The Farmer's Daughter (25 page)

Bill laughed. ‘No, course not. But I'm blowed if I'm going to grovel. There's plenty more fish in the sea.' He drank the last of his beer and put his glass down. ‘I'm off back to work or we'll never be done.'

Gordon sat on, sipping his beer now and again, and when it was finished called for another.

‘Sorry, Gordon, I don't have any more until the brewer delivers,' John Heacham, the landlord, told him. ‘You can have a whisky, if you like. I keep it under the counter for regulars.'

‘Make it a double.'

Gordon had warned Jean the villagers would not turn up to help with the harvest but Jean hadn't believed him. They had always helped each other when the time came, had been doing it for generations and she didn't see why they would refuse this year. Whatever the reason, it seemed Gordon was right. The reaper and the man and land girl who came with it turned up on time, but the villagers did not, not even the children. Jean looked for them in vain. ‘Looks as though we are on our own,' she told Karl. ‘They must have more important things to do.'

‘All of them?' he queried.

‘Seems so. You carry on. I'm going back to the house to round up some help.'

The rest of the family were having breakfast when she arrived. ‘Don, I need you,' she said. ‘The reaper is in the field and there's no one to do the stooking.'

‘I told you so,' Gordon said.

‘Yes, you did. Now I wonder why they haven't come?'

‘I don't know, do I?' Gordon said. He was dressed and shaved so the nurse had been and gone.

‘I think you do. It's to do with Karl, isn't it? He was here last year and no one batted an eyelid, so why would they decide not to turn up this year if someone hadn't got at them? What did you tell them? That he was dangerous or something equally silly?'

‘Me? Why should I do that?'

‘Because you are mean and uncharitable and you've got a chip on your shoulder as big as a tree.'

‘Jean!' their mother protested.

‘It's true, Mum, and you know it. Now I'm short of workers and if the villagers won't come, then I need to call on the family.'

‘Well, it's no good calling on me,' Gordon said.

‘No, I know that,' she retorted. ‘Don, hurry and finish your
breakfast and get up to the top field. We've only got the reaper for today.'

‘I hate working on the farm.'

‘Nevertheless you will do it,' Doris told him quietly. She turned to Jean. ‘I'll settle your father and come up myself later. I've no doubt Gran will give a hand too. I'll call in on my way.'

Jean hugged her mother. ‘Thanks, Mum, you're a brick.' As she left Jean heard her mother gently chiding Gordon and her father grunting angrily, but she doubted it would make any difference.

The reaper did its job and the wheat was cut. Her little band of workers, the land girl, Karl, Don, her mother and grandmother, helped her pick up the sheaves of cut corn the binder had tied and set them in stooks in neat rows across the field. The last few yards of standing corn had sent the rabbits scurrying for safety and most of these had been dispatched. Everyone went back to the house, very hot, very tired and very grubby, but satisfied with their day's work.

‘It was because of me, wasn't it?' Karl said to Jean as they walked back to the farm. ‘The people will not work with me.'

‘We don't know that. After all, you were with us last year; no one objected to your presence or refused to work then. Anyway, it doesn't matter. We got the job done without them.' She smiled wryly. ‘When the chips are down, you find out who your real friends are.'

‘Chips are down?' he queried. ‘What does that mean?'

She laughed. ‘It's just a saying. It means when you are in trouble, it is your true friends who come to your aid.'

‘Your family, yes?'

‘And you. I would rather have you than a dozen villagers.'

‘Jean, that is a foolish thing to say. They are your people, you have known them all your life. You have to live with them …'

‘When you are gone, is that what you mean?'

‘I suppose I do.'

‘Let's not think of that. You are here now.'

‘I am going to dive into the pit to cool off,' he said, nodding towards the expanse of water at the end of the orchard. On a hot day like this it reflected the blue of the sky and looked inviting.

‘Have you got a costume?'

He laughed. ‘Do I need one?'

‘Just make sure you're not seen, that's all. And be careful, that pit is deep and full of weeds. I'll see you later.' Nowadays it did not cross her mind that she ought to supervise him. In any case, she could hardly stand over him while he took his dip.

Gordon was in the yard. ‘Where's Jerry?'

‘Gone swimming to cool off.'

‘Good. I hope he drowns.'

