Poppy's War (14 page)

‘What time is it?’ Amy asked, running her hand through her tousled hair. ‘I think I overslept. I meant to get up and see Guy off.’

‘He’s gone.’

Amy peered at her in the half-light. ‘You look upset. What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. Well, Guy told me that you’re going away. Is it true?’

‘Darling Poppy, I have to go. You understand that, don’t you?’

‘Not really. If I was engaged to Guy I wouldn’t go off to the other side of the world and leave him.’

Angling her head, Amy laid her hands on Poppy’s shoulders. ‘You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘I’m not planning to stay in Singapore a moment longer than necessary and I’ll come back as soon as the war’s over. I’ll marry Guy and we’ll have a big
white
wedding with you as our chief bridesmaid and Rupert as pageboy. In the meantime I want you to promise to look after Guy for me. He already thinks of you as a little sister, and so do I.’

Amy’s breath smelt of toothpaste and her eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue, but the smile on her lips seemed suddenly false in Poppy’s eyes. The person she had thought to be an angel was as flawed as any other human being. Amy was running away from danger and deserting the man she was supposed to love above all others. Poppy swallowed hard but there was still a bitter taste in her mouth. Her last ally in Squire’s Knapp was about to desert her.

Amy left a week later, and it seemed to Poppy that the weather matched her mood. According to the wireless it was the coldest January for over fifty years and the Thames actually froze over, as did the lake. Jackson and Sid Guppy went daily to the water’s edge to break holes in the ice to allow the ducks to dredge the icy waters for any remaining plant life. It became part of the daily routine for Poppy and Rupert to take the stale crusts of bread to feed the mallards, coots and moorhens and they were often mobbed by flocks of hungry seagulls.

Mrs Toon was even grumpier these days as rationing had been introduced and she had to adjust their daily menus accordingly. Olive had left for better pay and shorter hours in a munitions factory, leaving them shorthanded, which made Violet even
more
dissatisfied than usual. Nancy had been kept on as there did not seem to be any village girls willing to take Olive’s place, and that had not gone down well with Violet as the pair were constantly bickering. There was not so much activity on the estate as in normal times. The younger male workers had received their call-up papers, leaving just the boys and the older men to cope with the grounds and stables.

What surprised Poppy most of all was the fact that Mrs Carroll dropped her habitual air of boredom and was sitting on numerous committees. She was also the local controller in charge of recruitment to Women’s Land Army. She was filled with enthusiasm for turning the parkland into fields of corn, and the ornamental gardens into vegetable patches. Poppy felt quite sorry for Mr Carroll, who was relegated to the background when it came to running the estate as the day to day decisions were being made by his wife. It was fortunate for him, she thought sympathetically, that he had plenty to occupy him as a magistrate.

Letters from home were few and far between, and even though her mother tried to sound positive Poppy could not help worrying about her family, especially now they had to live on the meagre rations allowed each week. There was still the threat of air raids, and her mother described huge shelters being put up all over the city. What with that and the blackout, life was getting a bit trying in West Ham,
Mum
admitted, but Grandad had joined the ARP and Dad had taken a night watchman’s job at the munitions factory as well as doing shifts on the railway. Joe was stationed in Kent at present but expecting to be sent abroad soon. Mum ended, as always, by telling her to be a good girl and to work hard at school.

She kept the letters safely tucked away from Violet’s prying eyes in the battered school desk where Guy had once carved his initials and had probably received a sound telling off for doing so. She read and reread the missives from home in the quiet of the early morning before school, or in the evenings when she had just the wireless for company. Pamela had taken Rupert back to London, leaving Poppy very much to her own devices. She studied hard and read voraciously, losing herself in the novels that she borrowed from the school library, but she could not stay in her room for an entire weekend, and driven by loneliness she occasionally ventured down to the kitchen.

If Mrs Toon was on her own she was only too pleased to let Poppy help her by peeling vegetables or performing other menial tasks. If she was in a particularly good mood she allowed her to make pastry under strict supervision. But if Violet or Nancy were working in the kitchen, Poppy took refuge outside and she found an unexpected friend in Jackson. He was only too pleased to have someone to help him wash the Bentley and Mrs Carroll’s MG,
although
as he gloomily prophesied petrol would be the next thing to be rationed, and then he would be out of a job.

