The Farmer's Daughter (17 page)

They streamed out of the church at the end of the service to find there had been a light dusting of snow. ‘A white Christmas,' Jean said as they congregated in the churchyard and the children began scraping it up in their gloved hands. There was hardly enough to make a snowball. Jean went over to Bill and Mrs Howson. ‘Thank you for the blouse,' she said, after wishing them a happy Christmas. ‘I shall probably wear it a lot.'

‘I told William that you would be a thirty-four and I was right, wasn't I?' Mrs Howson said.

‘Yes, it fits beautifully.'

‘I'll pick you up for the New Year's Eve dance, shall I?' Bill queried.

He had been taking her to the dance in the village hall every
year since her parents decided she was old enough to go out with boys. She could think of no valid reason for refusing to go this year. To have done so would have invited an interrogation and she didn't want that. ‘Yes, I'm looking forward to it.'

Arthur complained of being cold, although he was wearing a thick scarf over his coat and had a warm rug wrapped round his legs. ‘Let's get home in the warm.'

Doris wished everyone a happy Christmas and turned to the boys and Lily. ‘Come along, you three, we're going home for our dinner.'

Lily was coming back with them for the rest of the day, so that she could be with Terry. She slipped her hand into Jean's and skipped happily along beside her. ‘Father Christmas came in the night and put presents in my sock.'

‘What did he bring you?'

‘A colouring book and coloured crayons and some mittens. See.' She held up her hands to show off a pair of bright red mittens. ‘There was an apple and a bag of jelly babies. I bit the heads off them.'

In spite of the rationing and the shortages, Christmas dinner was a feast and afterwards Don and Terry went off on their bicycles. Jean and Doris decided to take Lily for a walk, leaving Arthur snoozing by the fire.

Their road took them through the village, where they stopped to chat to other people they met, and on to the road past the POW camp. There were one or two prisoners walking about the compound, but most were inside. They could hear singing coming from one of the huts. The tune was familiar to them but the words were not.
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht.

‘It's “Silent Night”,' Jean said as they stood and listened. ‘How lovely it sounds. You see, they are not a Godless nation.' The end
of the first verse,
‘Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!'
faded into silence. ‘They sing of peace, just as we do.'

‘It's a lovely carol,' Doris said. ‘But the rector wouldn't have it in the service when we were discussing the carols. He said it might offend some people.'

‘How narrow-minded. Those men in there,' she nodded towards the high wire, ‘want peace as much as we do. They have homes and loved ones and they are worried about them, just as we are about ours.' If she had hoped for a glimpse of Karl, she was disappointed. Did it mean he was still in hospital? ‘We'd better turn back. I've got the cows to milk and all the rest of the animals to feed before tea.'

Bill, dressed in a lounge suit and striped tie and with his hair slicked down, came at seven o'clock on New Year's Eve to take Jean to the dance. She had taken trouble with her appearance, dressing up, setting her hair nicely and making-up her face, wearing her one and only pair of silk stockings.

‘Will I do?' she asked, twirling and making the skirt of her blue silk dress swirl about her.

He looked her up and down. ‘You look smashing.'

‘I'll get my coat and hat.'

The blackout had been lifted except for attic windows, and lights shone from every window of the village hall. They could hear the music long before they reached it. ‘More like old times,' Bill said.

‘Yes, isn't it?' They shed their coats and in no time at all they were dancing. He was determined not to quarrel with her and was particularly attentive, helped by some of Mrs Maynard's elderberry wine. The big clock over the door reached midnight and everyone stopped dancing to wish each other a happy new year. The last
waltz was danced very slowly, with their arms round each other, at the end of which they sang ‘Auld Lang Syne' and stood to attention for the national anthem. Mr Harris packed up his records and everyone drifted out into the cold January air. They walked back to the farm at peace with each other.

‘Mustn't wake everyone up,' she whispered, leading the way into the kitchen. ‘I'll make some cocoa.'

