A Christmas Candle Read online

  ‘The alarm’s not gone off,’ she mumbled. ‘Oh, I’m so tired! Pull the blackout curtain across, will you?’

  ‘Not worth it; the alarm’ll be going off in a minute, so there’s no point in you trying to get back to sleep. Anyway, you know we’re digging out the rest of the potatoes in the ten-acre today, and Uncle Reg said he wants all the help he can get,’ Eve said virtuously. ‘And you know what Chrissie’s like; once he’s awake he’ll want his breakfast, and it’s no use telling him Auntie Bess will still be cooking the porridge because he’ll simply ignore anything we say. In fact he’s quite capable of going downstairs in his pyjamas even though he knows that Auntie Bess won’t feed him until he’s properly dressed and ready for school.’

  At that moment the alarm went off and Chrissie’s reaction was immediate. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and climbed out of his little bed, heading for the washstand.

  ‘I’m going to play with the bricks,’ he announced. ‘Me and Alex are going to take our share and build a huge castle …’

  He began to try to lift the ewer and Eve, seeing disaster ahead, jumped out of bed and went to his assistance. She began to ply the flannel on his face with more enthusiasm than Chrissie liked, saying as she did so: ‘What’s this about bricks? Now you’re starting real school I shouldn’t have thought you’d want to play with bricks.’

  Chrissie stared at her. ‘I forgetted,’ he breathed. ‘Mrs Ryder says I’m her best pupil and today I can give out the work books.’ He eyed his sister anxiously. ‘Am I clean? Why are you holding those rompers? Mummy bought me a proper boy’s shirt and proper boy’s trousers too, remember. Schoolboys don’t wear rompers; they’re for babies.’

  ‘Oh, I quite forgot,’ Eve said mendaciously, pulling open Chrissie’s drawer and producing the desired clothes. He pushed his arms into the grey shirt but Eve hesitated before adding the smart green and red jumper. ‘Are you sure you want this, darling?’ she asked, eyeing the smart new garment. ‘It’s going to be a warm day and you don’t want to take the jumper off and leave it where some other child might mistake it for his.’

  ‘Oh, you mean someone might steal it?’ Chrissie asked. His eyes flashed with indignation, and a brisk discussion began, only to be interrupted by a moan from the now only occupied bed.

  ‘Shut up, you two; I’ve got a real bad headache and you’re making it worse. You can tell Auntie Bess that pulling those bloody potatoes yesterday has given me a migraine so I shan’t be coming down to breakfast. Well, not until later, anyway.’

  ‘Auntie Bess won’t save breakfast for you on a potato day,’ Eve warned the other girl. ‘But if you’re not hungry … well, it’s up to you. You can choose between breakfast and a headache. I don’t care either way.’

  Connie gave a loud moan but slid out of bed and ambled over to where her clothes lay. She made no attempt to wash but heaved her pyjama jacket over her head and pulled on the clothes she had worn the previous day, then put on her slippers. Chrissie turned wondering blue eyes on his sister.

  ‘Connie’s a dirty cat,’ he said in a conversational tone, and then, discretion being the better part of valour, he set off at a brisk pace, ignoring the cry of ‘What did you say?’ which floated after him as he charged down the attic stairs, closely followed by the enraged Connie, still threatening to box his ears.

  Eve, who had washed and dressed with all possible speed after their departure, reached the kitchen to find Auntie Bess ladling out their porridge. She frowned at Eve’s tardy arrival, reminding her sharply that if she wanted a lift up to the potato field on the trailer she had better hurry herself. Eve sighed. How was it that Connie could get away with being late every day, for every meal, and never find herself in hot water; whilst she, Eve, was scolded for being just a few minutes behind? Spooning porridge as quickly as she could, she told herself ruefully that it was because Connie was so pretty, and had such charming manners towards grown-ups that even Auntie Bess was sometimes taken in. Worse, Connie’s good manners worked their magic not only on adults, but on boys as well. Over the last few months she had had Johnny dancing attendance on her as though she were someone of importance. If she was asked to run an errand which involved using the rusty old bicycle kept in the Favershams’ barn, she only had to look at Johnny for him to offer to go himself. And when Eve had told him about the time when Connie had calmly taken a beautifully darned sock from Eve’s work basket and replaced it with her own cobbled and uncomfortable mend, he had simply laughed at her.

  ‘What does it matter which of you did it?’ he had enquired with a grin. ‘Don’t tell me you can tell one darn from another, because I’m damn sure you can’t.’

