Land Girls: The Promise: A moving and heartwarming wartime saga

“And we need to talk about you and your attitude.”

“I haven’t got an attitude,” Iris replied.

“You’re a girl who wakes late every morning and whose mind isn’t on the job. That’s attitude, in my book.” And Esther was gone. Her technique in these situations was to let the other person think about her words for most of the day. She was always letting people stew. Iris sighed, searching the pile for a pair of trousers that weren’t too muddy. Her head was throbbing and her throat felt dry. She cursed herself for drinking. She guessed that Esther was right. She had been late most mornings. But she couldn’t help it.

By lunchtime, her throbbing headache had blossomed into a bloom of pain in her temples and Iris was grateful to be asked to clear some fallen branches in the East Field, a location remote enough from the farmhouse to allow her a few minutes’ breather. She picked up some sticks and started to assemble a pile that could be used as firewood. Some of the larger branches had to be stripped of leaves before they could be used. Iris used a small knife to cut them away. Finally by mid-afternoon, the relaxed pace of her own work and the silence of being alone had eased the pain in her head. Iris felt tired and decided she wouldn’t drink tonight. That had been a mistake. But the drink had helped her get to sleep, shutting out the fears racing around her brain. She wouldn’t drink again. But, of course, it was easy to keep such a promise in a sunny field in the afternoon. It was far more difficult to stick to promises at night, when every creak on the stairs or every shifting shadow could terrify her.

I will come for you, Iris. Mark my words.

And her nightmares and imagination were becoming more vivid and disturbing. Iris wished that she could stop thinking about him. But her mind just wouldn’t stop. Each time she looked in the bathroom mirror, she would scare herself by imagining Vernon’s face in the reflection. Iris tried to put the thoughts out of her mind. She continued her work, keen to fill her thoughts with the business of firewood collection and leaf stripping. Keep your mind on the things you can control. But things had been slowly getting out of control. The nightmares were causing problems. Cracks were starting to show. Maybe a little drink to control things wasn’t such a bad idea …

Suddenly she heard a twig crack.

“Hello?” Iris shouted, fear taking hold of her. Had she seen a man walk behind a tree? Get a grip, Iris. She bent down and picked up a solid length of branch, brandishing it like a club. She edged towards where she thought she had seen a man hiding.

It must be a trick of the light. An overactive imagination, that’s all. There wouldn’t be anyone there, not this far out.

Could there?

Feeling the thump-thump of her heart in her chest, Iris reached the tree. She was just about to rush behind it when a man’s hands thrust out at her. Iris cracked the tree branch across his knuckles.

“Youch!” Private First Class Joe Batch shouted.

Iris dropped the stick and rushed to help him. His fingers were red, but the skin was unbroken.

“So sorry!”

“What the hell are you -?”

“I might ask you the same thing!” Iris stormed, anger coming to the fore. “Why were you creeping up on me?”

“I was trying to surprise you,” Joe admitted.

“I think I surprised you more.” Iris smiled kindly, her fury subsiding. “Come over to the farmhouse and I’ll get Esther to look at your fingers.”

“They’re okay, no real damage.” Joe grinned. “This is all part of getting to know you. For instance, I know you ain’t the type of girl who likes surprises. Logged and recorded.”

“I don’t mind surprises. Just don’t like strange men creeping up on me.”

“Strange?”

“You know what I mean.”

Joe nodded, as if conceding it was a fair enough point. Then, seeing the Land Girls in the distance and knowing that Iris might have to get back to work, he decided that he’d better get to the matter in hand, the reason for his visit.

“I came to see if you fancied coming to the pictures on Friday night?”

“What’s on?”

“Does it matter?” Joe said, amused.

“Yes,” Iris said, confused. She felt out of her depth. Her experience of men could be written on a very small piece of card. Was this part of flirting? She had no real idea, but she decided that she kind of enjoyed it. It was fun when she’d referred to him as strange and she guessed that was flirting, wasn’t it? “I mean, we should know what we’re going to see.”

“It’s a Gary Cooper. Does that win your approval?”

“Possibly,” Iris said, thinking fast as to what Connie might say in this situation. She decided a joke was in order. “Depends if there’s a supporting feature.”

“Newsreels?”

Iris pondered this with mock severity before agreeing, “Sold. It’s a deal.”

