Time to Say Goodbye (11 page)

But Jill was staring at her, waiting for a reply. Auntie cleared her throat. ‘I’m glad you think I’ve done no harm,’ she said. ‘And by now those children must have brushed the dog until he’s all but bald, so you’d best give them a shout whilst I warm the milk and lay out the biscuits.’

Chapter Four

MAY CAME, AND
with it the war ceased to be phoney and became real. By the end of the month the evacuation of Dunkirk, as it became known, had begun. From every British port the little ships plied across the calm blue sea, collecting the BEF and carrying the soldiers back to Britain. Horrific stories filtered through even to the children at the Canary and Linnet. Jill had a cousin who had been nursing in France and received a letter in which the older girl described how the Luftwaffe had bombed hospitals and dressing stations, had flown low and strafed nurses helping patients to board ambulances, had fired on the long lines of troops in the water, wading chest deep, because it was too shallow for the big ships to come any closer.
I know very little about the rules of war, if there are any such things, but the Nazis don’t play by rules
, she had written bitterly.
My fiancé was taken prisoner; we know nothing more than that. I’m just glad that thanks to the government’s foresight in evacuating them early on, children are safe.

At first, Auntie had wanted to keep all news of the war from the children, but Jill had told her that that was not fair. ‘They must listen to the wireless every evening before they go to bed, because it’s their war as much as ours,’ she had said. ‘God knows, we all hope it will be over and won before the girls are old enough to join one of the services or help in some other way, but we owe it to them to tell them the truth. Believe me, Auntie, they would hate to be kept in the dark, and if you imagine that other children won’t be well aware of what’s going on you’re being wilfully blind! Everyone talks in front of their kids – we do it ourselves – and I’d much rather they listened to the news and heard the truth than listened to gossip, or ignorant conjecture.’

Having thought it over, Auntie was able to tell Jill that she agreed with her completely, so every evening the family at the Canary and Linnet settled down to hear the news. As the men streamed back to their homes from the ports they were welcomed like heroes, though within a few days it was realised that though Churchill had called Dunkirk ‘a miracle of deliverance’ he was right when he had also admitted that it was ‘a colossal military disaster’, for though nearly four hundred thousand men had been saved, they had left behind all their weapons and military equipment. If the Nazis decided to invade, Britain was in a poor state to drive them back.

Nevertheless, Churchill’s speech, as old Jacky put it, gave them back their pride. ‘We shall fight on the beaches . . . we shall never surrender . . .’

Even Imogen, Rita and Debby knew that the war was coming nearer. But then so was summer, and as if to make up for the dreadful winter, the summer promised to be a glorious one. Everyone was expecting that Hitler would take advantage of the weakened state of the country by beginning to invade, and on their way to and from school the girls were perpetually casting their eyes skyward in the expectation of seeing nuns floating down from every aircraft which passed overhead, nuns whose secret identity would be given away only by their heavy army boots.

But the girls treated such stories with the contempt they deserved. ‘As if any soldiers, even the stupidest, would expect us to believe in nuns floating down from the sky,’ Rita said scornfully. ‘And where would they put their guns and bayonets and things?’ She had asked the question of Jill, who laughed and rumpled her hair.

‘I think the floating nuns would be what you might call pathfinders, who would somehow get news back to the rest of the German army where it would be safe for them to come ashore,’ she said. ‘Personally, I think it’s what they call propaganda; remember the leaflets that the chaps told us both sides dropped when war was first declared? It’s just talk, and you should take no notice of it. You don’t hear Alvar Lidell mentioning nuns on the wireless, do you? So let’s wait and see what really happens before we start to panic.’

The truth was, however, Jill thought with some amusement, that far from panicking the girls simply behaved as they always had. Except that now, everywhere they went, Rufus accompanied them. At weekends they would take a packed lunch of anything Auntie or Jill could provide and go off into the woods, where they had built a shelter out of the bendy branches of the willow trees which overhung the river. They would have liked to spend a night there, but this was going a step too far, or so Auntie thought. Jill, who had spent a good deal of her childhood living in the country, thought that it would do the girls no harm to rough it for a change, but was wise enough to realise that Auntie would worry herself sick if the children were not under her roof by nightfall. However, the rule about never going off alone was relaxed, and provided she took Rufus with her Imogen was allowed to roam much more freely.

