plenty of work for the war effort,’ said Edith, astonished. There were, she informed them, her Belgian Relief Committee in which Mrs Lilley appeared to have lost interest, the Troops’ Entertainment Committee, the sewing and knitting circle for Comforts for our Gallant Soldiers. ‘Despite all I am doing, I still feel it my duty to take on more.’ She lowered her voice. ‘The latest emergency, you know.’ News of the appalling use of gas bythe Germans in their attack at Ypres was just coming through.
‘How worthy a cause,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘But I agree with Caroline that we have to give priority to our poorer parishioners. In order for them to give to such worthy causes as yours, Edith, they must receive. In the form of shillings and crowns.’
‘Oh, quite,’ Edith agreed.
‘I would have thought the village was as adequately provided for in that respect as it has ever been.’ Lady Hunney adopted a tone of sweet reproach. ‘I do feel that at such a time we should remain at the posts we were born to as a matter of duty, not give way to our individual desires. Any farm bailiff could easily undertake this agricultural scheme of yours, Caroline, without troubling your mother. Indeed, I would suggest our bailiff Patterson might be suitable.’
Oh, clever. Caroline chewed her way furiously through her mouthful of beef before replying. Help came from an unlikely quarter.
‘I can offer women more than having to scratch around in the muck and dirt,’ announced William Swinford-Browne.
‘In the hopgardens?’ Isabel asked.
‘The land’s finished. It’s shells this country needs.’
What was coming, wondered Caroline.
‘The brewery’s a white elephant now the King’s signed the pledge for the whole Palace,’ he went on, ‘and meddlesome local councils are cutting drinking hours. Lloyd George is rightthough. It’s munitions the country needs, and if he thinks drink is doing more harm to the war effort than German submarines, then that’s that. I’d sell the brewery if I could, but no one would buy it now. I’m gutting and expanding it and converting to munitions. There’ll be work enough there for your girls.’ The brewery was on the outskirts of East Grinstead, and several of his present workers travelled there daily from Ashden.
‘What sort of munitions?’ Laurence enquired.
‘Shells. There’s only the Woolwich Arsenal producing them now, and we need more. Many more. I’ve heard whispers.’ He tapped the side of his nose with a podgy forefinger, as if to convey that he walked in high places. ‘That’s why we’re not winning this war. No shells, no ammunition. Strikes, drink—whatever the reasons, there’s a shortage. Girls can fill shells as well as men, and more cheaply.’
‘But that’s dangerous work, William.’ Edith sounded a little shocked.
William glared at his wife. ‘You women say you’re equal to men; that’s what those suffragettes like your sister believe, Rector.’ He could not even mention Aunt Tilly by name, Caroline realised with amusement. How he loathed her!
‘And as for the hop farm, I’ll give it a year and if it doesn’t improve I’ll grub the lot up and plough it for wheat.’
Caroline felt tears stinging her eyes as the whole family fell silent. She wanted to shout, ‘But Ashden has always had its hopgardens.’Now she knew why Swinford-Browne had let her have such an easy passage when she called to see him. He did not care. But it was another ominous sign that the war could be nowhere near its end, if there were whispers in Whitehall of a need to build dark satanic factories in Sussex’s green and pleasant land.
She noticed George gazing speculatively at Swinford-Browne and knew just what was in his mind. A cartoon. Swinford-Browne in a beer jug? His Majesty looking forlornly at a brandy and soda?
‘My bit for the war effort, eh, Edith?’ Swinford-Browne chortled benevolently.
‘Yes, indeed, Mr Swinford-Browne,’ Elizabeth agreed.
‘How worthy a cause,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘But I agree with Caroline that we have to give priority to our poorer parishioners. In order for them to give to such worthy causes as yours, Edith, they must receive. In the form of shillings and crowns.’
‘Oh, quite,’ Edith agreed.
‘I would have thought the village was as adequately provided for in that respect as it has ever been.’ Lady Hunney adopted a tone of sweet reproach. ‘I do feel that at such a time we should remain at the posts we were born to as a matter of duty, not give way to our individual desires. Any farm bailiff could easily undertake this agricultural scheme of yours, Caroline, without troubling your mother. Indeed, I would suggest our bailiff Patterson might be suitable.’
Oh, clever. Caroline chewed her way furiously through her mouthful of beef before replying. Help came from an unlikely quarter.
‘I can offer women more than having to scratch around in the muck and dirt,’ announced William Swinford-Browne.
‘In the hopgardens?’ Isabel asked.
‘The land’s finished. It’s shells this country needs.’
What was coming, wondered Caroline.
‘The brewery’s a white elephant now the King’s signed the pledge for the whole Palace,’ he went on, ‘and meddlesome local councils are cutting drinking hours. Lloyd George is rightthough. It’s munitions the country needs, and if he thinks drink is doing more harm to the war effort than German submarines, then that’s that. I’d sell the brewery if I could, but no one would buy it now. I’m gutting and expanding it and converting to munitions. There’ll be work enough there for your girls.’ The brewery was on the outskirts of East Grinstead, and several of his present workers travelled there daily from Ashden.
‘What sort of munitions?’ Laurence enquired.
‘Shells. There’s only the Woolwich Arsenal producing them now, and we need more. Many more. I’ve heard whispers.’ He tapped the side of his nose with a podgy forefinger, as if to convey that he walked in high places. ‘That’s why we’re not winning this war. No shells, no ammunition. Strikes, drink—whatever the reasons, there’s a shortage. Girls can fill shells as well as men, and more cheaply.’
‘But that’s dangerous work, William.’ Edith sounded a little shocked.
William glared at his wife. ‘You women say you’re equal to men; that’s what those suffragettes like your sister believe, Rector.’ He could not even mention Aunt Tilly by name, Caroline realised with amusement. How he loathed her!
‘And as for the hop farm, I’ll give it a year and if it doesn’t improve I’ll grub the lot up and plough it for wheat.’
Caroline felt tears stinging her eyes as the whole family fell silent. She wanted to shout, ‘But Ashden has always had its hopgardens.’Now she knew why Swinford-Browne had let her have such an easy passage when she called to see him. He did not care. But it was another ominous sign that the war could be nowhere near its end, if there were whispers in Whitehall of a need to build dark satanic factories in Sussex’s green and pleasant land.
She noticed George gazing speculatively at Swinford-Browne and knew just what was in his mind. A cartoon. Swinford-Browne in a beer jug? His Majesty looking forlornly at a brandy and soda?
‘My bit for the war effort, eh, Edith?’ Swinford-Browne chortled benevolently.
‘Yes, indeed, Mr Swinford-Browne,’ Elizabeth agreed.
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