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She collapsed on the wooden seat in the bus shelter, asking herself if joining the ATS was such a good idea after all, and knowing there was nothing she could do now, except fail the medical. Which she wouldn’t.
She rose shakily to her feet as the bright red bus rounded the corner, wondering where she would be in August when Jeffrey came on leave and praying that it was miles and miles from Nether Hutton.
But it wasn’t August she should be worrying about, was it? It was when she must tell her mother about the buff OHMS envelope. Not tonight, of course. Afterwards, perhaps, when she knew she was medically fit, or perhaps when her calling-up papers came would be the best time, because then her mother wouldn’t be able to do anything about the forged signature.
But what had she done? What had made her do such a thing when she knew that soon, anyway, she would have to register for military service? Couldn’t she have waited just a few more months?
‘No, Caroline Tiptree, you could not,’ whispered the small voice of reason in her ear. ‘You know that if you are around when Jeffrey comes home in August, your mother will have arranged a wedding, and you will go along with it as you always do!’
But not any longer! Oh, she loved Jeffrey and there would be a wedding, nothing was more certain. But when the time came it would be she, Caroline, who would name the day.
Sorry, mother, she said in her mind, I have done the most awful, deceitful thing, and you’ll have every right to hit the roof when you find out about it.
And sorry, Jeffrey, too, but just this once I was doing what I want to do. How it would turn out she dare not think, and what Nether Hutton would make of her slipping away to be an ATS girl would take a bit of facing up to, as well. Little villages were like that. People knew everyone, and their ancestry, too. What The Village thought was very important, and Mrs Frobisher – as well as her own mother – had left people in Nether Hutton in no doubt that a wedding was in the offing, just as soon as the Royal Navy allowed.
She handed a florin to the conductress, said ‘One-and-three return, please,’ then stared fixedly out of the window to wonder, yet again, where she would be in mid-August? In uniform, perhaps? Or if she were lucky, driving an Army truck? And thinking about the fuss and bother at Jackmans Cottage there had been when her deceit came to light.
The bus stopped at the crossroads and the young woman who always got on smiled and said ‘Morning,’ as she usually did, then sat down beside her. The buff OHMS envelope was still in Carrie’s pocket. No chance of opening it, now, thanks be.
‘Mm,’ she smiled back. ‘Looks like being a lovely day…’
Which was, of course, the understatement of the week!
Three
On the day the buff OHMS envelope arrived, it lay unopened in Carrie’s jacket pocket until ten that morning. Medical in four days’ time she read, dry-mouthed, in the privacy of the ladies’ lavatory. Friday, May 30 at 12.30. And since her lunch hour began at 12.15, it would save the embarrassment of having to ask the head cashier for an hour off work, and being obliged to tell him why she wanted it! She had wondered where she would be when Jeffrey’s leave began some time in August, and now she knew.
The time – ten days from the end of her initial training as a motor transport driver; the place – with the Royal Army Service Corps, somewhere in Wiltshire, and new recruit though she had been, she knew better than to ask for compassionate leave. You only got compassionate when it concerned husbands, or already-arranged weddings. You did not get it, especially in the middle of a training course, for a fiancé or wedding dates that might have been!
There had been a hurt letter from her mother and another from Jeffrey, telling her that the entire village was talking about her behaviour and asking were they or were they not supposed to be getting married? But distance gave her courage and she had replied in sweet relief, telling him that next time she was sure they could both come up with a date to suit everyone – and that she loved him, of course.
So now, on this last-day-but-one of August she stood in Lincoln station, kitbag beside her, respirator over her shoulder and with her, three equally curious ATS privates and a lance corporal. They had met up on the platform. Draft HP4. Report to the RTO on arrival at Lincoln, said their travel instructions.
There was a Railway Transport Office on all main railway stations, their purpose to aid the passage of servicemen and women and goods of military importance from Point A to Point B
‘I think I’ll see the bod in the RTO,’ said the lance corporal, who had quickly ascertained she was the only one with rank up, and even one stripe entitled her to take charge. ‘They’ll know where we go from here.’
She had quickly returned.
