Always in My Heart (46 page)

‘He’ll be coming with me to the Anchor after we’ve had our walk,’ said Ron as he left the table. ‘I’ll see you all later – and well done, Sarah.’ He grabbed his cap from the hook on the back of the door, whistled to the dog and tramped down the cellar steps.

‘It’s good to see that he’s his old self again,’ said Peggy to no one in particular. ‘I was getting quite worried about him.’

Sarah felt as if some of the weight she’d been carrying since they’d left Singapore had been lifted from her shoulders, and she leaned back into the chair and lit a celebratory cigarette. Tomorrow morning she would be just like her sister and the other girls, and truly fit in, for now she too had somewhere to go and something important to do in the home-front battle against Hitler.

It had been easy to find her way this second time, and she was surprised at how much quicker it had been now that she wasn’t hampered by sandals and a blister. She arrived at the main gates out of breath, her calf muscles complaining at the unaccustomed exercise, but with ten minutes to spare.

There was no sign of the gamekeeper or his dog, but she didn’t linger on the driveway. Taking the narrow path through the encroaching rhododendrons, she let the peace wash over her as she took in the different colours and listened to the birdsong. She was going to like working here, she decided.

Mrs Cruikshank was behind her desk, thumping away at the keys of the Imperial typewriter. She looked up and grinned as Sarah stepped through the door.

‘It’s lovely to see you again,’ she said as they shook hands. ‘I’m glad they saw sense and didn’t employ the other girl. She wouldn’t have been at all suitable.’ Without going on to explain what she meant by that, she beckoned Sarah to follow her as she went into the other room.

It looked very different to when Sarah had come here for her interview, for it had been turned into a sort of canteen and storeroom. ‘Who’ll be doing the cooking?’ she asked as she eyed the collection of cooking pots and pans, the industrial-sized gas rings and the enormous tea urn.

‘Mrs Oaks. She’s been Lord Cliffe’s cook since before the first war. She’ll provide the lunches, and in the evenings everyone who’s billeted here will take it in turn to do the supper. There will be ten girls arriving tomorrow and they will be billeted in the dower house. The Dowager passed away some time ago, and the house has been standing empty ever since.’

‘Does Lord Cliffe have any family?’ asked Sarah,
who was still intrigued by the people who owned this wonderful place.

‘His Lordship has been a widower for many years and shown no desire to marry again. Both his sons are in the military, and their wives and children have moved to their other estate in Wales for the duration. His daughter is in the Observer Corps.’

She gathered her thoughts and continued her inventory of where everything and everyone was on the estate. ‘The lumberjacks are down in the woods in a series of log cabins with their foreman, Alf Billings. He’s a retired sergeant major with long experience of working the horses in the forest, and it’s his job to keep everyone in order and make sure there are no shenanigans after lights-out. Apart from the farm labourers, who are now mostly made up of Land Army girls, we have two young lads working for us until they’re old enough to be called up, two conscientious objectors, and three experienced lumberjacks who are over fifty and therefore too old to be called up.’

‘That’s quite a workforce,’ said Sarah. ‘But won’t the others find it galling to have to work alongside conscientious objectors?’

‘They might not like it, or approve of what they are, but the work is essential to the war effort and they’ll just have to get on with it,’ said Mrs Cruikshank. ‘Alf and my husband will keep an eye on things so they don’t get out of hand, never you mind.’

She turned away and headed for a table where great stacks of clothing had been neatly laid out. ‘The WTC
uniform is exactly the same as the Land Army one, but you get a beret instead of a felt hat, and of course a WTC badge.’

She began to rifle through the sweaters and trousers and held them up against Sarah to gauge their size. ‘You’re very small and slight,’ she said, ‘but there’s bound to be something here that will do. What size are you, anyway?’

Sarah shrugged. ‘I lived in Malaya and everything was made especially for me, so I’m afraid I have no idea.’

Mrs Cruikshank smiled ruefully as she continued to pick out the clothes. ‘You’ll find these probably won’t fit quite as well as what you’re used to, but I’m sure you or Mrs Reilly can make any necessary alterations.’