“It’s a date.” Joe Batch smiled and started to head off across the fields. Iris watched him go, proud that she had a date to look forward to, and proud that she had managed to flirt with him without becoming tongue-tied. Being around Connie must be rubbing off on her. It was reassuring that Joe was interested in her after all. Something to take her mind off Vernon, at least.

Later, as the rest of the girls stopped for a breather and mug of tea, Iris wandered away, not in the mood to talk. She looked at the folded-up letter that she had started to write with Frank. She felt joy in her heart that day for the image of her mother reading it. Iris sat by a tree, the sun dappling her face through the canopy of leaves. She was dimly aware of the chatter of the other girls by the tractor. They were discussing a trip to the flicks. It seemed that Joyce was keen to see the new Gary Cooper too. Dolores had more mundane concerns and was wondering why her tea tasted funny. Their voices became a low buzz of reassuring noise in Iris’s ears, the warmth of the sun feeling good against her face. She felt herself relaxing, her eyes drooping shut. She didn’t fight it. It would only be a little doze for a few minutes …

Except it wasn’t.

“Iris!” Connie shouted, “Wake up!”

Iris awoke with a start to see an angry-looking Connie looming over her. “It’s nearly supper time.”

Iris realised that the sky was a darker blue than it had been before. How long had she been asleep? Connie was already marching away, back towards the farmhouse, in no mood for a discussion. “I’ve got to meet Henry tonight. Got better things to do than search for you.”

And Connie shouted back to an unseen group as loudly as she could. “Found her!”

With growing unease, Iris realised that other figures were dotted around the edges of the East Field. Joyce, Dolores and a thunder-faced Esther, who was making a beeline across to her. The last vestiges of sleepiness fell instantly away. Oh God.

“We need to talk, young lady. No excuses. We need to find out what’s going on!”

As night descended, Esther, Frank and Joyce sat around the kitchen table. A subdued Iris sat at the end of the table, her throbbing headache having returned with a vengeance. She nursed a small glass of water as the stern faces around her tried to work out what to do. Esther had sent Martin off to find Finch, as everyone thought he should be here for this meeting. This examination. Iris knew that Finch would be annoyed to be pulled away from his afternoon date. This wasn’t going to end well for her.

“You’re our friend, Iris. Tell us what’s on your mind?” Joyce implored.

“I don’t know,” Iris mumbled. Esther rolled her eyes. She wasn’t in the mood for vague answers, or winkling the truth out of people. She wanted something concrete that she could work with. If it was a problem with being bullied or a problem caused by overwork, then Esther could sort that out and help fix it. But she needed something tangible to go on. Evasive answers were no use at all.

Esther pulled something from under the table and placed it for all to see. It was Billy Finch’s bottle of carrot whisky.

“You’ve been drinking in your room!” Esther thundered.

“It’s not mine.”

“That’s as maybe. But look -”

And Esther turned the bottle around. On the side was a black line near the neck of the bottle. The level of the orange liquid was a long way below it. “Billy marked this, so I know it’s gone down since you’ve been in that room.”

Iris slumped.

“Tell them what’s troubling you, Iris,” Frank said. He nodded his head and gave a half-smile by way of encouragement. He knew what it was, but he wanted Iris to tell it in her own words. To tell the others. “Tell them why you needed a drink. A problem shared and all that.”

“Well?” Esther asked.

Iris took a deep breath. “I think Vernon’s coming back for me.”

She felt the mix of reactions in the room. Esther’s slight snort that betrayed disbelief, Joyce’s concerned face and Frank’s impassive reaction. He’d heard Iris voice these worries before, during their writing lessons in the shed. Iris went on to say she felt ridiculous. She knew he was gone but it was just that each time she was alone, she’d think about him. And his final words.

“I’ll come back for you, Iris.”

It was like a dark promise. And no matter how she tried to rationalise it, she couldn’t make it fade from her mind. He promised to come back and it terrified her.

“He’s not coming back. That’s the end of it. Now pull yourself together,” Esther said. “You’ve got to get a grip on your thoughts and stop them running away with you, young lady!”

