Where Bluebells Chime

‘Then let’s hope we never hear them till it’s all over and we’ve won!’ What a chiming of bells there’d be then! When we won. There were some old miseries, Julia frowned, who said it would go on far longer than the last one did, especially as there seemed to be no stopping Hitler. ‘Will it last four years, Nathan? Is Drew going to be away all that time?’ The best years of his life, away from Rowangarth?

‘Barring miracles, Julia, I think he might. There’s even talk of women being directed into war work soon – compulsory, so they say. They might even send young women, if they aren’t married, into the armed forces.’

‘Send them, Nathan? But they can’t! Oh, my Lord! Tom Dwerryhouse’ll go berserk if they call Daisy up!’

‘But, sweetheart, there’s a lot of young women in the Forces already.’

‘Yes – but they are volunteers, there because they want to be or because they feel they should be. But the powers that be can’t take young girls from their parents and put them into uniform, dammit! And some of them are so innocent they don’t know how babies get there – or get out!’

‘They can, Julia. They can do anything they want if they think it’s justified. It’s done under the new law – the Defence of the Realm Act. They’re using it, now that Italy has declared war on us, to round up people here they think might have Italian connections or sympathies. They’ll intern them, just as they did to Germans living here when war broke out.’

‘And serve them right, too,’ Julia snorted. ‘Italy declaring war on us when we were on our knees, almost, after Dunkirk! Kicking us when we were down, that’s what! Mussolini is a pig! And I think I’ll have a whisky, too, and a cigarette. I need them!’

‘Yes. I think you’d better,’ Nathan said; said it softly and strangely so that Julia turned sharply.

‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Have you some more miserable news for me?’

‘Depends on how you look at it, I suppose. It’s why I was so late tonight. I called in on Pa. It’s been on the cards for some time; this morning it was definite. They want Pendenys Place …’

‘Taking it, you mean? Commandeering it – lock, stock and barrel?’

‘Under the Defence of the Realm Act, they told Pa. But only Pendenys. The stock and the barrels Pa has a month to shift out. They’re letting him have the tower wing – what’s left of it, that is – to store all the stuff in. He’s getting a removal firm from Creesby to do it for him, then he’s got to hand the place over. They’re taking the stable block and the garages, too – even the kitchen garden.’

‘But what do they want Pendenys for – a hospital?’ Julia downed her drink almost at a gulp, so agitated was she. ‘What on earth can they do with it?’

‘I don’t know anything except that They want it, so there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Pa isn’t all that much bothered – or won’t be once the place has been emptied and everything locked up safely. He’s going to Anna, to look after her and Tatiana at Denniston, he says.’

‘But Anna’s got Karl to look after her! Your pa should come here to Rowangarth.’

‘Where you and Aunt Helen have me to look after you. And Denniston House isn’t far away – you above all should know that.’

‘Mm. About ten minutes by bike,’ Julia agreed.

Nathan drained his glass, setting it on the table at his side. ‘Pa seems to think Pendenys might be used for the Air Force – maybe for offices or accommodation for Holdenby Moor. It isn’t far from the aerodrome, when you think about it. But I’m not so sure. All the visits were made by army people and they seemed more concerned with its seclusion and how easily it could be made secure.’

‘For something hush-hush, you mean?’

‘Maybe for a bolt hole for high-ups in the Government or the Civil Service if the invasion happens.’

‘Or maybe for exiled foreign royals – perhaps even for our own, if they start bombing London.’

‘Lord knows,’ Nathan shrugged.

‘And He’ll not tell us,’ Julia pointed out irreverently and not at all like the wife of the vicar of All Souls’. ‘Hell, but I hate this war! They’ve taken Drew and we’re waiting here for Hitler to make up his mind when he’s coming! What are we to do, darling – and don’t say, “Pray, then leave it in God’s hands.” The Germans will be praying, too, and it looks as if it’s them God is listening to at the moment! No platitudes, Nathan Sutton, or I’ll thump you!’

‘All right – then how if we both have another Scotch? Just a small one …’

Julia gazed at her empty glass, then turned to smile at her husband.

‘You know something, Vicar – that’s a very good idea. And what the heck? We can only drink it once!’