As time passed, Jill began to realise that the children were far more different from one another than she had at first supposed. Debby, though she did her share of searching for eggs, feeding the poultry and cleaning out the pigsty, did not really enjoy these chores, but much preferred to help in the house, and Rita, though she also did her share, enjoyed playing organised sports. She was happy to stay after school in order to play netball and rounders, and always took part in the trips which the school organised so that the children might learn to swim in a nearby pool.

Imogen, however, was not particularly keen on such things, and much preferred to wander off with Rufus. She was becoming a real country girl and soon got to know the best hedges and trees for nests, knew that if she and Rufus sat quietly in some hidden corner of the woods they would presently see the wild things which lived there emerging from holes and thickets to go about their business.

Her Mass Observation diary, which she now encouraged Auntie and Jill to read, soon became more like a nature notebook, though she always included a short piece on whatever war news the wireless provided. Indeed, the beautiful willow shelter had been her idea, she had done most of the work on it, and now that the other two were no longer particularly interested it had become her favourite hideout. It was near the banks of the river, and sitting quietly in her willow tree cabin, with an arm round Rufus’s shaggy neck, she could watch the comings and goings of frogs, water voles and water birds as well as rabbits, hares, and the odd fox, returning to his cubs with a dead bird dangling from his jaws.

So when, on a beautifully sunny Saturday morning, she took her packed lunch and told Auntie and Jill that she meant to spend the day out of doors, they reminded her that she must be in for high tea no later than half past five and waved her off without trying to persuade her to go with the other two, who had announced their intention of accompanying Auntie when she cadged a lift into the nearest market town with Mrs Pilgrim. The farmer’s wife was going shopping, and since she intended to pick up some sacks of poultry meal she meant to take the wagon, so there would be plenty of room for the girls. Rita had already tried to persuade Imogen to go with them, saying it would be far more fun in town than simply mooching about in woods and meadows, but Imogen, though she was rather tempted, for she loved the hustle and bustle of the town, was firm. Rita was inclined to be indignant, for the three of them usually set off on any adventure together, whether fishing for tiddlers in the river, digging out a pool where the water might one day be deep enough to swim in, or simply improving the swing which Jill and Laurie had helped them to make, but she could not deny that they almost always split up at some stage.

So now Imogen waved the other two off, with a half-promise that she might join them later, for the whole sunny day stretched before her and the willow cabin, though a delightful retreat, might not have much to offer on a day so hot and still. She knew from experience that dawn and dusk were the times when there was maximum activity in the woods and copses. Added to this was a fact which she had forgotten until she and Rufus arrived at the willow cabin. All the girls had promised Auntie that they would never paddle, fish, or even play around the margins of the river when they were alone. At this time of year the water was low and nothing could have seemed less dangerous than the gentle swaying of the waterweed and the occasional plop as a fish surfaced. But a promise was a promise and Imogen had no intention of going back on this one, so she settled down with her notebook and, though she knew very well that she should not start to eat her lunch for at least a couple of hours, she detached the apple from the neatly packed sandwiches, the hardboiled egg and the small bottle of lemonade. She was burying the apple core, dreamily considering how nice it would be to come back here in a few years’ time to find a flourishing apple tree ripe with fruit and, so to speak, all her own work, when Rufus gave her a nudge.

It was clear the dog had expected to be given the core – he was fond of apples – and he gave a disappointed whine. He went over to the grave, giving it an experimental poke with one paw. Imogen laughed but shook her head and tore a crust off one of the sandwiches, which Rufus accepted, though with rather less enthusiasm than he would have shown towards the apple core, for his tongue was lolling out and it was pretty clear that what he really wanted was a drink.

