The Farmer's Daughter (23 page)

‘OK, I'll talk to Pa about it.'

Elizabeth deplored the way that Jean was now being excluded from decisions about the farm, but decided she had said enough for the time being.

Two days later, Gordon clambered down into a ditch to clear a bramble that had become so overgrown it was obstructing the flow of water and in so doing his peg leg became stuck in several
inches of mud. After struggling for several minutes and shouting for someone to give him a hand, he realised there was nothing for it but to unstrap the leg and haul himself out without it. He was lying exhausted on the bank when Jean found him.

She fetched his crutches, so that he could make his way back to the house. ‘Whatever made you do it?' she said, walking slowly beside him.

‘It needed doing.'

‘I know, but I can't be everywhere at once. Now I've got to put waders on and retrieve that leg. I could have done without that, Gordon.'

‘OK. Get the Jerry back. Just until I get my new leg.'

It was hell being a prisoner again after the relative freedom of Briar Rose Farm, made worse by the snide remarks of his fellows. ‘Here comes the
Engländer
' one of them taunted as he entered the hut and dropped his kitbag onto one of the beds. ‘
Fräulein
turn you out, did she?'

‘No. The son of the house has been repatriated.'

‘The British are being repatriated, but what about us? They are never going to send us home. Slave labour, that's all we are to them. It's time we repatriated ourselves.'

‘The war is over, surely you are not still talking about escape?'

‘Yes, we are.'

‘You can count me out.'

‘Don't you want to go home?'

‘Naturally, I do, but I am prepared to wait. The Geneva Convention says the opposing sides have to repatriate their prisoners as soon as possible after an armistice.'

‘Studied it, have you?'

‘I've read it.'

‘But what if there is no armistice, no government to negotiate with, no country even? They can do what they like with us.'

He could see the reasoning behind their argument and it cast a doubt in his mind. Then he shook it from him. There were plans to repatriate them, there must be. The population of Great Britain would not stand for thousands of aliens in the country once their own men were all home again.

He existed from day-to-day, doing woodwork, playing chess with Otto and teaching English to some of his fellow prisoners. It was a boring existence; he would much rather have been working at the farm. He thought constantly of Jean, remembering their conversations, her laughter, the touch of her hand, the sweetness of her lips on his. Would he ever feel that again? She had told him they would still need him, but that seemed not to be the case. He would simply have to wait to be sent home. Repatriation was going to take time, it stood to reason, but he would not join in with the crazy idea to escape. It would only result in the escapees' repatriation being delayed. He knew the ‘whites' were due to be sent home first, followed by the ‘greys', according to how long they had been prisoners. Perhaps he ought to concentrate on that.

He was wondering whether he dare risk trying to sneak out of camp to see Jean, when he was sent for and told he was being sent back to the farm. Mr Coleman had asked for him.

The arrival of Karl lifted a great burden from Jean's shoulders. ‘Oh, Karl, I'm so pleased to see you.'

‘And I you. I did not think your family wanted me again.'

‘Can't do without you,' she said cheerfully.

‘You are looking tired. It's not been easy, has it?'

He seemed to understand her moods better than she did herself. ‘You could say that. I lost my patience with Gordon and
now I feel really guilty. I should try harder to understand. He didn't want to go to that damned party and I persuaded him. It must have been terrible for him watching everyone dancing and not being able to do it himself. Even his fiancée left him to dance with someone else.'

‘That was perhaps insensitive of her.'

‘Yes and so I told her and now we are not speaking to each other and Gordon's in a filthy mood. It's all such a mess.' She paused. ‘I shouldn't be talking to you like this.'

‘Why not? You can tell me whatever you like, I shall not repeat it. But I can understand how your brother feels. We long for freedom, but when it comes …' He shrugged. ‘We are not sure how to deal with it.'

She looked at him sharply. ‘You've had news about your repatriation?'

