Effies war, p.3
Effie's War, page 3
‘I’ll ask him calmly and politely . . .’
‘Calmly and politely?’
‘Yes. I’ll ask if the evacuation was the reason he was sent here in the first place.’
‘Then what?’
‘I’ll enquire . . .’
‘Still calmly?’
‘Of course. I’ll enquire whether it was actually his recommendation to use the Tarbat peninsula.’
‘What if he says yes?’
Ina hesitated, her emotions clearly a whirlwind of conflict.
‘I can’t tell you what will happen in that case . . . you’re too young to hear.’
*
By the time Christopher arrived, everyone had gone to bed apart from Mr Ross. The farmer, sitting in an old wicker chair pulled up close to the range, was smoking his pipe. When he inhaled, the bowl glowed red in the surrounding dimness; the only other light in the room came from two paraffin lamps.
In one corner Nip, the family Border collie, was asleep in his basket beside a large grandfather clock. The clock had been a wedding present from Mr Ross’s parents and no one else was allowed to touch it. He always kept it five minutes fast, so the family should never be late for Sunday service.
Mr Ross heard the front door open and close, and a few moments later the officer appeared in the kitchen. He started slightly when he saw the farmer; it was obvious he’d hoped everyone would have gone to bed.
‘Martha left some stew, but I doubt it’ll be edible now.’
‘That was kind of her. I’m sorry it’s gone to waste.’
‘Worse things have happened . . . especially today.’ Mr Ross put his pipe down. ‘For goodness sake, stop standing there in the doorway and get warmed up. It’s wickedly cold outside.’
‘I’m sorry about what’s happened,’ Christopher said, sitting at the table near to his host so that their voices wouldn’t carry and he could benefit more from the heat.
‘It’s not your fault. You were only obeying orders. No one can expect anything else . . . including Ina. She’s planning to give you a roasting when you next meet. My advice is to stand up to her.’
‘I think I’d rather be on the front line than face Ina’s wrath.’
‘It’s only because she thinks so much of you,’ said Mr Ross. ‘You’re decent and honourable, we all know that.’ The last said as a warning as much as a compliment.
‘I don’t know if you’ve been told that military personnel based in Britain can apply for compassionate leave to help their families with the evacuation,’ Christopher said, as a peace-making gesture after his apparent betrayal.
‘Can they?’ Mr Ross said. ‘We would love to have Duncan back, even if it’s just to help move us off the land.’
‘If you like, I’ll make a few enquiries. I might be able to get a message to him quicker than you.’
The two men talked amicably late into the night until the farmer decided it was time to turn in. Taking one of the paraffin lamps, the officer went to the bottom of the stairs and removed his shoes. He was using Duncan’s bedroom and he knew that Mr Ross had given the family strict instructions that absolutely no one was allowed to enter. As Christopher climbed the last few steps he saw Hugh coming along the corridor. The boy had his eyes closed and didn’t appear to realise that he was there. Christopher watched as Hugh went into his sisters’ bedroom and quietly shut the door.
5
Despite the late night, Mr Ross woke early the next morning, as he did every day. The Ross family had owned the surrounding two hundred acres for generations. Over the years improvements and new ideas had been implemented gradually, but since Britain entered the war huge changes had been forced upon farms in a frantic effort to significantly increase food production.
Every strip of land had been brought into use and extensive ploughing had resulted in much greater mechanisation, although Kirk Farm still managed with its five Clydesdales. Everyone’s favourite, Bertie, was rather old to work the fields but he could still pull a cart and was handy for short trips here and there.
Mr Ross was considering who he could contact to take in the horses for the period that they would be evicted as he went out with Nip to the field to fetch their two dairy cows. It was a twice-daily ritual and when he called their names the animals readily followed him to the shed for milking.
Martha appeared minutes later carrying a spotless enamel bucket, which she placed in position before straightening up to look at her husband over the top of the cow’s back. It was one of those rare moments in the midst of farming life when they had the luxury of just stopping for a moment and doing nothing. He forced a smile, although he could feel that the sadness settled around his eyes and didn’t go away.
‘I remember the night Jessie was born,’ he said, running his hand over the beast’s broad neck.
‘I was there, helping you deliver her.’
‘Yes, and the three calves she’s had since.’
‘Don’t forget the birth of Jessie’s mother.’
‘That was a bad time.’ He sighed at the memory. ‘We nearly lost both.’
Martha reached over and took his hand. They stood quietly, resting their arms on the cow, which waited patiently to be milked.
‘We’ve seen a lot of life and death on the farm over the years,’ she said.
‘All the same, it’s been a privilege to work the land.’ He squeezed her strong fingers. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘And I’ll be by your side when we return. We might not have a date but we will come back, Edward, one day. Then we’ll buy what stock we need and start again. And when this dreadful war is over Duncan will come home to help run the place and you can start to take life a little easier.’
This time when he smiled the sadness left his face completely.
‘Now that is a nice thought. And look at Hugh. He’s got a real interest in every aspect. Some of his questions are so deep at times that it’s hard to believe he’s only seven.’
