Elizabeth Elgin - Where Bluebells Chime

‘Okay. It’s Creesby, then. But be careful, Tatty – you know what I mean? ‘Bye …’

‘And what did Tatiana want, or shouldn’t I ask?’ Alice fixed her daughter with a stare, one eyebrow raised.

‘No you shouldn’t ask, Mam, but I’ll tell you. She’s meeting Tim Thomson and she wanted to know if I’ll be at the Creesby dance on Wednesday. Her mother’s a bit stuffy about her going there.’

‘So she told her mother that you were going?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you aren’t, Daisy. It’s your medical the day after. Now you mustn’t get drawn into things!’

‘Mam, Tatty knows what she’s doing. And I don’t know why her mother tries to wrap her in cotton wool all the time.’

‘Happen it’s the way Russian mothers do it.’

‘Well, it’s stupid of her because Tatty’s as English as I am! And Tim’s a decent sort, though I don’t suppose Grandmother Petrovska would approve of him.’

‘What do you mean – approve?’ Alice looked alarmed. ‘Are things getting serious between them?’

‘Don’t think so, but you know what Tatty’s like. If it’s got anything to do with aeroplanes or aircrew, she’s mad about it. And Tim’s a good dancer, too.’

She turned to fidget with the cutlery on the table, straightening it, shifting the cruet so her mother should not see the flush that stained her cheeks. Mam knew she always went red when she told a lie, and Tatty was serious about Tim. Head over heels, truth known.

‘I still think she’s too young to be out alone.’

‘She’s eighteen, Mam!’

‘Yes, but she’s so – so unworldly to my way of thinking. They should have sent her to school instead of having that governess teach her; let her see how the other half lives!’

‘There’s nothing wrong with Tatty. And what’s that? Smells good.’ Deftly she steered the conversation into safer channels as her mother took a pie from the oven.

‘Woolton pie. Again.’ Once she’d have been ashamed to serve such a poor dish, but needs must these days. There had been a small piece of meat left over from Sunday dinner and a jug of good gravy, so a little meat, gravy, and a lot of vegetables were covered with a suet crust and heaven only knew what they would do if suet went on the ration! She glanced towards the window as the barking of dogs told her her husband was home. ‘Get the plates out of the oven, there’s a good girl, whilst I strain the carrots. And, Daisy – tell Tatiana to be careful. You know what I mean …?’

‘She is careful, Mam.’

‘Yes – well that’s as maybe.’ Alice had not forgotten what it was like to be eighteen and in love. She offered her cheek, smiling, for Tom’s kiss.

Come to think of it, she was still in love.

‘Sorry I’m late, Mr Catchpole.’ Gracie arrived, breathless, pulling her bounty behind her. ‘Found it in Brattocks Wood. It looks good and dry – thought it would do for the fire. Hope it was all right to take it?’

‘Course it was, as long as nobody saw you with it.’ Jack regarded the branch of fallen wood. ‘Get it stuck behind the shed and us’ll get the saw to it later. And Miss Julia was asking for you.’

‘I’ve seen her. Home Farm is letting her have six pullets so she’s going into Creesby to the Food Office and getting their egg coupons changed to hen-meal coupons. Seems there’s a shed at the back of Keeper’s Cottage that no one uses. Said it needs a bit of repairing and she asked me to – er – mention it to you.’

‘And I suppose her expects me to see to it? Well, I’m a gardener; no good with hammer and nails. You’d best see Will Stubbs – he’s the handyman.’ Jack shook his head mournfully. ‘I mind the time when there was an estate carpenter here, but not any longer. And when you see Will Stubbs, tell him as how Miss Julia’ll need chicken wire and posts for them birds. I suppose Alice Dwerryhouse doesn’t mind having hens in the shed at the back?’

‘Don’t think so, Mr C. Mrs Sutton said that Daisy’s mam would be saving her scraps and peelings for me.’

‘And where are you goin’ to boil the stuff for the hen mash, then?’

‘We-e-ll – I did suggest the potting-shed fire, for the time being. After all,’ she hastened, ‘that would give you first refusal of the hen muck when I clean out the shed each week. Would only be fair,’ she stressed.

‘Fair.’ Jack Catchpole coveted the droppings to make into liquid manure. When it came to fertilizers, hen droppings were in a class of their own. ‘You got a pan for the fire, then?’

‘No, but Mrs Sutton is sure there are old iron pans they used to use at Rowangarth before they got a gas stove. I’m to have a word with Cook about it. Tilda never throws anything away, I believe.’

‘So it’s all cut and dried, Gracie,’ he murmured, relieved the hens would be housed well away from his garden.

‘Almost. I’m really looking forward to having them.’

‘Do you like it here, lass? Are you going to settle?’

‘Oh, yes ! I knew it the day I came. No complaints, I hope? I’m doing my best,’ she added anxiously.

‘Aye. You’m a trier, I’ll say that for you, and as long as you see to it that I get that hen muck and don’t let Tom Dwerryhouse get his hands on it, I won’t grumble.’

Gracie let go a sigh of pure contentment. Of course she was going to settle at Rowangarth – for the duration, if she had anything to do with it. She loved living in the country; even in winter when it would be cold and wet and muddy she would still love it. She liked the land girls in the bothy, too, and the food was every bit as good as Mam’s. And Daisy and Tatty were nice and Drew was lovely and not a bit snobby like she’d thought a sir would be. And then she felt a terrible sense of guilt.

‘Oh dear, Mr C. I’m enjoying this war and I shouldn’t be, should I?’

‘Happen not, lass.’ He gave her shoulder a brief, fatherly pat. ‘But take my advice and make the most of the good days, ’cause for every good day, there could well be a bad one. Now get that branch out of sight like I told you and let’s get on with some work. Have you ever clipped a box hedge, Gracie?’

‘I haven’t, Mr Catchpole.’ Until she came to Rowangarth she hadn’t even seen a box hedge.

‘Then today, lass, you’m about to learn!’

‘You aren’t one bit interested in my medical, are you, Tatty? You’re miles away.’

‘No, Daisy, I’m not – not miles away, I mean. But they’ve been doing circuits and bumps all day at Holdenby Moor and you know what that means?’

‘Mm.’ Bombers taking off, doing two or three circuits of the aerodrome, then landing. Flight-testing the aircraft, which was always a giveaway that they’d be operational that night. ‘But they mightn’t go, Tatty.’

‘They’ll go, all right. There’s no moon at all – not until the new one on Tuesday. Perfect flying conditions.’

‘Fine. They’ll have good cover, then. Fighters won’t find them so easily. Don’t worry so, please. It’s the Air Ministry’s job to worry about flying conditions and it’s yours to wish Tim luck every inch of the way; get him back safely. And Tatty – try not to get too involved.’

‘Why? Because he’s a tail-gunner and gunners get killed, even when the rest of the crew make it back? And why shouldn’t I get involved? Why did you get involved with Keth?’

‘Because I love him.’ It was as simple as that.

‘And I’m not capable of falling in love, is that what you’re trying to say?’

‘ No! But I’ve known Keth all my life. He’s always been there. When did you meet Tim? You hardly know him!’

‘You know when I met him! I’ve known him thirty-seven days exactly. And I loved him the minute I saw him and now it’s more serious than that.’