‘He says he hasn’t a clue where HP4 is. All he said was, “Oh. So you’ll be one of them…”’
He had settled his pencil behind his right ear and pulled out a list from beneath a pile of timetables.
‘All he knew, he said, was that he was expecting a draft of five, and when we’d all arrived he had a number to ring, so we could be collected. And he said to nip out smartly, because the WVS trolley was expected any time now and we were to get ourselves a cup of tea. We might be in for a long wait, he said.’
It was almost an hour after they had eaten beetroot sandwiches and drunk large mugs of tea -offered with the most kindly smiles – that an Army corporal, the stripes on his arms brilliantly white with Blanco, clumped past them and into the RTO, then clumped out almost at once, to confront the group.
‘Draft HP4, are you? Let’s be seeing your warrants, then!’
‘Where are we going?’ the lance-corporal wanted to know.
‘That, young lady, is not for you to ask, not with one stripe up it isn’t. So let’s be having you. There’s a transport outside, so collect your kit and get on board. The sooner we get going the sooner you’ll know, won’t you?’ he said with the satisfaction of someone who knew something they did not. ‘And you’re in for the shock of your lives,’ he added.
They sat on low wooden benches in the back of the Army lorry, holding tightly to the metal struts supporting the camouflaged canvas roof and had soon left Lincoln behind. Now they drove through open country with hedges and pastures and fields yellow with the stubble of newly-harvested wheat and barley.
Carrie gazed out over the tailboard to see flat countryside and a wide, open sky. Farming country, this, and not unlike the fields around Nether Hutton. She steadied herself as the lorry braked suddenly.
‘Hang on!’ called the driver, swinging into a narrow lane. ‘Nearly there now, girls.’
They dropped speed and climbed a small hill. Ahead was a wood and a church; to their right a gate lodge outside which a sergeant waved her arms. They stopped with a skidding squeal, then reversed.
‘How-do, sergeant. Got a load of trouble for you!’
‘Have you now!’ She stood, hands on hips, glaring into the back of the transport. Wide-eyed, draft HP4 stared back.
‘Right, then! I am Sergeant James.’ She consulted a pencilled list. ‘Tiptree, Morrissey and Lance-Corporal Turner, stay where you are. The other two follow me. This is your billet – for the time being. It’s called Priest’s Lodge and don’t take the downstairs front – that’s mine. If you shift yourselves and get settled in, you just might be in time for supper. Hang on a minute,’ she called to the driver. ‘Won’t be long.’
Five minutes later, she swung herself into the back of the transport with the ease of an acrobat.
‘OK, driver. Southgate Lodge!’
They bumped downhill and stopped at an even smaller lodge, standing beside gateposts of stone. It was pretty and ornate and everything the private with the Liverpool accent had ever imagined a country cottage to be. Roses grew around the door; late-flowering honeysuckle wound itself around iron railings.
‘Ar – innit a lovely diddy house.’
‘It’s sort of – cute,’ the lance-corporal was forced to admit. ‘Haven’t ever had a billet like this, before.’
‘Diddy, cute – well, don’t get too fond of it,’ the sergeant snapped.
‘With luck you’ll be in a Nissen hut before so very much longer – where I can keep an eye on the lot of you!’
Instead of, she thought grimly, spread all over the place and out of her reach!
‘Now – this is Southgate Lodge. Up that drive is none of our business, because up that drive leads to Heronflete Priory. The lane to your right takes you to the QM stores, the NAAFI, the cookhouse, the mess hall and the ablutions. Supper at six, then muster immediately after, so unpack your kit and have everything ready in case I decide on an inspection – OK?’
And with that she strode away, arms swinging, heels hitting the ground purposefully, sending dust flying.
‘I think,’ smiled the lance-corporal, ‘that Sergeant James isn’t very happy with the way things are here. And I’m Evelyn Turner, SBO-tele-phones. Evie.’
‘And I’m Nan Morrissey, teleprinters. Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.’
‘Caroline Tiptree, driver. Call me Carrie.’
‘Fine! So shall we take a look?’
The squat front door opened directly onto a small room. On two walls were leaded windows; on another, a fireplace. And taking up most of the space were two black iron beds and two brand-new lockers.
