It was easy for Patience, also, to recognise the visitors. Who else could it be but Mrs Dennison and Mrs Bragg, plus the two children and a pushchair, the only people to alight at Middlebeck station? She welcomed them warmly, assisting with the pushchair and helping the little girl – that must be Joanie, she decided – to take a big jump from the step to the platform.
Both women shook her outstretched hand.
‘How do you do?’ said Mrs Dennison, very politely and with just a touch of reserve, very much like Audrey, in fact. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Fairchild.’
‘Hello there,’ said Mrs Bragg, with the same warmth and friendliness that Patience had grown accustomed to in the woman’s daughter. ‘I’ve heard such a lot about you from my Maisie. It’s grand to meet you at last.’
The two women were, by and large, as she had expected them to be; Mrs Dennison, though, a little older, maybe, that she had anticipated; and as for Mrs Bragg…well, Patience admitted to herself that this lady looked quite a bit smarter. She was a pretty woman with dark hair, like Maisie’s, on top of which was perched a jaunty little red hat with a feather in the side. Her smile was Maisie’s too, but her face was a trifle strained, with more lines around her eyes and mouth than a young woman of her age ought to have. From Maisie’s chatter Patience had learned that Lily Bragg was not yet thirty. However, she appeared cheerful, much more so than she usually might be, Patience guessed; happy, no doubt to be enjoying a rare day away from her problems at home. And dressed up for the occasion, too, in the red hat and coat which made her look bright and eye-catching.
Mrs Dennison, at her side, appeared much more matronly and sombre, although it was obvious that her clothes were expensive, if unbecoming. Patience knew she had been ill, though not aware exactly of what had been the problem; but the woman had an unhealthy pallor which she did not like the look of at all.
As for the two children, Joanie and Jimmy, they were fair-haired, solid looking infants who resembled neither their mother nor their big sister. Patience supposed they must take after their father, the infamous Sid. There was no sign, as yet, however, of the bad behaviour that Maisie had complained about, but maybe time would tell. Jimmy was put into his pushchair where he sat silently and uncomplainingly, whilst Joanie trotted along at the side, one hand on the pram handle and the other holding on to her mother’s
‘Where’re we going?’ she asked, as they made their way out of the station.
‘To see Maisie,’ said her mother. ‘I told you… You remember Maisie, don’t you?’
The little girl shook her head, looking puzzled. ‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘Don’t think so… How far is it, where we’re going?’
It was Patience who answered. ‘Not very far, dear,’ she answered. ‘About ten minutes walk. It’s about half a mile from the station to the church,’ she told the two women. ‘Can you manage that, Joanie? Just a little walk, then you’ll be able to see your big sister again. Maisie’s been looking forward to seeing you both, I can tell you.’ She beamed at the child, but Joanie just regarded her stolidly, uncomprehendingly, it seemed. But three months was a long time to a child, Patience supposed, and the little girl might well have forgotten her sister.
‘I’m tired,’ said Joanie, pouting a little.
‘No, you’re not; you can’t be,’ said her mother. ‘You had a good rest on the train. Now for goodness’ sake, don’t you start whining…’ She fumbled in her bag. ‘’Ere y’are. There’s a jelly baby, an’ one for you an’ all, Jimmy. Now behave yerselves, the pair of yer; think on!’
That seemed to do the trick, that first jelly baby, followed by two more. Patience hoped the sweets would not spoil their dinner, but she decided it was none of her business. She could well understand that a harrassed mother might have to give way to bribery now and again.
‘We don’t have a car,’ she explained. ‘My husband’s parish is fairly compact, apart from a few outlying farms, and he manages his visits on a bicycle. And in these days of petrol rationing there is not much advantage in owning a car anyway. I wondered about bringing Maisie and Audrey along with me to meet you, but then I decided it might be better for me to have a word with you first. Now, Mrs Dennison, there is something we must talk about…’
‘Yes,’ replied that lady. ‘Whatever has been going on? I’ve been really worried, Mrs Fairchild. My Audrey…she’s not been a nuisance, has she, to that lady, that Miss Thomson? She is usually such a good girl.’
