Always in My Heart (41 page)

‘That’s excellent news. Mr Jenkins is a fair employer and she should be happy there.’ Vera fell silent as she waited for her telephone call to be put through, and then smiled. ‘Good morning, Mr Cruikshank, so sorry to bother you this early, but I have another candidate for you.’

Sarah listened anxiously as Vera expounded on her
skills and coaxed a clearly reluctant Mr Cruikshank into giving her an interview.

‘Twelve-fifteen, then,’ said Vera. ‘No, she won’t be late, I promise.’ She shot Sarah a warning glance, said goodbye to the man at the other end of the line and put down the receiver. ‘We haven’t much time at all,’ she said, ‘and as you probably heard, he wasn’t that happy about extending the interview time to accommodate you. But I think I managed to persuade him you were a worthy candidate.’

Waving Sarah’s thanks away, she became very businesslike. ‘You already know what the job entails, and Mr Cruikshank and the administrators from the Women’s Land Army and MOS will fill in any of the smaller details.’

A shaft of dread made Sarah go cold. ‘So it won’t just be Mr Cruikshank doing the interview?’

‘The WTC is part of the Land Army, and they answer directly to the Ministry of Supply, so they need to oversee everything and make sure they have the right candidate before everything is set up and finalised,’ said Vera distractedly as she hunted through the pile of paperwork on her desk.

Sarah digested this information and tried not to let her nerves get the better of her. She’d never been to a job interview and had absolutely no idea what it might entail, but the thought that she would have to impress not only the forester, but the officials from the Women’s Land Army as well as the Ministry of Supply, was daunting.

Vera seemed oblivious to Sarah’s rising panic as she retrieved a wad of papers and removed the bulldog clip that held them together. ‘As you have so many of the necessary measuring and assessing skills, you’d be on the top wage of four pounds a week if you get the post. Lunch would be provided, so that’s good.’

Sarah’s answering smile was a little stiff. ‘Would I have to wear some sort of uniform, or could I just go in my everyday clothes?’

‘As a member of the WTC you would have to wear a uniform, even though you’d be in an office for most of the time.’ Vera gave a rueful smile. ‘It’s not terribly flattering, I’m afraid. You’d have to wear a green jersey, gabardine trousers that bear a faint resemblance to riding breeches, woollen knee socks, a beige shirt, boots, and a green beret with a WTC badge.’ She smiled and shrugged. ‘It doesn’t sound frightfully appealing, does it, but as you’re not preparing for a fashion parade and all the girls look the same, it wouldn’t really matter.’

‘You said before that I’d be in charge of the payroll. What sort of wages are the others earning?’

‘Anything from thirty-five to forty-six bob a week. That’s between one pound fifteen shillings and two pounds six shillings,’ she explained as Sarah was trying to work it out. ‘You’d better brush up on your pounds, shillings and pence before you get started,’ she added wryly. ‘If those pay packets are wrong at the end of the week there’ll be a riot.’

Sarah nodded. She’d already wrestled with the
strange sterling currency in which there were twenty shillings to the pound, and twelve pence to the shilling. The Malay dollar was easy, for everything was in tens. She’d have to keep her wits about her if she got the job – or horror of horrors, the interviewers decided to test her.

Vera passed a piece of paper across the desk. ‘This is a map of the estate which shows how to get there.’ She ran her finger over the map, following a northward trail that seemed to go on and on. ‘It’s a bit of a trek up that hill from Peggy’s, but once you’re on the top it’s downhill all the way.’

‘Thank you, Vera, but Ron said he’d go with me for the first few times.’

Vera raised an eyebrow. ‘And how is Ron? Still as disreputable as ever?’

Sarah giggled. ‘He’s an old rascal,’ she said, ‘and he has us all in stitches when he starts telling his war stories.’

Vera grinned and pushed a form towards her. ‘Fill that in,’ she said. ‘I know it’s a nuisance, but this war can only be won if we fill in endless forms – and you’ll need to take it with you today.’

Once Sarah had filled in everything she handed it back for Vera to check. ‘That all seems to be in order,’ she said and clipped it with the other papers. She smiled back at her. ‘Good luck, Sarah. I hope you get it, but if you don’t, well, you know where I am.’

Sarah gathered her things together, tucked the paperwork and map in her handbag and shook Vera’s
hand. ‘Thank you for everything,’ she said gratefully. ‘You’ve been very kind.’

