Tilly and Caroline, who’d been sharing a room since Joanleft to save on heating, reminded Grace where the washroom was, made sure the new girl had clean towels and matches to relight her candle if need be, and said goodnight.
‘I never thought Joe would manage to recruit another Land Girl. Not all the way out here,’ Caroline whispered through the dark as they huddled under the blankets, trying to get warm. ‘And Grace is very unusual.’ She could feel her heart thump loudly in the quiet, as though she’d been running. Too much sloe wine, she thought. ‘Did you like her, by the way? What do you think of her?’
‘I think she’s smashing,’ Tilly whispered back. ‘You?’
Caroline, who for some time had been listening to the new girl tiptoeing cautiously about the attic room next door, no doubt hunting for slippers and nightclothes in an unfamiliar space, finally caught the creak of the mattress as she too got into bed.
‘Smashing,’ she agreed with a sigh, and turned over to face the wall. ‘Absolutely first-rate.’
Next day, the three Land Girls marched out into the cobbled farmyard where Joe was harnessing Barney, the shire horse, ready for turning the soil in one of the top fields.
Grace shocked them on first rising, emerging with her vast halo of hair puffed. She had now ruthlessly tied back her locks and jammed her beret down on top. Her uniform wasn’t new, as she had previously worked as a Land Girl in Devon, as she’d told them at dinner last night. But the breeches and jersey were both clean and neatly ironed, and the only tear had been meticulously repaired.
Caroline thought she looked very smart indeed in her standard Land Army uniform of mustard breeches teamedwith a green jersey, even the bulky taupe jacket suiting her height.
‘Not exactly warm today, is it?’ Grace remarked, peering up into partly cloudy skies, a faint sunshine filtering through occasionally. ‘I was told you don’t get snow in Cornwall. I hope that wasn’t a daydream.’
Caroline laughed. ‘Oh, we’ve had snow here in the winter. But it doesn’t tend to stick, not this close to the sea. At least, that’s what Joe says.’ She saw the farmer straighten from his work, frowning at the sound of his Christian name, and blushed. ‘Mr Postbridge, I mean.’ Joe was quite relaxed about most things, but he preferred the Land Girls to refer to him as Mr Postbridge. Though she recalled it had beenMrsPostbridge, not the farmer, who’d instigated that rule after she and Joe had got married. But no doubt she’d wanted to put as much distance as possible between her new husband and his young Land Girls. ‘Grace was just wondering whether it snows in Cornwall.’
Joe cracked a rare smile. ‘Not often enough to worry about.’ He banged his gloved hands together. ‘Still, it’s chilly today, I’ll grant you that. So you’d best get ploughing on the double. That’ll keep you warm.’
Grace had made a beeline for the horse and was stroking his soft, downy muzzle. She beamed when he nudged into her palm, snuffling noisily. ‘I love horses. So huge and yet so gentle.’
‘He’s just hoping you’ve brought him an apple or a bit o’ carrot,’ Joe told her with a wink and turned to shut the gate into Barney’s enclosure. ‘Never stops eating, that one.’
Tilly, buttoning up her jacket, muttered, ‘Gentle? Don’t stand behind him, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘Oh, Barney doesn’t kick. He’s a sweetheart.’ With an expert hand, Caroline slipped the halter over his head and checked it was secure, and caught Grace watching her with interest.
‘Do you ride?’ Grace asked promptly.
‘I used to ride,’ Caroline admitted shyly, ‘when I was much younger. My granddad had a pony on a bit of land behind his house in Ealing. But then he died and the pony was sold. It’s all built up around there now.’ She paused, a wave of sadness crashing over her. ‘Goodness, I’ve not thought about Grandad in years. I expect his house was bombed to smithereens in the Blitz. It’ll be all rubble down that street now.’
Nobody said anything for a moment, then Joe passed the lead rope to Caroline, instructing her gruffly to walk Barney up to the top field. ‘Plough’s already up there, harness too, and the guideposts are in place, to show you where to start and finish. Caroline, you’re the most experienced, so I’m putting you in charge. You remember how to harness him up and couple the plough to the harness?’
‘Yes, Mr Postbridge,’ Caroline assured him.
‘I’ll be working on the tractor if you need me. Oh, and my wife would like a word when you get back. She’s looking for volunteers for a sing-song at the Harvest Supper.’
Tilly and Caroline looked at each other, silent and aghast.
‘I can sing,’ Grace announced, surprising them all.
‘Thank you, Grace. I’ll let Mrs Postbridge know when I see her.’ Pushing up the brim of his cloth cap, the farmer peered at them from under dark bushy brows. ‘Straight lines this time, ladies. No more of your wonky ones.’
Caroline and Tilly laughed nervously. Last time they’d been left to plough a field on their own, the lines had indeed ended up crooked, and Joe had nearly burst a gasket.
‘I’ll keep these girls on the straight and narrow, never you fear,’ Grace told him airily in her distinctive Liverpudlian accent, and linked arms with Tilly. ‘Eh, can you whistle? Do you know this one?’
They trudged up the narrow track that led to the top field, Tilly and Grace whistling an old sea shanty very imperfectly.
Once Joe had disappeared back into the barn, Caroline slowed her pace. She always enjoying walking with the horse through green, rolling countryside, even uphill. Although it was nippy, she’d stuffed her beret in one of her pockets, and a light breeze was lifting her blonde hair as they grew closer to the cliffs.
It was at times like these that she remembered why she’d chosen to join the Women’s Land Army in the first place. For all the fresh air and sense of freedom that came from being in the open countryside. It was so different from the town life she’d led in Ealing. And although she missed her family from time to time, she didn’t regret coming to Cornwall, so far from London. Not one little bit.
‘Now, girls, isn’t this just the life?’ Grace declared, throwing Caroline a smile over her shoulder as though she had read her mind. ‘Look at the view … Aren’t we the luckiest creatures alive?’
‘Oh yes,’ Tilly agreed sarcastically. ‘But what a pity you missed the harvest a few weeks back. We had a wonderful time, to be sure. My hands are still sore from hours of bundling wheat into stacks. Then all that dust from the great noisy threshing machines kept getting under my eyelids, and Mrs Newton had to give me an eye bath, and it stung like billy-o. Oh, and we had to tie string around the bottoms of our trouser legs, to stop rats and mice climbing up them.’She gave a melodramatic shudder. ‘Yes, sometimes I’mso gladto be a Land Girl.’
