Down Daisy Street (23 page)
‘No, but I’m sure someone will lend us enough to pay our fares into Norwich, because I’ll certainly go with you,’ Alec said. ‘Do you two have any money?’
‘We’re none of us got nothin’ but the clo’es we stand up in and they ain’t much cop,’ the younger Mills brother said truthfully. ‘But I reckon that ain’t a bad thing to go job huntin’, wi’ salt lines all over your clothin’ and no chink in your pockets. Happen folk’ll give us a job easier because we’re flood victims.’
Everyone grinned and Mrs Agar told them to stand out of the way while the women laid the table for a meal before they went. ‘I made a big rabbit stew and there’s a load of spuds to have with it,’ she said. ‘Did you have a potato clamp, Mr Hewitt? And what about mangolds an’ the like? That’s odd how the sea do behave; sometimes it’ll take every last tree standin’ up and pass over a good big potato clamp without doing no damage.’
Bob shrugged helplessly. ‘We had ’em all right, but we won’t know what we’ve got left until the sea drains off,’ he pointed out. ‘If the clamps are still there, we’ll be eatin’ potatoes and nothin’ else for months. I reckon there won’t be a rabbit left alive, either, except on higher ground, so we best make the most of your stew, Miz Agar,’ he added as a mouthwatering smell began to fill the large kitchen.
‘Oh, I reckon the rabbits and other wild things would have took fright and fled before the water came through the gap,’ Mr Agar said breezily. ‘I see plenty of dead stock in the fields but no wildlife; even the birds took flight and kept well clear, though I did see a dead swan over the marshes.’
‘I wonder what happened to rest of my hens? I dare say they’ll come home a few at a time as the water goes down, since after all they can fly. The ducks and geese should be all right since they can swim,’ Betty said, as they sat down to enjoy their meal. Alec kept his mouth shut and did not remind his mother of the force of the gale. Wild birds which were used to wild conditions – and to using their wings – might have flown inland but he thought, personally, that a heavy-bodied hen would have had her work cut out to remain upright, let alone fly.
‘The snag’s goin’ to be where they’ve gone to and whether someone else has took ’em in,’ Bob remarked, after a moment.
‘Oh well, never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you,’ Mrs Agar said. ‘Anyone for more stew? There’s still plenty in the pot.’
In the end, Alec and the Mills boys went with Mr Agar and Betty and Bob, all crammed into the old Ford truck. They stopped at Stalham, where Alec’s Aunt Irene was happy to take the Hewitt family in, and then Mr Agar insisted on driving the three boys into the city. He also gave them some money for their fares home and wished them luck before driving off, leaving them standing on Gentlemen’s Walk, opposite the market. He had advised them to go first to the city hall to explain their situation and see whether any sort of help for flood victims was yet in place. However, the boys felt that this would be rather tame and decided they would see whether they could get work first.
‘We’d best split up,’ the elder Mills lad said first. ‘’Twouldn’t do for the three of us to descend on an employer all at once.’ He glanced up at the golden figures of the clock on the city hall tower. ‘Let’s meet back here in an hour, say, and if none of us int done no good, we’ll go the city hall then.’
They duly met up as arranged and were soon laughing over the strangeness of fate, for each had come independently upon the Forces’ recruiting office. The elder Mills had joined the Navy, the younger one the army, and Alec himself had signed on for the Royal Air Force and had been told he would get a letter some time in the next few days, telling him where to report for his initial training.
That evening, he returned to Stalham. Surrounded by the family in Aunt Irene’s pleasant living room – Aunt Irene herself, Uncle Mark and Alec’s three girl cousins, as well as the Hewitts – Alec explained, rather diffidently, that he had joined the Royal Air Force. He waited for expressions of incredulity or even annoyance from his parents, but he need not have worried. He did not know whether to be excited or apprehensive about the new course his life was taking; the great advantage, of course, was that he would not only be paid quite a respectable wage, but also be fed and clothed at His Majesty’s expense. He explained this carefully to his parents.
Bob nodded sagely. ‘You know my views, boy Alec. There’s bound to be a war, and when it starts young fellers like yourself won’t have no choice. You’ll be shovelled into the Forces like grain into a sack; you won’t have no choice of what you do or where you go. Gettin’ ahead the way you have, that’s the sensible thing to do.’
