Red Sky in the Morning (31 page)

The number of mourners at the funeral had told Anna that. The line following the coffin had stretched a hundred yards or more.

‘But, well—’ Jed was still stumbling on, trying in his youthful way to bring comfort to the young girl, ‘I weren’t family.’

Anna smiled at him through her tears. ‘Thanks, Jed,’ she said huskily. ‘You’re – very kind.’

Jed became her constant companion. Luke had taught her about sheep, but it was Jed she watched hedging and ditching, he who helped her with a broody hen and watched as the eggs cracked and
little yellow chicks emerged. It was Jed who showed her how to milk the cows and helped her overcome her fear of their restless hooves.

‘I won’t ever like them as much as the sheep.’ She laughed. ‘But I’m not quite so scared of them now. Thanks to you.’

‘You’ve got gentle fingers. You’d make a good milkmaid.’

Anna pulled a face. ‘I’d rather be a shepherdess. That’s what I really want to be.’

He took her fishing in the stretch of the River Brant that ran through both her grandfather’s farm and his uncle’s. And it was Jed who stood with his arm about her shoulders,
comforting her whenever any of their animals were loaded into the back of the lorry to be driven to market.

‘How’s ya mam?’ he asked gently one day.

Anna shrugged. ‘She’s running the house better now.’

She even managed to smile. ‘Her cooking’s improved, but she still cries a lot.’ Anna’s voice broke a little as she added, ‘She – wants to go back to the
city.’

Jed looked down at her, his blue eyes sober. ‘What about you?’ he asked softly. ‘Do you want to go back?’

Vehemently, Anna shook her head. ‘No. I never want to go back. I want to stay here for ever and ever.’

It was the dream of an eleven-year-old child, but silently Jed prayed that her wish would still be the same when Anna was grown. ‘I hope you do,’ he said softly.

Clayton’s Farm, handed down through the generations from Luke’s great-grandfather, was situated a few miles to the south of Lincoln. It had passed from son to son,
but now there were only May and Anna to take it on should anything happen to Luke. The old man couldn’t hide the fact that his dearest wish was to see them both living back at the farm for
good.

‘It’s silly to keep paying rent on an empty house in the city,’ Luke told May bluntly.

‘But we’ll be going back,’ May argued, trying to hold out.

‘Look, love,’ Luke said, trying to be more gentle, ‘even if you do go back to town one day – ’ the words were said reluctantly, but he had to accept the fact that
it was a strong possibility. If his daughter had her way, she’d be back to city life in a trice – ‘surely you’d be better to have a fresh start in a different house? Do you
really want to take that little lass’ – Luke almost choked on the words – ‘back to a house full of memories of her daddy? Do
you
want to go back there?’

May sighed. ‘I don’t know, Dad. Sometimes my memories of Ken are so vivid it’s almost as if he’s going to walk into the room at any minute. At others, it seems as if all
those years were just a dream and never really happened.’

‘Well, they did and you’ve a lovely daughter to prove it. We’ve all got our memories – that’s what keeps us going,’ Luke said, thinking back down the years to
all the happy times he’d spent with his beloved Rosa. ‘Hold on to them, May, don’t ever lose them. But it doesn’t mean we have to stop living. You’ve still got a lot
of your life left and Ken wouldn’t have wanted you to mourn him for ever. And that little lass has got all of hers to come yet. Let her choose the path she wants to take, May.’ He put
his head on one side and regarded her solemnly. ‘I didn’t stand in the way of you marrying Ken Milton and letting him take you to live in the city, even though I wanted you to stay
here.’

Easy tears filled May’s eyes. ‘You didn’t like him, Dad, did you?’

Luke sighed. ‘Not at first, no, but I think it was only because I knew he’d take you away from us. Later I came to see that he was a fine young man. A good husband and
father.’

‘Just because he volunteered for the war – like you did years ago?’ There was a bitter edge to her tone now.

Luke sighed, but was honest enough to admit, ‘Well, I saw then that he had the qualities I admire in a feller. It was a pity it took a war to show me that, but that was my pig-headedness.
I’ll own up to that.’

So, May relinquished the tenancy of the terraced house in Lincoln and moved their belongings and bits of furniture into the rambling farmhouse.

For most of the time the war seemed very far away, with only the drone of aircraft overhead to remind them. And, of course, the rationing, as May, who had now taken over the running of the
household, was ever quick to tell them. But, living on a farm, they were luckier than most. By 1942 the last of Luke’s young farmhands had joined the army, leaving only Luke and an old man
who had worked on Clayton’s Farm all his life. And even he was able to work less and less.

