Down an English Lane (12 page)

‘Putting on a brave face maybe,’ said Lily. ‘Anyway, time will tell…’

Chapter Seven

B
ruce Tremaine was concerned about Maisie. They had been good friends for several years, ever since she had first come to Middlebeck as a nine-year-old girl. She had been wary of him at first, he recalled, but he had known from the start that she was a tough little kid who had already received more than her fair share of hard knocks. She had become fond of his dog, Prince, and the animal had often accompanied them on walks through the country lanes around Tremaine House and the Nixons’ farm; Maisie, Audrey and himself, and sometimes Doris as well.

He had seen them only irregularly as he had been away at boarding school, and each time he came home the three girls had grown a little in stature and in maturity as well. But he had thought of them as little girls, sort of kid sisters, and it had come as something of a shock to him, returning home on
this present leave, to see how grown-up they had suddenly all become. They were very attractive young ladies, all three of them. There was Doris with her slightly buxom fresh-complexioned, ‘milkmaid’ kind of beauty; Audrey, blonde and blue-eyed with a Dresden china sort of prettiness; and Maisie, a contrast to the other two with her deep brown eyes and dark hair and winning smile; an arresting loveliness which forced you to take notice of her. He had to admit that Maisie had always been his favourite of the three friends, the one who had seemed to be more on his wavelength. He had corresponded with her ever since he had joined the RAF, but not with the other two girls. She had shown an interest in his progress on the training course and had sent congratulations from all three of them when he had been awarded his wings. She had kept him in touch, too, with anecdotes and news from home and he had come to look forward to her letters more and more. He could not have explained, even to himself, why he had not told her in his letters about his developing friendship with Christine.

It had come as a great shock to him after the concert when Christine had told him that she believed that Maisie was in love with him. He had poured scorn on the idea, choosing to believe that Christine herself might be the tiniest bit jealous. It was a trait he had noticed in her once or twice before, although he had never given her cause to be
jealous. It was true, though, that Maisie did seem to be avoiding him; or it might just have been that there had been no opportunity for them to get together and have a chat about old times. Chrissie would not have liked that, and whilst she had been staying at Tremaine House, Bruce had thought it only right that he should spend all his time with her. Now she had returned to the camp in advance of him. Her demob was imminent and she wanted to say goodbye to the friends she had made. Bruce was staying for a few more days in Middlebeck before returning to the camp in Lincolnshire. He intended to stay on and make his career in the RAF. As for Chrissie, she would be returning to Bradford, her home town, and her office job at the woollen mill. But he hoped that, before long, he and she would be together for good. Christine Myerscough, he had decided, was the girl with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

But the fact remained that he was anxious about Maisie and he decided, the very day that Christine had departed on the morning train back to Lincoln, that he must go and see her. The Secondary schools were not due to start until the following week, so he guessed that she might be helping out at her mother’s shop on the High Street.

‘Jenner and Jackson’ read the sign over the door. Bruce was pleased that Lily Jackson was now being given credit for the hard work she had put into the shop. Goods were still in short supply, but there
was an attractive display in the window. Red, white and blue was the theme, in accordance with the recent VE and VJ celebrations. There were hanks of knitting wool and swathes of ribbons and dress materials in those colours, interspersed with baby clothes in white and pale blue, floral aprons and men’s working shirts, all toning in with the same patriotic colours. A pair of gaily striped blue and white gents’ pyjamas hung at the back and below it, more modestly displayed in a corner, a pair of ladies’ knickers – the old-fashioned ‘directoire’ type with elastic at the waist and knees – in bright scarlet. A large union Jack formed the backdrop, with portraits of King George the Sixth and Queen Elizabeth at either side.