‘Ma?’ Alec asked anxiously. ‘What do you think?’
Betty gave the question her mature consideration and then smiled at her son. ‘I agree with your dad. You’ve done the right thing,’ she said decidedly. ‘Which trade did you put down for? I hope you don’t intend to go flyin’ planes, because farmin’ people are best with their feet on the ground, but you’ve always been good with engines. Look at that old motorbike you put together in the barn when you were younger and had a bit more time. Any chance of you workin’ with engines, do you suppose?’
‘I’d dearly love to fly,’ Alec said, unable to keep the longing out of his voice. ‘But it’s like everything else, you have to start at the bottom of the ladder and work up. Actually, it’s more what they need than what you want yourself. The sergeant in the recruiting office advised me to go for aero engine mechanics, so that’s what I’ve put on my form. But there’s no knowing what I’ll end up doing,’ he added conscientiously.
‘Well, I won’t deny, we’ll miss you dreadfully,’ Betty said. ‘But the truth is, Alec, my dear, that until the farm is rebuilt you’re better off away from here. Your cousins have all moved into one bedroom so that Bob and I can have the third room and we’ve made you up a bed on the floor in Uncle Mark’s study, but if you’re off with the air force it’ll make things easier.
Aunty Irene and Uncle Mark cried out that they would manage very well, that Alec was not to feel unwelcome, that something could always be arranged, but Alec could see they were relieved. He guessed that it would be difficult enough to have his three girl cousins all crammed into one bedroom and his parents occupying the remaining room, without having Uncle Mark’s study taken over as well. What was more, he realised that without his work on the land to keep him busy he would very soon grow bored. The Clampett house was pleasant and set in a large garden but there was nothing to
do
there. Uncle Mark was a prosperous shopkeeper, a man of means you might say, and would not thank his nephew if he tried to interfere in the smooth running of his home.
do
there. Uncle Mark was a prosperous shopkeeper, a man of means you might say, and would not thank his nephew if he tried to interfere in the smooth running of his home.
The three girl cousins were still at school – the eldest was only twelve – and rode to their classes each morning on shiny bicycles. Alec imagined that rather than returning to her parents’ farm his mother would probably get work of some sort in Stalham itself, whilst Bob would obviously go back to Honeywell – along with Joel, Ned and the other farmhands – to start the work of cleaning up the terrible mess and finding out how much, if anything, was left to them. Alec had never known a flood like this one in his eighteen years, but both Bob and Betty had seen Norwich in 1912 when the city had suffered the worst floods in living memory, and remembered the devastation that had been caused by the stinking mud which was revealed as the flood gradually subsided. Anything that had been covered in mud and water for several days was affected; cars would not work, bicycles were rusted and clogged up, wooden floorboards had rotted and shrunk and such things as rugs, chairs and tables and sofas were effectively ruined. And that, Alec recalled now, had not been seawater but merely the result of a torrential downpour – half a year’s rain in a few days. Of course, he would do his best to help his father in the work of salvage, but he knew very well that the money he would earn was what the family needed. He had no doubt of Mr Rumbold’s good will, knew that their landlord would do his best by his tenants, but he also knew that this would take time. Mr Rumbold had a huge estate, a good deal of it further from the coast and on rather higher ground, so he would not suddenly find himself penniless. But farming was going through a really bad depression anyway. Cheap foreign imports were ruining men who had known their markets and relied upon supply and demand. Prices had fallen dramatically and probably even Mr Rumbold would be feeling the pinch.
As though he had read his son’s thoughts, Bob cleared his throat and spoke. ‘Mr Mathews sent a messenger to all Mr Rumbold’s tenants what’s been affected by the flooding,’ he told his son rather gruffly. ‘There’s a meeting up at the Hall tomorrow morning at eleven for all Mr Rumbold’s tenants and that includes the farmhands and families. He’s offered transport, so a lorry will be picking up between nine and ten. I said we’d be much obliged and to keep room for the three of us aboard the lorry; I know you’re joining the air force but I think you ought to come along. The farm’s your future, and in wartime every bit of food we can grow will sell, you may be sure of that.’ He chuckled grimly. ‘I never thought I’d look to a war to mend farming fortunes, but that’s what’ll happen, you mark my words.’