‘Gordon, why do you hate him so much?'

‘He's a Jerry, an enemy of all we stand for, that's why.'

‘But the Bible teaches us to love our enemies.'

‘Good God, Jean, you don't love the man, do you?'

‘I do not hate him.' To her relief he let that pass. ‘You know, Gordon, you are becoming a bore. Talk about the Nazis being fanatical, you are just as bad.'

‘With good reason. I've witnessed what they can do first-hand and it is far from pleasant. I could tell you tales that would make your hair stand on end …' He stopped suddenly.

‘Not Karl's fault.'

‘They're all the same. I'm off where the company's more congenial.'

He turned his back on her and stomped away. He was limping badly and she wondered if he was in pain, which might account for some of his bad temper. She had little idea what he had been
through while a prisoner, he always stopped short of talking about it. She ought to be more sympathetic.

She went back to the house. All the doors and windows were open but the air outside was as hot as that inside. Her father was reading the newspaper in the sitting room which was cooler than the kitchen. Her mother was cleaning eggs in the dairy. The stone floor and marble worktops kept the temperature down a little. Jean went up to her room, changed into her swimming costume, put her shirt and slacks over the top, grabbed a towel and went out again.

Karl was floating on his back in the middle of the pit. He was not completely naked; she could see he was still wearing his army issue underpants. She stripped off her trousers and shirt and waded in where the cows had trodden a path down to the water. Usually it was muddy, but now the sun had baked it into hard ridges. As soon as she was up to her waist, she started to swim towards him.

He turned himself over and reached out for her hands. They trod water. She found herself looking into his face, shining with droplets of water; there was one in his eyelashes, she noticed, and his wet hair curled in his neck and over his ears. Like that he was even more desirable. She put her arms about his neck.
‘Ich liebe dich,'
she murmured.

‘You are learning,' he said, kissing her. She tilted her face upwards. The sky was an unbroken blue, the sun a brilliant orb.

‘It's so peaceful here,' she murmured. ‘There is no hate, no one is killing anyone else. I wish it could be like this everywhere.'

‘Amen to that.'

Suddenly she laughed, broke away and began slapping her hands on the surface to shower him with water. He dived. She had
no idea where he was. She looked about her but he didn't come up again. ‘Karl!' she shouted, swimming round in a circle and growing more and more panic-stricken. ‘Where are you? Don't play the fool.'

He surfaced right in front of her, shaking the water from his hair and laughing. ‘God, you frightened me,' she said, her panic subsiding a little. ‘Don't ever do that to me again, Karl Muller. I thought you'd got tangled in the weeds. It happened once, years ago, a young lad drowned. It was awful.'

His laughter died and he reached for her hands again. ‘I was only teasing,
Liebling
. I did not mean to distress you. I am sorry.'

‘So you should be. We'd better get out. It's time to fetch the cows in.'

They swam together to the side and clambered out, dripping water. His clothes were in a neat pile on the grass; hers were where she had flung them. She picked up the towel and began drying herself while he watched. ‘Are you going to put your trousers on over those wet pants?' she asked.

He laughed. ‘If you turn your back a moment, I will take them off.'

She was tempted to refuse, but then did as he asked. ‘Here, use my towel,' she said, trying to hand it to him without looking round. He stepped forward to take it from her and she saw a length of bare leg and a well-honed thigh. Tempted, she turned to face him.

‘Cheat!' he said, laughing. He had a beautiful body, well-rounded and muscular, which was hardly surprising considering the work he did. Given the slightest encouragement she would have flung herself at him, to feel it next to her own, but he was busy towelling himself.

‘It is not the first time I have seen you without clothes,' she
said. ‘You were unconscious the last time. Mum and I put you into Pa's pyjamas.'

‘What are you going to do?' he asked, putting on his trousers. ‘Am I to have the privilege of seeing you struggling to be modest?'

It was on days like this she regretted the pact they had made not to indulge in sex. It would be so easy to lie together on the grass and give their passion full rein. ‘I am going to put my shirt and slacks over my costume and go back to the house to dress properly while you fetch in the cows,' she said.

‘Yes, perhaps you are right,' he said, suddenly serious.

He put on his socks and shoes, picked up his wet pants, wrung the water out of them and carried them as they made their way back to the yard. They did not touch each other in case someone saw them. ‘I'll wash and mangle those,' she said, taking the underwear from him. ‘They'll be dry in no time.'

