The Penny Bangle (9 page)

‘You’ll upset them cows, the way you carries on, warbling away the way you do,’ he muttered darkly. ‘You ain’t no Gracie Fields or Vera Lynn, and that’s a fact.’

But Cassie didn’t care if Mr Hobson didn’t appreciate her warbling. She went on singing to the Jerseys, especially the songs which Rob and Steve had sung to them, a mix of big band numbers she’d heard on the wireless, and the hymns they all sang every Sunday in the local church.

After a long, hard winter, spring was here at last. People and their animals were shaking off the sluggishness of all those cold, dark days, and everyone was getting on with life.

Or giving birth to it.

There were two new babies in the village, and there were skipping lambs in all the fields. There were several dozen new pink piglets in Mr Hobson’s pens, six of the cows had calved, several of the hens had fluffy broods of golden chicks, and there were fragrant yellow flowers growing on all the banks.

‘Primroses,’ said Frances, who couldn’t believe that Cassie had never seen a primrose in her life. ‘They grow like weeds all over Dorset.’

‘What about those things that look like primroses, but smaller and with lots of little flowers on every stem?’

‘They’re cowslips, and those other yellow flowers are daffodils.’

‘I know what a daffodil looks like,’ Cassie muttered, huffing rather crossly. ‘Do you think I’m ignorant or something?’

‘God, perish the thought,’ said Frances, laughing. ‘Cassie, isn’t it a lovely day? You’d never know there was a war on.’

Cassie nodded. On a blue and gold spring day like this, if you didn’t listen to the wireless, if you didn’t go down to the beach and look at all that concrete and barbed wire, it was almost possible to forget.

Mrs Denham had got hold of dark blue paint from somewhere, and she’d spruced up her front door.

About time too, decided Cassie, who thought she’d never understand the posh squad’s lackadaisical and easy-going ways. Lily Taylor washed and cleaned and polished all day long. But Rose Denham’s stone-flagged kitchen floor often didn’t see a mop or broom from one week to the next.

‘Three more people looking for work,’ she said one April morning, as they were having breakfast and she was busy opening the post.

‘Anyone with any experience, though?’ asked Mr Denham, looking up from his
Farming Times
, and wheezing like an ancient pair of bellows as he lit another cigarette.

‘Yes, two girls in their twenties who are on farms in Devon at the moment, but want to be near their parents’ homes in Dorset. They say they’re used to dairy herds and heavy horses. So I think they’d be ideal for us.’

Mrs Denham looked at Cassie and Frances. ‘But we don’t need them, do we? So they’ll have to stay in Devon. Or join the ATS. I heard on the Home Service the government wants more women in the army.’

Cassie glanced at Frances, raised one eyebrow.

But Frances shook her head.

‘But
why
can’t we leave?’ demanded Cassie, as they mucked out the shire horses’ stables, later on that morning.

‘I think it would be very mean,’ said Frances. ‘Mrs Denham’s such a good employer, and she’s been so kind to us.’

‘Fran, she gets her money’s worth!’ cried Cassie. ‘All right, she feeds us properly, she doesn’t overwork us, but she makes flipping sure we earn our wages, every single penny of them.’

‘But I thought you liked it here in Dorset?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Cassie. ‘But Frances, think about it – Dorset isn’t going to go away, and there’s a great big world out there.’

‘Yes, and lots of horrid things are going on in it. Cassie, Mr Denham isn’t well.’

‘Mr Denham’s past it.’ Cassie shrugged. ‘Mrs Denham runs the place, and all Mr Denham does is sit around, and do the books, and read the
Farming Times
.’

‘I suppose she could have those girls from Devon,’ said Frances thoughtfully.

‘Yes, she could,’ said Cassie. ‘She’s got Mr Hobson and his son. They do as much as Steve and Rob, or more. If she has a couple of girls, as well – ’

‘She’ll be all right.’ Frances looked suddenly wistful. ‘It would be quite nice to have adventures, and to see a bit of life.’

