The Lost Days of Summer (24 page)

Sighing, she applied her mind to the forms spread out on the table before her. It was evening, and presently she would have to join Eifion at the milking, but she reckoned the cows could wait an extra five minutes whilst she filled in the sheet before her. She did not immediately begin to write but sat, chin in hand, thinking how strange it was that she had missed Nell’s company as much as the work the girl undertook. I was unfair to her when she first came, Kath told herself, thinking of the skinny, wide-eyed kid who hadn’t understood farming, or the Welsh tongue, or her aunt’s inexplicable dislike. I wasn’t fair to her, even after I realised that she was doing her best, and Eifion and Bryn both liked her. I thought she would be like her mother, light-minded, fickle, man-mad, and even when I realised she was nothing of the sort I couldn’t let her alone. I nagged and criticised and felt I was punishing Trixie . . . but for what? Being right? And even now, though I’ve missed her sorely and know very well she would have come back sooner if she could, I’m blaming her for not doing so.

Then there were her letters; in all of them Nell had said how she longed to be back at Ty Hen, how noisy the city was, how grim, what with the blackout, the dimmed headlights of vehicular traffic and the wailing of the sirens whenever enemy aircraft were in the vicinity. But suppose this had been said merely to comfort Kath? In the city there were dozens of picture palaces, theatres, museums, galleries . . . and no doubt there were friends from Nell’s schooldays, young men coming off the ships being unloaded in the docks . . .

Kath finished filling in the form before her and got to her feet. Suppose Nell decided to stay in the city, forget her brief sojourn with her aunt? If she never came back, life, Kath knew, would lose a good deal of its savour. If she does come back, Kath told herself, I’ll show her I value her, show her that it was my dislike of her mother which made me so crotchety, so difficult.

Satisfied that this was the right way to behave, Kath headed for the back door. It had been another hot day and the sooner she joined Eifion in the shippon the sooner she would be able to relax. She actually had her hand on the latch when it was pushed violently from outside and someone – someone small and skinny, with a good deal of untidy brown hair and a pair of golden hazel eyes – bounded into the room, gave a squeak of delight, and cast herself into Kath’s surprised embrace.

‘Oh, Auntie, Auntie, Auntie, it’s grand to see you so it is,’ Nell burbled. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t let you know when I was arriving, but it was a last minute thing . . . I was taking Grandma Ripley and Great-aunt Vera to Uncle Matt’s and just as we were all set to leave Auntie Vera opened the lid of her cat box to make sure Sir Galahad was all right and out he leapt, and Grandma Ripley swore she wouldn’t share a house with anyone stupid enough to open a cat box in the street and Auntie Vera wailed and wept, and I had to stay an extra day – a whole day, Auntie Kath – and he’s such a bleedin’ ordinary . . . sorry, sorry, but he’s a black cat with a white weskit, and of course I brought back the wrong perishin’ cat half a dozen times before I bagged the right moggy. So anyway, I settled ’em in and sneaked out of the house in the early hours, caught a bus into the city, gorroff at Pier Head, gorra ferry across to Woodside, climbed aboard a train and here I am . . . oh, it’s so good to be home! Are you glad I’m back, Auntie?’ She grinned, a look of pure mischief on her small, pointy-chinned face. ‘You seemed pretty glad, or was that just surprise?’

‘I’ve missed you,’ Kath said gruffly, ‘especially evenings and mornings. It’s strange, because before you came I looked forward to a nice quiet evening with only myself to please. I knitted or sewed, or read a book . . .’ She sniffed and then, unable to prevent herself, gave her niece a huge smile. ‘The truth is, I’ve got kind of used to your chatter. Before, I never noticed how quiet the house was . . . but I dare say now you’re back I’ll miss my nice quiet evenings, ’cos there’s no power on earth which will stop you jabbering away!’

Nell returned the smile with one equally broad. ‘I missed you too,’ she said. ‘Oh, Auntie, I’m so glad to be home!’

In her own, dear, familiar bed that night, Nell thought she had never been happier. Her aunt might pretend that she only missed Nell’s company in the evenings, but she had been unable to hide the pleasure which had lit up her eyes whenever they had rested on her niece.

‘You’re not a bad girl, when all’s said and done,’ she had said gruffly as they had made their way up the stairs to bed. She had shot a quick, almost guilty glance at Nell as they reached the landing. ‘Sometimes we have to lose something before we appreciate it; I hope you get my meaning.’

