Wave Me Goodbye. Ruby Jackson

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СКАЧАТЬ not a child any more.’

      ‘No, you’re a young woman who’s catching a cold. Just as well it’s a lecture. You can warm up and put more clothes on before the sheep this afternoon. Come on.’

      They hurried to the main building where, they were later told, a fascinating lecture on arable farming was in progress but, instead of being allowed to go in, they were yelled at for daring to enter wearing such filthy Wellingtons. ‘No one ever teach you to wash off mud before you enter a building?’

      ‘We did,’ began Grace, but she was given no chance to explain that the new mud had been acquired on their way to the classroom.

      ‘Never make excuses, and keep your eyes open for pumps. Now get out and get clean.’

      They backed out as quickly and as gracefully as they could, washed off the mud and went back in.

      Betty Goode was waiting for them, her round rosy face tense with anxiety. ‘You missed the first half of the lecture but I’ll share my notes. It was an absolute hoot. Did you get breakfast?’

      ‘Yes, thank you, Betty,’ said Grace, just as Olive sneezed loudly.

      The two other girls looked at each other anxiously, over Betty’s head, and Grace made a swift decision, based on her ever-present memories of neglect. It was not just that Olive was sneezing but the girl was shivering and the entrance hall was quite warm.

      ‘I’m taking her back to Miss Ryland. If they call my name, tell them I’ll come as soon as I can.’

      Olive protested feebly.

      ‘Come on, the rest of the day in bed with a hot-water bottle and you’ll shake it.’ She smiled. I’m doing for someone else what Rose and Daisy and Sally and their families have always done for me.

      It was a lovely feeling, until she remembered that she had not contacted her friends. They’re not Megan; they’ll forgive me because they care about me.

      She shepherded Olive back to the hostel, where she found Miss Ryland in her office. The manager looked up from the papers she had been reading and was visibly startled by the sight of two bedraggled land girls.

      ‘Why aren’t you two in class?’ Her usually calm and friendly voice was now quite icy in tone.

      Olive sneezed loudly several times in quick succession; almost drowning out Grace’s explanation. ‘Olive’s unwell, Miss Ryland. She’s been sneezing and sniffling all morning and so I thought it was better to bring her back and to put her to bed for the afternoon.’

      Miss Ryland’s well-defined and savagely plucked eyebrows seemed to rise up into her hairline. She got to her feet and stood surveying first the room and then the girls. Olive hung her head. But Grace, although as frightened as she had been as a child when confronted by her older sister, stood her ground.

      ‘And who, Miss Paterson, gave you the authority to decide who does or does not take an afternoon off?’

      ‘She’s not taking an afternoon off. I think she’s really sick.’

      ‘You’re a doctor. Silly me. I thought you were a land girl. You do know that there’s a war on and taking time off, without permission…? Or did you ask the lecturer for a pass?’

      Olive began to cry. She was shaking. ‘Please, it’s all my fault, not Grace’s. I didn’t wear my liberty bodice.’

      There was a stunned silence, eventually broken by Grace. ‘It’s not her fault. She’s too sick to make a sensible decision and I don’t think Mr Churchill would want her to—’

      That was as far as she got.

      Miss Ryland was looking at her as if she could not believe her eyes – or ears. ‘Enough, you insolent girl. How dare you consider yourself capable of deciding what Mr Churchill would or would not want?’ She turned. ‘As for you – Turner, is it? – return to the lecture room immediately.’

      Olive turned and, without a word, ran from the room.

      Grace waited. Long experience had taught her that to attempt an excuse, to say anything, would only make matters worse. Miss Ryland stood, looking down at the telephone on her desk. Was she expecting it to ring or did she mean to make a telephone call, to complain about Grace Paterson?

      ‘Neither of you is dressed for winter conditions,’ she said at last.

      ‘We haven’t got coats yet. I thought I could ask you about them.’

      ‘Need I remind you that everything is in short supply? If there is some material for coats, surely we want it to be given to the manufacturers of coats for our brave soldiers, who do not have a warm comfortable hostel to return to at the end of a working day. Greatcoats were ordered in plenty of time and will be delivered as soon as possible. To win this war we will all have to be disciplined, principled; we will have to make sacrifices for the greater good and, Miss Paterson, we will have to learn to obey the chain of command and not, do you understand me, not presume to think for ourselves.’

      She turned and went to the window. Grace stood, wondering whether she had been dismissed or if she was to wait. She did not wait long.

      ‘Come here, girl.’ Grace joined her at the window. ‘Do you see that building over there?’

      ‘Yes, Miss Ryland.’

      ‘It’s a pigsty. Clean it. I expect it to be a shining example of good animal husbandry by teatime. Now get out.’

      ‘Yes, miss,’ said Grace, and walked out, closing the door very quietly behind her.

      After supper that evening, Betty Goode loaned Grace the notes she had made at the lecture and then she play-acted the lecturer in the hope of cheering Olive, who was lying in bed.

      ‘He was a real hoot, Olive; everything you need to know about farming in one easy lesson. Picture him, not much bigger than me and hands like big hams – do you remember hams in butchers’ windows? He’s got about three hairs stretched across the shiniest head you ever saw and he’s wearing absolutely immaculate dungarees and shoes so shiny you could see your face in them. Don’t think he’s ever been on a farm, but anyway, this is him, fingers stuck in his braces, striding up and down the lecture hall.

      ‘ “Growing crops is simple, ladies. First, plough your field, modern tractor or the magnificent British horse. Next, harrow it. What comes next? Of course, sow the seed. We has machines as do this evenly nowadays or you can scatter – will depend on your farm. Next, weed as crops grow – the damned things will be the bane of your life. After that, you can leave it to Mother Nature. Water, if necessary. And then, the joy of watching golden wheat swaying in a late-summer breeze or superb English peas fattening on the climbing stocks. Lovely. And what do we do last? Yes, harvest and enjoy the fruit of your labour. Now, ladies, could anything be easier than that?” He did not wait for an answer. “No, thought not.” ’

      Grace interrupted the performance. ‘Sorry, but didn’t he say, “It’s bloody awful”?’

      ‘No, he did not, Grace Paterson. Kindly don’t interrupt again.’

      They were pleased to see a smile on Olive’s pale face.

      ‘I’ll СКАЧАТЬ