‘Of course it would.’

‘We’ll talk to her on Friday evening, shall we?’ Now, her growing excitement blobbed two spots of pink on Frances’s pale cheeks. ‘When Mr Denham goes off to his farmers’ meeting at the village hall.’

On Friday evening, Cassie ate her supper very quickly. She forked up every single grain of barley and then mopped up her gravy with some of Mrs Denham’s fresh-baked bread.

Frances was staying to supper too and, after she’d finished her raspberry jam and roly-poly pudding, she told Mrs Denham to put her feet up for a change.

‘Cassie and I will go and get the washing in,’ said Frances casually. ‘We’ll do all the pots and pans, and have a tidy up.’

Rose Denham looked from one girl to the other. ‘Oh, I see,’ she said, and smiled at them.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Denham?’ said Cassie, blushing.

‘It’s time to go and have adventures, is it?’ Mrs Denham pushed her empty pudding bowl aside. She ran her fingers through her long, dark hair, looping back some errant strands and pinning them up again. ‘I was thinking yesterday, it’s been a long time coming.’

‘Adventures, Mrs Denham?’ repeated Cassie glibly, aware that she was going even redder in the face, embarrassed to be so easily found out.

‘I don’t think I’m mistaken, am I, Cassie? You’ve both been so restless since the boys went back. I don’t think it’s natural for two young girls like you to want to spend your lives stuck on a farm, out in the middle of nowhere, milking cows.’

Mrs Denham stood up then, brushed the crumbs from off her pinafore, and went to fill the big black kettle. ‘So, Fran and Cassie, which is it to be? The Wrens? The WAAF? The ATS?’

‘Mother of God, they don’t have my sort in the Wrens,’ said Cassie, laughing and wrinkling her nose. ‘The Wrens is just for nobs. Frances would be all right, of course. She’s pukka, aren’t you, Fran? Your old mum might let you join the Wrens?’

‘Oh, do shut up, midget,’ said Frances, not unkindly. ‘Mrs Denham,’ she continued, ‘we quite fancy being in a battery, so we could help to shoot down German planes. Or we could ride motorbikes, delivering dispatches. Or we could drive lorries. We think we’d like to move around a bit.’

‘It’ll have to be the ATS, then,’ Mrs Denham said. ‘But Frances, I’m not sure if Lady Ashford’s very keen on lady soldiers? I can’t imagine she’d want you to be one! What about your granny, Cassie? Didn’t she want you out of danger’s way?’

‘Mrs Denham, could you write to Mummy?’ Frances looked beseechingly at Rose Denham. ‘She would listen to you. Maybe you’d write to Cassie’s granny, too?’

‘I should suggest you leave the safety of the farm, to go and risk your lives in ack-ack batteries, or driving through the blackout?’

‘Well – ’

‘Oh, Fran, don’t look at me like that!’ Rose Denham smiled again and shook her head. ‘I wasn’t always old, you know,’ she added. ‘When I was your age, I wanted to have adventures, too.’

‘So did you, Mrs Denham?’ Frances asked.

‘Yes, I became an army nurse,’ Rose Denham told them. ‘I served all over France, and then I went to Russia. Very well, I’ll write to Cassie’s granny and Lady Ashford later on tonight. But, if I were you, girls, I’d get your applications off right now. I dare say you’ve been to get the forms?’

‘Well actually, Mrs Denham,’ admitted Cassie, shamefaced, ‘we got them yesterday.’

Frances came to work a few days later to report that Lady Ashford had taken to her bed, and also that her father was going on and on about their daughter being ungrateful and unkind.

But Lily Taylor’s letter to Rose Denham was very fair and reasonable, considering the fuss that Cassie had been almost sure her grandmother would make. All Mrs Taylor said was that she’d like a visit from her granddaughter before she took her posting up, wherever it might be.