‘So she is,’ replied Patience. ‘She’s a credit to you, Mrs Dennison. And so is Maisie, Mrs Bragg. They are grand girls, both of them, and my husband and I feel privileged to be looking after them. No…it would not be fair to say that she has been a nuisance to Miss Thomson, but there was – what shall I say? – a little misunderstanding. It was all to do with the maid really, a young woman called Daisy.’
‘Yes, Audrey mentioned Daisy in her letters,’ said Mrs Dennison. ‘She said she was nice and that she was looking after her.’
‘Quite so,’ said Patience. She went on to explain, as prosaically as she could, about the incident with the door and about Audrey’s reluctant involvement in it. She did not say how fiercely Miss Thomson had reacted, how she had shaken and shouted at Audrey, even striking her across the face. It was sufficient of a shock to Mrs Dennison to hear of Audrey’s part in the escapade.
‘Oh dear, that’s dreadful!’ she exclaimed. ‘It doesn’t sound like my Audrey at all, behaving like that. How naughty and irresponsible… But I suppose it was that maid, was it, that led her on? It sounds as though the child is much better away from a flighty sort of girl like that. A bit of a trollop, is she, this Daisy?’
‘No, not at all,’ said Patience. She felt annoyed that such a word should be used about Daisy, but she did not let her indignation show. After all, Mrs Dennison was not to know. ‘Daisy is a good-hearted girl, and – usually – quite a sensible one. But she is a young woman who is in love and, because of that, I think we can forgive her. Her young man has already joined the army, and now Daisy has applied to join the ATS. She is just waiting for her call-up papers. Miss Thomson dismissed her at first, but then she regretted it and asked her to stay on. And Daisy has agreed to do so – as I said, she’s a very good-natured girl – but only till she joins the ATS.’
‘So this…Miss Thomson, she will have to find another maid?’ said Mrs Dennison.
‘It seems so,’ replied Patience. ‘But that’s easier said than done, I should imagine, with young women going into the forces and munitions work. And the Women’s Land Army, of course; that has been started up again.’
‘I should think it serves her right if she’s left without a maid,’ commented Lily Bragg. ‘Anyroad, it’s an ill wind, as they say, isn’t it? It means that our two girls have ended up together. I’m sure they’re glad about that, aren’t they?’
‘Yes…I do thank you, of course, Mrs Fairchild, for taking Audrey as well as Maisie,’ said Mrs Dennison. ‘I’m sorry…I should have said thank you straight away, but I was so concerned to hear about what had happened. Oh, I just can’t wait to see her…’
Patience smiled. ‘Well, you don’t need to wait any longer. Here we are.’ She pushed open the iron gate and led the way up the path.
But before she had a chance to get out her key, the door opened and there were Maisie and Audrey, with Luke in the hallway just behind them.
‘Mum…’ cried both little girls, simultaneously, and then both mothers and daughters ran to greet one another with a big hug and kiss.
‘You look nice, Mum,’ said Maisie, looking at her mother appraisingly as they stood in the hallway. ‘Have you got a new coat and hat?’
‘Yes, sort of new,’ said Lily. ‘I have to try and look me best, y’know… Eeh, Maisie love, it’s grand to see you again. I’ve missed yer such a lot. And so have the little ’uns.’
Maisie was delighted at the warmth of her mother’s greeting; there were tears of joy in Lily’s eyes, something her daughter had very rarely seen. But the ‘little ’uns’ seemed singularly unmoved. Maisie doubted very much that they had missed her, or that they were pleased to see her again. Lily nudged the little sister and brother.
‘Here’s our Maisie, see. Aren’t you going to say hello to her?’
Joanie was staring fixedly at her big sister. She pointed her finger. ‘That’s Nellie,’ she said. ‘I don’t know no Maisie.’
