The Victory Garden: A Novel Page 7

  Alice nodded. She stepped out of the frock and hung it beside Emily’s jacket. Then she picked up the bloomers and laughed. “How about this, eh? We get to wear trousers. And you know what? I ain’t wearing no corset no more. If we’re going to work like men, we want to breathe properly.” She glanced at Emily. “’Ere. Help me unhook this.” Emily obliged, feeling embarrassed and awkward at touching another woman’s body. Alice didn’t seem to mind. She whipped off the corset and waved it around as more women entered the room. “How about this, girls? Freedom at last. Come on—off with them.”

  Four more women had come into the room. They laughed, but the Irish girl shook her head. “I’m not risking my figure,” she said. “I’m proud of my seventeen-inch waist, I am. And I aim to keep it.”

  “Suit yourself, love,” Alice said. “You’ll regret it when we’re doing back-breaking work in the fields.”

  “Do you think it will be back-breaking?” one of the young women asked nervously. She was a slight little thing with a perpetually frightened, rabbit-like look.

  “I don’t know,” Alice said. “I went down to Kent to pick hops in the summer when I was a girl. That wasn’t too bad. A lot of fun, actually.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Alice, by the way. And this is Emily.”

  “Ruby,” the frightened girl said. “I’m away from home for the first time. I’m not sure how I’m going to handle it.”

  “Me, too,” Daisy said. “We’ll look out for each other. I’m Daisy.”

  “Maud,” a larger woman said, sticking out a meaty hand and giving Daisy’s a hearty shake.

  “And I’m Maureen,” the Irish one replied.

  Emily had turned away as she removed her dress, feeling horribly self-conscious of her lace-trimmed slip compared to their well-worn undergarments. Should she take off her corset, too? The others seemed to have no hesitation about removing theirs, giving whoops of delight as they twirled them in the air. Then she remembered how much she had hated wearing it when her mother took her to be fitted for one when she turned eighteen. “You’ll thank me for this later when you retain your girlish figure,” her mother had said, although her own figure was anything but girlish.

  She fumbled with the hooks.

  “’Ere, hold on a mo, love,” Alice said, and her calloused fingers freed Emily in seconds. Emily smiled self-consciously as she whirled her corset with the others. Their noise had attracted some of the women from the other room.

  “What’s going on in here then?” one of them asked, poking her head around the door.

  “This. That’s what!” Alice replied. “We’ve made a stand for freedom. No more corsets if they want us to do a man’s work.”

  “Good idea!” the woman said. “Come on, girls. Let’s do it, too.”

  Emily stepped into the bloomers and adjusted the elastic around the waist, then buttoned the tunic. They felt coarse and heavy. She was going to be weighed down when she put the boots on. A small wave of panic went through her. What had she let herself in for?

  “Are you sure this is all right?” Ruby asked, glancing down nervously at the pile of corsets on the floor. “Won’t our insides all rattle around or fall apart?”

  “God didn’t make corsets, love,” Alice said. “Women survived without them for a few thousand years. I feel better already, personally.”

  They hadn’t quite finished dressing when the whistle sounded, and they had to scramble to do up buttons and hurry downstairs. Rows of chairs had been set up in a back room with a blackboard in front. Miss Foster-Blake stood there.

  “Splendid. You all look the part now. Right. Straight to work. How many of you have been a member of the Girl Guides?”

  A couple of hands were raised. “Well done,” Miss Foster-Blake said. “Your skills will prove useful. I myself was captain of a troop before the war. And how many of you have worked in agriculture in any way?”

  Again, a couple of hands went up.

  “Doing what?”

  The big-boned girl from their room said, “My dad was a farmworker, miss. We used to help pick the crops during the summer.”

  “Then you will be a great asset to us—Maud, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “And who else?”

  One girl had picked apples. Another older woman had grown vegetables in her own garden. As they went around the room, Emily was feeling more and more inadequate. It seemed they had all done some kind of physical work, except for the Irish girl with the red hair. It turned out Maureen was a dancer at a show on the pier in Torquay and was ambitious to make her name in show business. “I’d be in London now if it weren’t for that cursed Kaiser,” she said. “On account of him, all the theatres are closed. Still, this should keep me fit.”