She crept up to her room without her mother seeing her. It reminded her of how it was when she had been mischievous as a child and didn't want to be found out. Would it always be like that? Would she never be able to express her feelings, let the world know that she loved Karl, no matter what his nationality? Loving without a future was hard to bear.

Gordon knew he had been a fool, more than that, downright mean. It all came about because of the conversation he had had with Bill, together with his hatred of anything German. Jean couldn't understand that, but then she had not spent five years incarcerated in an overcrowded camp on starvation rations, guarded by jackbooted devils who would kick you and beat you as soon as look at you. She hadn't been hobbling around on a peg leg watching other people plan to escape. She hadn't shuffled for hundreds of miles, nor seen people die and abandoned by the
roadside to be eaten by wild animals. She had not found a good friend dead of exhaustion because he always put other people before himself. He could never tell her about that.

And there were those awful death camps. He wouldn't believe the German population had known nothing about them. He knew what Jerry was capable of. He had told Bill so and everyone in the pub had heard him. He hadn't actually incited them to refuse to work. He could hardly do that when it was the family livelihood at stake, but perhaps Bill had. Bill was jealous of Muller.

Karl was still in England working on the farm in August when the atomic bombs brought the Japanese war to an end. Most Allied prisoners of war in Germany had been repatriated and those in Japanese hands were being brought back as a matter of priority. They were all half-starved, some no more than living skeletons who would take years to recover, if they ever did. There were happy reunions and not-so-happy ones, as returning servicemen discovered wives and sweethearts had found other loves, or life was not quite as they imagined it would be. Sir Edward and Lady Masterson were bowed down when they learnt their only son had died in captivity. A memorial service was held in the church for him and all the others from the area who would not be coming home.

In September Donald went off to college and Gordon, his wrist healed and out of plaster, received the summons to present himself at the RAF hospital in Ely to have the operation to tidy up his stump and have his new leg fitted. He came back six weeks later, sporting a tin leg with a foot in a sock and shoe on the end of it.

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

‘OK, but it's going to get some getting used to. It feels strange, like an alien thing on the end of my leg and there's no articulation in the ankle. I'm told they are trying to develop something that will work. In the meantime, I have to learn to walk again. I thought because I was used to the peg leg, going from one to the other would be easy, but it wasn't. As soon as the new stump had healed, they had me out of bed on a contraption like another peg leg, just to get my muscles moving again. They fitted my tin leg a couple of weeks ago. I'm using a different set of muscles and ached all over to start with. And I can't tell you how many times I fell down when they first put it on. I had to learn to do it without hurting myself and getting up again without help. Mind you, I did plenty of that in Germany.'

‘You'll master it, I'm sure.'

‘The physio said it would take several months before I'm really sure-footed.'

‘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.'

After greeting the family, showing off his new foot and eating a huge meal to celebrate his return, he said he was going to see Rosie.

‘If you wait a minute while I speak to Karl, I'll run you there in the truck,' Jean said.

‘No, thanks, Sis. I'm going to walk.'

‘I don't think that's a good idea,' his mother said. ‘It must be nearly a mile each way.'

‘I've got to get the hang of this thing sooner or later, and the sooner the better.'

He knew it was going to be an ordeal, but he had made up his mind. He wanted Rosie to see him walking up the garden path, just as he used to. He had hardly covered half the distance when he realised his mother had been right. His ungainly gait used up a lot of energy and he was exhausted. And his back ached. Doggedly, he kept going. It was an effort to smile when he finally opened her garden gate and she ran down the path to meet him.

‘Gordon, you're back! And just look at you. Back to how you were.'

‘Not quite. Can we go indoors? I need to sit down.'

‘You never walked here?'

‘Yes, I did. I mean to walk everywhere now.'

He followed her into the house and sank gratefully into an easy chair while she bustled about making tea. ‘Mum's gone into Wisbech on the bus,' she called through from the kitchen. ‘We can have a cosy chat.'

She brought in two mugs of tea, put them on a small table beside his chair, then squatted on the floor at his side. He bent over and kissed her.

‘You know what kept me going?' he murmured when the long kiss came to an end. ‘Thinking of you and how proud you would be of me.'

