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The Long Road Ahead
Rosie James
The war might be over, but trying to get life back on track is anything but easy for Alice Watts.Follow Alice’s journey back to post-Blitz Bristol where she searches for family, friends, and one particular loved one, in a world where it’s expected to mend and make do… and where it’s sometimes impossible to put your heart before your head…A tale of true courage and the power of sheer determination, this un-put-downable post-WWII set saga is filled with warmth, humour and heart-wrenching emotion.Perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Katie Flynn and Dilly Court.Previous books in the Home Land Farm Girls series:Book 1 – Letters to Alice
The war might be over, but trying to get life back on track is anything but easy for Alice Watts.
Follow Alice’s journey back to post-Blitz Bristol where she searches for family, friends, and one particular loved one, in a world where it’s expected to mend and make do… and where it’s sometimes impossible to put your heart before your head…
A tale of true courage and the power of sheer determination, this un-put-downable post-WWII set saga is filled with warmth, humour and heart-wrenching emotion.
The Long Road Ahead
The Land Girls of Home Farm
Rosie James
www.CarinaUK.com (http://www.CarinaUK.com)
Born in Bristol of Welsh parentage, ROSIE JAMES has always been a compulsive writer, her early enthusiasm kept alive by winning the occasional childhood literary prize, and much later by seeing her articles and short stories published. She is a trained singer, and as a lyric coloratura soprano, her leading roles include many in grand opera, operetta and oratorio, her music taking her to many parts of the continent. She enjoys theatre, eating out with friends, and she entertains regularly at home – slightly hindered by her King Charles spaniel, who always insists on testing all dishes for flavour. She has three grown-up children, and when they and their young offspring arrive, the normally peaceful house becomes dramatically changed – and always for the better. Rosie lives in Somerset.
Contents
Cover (#uae287f84-ee6e-51c6-8dd5-9ca8f4b470d5)
Blurb (#udca4574d-77cd-5610-92d3-ccbc0886e9a7)
Title Page (#uf0bb39c9-2e30-5662-8ea9-0784fba88b1a)
Author Bio (#u6d09940c-b9eb-5900-afc3-2d36876f0e00)
Dedication (#u0753ae39-0af0-5a5a-a33d-eb257315dd41)
Chapter One (#uf77c6161-ad58-52fa-97e6-48e98f588f1d)
Chapter Two (#uac25f56c-8cfd-55a5-8bb7-6190ba406966)
Chapter Three (#u4057f813-d5f7-5ed9-834c-9a1fcadb5861)
Chapter Four (#u08b09727-6c4e-5c43-b4b6-71c79dd4ab9d)
Chapter Five (#u791f34a1-3bb5-5143-aee4-1f547281389e)
Chapter Six (#u25b73851-c09a-5178-987d-4ba15ac26194)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#ulink_d805b879-5d06-5c9a-86c9-eae8db78c487)
TBC
Chapter One (#ulink_5886288c-15a2-59a2-97b1-961f2f1b1aed)
March 1947
Alice drew the small padded stool closer to the fire and sat down, hugging her knees. Thanks to the sack of coal which had been delivered this morning, she’d been able to indulge herself by setting the fire high with the precious lumps of black magic, which burned and crackled with extra brightness, the flames curling busily up the chimney, sending out a delicious heat that warmed every part of her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
Not that Alice really needed that much warming up…not really. Because inside, she was on fire. She was feeling truly alive, truly ready to take on the whole world if that ever became necessary.
Because she had been given her heart’s desire. She was lucky…and hadn’t she thought that so many times before? Hadn’t she thought that Lady Luck was never far away – despite all the ups and downs and sad times?
Drawing back just a bit from the hearth, she opened the wallet containing packets of the most precious things she had ever owned. Or would ever own.
Her letters.
They were all in date order, carefully preserved over the last twenty years or so, and in some ways, they traced her story, she thought now. Some were from friends who would always be her friends…her greatest friends…incorrigible Fay, and vulnerable Eve…their Evie. Alice smiled. It had been Fay’s whimsical notion to nickname them the Three Wise Monkeys ever since they’d found themselves sitting together on that bus which would take them to Home Farm and their war work as Land Girls. If it hadn’t been for the war, they’d never have met – so thanks for that, Mr. Hitler!
And there were those lovely letters from Helena…dearest Helena Carmichael who had been Alice’s employer, and Alice’s mother Ada’s, before that.
But most were from Samuel.
Alice began taking the letters from the first packet, opening them out carefully, and spreading them, one by one, on her lap as she began to re-read them. Almost all of them were far too precious to share with another human being, and she had made up her mind that when she died they would go with her. She would be holding them to her heart as she was lowered into the grave, and she intended leaving a formal note about this to whoever took charge of such things.
