summoned up the courage to confess, on a sixpenny airmail letter-card, what she had done, but the day, too, on which her country declared war on the Japanese nation. The day on which, she accepted sadly, the entire world had finally been drawn into war.
But Aunt Min was right. Barney would not be pleased that his wife had joined the Land Army. Hadn’t he always made his feelings about women in uniform quite clear? Common, the lot of them and nothing more nor less than comforts for officers. Groundsheets. Why else would women doll themselves up in uniform? Plain as the nose on your face, wasn’t it?
No doubting it, Barney would not approve, but on the credit side, Barney wasn’t here to prevent it and for better or for worse she was in the Land Army for the duration; having a baby seemed just about the only thing that would free her from it. And getting pregnant when your husband was in the Army in Egypt was hardly likely to happen.
‘Where was it you said you was going?’ Minnie Jepson asked yet again. ‘In the wilds, I suppose it is?’
‘Somewhere in Yorkshire. Alderby St Mary. It’s in the North Riding, I think.’
Aunt Min stiffened. Back of beyond, that’s what. It wouldn’t have surprised her to learn it was cannibal country. To a Londoner, anything north of the river Trent was cannibal country.
‘You’ll have to watch your step, my girl. Funny lot, up there. And they talk funny, too. Whereabouts in Alderby St Mary will it be?’
‘I’m going to a house called Peacock Hey. It’s a hostel, really, and I’ll be living with other women so you needn’t worry, Aunt Min. I’ll be fine. There’ll be a Forewoman and a Warden to keep an eye on us all.’
‘Hmm. And how long will it take you to get there?’
‘I don’t know, for sure. It’ll depend on the train and if we get a good run through.’ And if they weren’t shunted into a siding to await the passing of something more important; a train carrying vital war supplies or a troop train, maybe. ‘I change at Crewe for York, then get a bus to Alderby.’
‘Then let’s hope you’ll be all right, girl,’ Minnie Jepson muttered. ‘Let’s hope they put you off at the right stop.’ After all, it would be dark tonight by tea-time. Black as pitch it would be, owls hooting and things creeping in hedgerows. ‘Can’t say I envy you with all them moors …’
‘Aunt Min, I’m not going to Wuthering Heights. Alderby isn’t in hilly country. It’s in the Vale of York. I’ve looked it up. It’s good farming country, not all windswept trees and sheep.’
She sounded far braver than she felt, for her husband’s aunt was right. To a city dweller like herself who’d never been anywhere nor seen anything, the countryside was a place of mystery and she, too, hoped she would get off the bus at the right place because in the blackout one bus stop was much the same as any other.
She shivered apprehensively. Suppose she did get off at the wrong stop? Suppose she found herself in the middle of nowhere with never a light to guide her and owls hooting like Aunt Min said and eyes watching her and –
‘I’ll be all right,’ she insisted. ‘And I’ll have to go soon. Why don’t I put the kettle on? Goodness only knows when I’ll get another cup of tea.’
Had she been stupid, she thought as she filled the kettle. Wouldn’t it have been better to have stayed here in Birmingham, where all the factories were on war work and crying out for men and women and good money there for the earning?
No, it wouldn’t. Last-minute nerves, that’s all this was. She’d felt exactly the same before her wedding. Nerves, and doubts. And hadn’t she always wanted to live in the country? Hadn’t she longed as a child in that green-painted dormitory, to sleep in a room of her own with windows wide open to the silent fields and trees? Even when she had grown up and married Barney, that little aching dream had still been with her. Suddenly she had needed to get away from Birmingham’s streets, the sirens and bombs, away from this house, too – Barney’s mother’s house – and all it reminded her of.
‘Looks as if you’re going for the duration,’ Minnie Jepson mourned, pushing past the suitcase that almost blocked the passageway. ‘What ever’ve you got in there, then?’
‘Oh, uniform, mostly.’ Kath smiled. ‘Dungarees and wellingtons and boots. My own underwear, of course. And shirts and socks, and a working jacket …’
‘Hmm. Don’t know why them blokes at the War Agriculture place didn’t think to give you some sort of training. Well, what if they tell you to milk some cows, eh? What’ll you do then?’
‘Don’t really know.’ Trust Aunt Min to put her finger right on it. ‘I suppose I’ll just have to learn, won’t I?’
‘Bein’ on a farm isn’t all collectin’ eggs and having a romp in the hay.’ She took a spoonful of tea from the caddy then shook it level before sliding it into the pot. ‘Evacuees from next door to me came home. Couldn’t stand it. Wet and smelly they said it was. Couldn’t wait to get back to London – bombs or no bombs.’
‘I’ll manage.’ Kath wrapped the knitted holder around the handle of the kettle, pouring carefully. ‘I hope you’ll be all right, Aunt Min. When I decided to join up I didn’t know you’d be coming to live here, though I’m glad you did.’
Very glad. With Aunt Min left in charge, there would be no bombed-out families taking possession of the little house in her absence, she thought gratefully. Aunt Min would keep it clean and warm, though where the old lady would go when the war was over was a problem to be shelved until the war was over. ‘I’ll try to send you something every week to help with the coal and electricity, and I’ve left my address on the mantelpiece so you’ll know where I am. If there’s a phone in the hostel I’ll let you have the number, though I don’t suppose you’ll need to ring me.’
‘Don’t suppose I shall.’ Minnie Jepson was used to managing alone. A childless widow from the last war, she had quickly learned to make ends meet and live from day to day on her pension. ‘And don’t give this house another thought once you’ve left it. I’ll soon have it to my liking, never you fear, girl.’
Housework was Minnie Jepson’s religion. Her London home had been her total joy until a direct hit from a German bomb had forced her to seek shelter with her sister in Birmingham. Indeed, it was as if Fate had intervened on her behalf, for her sister had died peacefully in her sleep not six weeks after, her nephew Barnaby Allen had been despatched to fight the war in North Africa and now young Kath was taking herself off to darkest Yorkshire. It could not have suited her better.
‘I’ll send you a letter every week, Kath, to let you know I’ve got the money all right. And I’ll see your bed is kept aired, just in case they let you home for a holiday, though I don’t suppose they will.’
She gazed unblinking at her nephew’s wife. A good-looking girl, without a doubt. Small wonder Barnaby had courted her with such ferocity and married her with such determination. Dark, almost black hair, yet eyes of blue; so blazingly blue that you couldn’t help noticing them. Thick, dark eyelashes and a nice smile. Irish, those looks were; even her name was Irish. Yet there’d been no one of her own at that hasty little wedding. Only the girl who’d stood bridesmaid for her and even she wasn’t family. Some girl, hadn’t it been, who’d worked as a parlourmaid in the house next door?
‘You can pop a saccharin in my tea,’ she murmured. ‘And give me the second cup. Can’t abide