Imogen looked at him doubtfully. He was an intelligent and obedient animal but he was a real water-dog and loved bathing in the river. If they went down to the bank at this particular spot, Imogen was pretty sure that he would leap joyfully into the water, get himself a drink, and then, knowing nothing of prohibitions, set out to swim strongly for the opposite shore, because this was what the children usually did on such a hot day.

Imogen had been sitting on a substantial log which they had brought to the cabin when it was first completed, but now she stood up and, leaving her satchel, walked down to within a couple of feet of the water. As she had expected, Rufus did not wait for her to suggest that he might like a drink but sprang straight in, lapped for a moment and then, when she called him, made for the opposite bank. He scrambled out and looked expectantly at her, no doubt wondering why she had not followed his excellent example, for though there was plenty of shade under the trees the sun beat down strongly on the calm water and even more strongly on the meadow beyond, where Mr Pilgrim’s milking herd grazed. This morning they were beset by flies, however, and Imogen knew from experience that once the flies had discovered her they would accompany her wherever she went, in a huge buzzing column above her head, so any thought of crossing the river, even if she had been allowed, died from her mind. But if she and Rufus walked a good deal further she remembered Jill telling her that there was an ancient wooden bridge across the river, which was the way Laurie and Dave came when they visited the pub in the evenings. So she whistled to Rufus, who came reluctantly out of the water and shook himself violently, so that for a moment Imogen was well speckled. And I’ve not been within a yard of the bank, she told herself with an inward grin. Thank you, Rufus, for cooling me down.

The pair of them returned to the willow cabin and Imogen hitched the satchel on to her back. Then she and Rufus set off for what would be pastures new, since she had never gone so far along the bank, and had not even set eyes on the wooden bridge. Telling herself that with every yard she covered she was enlarging her knowledge of the area, she ambled contentedly along, occasionally stopping to pick wild flowers or make a mental note of trees which, later in the year, would bring rich pickings in the shape of nuts, cherries and even wild apples. After half a mile or so she began to wonder whether she had let her attention stray at some point and had already bypassed the bridge without noticing it.

But just as she was considering turning back, she saw the wooden bridge ahead of her. It looked pretty sturdy, and was obviously quite strong enough for a herd of cattle to cross it, since there were ample signs that several cows had done so probably less than an hour ago. ‘Found it!’ Imogen said aloud. She looked reproachfully down at Rufus. ‘You thought it was just my imagination, didn’t you?’ she enquired, giving him a severe look. ‘You should have more faith; after all, it was Jill who told me there was a bridge and Jill knows everything, doesn’t she, old fellow?’

Rufus was a most satisfactory companion; his ears had drooped when Imogen had accused him of lacking belief, but now he grinned up at her, his eyes shining and the expression on his face saying more loudly than words that he knew himself forgiven. Imogen laughed and rumpled his already rumpled head. ‘I love you, Rufus,’ she told him. ‘You’re the best friend a girl ever had. Only for the Lord’s sake avoid the cowpats as we cross the bridge, because if either of us treads in one we’ll be forced to put up with the pong all day, since we’re not allowed to wash our feet in the river.’ They crossed the bridge and were well into the trees, for this was heavily wooded country, before Imogen stopped and struck a pose. ‘We are explorers, entering an unknown region,’ she told the dog. ‘No one has ever been this way. When I eat my packed lunch I’ll write up my diary and tell the world all the wonderful things we’ve discovered in this new country.’

And new country it certainly was, for presently, walking away from the river, she came upon a most majestic beech wood. The trees were on a gentle slope and were larger and more beautiful than any Imogen had yet encountered. There was beech mast and moss underfoot and to Imogen’s delight she saw that there had once been bluebells, though at this time of year they were long over. ‘Next year we’ll come in May,’ she told Rufus, slinging her arm round his shaggy neck. ‘This is a wonderful place, the sort of place where fairies live. Of course I don’t believe in fairies, because people old enough and sensible enough to write diaries for the Mass Observation could not possibly do so, which means that if, presently, I see a tiny boat emerging from under the roots of this huge beech with little men no bigger than pins at the oars I shan’t write it down in my diary, but even though I know it’s not real it will have a special place in my heart.’