That night, in his makeshift bed on the study floor, Alec thought about what his father had said. In common with most young men, he had not really taken talk of war seriously. After all, had they not fought the ‘war to end all wars’ scarcely twenty years before? But now he considered it and he realised there was a strong possibility that his father was right on both counts. The way that Hitler was behaving, it looked as though there was only one way of stopping him and that meant war, for talk, in Alec’s opinion, seldom had much lasting effect. If a boy asked you not to play with his football, you would agree to let it alone and after five minutes you’d be in there again, kicking away. But if the same boy gave you a punch on the mouth so that you were spitting teeth into the playground, you’d steer clear of him – and his football – for years, if necessary.
And if a war did come, then he guessed that shipping would be a deal too busy fighting to consider bringing in cheap imports of grain, meat and other such commodities. New Zealand lamb would stay in New Zealand, and the little flock his father had been gradually building up would be eagerly sought after . . . or would have been. He remembered with a jolt that, in fact, they were no longer farmers. Others might reap the benefits that a war would bring, but the Hewitts and the other farmers in Horsey would not. Their stock floated, swollen and stinking, in the still flooded countryside, their orchards had been uprooted, their crops devastated, their homes destroyed. It was easy to say they would make them good, but it would take time and no one could tell what the next few months would bring.
Alec turned on his side and buried his face in his pillow; he must get to sleep so that he would be sharp and alert at the meeting next day. But presently he remembered Loopy and despite telling himself not to be a fool, that she might yet turn up, a salty tear slid down his cheek before he slept.
It was halfway through March, with a fresh and boisterous wind drying out the land, when Alec’s papers arrived. He was told to report at Cardington on Wednesday, the 23rd of the month, and a railway pass and a postal order – which he was told represented one day’s pay – were enclosed, so that the journey to his new life would cost him nothing. Despite knowing how his parents must feel, Alec had difficulty in concealing his jubilation, for with no farm to work on the month which had elapsed since the flood had been almost unbearable. Of course, there had been clearing up in plenty and Alec had played his part with the rest. As had been predicted, the mud was their worst enemy, and seeing things he had loved and taken for granted ruined had been hard. His mother’s beehives had disappeared save for the one that was smashed to matchwood, but they had managed to salvage a good many farm implements such as the plough, the harrow, the seed drill and the like. Betty went along to the farm every day to help with the milking and collect the tools which the men handed in as soon as they were clean enough. Then she worked diligently away with wire wool and an old file and the oil can until they were usable once more.
The saddest thing, the thing which sent Alec off by himself for half a day, was the finding of Loopy’s body. He had been cleaning a ditch which ran down to the mere and saw an obstacle ahead which looked like a bundle of hedging with hay matted amongst its twigs. It was blocking the channel, and when he dug his fork in to move it he realised that it was a good deal heavier than it should have been. He heaved and struggled and got it out of the bank and then saw, through the thicket of twigs, the flopping red ears and slender muzzle which he had known and loved so well. He knew he had given a strangled cry and had begun tearing the sticks away as though there was some hope and had then seen, with sick horror, that the dog’s body was actually impaled on his fork.
He had turned away and thrown up his breakfast, kneeling beside the ditch with tears running down his face. It was no use scolding himself, telling himself that Loopy was, after all, only a dog and not even a sensible or useful one at that. She had been beautiful and loving, her foolishness amusing and never annoying, her affection warming. He could not help it; he wept.
Alec had attended the meeting on the day following their removal to Stalham and had been heartened, as had all those present, by the promise of help both from their landlord and from the flood fund. They would receive an allowance for food, clothing and similar expenses and Mr Rumbold had not been idle; he had engaged a team of bricklayers to start the rebuilding as soon as it was safe to do so and had told them that all his farms had been insured against the dangers of fire, flood and other catastrophes, for though the premiums for such cover had seemed heavy when he first took them out, they had fallen to more respectable levels as he installed more pumps and a windmill to keep the lowlying land as dry as possible. He reminded them that it had been over forty years since the sea had last inflicted such damage and created vast areas of salt marsh, and hoped that it would be many more before such a thing happened again.
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