Poppy's War (15 page)

‘Mr Guy would be ever so grateful. Poor old horse badly needs exercise and I’ve got enough on me hands with being the head stable lad, groom and general dogsbody all rolled into one. There is a war on, you know.’

‘Yes, of course I know, but I can’t ride. I don’t know how.’

Sid opened the stable door and stepped inside. ‘Give me a minute or two and I’ll saddle him up. You can have a go at walking round the yard. See how you like it.’

Poppy shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Want me to tell Vi what a little yellow-belly you are?’

There was something in Sid’s sly expression that reminded Poppy yet again of that awful first day in school, when he had tormented her and ruined a perfectly good blouse by pushing her against the inky wall. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said through gritted teeth.

He led the horse to the mounting block. ‘Come on then, Popeye. Let’s see what you’re made of.’

It was a challenge that she could not refuse. Getting on the horse was comparatively easy but once she was in the saddle she realised just how far off the ground she was and fear took over. She clutched the pommel, hanging on for dear life as Goliath pranced about. She could hear almost nothing other than the pounding of her heart.

‘He’s a bit fresh,’ Sid said dubiously. ‘Don’t dig your heels in or nothing like that, or he’ll be off like a shot.’

‘Dig my heels in?’ Poppy murmured, closing her eyes. It did not sound like good advice but she did it anyway. The result was even more terrifying than she could have imagined. With a lurch that almost unseated her, Goliath moved forward, his hooves striking sparks off the cobblestones as he cantered out of the yard.

The breath was knocked from Poppy’s lungs and there was nothing she could do other than cling on. She had lost the reins and they flapped around the
horse’s
head, causing him to go even faster. The gravel flew in all directions as he headed down the drive. ‘S-stop, p-please stop,’ Poppy cried in desperation, but either Goliath was deaf or she was using the wrong words. He galloped towards the gates, and to her horror Poppy saw that they were open. Mrs Carroll’s MG was heading towards them. Certain that she was going to die, Poppy closed her eyes just as Goliath swerved onto the grass and she felt herself flying through the air.

She landed with a sickening thud that winded her. Unable to breathe she fought to get air into her lungs. Someone was shouting in the distance, and she realised dimly that it was Sid.

‘What the hell were you doing on that animal?’ An angry voice close to her ear made Poppy open her eyes. She found herself looking up into Mrs Carroll’s furious face. ‘Are you hurt, Poppy? Speak to me, damn it.’

Every breath was agony but gradually she managed to fill her lungs enough to be able to speak. ‘I’m all right. I think.’

Marina straightened up. ‘Guppy, catch that animal and take it back to the stables. I’ll have words with you later, young man.’ She helped Poppy to her feet. ‘Nothing broken, I think. Get in the car and I’ll drive you up to the house. Get yourself out of those muddy clothes and then I want to see you in the drawing room.’

Bruised and mortified, Poppy climbed the stairs to
the
day nursery. It was almost dark and she flicked the light switch. Without a fire in the grate the room looked cold and uninviting. She would have liked to climb into a hot bath to ease the ache in her back, but she put her soiled clothes into the laundry basket. Violet would have something to say about that when she emptied it in the morning. Rifling through the chest of drawers, Poppy found a clean jumper, which was a bit short in the arm and stretched over her budding breasts. She would soon need a bust bodice, but she did not know how she was going to pluck up the courage to ask Mrs Carroll to buy her clothes. Now that Amy was no longer here she was going to find things very difficult. She stepped into her skirt and changed her shoes.

In the drawing room she found Mrs Carroll seated by a roaring log fire with a glass of sherry in her hand. ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Poppy? Were you trying to commit suicide riding that damned horse?’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Carroll.’

‘Sorry isn’t good enough. You might have broken your neck or been paralysed for life, or worse still Goliath might have been seriously injured. He’s not only a valuable horse but Guy thinks the world of him. He would never have allowed you to ride such a spirited animal.’

‘He let me ride him once,’ Poppy said, staring down at her brown lace-up shoes. ‘He led me round the stable yard.’

‘Which is a different matter altogether. What made you do such a stupid thing?’

Once again, Poppy found herself having to cover up for Sid Guppy, but for some strange reason she could not bring herself to tell Mrs Carroll the truth. ‘I don’t know. Well, I suppose I just wanted to make Guy proud of me. I thought he’d be pleased if I could ride properly and show him I wasn’t scared of horses.’