Nell had been unable to resist grinning. ‘I do,’ she had said gravely, however. ‘Another way of putting it would be absence makes the heart grow fonder, only I expect you think that’s a bit too flowery.’

Aunt Kath had smiled reluctantly as she opened her bedroom door. ‘If you want to talk in quotations, then I’ll cap yours – all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy – because I mean to even the score. I’ve put in a request . . . but no point talking about it until I see what comes of it. Goodnight, Nell; sweet dreams.’

Snuggling beneath the covers, Nell wondered just what her aunt had meant by that enigmatic remark. ‘I’ve put in a request . . .’ Well, it could mean anything. Only I fancy Auntie’s more likely to demand than request, Nell thought. She wrestled with the puzzle for another five minutes, then gave it up and was very soon sound asleep.

A couple of weeks later Nell came down to breakfast stifling a yawn. She was relieved to find that her aunt seemed to be in a good mood this morning; she returned both Nell’s greeting and her smile, and this was not always the case. However, she made no comment, but began to cut slices off the loaf for toasting and was shielding her face from the heat of the fire whilst holding out the toasting fork with a round of bread impaled upon it when the back door opened and Eifion came into the room. ‘Met Evans the Post as I was coming up the lane,’ he said, dropping a number of official-looking envelopes on to the table. ‘There’s one what you might call ordinary, but mostly they’ll be these dratted government forms, I reckon . . .’

‘Bore da, Eifion,’ Auntie Kath said reprovingly, ‘and how are you today?’

‘Bore da,’ Eifion and Nell chorused, and Nell giggled as she always did because it reminded her of school. ‘Good morning, Miss Rachel,’ the convent girls used to say, standing up as their teacher entered the room. She had asked Bryn once how the children in the local school greeted their teacher each morning, so she had learned the meaning of the greeting Eifion and her aunt exchanged before any other phrase. Now, of course, she understood practically everything the two older people said, though it took her rather longer to frame the words in what she still regarded as a foreign language.

The toast began to smoke and Nell snatched it hastily off the fork, propped it against the marmalade pot, and impaled the next slice. She had usually toasted six rounds of bread by the time Auntie Kath served the porridge, but today it seemed things were going to be different. Her aunt had snatched up one of the brown envelopes and opened it, and now she smiled with evident pleasure before she spoke. ‘Leave the toast, Nell. We’ll have to make do with bread this morning, because I’ve something to say to the pair of you.’ Her tone was brisk but not unfriendly, so Nell took her place at the table, spooned honey on to her porridge, and looked expectantly at her aunt.

‘What’s up?’ she said baldly. ‘It’s the first time you’ve ever agreed to forgo your slice of toast!’

Her aunt raised her brows. ‘Who said I was going to forgo my toast? There’s two slices ready and waiting, even if one of ’em’s a trifle on the black side,’ she said, and there was actually a touch of humour in her tone. ‘You two can manage perfectly well with bread, but I’ve got news to impart which will affect all of us.’ She looked from face to face as though expecting one of them to question her, but neither did so. ‘Well? Aren’t you going to ask me what’s it all about?’

Eifion and Nell exchanged a quick glance, then Eifion spoke for both of them. ‘You’re going to tell us, missus, even if we goes down on our knees and begs you not to, so why should we pretend different?’ he said. ‘Fire ahead.’

Kath gave a reluctant laugh and Nell thought, not for the first time, how laughter peeled the years from her aunt’s rather serious face and turned her into a pretty woman again. ‘Well, well, there’s telling me you are, Eifion Hughes! And you’re right, of course. Did I tell you that I’d applied for a land girl?’

Two heads shook, as her aunt must have known they would, Nell thought. ‘No, you never said a word,’ she admitted. ‘In fact you got cross whenever anyone suggested it.’

Her aunt smiled rather self-consciously. ‘Yes, well . . . I’d not really given the matter much thought until you went off to Liverpool, Nell.’ She glanced at Eifion. ‘But we’re none of us getting any younger . . . and as I said, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’ She grimaced. ‘Anyway, I applied for the forms and I’ve been filling them in whenever I had a spare moment. I sent the whole lot off a few weeks back, and today I’ve had a letter from the Min. of Ag. telling me that we’ve been allotted one – a land girl, I mean. They’ve given me her name and address and told me to write to her explaining how to reach the farm. Well, I’ll write the letter and put it in an envelope, but I’ve run out of stamps so I’ll have to ask you, Nell, to go into the village later and post it off for me. According to the Min. of Ag. she’ll set out, trains permitting, as soon as she is able.’ Once more she glanced from face to face. ‘Well? Don’t say you two chatterboxes have been struck dumb! If so, I’ll apply for a land girl twice a week!’

