Once a Land Girl (16 page)

‘So I walk him on a leading rein,’ said Dawn, ‘but I’ve not really the time for that.’

‘No,’ said her father, uncertainly.

‘So that’s what you’ll be doing.’ Dawn’s front teeth flashed nastily at Prue.

‘Fine,’ she said.

‘We should be going,’ Johnny said. Steve leapt up to guide them through the clutter on the floor.

‘Let’s see you here first thing Monday morning,’ he said. ‘You’ll be most welcome.’ He grinned at her breeches.

In the van, once they were out of the gate, she and Johnny were able to laugh at last.

‘What do you think?’ asked Johnny.

‘I’ll give it a go,’ said Prue.

When she turned up for work at seven o’clock the following Monday morning, there was no sign of Steve Gander or Dawn. She parked the Sunbeam among some buildings behind
the large shed, sensing it would be better if her employers came across it later, rather than were immediately affronted by its scarlet presence next to the bungalow.

As she got out of the car, wearing her land-girl breeches in defiance of Dawn’s hostility, she saw a figure emerge from the corrugated building. It was the tall, bony Dawn, in baggy
dungarees, her hair sticking out in awkward wisps. From a distance she might have been a scarecrow.

Prue drew herself up, summoned an enthusiastic smile. She was ready and keen to start work and anxious to convey her enthusiasm. The two women walked towards each other.

‘So,’ said Dawn, her eyes on the bow in Prue’s hair – carefully chosen, a very modest affair of dark green with a paler stripe, ‘your first morning. Down to it,
that’s what I say. In at the deep end. The pigs need mucking out. They’re in a field at the back of the house, down the hill.’

‘Right,’ said Prue. ‘Just tell me where to find a wheelbarrow and a fork.’

Dawn threw her a look of considerable scorn. ‘You’ll come across them if you use your eyes. But before that you’d better meet Jack. He needs his walk. He’s the most
important animal on the farm, as you’ll see.’ She turned away.

Prue followed her skeletal employer behind the shed and round a corner, where the scarlet Sunbeam glared in the sunlight. Dawn stopped, turned. ‘This thing yours?’

Prue nodded.

‘Some people,’ Dawn said, and carried on, her shoulders raised huffily. From behind the car three geese rushed towards her with mysterious enthusiasm, their greeting a sea-hiss,
necks fully stretched. Prue, who hated geese, was pleased they ignored her.

They came to a block of run-down loose boxes. Dawn gave Prue her horrible rabbit smile, plainly enjoying the surprise she had in store. Prue moved to her side and looked into the stable, which
was almost entirely taken up by the most enormous horse she had ever seen. Its head seemed the size of a beer barrel, its hoofs were larger than elephants’ feet. The circumference of a single
knee was larger than her own waist. The horse turned as carefully as a liner easing its way in a small harbour and thrust its vast head over the half-door.

‘Jack, my lad,’ whispered Dawn. She stroked the grey nose, then placed her mouth on the top lip, which instantly rolled back. For a moment Dawn’s mouth was on the horse’s
grimace of giant teeth. Then the great head gave a shake and turned away from the pressing kiss. Evidently he’d had enough, though from the look in Dawn’s eyes she could have carried on
the embrace much longer. ‘Our morning kiss,’ she explained breathily. ‘Every morning. We’d never miss it, would we, Jack?’

‘Cripes,’ said Prue.

‘What’s on your mind?’ snapped Dawn. Her dreamy eyes gave way to a look of sharp suspicion.

‘I was just thinking . . . how would I reach to put on Jack’s head-collar? I mean, you’re much taller than me.’

The question caused a superior laugh – a sound somewhere between a bark and a snarl.

‘There are ladders,’ she said. Then a flicker of charity entered her dark soul. ‘But just for once, first time, I’ll do it.’

‘Gosh, thanks,’ said Prue.

Dawn fetched a head-collar. Prue observed that it weighed down the skinny little arm that held it, but its weight seemed to be giving pleasure rather than pain, judging by the look on
Dawn’s face. With some awe Prue watched the process of Dawn’s stretching up to put the head-collar over Jack’s ears. As she stretched up to do up the chin-strap, her shirt rode up
and frothed over the waist of her dungarees. For a moment there was a flash of greying vest. Then Dawn led her horse out: it moved with a few huge, gentle steps, then stopped. Dawn handed the
leading rein to Prue. ‘Just go down through the fields, anywhere, it doesn’t matter. Jack’ll lead you. He has his favourite ways. Go on.’