But of all of them, the ones from Samuel would always take pride of place.
Samuel. Her heart’s desire. The love of her young, of her entire life.
And the sole reason for making her burn with such ecstatic happiness, such enthusiasm for the future, such total contentment…what a flaccid word “contentment” was when talking about romantic love!…was because, two days ago, Sam had asked her to be his wife.
His wife. The dream she had clung to.
And Alice couldn’t help it if she was experiencing every sought-after human emotion with a passion burning more brightly than the fire in front of her. Now, nothing could dampen her spirits.
The dreadful, debilitating weather of early 1947 still persisted, but what on earth did the weather have to do with Alice! Weather? Who cared about weather!
Presently, having re-read all her letters, Alice was thoughtful for a second as she put them away. One or two of them had made her smile, all over again…but the penultimate one she had had from Eve had provoked a slight pang of discomfort. Because while Evie’s future with her beloved was apparently now so happily secure, Alice knew that own road ahead – despite her present euphoria – was unlikely to be so straightforward. How could it possibly be? She and Sam had come from such different backgrounds. Was she ever really going to fit in, despite their love for each other? Was she capable? Was she…was she worthy? Not so much worthy of him, but of the Carmichael dynasty? Of, in the foreseeable future, becoming one of them? And, even worse, had the war changed her into someone else? Was she the same person who’d written all those letters to Sam over the years? Alice cringed at the misgivings which had arrived, unannounced, to enter her sub-conscious…
Evie’s letter had arrived on the 2
of January.
Dearest Alice
I wanted you to be the first one to know that something wonderful happened just before Christmas. My parents were out, and I was in the drawing room playing the piano…playing all those songs we sang at the village hall, and the Wheatsheaf, during the war. It brought back all those wonderful memories – and guess what? I didn’t realise it, but my parents had been listening at the doorway and they were PLEASED! They said they were pleased to hear me play even though it wasn’t Bach or Beethoven! I can’t tell you how relieved I was!
And then, remembering the advice you gave me when we had lunch together the day before, in Bristol, I plunged straight in and told them! Explained about Max! The words just came spilling out of my mouth, and I was trembling like a leaf, afraid of what they were going to say. But – and I still can’t believe it – they were all right about it and said I should invite Max to tea the following Sunday! I almost fainted with amazement!
And the best bit, Alice, is, that they actually seemed to like Max. They were kind and welcoming to him – and of course he was utterly lovely to them! Being there, the four of us, seemed to me like being in heaven! Especially when Max took his turn at the piano, charming my parents to bits – especially my mother. I think that clinched it, divorce or no divorce!
Even though it is New Year’s Day as I write this, I must not get carried away, Alice. Things could still go horribly wrong for Max and me, but I somehow don’t think they will. I just feel it in my bones that we are meant to be together, and once he is free to marry again, and I have my parents’ approval, I feel nothing but hope for us. Sorry if I appear to be seeing the world through rose-tinted spectacles, but I have never wanted anything so badly in my life, and suddenly I feel as if my wish will come true.
Can we all meet again soon? In Bristol? I will treat us to lunch, or afternoon tea, at the Royal Hotel. I am writing to Fay with my news. I know she will be pleased for me.
All possible love, Alice. Evie. (No.3 wise monkey!)
Alice gazed into the far distance as her thoughts ran on. Happily for Evie, Max’s wife had conveniently done the disappearing act, leaving the coast clear for the two lovers, while – at one time – Alice’s own situation had been as bleak as it could possibly be. Millicent, Sam’s cousin, the wonderful, beautiful, perfect member of the Carmichael dynasty, had been responsible for that. There’d been no contest. Millicent had won from the very beginning…or so Alice had thought.
And yet, and yet…now, the unthinkable had not only become the thinkable…it had become fact! Glorious, mesmerizing fact! Samuel Carmichael was going to be hers!
Presently, Alice began to tidy up the small sitting room, putting away her book and newspaper, and plumping up the cushions, before getting ready for bed. It was Monday night. She hadn’t mentioned her engagement to Valerie at work that day – though how Alice had managed that, she’d never know. She had been longing to shout it out to anyone who would listen, but for some reason she’d decided to keep the news to herself for just a bit longer. Valerie was Alice’s young assistant at the estate agent’s office which she, Alice, had been given sole charge of since leaving the Bristol branch eighteen months ago.