‘Just let me know how you get on,’ she replied. ‘Now hurry up, it’s a long walk and you can’t afford to be late.’

Peggy had a row of pristine white nappies flapping on the line, and because it was such a lovely day, she’d decided to put Daisy’s pram out in the back garden so she could get some fresh air. It got awfully stuffy in the kitchen, what with the fire in the range, the cooking and washing and Ron’s pipe-smoke, and she was sure it didn’t do Daisy any good at all. Yet she looked healthy enough, kicking her legs and waving her arms as she gurgled at the dappled shadows of the neighbour’s tree that danced across her pram.

Peggy sighed. It would have been lovely to sit in a deckchair for a while and just let the world go by, but there was too much to do, and if she sat still for any amount of time she thought about Jim and how far away he was – and that just made her sad. She wiped her hands down her wrap-round pinafore, picked up the laundry basket and headed back into the kitchen where Cordelia was doing the ironing as she listened to the wireless.

Peggy winced and turned the volume down to a bearable level, then signed to Cordelia to turn up her hearing aid. The neighbours would start complaining soon, and they’d all be deaf before too long if they had to stand that every day.

Cordelia ran the hot iron over a pillowcase, then folded it neatly and placed it on the pile of freshly laundered linen that sat on the kitchen table. ‘I enjoy ironing,’ she said as she put the flat-iron on the hob to heat up and picked up the other one. ‘There’s something very satisfactory about a pile of sweet-smelling, freshly ironed washing.’

Peggy agreed with her, but looking at the state of Ron’s shirt, she wondered if it was worth washing it any more – she had better-looking cleaning rags under the sink. She plucked it out of the pile of washing yet to be ironed, found two more that were hanging together by threads, and stuffed them into her ragbag. ‘I’ll have to winkle some of his clothing coupons out of him and get new ones,’ she said with a sigh. ‘He’s beginning to look like an old tramp.’

Cordelia smoothed the hot iron over a blouse. ‘It’ll be a good thing when Rosie comes back,’ she said. ‘Ron takes care of his appearance when she’s around.’ She looked over at Peggy, who had begun to scrub the larder shelves. ‘Has there been any news of her?’

‘None that I know of, and I’m sure Ron would have told us if she’d written to him.’ Peggy sat back on her heels and grimaced. ‘Findlay’s still in charge at the Anchor. I saw him leaning in the doorway as if he owned the place the other morning. There’s been talk about women staying there overnight and all sorts of shenanigans going on in the bar. If Rosie doesn’t get back soon, she’ll have no pub to run.’

The clatter of the letter box got Peggy to her feet
and she hurried expectantly into the hall. There were several letters for the others, but there was only one that lightened her heart, for she’d have recognised that writing anywhere.

‘I’ve got a letter from Jim at last,’ she said excitedly as she sat at the kitchen table and tore open the envelope.

Her spirits plummeted as she pulled out the three pages which almost fell to pieces in her hand. ‘The censor has cut it to ribbons,’ she said crossly as she showed Cordelia the gaping holes and the thick black lines that had been scored through some of the words. ‘It’s almost unintelligible.’

‘I suppose it’s to do with security,’ sympathised Cordelia, ‘but I hardly think Jim’s in possession of state secrets.’

Peggy read what was left of the letter and felt the prick of tears as she folded it back into the envelope. ‘He’s well, and the food is plentiful but not up to my standards, evidently,’ she said as she sniffed back her tears. ‘He’s enjoying the company of the other men, but the work is hard and the Sergeant Major is a little man with a big ego and a voice that can probably be heard in the next county. Jim’s back is playing up, the boots have given him blisters, his hands are covered in calluses and he’s moaning about being out in all weathers. Apart from that, the beer is good, and he’s made a couple of good mates, but he misses everyone, and sends his love to us all. He’s hoping to get a week’s leave in a couple of months’ time but can’t promise anything, because he’s so far away.’

‘I suppose we’re not allowed to know where?’

Peggy shook her head. ‘He started out in Yorkshire and has been sent north, so he could be anywhere – but the censor cut that bit out.’ She heard Daisy gurgling happily outside. ‘I’ll look out the box brownie and take some snaps of Daisy when we get back from the clinic,’ she said. ‘He’s going to miss so much of her growing up, and it’s the only way to keep him up to date with how she’s doing.’

‘He’ll enjoy getting some photographs,’ agreed Cordelia as she finished ironing the last skirt. ‘And while you’re at it, you should send some of you as well. I’m not much good with such things, but I’m sure one of the girls would be happy to use the camera.’