Prue met the challenge with a toss of her head: land girls had always been up for anything. Taking the leading rein, she moved close to the horse. She came to an inch or so above its shoulder.
Uncertain how to behave in front of Dawn, she gave Jack’s neck a firm pat. Dawn reacted swiftly. She, too, patted the horse, but on the withers, which Prue could barely reach. Then she
tangled a few strands of its mane between her fingers, which Prue thought horribly spooky. Finally Dawn darted back to Jack’s head, kissed him once more, on the nose this time.
‘Goodbye, my darling,’ she whispered, like an actress in a third-rate romance. ‘You’ll be back with your Dawn soon.’

Prue was relieved to see their love was not entirely mutual. Jack seemed eager to be off. They moved away, Prue keen to be out of range of Dawn’s critical look.

‘Cripes,’ she heard herself say. ‘It’s like taking a tractor for a walk.’

Dawn, busily rummaging with the mess of her vest and shirt, either ignored or did not hear the comparison. Clothes reassembled, she wiped an eye. Prue was reminded of newsreel pictures of wives
saying farewell to their soldier husbands as they left for a long spell of fighting abroad.

Prue, nervous at first, soon found Jack an easy companion and, as Dawn said, he knew the way. They went along paths through the woods that were thick at the back of the farm
buildings, as Johnny had said, occasionally turning into grassland or a lane. Every now and then Jack would toss his head and give a long, snorting sigh, which flattened the stinging nettles as
they passed. This reminded her of Noble. She reached up to pat the horse’s shoulder. But mostly she kept her eyes on the way ahead: to look back at the mountain she was leading was
unnerving.

They came to the field in which some dozen or so pigs rootled in the mud. Their accommodation was bridge-shaped shelters made from the ubiquitous corrugated iron. Prue could see that inside
these shelters the soaked and rotten bedding was an insult to any pig. She understood why one of her priorities would be mucking out and giving the wretched animals beds of clean straw. Mr Lawrence
would never have stood for such inconsideration to what were, he always insisted, naturally clean animals.

By the time they got back Prue reckoned she and Jack had walked some three or four miles. She returned him to his stable where, obligingly, he lowered his great head so that
she could slip off the head-collar with no difficulty. Then she made her way to the bungalow to ask what her next job should be.

Steve Gander was standing at the door, waiting for her. He touched his cap. ‘All well?’ he asked. ‘Dawn was worried.’

‘Oh? She didn’t tell me how long she wanted me to be.’

‘No – well, she usually takes him just down the lane and back. Not much of a walk. He’ll have enjoyed going further.’ He ushered her through the door and into the
kitchen. There was a strong smell of bones boiling in a great pot on the stove. ‘Normally,’ said Steve, stumbling across the littered floor to the kettle, ‘Dawn doesn’t
allow a morning break, coffee, tea. Says it’s an indulgence. But seeing she’s not here, why don’t we treat ourselves? Amy and I used to love a sit-down, mid-morning, one of her
oatmeal biscuits . . . None of that now.’ His voice dropped into a minor key. And with our daughter Dawn, a strong-minded lass, it’s easiest to do as she says.’

But ten minutes later they were caught out. Dawn charged into the room, red-faced, elbows juddering, shirt askew again. She turned on Prue. ‘And where were you?’ she screeched.
‘I’ve been out looking for you everywhere.’

‘I’m sorry,’ began Prue. ‘I thought—’

‘She gave Jack a nice long walk,’ said Steve.

Dawn sat down, glared at the teapot. ‘This isn’t our normal routine,’ she said, anger waning as quickly as it had come. ‘We don’t indulge, Dad and I, in fancy
tea-breaks, elevenses.’

‘I know,’ said Prue. ‘I understand.’

‘And what you should get going on this afternoon is the pigs. Dad’ll show you where the pig feed is.’

‘Fine.’

Silence fell. Ask her about herself, Johnny had advised. He’d obviously discovered how to deal with the grumpy old bat. Prue turned to Dawn, whose fingers played scales on her ruddy
cheeks, with a smile as sweet as she could make it. ‘And what about your husband?’ she asked. ‘Does he have time to help on the farm?’

Dawn appeared stumped by this flash of genuine interest. ‘Help on the farm? Bert?’ She gave one of her honking laughs. ‘Bert doesn’t have time for anything but his
business. He runs a printing firm. Comes home stinking of ink. It’s printing, printing, morning, noon and night, isn’t it, Dad?’ Steve revved himself up to give a nod of assent,
then decided against it at the last moment. ‘So we don’t see much of him, do we, Dad? Just comes home evenings, wants the meal on the table.’ Her hands now flickered through her
wild thin hair, agitated. ‘Still, I’ve got Jack, haven’t I, Dad?’