Lily laughed. ‘Oh yes, of course! That’s what she’s always called you. I was forgetting.’ She stooped down to Joanie. ‘She’s got a new name now. She’s called Maisie.’
‘Yes, I’m Maisie now,’ said the big sister, quite indignantly. ‘Hello Joanie, hello Jimmy. You’ve grown, haven’t yer?’ And they looked, to Maisie’s eyes, unusually clean and tidy too. It seemed as though there had been some changes in her absence, unless it was just a special effort on her mother’s part for today’s visit.
‘Why’re you called Maisie then?’ asked Joanie.
‘’Cause that’s what I wanted to be called. ’Cause I hated being Nellie…’
‘Why? Why did yer?’
‘’Cause I did, that’s all!’
Patience stepped in, aware that Maisie was becoming a little distressed. ‘Now, come along into the sitting room, all of you. There’s a nice fire in there, and I’ll go and make us all a cup of tea while you have a chat to Luke.’ He had already introduced himself to the two women and assisted them in taking off their coats.
‘It’s why, why, why? all the time with our Joanie now,’ said Lily. ‘Tek no notice of her, Maisie love. She’ll soon get used to you again, and yer new name. And Jimmy an’ all.’
The little boy seemed to have totally forgotten her. He stared at her with a bewildered expression on his face. Then he smiled, still a little unsurely. ‘’Ello…Maisie,’ he said.
Maisie felt a surge of affection for both the children, which surprised her, and she realised she was, indeed, glad to see them again, especially away from their home environment. Maybe that was what made the difference.
When Patience returned with the tea they all chatted together; light-hearted inconsequential talk about the school in Armley and the changes there, and about how the two girls were enjoying their new school and the various activities connected with school and church. Then Patience asked Maisie and Audrey if they could assist her for a few moments in the kitchen as she had a big meal to prepare that day, for eight people instead of the usual four. Maisie guessed that Luke might want to talk to their mothers without the two of them ‘earwigging’. The little ’uns would take no notice. They were already playing a game with toy cars on the hearthrug…and how remarkably placid they were, she marvelled.
‘My wife and I are delighted to have your two girls with us,’ Luke told the women. ‘There was a little incident recently – Patience will have told you about that – but, as it happened, it all worked together for good; and I’m sure Audrey will be happy with us, as I like to think Maisie has been.’
Both women nodded and murmured their agreement. ‘I’d better not mention it to Audrey, then?’ questioned Edith Dennison. ‘About how she came to leave this Miss Thomson?’
‘No, it’s best forgotten,’ replied Luke. ‘And I want you both to know that your girls are safe here with us – God willing, of course – for as long as is necessary. You will be aware, though, I am sure, that several of our visitors have already gone back, to Leeds and to Hull.’
‘But…do you think that is wise?’ asked Edith. ‘Alf – my husband – and I had wondered whether to have Audrey back home, just for Christmas, perhaps; but it might unsettle her, and us as well, of course. I don’t think we would be able to bring ourselves to part with her again.’
Luke smiled and nodded understandingly. ‘Yes, it’s a thorny problem, I agree. It’s my belief that this is just the calm before the storm. The parents who have taken their children back home, they may live to regret it.’
‘I want Maisie to stay,’ said Lily decidedly. ‘Now as I’ve seen how happy she is, and how lovely it is round here I know I was right to let her go. I wanted her to have a chance, y’see, Reverend… Is that what we should call you? I wasn’t sure.’
‘Just call me Luke,’ he said, grinning. ‘That’s what your two girls call me, at least Maisie does and I’m sure Audrey will soon do the same. I don’t feel that it’s disrespectful, and I want them to know that I’m a friend to both of them.’
‘OK then…Luke.’ Lily grinned back at him. ‘And I’m Lily, and Mrs Dennison is Edith. We’ve only got to know one another properly today, haven’t we, Edith? But we seem to get on fine together. Anyway, like I was saying, I’m glad Maisie’s had the chance to come here. I don’t mind telling yer that I’ve had problems at home, an’ I didn’t want Maisie to be part of them no longer… It seems like an excuse though, doesn’t it? I mean, if the war hadn’t happened, she’d still be with me in Armley, wouldn’t she?’
