Evacuees, episode 3
Created | Updated Aug 16, 2008
The first 2 episodes of this tale can be viewed at A39606311.
Acting on advice recieved there, I am now posting each episode as a separate entry.
After Bill, the farmer/landlord, had taken the bullocks to market the grass had been left to grow in the 5 small meadows that surrounded the cottage. Ivy and her mother found themselves missing the daily visits made by Bill, their landlord, to check on his cattle. He was a scruffy individual with little to say beyond a greeting and a comment about the weather. Often the only way they’d know he was about was from the acrid smell of the shag tobacco he smoked in home rolled cigarettes, frequently made using a piece of newspaper or paper bag.
With no cattle to eat it the grass soon grew long and Ivy marvelled at the variety of grasses and wild flowers that grew in the meadows. Soon a pink haze overlaid the green as the grasses flowered. There were splashes of yellow buttercups and bright pink blobs of clover as well as many plants she did not recognise.
About a week after Frank’s visit Bill arrived with a tractor and cut the grass. The same day Harry Pritchard, who farmed the land on the other side of the lane, cut his grass using a horse drawn machine. It was Harry’s wife who had given Ivy 6 fluffy yellow chicks soon after their arrival. These were growing fast and would soon keep the family supplied with eggs.
The Pritchards owned most of the land in the vicinity. As well as their home farm, The Clothiers, there was Green Court farmed by a tenant. Green Court land adjoined the small holding owned by Bill Price which included The Gate. Next to Green Court were 3 cottages, two of them occupied by Harry Pritchard’s sisters, the other by a family of evacuees from Manchester.
The night after the grass was cut Ivy lay in bed savouring its sweet smell and listening to the last song of the blackbird, the soft rustle of the wind in the trees and the rush of water over the two waterfalls at the back of the house. These gentle assaults on her senses were so different from the stench of burning and the concussion of exploding bombs that were her daily experience less than a year ago.
She wondered what sights and sounds Frank was experiencing at that moment. The smell of petrol and the crack of exploding ack-ack shells she supposed. Would he hear the sounds of explosions or did the roar of the bomber’s engines drown out all other sounds? In which case the ack-ack would be felt rather than heard as the aircraft bucked and bounced. She gave up the attempt to imagine the unimaginable.
~~#~~
On Ivy’s 25th birthday, about a week after the grass was cut, Bill and his older son Leslie arrived carrying two-pronged forks they called pikes with which they tossed the grass to open it out for further drying.
“Sonny is sleeping now and should be alright for at least an hour,” Ivy said to her mother. “Will you keep an eye on him for me?”
“Why? Where are you going?” Her mother knew that Ivy was missing the company of her friends and work colleagues. Whilst it was certainly good to have left the horrors of London so far behind them, the countryside could be lonely. The only entertainment was in Hereford, a 3 mile walk and 45 minute bus ride away. And anyway the last bus left too soon, long before the film ended were she to have gone to the cinema for example. The only film shows that people from the village could see and get home afterwards were the Wednesday and Saturday Matinees.
“I’m just going to see what they are doing and to see if I can help.”
“Les, give the missus that pike with the short ‘andle. Let’s see how she do get on.” The men were amused by the possibility of this city girl working the land. Of course, there were women who did just that. Land Girls they were called, drafted in by the government to help on the big farms near town. Bill had his doubts about the notion. In the country every member of the family was drafted in to work at busy times - harvest and such - and country women knew what to do in most situations. But city folks? It seemed to Bill that either men or women who normally lived and worked in city factories and offices would most likely just get under foot. Although he had been impressed by the way she had got stuck into working the garden, he would enjoy seeing how this pretty red-headed city girl coped with heavy labour in the fields.
They worked their way along the rows of cut grass, turning it over to expose the green underside and tossing it to loosen the tightly packed blades of grass.
“What happens next?” she wanted to know.
“If it do stay fine we’ll be over in a day or two to cock it,” Bill answered.
Ivy suppressed a giggle. Is he pulling my leg, she wondered. Keeping a straight face she responded turning Bill’s words into a question: “Cock it?”
“Aye,” came the reply. “We collect it into piles – cocks we do call ‘em – ready for the horse and cart to carry to the barn.”
“The barn” was a relatively recent steel structure with a curved corrugated roof of red painted galvanised steel that stood beyond the stone built cow sheds whose gable end faced the front of the cottage across a cobbled yard. Roofed to protect its contents from rain, the building’s sides were left open to ensure ventilation and prevent overheating of the hay crop.
“You can help with that an’ all if you like.” Lesley had said nothing up to this point. Ivy supposed the youth was shy. But there was a knowing insolence about his remark which she chose to ignore.
“I will, thank you,” she said. “Now, can I get you a cup of tea? Mum’s probably got the kettle on by now.”
“Don’t mind if we do, eh, Lesley? Just give us 5 minutes to finish off here.”
In bed that night the memory of the repeated tossing action kept coming back to her. That was the natural response of the nerves and muscles in her arms. She’d often had a similar experience after intense physical activity. More disturbing was her response to the company of the two men. The smell of the men’s sweat and the sexual tension in the air had excited her in a way that she had found both shocking and exhilarating. She thought of Frank’s visit barely a week ago. They’d made love, of course, but there was something about Frank’s approach that was different from past occasions. It was more than the usual strangeness following a long separation. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. And she didn’t think he was reliving some sortie. She refused to admit it to herself but deep within her a voice insisted that Frank had another woman on his mind.
