The Farmer's Daughter (7 page)

‘I'm sorry to hear that,' Jean said. ‘I hope she's better now.'

‘Yes. Forgive me?'

‘Yes, of course.'

He delved into his pocket and produced a parcel. ‘Happy birthday, sweetheart.'

It contained a small box. Inside was a silver brooch in the shape of a butterfly, its wings inset with tiny gems.

‘It's lovely, Bill. Thank you so much.'

‘Mum helped me choose it. Let me pin it on.' He fumbled with the clasp. ‘She said to wish you a happy birthday. Here, you had better do it, my fingers are all thumbs.'

She took it and pinned it on the front of her dress. ‘Thank you and thank your mother for me.'

‘Twenty-one, hey? That's special.'

‘So they tell me. I don't feel any different. It seems I've been all grown up for a long time now.'

‘Yes, you've had a lot on your plate and you've coped well.'

‘You have to, don't you, when things go wrong, I mean. Dad didn't ask to have a stroke and Gordon didn't ask to be shot down. It's the war.'

‘Yes, but I reckon we're over the worst. Paris has been liberated and the Russians are at the gates of Warsaw, and what with all the bombing of German industrial cities, I don't see how Jerry can carry on much longer.'

‘I'm glad you're so optimistic. But we endured a lot of bombing too: London, Coventry, Portsmouth, Norwich, and we didn't give in, did we? Churchill said “We will never surrender”. I've no doubt Hitler is saying the same to his people.'

‘My, you are down, aren't you? Come on, let's dance and forget the bloody war for an hour or two.'

She laughed. ‘Language!'

‘Sorry.'

The room was really too small to dance properly but they circled round almost on the spot with their arms round each other. ‘You are looking very beautiful tonight,' he whispered in her ear. ‘I want to make love to you.'

‘William Howson!' she teased. ‘That's a highly improper suggestion.'

‘And you are a very proper miss, aren't you?'

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘Nothing. Just remember you are my girl. Don't go running off with anyone else.'

‘Who, for instance?'

‘I don't know, do I? The Jerry, perhaps.'

‘Sergeant Muller? Good Lord, Bill, what's got into you? Where could we run off to, even supposing we wanted to? He's a prisoner of war and though he's not actually tied hand and foot, he can't go anywhere. And he has a fiancée in Germany. He talks about her a lot.'

‘OK. 'Nough said.'

‘Food on the table in the kitchen,' Doris called out, which was a signal for everyone to stop dancing and gossiping and make their way to the kitchen. Jean and Bill were separated by the crowd for which she was thankful. She was becoming increasingly tired of his obsession with Karl.

‘Have you heard from Gordon?' Rosemary asked her.

‘No, not recently. I think they are only allowed to write every so often. But last time we heard, he was well.'

‘I do so miss him.'

‘I'm sure you do. We all do.'

‘Alan Hedges wants to take me to the pictures. What do you think? Would I be unfaithful if I went? It's ages since a fellow took me out, not since Gordon.' Alan, who had been turned down for the armed forces because of his asthma, worked for the same agricultural machinery business in Wisbech that she did.

‘I'd say go, if you want to. As long as you make it clear where you stand, it can't do any harm, can it?'

The chatter was silenced when Doris clapped her hands. They all turned to look at her. ‘Arthur wanted to say a few words,' she
said. ‘But he has asked me to instead. We just want to say how proud we are of our daughter. Jean has made sacrifices to help us out and worked hard, harder than many men, I might say, and she has kept the old place going for us …'

‘Mum, don't,' Jean said, thoroughly embarrassed.

‘Why not? It needs to be said. We don't tell you enough how much we love and cherish you and we're saying it now. Both of us.' She turned and took Arthur's hand and smiled down at him. ‘That's right, Arthur, isn't it?'

‘Yes, o' course.'

‘It's my home, too,' Jean said. ‘And Don's and Gordon's. We all want to keep it going, and we will.'

‘I wish you wouldn't keep interrupting,' her mother said. ‘I've forgotten what I was going to say now.'

‘Good,' Jean said, laughing.

‘Then all I can say is happy birthday, love.' Doris stepped forward, gave her an envelope and hugged her, while everyone clapped and echoed her words. ‘Open it later.'