Bruce had noticed on his way down the street that some windows still sported pictures of Winston Churchill, with slogans such as ‘This was our Finest Hour’, but the elderly statesman was now being forced to take a back seat. As he would not be twenty-one until November, Bruce had not been able to vote in the recent election. He was not at all sure, either, as to which way he would have voted. Nobody was supposed to know how others cast their votes. His parents’ generation were still secretive about it, but Bruce had a sneaking feeling that his father, if not his mother, might not have voted for the ‘grand old man’. There was something of the radical now about Archie Tremaine. There had been open and sometimes heated discussions in
the Officers’ Mess; it had been no secret that many of the young men, with similar backgrounds to his own, were ready for a change of direction.

He peered through the glass of the shop door and saw that Maisie was alone in the shop, occupied in tidying a shelf behind the counter. He pressed the latch and opened the door and the bell sounded with a welcoming ping. Maisie looked round and he saw the look of open-mouthed surprise on her face for just a moment, before she smiled.

‘Bruce… How lovely to see you…’ She looked inquiringly behind him and out of the door. ‘Are you…er…are you on your own?’

‘Yes, there’s just me,’ he replied. ‘You meant am I with Christine, I suppose?’ He noticed that she gave a curt nod. ‘Chrissie’s gone back to camp. She’s being demobbed soon, you see, but I have a few more days leave. So I decided I must catch up with my…old friends, and spend some time with my parents, of course.’

‘Yes…of course,’ replied Maisie. It seemed for a moment as though there was going to be an awkward silence between them, but then she started to chat in her usual carefree and friendly way. ‘What about you, Bruce? Are you staying in the RAF, or are you getting demobbed as well?’

‘Oh, I’m staying on,’ he replied, ‘I have always wanted to fly, ever since I was at school.’

‘Yes, I remember. You used to talk about it,’ said Maisie. ‘But now that the war’s ended there won’t
be any need, will there, for fighter planes?’

‘Not as such, no. But we have to retain our fighting forces – the army and the navy as well as the RAF – even though there is no war at the moment. One never knows where or when skirmishes might break out, and there are bases in Germany now, of course, with peace-keeping forces.’

‘But you are staying in Lincolnshire, are you?’

‘For the moment, yes. There are plans for me to be an instructor now, training new pilots, and I’ll be doing test flights. Yes, they’ll still need the RAF, Maisie… Anyway, that’s enough about me. It really is great to see you again. I’m sorry if you thought I was neglecting you…and Audrey, but Chrissie has only just gone back this morning, and I had to spend my time with her, seeing that I had invited her to Middlebeck…to meet my parents.’

‘I quite understand,’ Maisie said, politely. She did not ask any questions about Christine, and Bruce decided it would be best not to mention her again.

‘So…what about you, Maisie? Back to school soon, I suppose? I notice the Juniors and Infants have already started.’

‘Yes, my brother and sister went back earlier this week. We start on Monday, Audrey and I. Don’t remind me that it’s an important year, Bruce, because I know that.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of doing so,’ he laughed. He had noticed a slight grimace of annoyance at his
mention of the word school. Perhaps this new, grown-up Maisie did not like to be reminded that she was still, in actual fact, a schoolgirl. And likely to be so for two or three more years, he guessed. It would not be surprising, he pondered, if she were to kick out against the restraints, later, if not sooner. ‘I used to hate it when people asked me, “When are you going back?”, and now I’m guilty of doing the same. I am truly sorry, deeply sorry…’ He grinned at her.

‘It’s OK; you’re forgiven,’ she replied easily.

‘So…how about us going on one of those rambles we used to enjoy?’ he continued. ‘You and Audrey, and Doris, too, if she can be spared from the farm.’ He thought it would be best to make it clear from the start that he did not mean himself and Maisie alone, just in case she had any strange ideas of the kind that Christine had suggested. ‘And Prince; that goes without saying. The old boy’s still as sprightly as ever, I’m glad to say.’

