Evie, page 22
‘Yes, sir. And thank you very much, sir.’
Harrison Minor was propping up a wall in the corridor. ‘In you go, Harri Mi,’ Edward John called to him, feeling oddly relieved and rather pleased with himself. But as he walked down the long corridor that would take him back to his classroom, his mind busy with his headmaster’s words, he found himself faced with the inevitable scene in which he would have to tell Roger Bayliss that however much he loved the Post Stone valley, together with the processes of farming it and the beasts and the people involved, he did not want to make it the hub of his life. Although he knew that Roger was proud of his scholastic achievements, he also knew that he hoped, in view of the unlikelihood of his own son taking over the farms, that Alice’s son would do so.
The Christmas festivities were to begin on December the twenty-third with Rose’s tea party, celebrating the departure, on the following day, of the last two of the Post Stone land girls.
Winnie and Gwennan had contrived to avoid much that could be described as manual work during their final weeks on the farms, and as a result, Roger Bayliss resented having to pay their virtually unearned wages plus their board and lodging at the pub.
‘Think of it as a Christmas bonus, darling,’ Alice coaxed him. ‘A thank you for their hard work over all these years.’ When Roger responded with a sound which closely resembled a ‘bah humbug’, she accused him of behaving like Scrooge. Roger, without lowering his copy of The Times, told her that he had always sympathised strongly with Ebenezer Scrooge.
‘One of my literary heroes,’ he said. ‘The poor fellow, left to his own devices, would obviously have much preferred to spend Christmas in his own company rather than with that ghastly family of his, ghosts or no ghosts. Rather feeble of him to let himself get talked into it, I’ve always thought!’ Alice laughed at him.
‘Just try to keep your miserable feelings to yourself this afternoon, there’s a dear – and don’t forget to compliment Eileen on her trifle.’
Eileen had not had a lot to do with the land girls, who had been housed in the lower farmhouse, but had earned herself an invitation to the party by producing a huge bowl foaming with whipped cream and garnished with preserved summer fruits, all of this topping a layer of buttery sponge, drowning in custard and half a bottle of Roger Bayliss’s best sherry.
Winnie and Gwennan were quite overcome by the number of people who had gathered in Rose’s tea room. The Crocker family were joined by Hester’s brother Zeke and Polly, his bride. Ferdie and Mabel Vallance had brought their twins, Scarlet O’Hara and Winston, nimble two-year-olds, who mislaid themselves under the tables and amongst the chair legs, while Thurza Crocker, already exhibiting a strong sense of independence, waved her arms, flexed her cherubic legs and demanded to be allowed to join them.
‘Just look at you all!’ Gwennan exclaimed, confronted by the noisy roomful.
‘I’ll most likely cry before I’m done!’ Winnie warned them as a cheer went up when she and Gwennan made their entrance.
Winnie was wearing one of the outfits she had assembled for her new role as landlady of the refurbished public house ‘with accommodation for travelling gentlemen’ of which she and her Uncle Ted were now co-licensees. Her ruby-red velvet frock showed off a figure which was just beginning to show the first signs of maturity. Her hair was tightly and permanently waved, its colour a harder, darker chestnut than usual, while her make-up suggested that it would survive long evenings spent supervising her saloon bar, her public bar and her snug.
Gwennan too had completed her transformation from sober land girl to sober manageress of a funeral parlour and had purchased her charcoal-grey, worsted suit from a superior ladies’ outfitter in Exeter. The narrow skirt and fitted, shoulder-padded jacket made her slightly gawky figure appear almost elegant and very similar to the model in the copy of Vogue which she had borrowed from Alice Bayliss. The neat white blouse, with its modest, lace-trimmed collar, softened the bleak bones of her face, while her unremarkable hair remained unremarkable.
‘Very businesslike, Gwennan,’ Alice told her, knowing that this was precisely the effect intended. She was rewarded by one of Gwennan’s rare smiles.