Peggy put the letter behind the clock on the mantel and returned to scrubbing the larder. Life without Jim would be unbearable if she gave herself time to think about it – but as long as she kept battling through each day, and continued to be positive about things, she would get through this. And then, when the war was over and Jim had come home along with the rest of her family, they could return to how it had once been.

Sarah was out of breath, and her second-hand shoes had given her a painful blister on her left heel. She hurried across the street and made her way along the narrow lane between the houses and into the back garden of Beach View, wondering how she would manage to walk all the way to the Cliffe estate with her heel hurting the way it did.

There was no sign of Ron or Harvey as she hurried into the basement, and her spirits flagged as she realised the ferrets were not in their cages. She hobbled up the steps to the kitchen. ‘Where’s Ron?’ she asked as she sank gratefully into a chair.

‘He went out just after breakfast,’ said Peggy. ‘Why? Did you need him for something?’

Sarah nodded and gingerly eased off her shoe and ankle sock. ‘I’ve got an interview on the estate at a quarter-past twelve, and I need him to show me the way.’ The blister was large and threatening to pop at any minute. ‘Will he be back soon, do you think? Only I don’t have much time and this is going to slow me down.’

Peggy chewed her lip. ‘He’s a law unto himself,’ she murmured, ‘and could be out for hours yet.’ She examined the blister. ‘I’ll pop that and put some surgical spirit and a plaster on it. But you’ll have to change those shoes.’

‘They’re the only ones I have except for my sandals,’ said Sarah, close to tears with frustration and anxiety, ‘and I can’t go for an interview in them. No one would take me seriously.’ She glanced fretfully at the clock on the mantel. It was already past nine-thirty.

‘You could wear the sandals and carry your shoes,’ said Cordelia as she fetched the first-aid box from the dresser.

‘That’s a very good idea,’ Sarah replied thankfully, ‘but I’m not really sure how to get to the estate. Vera gave me a map, but I’ve never been very good at things
like that, and I can’t afford to get lost up there and be late.’ Her voice wavered as she blinked back the tears. ‘Could you come with me, Peggy?’

‘I’m so sorry, but I can’t – not this morning. I have to take Daisy to the clinic for her immunisation, and after that I’m due to see the doctor for a check-up.’ Peggy carefully popped the blister and dabbed it with surgical spirit before expertly applying a sticking plaster. She patted Sarah’s knee. ‘Let’s have a look at that map, and I’ll mark out things you should look for on the way.’

Sarah could feel the blister stinging, but it was a small discomfort compared to the rising panic, which was making her feel a bit sick. She pulled the map out of her bag and spread it on the table.

Peggy got a stub of pencil from a jar on the mantelpiece and began to mark the gun emplacements and the fire-watch stations. ‘When you get here, you will see the ruins of an old farmhouse. Go down the hill keeping the ruins on your right, and you’ll see the valley spread out below you. The estate will be on your left – follow the line of trees right round until you come to the lane which leads to the little village where my daughter and her husband have a cottage. But don’t go towards the village, go to the left. The estate entrance will be on your left, about four hundred yards down the lane, and Cruikshank’s office is down the right-hand fork in the long drive. That will lead you to the forest, and his office is about a hundred yards into the trees on your left.’

Sarah tried to absorb all this information as Peggy
drew the line on the map and marked each landmark with an x. ‘How long will it take me?’ she asked.

‘A good hour or more, so you’ll have to leave soon.’ Peggy smiled at her. ‘Fetch your sandals while I stick some cotton wool into the back of your shoes. Then you can sit and have a cup of tea and a cigarette while you settle those nerves.’

Sarah ran barefooted up the stairs to fetch her sandals. A glance in the mirror showed that her hair was escaping the pins, there was a smudge of mascara under her eyes and she’d chewed off most of her lipstick. ‘You look a mess,’ she muttered as she cleaned away the smudge and swiftly pinned her hair up again. ‘Calm down, Sarah, or you’ll look a complete fright by the time you get there.’

Returning to the kitchen with the flat thonged sandals, she drank the welcome cup of tea and smoked a cigarette. Feeling only slightly calmer, she repaired her lipstick, dumped her socks in her handbag alongside the papers Vera had given her and snapped it shut. It was now almost a quarter-past ten, and although there were two hours to go before the interview, she had to make allowances for her lack of fitness and the very real possibility of getting lost.