‘Almost eight, as he likes to remind me. Effie is using fabric from your old overalls to make him a pair. He’ll look like a proper farmer and will be in his element.’
They laughed, relaxed and at ease in each other’s company. He squeezed her hand again and was about to speak when Jessie mooed, reminding them that she was still waiting.
*
For the first time ever, Hugh was accompanied to school that morning by his father, who took the opportunity during the half-hour walk to explain that they would have to leave home for a while. Hugh wasn’t the least concerned; in fact, he seemed pleased to learn that classes would cease the following Friday, so there would be three weeks’ holiday before they left.
‘Where will we live?’ Hugh asked, as they turned into a lane bordered either side by tall hawthorn hedgerows.
‘I don’t know,’ Mr Ross said with his usual honesty; he knew he had a fine line to tread between being open and not frightening his son. ‘But you needn’t worry. We’ll be together until we return.’
He didn’t mention that their entire livestock would go. He thought that sometimes it was kinder to impart information bit by bit and let the implications sink in gradually. The previous day the farmers at Inver hall had agreed to meet the relevant officials to discuss livestock issues and when Mr Ross entered the allocated classroom he found men from neighbouring farms already there. It didn’t take long to decide that the cattle, sheep and pigs destined to be sold should be taken on three separate days to the Dingwall auction mart, an hour’s drive away. Animals to be butchered would be sent to the slaughterhouse in Tain.
Some of the men present stressed that they wanted to keep their horses, although they knew how difficult it would be to find suitable homes locally. Most of the hens would end up in the cooking pot or be handed over to places outside the evacuation zone, on the understanding that when people returned there would be some support in restocking.
Mr Ross found it a lonely journey back to Kirk Farm without Hugh chattering by his side and he was glad of Nip’s company. When they arrived his wife insisted that he sit in the kitchen while she made some tea and called in Ina and Effie. They were soon gathered around the table, eating scones, plain but still warm from the oven.
‘So . . . the cattle will be gathered from the designated area on Thursday and taken to Dingwall for sale the next day,’ he said, relaying earlier conversations. ‘The pigs will be taken on the Monday of the following week and the sheep two days after that. The horses will be the last to go.’
‘Not Bertie!’ said Effie.
‘No, even if I have to pay for his stabling. But from what I heard this morning we may have to sell some of the others, despite their years of faithful service.’
Everyone simply assumed that Nip would go with them wherever they went, so his future was never in doubt. As they sat eating the last of their scones, even Effie struggled to find something to say that was positive or, in her eyes at least, helpful.
‘I’m sorry, Father,’ said Ina, eventually breaking the silent gloom they had fallen into.
‘There’s no time for sentiment,’ he replied. ‘It’s going to be all hands on deck right up until the deadline. Apparently, the POWs will arrive tomorrow. Let’s hope they can at least tell a cockerel from a cow.’
*
That evening the family sat quietly in the living room, Mr Ross smoking his pipe and throwing the occasional log on the fire. Ina and her mother were knitting and Effie was finishing off the overalls she’d been making. Hugh sat on a stool, cutting up a newspaper into squares and using a pencil to put a hole through the corner of each one.
‘Fee.’
‘Mmm?’
‘Do you think I should make some squares larger?’
‘What for?’
‘People with bigger bottoms.’
The three women stopped what they were doing to stare at the boy. Mr Ross tried to hide his smile, but Effie simply dissolved into a fit of giggles and couldn’t reply.
‘And did you have anyone in mind?’ asked Martha.
‘Doctor Gray has a big bottom. If he used our dunny then these might not be the right size,’ said Hugh, indicating the pile he had already threaded on to a length of string.
Ina, unlike her sister, tried to maintain a mature composure as the question had been a genuine one. However, when she spotted her father looking flushed as he attempted not to laugh, she had to put both hands up to her face.
‘I think you’re on thin ice, young man,’ said his mother, who was the only person not amused. ‘Perhaps you would like some very small pieces?’
Hugh considered this as a serious possibility and his expression of deep concentration was too much for Mr Ross, who suddenly found that the fire needed a great deal of attention.
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Here,’ said Effie, trying to steer the conversation on to safer ground. ‘Come and try these on.’
The newspaper squares forgotten, Hugh came over and was soon proudly showing off his new overalls. As his mother had predicted, they did indeed make him look like a proper farmer and the fact that they had been made out of material from a worn-out pair of his father’s seemed to instil even more pride in the boy, who strutted around the room like a fashion model.
‘Right, they’re lovely, but it’s way past the time when someone should be in bed,’ said Martha, feeling that her son had had more than enough attention and praise for one evening. She put down her knitting and picked up the nearest paraffin lamp. Hugh gave everyone a hug and followed her upstairs.
‘You’ve certainly made him happy,’ said Ina. ‘I can see it’s going to be impossible to get him to wear anything else for weeks.’
Effie nodded in agreement, although didn’t comment. She was already involved in the next project, selecting scraps of material to make a glove puppet representing the minister. It wasn’t so easy, as her store had become ever more depleted over the last few years.