Evie opened a door to her left to find an even smaller room with one window, one black iron bed and one brand-new locker.
‘Looks like this one will suit me nicely. You two can kip together. And I get first choice because this,’ she pointed to the stripe on her arm, ‘says that just sometimes I can pull rank!’ She took off her cap and jacket and laid them on the bed. ‘Now – what else have we got?’
A low door led into a very small kitchen. It had two shelves, a corner cupboard and a white sink with a single tap, which she turned. At least there was water.
‘Let’s do a reccy outside.’
At the bottom of a small garden, overgrown with grass and brambles, were two brick sheds. One housed a water closet, the slab floor thick with dead leaves. She pulled the rusted chain and water gushed from the cistern.
‘Good grief,’ Carrie breathed. ‘All mod cons.’
‘At least it works,’ said Nan who was used, anyway, to having an outside toilet.
‘I think, though,’ Caroline frowned, ‘that we’ll be expected to use the ablutions up the lane.’
‘Yes, but this one will be smashin’ for emergencies. I mean, are we expected to hike up that lane for a wee in the blackout an’ all, in winter?’
‘I don’t think we’ll be here, Nan. We’ll be moved to a hut before so very much longer, if the sergeant gets her way.’ Evie pushed open the second door.
It was a coalhouse. In one corner was a pile of logs; in the other, a small heap of coal. A bow saw hung on the wall, a bucket and shovel beneath it. On a shelf, a clutter of dusty jam jars.
‘Hey up! There’s a fireplace in our room,’ Nan beamed. ‘Reckon we’ll be able to have a bit of warmth when the weather gets cold. Will we be allowed to, Evie?’
‘Don’t know, but don’t get too fond of this billet. By the time the cold weather comes we could be in a Nissen hut with a coke stove, if we’re lucky.’
‘Well, I’d rather stay where we are, stove or not,’ Carrie sighed. ‘Southgate Lodge is a lovely little place.’
‘Then let’s wait and see. And don’t say anything about the coal and logs, or someone will have them carted off sharpish!’ Evie said, with a year’s knowledge of Army life behind her. ‘And I think we’d better unpack and make up our beds. We’ve got an hour…’
* * *
‘All right! Settle down, girls.’
Four ATS privates and a lance-corporal, having eaten toad-in-the-hole with onion gravy, followed by sago pudding, were by now nicely relaxed and willing to give the sergeant their full attention.
‘You’ll be thinking, I shouldn’t wonder, that our circumstances are a little – er – different, and they are. We’ve been landed on what was some lord’s private estate – the War Office having turfed him out first.
‘The house is called Heronflete Priory, and before some bright spark asks if you’ll be required to act like nuns, let me assure you that the priory was pulled down over a hundred years ago, when the present place was built.
‘Round about the estate are various houses, all empty now, and a few cottages and lodges once lived in by estate workers. Life will seem a little complicated at first, but things will be sorted, never fear. So – this far – any questions?’
‘Yes, sergeant.’ A tall girl whose uniform was in need of alteration got to her feet. ‘I don’t understand any of it. Just what are we supposed to do, here? What kind of a set-up is this?’
‘It’s – we-e-ll…Now see here, you’re going to have to learn to keep your eyes down and your mouths shut. The set-up, as far as I can make out, commandeered the Heronflete estate in a bit of a hurry. I don’t know who they are, or where they are from; if they were bombed out of London or whether they chose to come here because of the isolation. But the Priory is out of bounds until we are told otherwise. We and the soldiers who guard the place, are here as backup. I’ve been told the switchboard and teleprinters are now installed, so tomorrow we start shifts.’
‘But what is our address? We need to write home.’
‘Address – 4 Platoon, D Company, Royal Corps of Signals, c/o GPO London. No mention of this place, or anything. And you will post your letters in the box provided in the NAAFI, unsealed, so they can be censored and -’
‘Censored? Somebody’s going to read our private mail?’