A picture postcard had arrived that morning at the higher farm, bearing an Italian stamp and a message to ‘dear all’. It showed a panoramic view of the Bay of Naples with the ubiquitous Mount Vesuvius prominently featured. The message confirmed that the lovers were safely reunited, that the ship would sail that evening, that they both sent their love to everyone and would write soon. The card was circulated from hand to sticky hand and only narrowly missed a serious chewing when Hester eased it from between her daughter’s newly acquired milk teeth.
When the trifle bowl had been scraped clean and everyone had worked their way through the less spectacular contributions of food, the children had spilt the lemonade, the men had downed the beer, the ladies the gin and oranges and were now sipping tea, Roger Bayliss tapped his glass with his trifle spoon and made a slightly formal speech in which the valuable contribution that Winnie and Gwennan had made to the war effort was mentioned. He then adopted a heavily Teutonic accent in order to tell a joke about German soldiers in North Africa, which posed the question ‘why in the desert do you not hungry go?’ the answer having something to do with it being ‘because of the sand which in the desert is!’ No one quite understood it but everyone laughed and applauded because they felt happy and the boss was ‘a good ol’ boy’ of whom they all approved.
‘’Nother cup of tea, Mr Bayliss, sir?’ Rose asked, appearing suddenly beside him. When he politely declined Rose gave him one of what Alice had always described as ‘her Rose looks’. This ‘look’ was a blend of concern, sympathy and curiosity. Alice had learnt to treat these looks warily because the next stage was very often a question that fell into the category of prying, or, to put it even less kindly, though more honestly, of downright nosiness. ‘I bet you’re missing your Christopher, aren’t you,’ she told him, nodding in agreement with herself and continuing before he could respond, with, ‘It’s times like these when you feel it most, I daresay.’ Roger shook his head vaguely and looked for Alice, hoping he could signal to her for immediate help. But Alice was deep in conversation with Polly and Zeke. ‘That New Zealand place is such a long way off,’ Rose continued, shaking her head as though it was at least as far off as the moon, and then delivering her knockout blow. ‘I don’t suppose they’ll ever come back, do you? People never do. And there you were, Mr Bayliss, planning for him to take over the farms from you one day! What’s that saying – something to do with mice? I can never remember it proper. Scottish it is … But you know what I mean, I’m sure. Such a shame. You certain you don’t want more tea?’ Roger again refused the proffered pot and Rose retreated, tut-tutting as she went.
Roger had, that morning received another letter from his son which, coming so soon after the previous one, alerted him to the fact that it might contain important information.
‘Hi Pa,’ he read.
‘We have just received some exciting news. I’ve been offered a promotion which, after discussing things with Georgie, I’m going to accept. They are putting me in charge of all the plantation projects on the eastern side of South Island. It will mean moving to Dunedin where the forestry commission HQ is. We get a splendid old house to live in, and although we both love it here on our beach, we think it will be better for Georgie – she sometimes feels a bit isolated. She will almost certainly be offered work – if she wants it – with the Min. of Ag. (based on her Land Army experience and all those exams she took when she was one of Alice’s girls).
Things won’t happen until next March when it will be autumn here, which suits us, as this place is heaven at this time of the year. It means my contract will be extended but I have stipulated that three years is the absolute max that Georgie and I will spend out here.
Much as we both love it, the call of home and family is strong and I don’t much fancy life without our farmland, Pa. So … your prodigal son looks like lobbing back into the Post Stone valley in a couple years’ time!
If that’s okay with you?
Everything organised at this end for Evie and Giorgio. Will update you soonest.
Happy Christmas (again!)
And love to you both from us both …
Christo and Georgie.
xx
Alice joined Roger and they smiled over his description of his rather one-sided conversation with Rose.
‘You should have told her Christo’s news,’ she said. ‘It would have cheered her up.’
‘No,’ Roger said. ‘It wasn’t “cheering up” she was after. I think she was enjoying her role as comforter of the abandoned parent. Ouch!’ he exclaimed, as Scarlet O’Hara, in full cry and wielding the heavy serving spoon from the trifle bowl, struck him hard on his shin bone and then smiled up into his face and asked, ‘’Poon hurt?’