‘Yes, I see him out with your father sometimes,’ said Maisie, ‘and he barks and wags his tail when he sees me. Yes… I’d enjoy that and so would Audrey. And we’ll ask Doris; her mother might be able to spare her for an hour or two. We could take a picnic, couldn’t we? Like we did once before, d’you remember…oh, years ago, and we went up to the castle on the hill.’ She looked positively elated at the memory and any previous sign of awkwardness seemed to have vanished.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Bruce. ‘We had young Timothy with us as well. He was limping rather, because it was not all that long after his…accident, but he was really game, insisting he could keep up with us all.’ It was the bombing of the poor little lad’s home in Hull that he was recalling. ‘Perhaps Tim would like to come as well. Or does he not go around with you and Audrey any more?’

‘Not as much,’ said Maisie. ‘He’s got his own friends now, but I’m sure he’d like to spend some time with you, Bruce. We’ll ask him. So…what day would you suggest?’

‘No time like the present,’ he replied. ‘How about tomorrow, early afternoon?’

‘Great,’ said Maisie. ‘I’ll summon the troops then. And I’ll raid my mother’s cake tin and take something to drink as well.’

‘How is Lily?’ asked Bruce. ‘Is she around? I see you are in charge this morning.’

‘She’s fine. On top of the world, actually,’ said Maisie. ‘She and Arthur have just got engaged, and there might even be news of a wedding soon. She’s gone to have a look round the market; she should be back soon.’

‘That’s good news,’ said Bruce. ‘About her marrying Arthur, I mean… And you are pleased about it?’

‘Of course,’ said Maisie, smiling brightly. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

They looked at one another for a brief moment
and Bruce could see a touch of defiance in her eyes. He remembered that it would be the girl’s second stepfather, and maybe her mother’s engagement was evoking memories of the first disastrous situation that Lily had got them into, with her hasty re-marriage. But Arthur Rawcliffe, from what Bruce knew of him, was a very different sort of person; strong-minded and reliable and a good businessman, too. He reflected again, though, on how Maisie had matured of late. There must be times, surely, when she wanted to rebel and make her own decisions, instead of succumbing to the pressures and ideas instilled in her by the adults around her.

‘No reason at all,’ replied Bruce now. ‘Arthur’s a good sort, and I wish your mother all the best… By the way, Maisie, I must thank you for the letters you’ve kept on sending me. Letters mean so much to servicemen when we’re away from home. And yours are so bright and full of fun; they were a real tonic.’

She gave a slight shrug of embarrassment. ‘It’s all right. I quite like writing letters. Thank you for yours as well… But I won’t… I mean, now that the war’s over an’ all that, perhaps I won’t write any more? It might be best, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, I think so, Maisie,’ he agreed. He guessed that her reasons for not wanting to write any more had little to do with the end of the war. Besides, Christine might well be annoyed, and rightly so, he
supposed, if he was corresponding with another young woman. ‘Anyway, you will have quite enough to do with your schoolwork… Sorry, sorry.’ He lifted his hand in a gesture of apology. ‘I’m not supposed to mention that, am I?’

She laughed. ‘It’s OK. I will be busy with choir practices and homework and everything. And we’re going to do a pantomime at church – next January, probably – now that there’s no blackout restrictions. Audrey did really well with the children in
Alice in Wonderland,
but I’m trying to persuade her to be in it this time, instead of helping to produce.’

‘Yes, she did do well,’ agreed Bruce. ‘And I shall look forward to the pantomime. I must try and get home to see it. What’s it going to be?’

Maisie tapped her nose. ‘It’s a secret yet,’ she smiled, ‘until it’s been cast.’

‘Oh, I see. Very hush-hush, is it? Well, I expect you will have a leading role…I don’t think I told you how much I enjoyed your solo the other night. It was very remiss of me; I meant to tell you at the time. It was first-rate, Maisie. Jolly good show, as some of my RAF mates might say.’

‘Thank you…’ she murmured.

‘Such an evocative song,’ he went on. ‘Well, all Ivor Novello’s songs are nostalgic, aren’t they? And that line about walking down an English lane… It reminded me so much of the countryside round here.’

‘Me too…’ said Maisie quietly.