“But what if he does come back?” Iris replied. She could feel rawness at the back of her throat. She was ready to cry. Why did she think they would understand when she knew herself it sounded ridiculous? “Part of me wants to do something and find him first, but I know I can’t do that. And I know I’m being stupid, but I just can’t stop it.” And then the tears came, as if vocalising her fears had broken down any last control over her thoughts. The sobbing was loud, wretched. A shocked Joyce put a comforting hand on her friend’s wrist, but still the tears came.

Esther turned to Frank and Joyce. “I’ll see the doctor and find out if he can give her something to calm her down.”

“I just need …” But Iris trailed off. That was the problem. What did she need? The problem wouldn’t be fixed by having a stronger lock on her bedroom door. It was something inside her head. The last words of a murderer. The promise. She knew the nightmares would continue, even though she desperately wanted them to end.

Eyes blurred with tears, Iris scraped her chair back on the tiled floor and went to her room. Ignoring Esther’s calls to come back. Iris slammed the door behind her and felt torn that she wasn’t allowed to lock it tonight. She slumped on the bed. And then she found her reddened eyes drawn towards the wardrobe. Logic told her that she shouldn’t drink tonight. But she felt so wretched and desperate. And then she remembered that Esther had the bottle. Iris thought for a moment, and then, knowing that Finch kept more of his whisky under the stairs, Iris crept back down. She could hear the voices talking softly with concern beyond in the kitchen. Stealthily, she opened the cupboard under the stairs, reached in and took a full bottle of whisky. She scurried back to her room, closed the door and then opened the bottle, ready for its reassurance of numbing oblivion.

Finch placed his pint glass down, its sides etched with thin, cloud formations of beer foam. He was aware that he was drinking faster than his companion. Evelyn Gray had barely finished a quarter of her small glass of cider. Finch resolved to slow down. The problem was that his nerves meant he needed something to do with his hands, and that meant lifting the glass up and down to his lips and before he knew it, it was gone! Glancing around the room of the snug bar in the Bottle and Glass, he suddenly envied the men smoking cigarettes. They always had something to do with their hands, the performance of rolling a cigarette, lighting it, smoking it. Finch wished that he could smoke. But the truth was he had never got on with it, finding that the smallest puff would reduce him to a hacking, retching wreck. And that wasn’t the ideal look he wanted to achieve on a night like this. An evening with his new lady friend, Evelyn.

Evelyn Gray was glamorous, but not in an over-the-top way. She was well turned-out in the latest fashions, but she wore them with a dignity that befitted a lady in her early fifties. Thick, naturally blonde hair was pinned into curls on her head, and her blue eyes stared at Finch with warmth and a hint of intriguing mystery. Finch wished he knew what women thought about. He knew he was thinking about whether to have another pint of beer: simple, straightforward thoughts for a simple man. But he guessed that a woman like Evelyn was thinking deeper thoughts than that. She was probably going over Churchill’s latest address to the nation or thinking about the logistics of rationing.

“Would you like another drink, Evelyn?” Finch stammered.

“I’ve still got this one, Fred.” She giggled.

Finch giggled too. He felt suddenly foolish, suddenly aware of his awkwardness and clumsy nature. His collar suddenly felt very warm and tight around his neck. The truth was, he felt out of his depth with this attractive, clever woman. Finch searched his brain for something to talk about. Something clever. Something that would impress her. Maybe he could tell her about the growing patterns of the turnip? He frowned inwardly at his own brain trying to make him look stupid. He was doing badly without further self-sabotage. But thankfully, Evelyn was quite capable of offering a conversational topic of her own.

“So tell me more about Pasture Farm. How long have you been there?”

“Came there after the war,” Finch said, before needlessly correcting himself. “The last one, not this one.”

“Of course.” Evelyn smiled.

Finch was grateful that he could make her laugh. He continued his story, feeling suddenly wistful for those lost days. “After it was all over, I was looking for work. Ended up at the farm working as a labourer. The farmer in charge, a chap called Godfrey, taught me everything I know and most of what I’ve forgotten. When he died, Lady Hoxley asked if I wanted to try running the place on my own. And that’s where I’ve been ever since. I’ve seen some times there, at Pasture Farm. Got married there. Saw my son being born there. My wife passing away. Watched my son go off to a war of his own. We had a big going-away party for that …”

Finch’s mind drifted off, as memories filled his head. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he gasped when he felt Evelyn place a comforting hand on his across the table.

