Thursday 27th February, 1941

Oh poor, sweet Bess. I’m so angry my hand is shaking and I can hardly hold the pen. I feel red and hot all over, like a boiling pot of lobsters. Oh, I could spit! Heavens to Betsy, where to start? Everything is such a mess.

As spring arrives in Llanmarion, I have cast off the scarves and gloves and many of my inhibitions. Rick is gregarious, although never coarse, and it’s difficult to be uptight around him. The village seems to have accepted us a pair, which is what makes what happened to Bess even crueller. More on that shortly.

Our courtship has lost its formality. There’s no time for ceremony. There’s a war on. Wartime rules apply. Our time together is now smudged at the edges like a Monet or Van Gogh: springtime yellows and greens, blossoms and buds and, of course, daffodils in abundance.

By his own admission, Rick is not much of a reader, but loves stories. Today we walked through the village, bought iced buns from the bakery and took them down to the pond near the village green, to read. We’ve already ploughed through Jane Eyre so we started Treasure Island. I rested my head in his lap and shaded my eyes with the paperback as he stroked my hair.

‘Look!’ he said. ‘Ducklings!’

‘You are incapable of concentration!’ I derided him with a smile, sitting up to look at the baby ducks. They were, of course, quite adorable.

And that was when it happened. ‘May I kiss you?’ he said, nudging me with his shoulder.

Now the moment was here, I felt as still as the pond in front of us. ‘I think you ought. I was about to send a written invitation.’

Used to my needling, he tilted my chin up with a thumb and pressed his lips to mine. I didn’t dare breathe. I don’t know how I’d imagined it would be, but it was even better than that; so soft, so warm, as intimate as a secret.

For a moment I was completely paralysed. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Just to check, you’d better do that again,’ I said.

He smiled and kissed me again, longer and deeper this time. I knew showing such affection in public was scandalous, but I found I didn’t care one jot. For a moment we were one being. I felt his lips on mine and all my thoughts, all my worries, seeped out of me, soaked up like rain into the grass. Eyes shut, colourful speckles swam through my vision. I don’t know how long we kissed for, minutes or hours, but I’m quite sure I could feel the turn of the earth.

There’s every possibility we’d still be kissing if Bess hadn’t come tearing across the village green like a harpy in full flight. ‘Oh, Margot, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere.’

I gathered myself and stood as she nearly collapsed in my arms, red-faced and out of puff. ‘Bess, what on earth’s the matter?’

She started to cry, and I could tell by her raw eyes that she’d already cried a bucket. ‘It’s Reg … Margot, he’s gone.’

‘What? Gone where?’

Rick stood too, brushing down his trousers. ‘Gee, Miss Jones, are you all right?’

‘No! He’s gone and I don’t know where.’ She dissolved into uncontrollable sobs and I hugged her tight.

I sat her down on the bench at the very edge of the pond. People were looking over – a prissy, shrew-like mother gathered up her two children and moved them away. I stroked her hand. ‘It will be all right, Bess. Take your time and tell us what happened.’

‘He’s gone,’ she repeated once she’d caught her breathe. ‘Da found out and said he’d kill him with his bare hands when he got back. Mam talked to Rhodri Ridwell and had him sent away.’

‘No! That’s beastly!’

‘No one will tell me where he is.’ Her bottom lip trembled again.

‘He’s left Llanmarion?’ Rick put in.

‘Yes. I don’t even know if he’s in Wales.’

I sprang to my feet, indignant. ‘Well, this isn’t fair at all. Reg has done absolutely nothing wrong. Let me speak to Rhodri. If his host family are willing to have him back, then …’

Rick took my elbow and gently steered me away from Bess. He spoke softly but firmly. ‘Listen, Margot, this might not be the worst thing—’

‘What?’ I exploded. ‘How can you say that?’

‘This isn’t London. What if Bess’s pop does get his hands on Reg? Being moved isn’t the worst thing that could have happened to him. Hell, we don’t even know if he’s really been sent away …’

‘You don’t seriously think …?’ He shrugged and I felt like I could very well vomit. ‘Surely not?’

‘Not everyone is as open-minded as us. There’s been talk at the hospital … When Reg was arrested, good men, good soldiers, were talking about taking justice into their own hands.’

‘Well, first of all, let’s clarify that that is not the attitude of good men or good soldiers, and secondly, whatever you do, don’t say that to Bess. She’s inconsolable as it is.’ I looked back and saw her blowing her nose on a handkerchief. I pictured Reg lying in a ditch somewhere, battered and bruised, and sincerely hoped he really had just been sent packing. ‘I wonder if I can get Ivor to discover where he’s been sent. I think he knows Rhodri well. If it’s a lie, I can find out.’

‘I swear on my life, Margot,’ Bess announced, ‘I’m going to find him and go after him. I love him and he loves me and that’s all there is to it.’

I tried to smile for her, but both Rick and I knew that that was not all there was to it. Not in a town like Llanmarion.

In the end Bess stayed the night at the farm. She was so cross with her mother that she couldn’t bear to be in the house. Glynis was more than happy to have her stay.

There was no other choice than to sleep top and tail. At least it removed the need for a hot-water bottle. We went upstairs with mugs of Ovaltine and some fruit cake I’d made with dried raisins. It was a little dry, but I’ve never claimed to be the best baker in the world.

‘Oh, Margot,’ Bess said, filling her face with cake, ‘there’s no way he’s run away. He’d never leave me. He said so himself.’

‘When did you see him last?’

She leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Have you heard of the old Whaddon farm?’ I said I had not. ‘Last winter, old Alun Whaddon basically drank himself into an early grave – oh, don’t tell anyone I told you that, but everyone knows – and he didn’t have no sons to take over the farm so it’s just still standing there while they sort it all out. Anyway, like, Reg and I have been going to his old hay barn to—’

‘Yes, Bess, I more than get the picture, thank you.’

Bess nodded. ‘We were there last weekend. Margot, he told me he loved me. We’re not stupid. I know that next year he’ll be called up, but we made plans. We were going to get a house in Greenwich. The way he described it made it sound magical, like.’

I didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. ‘Bess, I don’t know what to say.’

‘You think I’m soft in the head, don’t you?’

‘I think no such thing! I think you’re phenomenally brave to follow your heart. Usually that’s the least sensible path to take so it needs twice the gumption.’

She shook her head, bob bouncing around her face. ‘I know what boys are like. I know they tell you tales to get their way, but Reg was different. I believe every word he’s ever said to me.’

I took hold of her hand. ‘Then I’m sure, if he can find a way back, he will.’

She crumbled into tears and I could do nothing more than hold her tight until she was all cried out.

Poor Bess has been miserable all day. True to my word, I sent Ivor to talk to Rhodri and, although he was reluctant to get involved, he dutifully reported that Reg had been rebilleted on Anglesey in the north. Glynis assured me Holyhead is positively cosmopolitan compared to Llanmarion and he should be safe enough if he doesn’t go looking for trouble. On Rick’s advice, I have kept this knowledge to myself, fearing Bess will indeed flee the village if she gets wind of his location. She’s only fifteen. I would feel dreadful if something were to happen to her.

I have been busying her with preparations for the St David’s Day celebration. The Welsh take it very seriously indeed and I feel we can all benefit from some cheer. The whole town gets involved. Bunting zigzags down the streets and red dragons billow from almost every window.

I understand their national pride – people in such a small country with so few voices have to shout extra loud to keep traditions alive, I believe. Why, the Welsh language is all but dying out in the south, so I’m told, and that would be a crying shame.

I’m excited for the parade and the fete. It’ll be just the tonic for Bess, I’m sure.