Poppy's War Page 13

  ‘I don’t want Mrs Carroll to find out until I’ve got it right, so we’d have to do it on the quiet.’

  Sid’s small eyes lit up and he grinned. ‘It would be us peasants taking a swipe at the ruling classes.’

  ‘Well, not quite,’ Poppy said, trying to be fair, but seeing the downcast look on Sid’s face she nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, you’re right, Sid. It’s us against them. Will you do it?’

  He spat on his hand and held it out. ‘Shake on it, comrade.’

  She shook his hand. ‘When can we start?’

  ‘There’s no time like the present. I’ve nothing better to do and I just saw Jackson driving the missis out in the Bentley. She’s gone to one of them committee meetings and then they’ll wait and bring the master back from the court house, so we’ve got plenty of time and no one will be any the wiser.’

  ‘Give me a few minutes to change.’

  ‘Okey-dokey. I’ll saddle up Goliath, or maybe you ought to start on Miss Pamela’s old nag, Romeo?’

  Poppy shook her head. ‘No, it’s got to be Goliath. I won’t let this thing beat me.’

  ‘Suit yourself. See you in the paddock behind the Dutch barn in ten minutes.’ Sid strolled off towards Goliath’s stall, whistling an out of tune rendition of ‘Run Rabbit Run’.

  Twenty minutes later, dressed in jodhpurs and an old jumper that was in need of darning, which was not in Poppy’s field of expertise, she went to the paddock and found Sid waiting for her with Goliath pawing the ground. Close to he seemed even larger than before and Poppy had to use a couple of bales of hay as a mounting block. Once in the saddle she felt sick with fear, but she gritted her teeth and did her best to follow Sid’s instructions.

  Having shown her how to hold the reins and to sit with her back straight and her toes pointing upwards in the stirrups, Sid held the leading rein, walking the horse until Poppy was at ease in the saddle. Goliath behaved like a perfect gentleman, plodding sedately so that after a few circuits of the paddock she felt confident enough to allow Sid to stand back and watch.

  ‘Back straight, elbows tucked in, heels down,’ he said with a smile of approval as she rode past him for the second time. ‘You’re doing well, but I think that’s enough for today, Popeye.’

  She reined in beside him and dismounted. ‘How did I do, Sid?’

  ‘You done well today. Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to rise and fall in the trot, and when you’ve got that I’ll saddle up Romeo and we can ride out together.’

  Poppy returned to her room flushed with pride and excitement. She had ridden Goliath and not been afraid; well, not much anyway. Guy would be proud of her, and if she could show Mrs Carroll that she was a competent rider and had conquered her fear of large animals, she might allow her to work alongside the land girls. Suddenly life seemed full of possibilities. She settled down to write a letter to her mother.

  Next day after church, Poppy could not wait to see how the girls had fared overnight in their new environment. As she entered the stable yard it was obvious from the pile of rubbish on the cobblestones that something was afoot. The tack room door was open and she went inside to find Mavis enveloped in a pinafore, scrubbing the deal table. The chairs were stacked in the corner and Jean, with her hair tucked up in a turban, was busy sweeping the flagstone floor. Dust flew up with each pass of the broom and eddies of dry leaves and straw were then trapped in a dustpan and deposited in a bucket. Sounds of water running and Edie’s high-pitched soprano voice singing rather plaintively ‘Somewhere over the rainbow’ emanated from the office next door.

  ‘I came to see how you’re getting on,’ Poppy said lamely. It was obvious that they were working hard to make a home for themselves, but she could not think of anything else to say.

  Jean paused, leaning on the broom handle. ‘We’re getting there, Poppy. But there’s plenty to do. You can give a hand if you want to, but not in those clothes.’ She eyed Poppy’s outfit doubtfully. ‘Why are you wearing school uniform? It’s Sunday.’

  ‘I’ve been to church with Mrs Carroll, and she sent me to say that she expects you three to come with us next week, unless your religion forbids it, whatever that means.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Mavis volunteered. ‘I would have made the effort today, but as the Bible says, cleanliness is next to Godliness, and this place needs a lot of hard work.’

  ‘I can’t speak for Edie,’ Jean said, smiling, ‘but I don’t mind showing up in church. At least it will be a chance to get out and meet the locals.’

  Mavis winked at Poppy. ‘All the decent men will be away in the forces. You’ll be wasting your time, Jean.’