‘Oh, I am.'

‘But there's one hurdle you still have to get over, Rosie.' He tapped his false leg. ‘This might look good when I'm dressed, but when I go to bed, it has to come off.'

‘I know. Are you suggesting we go to bed, Gordon?'

He laughed. ‘It's an idea.'

‘I've never done it before …'

‘I should hope not! But we are supposed to be engaged.'

‘All the same, it's not right….' She paused. ‘Besides, Mum will be home soon. What if she came in?'

‘You want to wait until our wedding night? What happens if you can't stand the sight of me and my stump? It will be too late to change your mind then.'

‘Drink your tea.'

‘Damn the tea. I've had to get used to it and I'm the one who has to wear it. If you can't face looking at it …'

‘I never expected it to be like this. I thought the war would end and you would come back and everything would be as it was.'

‘Did you never wonder if I might be killed or injured?'

‘I tried not to. And when you were taken prisoner I thought at least you were safe. I had no idea … You could have let me know.'

‘Would it have made any difference?'

‘I don't know, do I?'

He pulled up his trouser leg to reveal his false leg with a foot wearing a sock and shoe. ‘Look at it, Rosie.'

She picked up her mug of tea and drank, using it as an excuse to keep her eyes averted.

‘If you don't, I'll leave and that will be that, all over between us.'

She forced herself to look at the contraption. His stump, encased in a soft stocking, was hidden by the strapping.

‘Good,' he said. ‘I'd take it off, but that means letting my trousers down. Shall I do that?'

‘No, for goodness' sake, Mum might be back any minute.'

He gave a hollow laugh and pulled the trouser leg down again. ‘I suppose we have made some progress, but it's not enough, Rosie. We've got to find some time to be properly alone.'

‘Another time.'

They heard the back door open and shut and Mrs Shelley
came into the room. ‘Oh, you're back, Gordon. How are you?'

‘Fine, Mrs Shelley. I came to say hallo to Rosie. I'm just off.' He pulled himself up. ‘I'll see you soon, Rosie.' And with that he hobbled out.

‘At least he looks a bit more presentable,' her mother said, lifting the teapot to see if there was another cup of tea in it, and pouring one for herself.

‘Yes, he does. But he's different. It's not only his leg, it's everything …'

‘Are you sure you want to go on with this engagement, Rosie? He won't be a lot of good as a husband. I can't see him being able to do the heavy work on the farm and what else can he do to support a wife and family? Think on that, child.'

Rosemary sighed. ‘I don't know what I want, Mum, I really don't. But he's been through a lot. It wouldn't be fair to break it off now.'

‘I just hope you know what you're letting yourself in for, that's all.'

The day Karl did not come to work worried Jean. Was he being sent home? Had he already gone? Surely to God he would have found some way to let her know? She was in two minds whether to go up to the camp and ask, when Gordon came back from the village with the news that a dozen prisoners had left the camp without permission and the army and the police were out looking for them. ‘I said they couldn't be trusted, didn't I?' he told Jean. ‘I bet your precious Karl is among them.'

‘That's silly, the war is over. They will all be sent home soon. That is, those who want to go home. Some don't.'

‘And does
Feldwebel
Muller want to go home?'

‘Of course he does. He has family …'

‘Well, it seems they cannot wait to be sent and have decided to make their own way back to Germany. The police and army are out looking for them.'

‘Oh, not again,' Doris said. ‘I thought they had done with all that. Go and fetch Gran, Gordon. If she hears about this she'll be terrified. Did Jean tell you what happened before?'

‘Yes. I'll go now.' He stopped on the way out to pick up his shotgun and some cartridges, calling over his shoulder, ‘Stay close to the house.'

Elizabeth was coming up the lane towards the farm. He turned and took her back to the house, leaving her at the door. ‘Tell Mum I'm going to see if Rosie's OK.'

He found Mrs Shelley alone, convinced she was about to be murdered. She, along with everyone else, knew the ordeal Elizabeth Sanderson had gone through when one of the prisoners had tried to escape before and then there was the time when half the camp had got out. ‘They never should have built that camp so close to the village,' she said. ‘Nor let them out to work. And since the end of the war, they've been strolling about as if they own the place.'