Acting on advice recieved there, I am now posting each episode as a separate entry.
After Bill, the farmer/landlord, had taken the bullocks to market the grass had been left to grow in the 5 small meadows that surrounded the cottage. Ivy and her mother found themselves missing the daily visits made by Bill, their landlord, to check on his cattle. He was a scruffy individual with little to say beyond a greeting and a comment about the weather. Often the only way they’d know he was about was from the acrid smell of the shag tobacco he smoked in home rolled cigarettes, frequently made using a piece of newspaper or paper bag.
With no cattle to eat it the grass soon grew long and Ivy marvelled at the variety of grasses and wild flowers that grew in the meadows. Soon a pink haze overlaid the green as the grasses flowered. There were splashes of yellow buttercups and bright pink blobs of clover as well as many plants she did not recognise.
About a week after Frank’s visit Bill arrived with a tractor and cut the grass. The same day Harry Pritchard, who farmed the land on the other side of the lane, cut his grass using a horse drawn machine. It was Harry’s wife who had given Ivy 6 fluffy yellow chicks soon after their arrival. These were growing fast and would soon keep the family supplied with eggs.
The Pritchards owned most of the land in the vicinity. As well as their home farm, The Clothiers, there was Green Court farmed by a tenant. Green Court land adjoined the small holding owned by Bill Price which included The Gate. Next to Green Court were 3 cottages, two of them occupied by Harry Pritchard’s sisters, the other by a family of evacuees from Manchester.
The night after the grass was cut Ivy lay in bed savouring its sweet smell and listening to the last song of the blackbird, the soft rustle of the wind in the trees and the rush of water over the two waterfalls at the back of the house. These gentle assaults on her senses were so different from the stench of burning and the concussion of exploding bombs that were her daily experience less than a year ago.
She wondered what sights and sounds Frank was experiencing at that moment. The smell of petrol and the crack of exploding ack-ack shells she supposed. Would he hear the sounds of explosions or did the roar of the bomber’s engines drown out all other sounds? In which case the ack-ack would be felt rather than heard as the aircraft bucked and bounced. She gave up the attempt to imagine the unimaginable.
~~#~~
On Ivy’s 25th birthday, about a week after the grass was cut, Bill and his older son Leslie arrived carrying two-pronged forks they called pikes with which they tossed the grass to open it out for further drying.
“Sonny is sleeping now and should be alright for at least an hour,” Ivy said to her mother. “Will you keep an eye on him for me?”
“Why? Where are you going?” Her mother knew that Ivy was missing the company of her friends and work colleagues. Whilst it was certainly good to have left the horrors of London so far behind them, the countryside could be lonely. The only entertainment was in Hereford, a 3 mile walk and 45 minute bus ride away. And anyway the last bus left too soon, long before the film ended were she to have gone to the cinema for example. The only film shows that people from the village could see and get home afterwards were the Wednesday and Saturday Matinees.
“I’m just going to see what they are doing and to see if I can help.”
“Les, give the missus that pike with the short ‘andle. Let’s see how she do get on.” The men were amused by the possibility of this city girl working the land. Of course, there were women who did just that. Land Girls they were called, drafted in by the government to help on the big farms near town. Bill had his doubts about the notion. In the country every member of the family was drafted in to work at busy times - harvest and such - and country women knew what to do in most situations. But city folks? It seemed to Bill that either men or women who normally lived and worked in city factories and offices would most likely just get under foot. Although he had been impressed by the way she had got stuck into working the garden, he would enjoy seeing how this pretty red-headed city girl coped with heavy labour in the fields.
They worked their way along the rows of cut grass, turning it over to expose the green underside and tossing it to loosen the tightly packed blades of grass.
“What happens next?” she wanted to know.
“If it do stay fine we’ll be over in a day or two to cock it,” Bill answered.
Ivy suppressed a giggle. Is he pulling my leg, she wondered. Keeping a straight face she responded turning Bill’s words into a question: “Cock it?”
“Aye,” came the reply. “We collect it into piles – cocks we do call ‘em – ready for the horse and cart to carry to the barn.”
“The barn” was a relatively recent steel structure with a curved corrugated roof of red painted galvanised steel that stood beyond the stone built cow sheds whose gable end faced the front of the cottage across a cobbled yard. Roofed to protect its contents from rain, the building’s sides were left open to ensure ventilation and prevent overheating of the hay crop.
“You can help with that an’ all if you like.” Lesley had said nothing up to this point. Ivy supposed the youth was shy. But there was a knowing insolence about his remark which she chose to ignore.
“I will, thank you,” she said. “Now, can I get you a cup of tea? Mum’s probably got the kettle on by now.”
“Don’t mind if we do, eh, Lesley? Just give us 5 minutes to finish off here.”
In bed that night the memory of the repeated tossing action kept coming back to her. That was the natural response of the nerves and muscles in her arms. She’d often had a similar experience after intense physical activity. More disturbing was her response to the company of the two men. The smell of the men’s sweat and the sexual tension in the air had excited her in a way that she had found both shocking and exhilarating. She thought of Frank’s visit barely a week ago. They’d made love, of course, but there was something about Frank’s approach that was different from past occasions. It was more than the usual strangeness following a long separation. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. And she didn’t think he was reliving some sortie. She refused to admit it to herself but deep within her a voice insisted that Frank had another woman on his mind.