  ‘Well, there must be some social gatherings in the village, or at least a decent pub or two. We can’t live like nuns for the duration.’ She resumed sweeping the floor. ‘Move your feet, Poppy, and I suggest you go and change into something more suitable. This place is worse than a rat’s nest. Anyway, it’s almost midday. I assume we get fed at regular intervals.’

  ‘Mrs Toon usually does a roast on Sunday,’ Poppy said eagerly. ‘Although with rationing there’s more veg and less meat.’

  ‘How does she manage at all with rationing as it is?’ Mavis exchanged a puzzled look with Jean. ‘We’re only allowed one and tuppence worth of meat each a week at home. Is it different in the country?’

  Poppy shook her head. ‘I don’t know, but there are always plenty of vegetables to go round and sometimes she makes treacle pudding and custard for dessert.’

  ‘Don’t tell me our holier than thou district organiser stoops to the black market,’ Jean said, smothering a giggle.

  ‘I don’t know what that is, but I’m sure Mr Carroll wouldn’t allow anything like that. He’s a magistrate.’

  ‘They’re often the worst,’ Mavis said, grinning. ‘Oh, don’t look so worried, Poppy. We’re just kidding. I’m sure we’ll get super food if Mrs Toon’s cakes are anything to go by.’

  Jean wiped her hands on her apron. ‘She was quick enough to ask for our rations books, and we’ll be the ones helping to produce the food, so I should hope we get fed well.’

  The clattering of a bucket and the sound of water swishing on the cobblestones outside preceded Edie as she burst into the tack room, red-faced and obviously out of sorts. ‘What a God-awful mess in that toilet. Anyway it’s clean now and I expect we’ll get rid of the brown stains in time as long as they don’t put bleach on ration.’ She paused, staring at Poppy with raised eyebrows. ‘Is it fancy dress or something? Why are you dressed like a posh schoolgirl?’

  ‘Shut up, Edie,’ Jean said crossly. ‘Poppy came to see if she could help us. She’s just been to church with Mrs Carroll.’

  ‘Oh, yes. The Sainted Marina. Well, I hope she doesn’t expect me to toe the line. I’m strictly nonconformist and I’m blowed if I’m going to waste my Sunday mornings sitting in a cold and draughty church.’

  ‘Not even if the vicar is a bit of a dish?’ Mavis asked innocently.

  ‘That may be your husband of choice, my girl, but I prefer my men a bit more worldly. I think I may go for the Sainted Marina’s son if he turns out to be a looker. I fancy a rich husband with a landed estate.’

  The reference to Guy made Poppy feel distinctly wary and she backed towards the doorway. ‘I think I’ll go and change.’ She hesitated, wondering if she ought to explain why she was wearing her school uniform. It certainly was not from choice. ‘I had to wear this because it’s all I’ve got that’s suitable for church. I seem to have shot up since I came to live here and nothing fits. Even Miss Pamela’s cast-offs are getting a bit tight up here,’ she indicated her budding breasts, ‘and I’ll soon need a bras.’

  Edie snorted with laughter, covering her mouth with her hand as she received a withering look from Jean. ‘Sorry, kid. But we generally call it a bra now. Bras is a bit old-fashioned.’

  ‘My gran calls it a bust bodice,’ Poppy said, frowning. ‘Anyway, I could do with one, especially in gym at school. Everything bounces when I h
ave to vault the wooden horse.’ She stopped, staring at the red faces as the girls stifled their laughter. ‘What have I said that’s funny?’

  Jean slipped her arm around Poppy’s shoulders. ‘Nothing, darling. We’re just in a silly mood. It must be all the bleach we’ve been sniffing. You go and get changed and after lunch perhaps you’d like to put in a good word with Mrs Carroll. We desperately need some mats or rugs upstairs and more blankets. My teeth were chattering in bed last night.’

  Relieved to have something to do and glad that the embarrassing subject of undergarments had been forgotten, Poppy smiled. ‘Of course I will. But it will have to wait until after lunch. I’ll see you in the kitchen.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, kid,’ Edie said, frowning. ‘Don’t you eat with the family?’

  Poppy shook her head. ‘I did once, at Christmas. I used to eat in the day nursery, but since Olive left to work in the munitions factory Violet has more work to do and anyway she never liked having to wait on me. I eat in the kitchen, or if Mrs Toon is very busy I take a tray upstairs.’

  ‘You poor little sod,’ Edie said with feeling.