‘Never mind the cocoa,' he said, trying to take her into his arms. She wriggled away. ‘Now what's the matter?'

‘Nothing.' The euphoria of the dance had worn off and she was acutely aware that she should have been honest with him and told him how she felt about Karl. The deception was wearing her out. ‘Bill …' she began but stopped when she heard someone come out of a bedroom upstairs.

‘Is that you, Jean?' Doris called down from the landing.

‘Yes, Mum. I'm just coming up.'

Bill grinned ruefully. ‘I'd better go. I don't want your Ma coming down, accusing me of leading you astray.' He grinned. ‘Not that I wouldn't like to …'

She gave him a gentle push towards the door.

The new year began very coldly with several inches of snow. Donald and Terry helped Jean clear the yard, shovelling snow up on one side where they made a huge snowman, with two coal eyes and a carrot nose. When Jean considered they had done their bit, they were allowed to go off and try out the toboggan on the nearest hill. With Lily screaming in front of him, Terry sent it flying down towards the pit, careful to steer away before they tumbled in. Donald took his turn. They did it again and again until, rosy-cheeked, they put Lily on the sled and pulled it to Mrs Harris's house, where she ran indoors. The boys continued on their way.

‘Where'd you get the sledge?' Eddie Slater asked. He was with a crowd of other boys.

‘Sergeant Muller made it for me.' Terry said. ‘It's a beaut, ain't it?'

‘The Jerry, you mean? You aren't supposed to talk to them, let alone take presents off them. I'll tell on yer.'

‘And I'll tell on you, getting sausages and chops for your ma,' Terry retorted.

‘She don't hev more than her ration.'

‘Oh, yeh, pull the other one.'

The result was a brawl. Others who had been standing by awaiting developments joined in and the result was several bloody noses.

Doris was appalled when the boys finally arrived home. ‘What on earth have you two been up to?' she demanded. ‘Have you been fighting? Really boys, why can't you get on together without quarrelling?'

‘We haven't quarrelled,' Terry said. ‘At least not with each other. It was Eddie Slater. He said my toboggan had to be confiscated on account I wasn't supposed to take presents from a Jerry. Is that true?'

‘Well, in a way, I suppose it is,' Jean said. ‘Not about it being confiscated, but about accepting gifts. Perhaps you should not have said who gave it to you.'

‘I wouldn't have, if I'd known. Now he's got it.'

‘He took it off you?'

‘Him and about six others,' Donald said. ‘If he'd been alone he never would have.'

Jean reached for her coat and hat. ‘I'm going to sort this out right now.'

She found Eddie at home having a black eye bathed by his
mother. ‘What do you want?' Mrs Slater demanded before Jean could speak.

‘I've come for Terry's toboggan. Your son stole it from him.'

‘He shouldn't have had it in the first place. It's ag'in the law to take things off Jerries.'

‘And who are you to say what's law and what isn't? I know enough to know that taking something that doesn't belong to you is theft.'

‘You going to report it then? What do you think Constable Worth will say? You're the one in trouble, not my Eddie. Look what your boys did to him.'

Jean kept her temper with an effort. ‘We shall see, shall we? Do you want your son up before Sir Edward like all the other criminals he has to deal with? He will be if I go to the constable, and he'll have a criminal record against him. Where Terry got the toboggan from makes no difference to that.' She sincerely hoped she was right because Mrs Slater was wavering.

‘Eddie hasn't got it. I don't know where it is.'

Jean turned to the boy; he looked as though he had come off worse than Don or Terry in the skirmish. ‘We were playing on it and it went in the pit.'

‘Which pit?'

‘Yours. That's the only place where there's a bit of a hill.'

‘He nearly went in himself,' Mrs Slater said. ‘As it is his trousers and socks were soaked.'

‘Are you telling the truth, Eddie?' Jean demanded.

‘Yes, honest to God. We only wanted to have a go on it.'

‘I'll soon find out.'

As she turned and left she heard Mrs Slater say, ‘Jerry-lover.'