Sarah eyed the sweaters and woolly shirts, and the mannish jodhpurs, and almost laughed out loud. Vera had warned her that the uniform was far from glamorous, and she hadn’t been exaggerating. They were so far removed from the delicate silks and cottons she’d been used to that it would be like dressing up for a male part in some strange play. Her mother would have a fit if she ever saw her in this lot.

Mrs Cruikshank handed a clipboard and pencil to Sarah. ‘I’ll call each item out and you tick it off. Might as well get used to it before the others get here, for this will be part of your duties tomorrow.’

‘Two green jerseys; two pairs of riding breeches; two overall coats and two pairs of dungarees.’

Sarah ticked them off in horrified fascination as the
dowdy, workmanlike clothes were carefully stacked in a second pile.

‘Six pairs of woollen knee-length socks; three beige woollen shirts; one pair of boots; one pair of brown shoes, and one pair of gumboots,’ continued Mrs Cruikshank. ‘You probably won’t need most of this, but it’s the uniform, so you have to have it,’ she said with a shrug before she continued with her list. ‘One green beret; one Melton overcoat; one mackintosh; a green armband and metal badge, a hat badge and two towels.’

The heavy woollen overcoat reminded her of the pea jackets the sailors had worn when the weather had turned cold on the ship coming over here. ‘Won’t all this be very warm when summer comes?’ asked Sarah, who was still rather taken aback by the drabness of it all.

Mrs Cruikshank grinned. ‘Undoubtedly, but when it’s raining or snowing and the wind is howling across the hills and you have to walk here every morning, you’ll be glad of it, believe me.’

She took the clipboard and placed it on the other end of the table. ‘You’ll be responsible for this lot once I’ve gone, so keep the door locked and the key in your pocket. If someone needs to replace anything there are dockets to fill in. There’s a locker in the office which has its own key. I’d advise you to keep what you’re not wearing in there. You won’t want to be carting that lot home tonight – it weighs a ton. Now, follow me and I’ll show you around outside.’

Sarah nodded and trotted after her. For a big woman, Mrs Cruikshank could move quite fast, and Sarah had to almost run to keep up with her as she led the way into the forest.

‘My husband has moved his office down here for the duration so you won’t be too disturbed,’ she said as they passed a log cabin set on a bank above a fast-running stream. ‘The men’s camp is through the trees over there in the glade.’

They kept walking along the winding forest track until they reached a low hill which gave them a panoramic view through the trees to the rest of the estate. ‘That’s Cliffe Farm down there,’ said Mrs Cruikshank as she pointed to a jumble of red-roofed buildings in the distance. ‘The horses are stabled there, and the Land Girls are billeted in the actual farmhouse.’

She turned and pointed further into the forest. ‘The gamekeeper’s cottage is much deeper into the woods where he can keep an eye on the pheasants and deer. He isn’t a part of the Forestry Commission or the MOS – he’s Lord Cliffe’s gamekeeper and his duties are to safeguard the estate from poachers and see to the fishery.’

She turned to Sarah and smiled. ‘You won’t see much of him. Groves is a solitary man with an unpleasant manner, and we all steer clear of him.’

‘He frightened the life out of me when I came for my interview,’ said Sarah. ‘I certainly wouldn’t like to bump into him or his dog after dark.’

Mrs Cruikshank patted her arm. ‘I feel the same way, so you’re not alone.’

‘Does Lord Cliffe still live in the big house at the end of the drive?’

‘He’s in London mostly these days, but he moved his personal things into the east wing last month. The American Army has requisitioned the rest of the house, and their officers are due to arrive any day now.’

‘Isn’t that a bit risky with a lot of girls working on the estate?’ Sarah asked, grinning.

Mrs Cruikshank laughed. ‘It certainly is, but one does hope that as the Americans are officers they will behave like gentlemen – and that our girls will remember they are ladies.’

Sarah giggled. ‘I hardly think any man worth his salt would find us at all attractive in that horrid uniform,’ she replied.

‘Perhaps that’s why the powers that be in the Land Army designed it that way,’ said Mrs Cruikshank with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘After all, everyone is here to work, not flirt. Come on, let’s go back to our office so you can try your uniform for size. Then we can have a cup of tea and I’ll bring you up to date with all the dockets and bills of lading, and show you how to do the wages.’