‘No, nor is there likely to be. Europe is full of people in the wrong place, wandering about, trying to find their way home. The Red Cross are doing their best and the military authorities have to sort out priorities but it all takes time.' Germany had been divided into four zones for administration purposes: British, American, Russian and French. Berlin was firmly in the Russian zone but that, too, had been divided into four with a long corridor giving the other Allies access. How that would work in practice, he had no idea. Germany as a state no longer existed.

‘Have you heard from your parents?'

‘No. I've been allowed to write postcards, but nothing so far. I'll have to go when my time comes. You do understand, don't you?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘But if you want me, I will come back.'

‘I want you, you know I do.'

‘Then I will move heaven and earth to be here.' He paused to search her face. ‘It will not be easy for you, you know that, don't you? There will be animosity and prejudice. I do not want you to be under any illusions about that.'

‘I'm not. As long as we have each other, we'll manage.'

He paused as if wanting to add to that, but then changed his mind. ‘What would you like me to do this morning?'

‘Let's feed the pigs for a start, then we'll make a start on the hay.'

They fetched the buckets of pig swill from the shed, picked them up and crossed the yard to the orchard. He smiled. ‘You were doing this when I first came to work for you, do you remember? It is almost exactly a year.'

‘Yes, it must be. A lot has happened, some good and some bad, but the best has been meeting you.'

‘And I you.
Ich liebe dich, mein Liebling
.'

‘One of these days you must teach me German.'

She turned to see Gordon limping towards them. The ground in the orchard was rough and his progress was slow, but neither went to help him. Jean knew he would shrug them off if they did. Karl stood with an empty bucket in his hand and waited.

‘Gordon, this is Sergeant Muller,' she said when he reached them. ‘Karl, my brother, Gordon.'

Karl came to attention and bowed his head. Gordon did not offer his hand but looked him up and down. ‘What did you have your heads together about?'

‘We were talking about cutting the hay. Are you going to help us with it?'

‘I don't think so. I'm off to the pub. I'll see you later.' He turned and made his way back to the yard.

They took the swill buckets back, then made their way to the
meadow as they had done the year before, except now they used cutters attached to the tractor and not scythes. That was not the only difference; they were no longer strangers, no longer guard and prisoner. In all but the consummate act, they were lovers. They had been tempted, had kissed, petted and stroked, but had always drawn back, not because of lack of commitment but because the future was so uncertain and pregnancy a risk they were not prepared to take. But it was oh-so hard, and becoming harder.

June gave way to July. Jean and Karl were kept busy shearing sheep, raking up the hay and building a stack, and preparing for the harvest, not helped by Gordon who didn't seem to want to do anything. Jean's gentle chivvying only produced an angry retort to leave him alone.

He would spend hours in the Plough and Harrow, sometimes alone, sometimes with the elderly John Barry who always occupied the chair by the hearth, summer and winter, and sometimes with Bill Howson when he had finished his day's work. What they found to talk about, Jean had no idea. Sometimes he came home half-drunk, his spirits high and he would laugh and joke and tease. At other times he would be morose and uncommunicative and snap at everyone.

‘I do think he might make a bit of effort,' Jean said to her mother one lunchtime after a particularly trying morning.

‘I don't suppose he feels up to it yet,' Doris said. Gordon had not come home for the midday meal and she was putting his plate of food on a saucepan of boiling water to keep it hot.

‘He wasn't put to work in the camp and he's got out of the habit of it,' Jean said. ‘It's a pity they didn't make the officers work as well as the men.'

‘He wouldn't have been able to do it, would he? Not with his leg. Be patient, Jean. Give him time. He deserves a bit of a holiday. Besides, when he goes back to Cosford, they'll give him a proper leg and that will make all the difference.'

Jean, who was almost crying with fatigue, left the house before she could say what she really thought of her idle brother. She admitted there were some jobs he could not do, but he could feed the chickens and pigs and help with the milking, but he said that was women's work. ‘Besides,' he had said, when she remonstrated with him. ‘You've got all the help you need. You don't need me.'