‘Bad girl!’ Mabel admonished, with a touch of pride, as she hauled her daughter away from her wincing boss.
‘Can we leave now? Please!’ Roger asked his wife, rubbing his shin.
Day had followed day and any local curiosity there had been concerning Norman Clark’s recent reappearance in the valley and his abrupt departure from it, seemed to have dissipated, much like the thick mists or sharp frosts that occurred on most days at this time of the year and were usually gone by mid morning.
Life moved on in the valley. It was as though the winter storm that had struck on the day of the incident and roared through the Bayliss woods, up and over the bleak grassland of The Tops and on, across the moor, had taken with it, into oblivion, Norman Clark’s violence and any evidence of the gory accident that had ended his sad story. Despite this, Dave and Hester, Ferdie, Mabel and Rose, had found themselves drawn together at the party, standing in a group, sipping, biting into cake and smiling awkwardly, like the conspirators they had become while concealing and supporting Evie and Giorgio and, since the incident that had ended Norman Clark’s life, carefully guarding their secret. Edward John, finding it difficult to accept the possibility that Clark had simply conceded defeat, continued to explore his own theories regarding the man’s disappearance.
‘Orright?’ Dave, his mouth full of cake, had asked Edward John. Edward John nodded and moved away from the group. When he was out of earshot Rose spoke in a low voice.
‘No one said nothun to no one, then?’ she wanted to know, and when this was confirmed by all of them she added, ‘And no one’s not ever goin’ to say nothin’, neither. Ever. Right?’ They all concurred. It was at this point that Roger Bayliss had tapped his glass and embarked on his speech. By the time it was concluded, the group had drifted apart.
Since the successful removal of Evie from the dangerous domination imposed by her husband and the news of her happy reunion with Giorgio Zingaretti, Edward John had begun to be concerned by the fact that whatever the facts of Norman Clark’s disappearance, the pair would be unable to marry without proof of his death. And since, were he still alive, he would be unlikely to agree to a divorce, it seemed that a legal marriage was going to remain unattainable for them.
‘Penny for them?’ Roger asked his stepson later that evening. Edward John, deep in thought, started almost guiltily. His hardening suspicions regarding Norman Clark’s disappearance made him guarded and cautious.
‘Nothing, really …’ he said absently.
‘No?’ Roger persisted. ‘I thought you were looking distinctly wistful.’
‘I was thinking about Evie and Giorgio,’ Edward John admitted, truthfully.
‘It’s all good news there, surely?’ Roger enquired.
‘Except that they can’t ever get married, can they? Not with Norman alive, I mean.’
‘Well, certainly not for a while,’ Roger told him, surprising Edward John.
‘But I thought unless he divorced her it would be bigamy or something.’
‘As the law stands,’ Roger told him, ‘if, after seven years have passed, Clark can’t be found and has made no attempt to contact Evie, the marriage can be annulled.’ Edward John knew what annulled meant and his face briefly reflected the impact of this information.
‘So … She’d be free to remarry?’ he queried.
‘Yes. Why d’you ask?’ Roger wanted to know. Edward John shrugged.
Later in the evening, sitting with Roger, one on each side of their fire, Alice reread Christopher’s letter.
‘Does Edward John know about this?’ she asked her husband.
‘Not yet,’ he told her.
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m not sure how he’ll take it,’ Roger said. ‘It’s pretty clear from what Christo says that he sees himself eventually taking over from me here. But ever since Edward John set foot on the farms it’s been obvious he fancies farming, and when Christo seemed to have lost interest, Edward John might have thought …’ He paused, scanning Alice’s face and thinking how like an angel she looked, lit by the blending of lamplight with firelight.
‘You used the word “thought”,’ Alice said and saw Roger’s attention refocus on the subject under discussion. ‘I think you’re right about what he “thought”, but I’m not so sure it’s what he thinks now.’
‘Really?’ Roger asked in surprise. ‘You think he’s losing interest in the farms?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t think he’ll ever do that but …’
‘But?’