Mr and Mrs Harris were the first to leave at nine o'clock, because Lily was so tired she was becoming irritable. Others began drifting away one by one until only Bill remained. ‘Walk down to the gate with me,' he said.

It was a clear night. The moon was full and the sky was dotted with pinpoints of light. ‘The bombers will be in the air tonight,' he said. ‘Mum hates them. Their noise frightens her and she puts her head under the pillow and moans. I worry about her. She's never been the same since Dad died, and I can't seem to do a thing right.'

‘I'm sorry,' she said softly.

‘I'm sure she doesn't mean to be unkind. It's just her way. If it wasn't for her …'

‘I know. Pa is sometimes difficult and it's all I can do to keep my
temper, but I have to remember he can't help it, it's all because of his stroke. I stop and count to ten, or I walk away until I've calmed down.'

‘You did like the brooch, didn't you?'

‘Yes, it's lovely. I'll call tomorrow and thank your mother, shall I?'

‘That would be great. I'll tell her to expect you for tea.'

They were passing the shed door. He pulled her inside and took her in his arms to kiss her. His hands began to stray where they shouldn't, grabbing her bottom and kneading her buttocks through her clothes. She stiffened, wondering what was coming next but when she made no protest, he reached down and lifted her skirt. She slapped his hand away. ‘No, Bill.'

He let the skirt drop. ‘You're a tease, do you know that?'

‘No, I'm not. You are teasing yourself. You know it's neither the time nor the place …'

‘Can't I hold you in my arms now? Can't I kiss you and tell you I love you? We are alone, for God's sake.'

‘Of course you can, but I've been brought up to know right from wrong and you ought to respect that.'

‘Twenty-one years old and still a virgin.'

‘What's wrong with that?'

‘Nothing, nothing at all. I suppose I'm glad of it, since you won't let me near you.'

‘Oh, go home, Bill. You've had too much to drink.' She reached up and kissed his cheek, then added more softly. ‘Goodnight, love.'

She watched him from the doorway of the shed as he walked down to the gate, then she walked slowly back to the house. Was she being unreasonable? Should she have allowed him a little licence? Why didn't she want to? Was it because the future was so uncertain, or was she not sure how she felt about him any more? Or was it something else entirely that she didn't want to face? She had almost reached the house when she heard the drone of heavy
bombers and looked up to see a squadron of them passing over the house. They hadn't reached their full height and for a moment they blocked out the moon and cast a shadow over the ground. The noise set the chickens squawking.

Doris was gathering up glasses and plates when she went indoors. ‘Everything all right?' she asked.

‘Yes, why wouldn't it be?' She took the kettle off the range and filled a bowl in the sink to wash the glasses.

‘No reason. Bill seemed a little put out. You haven't quarrelled, have you?'

‘No, of course not. Why do you ask?'

‘I thought you might be disappointed his present wasn't a ring.'

‘No, of course I wasn't. He's worried about his mother.'

‘She plays him up. It's time he cut the apron strings.'

‘It's not as easy as that, Mum. He's got Bridge Farm to run.'

‘It's plenty big enough for a family.'

‘So it is, but Mrs Howson would still be the boss and I don't think I could cope with that, even if he asked me to, which he hasn't. Besides, I'm needed here.'

‘Then you must both be patient.' She paused to look searchingly at her daughter. ‘You do know what I mean?'

‘Yes, Mum. I know what you mean.'

‘Good. Now go up to bed. I'll finish off here. We'll tidy up the sitting room tomorrow.'

‘I can't leave it all to you.'

‘It won't take me long. You've got to be up early for the milking. It's a pity Sergeant Muller doesn't come earlier, you could have a lie-in.'

Jean laughed. ‘So I could. Would you trust him with it?'

‘Yes. He's a good man to have around. Now go on, upstairs with you. Have you opened the envelope I gave you?'

‘You said open it later.' She dried her hands and took it from her pocket. ‘I think it must be a cheque to buy myself a present.' She was right about it being a cheque, but as she slid it out of the envelope she gasped at the amount. ‘A hundred pounds! Mum, you shouldn't have.'