Telling Karl not to come was not the answer; Gordon could not do everything Karl did. Besides, she didn't want to lose him. It was seeing his cheerful countenance and hearing him singing as he worked that kept her going.

Gordon returned to Cosford at the end of his leave and was gone a week. When he came back he was still wearing his peg leg. It was raining hard and blowing a gale and he had a job to keep his balance as he walked down the slope of the railway platform to the lane where Jean had parked the truck. He was determined not to use the crutches which Jean was carrying for him.

‘How was it?' she asked when he was settled in the passenger seat and they set off for home.

‘I've been measured up for a new leg. I have to go back when they send for me to have it fitted.'

‘Are you disappointed you didn't get it straight away?'

‘Course I am. German surgeons don't do things quite the same way as the English ones and Stanislaw, the man who made the peg leg, was a carpenter not a medical man, and he didn't understand about muscles and tendons, things like that, so they are going to have to take a bit more off my stump.'

‘Oh, dear. Will you lose your knee?'

‘They said not. I just have to be patient for a little longer, but after waiting five years, it's a bit of a blow.'

‘Yes, but it's best to get it right, isn't it? Then you will be ready for anything.'

‘Even Rosie. If she can get over bursting into tears the minute she sees me.'

‘She will. Give her time.'

‘We had a long talk the last time I saw her. She promised to try, but she wouldn't promise not to go dancing.'

‘Gordon, you can't expect her to. She hasn't lost her leg and she loves dancing. As long as she loves you and wants to be with you, you'll get on. And who knows, when you get the hang of your new leg, you might be able to dance too.'

He laughed. ‘Oh, Sis, you sound just like Mum, talking to me as if I were a child. She has some excuse, but not you.'

‘Sorry, didn't mean to preach. Rosie still loves you, you know.'

He laughed. ‘Put your own love life in order before you meddle in mine, Sis.'

‘I don't have a love life.'

‘What about Bill?'

‘That died a death, if it ever was.'

‘Are you sure about that? I don't think Bill thinks so.'

‘Have you been talking to him about me?'

‘No, only he said you were a bit cool with him these days and he blamed the Jerry.'

‘His name's Karl, not Jerry,' she said. ‘Why can't you say his name? And it has nothing to do with him.'

‘OK, keep your shirt on. But I should warn you people are talking.'

‘It's a pity they haven't got something better to talk about. Let's go home. Mum will be on tenterhooks to know how you got on.'

A general election in July resulted in a landslide victory for Clement Attlee and his Labour Party based on a promise to the returning troops that there would be jobs and houses for all. It was a promise impossible to keep. There was austerity and hardship; rationing was as strict as ever and there was a chronic shortage of housing. Women who had worked throughout the war were being dismissed in favour of returning soldiers which caused a certain amount of resentment among them. In Little Bushey, the men found it difficult to settle down to being farm labourers again and, on some farms, mechanisation had taken the place of men and they became redundant.

Knowing he could not manage the farm, even with Jean's help, Gordon settled for a wary working relationship with Karl. Every morning Karl went to Gordon and politely asked for instructions. Gordon, who stuck strictly to the no fraternisation rules, would answer curtly and Karl would go to find Jean.

‘He said to plough in the potato tops,' he told her one morning.

‘OK. I think we'd better use the horses. That tractor drinks petrol.' She sighed. ‘Gordon thinks we should sell them. He says they don't pay for their keep now we have the tractor. Pa is against it, but I suppose it will have to happen one day.'

‘Will you have the ploughing match again this year?' he asked, as they brought Dobbin and Robin out of the stable.

‘I expect so, but I don't think I'll enter. It might upset Gordon. He was once very good at it himself. Pa taught him when he was only a nipper. He won't want to watch me doing something he would like to do.'

‘Perhaps he can try this year.' He paused, looking up to see
Gordon limping towards them. He was still having trouble with his stump. ‘He is coming across to us.'