‘Tis the arthritis in me old bones,’ he complained. ‘I’m not as young as I used to be.’

Despite her sympathy for the old farmhand, Anna always wanted to giggle when she heard him say that. Not about the arthritis, but about his age. Was anyone ever as young as they once were? she
thought.

Jed helped whenever he could, but his uncle’s farm was short-handed too.

‘I don’t know why they all want to go rushing off,’ Luke grumbled. ‘They’re in a reserved occupation. Just wanting to play the hero.’

‘Well, you did,’ May retorted and added bitterly, ‘and so did Ken.’

‘Aye, you’re right, lass.’ The old man’s eyes softened. ‘I suppose I should understand better than anyone. Anyway,’ he went on briskly, ‘we’re to
have a couple of Land Army girls. Can you do with ’em in the house?’

May smiled and Luke realized how hard May was trying to be more like her mother. Rosa had wanted nothing more from life than to be a good farmer’s wife. To their disappointment, Luke and
Rosa had only been blessed with one child, though they would have loved more. After a difficult birth with May, Dr Phillips had warned Rosa not to have any more children. So Rosa contented herself
with her husband, her daughter and the extended family of their farmworkers and all the extra help that came at haymaking, harvest and shearing. Rosa was at her happiest when she had an army to
feed.

May hadn’t quite got to that level yet, but she said now, ‘It’ll be lovely to have some young folks about the place. Company for Anna too.’
And me as well
, she
thought privately.

The sight of the two Land Army girls climbing out of the back of the lorry a few days later was a welcome one for Luke; May, too, smiled a greeting, but their reasons were very different. Luke
was glad to see more help arriving, even if he expected it to take a few weeks for the two girls to settle in and learn the ropes. May was just glad to see two young women nearer her own age, who
looked as if they might bring a little fun and laughter to the back of beyond, which was how she thought of Clayton’s Farm.

May hurried out to greet them. The girls were dressed identically in the Women’s Land Army ‘uniform’: open-necked shirts, green pullovers, brown corduroy knee breeches, long
thick fawn socks and brown brogues.

‘Hello. I’m May Milton. Come along in. You must be hungry. How far have you come?’

The two girls were bouncy, bubbly and quite pretty in a brash sort of way. The shorter of the two, who had blue eyes, shoulder-length blonde hair and a round, merry face, held out her hand.
‘Hello, I’m Betty Purves.’

‘Better known as Purvey the Curvy, because she curves in all the right places,’ the other girl said. ‘And I’m Rita Mackinder.’ Rita was tall with short, curly dark
brown hair and brown eyes. ‘The skinny one.’

May shook hands with them. ‘You’re both very welcome. Come along in, do.’

The girls heaved their luggage from the back of the lorry and waved a cheery goodbye to the driver.

‘Don’t forget the dance next Saturday, Harry,’ Betty called after him.

‘It’s a date, love.’ He waved as he started the engine.

‘Oh you!’ Rita pretended indignation. ‘How many fellers do you need? What about Douglas?’

Betty patted her long golden hair. ‘Safety in numbers, pet. Come on, where’s that tea the nice lady was offering? I’m parched.’

Later, when Anna and Luke walked into the house together, the kitchen was alive with noisy laughter. May, her eyes more alight than they had been for months, said, ‘Oh, come and meet these
two. They’re a scream. They ought to be on the stage.’

When the introductions were done, Luke said, ‘Well now, where are you two lasses from then?’

‘Me? I’m from up north,’ Betty said. ‘Near Newcastle, but Rita here, she’s from Sheffield. We’ve never been to Lincolnshire before. Neither of us.’ She
pulled a comical face. ‘I thought it was supposed to be flat, but we tried walking up Steep Hill in Lincoln last week. I don’t call that flat!’

Anna stared at the two girls, fascinated by the way they talked. She’d heard a Yorkshire voice before, but never a Geordie accent. The way Betty’s lilting voice rose at the end of
each sentence, almost as if she was asking a question, delighted the young girl.

Luke was chuckling. ‘It’s flat in the south of the county, in the fens and also along the east coast. But we’ve got the Wolds and the Lincoln Heights to give us a few
hills.’ He nodded at them both. ‘Not like where you come from, I admit, but it suits us.’

Rita nudged Betty. ‘It’ll be safe for you.’ They both laughed and Betty’s face was tinged with pink.

‘We were on a farm in Derbyshire until last month and she was driving a tractor on a steep slope. Going down hill, like this – ’ Rita sloped her hand to demonstrate –
‘and ended up in the river at the bottom. The farmer weren’t right pleased.’