‘I don’t think we can dwell too much on the ifs and buts,’ said Luke. ‘We have to look at the situation as it is. We have been only too pleased to help Maisie. She has told us a little… Ah, here is my wife.’ He looked across and smiled as Patience came back into the room. ‘I was just saying, my dear, that Maisie has told us a little about her problems at home.’ But Patience and Luke had already agreed not to tell Maisie’s mother about how distraught the child had been on that first night.
‘Yes; we gather she did not get on too well with her step-father and his son,’ said Patience. ‘She hasn’t said very much, but we are able to read between the lines, as it were, and we know that she has been worried about you as well, and your…situation with your husband. But we can assure you, Mrs Bragg, that this is confidential and it will go no further.’
‘It doesn’t matter very much any more,’ said Lily. ‘I’m Lily, by the way…I don’t like being called Mrs Bragg. I think folks back home – some of ’em anyroad – know as Sid and me aren’t happy. I’ve mentioned it to Edith here.’
‘Yes, we are aware that both of you ladies have had problems,’ said Patience. ‘I’ve left your girls setting the table, by the way, so we can have a little private chat. They’re such good girls and they’re feeling very important being left in charge of the dining room… Yes, we know you have been quite poorly…er, Edith? I may call you Edith, may I? And we know a little about Lily’s situation.’
‘And we want you to know,’ Luke continued, ‘that if there is anything further we can do to help, then that is what we are here for. Anytime you want to come, either of you, then just feel free to do so. You can stay a night or two if you wish, your home circumstances permitting, of course.’
‘Aye, that’s the problem though,’ said Lily. ‘When Maisie first come up here I was all for coming with her. We’d had a bit of a set-to, y’ see, the night before, and Sid told me to clear off and take the kids with me. Then he changed his mind and said I had to stay and look after him and his son. I’m between the devil and the deep and that’s a fact. I daresn’t leave; he’d only come after me and make me go back.’
Patience’s heart went out to her. ‘It isn’t right that you should suffer abuse,’ she said carefully, not wanting to admit to how much she already knew of the woman’s problems. ‘And you have the children to consider…’
‘At least he doesn’t hit me no more,’ said Lily with a wry smile. ‘He ignores me most o’ t’ time.’
That poor young woman, thought Patience. What a dreadful existence some folks had to endure. This war was showing up all kinds of misery and futility in people’s lives. ‘Well, you are having a day away from your problems today, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘Your husband…he didn’t mind you coming?’
‘He wasn’t interested,’ said Lily. ‘I told him, but I might just as well be talking to a brick wall.’
‘Lily…’ said Edith, a little unsurely. ‘I didn’t realise that things were quite so bad. If you ever want somebody to talk to…well, you know where I am and you mustn’t hesitate to come and see me. I hope you will come anyway, not just because of your…problems. I feel I’ve made a new friend,’ she added shyly.
‘Well, isn’t that nice?’ said Patience. She guessed that Edith Dennison did not find it easy to break down her innate reserve. ‘It’s lovely to make new friends.’
‘Thank you, Edith,’ said Lily, looking very touched at the other woman’s overture of friendship. ‘I’d like that. I suppose I thought you might be…well, a bit posh for the likes of me. I do cleaning jobs, y’see, at some of the houses near to Edith’s,’ she explained to Luke and Patience. ‘And some of the women are a bit snooty, like. But Edith’s not like that at all.’
‘My wife and I are finding that this war is a great leveller,’ said Luke, ‘and I am sure it will be even more so before it’s ended. The evacuation scheme is a case in point. We have had very few problems here, and it has helped us all to understand one another a little better. And I am sure it is so in the armed forces as well, although…’ He shook his head sorrowfully, ‘We wish, of course, that it wasn’t this wretched war that has caused us all to become more friendly.’