  They were then given their schedule. Up at dawn for milking instruction. Breakfast at eight. Planting and harvesting practice until lunch. An hour’s rest after lunch, then haymaking and animal care until six. Supper at six thirty and free time until bed at nine.

  “It’s like ruddy prison,” Alice muttered during a tea break. She had latched herself on to Emily. “Working on the chain gang.”

  “Why did you come?” Emily asked. “You could have volunteered in London.”

  “I wanted to do my bit to defeat them Hun bastards—pardon my French—so that Bill’s death wasn’t for nothing,” Alice said. “And I read in the paper how we might all starve if there weren’t women to work on the land. That and I couldn’t afford the rent no more. Not on a widow’s pension. So I thought, why not? What have I got to lose? At least they pay us and feed us here, don’t they? What about you, ducks?”

  “I’ve been wanting to do something useful for ages,” Emily said. “I’ve been dying of boredom at home. But my parents wouldn’t let me go. Now I’ve turned twenty-one so they can’t stop me. I really wanted to volunteer as a nurse like my friend, but it seems they have enough nurses and not enough land girls. Also my young man is in hospital in Plymouth. That’s not too far.”

  “A sailor, is he?”

  “No, he’s an aviator in the Royal Air Force. He brought back his aeroplane in flames rather than parachute down behind enemy lines.”

  “Blimey. That takes some guts. So will he go back to flying when he’s recovered?”

  “I rather fear he will,” Emily said. “I just pray the war ends before they release him from hospital.”

  “And then you’ll get married?” Alice asked.

  Emily paused. Would she really marry Robbie if he asked her? Would she be prepared to travel to the outback and live miles from the nearest person?

  “We’ll have to see about that,” she answered.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Perry’s Farm

  Near Tavistock, Devon

  June 18th, 1918

  My dear Clarissa,

  As you can see from the address above, I have done it! I have escaped from my gilded cage! Not quite as dramatically as you, I’m afraid. They were not in need of local volunteer nurses, and when it came to it, I was not prepared to go to Portsmouth for proper nursing training. I had to admit to myself that I was scared as to whether I could handle what you have to go through. And, truth be told, I didn’t want to be so far away from Robbie, who is now in hospital in Plymouth. I haven’t had a chance to visit him yet as we haven’t had a day off, but I’ve written to him with all the news and I hope to go on Sunday.

  So I’ve become a land girl. Can you imagine? It is awfully hard work. I’ve got blisters all over my hands, and we are bossed around by a woman who was a former Girl Guide captain and reminds me of Miss Knight at school. You know how frightful she was. Well, this woman is worse. One of my fellow recruits said, “It’s like being in the army!” To which another replied, “Why do you think it’s called the Women’s Land Army?” And we all laughed.

  There is a really good spirit amongst the women. We are a motley crew—mostly from humble backgrounds, except for one middle-aged woman whose husband was an accountant. The poor fellow was
called up on his fortieth birthday—killed right away, like Freddie. It’s so sad, isn’t it? Almost all the girls have had some sort of loss—brothers or sweethearts, even one father. In spite of the fact that they have very different backgrounds from mine, I really like them. There’s one really flashy Irish girl and one who complains about everything, but on the whole they are good-natured. We have to get along well because we are all crammed into bedrooms together. You should hear the barnyard noises at night! Oh, and we have cold water to wash in. As you can imagine, there is not much bathing done, and the personal hygiene after a day in the fields leaves a lot to be desired. But I am learning to get used to farmyard odours of various kinds!

  So far, we have tried to milk a cow (without much success), learned about the dangers of pigs—they can kill you if you are not careful! We also learned not to stand behind a horse (common sense, that one). One girl had hysterics when we had to feed chickens. She thought they were attacking her when they were only trying to get at their food. She fell over and they swarmed all over her. You should have heard her screams! Up next is ploughing and haymaking, which seem more serene occupations. And then, at the end of four weeks, we are sent to a farm.

  I do hope all is well with you. Are you seeing fewer casualties? Has Lieutenant Hutchins written to you?

  Oh dear. The whistle sounds. I must report for duty.

