Letters To Alice. Rosie James
feel a bit homesick.
Next to the scullery was the lavatory. Its door was partly open, the rough stone walls whitewashed, a strong smell of disinfectant competing with the whiff of farm manure. A long chain dangled from the ancient cistern above, and Fay said hurriedly –
‘This isn’t exactly private is it…shall we suss out the other one Mrs. Foulkes talked about? The one further away down there somewhere?’
They went outside, the dog following, and made their way down the centre of the garden – which was packed with vegetables – their tread noiseless on the soft earthy path, the hum of bees and summer insects adding to the sultry atmosphere.
By now it was early evening and still very warm. As they wandered along, it was impossible not to appreciate where they were. The farm lay in a gentle valley, the fields rising up and away as far as the eye could see, and Alice felt a sudden surge of optimism about what lay ahead. For one thing, even if Eve was rather shy and out of her depth, Fay seemed the permanently cheerful sort and she, Alice, would never be the one to put the cat amongst the pigeons. They’d all get used to everything, and each other, in time. They had no choice.
The best of it for all of them was that the Germans wouldn’t be interested in them down here, out of the way. They wouldn’t hear or see a thing of the war this distance from the city. There’d be no sound, they’d be able to sleep peacefully at night – even if those beds did seem rather hard – with no blackout and shouts of “Put that bloody light out!” They could treat it like an unexpected holiday…couldn’t they?…even if they’d been warned that the work would be hard. Well, it wouldn’t be hard all the time, surely? Someone still had to feed the chickens and collect the eggs…
At the very end of the path they could see a low shed with its door closed, and Alice said, ‘Well, since this was my idea in the first place – shall I be the one to risk it?’
The others stood back as Alice opened the door and peered inside. Then she turned to face them again, her hand over her mouth trying to stop laughing.
‘I don’t believe this,’ she said. Even in the early years living in Hotwells, things hadn’t been this primitive. ‘Have a look,’ she said.
As the others peered in suspiciously, they saw that the windowless premises comprised a broad shelf of wood with three holes, side by side, cut into it. Some newspaper had been cut into squares and attached to a piece of string hanging on a nail on the wall. And the smell was memorable – to say the least.
‘Well,’ Fay said, ‘there certainly won’t be the need for any queuing, will there! We can all go together! Like I said – we’re gonna be the three wise monkeys all sittin’ in a row! Blimey, wha’ a laaaff!’
Eve was obviously mystified. ‘Where…where does it…I mean, after you’ve…been…what happens to everything…where does it actually…go? It can’t just stay down there, can it?’
‘Shovelled into a cesspit, my luvver, round the back there,’ Fay said practically. ‘But ’course –I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of cesspits in Bhaaaaaath Sphaaaaaa!’ She put on a posh accent. ‘Still, never mind. Any port in a storm, eh girls?’
After they’d all used the facilities – separately – the girls made their way back to the farmhouse and into the kitchen where Mrs. Foulkes was pouring their tea.
‘Ah there you are, luvvers,’ she said. ‘Glad yer lookin’ around and making yerselves at home. Now drink this while it’s still fresh.’ She handed them each a mug of tea. ‘Then I’ll get Roger to take up some hot water for you to wash. Supper’s almost ready.’
Farmer Foulkes emitted a sustained, satisfied burp, then stood up, pushing his chair back. His wife looked up at him sharply.
‘Now then, Walt…manners…we got company…’
Walter was unapologetic. ‘Jus’ my way of sayin’ thanks for a gert lush supper,’ he said. ‘That was a rare bit a’ goat, that was, and other un’s fattenin’ up nicely as well.’ He let his gaze slide to each of the girls in turn. ‘An’ anyway, these ain’t company – they’re our Land Girls an’ they might as well get used to our ways.’
Alice swallowed quickly. So they’d just eaten goat! She’d never tasted it before – had thought it was mutton… but it had certainly been delicious, accompanied by crisp roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, carrots, turnips, runner beans, and a massive Yorkshire pudding nestling in rich brown gravy. Followed by a crusty apple pie and mouth-wateringly sweet custard. The sugar in that must have used up everyone’s ration for the week! The table had groaned with what could only be called a surfeit of good food. Did everyone living on a farm have this much to eat every day, Alice wondered? It was something she had never even thought about.
Walter Foulkes was a huge man, with a rather churlish manner and an obviously cynical attitude regarding the employment of townie women on his land. But he knew he had no choice. The lads from the village who’d always worked for him had already been called up, but at least Roger was allowed to stay. At least until further notice.
The farmer had a head of greying, black hair and eyebrows to match, and Alice imagined that he’d probably been a handsome man in his youth. And his wife, too, would have been an attractive girl… Mabel’s hair, wound up in a big knot on top, was still a strong brown colour, though tinged with grey, and her eyes were large and expressive. The two would probably have been a golden couple, before life and weather and work had got to them.
And how would she, Alice, look at their age? How would the twins, and Sam look? She couldn’t imagine Sam looking anything other than he was now…or was, the last time she’d seen him. Tall and straight, with a mass of thick hair the colour of conkers polished smooth, swept back from an aristocratic forehead, his profile chiselled, his dark eyes meltingly soft…the epitome of distinctive, British masculinity.
And above all – he was clever and courteous. And kind…had been, to Alice, from the very beginning. Over the years he had taught her so much, passing on all sorts of important things he learned at his boarding school. Had shown her how to form opinions and hold her own in any discussion, to contrast and compare, to give due consideration to other points of view…to think…
And he’d shown her how to dance. The waltz and the quickstep. And the foxtrot – the foxtrot had an elegant, unhurried, movement. Alice liked the foxtrot best of all.
The farmer was staring down at the girls, now, sizing them up, and Alice noticed how red and fat and swollen his hands were as they gripped the back of his chair.
‘First thing t’morrer I want ee all up the field, diggin’ spuds,’ he announced. ‘Second crop’s ready, and I don’t want no ’angin’ about. But you’ll have to wear summat decent on your feet.’ His lip curled slightly. He’d noticed their sandals, what they were wearing. He glanced at his wife. ‘They boots did arrive, didn’t they, Mabe?’ he added.
Mabel nodded. ‘Came last week,’ she said.
The heavy boots were the one item which had been delivered to the farm separately. They certainly wouldn’t have fitted very well in a suitcase.
Now Roger Foulkes stood as well. He was a tall, good-looking lad in his late twenties, with a twinkle in his dark eyes and a readiness to laugh if anything remotely amusing was said by anyone. Of course, Fay, who’d sniggered at the piece of human behaviour just now, was already on his wavelength, and Alice noticed how easily the girl had got Roger’s attention.
Alice had also noticed Eve’s reaction to Mr. Foulkes’ crudeness…she’d seemed thoroughly embarrassed, keeping her eyes on her plate. Poor girl, Alice thought, this was going to be a completely different world from the one she obviously knew in dignified, cultural, Bath, and maybe she just would not be able to stick it. Land Girls giving up on the job before they’d barely begun was not unheard of – but