Letters To Alice. Rosie James
point for everyone – conversation, which had been somewhat muted and discreet, soon gathered momentum. That was the thing with this war. Complete strangers talked to each other without reticence, exchanging views and news on everything from bomb damage and rationing to what they’d do to Herr Hitler if they got the chance. And some of the things Alice had heard weren’t fit for the ears of polite company. Still, you couldn’t blame anyone. Look at the row of houses they were passing…well, they had once been a row of houses, now just a filthy mass of rubble and blackened bricks. And scenes like that were repeated in many other parts of the city. Who knew what happened to all the poor occupants? They’d have to start all over again…if they’d survived.
Alice turned to glance out of the side window for a moment, her expression softening as she thought of Helena Carmichael, and the children.
Especially she thought of Sam…well, she was always thinking of Sam.
Not too sure where Sam was at the moment, she hadn’t heard recently. But the younger ones were all safe and sound, their boarding schools having been evacuated to remote parts of the country. It was true that the city had enjoyed a few months of comparative peace since the last bombardment, but no one was taking the brief silence for granted…you just never knew. The deadly Blitz in April had left everything and everyone temporarily – only temporarily – shattered. But resolute. Whatever happened, people had kept going about their daily business, shops, offices, limited transport, salvaging what they could to stay open and working. Encouraging each other with optimistic banter and snatches of songs…“Hitler you’re barmy, you should have joined the army…” The war had brought a city of complete strangers into one big family intent on supporting each other, and most seemed to be cheerful in spite of everything, each determined to “do their bit” for the war effort. It was amazing how things sometimes turned out.
Alice had been expecting to be called up for the war effort but hadn’t considered the particular role set out for her. She’d been interviewed, and passed her medical test with flying colours, thank goodness – well, she was made of stern stuff, even if she was rather slight. And she was seldom unwell, for which she was grateful. No, she realized she could have been marked out for anything. Factory work, hospital work…perhaps even European resistance work! That might have been exciting! If rather dangerous. Probably very dangerous… Alice had sometimes allowed her imagination to wander as she’d got on with her job as a shorthand typist in one of the city’s estate agent’s.
She settled back into her seat. She was lucky – they were all lucky on this bus. At least where they were going they wouldn’t be waiting for the air-raid siren to start its terrifying wail, no more listening for that hateful throbbing of German aircraft as you ran, panicking, to take shelter, no more listening to the thunder of falling bombs, of seeing fires light up the night sky, of feeling broken glass and telegraph wires scrunch under your feet as next day you walked along after a raid, trying to get to work. There’d be none of that, deep in the countryside…the enemy wouldn’t waste time and ammunition down there. And if they did ever hear the siren – where they were going – it would be a long way away, wouldn’t it? For the benefit of the city dwellers, not for them.
Yes, Alice did feel really lucky. And not for the first time. Lady Luck had been shadowing her for a lot of her life – even if she’d known great sadness, too.
They were well away from the outskirts of Bristol now, and heading into the Somerset countryside, and suddenly her introspection was interrupted by Fay exclaiming – ‘Just look at us! We’re like the three wise bloody monkeys sitting ’ere… See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil!’ She giggled infectiously at her own observation, though Eve – who had had her eyes closed – only managed a faint smile in response. And Alice said –
‘Well, we can’t do much about the first two – but what about the third one…?’
‘Oh, I can’t promise anything,’ Fay said airily. ‘If evil seeks me out, I’ll give as good as I get, don’t you worry!’
Just then, the Women’s Volunteer Service member who’d checked them all off on her clipboard as they’d got on the bus earlier, stood up from her seat in the front. She was a portly, kindly woman, dressed in a dark uniform. She’d taken off her hat which she was flapping at her face and neck, trying to cool off. She lifted her hand, and almost immediately everyone stopped talking to listen.
‘Now then, ladies…’ She raised her voice against the noise of the engine. ‘My name is Iris, and I’m here to hand you over, so to speak, and make sure everyone gets to their right place.’ She paused. ‘I realize this is a bit of a mystery tour, but soon we’ll be dropping groups of you off at various farms where you’ll be working.’ She glanced down at her clipboard. ‘I hope you’ve all remembered to bring your uniforms – and identity cards – and please give your ration books to the farmer’s wife, or whoever asks you for it.’ She looked around at everyone searchingly. ‘This is going to be a very different way of life for most of you, but I know you’ll all do your best. This war can’t last for ever, and in the meantime we’re all in it together, aren’t we? And I hope you’ll all be “healthy and happy in the Women’s Land Army,”’ she added, quoting the advertising slogan. She paused. ‘Now, anyone got any questions?’
Someone half-stood. ‘I can’t remember how much time- off we get,’ she said. ‘Will we be able to go to the nearest fleshpots and enjoy ourselves now and then?’
Iris threw the speaker a shrewd look. ‘You’ll be free for part of Saturdays, and I think Sundays, as well,’ she said. ‘Whenever you can be spared from your duties, I imagine. It will obviously be up to the farmer.’
Fay nudged the other two. ‘Well, the generous pay is hardly going to lead us astray, is it,’ she said, ‘and so far, I haven’t noticed anything resembling a “fleshpot” anyway.’ Then, after a minute – ‘Do either of you know this part of the world?’ She leaned forward to glance out of the window. ‘We could be anywhere, it’s just fields and hedges, fields and hedges…’
It was true – and they did seem to be driving further and further into remote territory, leaving anything resembling town or city life behind them. They trundled on through numerous small hamlets, stopping at various farms to drop girls off in twos and threes. They passed groups of cows sheltering beneath the shade of huge trees, saw sheep grazing on hilly slopes sometimes leading down to a stream bubbling along like an uneven strand of quicksilver, saw the occasional horse pulling a cart, wending its weary way along almost deserted roads.
As she gazed out, taking everything in, Alice automatically thought about the George’s Brewery dray horses…those magnificent creatures, their coats always polished to a shining ebony…remembered the smell of malt that wafted through the city when brewing was on the go, making the nose tingle. The area had had its share of bombing – like the rest of the city centre – but she’d never heard that the horses had come to grief. Hopefully they’d been moved to a safer place.
The present isolation seemed all the more significant because every signpost had been removed to thwart the intentions of an invading army, and Alice said –
‘It’s funny. I’ve lived in the south west all my life but I’ve never actually been far out of Bristol. Certainly not this far.’
‘Same here,’ Fay said. ‘Wouldn’t want to. I like town, meself… Clifton Downs are enough country for me! Always plenty of space, and little cosy hidey places if you need them.’ She nudged Alice. ‘Know wha’ I mean?’
She turned to glance at Eve. ‘How about you, Eve? Is any of this familiar to you?’
As usual, Eve waited before answering – as if she was weighing every word. Then – ‘I come from Bath, so we’ve got plenty of countryside of our own…like this…but I don’t recognize where we are, I’m afraid.’
Alice smiled along at her. ‘It must be nice and quiet, living in Bath,’ she said. Even though Bath was a mere twelve miles or so from Bristol, it had not had a single raid. Nor was one expected.
It was