‘As I said. We love you and appreciate all you do, and the sacrifices you've made.'

‘I haven't made any sacrifices, Mum. And I really don't need this.'

‘Don't refuse it, love, it would upset your father. And me.'

‘Oh, Mum.' She flung herself into her mother's arms. The tears were running down her face. ‘I'm not going to refuse it. I'll put it into the bank until I really need something.'

Her mother kissed her cheek. ‘Now, don't go all soppy on me, child, or you'll have me in tears too. Off to bed.'

Gathering up the scarf, the handkerchiefs and the box the brooch had come in, she took them up to her room. Putting the handkerchiefs in her drawer, she felt the little dog and took it out to sit on the bed with it in her hands. Of all her presents, this was the nicest. It had been made with such care, especially for her. Already weepy, she wept some more.

Bridge Farm was a large one, the largest in the village. It had several barns, an up-to-date milking shed and all the latest machinery and gadgets. The acreage was several times greater that Briar Rose, as was the dairy herd. The house, set well back from Bridge Lane, was a substantial brick and flint dwelling with a cellar and attic as well as two storeys of spacious rooms, including a vast kitchen.

Mrs Howson answered the door to Jean's knock. ‘Come in, Jean. It's lovely to see you. I don't see nearly enough of you and I can't get about like I used to.' She led the way into a well-furnished
sitting room as she spoke. It looked out on to a garden where an old man was working.

‘I'm sorry, Mrs Howson, but there is always so much to do on the farm.'

‘Don't I know it. William never seems to have a spare moment for me, even though we've got old John Taylor and several land girls to help him. They spend more time gossiping than working.' She indicated an armchair. ‘Take off your jacket and sit down. Bill will be in with the tea things in a minute.'

‘Shall I go and help him?'

‘No, he'll manage fine. You stop and talk to me. Did you enjoy your party?'

‘Yes, it was a lovely time and everyone was so kind.' She hung her jacket over the back of a chair and sat down. ‘I want to thank you for the brooch, Mrs Howson. I expect I shall wear it a lot.'

‘William tells me you have a German prisoner working for you.'

‘Yes.'

‘Aren't you afraid?'

‘Good heavens, no. He is quite harmless and he works hard.'

‘Who works hard?' Bill came in with a loaded tea tray and set it down on the table at his mother's elbow.

‘The German,' his mother answered him, unloading the tray. ‘You've brought the Madeira, I told you we'd have the Victoria sponge. I only made it this morning. And what have you put in the sandwiches?'

‘Egg and cress.' He picked up the cake plate. ‘I'll go and change this.'

‘He never listens,' Mrs Howson said with a heavy sigh, as he disappeared again. ‘I told him to make ham sandwiches. We smoked a whole hock last time we slaughtered a pig. Sometimes I wonder what he's thinking about when I speak to him.'

‘I expect it's work,' Jean suggested.

‘Perhaps.' She began pouring the tea from a china teapot into matching cups. ‘There was a time, when my husband was alive, when we employed twenty men and now we have to do even more with one old man and a gang of land girls. Sugar?'

‘No, thank you. I gave up having sugar in my tea when it was rationed. Now I prefer it that way.' She took the cup and saucer from Mrs Howson's outstretched hand and took a sip. ‘Lovely.'

Bill returned with a fresh cake. ‘Now you must have a slice of this,' Mrs Howson said cutting into it. ‘I'm famous for my sponges and luckily we still have eggs. You can't make a sponge with reconstituted egg. I've tried and it won't rise.'

‘No, Mum discovered that. It must be hard for people who don't keep chickens.' Even keeping chickens was fraught with rules and regulations and how many eggs they were allowed to keep back for personal use. They were often flouted.

The conversation was grinding to a halt and Jean did not know what else to say. ‘Did you hear the bombers going over last night?' she asked.

‘You couldn't fail to hear them,' the old lady said. ‘I swear they'll bring the chimney pots down one of these days.' Bridge Farm had tall twisted chimneys on the oldest part of the house.

‘I don't think they are as low as they look.'

‘Perhaps not. More cake?'

‘No, thank you, Mrs Howson. I'll have to go. I need to change before I start milking.'