He and his wife exchanged a look of warmth and perfect accord, and then Patience stood up. ‘If you would all like to come into the dining room, I will serve out the meal,’ she said. ‘Luke, could you seat everybody, please, dear? And what a good job you have made with the table, girls. Well done!’
The table had been extended to its full length and extra chairs brought from the kitchen. Jimmy no longer used his high chair at home, so he was able to manage with two plump cushions on his chair, as was Joanie. The meal was a delicious meat and potato pie topped with a suet crust, followed by apple crumble – there was still a plentiful supply harvested from the rectory garden – and creamy custard. Maisie had wondered how the two terrors would behave. She could not help thinking of them in that way, remembering how they had used to slop their food around, sometimes indulging in a game of throwing spoonfuls at one another. But they both conducted themselves very well, eating the potatoes and meat and the cut-up crust with a spoon, which was permissible, and with only a few dribbles on their bibs and little splodges on the tablecloth. Maisie, left in charge, had decided against Patience’s carefully laundered white cloth, choosing instead a serviceable red checked one.
Patience knew that the two mothers and their children would want to spend some time alone together, and so, in the early afternoon the six of them set off for a walk in the surrounding countryside. Maisie and Audrey were pleased and proud to lead the way through the churchyard and along the lane that led to the farm and then to the squire’s estate.
The early morning mist had cleared, but the day was still cold with a weak sun shining fitfully between the grey clouds. The trees were almost completely bare, with only a few decaying leaves hanging on the branches and piles of crinkly brown ones lying in piles beneath the hedgerows. But there was no denying the beauty of the scenery even in its sombre-hued autumn mood, nor the atmosphere of peace and tranquillity that prevailed.
‘Our friend lives there, at that farm,’ said Maisie, pointing to the farmyard where the hens were clucking and flapping around. ‘Doesn’t she, Audrey?’
‘Yes; she’s called Doris,’ replied Audrey. ‘Look, Jimmy and Joanie; look at the chickens. And there’s the rooster, see; the one with the big red comb on his head.’
Joanie and Jimmy, from his pushchair, stared through the five-barred gate and the mothers exchanged amused glances.
‘Quite the little country girls now, aren’t they?’ remarked Edith.
Lily nodded. ‘Yes; I was just thinking the same. And don’t they look well? They’ve both got roses in their cheeks, and I do believe Maisie has grown two inches.’
‘And so has Audrey,’ said Edith. ‘And she’s much more self-assured than she used to be. They’ve been lucky though. I don’t suppose all the children have got such a nice home as ours have.’
Maisie decided that as Doris was nowhere to be seen they had better move on. ‘We’ll show you where the squire lives,’ she said. ‘It’s a right big house with loads of rooms, but they’ve got evacuees, same as other people; mothers and babies…well, kids like Jimmy and Joanie, some of ’em. You could’ve stayed there, Mum, if you’d come with us.’
‘Ah well; it wasn’t to be, was it,’ said Lily with a little sigh. ‘Squire, eh? That sounds posh.’
‘He’s not posh really,’ said Maisie. ‘He’s dead nice and friendly.’
‘Yes, an’ he’s got a son called Bruce,’ added Audrey. ‘His dog frightened me the first day, but I’ve got used to it now.’
‘Yes, you’ve got a lot more confidence now, dear,’ said her mother. ‘You’ve become quite grown-up, all of a sudden,’ she added, a little sadly.
‘We were just saying how well you both look,’ said Lily. ‘Yer hair’s real nice, Maisie, now as it’s grown again. And you’ve got some new clothes an’ all, haven’t you? I haven’t seen that coat before, nor that jumper and skirt.’ She looked rather crestfallen, and Maisie understood how she must be feeling. New clothes, back in Armley, had been very few and far between.
