Mummy pours the morning milk into a large bowl and skims off the cream that rises to the top. It’s illegal to sell it in the shops, but nobody can stop you skimming your own milk. And, like I said, she doesn’t do it often. Davie and Mark are due leave at the end of June, so I hope there’ll be plenty of sun to ripen the berries. When that happens, we have to be up good and early to do the picking and have them ready for the van that calls. I often think how pleased some lady will be to get some – even though she probably won’t have sugar to spare to sprinkle on them.’
‘Nor cream,’ Meg grinned. ‘And I wonder how long she’ll have to queue for them, an’ all. That’s when your Davie will be on leave, then – three weeks from now?’
‘Twenty days. I’ve started crossing them off on my calendar. Mind, the bods in the armed forces are always told that leave is a privilege and not their due, but most times nothing happens to stop it.’ She crossed her fingers. ‘We’re having two days here, then spending the rest of his leave with his parents. They live a few miles from Oxford where Davie ought by rights to be, studying engineering. Oh, damn this war!’
‘What d’you mean! It was because of the war youse two met!’
‘Mm. That Davie met Mark and Mark brought him home for a weekend. Funny, isn’t it?’
‘Nah! Just meant to be.’ Meg removed a weed then manoeuvred straw beneath the berry plant. ‘Ma always said that what was to be would be; that the minute you are born there’s this feller who knows what’ll happen to you an’ he writes it all down. Your Book of Life, it’s called, and there’s no gettin’ away from it.’
‘And you believe that, Meg?’
‘Makes as much sense as anythink else.’
‘More sense than believing in God?’
‘’Fraid I’m not a God person. I mean – what about when Ma was bad and I’d believed, and prayed for her to live? Well, where would I be now, eh? He’d have let me down stinkin’, wouldn’t He?’
‘We don’t always get everything we want.’
‘Then why bother?’
‘Meg, you really don’t believe, do you?’
‘Reckon not. Ma didn’t either; only in the Book of Life thing.’
‘But what about Christmas and Easter?’
‘We never bothered. Christmas trees and Easter eggs cost money, she said, an’ it was all a big con by shopkeepers to get cash out of you, and by the Church, so you’d go and put money on the plate. All down to pounds, shillin’s and pence!’
‘So you don’t say your prayers or go to church?’ Polly whispered. ‘Nor ask God to take care of your young man?’
‘Told you, I haven’t got a young man. Kip’s only a friend.’
‘He sent you shampoo and scented soap you told us at lunchtime!’
‘A friend,’ Meg said firmly. ‘And we’d better stop nattering and get on with this strawing, or Mr Potter isn’t goin’ to let me work in the garden again!’ And she liked working in Mr Potter’s garden. It was better than running upstairs every time Nanny rang her bell. Anything was better than being near the old biddy, who’d been in a right mood, earlier on.
‘You’re back,’ she had grumbled. ‘I thought you’d gone, Meg Blundell!’
A fine way to greet someone you hadn’t seen for two days and who’d brought up your lunch, an’ all!
‘Bad penny, that’s me!’ she’d said saucily. ‘And if you aren’t hungry I’ll take this tray downstairs again!’ She was starting the way she meant to go on, turning away to show she meant what she said! And the old girl had jumped to her feet like a two-year-old and grabbed hold of her lunch with a look like thunder on her face.
‘Give it to me, girl, and get out! And never, ever, give me backchat again! Remember your place here and that a word from me will get you dismissed instantly, and without a reference too!’
So Meg had got out of the nursery and drew in her breath and held it all the way down two flights of stairs and into the courtyard.
‘Ten!’ she’d gasped, thankful she had kept a hold on her temper, rubbing her hands on the roughness of the pump trough, remembering Ma, who knew all about Nanny Boag too. But maybe when Mark had been little, Nanny had been a nicer person, or why did Mrs John put up with her?
And so, remembering how desperately she wanted to stay at Candlefold, she had determined never again to let the old woman upset her, and no matter how much she might long to give her a piece of her mind, she would do as Polly said she should: turn her back, and walk away!
She tugged fiercely on an offending weed and wished with all her heart it could have been Nanny Boag’s nose!
Days were ticked off on Polly’s calendar; the strawberries swelled and Mr Armitage had thrown caution out of the window and taken a scythe to the grass on the brick house lawns because it was eighteen inches high and as good a crop of hay as he had seen this year. And wasn’t every forkful of hay needed for the war effort? And whose hay was it, anyway?
‘Now you’re supposed to leave that grass three clear Sundays,’ he told Meg, who had watched the sweeping strokes of his arm with fascination. ‘And it’s got to be turned every day so it’ll dry. Any good with a hayfork, young Meg?’
She had been obliged to admit she was not, but was very willing to learn if he would show her how. And so haymaking became another delight, with she and Polly turning an acre of grass twice a day. At first, her arms ached with the effort, then she began to look forward to their stealthy visits to the brick house lawns, each time wondering if they would be caught by the faceless ones on one of their visits.
‘So if They catch us at it, what can They do?’ Meg reasoned. ‘I mean – They only requisitioned the house, now, didn’t they? Surely nobody’s goin’ to make a fuss over a bit of grass?’
‘An acre of hay, actually. And I think that requisition covered the whole shebang, with the exception of the kitchen garden, Meg. But it’s drying beautifully. I reckon we’ll get it cocked and carted away before anyone from London finds out. Armitage says it’s good hay, and nice and herby; says a bit of neglect has done it the power of good, but don’t repeat that to Mr Potter, will you?’
‘I won’t. And had you thought, Polly, that by the time the hay is ready, Davie will be here on leave?’
‘I’ve hardly thought about anything else! Ten more days to go. And we mustn’t forget, Meg, that when the hay is loaded and carted off to the farm, we must wish very seriously as it goes by.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Because you always wish on the first load of hay you see every year. Hay wishes are good ones, like first-swallow wishes. Hay and swallows have never let me down, so keep an eye open for your first swallow. They’ll be arriving any day now!’
‘Wouldn’t know a swallow if I saw one, Polly. You’ll have to show me.’
Mind, she was getting good with robins and