  *

  Whether it was from innate generosity or the fact that she had enjoyed a few sherries before lunch and a glass of wine with her meal, Marina gave Poppy permission to search the attics for anything that the land girls might need to make them more comfortable, and Poppy could not wait to pass the information on. Edie, Mavis and Jean were only too delighted to spend the afternoon exploring the top floor of the house, which had once been the servants’ quarters but was now disused, as Mrs Toon had a small flat on the third floor adjacent to the nursery suite, and Violet went home each evening.

  After a happy couple of hours foraging they found a cedar-lined chest filled with woollen blankets, several oddments of carpet and a couple of threadbare but useable rugs. Edie whooped with glee when she discovered a zinc bath hidden beneath a dust sheet and Mavis found some enamel ewers and a china washbowl set patterned with cabbage roses and violets. Jean uncovered a Victorian burr walnut dressing table mirror, which she insisted would come in handy if and when they had time to put on makeup, and Poppy almost trod on a small oil painting of Squire’s Knapp in the days when people rode about in carriages. She tucked it under her arm, intending it for her room. She was certain that no one would mind as it was dusty and obviously long forgotten.

  It took several trips to ferry everything down four flights of stairs and across the stable yard to the tack room. It was dark by the time they fetched the last rug and the bathtub, but there was a general feeling of a job well done. Mavis had proved to have a knack with combustibles and had the fire roaring up the chimney in the tack room, and had even managed to light the pot-bellied stove in their dormitory. In the glow of the paraffin lamps the room looked almost homely with a patchwork of carpet and rugs on the newly swept and scrubbed floor, and the blankets neatly folded on the beds.

  Poppy felt quite envious as she left them to finish unpacking their things in readiness for work next day, but she had the painting to put on the wall by her bed. She could look at it as she drifted off to sleep and pretend that it was her home with Mum and Dad, Gran and Grandad living there too, and of course Guy.

  It was hard to return to school next day knowing that the girls were being put to work on the home farm, but Poppy had no alternative. She had let slip to Mavis, in a burst of confidence while they were sorting through the cedar chest for blankets that were not too moth-eaten, that she would be fourteen next Saturday. Of course Mavis had told Jean, who immediately passed the news on to Edie, and they had wanted to know if she was going to have a party. Mavis had been quite upset when Poppy shrugged her shoulders and said that she doubted if anyone in the big house would be the least bit interested. It was at times like these that homesickness took over and she felt a million miles from her family.

  After school Poppy could barely contain her excitement as she travelled home on the bus. She was eager to see the girls again and instead of going straight to her room, as she would normally have done, she ran to the stables. But the only person there was Sid, who was looking distinctly gloomy.

  ‘What’s up?’ Poppy asked breathlessly. ‘Why the long face?’

  He continued shovelling a mixture of straw and dung into a wooden handcart. ‘Mr Carroll has bought a new shire horse and he expects me to work with it. I’m a stable lad, not a bloody farm hand.’

  ‘It’s still a horse, and you like working with horses.’

  ‘That don’t include pulling a plough and towing a hay wagon. I wanted to get a job in a racing stable and train to be a jockey. Now they’re going to turn me into a farmer.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Poppy murmured. ‘I really am, Sid, but I was looking for the girls. D’you know where they are?’

  ‘Powdering their noses, I expect. It’ll be me who does the heavy work while they sit back and watch.’ He stomped off into the stall and resumed sweeping, sending flurries of straw smelling strongly of ammonia onto the cobblestones.

  Poppy was not dressed for walking across muddy fields and she decided to change out of her school clothes before going in search of the girls. As she entered the house by the back door she could hear the sound of voices in the kitchen. She hurried through the scullery and found her new friends seated round the table munching thick slices of bread and jam. The aroma of freshly baked bread and hot tea, with just a hint of sweet strawberry jam, made Poppy’s mouth water.

  Jean saw her first and she waved. ‘Come and join us, Poppy. How was school?’

  ‘I hated school,’ Edie said, pointing a jammy knife at Poppy. ‘Don’t tell me you like it, kid.’

  ‘Sit down and have a cup of tea.’ Mrs Toon took a cup and saucer from the dresser. ‘Don’t take any notice of her, Poppy. You’ll need a good education if you’re to get on in the world.’

  ‘My back is killing me,’ Mavis said, moving her head from side to side and frowning. ‘We’ve been picking huge chunks of chalk out of the soil all day. I’m sure I must have done myself an injury.’

