Where Bluebells Chime

‘So what are you joining?’ Tatiana was piqued.

‘The Wrens, if they’ll have me. It’s got to be, you see, because of Drew. I hate working in that shop and I thought that if anything I could do would shorten the war by just one week, then I should do it. I want Keth home – but not till the war is over.’

‘Then that does it! If you can volunteer, so can I! I think I might go for the ATS. Well, the Suttons have always joined the Army, haven’t they?’

‘Until Drew – yes. But you can’t, Tatty! Have you thought about what your grandma would say?’

‘Oh, bugger Grandmother Petrovska!’ Tatiana could swear in English, too. ‘I’m sick of her and her everlasting black! Imagine – she’s still in mourning for Czar Nicholas and him dead more than twenty years!’

‘But it won’t be a bed of roses. Don’t expect it to be fun – in the Forces, I mean.’

‘Anything would be better than having Grandmother living at Denniston, because London will get bombed and she will have to leave.’

‘But your mother wouldn’t let you. You’re not twenty-one yet.’

‘Neither are you. Did your father give his permission? My mother will say I can, anyway.’

‘She won’t, and you know it. Dada didn’t sign for me to go. I sort of did it for him. He hit the roof!’

‘Then I shall sign Mother’s name. Aleksandrina Anastasia Petrovska Sutton. I know exactly how she does it.’

‘Oh, don’t let’s talk about the war! I’m afraid, really, about the invasion.’

‘So am I. They might treat us like they treated the Poles. And Grandmother wouldn’t help. She’d shout at them, if they came – all sorts of insults. We’d end up against the wall, being shot!’

‘Don’t say things like that, please. Let’s talk about Drew. Aunt Julia says he might be home on leave soon.’

‘He might?’ Tatiana brightened visibly. ‘There’d be half the Clan together again.’

‘Mm. And I could ask him for a few tips about the Wrens – what to say, I mean, if they ask me what I want to do.’

‘So they won’t put you in the cookhouse, you mean?’

‘Sort of. And in the Navy they call it the galley.’

‘Whatever,’ Tatiana shrugged. ‘But they do that, you know. If you can cook, then they’d put you in an office and if you can type –’

‘Which I can.’

‘Exactly. They’d probably put you on a barrage balloon, or something. They do it on purpose.’

‘It wouldn’t be that. I think the Air Force looks after all the barrage balloons. But I stood in a queue in Woolworth’s, yesterday, and guess what?’ She was anxious not to talk about the war any more. ‘I got a jar of cold cream.’

‘Lucky dog! Tell you what – let’s go back to Denniston and have a root through Mother’s make-up. She’s out do-gooding for the war effort. She won’t be back till late.’

‘Could we? What if she caught us?’

‘She won’t. Come on!’ An aircraft flew low overhead and Tatiana squinted up into the sky. ‘Ooh, just look at that! It’s a Whitley.’ Tatiana was good at recognizing aircraft. ‘They’ve got some at Holdenby Moor to replace the old Hampdens. And don’t you just love those aircrew boys? Aren’t they marvellous? I could fall head over heels for every one of them!’

‘No you couldn’t, Tatty. They’re very young – most of them not old enough to get married. And they get killed – all the time. But no more war talk – please.’

‘Oh, dear. Whatever next?’ Helen Sutton looked up from the evening paper she was reading as her daughter came into the room. ‘Our allies, Julia, yet we’ve sunk the best part of the French fleet. They were anchored somewhere in North Africa and our navy just turned their guns on them. Sank them, and more than a thousand killed. Well, I hope,’ she breathed, tight-lipped, ‘that Drew will never be called on to do anything so awful!’

‘You’re right. It is awful. But did we have any choice, Mother? We couldn’t let Hitler get his hands on those ships.’

‘But the French captains wouldn’t have let that happen. A lot of their ships have already sailed into British ports – and the French fought alongside us last time, remember.’