“It’s good to remember the past, Fred,” she said, kindly. “Don’t ever forget the past.”

“Yeah. I’ve got a grandson too, you know.”

“You don’t look old enough!” Evelyn smiled. Finch grinned, realising she was joking.

“Get away with you!”

They sipped their drinks at the same time. Finch was pleased that he had slowed down. But he was still thinking about his next one. Evelyn continued the conversation, “What is it like having all those Land Girls around the place?”

“It means I can be a bit more, erm, like a manager.” He smiled. “It’s really good because I don’t have to get my hands dirty as much, with all of them doing it all. Truth is, I haven’t planted a potato since this war started!”

They giggled together. “No, they’re a good bunch of girls,” Finch said.

“And there are two farms on the Hoxley estate, aren’t there?” Evelyn sipped at her cider.

“Pasture Farm and Shallow Brook Farm,” Finch confirmed. “My one is the better farm, if I do say so myself. Shallow Brook was run by the Storeys. Have you heard of Vernon Storey?”

Evelyn shook her head. She lived on the outskirts of Brinford, so there was no reason why she would know many people in Helmstead.

“Nasty piece of work.” Finch scrunched his face as if he’d sucked on a lemon. “Wanted for murder, you know?”

“Oh gosh,” Evelyn said. “What happened? Was it one of the Land Girls?”

Finch leaned in close to tell her. “No, his own son.”

Evelyn wanted to know more, but Finch didn’t want to spoil their evening with the whole sorry tale of Frank Tucker and Walter Storey, and how Iris had discovered the truth about Walter’s murder. It would put a bit of a dampener on things. No, he wanted to make Evelyn laugh again. He liked it when she laughed because her eyes twinkled and she’d arch her head back. Suddenly Finch wondered if he was falling for Evelyn Gray.

“So I’ve taken over the other farm. Surprised meself, because I can barely manage one place let alone two!”

It had the desired effect. Evelyn’s face broke into an amused grin and she arched her head slightly.

“Got some help, though. Martin, the warden’s son, and John Fisher - he’s married to one of my girls - are sorting the place out for me.”

“Sounds like you’re busy?” Evelyn smiled warmly.

“Which is exactly why I need relaxing nights out like this!” Finch got up. “I’ll get us another round, shall I?”

“All right. But that will be enough for me.”

“Me too,” Finch said. As he carried the glasses to the bar, he glanced back to where Evelyn was checking her face in a powder compact. He had known her two weeks and they were getting on famously. Finch hadn’t noticed her at the dance. As far as he was concerned, he’d clocked eyes on her for the first time at one of Lady Hoxley’s agricultural shows. Finch had been showing his prize pig, Chamberlain, and was trying to get the pig into a gated enclosure. Evelyn and a group of women had been watching and Finch felt the weight of expectation upon him as he’d tried to manhandle the heavy animal.

“Come on, you blighter!”

But Chamberlain had turned quickly, taking Finch off balance, and the stout farmer had fallen face first into the mud. While some of the women couldn’t help but laugh, Evelyn looked concerned and ran to his aid.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“No. Only me pride,” Finch replied.

“Let me help you.” And Finch had been surprised to see Evelyn outstretch her arms and try to corner Chamberlain in a bid to edge him closer to the paddock. She was gamely trying her best, but Chamberlain easily side-stepped her. Soon, Finch and Evelyn were working together in a pincer movement to cut off the pig’s escape route. Finally, after several failed attempts and some swearing from Finch, they managed to get Chamberlain into the pen. Finch slid the bolt across with a triumphant smile and mopped his brow with the back of his hand.

“Thanks for your help, Mrs -?” Finch outstretched his hand to shake hers, but she scrunched up her nose instead. Finch looked down and realised his hand was covered in mud. “I’ll wash it first.”

“Then I’ll shake it.” Evelyn laughed.

And since then, they had seen each other three times. Two pub outings, including this one, and a trip to an entertainment show at the village hall. Finch was very happy with his new friend. Evelyn was happy too.

As Finch brought the drinks back to the table, he was surprised to see that a visitor had arrived by Evelyn’s side. It was Martin Reeves, out of breath having run all the way from Pasture Farm.

“Mr Finch!” he gasped. “You have to come back. It’s Iris!”