She hadn’t slept much last night, going over and over everything. There was going to be such a lot to plan… Sam had said that it was her wedding, and that all decisions should be hers – though of course he would be ready to do, or arrange, anything she might ask of him. But the more Alice had thought about it as she’d tossed and turned, the more she’d felt decidedly panicky. A daughter’s wedding was, traditionally, the important occasion handled solely by the bride’s mother – wasn’t it? And all expenses paid by the bride’s family? And even though Sam had mentioned – in passing – that money was not important, and not the issue, and that she was not to worry about a thing, that side of her big day did worry Alice. If only her mother was still here! She’d know what to do about all the decisions Alice was going to have to make…
But hang on a minute…there was still Fay and Evie! Had Alice forgotten those other wise monkeys? Because they would be there, backing her up all the way, she knew that.
The only thing which had been more or less decided between her and Sam was the approximate date of the big day. Sam wanted it to be around the time of the anniversary of his mother’s recent death.
‘I do not want every Christmas, from now on, to be full of sorrow and heartache,’ he’d declared. ‘Christmas at Clifton was always one of the happiest times of the year, and we, you and I, Alice, are going to put joy and hope into it, not sadness and looking back.’
But before all that, there was so much for Alice to think about…where on earth should she start?
She woke early the following morning – glad to get up from the bed which, once again, hadn’t given her much rest. Still in her dressing gown, she went down into the kitchen to make herself tea and toast, and glanced up at the calendar on the wall above the sink. Tuesday, 1
April 1947. April Fool’s Day.
One good thing – so far as her situation was concerned – was that she still had this little rented house, provided by the company, to live in until she gave them the three months’ statutory notice of leaving. Alice frowned as she waited for the kettle to boil, realizing that, after that, once again she would be homeless. Even though she’d been assured, many times, that the Clifton house would always be there for her, she hadn’t lived there for years, and didn’t feel that she could go straight there after leaving Dorchester. That wouldn’t seem right. It would be inappropriate. And anyway, she certainly couldn’t leave from there on her wedding day – that would be silly! A bride always leaves from her own home, her own family…doesn’t she? But Alice had no home. And no family, either. This little house had been home since October 1945. She sighed briefly as she put a spoonful of tealeaves into the pot.
Well, there were nine whole months before her wedding day, so perhaps if she waited until, say, September before giving in her notice, at least she’d have somewhere to live while she sorted out all the other things connected to a wedding. Besides, she was going to need all the money she could earn until then – to pay for her wedding dress – at least she had plenty of clothing coupons saved up – and there’d be the flowers for the church, and dresses and presents for her bridesmaids, and a present for Sam… Oh help! It was true that thanks to Helena’s thoughtful foresight in banking her salary for her all those years ago, and her own earnings later on, Alice did have a considerable sum saved up…but everyone knew how much weddings cost…
As she poured boiling water into the pot to make her tea, Alice realized that her hands were actually shaking at all this introspection…did all brides-to-be worry like this, she asked herself? It had already started to feel as if it was going to be a very long and difficult journey before she became Mrs. Samuel Carmichael!
Presently, telling herself not to be so stupid, and that the future would probably open up if she didn’t panic, Alice got ready for work and left the house, almost bumping into the postman as he came up the path. There was one letter for her. And the writing on the envelope was Sam’s. Alice tucked it into her handbag and made her way quickly to work. Valerie wouldn’t be in for half an hour, so there was plenty of time to sit and be with Sam for a few precious minutes.
Monday, 31
March 1947
My dearest, darling Alice
I still feel in a complete daze that you have agreed to be my wife. My wife! I feel so proud, so happy, to say the words, but it is going to seem a very long time before that actually happens! How can I possibly wait!
However, as we agreed last night, I contacted the minister of St. Mary Redcliffe today, and our date of 23
December has been agreed.
After I’d seen you off at the station, I felt completely lost…as if I wasn’t really myself, and as if part of me had gone with you. And I realized how little time we’d had to discuss important matters.
First things first, I want to buy your engagement ring – so I intend coming to Dorchester as soon as possible. Could it be this coming Saturday – if you are available? Or the following one? Both of which are free for me at the moment.
I realize there will be a mountain of other things to sort out, my darling, but we’ll get there. My father and I stayed up rather late, talking, after you’d gone back – when we also had rather a lot to drink! And it was so good to see him genuinely happy – happy about our news – that he really couldn’t stop smiling, which he hasn’t done much of recently, as you can imagine.
But there is one ground rule which he insists upon. The house in Clifton will always be your – our – home – for ever, and for as long as we want it or need it. Wherever else we have to be over the next few years, here is where our roots will always be grounded. Yours and mine, Alice.