‘Us needs time to take it in,’ Eifion said slowly. ‘Does she speak Welsh, this girl? Does she know the first thing about farming?’ He gave a martyred sigh. ‘Oh well, young Nell here has managed to pick up enough know-how to be useful, so maybe this new lass will be the same.’

‘My goodness, your enthusiasm is amazing,’ Auntie Kath said sarcastically. ‘I don’t suppose she’ll speak Welsh, nor know anything about farming.’ She turned to Nell. ‘And what have you got to say for yourself, young woman?’

‘I think it’s great news,’ Nell said excitedly. ‘What’s her name? Where does she come from? Gosh, she’ll be here the day after tomorrow, if I can get the letter in the post in time. She’ll live on the farm, of course?’

Auntie Kath nodded. ‘She’s called Margaret Smith, and she’ll have the bedroom next to yours; that was one reason why we were allotted someone so quickly. Apparently, according to Mr Mason at the post office, a great many farms need extra help but cannot offer the girls accommodation.’

She produced an envelope from her pinafore pocket and handed it to Nell, who read the address aloud.

‘Brompton Avenue, Toxteth Park, Liverpool.’ Her eyes widened. ‘I say, that’s an awfully posh area! Do you know how old she is?’

Auntie Kath had turned away and was beginning to fry the bacon, but she glanced across at Nell and shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea, but we shall find out soon enough.’ She slid the bacon on to three warmed plates and began to crack eggs into the sizzling frying pan, remarking as she did so that she hoped her listeners knew how lucky they were. ‘For most folk, bacon’s been rationed since January; you two eat a whole week’s ration every morning. And they tell me if people want eggs, they’ve got to keep hens.’ She pointed at the letter Nell had propped against the marmalade pot. ‘As I remember, the houses in Brompton Avenue had decent gardens, so likely Miss Smith won’t have been short of an egg or two, but I doubt her mam and dad keep pigs.’

Nell smiled. ‘Just about every household with a back yard keeps a couple of hens,’ she reminded her aunt. ‘We didn’t bother, though, because Mam didn’t want the extra work. Did Gran keep hens when you lived at home, Auntie Kath?’

Immediately she regretted the question, for her aunt’s expression changed at once from interest to wariness. ‘Not as far as I remember,’ she said. ‘Eat your breakfast, and as soon as you’ve finished milking you can take my letter down to the village. And while you’re there, you might write out one of Mr Mason’s cards to put in his window, asking if anyone has a bicycle for sale.’

Nell, delighted, asked if such a bicycle would be for her, causing her aunt to give her a sharp glance. ‘Planning to get your leg loose, are you?’ she asked disagreeably. ‘I’m not getting a land girl so you can have a holiday, but I don’t see why we shouldn’t all take a day off, when we aren’t extra busy, that is . . . which is when a bike will come in useful.’

‘I know that,’ Nell cut in, feeling the hot blood rush to her cheeks. ‘But if it isn’t for me . . .’

‘It’s for anyone who needs transport,’ her aunt said curtly. ‘And now get on with your breakfast or you’ll miss the midday post.’

As soon as the milking was finished, Nell returned to the farmhouse for her jacket and to tell her aunt that she was off. She was promptly handed a large marketing bag and told to buy porridge oats and several pounds of self-raising flour. ‘And don’t forget to put the card in the post office window,’ her aunt admonished, handing over the housekeeping purse. ‘You’d better buy me half a dozen stamps while you’re about it.’ Nell agreed to do so and was halfway out of the door when her aunt stopped her. ‘I didn’t like to say this in front of Eifion,’ she said quietly, ‘but his arthritis is getting worse every day. I told the Min. of Ag. that it wouldn’t be long before I’d have to replace him and suggested I’d appreciate having a second land girl by the time next winter comes; and I mean to offer you his job when he goes. Don’t say anything to him, but I’m sure you agree with me that he’s earned his retirement.’

‘I’m surprised he’s gone on so long,’ Nell said frankly. She smiled quizzically at her aunt. ‘As for being your official farmhand, I’d love it. But poor Eifion; the land is his life. I’m glad you’ll have to be the one to tell him and not me.’

Her aunt smiled too, but did not reply directly. ‘We’ll see, when the time comes,’ she said vaguely. ‘Try not to be late for dinner.’