‘Remind me not to let you loose in the field that borders the Brant then,’ Luke said, but his eyes were twinkling.

‘You can talk, Rita Mackinder. What about you and cows then?’ Betty leant across the table towards Luke and now it was Rita’s turn to look embarrassed. ‘I hope
you’ve got hundreds of cows, Mister. Our Rita loves ’em. Can’t
wait
to get her hands on them.’ Laughing, she pretended she was milking a cow.

‘We’ve only got seventeen now, but most of them are good milkers.’

Betty hooted with laughter and dug her friend in the ribs. ‘There you are, Reet. You’ll be all right.’

Mystified, Luke, May and Anna stared at the two girls. Anna was the first to realize the joke. ‘She’s teasing you, isn’t she? You don’t really like them, do
you?’

Rita pulled a wry face. ‘Sorry, no. I don’t. I got kicked badly at the farm in Derbyshire and I’ve been frightened of them ever since.’

‘Never mind,’ Anna said kindly. ‘You can help with the sheep, can’t she, Grandpa?’

‘Course she can, love. We don’t want anyone being hurt here.’

‘You’ll like sheep. They’re lovely and gentle.’

‘You’re very kind,’ Rita said, serious for a moment, ‘but I wouldn’t want it to look as if I’m trying to get out of doing summat I’m supposed
to.’

Luke laughed. ‘Don’t worry, lass, we won’t think that of you. Besides – ’ his eyes twinkled – ‘there’s plenty else you can do.’

They joined in his laughter. It was the happiest sound the farmhouse kitchen had heard in months.

‘We’re going to a dance next Saturday in Lincoln,’ Betty told May. ‘My feller’s picking us up. Why don’t you come with us?’

The two girls had settled in remarkably quickly and now everyone felt they were part of the family.

‘Oh, I don’t know. It – it wouldn’t seem right. I – I lost my husband at Dunkirk and then my mother died soon after . . .’

Looking unusually serious, Betty said gently, ‘You can’t live in the past, pet.’

‘Well, no, but . . . It just seems a little too soon. That’s all.’

‘How about letting Anna come with us, then?’

Now May shook her head firmly. ‘Oh no. She’s far too young.’

‘Is she?’ Betty sounded surprised. ‘How old is she?’

‘Thirteen.’

‘Thirteen! I thought she was at least fifteen. She looks it.’

‘She’s tall for her age. She’s grown even in this last year. I expect it’s living on the farm. She’s filled out.’

Betty laughed as she ran her hands down her own body. ‘And in all the right places. I’ll have a rival for Miss Curvy, nineteen forty-two, if I don’t watch it.’ They
laughed and then Betty added, ‘But, yeah, you’re right. She is a bit young to be going to dances, specially in the city. We get a lot of the RAF lads there.’ Betty’s eyes
sparkled at the thought. ‘Tell you what, though. We’ll take her to the pictures sometime. My feller’s got something to do with one of the cinemas there. He’ll tell us when
there’s a nice film on we can take her to. You’d let her go there with us, wouldn’t you?’

May nodded. ‘That’d be very kind of you.’

‘Oh, go on.’ Betty flapped her hand at May. ‘We love it here. You’re very good to us and as for Pops . . .’ It was the name that Betty had christened Luke.
‘He’s a real poppet.’

May laughed. She’d never heard her father referred to as ‘a poppet’ before, but the endearment suited him. Her face sobered as she said pensively, ‘I wish you could have
met my mother. You’d have loved her.’

Betty couldn’t bear anyone to be maudlin for more than a couple of minutes, so she patted May’s hand and said, ‘I’m sure we would. I bet you take after her, don’t
you?’

May sighed. ‘I really wish I did. But I – I don’t think I’m quite as strong a character as she was.’ She bit her lip, reluctant to confide even to the friendly
Betty that she hated the life on the farm. She was only biding her time until the war was over and she could go back home.

‘Must be off,’ Betty said, not one for analysing life too closely. ‘Mustn’t keep the cows waiting. I still can’t remember all their names. And as for the sheep . .
. I never knew anyone to give names to their sheep before.’

May laughed now. ‘We don’t. Cows have always had names, but naming the sheep was Anna. She loves them.’

‘And that dog, Buster. He never leaves her side, does he? He was missing the other afternoon and I asked Pops where he was. “Oh he’ll be down at the school,” he said,
“waiting for Anna to come out.” And sure enough, there he was, loping alongside of her when she rode into the yard on her bike.’