‘If I catch any of them, they'll get both barrels,' he said, lifting his gun. ‘I'll take you home with me. You can stay with Ma and Pa, until Rosie comes home.'

‘She'll be late. She said she was going to the pictures after work.'

‘It doesn't matter. We can leave a note for her.'

The Way to the Stars
was a film about life on a British bomber base. It starred Michael Redgrave, John Mills, Trevor Howard, Jean Simmons and a host of other popular actors. But it was more than just another war film; it was also a poignant love story of how men and women learn to cope when war tears their lives apart.
Rosemary could not stop the flood of tears when she heard the poem: ‘Do not despair for … Johnny-head-in-air'. It made her think of Gordon and what he must have gone through after he was shot down.

Finding it impossible to cope with his moodiness, up one minute, down the next, and still unable to bring herself to look at his stump which he insisted had to be done if they were ever to have a life together, she had given in to Alan and agreed to go out with him again.

In her heart she knew Gordon was right, but it didn't help. It was looking as if it was the end of the road for them. It was a great shame because she still loved him, or at least loved the man he was. If he had been whole, they would have been planning a wedding by now, instead of bickering over her inability to ‘face facts', as he put it, and her refusal to let him make love to her. She had tried to imagine what it would be like and it sickened her. Alan had been a cheerful alternative.

When the film and the newsreel finished, they stood together for the national anthem before making their way out into the street. ‘You don't need to see me home,' she said. ‘I'll get the bus.'

‘Of course I'll see you home. What do you take me for?'

‘But you'll have to walk back.'

‘So what?'

She was glad he had insisted when they realised there were a lot of soldiers about and they were all carrying rifles. There was one standing near the bus stop.

‘What's happening?' Alan asked him.

‘Some Jerries have escaped from the Bushey camp. I'd get your girl safely home as soon as you can, if I were you.'

The bus drew up and they climbed aboard where everyone was talking about the breakout. According to the gossip, dozens of
prisoners were loose in the countryside and terrorising everyone. ‘They caught one of them on Little Bushey Common,' one of the passengers said. ‘My son's a copper and he told me. The whole constabulary is on the alert and the army is out in force.'

As soon as they left the bus at the Bushey post office, Rosemary began to run. Alan pulled her back. ‘What's the rush?'

‘I'm worried about Mum.'

It became apparent as soon as they entered the house, there was no one there. She shut the door and switched on the light. ‘Where is she?' The sitting room was deserted and the fire had gone out. ‘What's happened? Oh, I should never have gone out with you!'

‘What difference would that have made?' He went and pulled the curtains across the window.

‘I would have been here to look after her.'

‘There's a note propped against the clock.' He nodded towards the mantelpiece.

She grabbed it. ‘Gordon came and fetched her back to his place,' she said after scanning it. ‘If I'm late, she'll stay there tonight.'

‘Good.'

‘What do you mean, “good”?'

‘What do you think?' He grabbed her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. ‘We've got the place to ourselves. Let's make the most of it.'

‘Oh, Alan, I don't know.'

‘It'll be all right, I promise.'

He pulled her down onto the settee, pushed her back and began undoing the buttons on her blouse. She grabbed his hand and pulled it away. ‘No, Alan.'

‘Oh, come on, sweetheart, don't be a tease.' He kissed her again, forcing her mouth open and sticking his tongue inside, at the same time as he put his hand up her skirt, feeling up her thigh
for her suspender. She felt sick and afraid. Nothing and no one had prepared her for this. She tried pushing him away. It made him lift his head. She gulped for air. ‘Get off me, Alan, please. I don't like it.'

‘I don't believe you. You've been leading me on long enough. It's time I had my reward.' He flung himself across her and tried to kiss her again, but she turned her head away. ‘Get off me. I'll scream.'

‘Scream away. Who's going to hear you?'

She opened her mouth and let out the loudest yell she could.

‘Does that make you feel better?' he asked. ‘Now, settle down and enjoy it. It'll be better than you'd get from that one-legged excuse for a man.'

‘He's ten times the man you are, Alan Hedges.'

‘Then where is he? Not looking after you, is he?'

‘Oh, yes he is.'

Startled, they both looked round at the sound of the voice. Gordon was standing in the doorway and he was carrying a shotgun.

‘Gordon!' she cried, pushing on Alan's chest. ‘Get him off me.'