This time her father nodded firmly. ‘You’ve got Jack all right,’ he said.

Prue spent the afternoon crouched uncomfortably in two of the pig shelters. So deep and dense was the muck she had to clear that there was no time to attend to more. To begin with the stench of
powerful, aged pig urine was almost stifling – she felt nostalgic for Sly’s milder-smelling bedding – but soon she became used to it. As she tossed the sodden bedding into the
wheelbarrow she felt the old, familiar pull on her shoulder muscles: they had been bad when she had started work at Hallows Farm, but soon hardened and caused no more trouble. She knew that, after
a day or so, physical labour would no longer be painful, and she would enjoy surprising Dawn with the speed and efficiency of her work.

She drove home at five, pleased with herself. She looked forward to recounting to Barry the madness of the day, the place, the neurotic Dawn, all so utterly different from Hallows Farm. But she
had no thought of leaving. Walking a horse and cleaning out the pigs didn’t seem to be an entirely normal way of farming, but then there had been little that seemed normal at the Gander farm,
a place of various kinds of unhappiness. She hoped when she recounted it all to Barry she could make him laugh. And tomorrow she would describe it to Johnny, and telephone Stella and Ag. They would
be astounded.

When Prue drove through the gates of The Larches she found a very large green Humber parked by the front door and was put out to think some visitor had arrived: her stories would have to
wait.

But there was no visitor. Hurrying into the sitting room, she found Barry alone in his usual chair, fidgeting with his usual cigar. He sniffed as she came in. ‘Sweetheart,’ he said,
with a tolerant look that showed he could be a tolerant husband, ‘you stink.’

‘Sorry,’ said Prue. ‘I’ll go and have a bath. But I just want to tell you—’

Barry raised a hand to stop her. She knew there was no point in challenging it.

‘I’ve news for you. Big news. You saw that car outside? That Humber?’ Prue nodded. Barry gave his widest ever smile. ‘Well, sweetheart, it’s ours. Yours and mine.
Our first Humber. I got it at a price. What do you think?’

Prue swallowed. She had no idea what she thought. ‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘Are you going to sell the Daimler?’

‘Not on your life. I’m going to get a grand collection of cars. Be worth a fortune, one day.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Prue, who could not imagine any such thing. By now she was aware of the pig smell that was all over her. She wanted to run her bath, but knew Barry hated to let
her go before she produced a full measure of wonder and appreciation concerning his news. ‘I look forward to a ride.’

‘You go and have your bath, sweetheart, and we’ll make a plan.’ Let off lightly, Prue flung him a smile and fled upstairs.

Except for a few brief enquiries about her day, talk of the Humber occupied the whole evening. Prue realized it was not the moment to entertain her husband with stories about her new farm life.
After supper they moved back to the sitting room, the fire, the cigar. Barry tipped his head back on the chair and kept on smiling. Prue, stiff and a little weary, went to kiss him on the cheek
before she went up to bed.

‘Night, sweetheart.’ He opened one eye. Flicked her stomach with the cigarless hand. ‘Any luck?’

‘Not yet.’ Prue moved back. She hated both the manner of the enquiry and his curiosity.

‘Have to be patient. You get off to bed. I’m just going to spend a few minutes thinking about the Humber.’ He closed the eye again. ‘And I tell you what, how about this
for an idea? How about we do a little run down to Devon, Dorset, wherever it was you worked – trial run in the car?’

‘That would be . . .’

‘I knew you’d like that idea. Now you get off to bed. I’m just going to spend a few minutes here having a nice think . . .’

Cripes, thought Prue, and ran from the room.

‘It’s not a proper farming job,’ she told Johnny a few days later. ‘It’s not even a proper farm. Steve seems to care for it, but does little more than moan that
things are no longer like they were in the war, when his wife was alive to run the place. As for Dawn, she’s scatty, desperate, angry, more than slightly peculiar. She’s jealous of my
relationship with her horse, yet she’s bored by taking him for walks herself. She never used to go further than some old woman with a Pekingese in a park.’ Johnny laughed. ‘But
you’re going to stick at it?’

‘Oh yes. It’ll fill three days a week. And I think that if I go carefully I might be able to show them a more efficient way of managing things – selling the pigs and so on,
which they haven’t bothered to do for ages.’