Read Online Cross My Heart and Hope to Die by Sheila Radley - Free Book Online Page B

playtime, the older girls would giggle and encourage us little ones to shout through the railings, ‘Got any gum, chum?’ and the men would throw sweets or money to us, and Miss Griggs would rush out and tell us off for letting down England.
    Then the Americans went, and the airfield returned to agriculture. So much of it was covered in concrete, though, that the farmer went in for pigs rather than barley. Then he tried turkeys, and a year or two later we heard that he’d sold the old airfield to a big turkey-processor from out Saintsbury way. And that was when the excitement started, because Mum’s youngest sister Brenda lives not far from Saintsbury and likes to let us know what wonderful jobs she and her husband have both got at the turkey factory there.
    â€˜It’ll be marvellous to have their new factory built practically on our doorstep!’ said Mum. ‘Won’t it be marvellous if I can get a job there, Vince?’ She hardly ever asked Dad’s opinion about anything, in fact they didn’t talk to each other much at all, which I suppose was one reason why they didn’t quarrel.
    â€˜You don’t like working indoors,’ said Dad.
    â€˜But eight pounds a week if you do the full day shift, our Brenda says! It’d make all the difference. And they send a bus round the nearby villages to pick up, free. And free overalls an’all. It’s a wonderful chance.’
    â€˜Well, I wouldn’t fancy it meself,’ said Dad, pulling a squeamish face. He was always very fastidious, forever washing his hands and scrubbing his fingernails on account of handling food in the shop. It’s always Mum who has to do the killing and preparing when we eat any of our livestock. ‘Standing on a production line gutting turkeys all day … no thanks! But there, you must suit yourself.’
    â€˜I shall do,’ said Mum triumphantly. ‘Oh, it’ll be marvellous … And you’ll be glad enough, Vince Thacker, when I bring home eight pound a week, regular!’
    â€˜I shouldn’t count on it if I were you,’ said Dad. ‘Not until the place is built and the jobs are advertised.’
    â€˜Oh, you streak of misery!’ said Mum. ‘Just keep your ears open in the shop and let me know as soon as they start building.’
    She went on being excited for weeks after that, singing to herself as she worked about the house and in the garden. I was excited too, thinking what we could buy with all that extra money we’d soon have. Even Dad looked a bit more hopeful than usual. But then, one evening in late spring, he came biking home from work with a very long face.
    â€˜â€™Fraid I’ve got some disappointing news for you, Bet,’ he said as he came into the kitchen where Mum was frying bacon for his tea. ‘They’ve started work on the old airfield – but it’s not going to be a processing plant after all. What they’re building is just rearing sheds. They’re going to rear all their turkeys here, and take them to Saintsbury for processing. There’ll be a few jobs for men, but nothing for women at all.’
    Mum’s round red face sagged like a deflated balloon. She thumped down on the kitchen chair, still holding her cooking fork, and burst into tears. I’d never seen her cry before, and I didn’t know what to do. Dad didn’t seem to know either, but he gave her shoulder an awkward pat.
    â€˜Don’t take on so, Bet,’ he said, and I’d never heard him speak to her so tenderly. ‘It’s not worth crying over a mucky job like that.’
    â€˜But the money,’ wailed Mum. ‘I’d got that all planned out and we could have lived real well.’
    â€˜Never mind about the money,’ said Dad, ‘we’ll manage. Anyway, they say Bartrum’s going to start hoeing his sugar beet at the end of the month.’
    â€˜Is he? Is he?’ Mum wiped her