‘You’ll have time off for that, of course,’ said Mrs Denham. ‘Frances, when Cassie goes to see her granny, maybe you should go along, to keep her company?’

‘Yes, Frances, come and meet my granny,’ Cassie said. ‘I’ll take you to a café for a decent meal,’ she added, after Mrs Denham had left the kitchen and gone to see her hens. ‘We’ll have some big, fat bangers, with a pile of mash. Or fish and chips. Or a piece of haslet. Or a nice pork pie.’

‘They don’t waste any time,’ said Frances, showing Cassie the official-looking letter telling her to report for a medical on Monday week, at the army camp in Dorchester. ‘I thought it would be ages before we got replies.’

‘Well, there
is
a war on,’ Cassie said. ‘I’ve got a letter, too,’ she added. ‘So we’ll ask Mrs Denham if she’ll let us have next Monday off. If we do the milking, get the churns all ready for the lorry, then go and feed the chickens, we can scoot off and make a day of it. We could have our dinner in a café. Go to the flicks, perhaps.’

‘What if we fail our medicals?’ asked Frances. ‘We won’t feel like going to the cinema if we fail.’

‘We’d better flipping pass then, hadn’t we?’ said Cassie. ‘I’d like to go and see that film about the Battle of Britain, starring Dawn Adaire and Ewan Fraser. I think he’s really cute.’

‘He’s married, actually, to Rob’s and Stephen’s sister,’ Frances said to Cassie, and she grinned. ‘Sorry, midget, he’s been nabbed already.’

‘He’s Daisy Denham’s husband?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’

‘I thought you knew. There’s a photograph of him and Daisy in the sitting room. They’re at a premiere or something, and they’re dressed up to the nines. They’re gazing at each other in that soppy sort of way that people do when they’re in love.’

‘I’ll go and have another look some time.’

‘It’s from Robert,’ Cassie said, opening the letter that came the following morning, just as they were going to feed the hens.

‘What does it say?’ asked Frances.

‘You can read it, if you like.’ Cassie passed the single sheet to Frances. ‘He says he’s bored, stuck in some camp in – Camberley, I think it is, his writing’s bloody awful – and he can’t wait to go back overseas. He’s training new recruits and taking courses in explosives and in deto-something.’

‘Detonating,’ Frances told her, as she read the letter. ‘He’s learning about fixing charges, about laying wires and setting mines. Ooh look, Cass, he sends his love!’ Frances grinned. ‘I think he’s getting serious.’

‘Oh, don’t be daft,’ said Cassie, reddening. ‘Love from whatsisname, it’s just what people say in letters. So have you heard from Steve?’

‘Yes, I had a postcard, a couple of days ago.’ Frances shrugged. ‘Cassie, we’re just friends. I do like Stephen, very much, but I know he doesn’t fancy me.’

‘Or he might think you wouldn’t fancy
him
, now he’s sort of – after he got hurt.’

‘I met Stephen long before he ever joined the army, let alone got hurt, and he’s always treated me like a sister. It’s never going to change.’

‘You don’t know that, and anyway – ’

‘Just leave it, Cass – all right?’

‘We both passed, Mrs Denham,’ Frances told Rose Denham, one week later when the letters came.

‘You’re both A1?’ asked Mrs Denham.

‘Frances is A1, but they’ve told me I’ve got to try to put some weight on, and I have to get my teeth fixed. I need a couple of fillings,’ muttered Cassie, probing a back cavity with her tongue. ‘The army dentist’s going to do them. I’ve never had a filling. What’s it like, Fran? Do you know?’

‘It’s agony,’ said Frances. ‘The dentist has this great big drill, he tips your head back, and it feels like somebody or something is boring through your brain. It’s – ’

‘It’s nothing, Cassie,’ said Rose Denham. ‘The dentist gives you an injection first, to dull the pain, and so it doesn’t hurt at all. Frances, don’t be mean.’

‘Sorry,’ said Frances, grinning.

‘Just you wait,’ said Cassie, narrowing her eyes.