Each visit to the coach house entailed a walk past Goliath’s stable and quite often an exchange of words with Sid, who had left school and was now the only groom in the Carrolls’ employ. The upside of this was that he had plenty of work to keep him busy, and the downside was that he had developed an exaggerated idea of his own importance. Whenever he thought that Poppy was looking he strutted around the stable yard like a rooster showing off his bright plumage. Mindful of her first day in the village school when Sid had placed a drawing pin on her chair, Poppy avoided him as much as possible, but she could not help feeling sorry for Goliath. The large animal would stick his head over the stable door and whinny hopefully when he heard her footsteps. She had not previously ascribed human emotions to horses, or any animal if it came to that, but the doleful look in Goliath’s huge brown eyes made her think that he might actually be pining for Guy. She could sympathise with that, as the house seemed lifeless and dull now that he had gone and no one knew when he might return. She would have liked to stroke the horse’s patrician nose and feed him sugar lumps as she had done when Guy was there, but she could not quite pluck up the courage.

One blustery Saturday afternoon in March, she
walked
to the village to post a letter to her parents. It was over a mile away and the narrow lanes were flanked with hedgerows just beginning to show signs of life after a long hard winter. Clumps of late snowdrops lay like patches of forgotten snow amongst the dead leaves, and fluffy catkins hung from the hazel trees. Cows grazed on the lush grass in the meadows but she no longer leapt back in fright when they rushed to the five-barred gate as if expecting her to bring them fodder or to take them to the milking parlour. The lane widened as she drew nearer to the village and there was the occasional thatched cottage set in gardens that had been filled with flowers when she first came to Barton Lacey. It seemed like years rather than six months since she arrived at the station with the rest of the evacuees. Only a few remained, and she saw Colin hanging upside down over a rickety-looking gate. He had been billeted with Jack, the aged potman who worked at the Rose and Crown pub in the village centre. Colin did a back flip and landed inexpertly at her feet. ‘Hello, Poppy. Where are you going?’

‘To post a letter home. Are you okay, Colin?’

He grinned, exposing two missing top teeth. ‘Got a halfpenny for me tooth. It come out last night. Wanna see it?’ He shoved his hand in his trouser pocket and produced a blood-stained rag. He opened it carefully to reveal a small tooth. ‘I was ever so brave when Jack pulled it out. I didn’t cry.’

‘You’re very brave,’ Poppy said, smiling. ‘You like being with Jack, do you?’

He nodded emphatically. ‘I like it here. I don’t want to go back to London, not never.’

‘But your mum will want you home when the war’s over, Colin.’

‘She ain’t me mum. Me mum run off with the window cleaner, and me dad took up with Florrie. She hates me and I hates her.’

‘Oh dear.’ Poppy was at a loss for words. ‘Well, goodbye for now, Colin. I must be getting along.’

‘Ta-ta.’ Colin threw himself over the gate and resumed his upside down position, grinning at her like a monkey.

Poppy walked on, quickening her pace. She was shocked to think that young Colin preferred living in a tumbledown cottage with a man old enough to be his grandfather than with his real father in Hoxton, and yet she could see an improvement out of all recognition in the frightened little boy who had wet his pants on his first day at school. His clothes might be on the grubby side, and he looked as though he had not seen soap and water for several days, but he was obviously happy and healthy. That must count for something in the world of grown-ups. She posted her letter, but on her way home she had to stop several times to speak to the people she had come to know on her weekly trip to the post office, including Miss Dobson, the headmistress of the village school.

‘How are you getting on at the grammar school, Poppy?’ Miss Dobson took off her horn-rimmed glasses and wiped them on her scarf before setting them back on her nose.

‘I’ll be leaving in the summer, miss.’

‘No, surely not, Poppy. You’re a bright girl, you could stay on another year and maybe even go to university.’

