumatic as when he’d been in the forces and flying who knows where.

She hoped in her heart that any real danger to him had passed. It seemed inconceivable now that the nights of insomnia and days spent with an inability to eat were over. Once, every waking moment had been taken with fearful anxiety about John’s safety while he was navigating for the RAF. Now the most she had to worry about was whether she could get away with staying overnight at Shallow Brook Farm without being caught by her Women’s Land Army warden, Esther Reeves. Esther was more lenient than some wardens she had heard about, but she still drew a line about Joyce spending weeknights with John. She wanted Joyce at Pasture Farm, ready to work, not gallivanting off with her husband. Fridays and Saturdays were different, with Joyce allowed to stay over at Shallow Brook Farm on both those nights. But if she wanted to sleep in his arms in the week, she had to risk being caught creeping out of Pasture Farm at night and returning at first light. Joyce enjoyed that manageable level of danger though. She knew that even if she was caught, it was unlikely that Esther would give her an official warning for her behaviour. The worst outcome would be a firm telling-off followed by unimpressed scowls for a week or so as Esther made her point. But whatever the outcome, Joyce knew it was easier simply to not get caught.

John pulled down the carriage window so he could crane his neck out to give Joyce one last kiss. She hooked her arms around his neck and pushed her lips softly against his.

‘You take care, you hear?’ Joyce tried to stop herself welling up.

‘You too!’ He smiled back.

The train remained stationary for a moment. Joyce and John looked at one another, with a moment of amused awkwardness, as they waited for the train to leave.

‘It’s never like this in the pictures, is it? The train always goes straight away after they’ve kissed, doesn’t it?’ Joyce was enjoying a few extra seconds with her husband.

‘Or sometimes it goes as they’re kissing, and they have to stop halfway through. Lovers torn apart and all that.’

The small delay, the shared joke, had helped. Joyce felt herself relax. It was all going to be alright. John would chivvy Teddy to a speedy recovery and then they’d share Christmas dinner together back at the farm in a few days.

‘See you very soon!’

‘You’re seeing me now. Given the time this takes to go, I’ll probably still be here next week!’ John replied. As if John’s comment had been overheard by the driver, the train started to edge forward.

The guard blasted a final volley on his whistle to warn people to stand back and the train belched out smoke as it crawled out of the station. Joyce watched the other women running alongside, waving goodbye. But she remained still, waving from where she stood. She was struck by a sense of déjà vu, remembering the other times John had left on the train from this station; usually with a brow furrowed with worry and a kit bag full of his RAF uniform and home-made cake for the journey.

Joyce watched as the train receded into the distance, aware of the other people drifting away around her like ghosts disappearing from view. She pulled her cardigan around her shoulders and braced herself for the walk back to the farm.

A starling swooped down low in front of her as she ambled along the country lane, a light drizzle adding to the already wet ground and making the leaves of the evergreen hedgerow glisten. Lost in her thoughts about the impending Christmas celebrations, Joyce walked the well-remembered route without really thinking where she was going. She’d done it so many times, it was automatic. She could recite it with her eyes shut: the walk across the road from the station; the town square, the vicarage, the little bridge by the newspaper office leading to the fields beyond. It had been nearly forty minutes since Joyce had seen him off at Helmstead train station and she assumed he’d be well into his journey by now.

The blue sky was fading to grey as evening fell. She rounded a corner and trudged across a muddy path to the stile that would lead her to the back of Pasture Farm. She remembered when she had first made this journey, burdened with suitcases and a complaining Nancy Morrell. What had happened to Nancy? She’d been her first roommate in the Women’s Land Army; a cantankerous sometimes entitled young woman who didn’t enjoy getting her hands dirty. She’d even tried to get Joyce to carry her suitcase from the station. Flaming cheek! Joyce had flatly refused. She smiled to herself at the memory. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. She had seen so many things in her time here, found solace in her new family of Esther, Finch, and the other girls. She had seen great, life-affirming times of friendship. Even through the bad times the resilience of her friends, her surrogate sisters, had helped her pull through, finding her inner strength to face whatever problems came her way.

The grey sky continued to half-heartedly drop its drizzle. Joyce thought the chances of snow this Christmas would be slim. There had been freezing fog in the lead up and some of that still hung around, but there wouldn’t be snow. That would be fine. John would have more chance of getting back in time if there wasn’t any snow on the tracks.