Land Girls: The Promise: A moving and heartwarming wartime saga. Roland Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ wallflowers. To Joyce’s amusement, Connie was refusing a dance with another hopeful soldier. Sitting near the small, but loud, dance band, Connie would struggle to make herself heard. But a quick flash of her wedding ring, with a smile, usually deflected even the most persistent would-be suitor.

      “Sorry, I’m spoken for.”

      The soldier smiled back and said something that Iris couldn’t hear. She guessed by the shape of the words it was: “That’s a real pity”.

      Like so many others before him that evening, he trudged the walk of shame back to his mates at the makeshift bar, where they perused the room for other prospective dance dates. If she’d felt so inclined, Connie could have marked her dance card with a long list of rejections as she was racking them up so fast. It was plain to see that Connie was breathtakingly beautiful, with long black hair styled into loose waves, unblemished skin and full, red lips. Iris couldn’t blame the men for trying. She liked having Connie as her friend; a worldly young woman who had seen more of life than Iris could ever imagine. Connie was both fun to be with and a friendly source of advice. As Iris’s mother would have said, Connie had an old head on young shoulders. For her part, Iris was far less experienced in dealing with life. She had no experience of men and had come from a sheltered upbringing in Northampton, living with her caring, but slightly distant, mother. So being in the big, wide world, billeted to Pasture Farm, had been a big shock to Iris. It was her first time living away from home; the first time she’d lived with a group of women thrown together from all corners of England, from all walks of life. And it was her first experience of back-breaking farm work.

      Iris had been asked twice to dance, but she had demurely refused, knowing that across the room, Martin Reeves looked as though he was plucking up courage to ask her. She didn’t want to quash his hopes or put him off by dancing with someone else. She liked Martin, but she wished he’d find the courage soon. He had always been slim, but the last few months had seen him bulk out slightly, the effect of constant manual labour on the farm. He’d gone from looking like a boy to a well-proportioned young man, a wave of sandy hair parted casually across his forehead, his brown eyes burning with life. Idly, she wondered if she could will him to ask her, as seeing his hopeful eyes and nervous face was making her feel uncomfortable. Maybe if she thought really hard and imagined him walking over, it would happen! She had tried offering an encouraging smile a few times, but it hadn’t done the trick yet. Also across the room was Frederick Finch, the ebullient, portly, middle-aged tenant farmer who ran Pasture Farm. Looking as if he’d been tipped into his clothes, he was nursing two half-full pint glasses (for some unexplained reason) and talking to another middle-aged man about something that involved a lot of red-faced guffawing. Iris thought the conversation was probably revolving around some scam or dodgy deal. That’s what Finch liked to do. His small victories in war time, as he called them. Finch was a good man at heart and Iris felt warmly towards him. In some ways he was a father-away-from home, someone who would look out for her, someone who would make sure she was all right.

      The band started playing ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’, a song that Iris loathed. She stopped tapping her leg in time; her own small, personal protest.

      She noticed a tall, handsome soldier looking her way. Iris glanced around to her side, in puzzlement. Surely he must be eyeing someone behind her? Maybe he was looking at Connie and not at her? But no, his gaze was definitely fixed on her. And what a gaze it was - steely, intense eyes that somehow conveyed both intelligence and warmth were looking her way. Iris felt her cheeks flushing. He continued to look, flashing a confident smile. He was a tall, rangy young man with straight, straw-coloured hair and piercing green eyes; a catch by anyone’s standards. Joyce noticed and nudged Iris, just in case she was somehow unaware of the young man’s interest.

      “I know,” Iris whispered, feeling uncomfortable from the attention.

      She risked a look up to meet the soldier’s gaze, and to her surprise found that he was a few feet away, walking confidently towards her. Iris felt churned up; a mix of nervousness, excitement and confusion fighting for attention in the pit of her stomach. Her mouth felt very dry all of a sudden and she wondered if she would be able to talk.

      “Hey? I’m Joe.” The soldier smiled, extending his hand to shake hers. “Private First Class Joe Batch.”

      Iris was aware that Connie and Joyce were transfixed by this development and she struggled to shut them out of her peripheral vision and concentrate on Joe.

      “Hello, Joe. I’m Iris. Iris Dawson,” she stammered.

      “Pleased to meet you.”

      “Yes.” Iris felt awkward. She was dimly aware of Martin Reeves looking downcast across the room. Feeling a stab of pain, she noticed as he turned on his heels, pushing past some people and left the hall.

      “Would you like to dance?” Joe Batch smiled, seemingly unaware of her nervousness.

      “No,” Iris replied. “I mean no, thank you. I don’t like this song.”

      Joe laughed. Iris found herself smiling.

      “Dance anyway,” Joyce said under her breath, indicating with her eyes that Iris should just get up.

      Iris nodded. “I suppose I can make an exception.”

      “Glad to hear it,” Joe said, leading her onto the floor. “We can always pretend we’re dancing to something else. What tunes do you like?”

      “Anything.” Iris smiled. “Apart from this.”

      They moved in time to the music, Joe holding her a respectful distance away. He seemed to behave like a gentleman. Not like some of the drunken soldiers in here, who were grabbing at women as if it was the last days of Rome. As they danced, Iris worried that her hands were clammy. She didn’t want clammy hands, but she couldn’t help feeling nervous. She wasn’t used to dancing with men, feeling their proximity to her. Joe smiled at her. It was too noisy to talk, but when the dance had finished, he held her hands and looked at her.

      “Thanks for that. You did pretty good considering you hate the song.”

      “Thanks. You were leading me, doing most of the work.”

      They walked to the bar and, without asking, Joe ordered two jugs of cider. He handed one to Iris and she looked into the cloudy, orange liquid, the smell of apples filling her nostrils. It wasn’t the time to tell Joe Batch that she had never had a drink before, was it? Part of her was desperate to show that she was a grown up and that taking a drink with a gentleman suitor was par for the course. Before she had time to think too much, Joe clinked his glass to hers. She mirrored his actions as he put his glass to his lips and took a big gulp. Iris struggled not to pull a disparaging face when she tasted the liquid herself. It was warm and tasted of apple juice, but there was a kick to it. Joe gulped down his pint in a few seconds. Iris didn’t think she could manage that, so she continued to sip at hers. She knew that was what a lady would do.

      “I have to go. We’re up early tomorrow.”

      “Sure,” Iris said, feeling disappointment. Despite her nerves, she had enjoyed the experience and she was quite keen to dance some more with him.

      “But would it be forward to ask if I could see you sometime?” Joe said.

      Iris hadn’t been expecting that. She felt flustered. “All right,” she said. “I’m stationed at Pasture Farm.”

      “I’ll swing by sometime. If that’s okay?”

      “That’s СКАЧАТЬ