‘Oh no, miss. I don’t think so. I’ll be going home soon and then I’ll get a job. My mum and dad couldn’t afford to send me to university.’

‘That’s a great pity. You have the potential to do well academically, but I’m sure you know best. Good day, Poppy.’ Miss Dobson sallied off to speak to a group of women standing outside the village shop.

Poppy continued on her way home, mulling over Miss Dobson’s words. She had never considered the possibility of further education; that was for people like Guy and Miss Pamela, not for the likes of her. Mum might have high hopes for her, but a few months at the posh girls’ school was not going to take her to university or turn her overnight into a doctor or a lawyer. Now that Amy had gone she doubted whether Mrs Carroll would be willing to pay the fees for another year at school, and anyway she would rather get a job. With money in her pocket she could pay for her train fare home and cock a snook at old Hitler and his bombs. Once she was there she would forget about posh people who didn’t really want her, and about Guy. She dug her hands
deep
into her pockets. No. She would never forget Guy, not if she lived to be a hundred, but he was spoken for and she was just a schoolgirl.

The house was eerily silent as she let herself in through the conservatory, which was never locked during the day. It was as cold indoors as it was outside as Mr Carroll had turned off the central heating and, in order to save fuel, fires were only lit at night and then only in certain rooms. Coal was needed to fuel ships, or something like that. She was becoming confused with all the instructions that were being given out. Careless talk costs lives was one of them, although she had so few people to talk to that it really did not count in her case. She went upstairs to the day nursery, but she could not settle down to read. The mad March wind had made her restless, and she needed to be out of doors, doing something useful. She changed out of her grey flannel skirt and pulled on a pair of Pamela’s old jodhpurs which she wore when helping Jackson clean the cars. At least Jackson talked to her. He told her about the glory days before the Great War, when the Carrolls employed many more servants than they did now and had hosted large house parties that went on for days. She hurried downstairs, peeping into the kitchen in the hope that Mrs Toon had left a tray of jam tarts to cool, but the only smell of cooking was from the oven where something savoury was stewing. There were no tarts and no sign of cake either. Her stomach rumbled but she dared not go
into
the pantry in case she awakened Mrs Toon, who was sitting in a wheelback chair by the range with her feet up on an old milking stool. Her cap had slipped over one eye and her ample breasts rose and fell as she snoozed by the fire.

Tiptoeing past her, Poppy snatched an apple from the bowl of fruit set aside for dessert. It was slightly wizened, having been stored since harvest time, but it would fill a gap. She slipped out of the house through the back door and made her way to the coach house, but as she walked past the stables Goliath stuck his great head out and whinnied. It was almost as if he was calling out to her. Lifting her hand she wiggled her fingers at him and smiled. Did horses respond to human facial expressions? She did not know, but Goliath flicked his ears and pawed the ground. Maybe he was not so dumb after all. She hurried on to the coach house but both cars were out and there was no sign of Jackson.

Walking back past the stables, she stopped to take the apple from her pocket. She was about to bite into it when she realised that Goliath was watching her. ‘Hello, old boy.’ Her voice faltered but she was determined to conquer her fear of horses. ‘I’m not scared of you.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Would you like an apple?’

Goliath moved his head up and down as if nodding in assent. Poppy’s hand shook as she stared down at the apple. She was tempted to run away, but she thought of Guy and how much he cared for his
horse
. Taking a deep breath she laid the piece of fruit on the palm of her hand and moved just close enough for Goliath to take the offering. His lips were soft and his breath warm on her skin as he took the apple. She did not particularly like the look of his long yellow teeth as he munched the fruit, but at least she had stopped shaking.

A slow handclap made her spin round to see Sid standing in the doorway of the tack room, grinning at her. ‘And I thought you was too chicken to go near a big nasty beast like him.’

‘I’m not scared any more.’

‘Bet you aren’t brave enough to ride him.’

‘I can’t ride.’

‘There’s nothing to it. Unless you’re chicken, of course.’

Sid’s crooked smile was annoying but not irritating enough to make her reckless. ‘I don’t want to ride him.’