‘Oh, they’re not really new,’ she explained. ‘Aunty Patience got ’em from a collection they had in the church hall when we first arrived; second-hand things that kids had grown out of. Lots of us got new things. Audrey didn’t, though, ’cause she’d got lots of nice clothes already.’
‘Yes, she was a lucky girl,’ said Edith dismissively, ‘but never mind about all that. I’m so pleased that the two of you are such good friends. And that’s what your mum and I are going to be, I hope, Maisie… I have been wondering though, dear…’ She turned to Audrey. ‘Do you really think you ought to call the Reverend Fairchild, Luke? I know he says he likes you to, but it seems…well, too familiar to me, too…irreverent. Of course I know I’m a bit old-fashioned.’
‘I haven’t called him anything yet,’ said Audrey.
‘But I do,’ said Maisie. ‘Y’ see, Uncle Luke is hard to say, isn’t it? You just try saying it…Uncle Luke, Unclook, Unclook…’
‘Unclook, Unclook…’ joined in Audrey, followed by a delighted Joanie who had been listening with great interest. The three of them fell about laughing, staggering all over the lane.
Lily and Edith laughed too. ‘Eeh, it does me good to see ’em so happy,’ said Lily. ‘Oh look, d’you think that’s the squire’s place they were telling us about?’ She pointed towards the large stone-built mansion just ahead, at the end of a long driveway. ‘Oh, I say; fancy you knowing somebody as lives in a place like that, Maisie,’ she shouted to her daughter.
‘Well, we do, don’t we Audrey?’ said Maisie. ‘We’ll go along that path and we’ll show you the garden at the back. But there’ll be no flowers there now, I don’t suppose.’
‘Are you sure we can go up there, dear?’ asked Edith. ‘Won’t we be trespassing?’
‘No, ’course we won’t… Oh look, there’s Mrs Booth and Billy and Brenda.’ Maisie started to wave. ‘Yoo-hoo…hello, Mrs Booth…’
They all met in the middle of the path and stopped to say hello. Lily and Edith looked curiously at the young woman. ‘I know you, don’t I?’ said Lily. ‘I’ve seen you shopping in Armley, haven’t I?’
‘And so have I,’ said Edith, ‘but I only know you by sight. We’re very pleased to meet you properly, Mrs Booth.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m…er…Edith and this is Lily. We’re visiting our girls for the day.’
‘So I see; that’s nice,’ said the young woman, shaking their hands. ‘I know Maisie and Audrey, don’t I, girls? We were all in the same carriage on the way here. I’m Sally, by the way. Never mind all that Mrs Booth nonsense.’
‘Out, out…’ said Jimmy, struggling to get out of his pushchair, having seen two more children roughly his age and size. Lily released him and the four infants ran off together, seeming to make friends quite easily. The two bigger girls went too, to keep an eye on them.
‘They’ll be OK,’ said Sally. ‘No cars come along here; it’s just for people on foot, like. We were just having a bit of a breather, the kids and me, before I go back to help Mrs Tremaine with the evening meal. There’s not many of us left though, now. Only me and my two, and another woman, Dolly, and her two. An’ she says she’s going back to Leeds before Christmas, an’ all. There’s nowt happening, y’ see.’
‘Well, I suppose we must be thankful for that,’ said Edith. ‘It can’t last for ever, though, can it, this…uneasy sort of peace?’
‘That’s what my hubby says,’ replied Sally. ‘He’s in the army, so he knows what he’s on about. He doesn’t tell me too much, mind; their letters are censored, y’ know. Aye, they have a big blue pencil line through all t’ bits that might be giving away secrets, or else they cut ’em out wi’ scissors. Anyroad, he said to me, “You stay where you are, love, where I know you’ll be safe.”’
‘So you’re not thinking of going back to Armley?’ asked Lily.
‘Not on yer life! No…I love it round here. I’m thinking of staying on, even after the war finishes, whenever that is. And Joe – that’s my hubby – he thinks it might be a good idea an’ all. The air’s lovely and fresh up here, and talk about quiet! I couldn’t get used to it at first after living in a big city, but I know it’s a much nicer place to bring the kiddies up. Our house in Armley is only a little two up and two down, rented of course. So I think we’ll stay on, if things work out.’