  Love from your friend,

  Emily

  That evening, her sense of obligation got the better of her and she wrote to her parents, a polite and formal note letting them know where she was and that she was flourishing on hard work and fresh air. On Sunday, she hitched a ride on a farm cart to the nearest bus stop and made her way into Plymouth.

  “Well, look at you,” Robbie said, beaming as she entered his ward. “Aren’t you looking the picture of health? Outdoor life agrees with you.”

  “It does,” Emily said. “Although I’m afraid I shall never look pale and delicate again. I’ve got quite a sunburn, on my arms, too. But you’re looking better yourself.”

  “I am,” he said. “They are making me do all kinds of exercises.”

  “I hope you’re behaving yourself here,” she said sternly.

  He glanced at the other men in the ward and laughed. “I’m being as good as gold, aren’t I, mates?”

  “You? You’re a royal pain to the nurses.” The man in the next bed chuckled. “You should see how he winds them up, miss.”

  “They don’t allow any nonsense,” Robbie said. “They run a tight ship here, as they say. Very military. No answering back.”

  “Are you allowed out?” she asked.

  “What, off grounds? I shouldn’t think so, but I’m encouraged to walk. Hand me those crutches, although I’m told I’m to give them up in a few days.”

  Emily did as he asked, and they walked side by side down the long corridor.

  “This hospital is enormous,” Emily said. “All these buildings.”

  “Ah, do you know it was built like this deliberately, with different buildings far enough apart so that infectious diseases wouldn’t spread from one to the other. It’s very advanced, this place.”

  It took a while to help him down the stairs, but then they were out on the central green. Seagulls wheeled overhead, crying, and the tang of the sea was in the air. In the distance, Emily glimpsed the blue water of the estuary.

  “It’s a nice place, this,” she said. “I can see that people would recover here.”

  “I haven’t really had a chance to see the sea properly yet,” he said. “It’s a novelty to me, you know, having grown up so far inland. But I’ve enjoyed getting a good view of it from the air. Maybe later they’ll let me wander around and we can go to a headland or a beach.”

  “That would be very nice,” she said. “I’m fond of the sea myself. We only live six miles from Torquay, but we rarely went to the seaside. My mother has an aversion to sand.”

  “My word.” He laughed. “She wouldn’t do well where I come from. The wind blows red dust over everything. It’s quite a challenge to keep the place clean. My mum does a good job.”

  “She must work very hard,” Emily said.

  “Oh, she has a servant and a couple of Abo girls to help out.”

  “Abos?”

  “Aborigines. Native women, you know. They are good workers, our two. And their husbands are terrific stockmen.”

  They stopped at a bench and sat there, side by side. Robbie slid his hand across and took hers.

  “Robbie!” she exclaimed. “People might see.”

  “I don’t care,” he replied. “You’re my girl, aren’t you?” He turned to look at her. “You are my girl?”

  “Of course I am,” she said.

  As she smiled at him, she felt a jolt of excitement. He had warned her not to get too fond of him. So what exactly did he mean by his question? That she was his girl for now, or was he suggesting something more? It didn’t matter, she thought. At this moment, she was sitting beside him, his hand holding hers, and that was good enough for now.

  Emily managed to see Robbie the next two Sundays of her training. She noticed a vast improvement every time she visited, and realized with a sinking heart that the time would soon come when he would be sent away. As his strength returned, he was allowed to leave the hospital grounds, and he walked with Emily first through the town and then out to the headland, where they sat watching the navy ships entering the harbour. A stiff breeze blew in their faces, laden with the tang of salt. The sea beyond was dark blue, speckled with white breakers.

  “This would be a perfect spot to build a house, wouldn’t it?” she asked, sighing with contentment. “Imagine pulling back the shutters to see that view every morning.”

  Robbie was quiet as they walked home, and Emily realized she had not been tactful. He was going to go home to Australia, to a dusty farm far from the ocean, and she had to make up her mind whether she’d give all this up to follow him—if he asked her, that was.

  The end of the training period was fast approaching. Some of the girls had learned to milk a cow successfully. Others were still unable to squeeze out a drop. The large Maud was so heavy-handed that the usually placid cow lashed out with a kick. Emily watched that back leg with trepidation when it was her turn, but to her delight, she ran her hand down the udder and was rewarded with a stream of milk shooting into the bucket.