“What is it?”

“Mum is worried about her. She’s gone to her room.”

“Well, can’t it wait?”

Martin shrugged. He wasn’t sure. “She just told me to get you. She’s worried that Iris has been drinking.”

“You want me to come back just so I can discipline Iris?”

“Mum said it was important. Sorry.”

Finch nodded, sighed and started to get his coat and hat. He said a hurried goodbye to the understanding Evelyn and made his way out of the pub to follow Martin back to the farmhouse.

When they got there, Finch placed his Homberg hat on the coat stand and started to take off his overcoat, with help from Martin. Finch’s face was etched with concern as he glanced at Esther, thoughts of his romantic evening fading from his mind.

“How is Iris?” Finch asked.

“Asleep, I think,” Esther replied. “Sorry to interrupt your night.”

“No, this is more important.” But Esther could see the hint of disappointment on Finch’s face. She knew he’d been looking forward to it for some time. She couldn’t help but notice that the shirt she had ironed was now looking creased and dirty, but she didn’t say anything. As Martin made a cup of tea for everyone, Esther and Joyce told Finch what had been happening. They all agreed on what was the root of the problem. Iris was obsessed with the thought of Vernon coming back for her. She was imagining that she could see him and hear him, and she would have regular nightmares about him coming to kill her. And this was causing her to mess up at work, her mind too distracted to focus on the job in hand. They all wanted to sort this out.

“She’s a bright girl, but she’s obsessed about this. And nothing we can say seems to stop her thinking about it,” Frank said.

“How about if we get Dr Channing up at Hoxley Manor to take a look at her?” Esther suggested. “If there is something wrong in Iris’s mind, he might be able to treat it.”

“She just needs a distraction. Something to take her mind off it,” Joyce said.

“We’ve got to sort her out because she’s pretty much good for nothing on the farm,” Esther snapped.

“Yeah, we’re all agreed we’ve got to do something. But what?” Finch said.

“I think we should vote on it,” Esther announced. Joyce looked uncertain. She didn’t like the thought of voting, somewhat arbitrarily, on someone else’s future.

“All right.” Frank nodded. “All those in favour of taking her mind off things?”

Joyce put her hand up. She was the only one. She put it down again, despondently. “So much for that, then.”

“All those in favour of getting her seen by Dr Channing?” Esther said, raising her own hand.

Joyce shrugged and reluctantly stuck her hand in the air. It was probably the best thing. Channing might be able to cure the root of the problem, whereas something like going to a dance would only be a temporary sticking plaster. Frank added his own hand to the vote.

“Fred?” Esther said, turning to Finch.

“All right, then,” he replied, adding himself to the vote. “Here, this is like one of those Women’s Institute meetings, isn’t it? All voting on what to do. Except we’re not making loads of jam.”

“I’ll have you know we don’t just make jam. Bloody cheek. Anyway, this is the closest you’re going to get to one of those meetings.” Esther smiled. “Motion carried. I’ll talk to the doctor in the morning.”

But as she and the others debated what to do, they didn’t realise that Iris was sitting at the top of the stairs formulating her own plan of action. Her head felt pleasantly fuzzy from a few numbing slugs of carrot whisky and she had decided what to do. Holding the bottle in her hand, she felt her head swaying and her cheeks flushing. Suddenly it all seemed clear. The answer. And she had to do something fast as she didn’t want to be seen by Dr Channing.

She decided she would go back to the place where Vernon Storey had made his promise.

I’ll come back for you.

Tomorrow, she would return to Shallow Brook Farm and confront her demons head on.

Chapter 4

As the first rays of daylight started to beat away the shadows in the kitchen of Pasture Farm, Iris laced up her boots. She finished buttering a slice of bread and carefully lifted the latch on the door. It was four in the morning; perhaps an hour before Esther and the others would be awake. Iris thought she had time to walk the mile and a half to the neighbouring Shallow Brook Farm and get back before she was due to start work. She sneaked out the door, closing it behind her, the bread lodged in her mouth as if she was a bird about to feed its young. Then she set off down the path, crossing through the yard and finding herself on the single track that connected the two farms. The air was cold, not yet warmed by the rising sun, and Iris found herself gasping occasionally as she struggled to walk fast and finish the food in her mouth.