Where Bluebells Chime. Elizabeth Elgin

       11

      My darling Daisy,

      Thank you for the birthday card. I did as you told me and didn’t open it until the twelfth.

      Once, we thought we would be together for my twenty-third birthday and the two of us house hunting and planning a wedding. Instead, you are going into the Forces and it seems immoral, almost, that I am away from it all and that we who need each other so much cannot be together. So I promise you this my lovely girl – somehow I will get home. There has got to be a way.

      ‘Keth, no!’ Daisy whispered. ‘Don’t do anything stupid – oh, please.’

      She screwed up her eyes tightly, refusing to weep. There were thousands of women whose man had gone away and might never come home again; at least Keth was not in uniform and was safe in a neutral country, though Dada said it was a peculiar kind of neutrality that sent us tanks and guns and food and asked no payment in return. The Americans would get their fingers burned taking such risks, if anybody was interested in what he thought, and it would need only one incident at sea and before they knew it, America would be drawn into the war. Remember the Lusitania last time?

      ‘But would it be such a bad thing for us to have an ally?’ Mam had wanted to know, and Daisy supposed that for us, beleaguered as we were, to have someone on our side would be nothing short of a miracle.

      But why should the United States become involved again? They had the wide span of the Atlantic between them and Europe. They were far enough away from Hitler so why should Bas, even though he was half-English, help fight our war?

      Daisy jumped impatiently to her feet to stand at the wide-open window, gazing out into the August evening.

      At least the weather was kind. There had been little rain for weeks. A farmer who hadn’t got his harvest in wasn’t trying, Dada said. And why, she demanded irritably, had she been so stupid; why was she leaving her home, her parents? Why had she lost her temper that dinnertime because an arrogant woman and her totally unimportant account upset her?

      Because she was her father’s daughter, Mam said; because she had the same stubborn streak in her and his quick temper, too.

      Mam understood about being in love. Mam was silly and sentimental, too; had buttercups pressed in her Bible, still, just as her daughter pressed a daisychain between the pages of the Song of Solomon beside words written for a lover, by a lover. ‘Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away’; words about winter being past and flowers appearing and birds singing, yet now it sometimes seemed as if flowers had never bloomed and birds would never sing again. But nothing lasted, Mam said; neither bad times nor, sadly, good.

      ‘Our time will come, Keth,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll be together again, one day …’

      The telephone began to ring, calling her back from her dreamings.

      ‘For you,’ Alice called. ‘It’s Tatiana.’

      ‘Hi, Tatty,’ Daisy smiled into the receiver. ‘What’s news?’

      ‘The dance tomorrow night at Creesby – okay?’ Tatiana Sutton’s voice was low and husky as if she were whispering into the mouthpiece. ‘I’m going with you and Gracie – all right?’

      ‘But I’m not going.’

      ‘That doesn’t matter. I don’t suppose Tim and I will be there, either. But if he isn’t on ops. – and there’s a good chance he won’t be – I’ll need an alibi.’

      ‘But couldn’t you just say you were coming over to Keeper’s?’

      ‘And have Mother ring me to check up? She might. She’s getting suspicious.’

      ‘Okay. It’s Creesby, then. But be careful, Tatty – you know what I mean? ‘Bye …’

      ‘And what did Tatiana want, or shouldn’t I ask?’ Alice fixed her daughter with a stare, one eyebrow raised.

      ‘No you shouldn’t ask, Mam, but I’ll tell you. She’s meeting Tim Thomson and she wanted to know if I’ll be at the Creesby dance on Wednesday. Her mother’s a bit stuffy about her going there.’

      ‘So she told her mother that you were going?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘But you aren’t, Daisy. It’s your medical the day after. Now you mustn’t get drawn into things!’

      ‘Mam, Tatty knows what she’s doing. And I don’t know why her mother tries to wrap her in cotton wool all the time.’

      ‘Happen it’s the way Russian mothers do it.’

      ‘Well, it’s stupid of her because Tatty’s as English as I am! And Tim’s a decent sort, though I don’t suppose Grandmother Petrovska would approve of him.’

      ‘What do you mean – approve?’ Alice looked alarmed. ‘Are things getting serious between them?’

      ‘Don’t think so, but you know what Tatty’s like. If it’s got anything to do with aeroplanes or aircrew, she’s mad about it. And Tim’s a good dancer, too.’

      She turned to fidget with the cutlery on the table, straightening it, shifting the cruet so her mother should not see the flush that stained her cheeks. Mam knew she always went red when she told a lie, and Tatty was serious about Tim. Head over heels, truth known.

      ‘I still think she’s too young to be out alone.’

      ‘She’s eighteen, Mam!’

      ‘Yes, but she’s so – so unworldly to my way of thinking. They should have sent her to school instead of having that governess teach her; let her see how the other half lives!’

      ‘There’s nothing wrong with Tatty. And what’s that? Smells good.’ Deftly she steered the conversation into safer channels as her mother took a pie from the oven.

      ‘Woolton pie. Again.’ Once she’d have been ashamed to serve such a poor dish, but needs must these days. There had been a small piece of meat left over from Sunday dinner and a jug of good gravy, so a little meat, gravy, and a lot of vegetables were covered with a suet crust and heaven only knew what they would do if suet went on the ration! She glanced towards the window as the barking of dogs told her her husband was home. ‘Get the plates out of the oven, there’s a good girl, whilst I strain the carrots. And, Daisy – tell Tatiana to be careful. You know what I mean …?’

      ‘She is careful, Mam.’

      ‘Yes – well that’s as maybe.’ Alice had not forgotten what it was like to be eighteen and in love. She offered her cheek, smiling, for Tom’s kiss.

      Come to think of it, she was still in love.

      ‘Sorry I’m late, Mr Catchpole.’ Gracie arrived, breathless, pulling her bounty behind her. ‘Found it in Brattocks Wood. It looks good and dry – thought it would do for the fire. Hope it was all right to take it?’

      ‘Course it was, as long as nobody saw you with it.’ Jack regarded the branch of fallen wood. ‘Get it stuck behind the shed and us’ll get the saw to it later. And Miss Julia was asking for you.’

      ‘I’ve seen her. Home Farm is letting her have six