  ‘Never mind that now.’ Jean patted the empty chair beside her. ‘Sit down, Poppy. Were your ears burning today?’

  Poppy slid onto the hard wooden seat, shaking her head. ‘No, why?’

  ‘Because we was talking about you,’ Edie said, cutting in before Jean had a chance to explain. ‘We’re going to celebrate your birthday on Saturday. We’re taking you to the pub.’

  Mrs Toon put the teapot down on its stand with a thud. ‘She’s too young for that sort of thing, miss. Don’t you lot go leading her astray.’

  On Saturday evening the sun came out in between the April showers and raindrops sparkled on the hedgerows like diamond necklaces. Poppy waited in the lane outside the wrought iron gates. It had been decided by the committee of three, Jean, Edie and Mavis, that it would be best if Mrs Carroll was kept in ignorance of their little jaunt. Not, they said, that they were doing anything wrong, but she might not think it appropriate to take a fourteen-year-old to the pub.

  Suddenly nervous, Poppy shifted from one foot to the other. She felt incredibly grown-up and smart in the dress that Mavis had altered to fit her. The pale green crêpe de chine afternoon gown, which had once belonged to Miss Pamela, was almost the exact shade of the new shoots on the blackthorn, and Mavis assured her that it brought out the colour of her eyes. She had helped to tame Poppy’s dark curls so that when released from the plaits she normally wore her hair floated around her head and shoulders in a cascade of shining waves. Poppy did not possess any stockings but Mavis had filched some gravy browning from the pantry and had shown her how to rub it on her legs so that it was a fair imitation of silk stockings. She had produced an eyebrow pencil and proceeded to draw a line up the back of Poppy’s legs, although it had been difficult not to laugh and wriggle about as it tickled. At the sound of approaching voices, Poppy peeped round the corner and a shiver of excitement ran down her spine as she saw the girls, dressed to the nines, strolling a
rm in arm along the avenue of budding copper beeches.

  ‘Happy birthday, Poppy.’ Edie grabbed her round the waist and gave her a twirl. ‘My, you look the bee’s knees. Doesn’t she, girls?’

  ‘She certainly does,’ Jean agreed, smiling. ‘You look super, Poppy.’

  ‘Thanks to Mavis,’ Poppy said shyly.

  Mavis shook her head. ‘Nonsense. I just did a few tweaks, that’s all. Who does she remind you of, Jean?’

  ‘I don’t know, but she looks terribly grown-up.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ Mavis insisted. ‘I bet Edie can guess who I mean.’

  Edie angled her head, staring thoughtfully at Poppy. ‘Well, it ain’t Harpo Marx.’ She slapped Poppy on the shoulder. ‘Don’t look so worried, kid. I was only joking.’

  ‘Vivien Leigh,’ Mavis said impatiently. ‘Vivien Leigh in Fire Over England. I saw it at the Odeon three times. She could be her double.’

  ‘Well, come on, Viv,’ Edie said, linking her hand through Poppy’s arm. ‘Let’s celebrate your birthday in style.’

  ‘Let old Hitler invade now,’ Mavis said happily. ‘We’ll show him who’s who round here.’

  Edie began to sing a rather rude song about Hitler’s anatomy which struck Poppy as being terribly daring and very funny, and she hardly noticed that they walked the best part of two miles to the Rose and Crown. Situated on the edge of the village green, surrounded by thatched cottages and facing the duck pond, the pub boasted two bars: the public bar for the farm labourers and working men and the saloon bar for passing trade.

  ‘You’d better not come inside, Poppy,’ Mavis said, glancing round as if she expected Marina to leap out of the pond like Venus rising from the sea. ‘It’s a lovely evening. We can sit outside.’

  Poppy was disappointed but she did not want to spoil things by acting like a baby. She perched on a wooden bench, taking care not to move about too much in case she snagged her skirt on a splinter. Edie, Jean and Mavis had disappeared into the pub, and it seemed to Poppy that they were taking their time over buying drinks. Perhaps there was a queue at the bar, although the other tables outside were empty, and there was a definite chill in the air as the sun sank in the west. She shivered, wrapping her arms around her body in an attempt to keep warm. She was determined to enjoy her first real taste of freedom since Amy had left for Singapore. She had hoped to hear from her but so far there had been nothing in the post. She wondered if Amy had written to Guy and then chided herself for being so silly. Of course Amy would have corresponded with her fiancé; she loved Guy and it was only the war that had caused them to separate.