Lily felt quite envious as she listened to her. It seemed as though Sally Booth had got it made. ‘But…what do you do all the time?’ she asked. ‘I mean…isn’t it like one long holiday? I know you’ve got two children to look after, but…’
‘Oh, I’m second-in-command to Mrs Tremaine now,’ Sally replied, with some pride. ‘I help with the cooking and cleaning and…well, everything really. Anyway, I was never able to sit on me behind all day and expect folks to wait on me. Mind you, that’s what some of ’em did, the lazy devils! You wouldn’t believe it! Mrs Tremaine was glad to see the back of ’em, I can tell yer.’ She paused, fractionally, for breath.
‘Actually…it’s not definite at the moment, but there’s some talk of making the squire’s place into a hostel for the Land Army women. Just a small one, like, but there’ll be room for at least ten or twelve of ’em and the rest’ll be found digs in Middlebeck. And Mrs Tremaine is going to put me in charge of the girls, she says. So I’ll have a proper job, and a proper wage an’ all, I hope.’
‘That sounds great,’ said Lily. ‘You’ve fallen on yer feet.’
‘Aye, I’m not complaining,’ said Sally, grinning. ‘I’m glad I’ve met you both… Come on Billy… Brenda…’ she called. The children were playing a game of tig, organised by Maisie and Audrey, some twenty yards away down the lane. ‘Come on now, an’ we’ll carry on with our walk. It’ll be getting dark soon.’
Although it was only late afternoon the day was drawing to a close, the sky darkening rapidly with the disappearance of the sun. As the little party continued with their walk, Maisie pointed out that the squire’s terraced garden where, in the late summer, there had been a profusion of colourful flowers, had been now completely dug over.
‘I expect they’ll soon be growing vegetables there, not flowers,’ Edith remarked. ‘That’s what they’ll be wanting us all to do, I suppose, to dig over our back gardens. Alf’s real proud of his flower beds, but I reckon they’ll have to go eventually.’
Lily did not comment; all she had was a small paved yard with a communal lavatory at the end. She had certainly had a glimpse that day of how some other folk lived. To Edith, though, it would not have seemed so much of a contrast, she pondered. She knew she had no choice but to return to her – so-called – home with Sid and to ‘grin and bear it’. It was some solace to her, however, that Maisie had got away and was so contented in her new life. And she now had a new friend in Edith. The future, on the whole was beginning to look a little less bleak.
When they returned to the rectory the black-out curtains were already drawn, and the village green and the road leading down to the town was in almost complete darkness. All too soon it was time for them to take that road down to the station. They all went, Patience, Maisie and Audrey, as well as their visitors, Luke leading the way, with his torch illuminating a pathway through the blackness.
The train, fortunately, was only some ten minutes late in arriving. It was cold standing around on the platform and Patience knew that the longer the girls stood there the more sad they were likely to feel. Partings were dreadful at the best of times, but Maisie and Audrey had insisted on coming to say goodbye to their mothers.
Lily and Edith, sensibly, did not prolong the farewell, although there were tears in both their eyes. The girls, dewy-eyed, too, waved and waved until the train vanished out of sight.
‘Never mind,’ said Patience. ‘We have all had a lovely happy day, and I’m sure it won’t be long before you see your mums again.’ Edith, however, had confided in her, woman to woman, about her operation, insisting, though, that she should not tell Audrey. And in spite of her assurances that she was quite well again, Patience could tell that that was not strictly true. The next few months, she guessed, could be crucial.
‘Off we go home,’ she said, trying to sound light-hearted. ‘And how about a nice cup of cocoa? And then we can listen to ‘Happidrome’ on the wireless. How does that sound?’
‘Great…’ said the girls, both of them manfully trying to hide their tears.