Peggy was cooking rabbit stew with pearl barley and dumplings, which smelled a great deal more pleasant than the brew of boiled potato peelings and meal which she’d prepared for the chickens.

Having opened the window to let the stench out, she’d quickly closed it again on the brisk wind that had got up during the afternoon. It might almost be April, with crocuses and daffodils enlivening the hedgerows and bomb sites, but it got very chilly once the sun was low in the sky. Spring was obviously just around the corner, but she did wish it would hurry up. There was nothing like a bit of sunshine to make things seem better, and the winter had dragged on for long enough.

She left the stew to simmer away in the slow oven while she warmed herself by the fire and re-read the letter from Jim that had come in the second post that morning. Once again it was in tatters due to the censor, but he was delighted with the photographs she’d sent him, his back was better, and he was finding the manual labour a bit easier now he’d got used to it – but he still hated obeying orders and being shouted at by the sergeant major.

His endearments touched her heart, but it made her blush to think that someone else had read those very private words. It was unsettling to realise a stranger could legally pry into the intimacies of her marriage – but then she had to accept it was the price everyone had to pay if the spies were to be caught.

She looked up at the mantelpiece where she’d placed the photograph he’d sent. He’d had it taken after his initial training period, and he looked very handsome in his uniform, with the beret pulled over one brow. It was true what they said, she thought with a soft smile
– a man in a uniform was very attractive. It sort of tidied them up, made them straighten their shoulders and hold their heads erect. But if any girl dared flash her eyes at her Jim – or he got carried away with how handsome he looked – there would be fireworks and no mistake.

She sat in the warm kitchen and tried not to think about what he might be getting up to so far from home. He’d always been a flirt, and had sailed close to the wind several times over the years, but ultimately he’d always stayed faithful, and she had to believe this would continue.

Her thoughts were disturbed by the slam of the front door. The girls were coming back from their shifts, so it was time to go and wake Cordelia from her afternoon snooze. She was about to leave the warmth of the fire when Jane came into the kitchen, still dressed in her dairy uniform of trousers, jacket, white overall coat and long striped apron, the cap set rakishly on her head.

‘Peggy, do you think I could ask you something?’

Peggy felt a jolt of alarm as she saw the serious expression on her usually sunny face. ‘Yes, of course, dear. What’s the matter?’

Jane took off the cap and shook out her long hair as she sat at the table. She clasped her hands in her lap and chewed her bottom lip before asking hesitantly, ‘Do you know what Anthony does at Castle Hill Fort?’

‘Not really,’ Peggy admitted. ‘His mother goes on about his important, secret work for the MOD, and he
does keep things close to his chest, so I suppose it’s classified. Why do you ask?’

‘He was waiting outside the dairy when I finished work,’ Jane said quietly, ‘and we went for a walk up into the hills so we could have a long private talk about things. He didn’t want anyone to see us, or overhear what he had to say.’

Peggy was rather startled that her nephew should think it appropriate to go into the hills alone with such a young girl.

Her expression must have given her thoughts away, for Jane smiled. ‘There was nothing sinister about it,’ she said. ‘Though I was a bit wary that Suzy might see us and get the wrong end of the stick.’

‘So what did he want to talk to you about that he couldn’t say here?’ asked Peggy.

‘He seems to think I would be very useful to the MOD, and asked me if I would be interested in going away to do some specialist training.’

Peggy realised she’d been the one to grasp the wrong end of the stick, and she quickly closed the kitchen door so their conversation couldn’t be overheard by anyone coming into the hall. She sat down next to Jane. ‘What sort of training?’ she asked softly. ‘Was he specific?’

‘He said it had to do with my ability to solve mathematical problems and codes, and that those skills were very important in helping to win the war. He didn’t go into any real detail because he said he wasn’t allowed to – but if I was interested in doing something
really vital to the war effort, he could arrange for me to see one of his colleagues.’

‘And what did you tell him, Jane?’

‘I said I would have to think about it,’ she replied. She looked at Peggy, her expression earnest and a mite fearful. ‘I’m not supposed to tell anyone about this,’ she confessed, ‘and I feel a bit disloyal about keeping it from Sarah. But she’s got enough to worry about, and without Mummy and Daddy here, I felt I could come to you, Peggy. I trust you, you see, and I think you’re the best person to give me honest advice.’