She ignored it but the shaft went home. Was that what she could expect, simply because she befriended a lonely prisoner
of war? Or had everyone guessed the truth? How much did she care? She cared for Karl's sake, not her own, and was glad he had not heard it. It was already dark, too late to try and retrieve the toboggan even if it was retrievable. It would have to be left until the next day.

The pit was frozen, but there was a hole in the ice near the edge where the toboggan had gone through. Knowing how deep it was, Jean was afraid there was nothing they could do to get it out.

‘Couldn't we dangle a hook in and try to grab it?' Terry suggested. He was really down over its loss, especially as Don and Lily still had their gifts.

‘You'd have to go on the ice to do that and it isn't thick enough to bear your weight,' Jean said. ‘You are not to attempt it, do you hear? I don't want to have to tell your mum you drowned in our pit.'

‘Could we try from the bank with a fishing rod?'

‘I doubt it would work, but if you promise not to go on the ice, you can try if you like. I've got work to do.'

She left them. They fetched a fishing rod and some string and tied one of the meat hooks used for hanging bacon on the end and cast it into the hole. It took several tries even to get into the hole and then they hooked up nothing but weeds. They tried all morning before giving up and going back to the farm. ‘Mr Karl made that 'specially for me, what's he going to say?' Terry said. He was both angry and tearful, though the tears he tried to keep hidden.

‘He'll know it wasn't your fault,' Jean said, while wondering if he would ever hear of it. She had no idea how he was or even if he was still at Bushey camp. Not knowing was tearing her to pieces.

On the last day of January, the Russians crossed the German border and Jean's heart went out to Karl, knowing he was bound to hear of it. And in the Netherlands the Allies reached the Rhine. It could not be long now before Hitler sued for peace. He would surely not allow his people to be put in jeopardy by fighting on German soil? They had already suffered enough through the relentless bombing. Her mother talked about it all the time, always with reference to Gordon.

‘It must be over soon,' she said more than once. ‘Oh, it will be so good to have him home and working on the farm like he used to.'

The men in the
Stalag
could hear the Russian guns clearly and bets were being taken on how long it would be before they reached it. After nearly six years of war, all they wanted was to be free. The Germans were defending every inch but the camp security was not relaxed one jot. There was still roll call twice a day and rations were even smaller than they had been, nothing but barley soup and coarse bread. If it had not been for the Red Cross parcels they would surely have starved. Or frozen. It was bitterly cold and the snow was several inches deep. Keeping warm was another struggle. They had resorted to burning their bunks and sleeping on the floor. Some of the prisoners were set to work clearing the snow from around the huts. It was a way of keeping warm, Gordon supposed, but he could not do it without slipping and falling over. His request for a proper false limb had gone unanswered and he knew he would not be given one now until he reached home.

They were not digging tunnels now. A good number had escaped through the last one the year before, although all but three had been caught. While on the run they had caused widespread
disruption and had hundreds of German military looking for them, a fact which pleased those left in the camp. There had been other failed attempts but now it looked as though it would be the Red Army who freed them and that worried some, particularly the Poles, who knew what the Russian regime was like.

‘I'm off as soon as I see them on the road,' Stanislaw told Gordon. ‘No way am I going to land in their hands. I'd rather die first.'

‘They are our allies.'

‘So long as it suits them. You wait. You'll find out how much they care about that, if you let them take you.'

The guns were closer now. The German guards were jittery, everyone could see that, and the
Kommandant
had ordered a huge bonfire outside his office where they were burning papers. Smoke and black smuts drifted across the compound. Stan was making his preparations, gathering what food and warm clothing he could. Gordon would have liked to go with him, but he would have been a liability and would not ask it of his friend.

In the end Stanislaw did not need to set off alone because they were all told to be ready to leave the following morning. Speculating on where they were going and how they were going to get there, they gathered up their belongings, mostly spare socks and underwear, a tin used to eat out of, a spoon and whatever food they had hoarded which was little enough, tying it up in blankets. It was quite weighty for men weakened by hunger.