She held out her hand for his glass, then walked to the table on which the near-empty decanter stood, frowning as she tilted it.

The Army – or whoever – was welcome to Pendenys, great ugly, ostentatious place that it was. Only Aunt Clemmy and her precious Elliot had liked it and they were both dead and buried.

Then she permitted herself a small, mischievous smile just to think of Aunt Clemmy’s ghost, weeping and wailing at the front entrance, cursing the dreadful, common people who had dared to take her beloved Pendenys Place.

But what on earth did they want it for?

3 (#ulink_b55ea171-0e0f-5194-b19e-b38e7d6a96a4)

Each evening when she got home from work, Daisy expected the letter to have arrived. It would be small, she supposed, the envelope manila-coloured with ‘On His Majesty’s Service’ printed across the top. And inside would be a tersely-worded message, telling her where and when to attend for her medical examination.

It was so long coming, though, that she began to think her application had been lost or ignored – or that the Women’s Royal Naval Service had such a long list of twenty-year-old shorthand typists that they weren’t all that much bothered about Daisy Dwerryhouse.

She began not to care, even to be glad, and only to scan the mantelpiece for Keth’s pale blue air-mail envelopes as she opened the kitchen door.

Since war started, Keth’s letters rarely came singly. Almost a week without one, then three or more would arrive, giving her news of the Kentucky Suttons and messages from Bas and Kitty, but mostly telling her he missed her and loved and wanted her. There were no more Washington postmarks and she ceased to wonder why he had been there.

She read his letters over and over, arranging them in date order. There were a great many; more than three hundred, packed tightly into shoe boxes in the bottom of her wardrobe and easily to hand because if things got worse and Holdenby was bombed, they were the first things she would grab and take down to the cellar with her.

Tonight, there had been a letter from Drew.

… all at once it began to make sense, fall into place. I realized, the other afternoon, that I could sort the dits and the das into letters and figures – actually read them.

Daisy frowned. Dots and dashes, did he mean?

Even so, I found it hard to believe when they told me I had passed out. I am now a telegraphist and will be going back to barracks soon for drafting.

Don’t write back, Daiz, because there is a strong buzz we will be given leave. I’ll try to give you a ring if it is likely to happen, though there is always a queue at the phone box and delays getting through. Don’t be surprised if I just arrive without warning …

Drew coming on leave – but when? She felt so lonely and alone that tomorrow wouldn’t be soon enough. There seemed nothing, now, to life but working, wondering, worrying – and wanting. Wanting Keth, that was; wanting him here to touch and kiss and make love to her; wanting him to stay in Kentucky so They, the faceless ones, should not take him into the Army.

She ought to be ashamed, really. Compared to some, her life hadn’t changed overmuch. This far, Keth was out of harm’s way, Keeper’s Cottage had not been bombed, the evening air was heavy with the scent of newly cut hay and Rowangarth was still there, its sagging old roof just visible over the treetops to remind her that some things endured.

It was sad, for all that, that France had finally given in, been forced to sign a surrender in the same railway carriage in which Germany signed the Armistice at the end of the last war – Dada’s war. How humiliating for the French; how Hitler must have gloated.

And now, fresh fears. German soldiers had occupied Guernsey and Jersey, and those islands almost a part of Britain. It sent fear screaming through her just to think about it.

Only one thing was certain, Daisy admitted as sudden, silly tears filled her eyes. England – Great Britain – stood alone now, backs to the wall. This cockeyed little island was going to have to take whatever the Nazis threw at it, or give in. And since Mr Churchill had said we would never surrender, it seemed we were in for a bad time. A shiver of pure melancholy ran through her. How brave would she be when – if – it happened?

Keth, I need you so …

Mary Strong gave a final loving rub to the silver punchbowl she was polishing, then wrapped it in black tissue paper, wondering if Will was right and her ladyship really was going to hide away the silver and valuables – just in case.

If she were given a pound note for every time she had cleaned that bowl over the years, Mary sighed, she could buy the most beautiful bridal gown in York and still have a tidy pile left over.

Mind, she would still work as parlourmaid for Lady Helen when she and Will were wed. Once, it was demeaning for a married woman to work, unless she were a widow and had little choice. But war had come again and married women without encumbrances were expected to work.