draining board as she passed through the scullery. The wooden door to the outside toilet squeaked, but there was no light so she left it open, managing in the gloom as she perched on such a funny seat.
It was strange here, so quiet, but sort of nice too, and Ellen thought she might like living in the country.
When Gertie marched outside again, the dog at her heels, Hilda took a look around the room. The ceiling was low, crossed with heavy, dark beams, the room dominated by a huge, black cooking range. A small, scruffy wooden table stood in the centre, and on each side of the range she saw wing-back chairs, one with horsehair stuffing poking through the upholstery. Other than that there was a dresser, the shelves packed with a mishmash of china.
Gertie was right, this place wasn’t much, but nevertheless Hilda was charmed by the cosy atmosphere. Gertie had done her best, the tiny, deep-set, lead-paned window dressed with chintz curtains, the wide sill sporting a jug of dried flowers. Hilda found herself sniffing the air, her mouth salivating at the rich aroma of beef casserole.
‘It … it’s a funny toilet,’ Ellen said as she came back inside. ‘There isn’t a … a proper seat, just a long wooden bench with … with a hole in it.’
‘I never thought I’d see the day when I thought our little house was luxurious, but compared to this …’ Hilda had to pause, a lump in her throat. There was no house now, her home just a pile of rubble. Hilda managed to swallow her emotions. They were here now, safe, and that was the most important thing. ‘We’ll be eating soon, but in the meantime I’ll make us all a drink.’
‘Why … why does Gertie wear men’s clothes?’
Hilda paused as she wondered how to answer her daughter’s question. Ellen was too young to understand so, grasping, she said, ‘I expect it’s because it’s sensible to wear trousers when you’re working outdoors, and warmer too.’
‘Can … can I wear trousers?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but I don’t know how we’ll get hold of any.’
‘Get hold of what?’ Gertie asked, catching the tail end of the conversation as she stepped inside.
‘Like you, Ellen wants to wear trousers.’
‘That won’t be a problem. I’ve got an old sewing machine and we can soon knock her up a couple of pairs. You’ll need some too, Hilda.’
‘Me! No, I don’t think so.’
‘We’ll see. Now then, have you put the kettle on the range?’ she asked brusquely.
‘I was just about to do it.’
‘Get a move on, and you, Ellen, can lay the table for dinner.’
‘Gertie, you haven’t changed and sound as bossy as ever,’ Hilda said, giggling as she added, ‘Talk about a school mistress. What next? If we don’t behave, will you give us the cane?’
Gertie at first looked shocked, but then she too began to laugh. ‘Oh, Hilda, I really am glad you’re here.’
‘Can … can we have our dinner now?’ a small voice said.
‘Yes, all right,’ Gertie agreed, ‘and tomorrow I’ll show you how to collect eggs for our breakfast.’ ‘Where’s your dog?’
‘He’s been cooped up in here while I went to fetch you, but once we’ve eaten you can call him in again. I’ve a cat too, but Wilfred’s a tom and is mostly off roaming.’
‘Wh … what else have you got?’ Ellen asked eagerly.
‘Two pigs and a goat.’
Hilda saw her daughter’s delight and smiled. It was going to be all right, and she was sure that bringing Ellen here had been the right decision. Ellen would recover and enjoy exploring the countryside. And I’ll be fine too, Hilda decided, yet there was no way that Gertie was going to get her into trousers.
During the next five months Hilda saw a huge change in her daughter. Ellen’s stammer disappeared, and, though they were both still grieving, the horrors of living in London during the Blitz soon seemed far away. Instead of an air raid siren, they now woke up to the sound of birdsong and Gertie’s cockerel.
The only school was on the other side of the village and, as it was a long way to go, Gertie was tutoring Ellen at home. At first she had missed the company of other children, but once spring had arrived and the skeletal trees burst into new growth, Ellen had become totally enamoured with the countryside. When not having lessons or helping out on the smallholding, she spent hours roaming the woods, bringing home all sorts of things – bugs, bluebells and other wildflowers – all of which Gertie would identify for her. Gertie also showed her how to press the flowers and leaves before carefully placing them in albums, and, for Ellen, a love of nature was born. Hilda’s smile was wry when she thought about her daughter’s new passion. She couldn’t feel the same. Yes, it was safe here, but she hated living in such total isolation. Gertie didn’t have a wireless, so the only news they got was when they made the hour-long trip to the village. She kept in touch by letter with Mabel and had received shocking news. Mabel’s house had been structurally damaged during a bombing raid, but thankfully she hadn’t been hurt. Mabel had then had a stroke of luck when, through the grapevine, she’d found a private landlord who offered her a flat in Clapham. It seemed that Mabel loved it there, and, not only that, it was an area that so far had been barely touched by bombs.
It made Hilda realise how lucky they were to have left Battersea, though she still wasn’t keen on working outdoors. Thankfully Gertie always mucked out the pigs, though that still left the back-breaking work of digging for spring planting. If she had news of Doug it would be something, but though she’d sent him a letter with her new address, so far there had been no reply. God, she missed him so much, prayed he was safe, and for a moment tears stung her eyes. Britain had lost so many vessels, so many seamen, and Hilda lived in constant fear of hearing that his ship had been sunk. Inadvertently her hand rose to clutch the crucifix.
‘Hilda, I know you only wear that thing because it belonged to your mother, but when you’re miles away you always seem to hold it,’ commented Gertie. ‘I thought that, like me, you’d had enough religion rammed down your throat.’
‘I have, especially after the way your father turned on you. What happened to all that stuff he used to spout about not judging others lest you be judged?’
‘Try telling him that.’
Hilda shuddered, remembering her childhood fear and awe of Gertie’s father. The man had been almost maniacal in his preaching, and it had been enough to turn her off going to church for life.
‘Gertie, can we go to the village today?’
‘There’s no need to go every week and I’d rather get the rest of the potatoes in, along with cabbage and carrots. There’s the salad crop too and tomatoes to bring on in the greenhouse.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Gertie, give it a break. I’m worried about Doug and there might be a letter.’
‘This
