it out that the Armed Forces are to get a rise – had you forgotten?’
‘How could I have? Sixpence a day is such a huge sum! So the poor private will probably make his pay rise over to his wife when he gets it. I bet she’ll be over the moon with an extra three shillings and sixpence, Ness!’
‘Hey up, queen! What are you getting so het up about? Life’s like that – always has been.’
‘I know. And how do you think it makes me feel? Grandpa left Ladybower to me and all his money and stocks and shares and things. It’s all invested, but it gives me an income of my own – and I pay tax on a part of it I might add. And I wouldn’t complain at all if I could say where my income tax goes and who shall get it – but I can’t! The war, like you say, has got to be paid for!’
‘So where would you have your tax go, if you could?’
‘I’d give it to a young woman in Meltonby. She’s got two children and was drawing her Army allowance at the post office when I was in buying stamps. The post office sells other things as well you know, and the other day they’d got sweeties to sell – rationed out to an ounce for each child. “Would you like a few dolly mixtures,” Mrs Benson asked the lady, but she said, “No thanks. Sweeties cost too much.” That woman probably thought that when everything was taken care of out of the one pound twelve shillings she’d just drawn, she hadn’t enough to pay sixpence for dolly mixtures. After all, sixpence buys two small loaves of bread!’
‘Ar. Poor kids. But I suppose you bought the sweeties for them?’
‘Of course I didn’t! How could I, without hurting her pride? Because when push comes to shove, pride is about all that woman has left!’
‘Well, for a lady who’s pretty well-heeled, you can do a very good imitation of a Bolshevik, might I say? And how did we get onto this subject?’
‘We got onto it because of a pesky sixpence a day rise for a man who is fighting for King and Country! And I’ll bet you anything you like he’d rather be at home with his wife and two little girls! And they aren’t called Bolsheviks now. They’re called Communists, and Joseph Stalin has just confirmed his pact of non-aggression with Hitler, did you know? And what an unholy alliance it is! Communists and Facists the best of friends and each not trusting the other farther than either could spit!’
‘Now see here, Mrs Hatherwood, you’ve got yourself into a real state! What’s to do, then? Time of the month, is it?’
‘I – I suppose it might be, but the dolly mixture thing happened last week and I keep remembering it and wanting to do something for that poor young woman.’
‘Well, you can’t, and that’s all there is to it. Mind, you could offer her charity, but I can’t see that going down very well, can you – her pride, an’ all that?’
‘You’re right. Charity is a cold thing. But when I last saw Mrs Benson, she did mention that her postman is expecting his call-up any time now and she’s going to split his round into two. She’s got a man – elderly, he is – to do Meltonby and said if I knew of anyone who’d care to take on Nun Ainsty, she’d be glad to hear from them. The pay isn’t all that good – not for the few houses I’d be delivering to – but there’s the morning paper round as well. Easy enough to push a paper through the letterbox with the mail. I’m thinking of –’
‘You’d be deliverin’ to? You’re not thinkin’ of bein’ a lady postie and paperboy? Flamin’ Norah! What would Himself say!’
‘He’d say, as would most patriotic men, that I was doing the right thing by the war effort. I mean – young men have got to join up, so someone has to take on their jobs. Why shouldn’t I help out? I’ve thought for a long time I ought to be doing more to help the war effort.’
‘All right. You fancy bein’ a postie – so how’s that going to help the soldier’s wife who can’t afford to buy her kids a few sweeties?’
‘I don’t know, yet. I have a feeling her mother lives in Meltonby, too, so she might be willing to look after the little ones for a few hours a day – and let her daughter earn a little to help out.’
‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you? You’re goin’ to do part-time work and if I’m not mistaken you’re goin’ to offer that woman a cleaning job? My, but there’s a devious side to you, Lorna Hatherwood! I wonder what William’s goin’ to say when he hears about it?’
‘Look – I haven’t exactly taken the postlady’s job, and I don’t even know the name of the woman with two children, so it isn’t all worked out – yet.’
‘No, but it will be! And how much will you pay her, then?’
‘I – I thought a shilling an hour – it’s the going rate. If I paid her two shillings a day for two hours’ work – five days a week that would be –’
‘Ten bob. Would be like she’d won the Sweepstake, wouldn’t it? Mind, when you find out who she is, she mightn’t want your charity.’
‘It wouldn’t be charity! And if she didn’t want to come, I’d still take on the job at the post office – if it’s still on offer, that is. I’m determined to do something other than be a housewife. And a pretty comfortably-off housewife at that! D’you know, Ness, if I wasn’t a married woman, I might just be seriously thinking about volunteering for nursing or even the Armed Forces. They do say that women who volunteer for the Army can do all sorts of things – like working on a gun site or being a despatch rider or –’
‘Lorna! What’s got into you? Had a rush of blood to the ’ead, have you? Why all this patriotism, all of a sudden?’
‘It isn’t sudden patriotism. And I don’t know what on earth has got into me, truth known.’
But she did know. She had defied William and got away with it and it was giddy making! And now she was thinking of doing part-time war work – and asking a woman whose name she didn’t even know to help clean Ladybower, five days a week. Heady stuff without a doubt!
‘No more do I, but a mug of hot cocoa might help – it’s getting cold out here all of a sudden. And then we’ll see to the blackouts and you an’ me can have another chat about your war work, eh? And I’m not going to try to talk you out of it, Lorna. As a matter of fact I’m proud of you, girl. Only sleep on it tonight? See how you feel in the morning – then have a word at the post office if you still want to do it.’
And she would still want to be a lady postie, Ness sighed as she bolted down the flap of the hen ark. And she’d still be willing to push morning papers through doors for little more money than she was prepared to pay her daily help!’
Mind, it was still all up in the air – a wait-and-see situation that well might come to nothing and no harm would be done. Though if she became Ainsty’s postie – and paperboy – and the soldier’s wife was willing to help out five mornings a week, then Lorna could be heading for trouble, because William wasn’t going to like it. Not even in the name of patriotism!
September, loveliest of months. Now the harvest was in and Ness still nursing her scratched and sore arms. Ears of barley, as she too-late discovered, bore needles that played havoc with unprotected flesh. Another year, she smiled ruefully, she would know to cover up!
Now, weary fighter pilots found it difficult to believe that the fury hurled against their stations was now directed at London. An amazing daylight raid on the capital had sent the War Cabinet into angry retaliation. Berlin, hitherto unbombed, received its first heavy raid. At night-time. Open cities, it seemed, were no longer to be immune to bombing.
Now, at Nun Ainsty, the leaves on the trees in Dickon’s Wood were darkening as autumn neared. In Ladybowcr’s garden, six hens were in full lay. Not what you could call large eggs, yet, but white and perfect and in the opinion of Lorna and Ness, very beautiful.
Minnie Holmes, soldier’s wife