  “Well done, my dear,” said the old farmer who was instructing them on animal care. “You’ve got a nice, light touch. The cows appreciate that.”

  She was less adept at steering a plough behind a team of Clydesdales. It required so much stretch to hold the shoulder-high handles that it was beyond most of the girls, especially the shorter ones.

  “What wouldn’t I give for a long hot bath,” Maureen said as they sat outside the farmhouse on a warm evening. “Every bit of me aches after wrestling with that plough.”

  “I’ve never had a long hot bath in my life,” Daisy said.

  “Never had a bath?” Mrs Anson asked. She was the older middle-class woman who had grown vegetables and whose accountant husband had been called up to military service on his fortieth birthday. She didn’t seem at all bitter about this, nor that she had lost a safe and respectable way of life.

  “We servants had to share bathwater,” Daisy said. “Being the lowest of the maids, it was always cold by the time it got to me.”

  “How disgusting.” Mrs Anson wrinkled her nose. “I must say, I’d appreciate a good soak in a tub, too, Maureen.”

  “You wait till we’re sent out to real farms,” Susie, the girl who had picked apples, said. “Now we’re just trying our hand at things. There, we’ll be working non-stop all day.”

  “Trying to cheer us up, are you?” Maureen said. “You’re a proper ray of sunshine.”

  Emily studied the group with interest. The work was hard and new for all of them, but nobody was really complaining. Ruby, the one who was attacked by the chickens, had never left home before. She mis
sed her mum, and Emily had had to comfort her through a couple of tearful episodes. Maureen missed men, she said. She hoped there might be some strapping farm boys on the farm she was sent to.

  “Don’t be silly,” Alice said. “There are no strapping lads any more. That’s why we are doing this. We’ll all just have to get used to there not being men around.”

  “Bite your tongue! No men around? I’ll go bonkers,” Maureen said. “What would life be without a good kiss and cuddle?”

  “I suppose it is something we’ll all have to face,” Mrs Anson said quietly. “How many thousands have died already? There certainly will not be enough men to go around.”

  “Then I’ll be off to the colonies,” Maureen said. “Good healthy lads out in Australia and Canada, eh?”

  “Let’s just win the war first,” Mrs Anson said. “The news isn’t too good, last time I heard. A new offensive by the Jerries, so it seems. They’re not going to give in.”

  “I thought we were supposed to be winning!” Maureen said angrily. “They were saying it would be over as soon as the Americans arrived.”

  “Let’s hope and pray it will be over soon,” Mrs Anson said.

  “Amen,” came a soft voice from one of the girls.

  At the end of their third week, they were summoned unexpectedly after lunch by Miss Foster-Blake.

  “I’ve news for you, girls,” she said. “I’m afraid your training is going to have to be cut short. We’ve a local farmer who has a new potato crop ready for harvest and nobody to work the fields, so I’m sending you out. We need to get those potatoes picked before they are spoiled in the rain. There will be a farm wagon coming for you in the morning.” She looked from one face to the next. “I expect you to work your hardest. No slacking off. I’m dividing you into two teams, each with a team leader who will make sure you all do your share. Understood? Mrs Anson, you will be one team leader, and Miss Bryce the other. Do not let me down.”

  The reality of what she had signed up for hit Emily when she saw the field of potatoes. Row after row of mounds topped with straw that needed to be dug up and the potatoes picked into baskets. She really wished she had not been made a team leader. She had timid little Ruby, clueless Maud, Maureen, Alice and Daisy in her squad. Originally, she set Maud, who was big and powerful, to digging out the plants with the fork, but Maud was also not the brightest, and Emily soon realized that the digging required finesse so that the fork didn’t spear the potatoes. So then she tried Daisy, who, although slightly built, was strong, and she proved remarkably adept at lifting the plants loose from the soil with minimal damage. The rest of them were down on hands and knees, scraping the potatoes free of dirt and dropping them into baskets. It was back-breaking work, bent over for hours, then carrying the heavy baskets to fill sacks, which were then loaded on to a farm cart. The farmer didn’t seem particularly grateful that they were saving his crop. He complained they weren’t working fast enough and seemed to enjoy observing them and pointing out they were missing the smallest potatoes.