Elizabeth Elgin - Turn Left at the Daffodils

‘Well, the way I see it is that it’s a rum do if you can’t discuss things calmly and sensibly with the man you want to spend the rest of your life with – have his children, too. Was it really so awful, Carrie?’

‘No. Just not enjoyable, I suppose. I used to think that being able to do that whenever you wanted to must be really nice. But I suppose, if you want children – and I do – I’ll have to put up with things the way they are.’ She blew her nose loudly, then drew the curtains over the window. ‘Sorry if I embarrassed you, Evie. Tell you what – let’s nip up to the NAAFI – maybe have a half of shandy, or something? My treat?’

‘No thanks, Carrie. You and I need to talk and it’s best we do it here! Because you don’t have to put up with anything, you know. It should be an act of loving between you – and not you putting up with it. Sorry, love, but I have to say this – in my opinion, that kind of a marriage will be nothing short of a misery, for both of you! So let’s you and me have that talk, and then I suggest you write to Jeffrey and tell him what’s bothering you and how you can both put it right.’

‘Whaaat! And have someone here censor my letter – Sergeant James, maybe? Not on your life, Evie!’

‘So you’ll wait to talk to him when next you are on leave? Is that wise?’

‘Suppose not, especially since everybody expects we’re going to be married when we can manage to get leave together. My mother – Jeffrey’s mother -the entire village thinks it. Be a bit late for talking, won’t it?

‘And Evie, since you are acting in loco parentis, sort of, I think I’d better get the whole lot off my chest! I didn’t have to volunteer. I needn’t have joined up till I registered. And my age group hasn’t come up, yet. I really think,’ she rushed on, eyes on her hands, ‘that I joined up on purpose.’

‘To get away from Jeffrey, you mean, or to get out of getting married,’ Evie demanded, wide-eyed. ‘Do you realise how very serious marriage is – and how very wonderful it can be?’

‘I’d like to think we could be like you and Bob, but we’re not. Do you know that when you talk about him your eyes go all far away, and tender? And do you realise that you touch your wedding ring, too?’ Carrie whispered. ‘And hadn’t you thought that I wear my engagement ring round my neck because I say I don’t want to get it greased up?

‘And I didn’t join up to get away from Jeffrey, or get out of getting married. It was really, I suppose, to get away from the pressure. Everybody seemed to assume that that’s how it would be. I wanted time to myself, to think it out.’

The tears came then, hot and salty, and she covered her face with her hands and wept. And Evie sat on the bed beside her, and held her close, and said, ‘Sssssh. Seems to me you’ve been bottling this up for far too long, Carrie Tiptree, and when you are ready, you and I are going to have a good talk about things, before young Nan gets back. And talking about our Nan,’ she smiled, offering a clean handkerchief, ‘I wonder if her young man made it or if she’s on her way back, now – stood up and fed up!’

Private Nan Morrissey turned the bend in the road and saw the Black Bull ahead. No one was waiting there. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes early, so where should she wait? Inside the pub, or outside? She remembered Grandad and decided to wait in the car park to the left where she wouldn’t be so conspicuous – especially if Chas didn’t turn up.

She heard the banging of a car door, and footsteps and then, ‘Nan!’

‘Hi!’ she called, hurrying to meet him.

‘I was sure you wouldn’t turn up.’ He took her hands in his, kissing her cheek.

‘And I was sure you’d be flying. I decided to give it till half-past, then shove off back. But you’re here. I wanted you to be.’

‘You did, Nan? Truly?’

‘Honest to God. Now – are we goin’ inside for a drink, or shall we have a stroll and a chat, before it gets dark?’

‘Whatever you want. We could, of course, sit in the car…?’

‘The car? You got a motor, Chas?’

‘I sort of share one. She’s a little darling. Come and meet her?’ He led her to a small car, a baby Austin, with one door tied up with wire and a mudguard missing. ‘We call her Boadicea.’

‘You call her what !’

Nan knew about Queen Boadicea. Indeed, she’d had nothing but admiration for the tribal queen who rebelled against the Romans who shouldn’t have been in England the first place!

‘But Chas – that motor isn’t one bit like a war chariot! Not the one Boadicea drove. Pulled by horses hers was and it had steel blades sticking out of the wheels so anybody that got a bit close got their legs cut off at the knees! That little thing shouldn’t be called Boadicea!’

‘What, then?’ He grinned.

‘We-e-ll – something like Violet or Primrose. Something delicate, sort of – and helpless!’

‘Sorry, Nan. Boadicea she is.’ He patted the bonnet with a gentle hand. ‘It was my turn to have her, tonight. She belonged to an air-gunner who didn’t make it back, so we kind of took her over.’

‘But where do you get petrol from?’ Petrol was severely rationed.

‘We sort of come by it. You can usually get hold of the odd gallon if you know where to look. And Boadicea goes a long way on a gallon.’

‘Y-yes. Well, I suppose we’d better go inside. I fancy a glass of shandy. How about you, Chas?’

‘Anything you say. I reckon we’ve got a lot of talking to do. And I’ll run you back in her.’

‘Do you know where my billet is – in the dark, I mean, and without lights? And can you find your way back to the aerodrome, from Heronflete?’

‘Darling girl, I can navigate my way to Berlin and back in the blackout – and without lights, too. Boadicea might have seen better days, but I trust her implicitly.’

‘Then I’ll be glad of a lift, only I haven’t got a late pass. I’ll have to be in by half-past ten or I’ll be in trouble.’

‘Don’t worry. We’ll have you home in good time.’ He took her hand, pulling it through his arm. ‘Like I said, you & I have a lot of catching up to do.’

And Nan let slip a little sigh, and thought how nice it was to be walking arm in arm with a young man who called her darling girl. And, of far more importance, a young man who hadn’t stammered once since they met. Now that really was something!

‘Feeling better now?’ Evie asked softly.

‘Yes. And sorry I made such a show of myself. I can usually cope with things. I’ve had to, y’see, me being what you might call a fatherless only child. And you must think I’m dreadful, leaving my mother on her own like I did. But it seemed to be the only way out. And I’m not making a fuss, truly I’m not.’

‘You’ve every right to make a fuss. Getting married is for life, Carrie, and best you sort yourself out now than be sorry, afterwards. And can I just say, that in my opinion, Jeffrey should have been a bit more – well – careful, when it was your first time. Bob was lovely – so gentle – but it seems to me that Jeffrey just rushed in without any talking – y’know, love words – or coaxing and kissing. And touching, too. Touching is very important; makes you want to as much as he does. But then, it might have been his first time, too – had you thought about that?’

‘No I hadn’t. I suppose it could have been like that for him, too. But why didn’t he tell me, instead of just demanding and snatching, Evie? I think I’d have felt a bit better about it if he’d been straight with me.’

‘Yes – we-e-ll – you’re both going to have to be honest with each other, and both of you must try not to be accusing, or bitter. Just try to talk -or write – as friends; loving friends.’