‘Heaven help us.’ Marina drained her glass and set it down on the side table with a thud. ‘There are a hundred and one other ways to impress my son, and none of them include the possible maiming of his favourite horse. If you want to ride, there are farm horses in the stables. You could work on the land and earn your keep.’

‘I’d be pleased to do something useful,’ Poppy said earnestly. ‘I could be a land girl, just like the one on the posters in the village.’

‘Nonsense, you’re too young.’ Marina rose from her seat and went to the table where a selection of cut glass decanters sparkled in the firelight. She refilled her glass. ‘What am I going to do with you, Poppy Brown?’

It was obviously a rhetorical question and Poppy remained silent, clasping her hands tightly behind her back.

‘You ought to know that Amy paid your school fees up until the end of the summer term, but she left in such a hurry that we didn’t discuss what would
happen
in the future.’ Marina sipped her sherry, eyeing Poppy over the rim of her glass. ‘Well, say something, girl.’

‘I–I’m very grateful to Amy. She was very kind to me.’

Marina’s lip curled in a sarcastic smile. ‘Yes, when it suited her. My future daughter-in-law was most eager to show herself off in the best possible light, if not for my benefit then most certainly for Guy’s.’

‘She was very generous to me, Mrs Carroll.’

‘Yes, money is no object when you’ve got your sights set on a husband with prospects. Not that you’d understand, but it seems I’m the only one who saw through Miss Amy Fenton-Jones. She was always a little schemer even as a child. She had her hooks into my son from the start, but she may have made a mistake by running away to Singapore.’

Poppy shifted from one foot to the other. She wanted to stand up for Amy, but the martial look in Mrs Carroll’s eyes made her wary and she thought it safer to say nothing.

‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. All you need to know is that I have no intention of paying for your education, and if I’m to be saddled with you for the duration you will leave school at the earliest opportunity and find work even if it’s in the munitions factory. Do you understand me, Poppy?’

Chapter Eight

THE COMING OF
spring coincided with the arrival of the land girls; three of them, to be exact. It was a sunny Saturday in April, and with nothing better to do Poppy was sitting on the steps outside the main entrance watching in a mixture of horror and fascination as the parkland was put to the plough. The avenue of copper beeches looked oddly out of place marooned between ribbed expanses of dark earth, and the deer had migrated to the spinney on the far side of the lake. Seagulls flocked to scavenge amongst the dark ridges of bare soil, their noisy cries almost blotting out the sound of the tractor’s engine.

‘Hello there.’

Poppy turned her head with a start to see three young women teetering up the gravelled drive on their high heels, each of them carrying a suitcase, with the obligatory gas mask cases slung over their shoulders. She leapt to her feet and ran down the steps to meet them. ‘Hello, I’m Poppy. Have you come to work here?’

‘Well we ain’t come on holiday, ducks.’ The tallest of the three held out her hand. ‘I’m Edie. Do I hear a hint of a cockney accent there, Poppy, or are you one
of
them posh kids who like to pretend they’re one of us?’

‘Shut up, Edie. She’s only a kid.’ A smaller girl, who could not have been a day older than seventeen, managed a tight little smile but Poppy could see from her red-rimmed eyes that she had been crying. ‘Mavis Thompson.’ She sniffed and produced a soggy-looking hanky from her coat pocket. ‘Got a bit of a cold.’

‘She’s been blubbing since she got on the train at Winchester,’ Edie said with a pitying glance. ‘She’s never been away from home before. Anyway, since we’re doing introductions, I’m Edie Blake from Hackney, and the skinny one with the plum in her mouth is Jean Hodge from Carshalton. We’re a mixed bunch, as you can see.’

‘I wish you’d stop that,’ Jean said, tossing her long blonde hair. ‘We’re all in the same boat as far as I can see and it doesn’t matter what sort of family we come from, we’re all going to get our hands dirty.’

‘And you’d know all about that, I suppose?’ Edie curled her lip. ‘My dad’s a coalman. I suppose your dad’s a bank manager.’

‘No,’ Jean said evenly. ‘As a matter of fact he’s a bank clerk. Does that satisfy your snobbish prejudices?’

‘My dad’s a lay preacher,’ Mavis said softly. ‘But that doesn’t make me a saint. I wish you two would shut up.’

