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Authors: Helen Humphreys
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an alpine flower that grows in meadows in the Pyrenees, the Alps, parts of Spain and Turkey, even in mountains across Siberia to the northern part of Japan. It is a strange thing to find in an English garden.
There are noises in the hall outside my bedroom. The girls are back and on their way to dinner. I snap my book shut, jump up to wash my filthy hands. I have missed lunch today, with all the turmoil and my explorations, and I am famished.
A rigid order in dinner seating arrangements seems to have been established and is being avidly maintained by the group. I take my regular, and now obviously permanent, seat next to Jane. Again, I am the last one to the table. The others glare at me.
“Have you been out climbing trees, Gwen?” Jane whispers to me. She reaches up and pulls bits of yew from my hair, laying them carefully beside my plate as a sort of table decoration.
The doors open and Mabel and Irene enter with bowls of a lumpy pulp that looks very much like the animal swill of last night’s dinner. “Rabbit stew,” says Irene helpfully, as she puts my dish down in front of me.
I think of the rabbit found in London at the end of January, after a particularly heavy period of bombing. It was running around and around Piccadilly Circus. This wild creature in the midst of ruined London was a miracle for a day, until the rabbit was discovered to be an escaped regimental mascot.
As soon as the village women leave, Jane pushes her bowl away from her.
“Not hungry?” I ask.
“Just doing my bit for food rationing. There’s a war on, you know,” says Jane.
I can’t blame her. The stew is completely tasteless, but I bolt mine down because I am so hungry. Some of the other girls eat only a few spoonfuls before pushing their bowls away as well. No one speaks. I look round at the table of girls, at the bowls of liquefied rabbit, at the huge flag of black unfurled against the windows. It feels as if night itself has entered this room.
No one seems inclined to explain their absence from work today. “I need you to do what you’re here to do,” I say, but this elicits no response from the girls. I think of what Raley said to me at the house. “Was it a good picnic?” I ask.
Golden Wonder snaps her head up, looks at me warily. Still no one speaks.
“Captain Raley and I will organize dances for you and the soldiers,” I say, “but I need you to work in the garden. It’s why you’re here.”
Jane looks over the assembled girls. “That’s a fair deal,” she says quietly, and the others nod and mumble their agreement. I can’t believe how easily she has controlled them. I know I should be thankful, but I immediately feel jealous of Jane’s easy authority.
“I’m going to buy chickens,” I blurt out. “We can have our own eggs.”
Silence. Finally one of them speaks. Vittelette Noir leans on her arms over the table and looks down towards me. At first I think she is talking to me, but as soon as she starts to speak I realize she is talking to Jane. “You know,” she says, “I can do better than this.”
“What can you do?” says Jane.
“My father owns a hotel in London. I used to work for him in the kitchen.” Vittelette Noir looks at the row of Land Girls. “Cooking,” she says. There is a murmur of excitement from the others. My mention of chickens garnered no response at all.
“Well,” I say. “That will be of no use here.”
“Why not?” Jane turns to me, her unflinching gaze doing its usual work to disarm me. I think I prefer it when people glance away from me, disregard me. “Gwen,” says Jane, “why couldn’t we do our own cooking? Or rather, Elspeth could do our cooking. That’s what you’re suggesting, isn’t it?” she says to Vittelette Noir.
“Yes.” Vittelette Noir now addresses her words to me. “Once we all start working in the garden,” she says, “I could be spared to work in the kitchen.”
“But I’ve found more ground for the potatoes,” I say in
There are noises in the hall outside my bedroom. The girls are back and on their way to dinner. I snap my book shut, jump up to wash my filthy hands. I have missed lunch today, with all the turmoil and my explorations, and I am famished.
A rigid order in dinner seating arrangements seems to have been established and is being avidly maintained by the group. I take my regular, and now obviously permanent, seat next to Jane. Again, I am the last one to the table. The others glare at me.
“Have you been out climbing trees, Gwen?” Jane whispers to me. She reaches up and pulls bits of yew from my hair, laying them carefully beside my plate as a sort of table decoration.
The doors open and Mabel and Irene enter with bowls of a lumpy pulp that looks very much like the animal swill of last night’s dinner. “Rabbit stew,” says Irene helpfully, as she puts my dish down in front of me.
I think of the rabbit found in London at the end of January, after a particularly heavy period of bombing. It was running around and around Piccadilly Circus. This wild creature in the midst of ruined London was a miracle for a day, until the rabbit was discovered to be an escaped regimental mascot.
As soon as the village women leave, Jane pushes her bowl away from her.
“Not hungry?” I ask.
“Just doing my bit for food rationing. There’s a war on, you know,” says Jane.
I can’t blame her. The stew is completely tasteless, but I bolt mine down because I am so hungry. Some of the other girls eat only a few spoonfuls before pushing their bowls away as well. No one speaks. I look round at the table of girls, at the bowls of liquefied rabbit, at the huge flag of black unfurled against the windows. It feels as if night itself has entered this room.
No one seems inclined to explain their absence from work today. “I need you to do what you’re here to do,” I say, but this elicits no response from the girls. I think of what Raley said to me at the house. “Was it a good picnic?” I ask.
Golden Wonder snaps her head up, looks at me warily. Still no one speaks.
“Captain Raley and I will organize dances for you and the soldiers,” I say, “but I need you to work in the garden. It’s why you’re here.”
Jane looks over the assembled girls. “That’s a fair deal,” she says quietly, and the others nod and mumble their agreement. I can’t believe how easily she has controlled them. I know I should be thankful, but I immediately feel jealous of Jane’s easy authority.
“I’m going to buy chickens,” I blurt out. “We can have our own eggs.”
Silence. Finally one of them speaks. Vittelette Noir leans on her arms over the table and looks down towards me. At first I think she is talking to me, but as soon as she starts to speak I realize she is talking to Jane. “You know,” she says, “I can do better than this.”
“What can you do?” says Jane.
“My father owns a hotel in London. I used to work for him in the kitchen.” Vittelette Noir looks at the row of Land Girls. “Cooking,” she says. There is a murmur of excitement from the others. My mention of chickens garnered no response at all.
“Well,” I say. “That will be of no use here.”
“Why not?” Jane turns to me, her unflinching gaze doing its usual work to disarm me. I think I prefer it when people glance away from me, disregard me. “Gwen,” says Jane, “why couldn’t we do our own cooking? Or rather, Elspeth could do our cooking. That’s what you’re suggesting, isn’t it?” she says to Vittelette Noir.
“Yes.” Vittelette Noir now addresses her words to me. “Once we all start working in the garden,” she says, “I could be spared to work in the kitchen.”
“But I’ve found more ground for the potatoes,” I say in
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