‘I know – but there’s another war on now and we can’t afford to use kid gloves, these days – not when we’re up against it, like now. But I think I might have some good news for you. You know I said I wanted to get help for Jack Catchpole? Well, I just might be lucky. I think we’re getting a land girl.’

‘But I thought land girls worked on farms.’

‘They work on the land, whether it’s farmland or Rowangarth kitchen garden. They’re there to help grow food and we could send no end of stuff to the Creesby shops. And a land girl could look after some hens for us. I went to the bothy – well, they call it a hostel, now – and I was lucky. Both the warden and the forewoman were in, and both of them thought Rowangarth could qualify. They were very nice and told me who to contact to get things going. We might have one before the month is out. Couldn’t be in better time, either, for the soft fruit.’

‘But how will Catchpole take it? He wouldn’t be getting an experienced gardener, would he? I believe some land girls come from towns and can’t milk a cow, even.’

‘But we haven’t got any cows. Anyway – can you milk a cow, Mother?’

‘No. But I could learn if I had to, I suppose …’

‘There’s your answer then. She’ll do just fine with Catchpole watching her. I’ve asked him, by the way, and he says as long as she doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty and is willing to learn and doesn’t give cheek, he said he would at least give it a try. So it’s fingers crossed. I think they’ll give us one. After all, we didn’t make a fuss when they asked us to let them have the bothy, and we supplied them with a cook, don’t forget.’

‘If we’d said no, they’d have taken it, for all that.’

‘But we didn’t say no. We co-operated and did all we could to help, so they owe us a land girl.’

‘I suppose so …’ Helen Sutton was not entirely convinced, but Julia would never change, would always rush in without too much thought.

‘By the way,’ Helen called after her daughter’s retreating back, ‘Nathan wants to see you about something. He’s in the library.’

And they could but try, she acknowledged as the door banged noisily shut. Yet for all that, she hoped that the young lady, if ever she arrived, didn’t come complete with bright red lipstick and painted nails to match. Catchpole wouldn’t like that at all.

The telephone rang shrilly and she heard Julia crossing the hall to answer it. She knew it was good news, even before the door flew open and a flushed and smiling Julia announced, ‘Drew’s coming on leave! Next Thursday, for ten days, he said!’ She gathered her mother into her arms, hugging her fiercely. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? Must just tell Nathan, then I’ll give Alice a ring!’

She was gone in a flurry of delight before Helen could even ask when her grandson would be arriving and if he wanted meeting at Holdenby station.

Then she smiled and picked up the framed photograph of a young sailor from the table beside her chair. His hair was cut much too short, but he smiled back at her exactly as Drew had always done.

Drew. Sir Andrew Sutton, really – Giles and Alice’s son. Coming home on Thursday; home to Rowangarth.

But Thursday was all of five days away – a hundred and twenty long, slow hours away. However was she to endure them?

4 (#ulink_7b9721c1-cee8-52d0-a107-aeb364282c4b)

Never in her life had Agnes Clitherow been so glad to see Rowangarth. A feeling of homecoming wrapped around her and almost made her regret what she and her cousin Margaret had decided, but she shook such thoughts from her head, picked up her cases and walked, straight-backed as ever, to the kitchen door. As Rowangarth’s housekeeper she had a right to enter by the front, but to do so would necessitate the ringing of the doorbell and that, at half-past six in the morning, was simply not done.

‘Miss Clitherow!’ Tilda gasped at the sight of the dishevelled lady who leaned against the door jamb. ‘Oh, come in, do!’ She guided her to a chair, all the while clucking and soothing as the occasion seemed clearly to demand, then set the kettle to boil on the gas stove. ‘A good strong cup is what you need. Been travelling all night, have you?’

‘Oh, Tilda!’ She had indeed made the overnight journey, which from Oban to Glasgow had passed without too much discomfort. But from Glasgow to York! ‘Never take the night train!’