Poppy could hardly contain her excitement. The
prospect
of having company close to her own age was thrilling. Suddenly what had started out as an ordinary and rather boring Saturday was turning out to be quite an event. ‘Are you really going to work here? Does Mrs Carroll know you’re coming?’

‘We ain’t here for our health,’ Edie said, chuckling. ‘This seemed a better idea than working in a factory or joining the services, but looking at that bloody great field I ain’t so sure.’

‘It’s war work,’ Mavis murmured through the folds of a clean white handkerchief. ‘We’ve all got to do our bit.’

‘Don’t take no notice of her, she’ll soon learn that high ideals don’t count for sweet F A in the real world.’ Edie took off her navy blue felt hat and raised her face to the sun. ‘I’m going to treat it like a holiday in the country.’

‘Then you’d be making a huge mistake.’ Marina walked slowly down the steps, looking the girls up and down. ‘I’m Mrs Carroll, the district organiser of the Women’s Land Army, and you three have been detailed to work my land.’

‘How do you do?’ Jean said, smiling and holding out her hand.

Although she was a good few inches shorter, Marina was standing on a higher step, gaining the advantage in height. She ignored the polite overture. ‘You will be billeted in the rooms above the stables. We only employ one stable lad these days and he lives in the village. Poppy will show you where to go
and
then she’ll take you to the kitchen where Cook has laid on a meal for you.’ Without waiting for their comments, Marina ascended the steps and disappeared into the house.

‘Snooty bitch,’ Edie muttered, pulling a face. ‘Who does she think she is?’

‘She’s our boss for the duration,’ Jean said with a resigned sigh. ‘But I do think she could have been a bit more civil.’

Poppy felt compelled to stand up for Mrs Carroll. ‘That’s just her way. She’s not so bad when you get to know her.’

Edie picked up her battered suitcase, which was held together by a length of cord. ‘Well I think she’s a stuck-up cow and I can see us falling out if she don’t drop the attitude.’

‘I’ll take you to the stables,’ Poppy said hastily. ‘I don’t know what the rooms are like, but the stable lads and grooms used to live there, so they can’t be too bad.’ She led the way to the stable block, bracing herself to walk past Goliath’s stall without flinching.

‘Oh, what a lovely horse,’ Jean breathed, stopping to stroke his nose. ‘Who’s a beautiful boy then?’

‘For God’s sake, Jean. It’s just a bloody animal,’ Edie said impatiently.

Goliath rolled his eyes and nuzzled Jean’s hand. She responded by dropping a kiss on his muzzle. ‘He’s gorgeous. I hope I get a chance to ride him.’

‘He’s Guy’s horse.’ Poppy was not certain she liked the way Jean seemed to have an instant rapport
with
something that belonged to Guy, or the way that Goliath was patently enjoying the attention.

‘Who’s he?’ Edie’s eyes lit up as she turned a curious face to Poppy. ‘Who is Guy when he’s at home?’

Poppy felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she walked on. ‘He’s Mrs Carroll’s son and he’s in the RAF.’

‘I think I’m going to like this dump after all,’ Edie said, chuckling.

Mavis quickened her pace in order to keep up with Poppy. ‘I wouldn’t fancy your chances, Edie. If he’s anything like his mother he’ll be a snooty type who looks down on the likes of us.’

Regretting the fact that she had brought Guy’s name into the conversation, Poppy hurried on towards the tack room. The accommodation was reached by a stairway which was little more than a ladder at the back of the room and Poppy was frankly curious. She had seen the lads coming and going but she had never ventured any further than the doorway. She went inside, blinking as her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. There was a strong smell of saddle soap, leather and stale tea. Ashes spilled from the grate onto the floor and the table was littered with old newspapers and cups that Sid had forgotten about or had been too idle to wash.

‘What a mess. It looks like the
Mary Celeste
,’ Jean said, gazing round the room in disgust.

Edie picked up a yellowing newspaper. ‘September
the
first 1939.
Poland Invaded
. Well that proves how long it is since anyone cleaned up in here.’

‘I think your rooms are up here,’ Poppy said, making her way round the table and heading towards the rickety-looking stairs.

Mavis followed close on her heels. ‘What are you doing here, Poppy? You obviously don’t come from these parts.’

‘I’m an evacuee. My mum and dad live in West Ham, but I don’t suppose you know that area.’