At her feet was the sewing box that Duncan had made for her sixteenth birthday. He had done the same for Ina when she reached that age so that his sisters, both skilled at a range of crafts, could each be more in control of what they made. At the time everyone had commented on what a very thoughtful gesture this was . . . everyone except Martha, who had suggested the idea.
When she returned to the living room her husband was tuning the radio to catch the evening news. As ever, it was dominated by the war, along with information from the government outlining the latest advice on how to make supplies go further.
‘If we make things go any further they’ll be so out of sight we’ll never see them again,’ said Effie, without looking up from the material she was cutting.
‘Maybe that’s the idea,’ said Ina. ‘If you lose it, you can’t use it.’
‘I always knew there was a poet lurking somewhere behind that stern exterior.’
‘Just you wait until you want to be warmed up in bed tonight . . . I’ll give you “stern exterior”!’
An item then came on the radio about Italy and the confusion over the position of prisoners of war held by Britain and its Allies. Italy’s capitulation in September had created a situation to which there was no obvious solution and the Geneva Convention had no guidance about what to do when a country changed sides during a conflict.
The recently appointed Badoglio government had to be granted some sort of new status after the change in allegiance, yet Italy couldn’t suddenly become an ally, particularly when thousands of British servicemen remained captive on Italian soil, even if these POW camps were now manned by German soldiers.
‘That business with Italy sounds like a mess,’ said Martha, once the radio was turned off. She was unravelling wool from an old jumper and winding it into a fresh ball, from which she would make socks.
‘It is, like most of war,’ said her husband.
‘You girls be careful when those men arrive tomorrow,’ said Martha. ‘Are you listening?’ she said more sharply, when neither of her daughters replied.
‘Yes, Mother,’ said Effie. ‘We must be careful with the Italians tomorrow.’
‘And on every other day.’
‘They’re probably no different to Mr Romano and we’ve been buying his ice creams for years without any concerns for our safety,’ said Effie.
‘That’s different, Mr Romano is Scottish,’ said her mother, which made the sisters laugh.
‘Take heed,’ said Mr Ross, his tone making it clear that his daughters had to take the threat seriously. They had been brought up to be decent and respectable, but these young men had been away from home for years and . . . Mr Ross didn’t like to think any further about the implications. ‘You will likely end up working side by side, sometimes having to show them what to do, but never let yourself be alone with them. You keep close to each other or you make sure that Alastair or I are nearby. Are you taking notice, Effie?’
‘Yes,’ said Effie, visibly bristling that her father had singled her out. Just because Ina was nearly three years older and had Christopher on a hook didn’t mean that she was about to throw herself at the first foreigner to stroll on to the farm.
*
Later that night, Effie lay with her head on Ina’s chest and her arm across her tummy as the sisters tried to get warm in bed. The upstairs of the house was so cold in winter that they always ended up cuddled into each other, their hot water bottles merely keeping the chill off their feet. It was no wonder Hugh so often came to join them.
‘So, when do you think Christopher will ask you to marry him?’ said Effie, in a belligerent mood after her father’s lecture earlier that evening.
‘Whatever makes you think he would ask such a ridiculous question?’ said Ina.
‘For goodness sake, it’s so obvious how in love the two of you are that the rest of us can almost hear wedding bells.’
‘There’s nothing obvious about anything.’
‘Considering you’re the one who’s meant to be endowed with boundless common sense, you certainly talk daft at times.’
‘I do not! And don’t you go making up such . . . tales! Save your fanciful stories for Hugh and your puppets.’
They fell silent. In one ear Effie could hear Ina’s heartbeat while in the other she heard the wind howling beyond the blackout curtain that hung across their bedroom window. The sounds were so utterly conflicting that she was fascinated by their contrast. For the last week the temperature had been dropping daily, warning of the approach of winter. She had thought that their conversation was over, when Ina spoke once more.
‘Do you think he might ask?’
Effie laughed and pulled her sister closer in the darkness.
6
Ina, Effie and Hugh watched as the army truck trundled along the drive towards the house. They could see about a dozen Italians on board and when the vehicle stopped the two soldiers at the back jumped down and read out the names of six men who, almost reluctantly, disembarked and stood around staring at the unfamiliar surroundings.
The soldiers resumed their positions as one of the Home Guards in the cab got out before the truck turned about and set off to drop men at the next farm. The sisters looked with surprise at the man who walked over. It was Mr Lawson, a retired schoolteacher.
‘Hello Ina, Effie, Hugh,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Well, here are the POWs from the camp. Most of them are just lads. You won’t get any trouble, although I don’t know how much work you’ll get either. I’ll stay until they’re collected this afternoon and returned to Kildary.’
‘Crikey, what a bunch,’ said Ina. ‘A sudden gust would blow the whole lot over.’
‘To be frank I think you might have been better with half a dozen land girls,’ said Mr Lawson with a nod.
‘I should let Father know,’ said Ina. ‘He’s in the top field.’
Her departure left them all standing about, uncertain what to do. Hugh tugged on Effie’s dungarees and when she bent down he whispered in her ear. His sister straightened up, looking at him in mock horror.
‘Please,’ he said.