‘Well, when he was nine years old Edward John wanted to be a vet. But he didn’t think he was clever enough. Now his schoolmasters seem to think he is clever enough. You’ve said yourself he is exceptional. “A highly developed intellect for a twelve-year-old”, you once said.’
‘You’re right,’ Roger smiled. ‘I did say that and it’s true. So … you think he may be looking at broader horizons than my modest acres could offer him, do you?’
‘I think it would ease his mind enormously if he thought that choosing something other than farming would not disappoint you or hurt your feelings – he’s very fond of you, you know. And now that we know that Christo is planning to return to the valley you wouldn’t be disappointed, would you? And that is why, darling, I think you should give my boy an early Christmas present by letting him read Christo’s letter … Mmm?’
‘Oh, wise and most exquisite of women,’ Roger murmured, getting to his feet. ‘I think a small brandy is called for, no? Just to settle our stomachs, after Eileen’s prodigious trifle.’
Alice had volunteered to drive Winnie and Gwennan to the station. She saw this as discharging a final and affectionate duty to the last of the land girls to whom she had been warden. From ten girls at the start, down to half a dozen when the end of the war was celebrated, to two with the closing of the hostel. These two, ultimate departures, had a special importance to Alice. It would be the final scene of a significant episode in her life and she was very aware of the journey she had made. She was conscious not only of the effect of the war years on herself but on her son and on the young women who had come and gone from the hostel, some briefly, others, like Georgina, who had become a member of her family, and Hester Tucker and Mabel Hodges, who had married into the local community. Evie was undoubtedly the girl whose life had been most radically altered by the chance that had delivered her to Lower Post Stone Farm. Altered more radically even, than Alice was aware.
The storm which the war had created had stranded all of them in unfamiliar territory and then, as the turmoil receded, they had, one by one, moved on and away, taking what they could, as well as what they could not avoid, from the chances and the experiences they had been given.
Winnie and Gwennan were standing outside the pub with their various suitcases and carry-alls clustered round their ankles. The wearing of Land Army issue hats had always been a bone of contention. The girls had unanimously shunned them and had only ever worn them under duress for occasional church parades and, once, for a funeral. Today, as a sort of prank and looking totally inappropriate with their civilian clothes, both girls were sporting the wide-brimmed, khaki felt hats as they stood giggling and waving to Alice as she brought the car to a standstill beside them.
‘Very suitable!’ she called to them, playing up to their joke. ‘Put your cases in the boot and let’s get on our way or we shall miss your train!’
The locomotive was already puffing up the incline towards Ledburton Halt as they hauled their luggage across the platform. As it stood, blowing and hissing, they heaved their cases into a carriage and up onto the rack above the seats. Before any serious leave-taking could get underway the stationmaster was blowing his whistle and slamming doors. There was no time for tears. Just swift, warm hugs, before Alice was alone on the platform and Winnie and Gwennan were two heads, leaning, one above the other, out of the window, shouting goodbye and blowing kisses. Just before reaching the curve in the track which would take them out of sight the girls removed their hats and shied them into the air with whoops of delight. Alice whooped back. Then the carriage had rounded the curve and they were gone, leaving the two hats skimming through the air, out into a field in which a couple of milking cows paused in the chewing of cud and eyed them suspiciously as they landed amongst the tufts of wintery grass.
Epilogue
Lower Post Stone Farm Summer 1957
A mud-splattered Land Rover pulls up in the lane outside Lower Post Stone farmhouse from which Kiwi Bayliss runs, reaches the open window of the Land Rover and turns a bewitching, ten-year-old’s smile on its driver. She is, he realises, at that wonderful stage in her life when everything has the potential to be an adventure.
‘Have you come to see the photo?’ she asks and when he nods, smiling back at her, adds, ‘The parents think they know who it is but I’m not allowed to tell you! Come on!’ She runs ahead of him up the path and into the farmhouse. ‘Edward John’s here!’ she yells ‘Oh, where is everyone? And where is the photo?’