‘Yes, but the censoring will be confidential, so don’t for a minute think anybody is one bit interested in your love letters, or what you write in them. Nothing will be blue-pencilled unless it refers directly or indirectly to Heronflete. And what is more, you will not discuss this place when you are away from it – not when on leave, nor in pubs, dancehalls or cinemas or anywhere else.’
‘So they’re going to let us out from time to time, sergeant?’
‘Watch it!’ The sergeant did not allow sarcasm. ‘Of course you’ll be let out. You’ll have your time on shift and your free time, and just as any other out-of-the-way unit, transport will be laid on. The only way in which things are different is that this place seems to be a bit of a mystery, as yet.’
‘Seems, Sergeant? Don’t you know, then?’
‘I’ve been told – things – and doubtless I will be told more. But for the time being, watch what you say and what you write. If it’s of any interest, your letters will not need stamps. And that’s just about it for the time being. I’ll show you round. The mess hall and cookhouse you already know, and where the NAAFI is. In the ablutions you will also find facilities for doing your personal washing and drying.
‘I do not want to see items of an intimate nature or even shirts hanging on lines behind billets. You can send seven items of clothing to the laundry each week. All else, you will hang in the drying room off the ablutions.
‘So chop-chop!’ She walked to the door, then turned, eyes narrowed. ‘And smarten up! Caps on and look lively, or I’ll line you up and you can all march around the place!’
‘Y’know, this estate is lovely,’ Evie Turner sighed. ‘I wouldn’t like anyone to take it off me if it were mine.’
‘Then, if you ask me,’ Nan flopped on her bed, ‘any feller what has so much deserves to have it took off him!’
‘Nan Morrissey! You’re a communist!’ ‘Nah. Just believe in fair shares for all. Them houses we’ve just seen, f’r instance. It’s just like a little village and it all belonged to his lordship. Now me, I come from a grotty dump, with an outside lavvy and muck and soot all over everything. It’s goin’ to be like living in the country as far as I’m concerned, and it wouldn’t bother me if I stayed here for the duration.’
Southgate Lodge looked almost lived in, Carrie thought, now beds were made up and photographs arranged on locker tops. And a jamjar filled with roses and honeysuckle on the mantelpiece.
‘Well, I’m going to write to Bob,’ Evie smiled.
‘Your husband?’ Nan had noticed the lance-corporal’s wedding ring. ‘Where is he?’
‘RAF. Overseas – the Middle East, I’m almost sure. We got married on his embarkation leave. Seven days of heaven, as the song goes, then back to the ATS again. You two got boyfriends?’
‘Not me. Wasn’t allowed to go out with fellers. Had to stay at home and look after me brother -stepbrother -’ Nan amended firmly. ‘My real mum died and me dad married again. Then he got killed in the bombing, so I wasn’t stoppin’. Shoved off to mum’s sister in Leeds. Me Auntie Mim. Best thing I ever did; that, and joining up.’
‘So life in the ATS suits you?’ Carrie liked the frankly-spoken girl with beautiful eyes.
‘You bet! Bed and board and no clothing coupons to worry about. Pay day every fortnight, and every brass farthing of it mine! But what about you, Carrie? Courting, are you?’
‘I’m – er – engaged, actually. Jeffrey. He’s in the Navy.’
‘And he didn’t buy you a ring? It’s unofficial, then?’
‘No. I’ve got a ring. But there was so much dirty work to do when I was training that I put it with my identity tag around my neck. Afraid it’s still there.’
‘Ar. I see…’
Nan did not see. If she had an engagement ring, no way would she shove it out of sight. ‘And I’ll take the letters to the post when you’ve written them, if you like. I’ll just do a quick one to Auntie Mim – let her know I’ve landed on me feet.’
For never before had Nan Morrissey seen so many trees and hedgerows, nor heard birds singing so loudly and so late, nor picked roses and honeysuckle to scent this diddy little room in this diddy little house, she thought with pure affection.
‘It’s smashing here, Dad.’ She sent her thoughts high and wide. ‘You’re not to worry about me one bit, ’cause I’m living in the country, now, like I always wanted to…’
She hoped he could hear her. She thought reluctantly about the Queer One in Cyprian Court and about Georgie, then blanked them from her mind as if they had never existed.