  Eve had stared at him, open-mouthed, but had soon rallied. ‘She doesn’t darn, she cobbles; that means she doesn’t make a neat sort of pattern which you can’t feel when you put it on, but bunches all the material up together so that walking on it is really painful. Honestly, Johnny, I bet every woman in the village knows her own darning from everyone else’s.’

  ‘Well, it sounds pretty silly to me; the sort of thing no feller would even dream of worrying about,’ Johnny told her. ‘Besides, if she can’t darn, she can’t, and you should be happy to do her mending for her. I expect she does things for you, doesn’t she?’

  ‘No she doesn’t,’ Eve said baldly, and turned away when she saw the disbelieving look in Johnny’s dark blue eyes. ‘Oh, I’m sorry I mentioned it.’ She gulped. ‘Only it’s horrid having to watch everyone admiring work that I’ve done and hearing them say how clever she’s been.’

  She did not add, as she easily could have done, that she believed Connie had taken the shilling which Uncle Reg had given her for helping out when Mr Smith’s back had kept him off work. Connie herself had not lifted a finger; she had complained of a headache – her headaches were becoming legendary – but the next day Eve had discovered that the shilling had gone from her pocket. When she told Auntie Bess about her suspicion Auntie Bess had shaken her head warningly, but later, without comment, she had handed Eve another shilling.

  ‘In future, give me your pocket money and I’ll keep it for you,’ she had said. ‘In fact, why don’t I take that back?’ She had paused, frowning slightly as though wondering whether to say something else, and then had added, ‘Don’t worry, my chick. Not everyone likes the countryside nor hard work, but I’m a great believer in letting things sort themselves out.’

  Eve had longed to ask whether she thought Connie had taken the money, but even as she opened her mouth the older woman shook her head again.

  ‘Give she time,’ she said softly. ‘There’s good and bad in everyone, and sometimes it’s a fight to see which wins. And don’t forget I’ve got your shilling.’

  Chapter Six

  The war dragged on, but sometimes it seemed to Eve that it never affected either Spindlebush or Drake’s Farm, although everyone except Chrissie listened avidly to the nine o’clock news. Throughout the spring the bombing raids were getting heavier; London seemed to be their main target, but soon enough the Luftwaffe began to attack the ports. Like Eve and Chrissie, all four boys at Spindlebush Farm came from London, and everyone was edgy, waiting for news of their family and friends, but dreading the wrong sort.

  In April, when Plymouth was bombed – Blitzkrieg, the Germans called it – they saw the fires blazing even across the miles which separated them from the city, and in the days which followed Eve could not rest until she heard that her mother was safe. Her father, too, was unhurt, having been out at sea protecting an Atlantic convoy carrying desperately needed goods from America to Britain. America was still a neutral country, but such convoys showed that she was already fighting in one way or another for the beleaguered Britons.

  But still the war did not seem real to any of the evacuees. They continued with their lives, rejoicing in the wonderful summer weather which had followed a harsh winter. They knew that certain foods were getting scarce and that rationing was strict, but living deep in the countryside with all the bo
unty of nature at their disposal they hardly noticed the significance of the queues outside virtually every food shop when they visited the town.

  The Spindlebushes and the Favershams had come to an arrangement by which they pooled their rationed commodities, and in return for the Spindlebushes’ larger contribution Auntie Bess agreed to provide all the evacuees with a sandwich at noon and a big meal in the evening. Eve in particular was delighted by this arrangement, for it led to a closeness between her and Johnny which would not have been possible had they not had their meals together.

  Lily and Miriam now shared their milking duties with the two younger girls. Eve loved the feel of the teats as they slid through her fingers, loved the hissing of the milk into the galvanised buckets, and seeing the younger girl’s aptitude Lily took her under her wing and taught her as much as she could. Eve soon learned the little peculiarities of each cow: Rosaline had to have her tail loosely tied to her hind leg or she would constantly flick it into your face as you milked; Snowdrop kicked, that odd slanting sideways movement which could send the bucket flying if you weren’t prepared for it. Maud would turn in mid-milk to stare into your face, which always made Eve giggle, and Ellie seemed to think human hair was edible and constantly licked your head if you didn’t watch out.

  Connie, on the other hand, absolutely hated milking. She found the feel of the teats between her fingers disgusting, and she was constantly getting her feet trodden on because she did not listen when Lily explained each cow’s behaviour. As a result, she whined all the time, even promising to muck out instead if it would get her out of milking.

  At last Auntie Bess grew tired of Connie’s behaviour and took her into the kitchen, teaching her to make bread – not an easy task – and handing out other work as the need arose, always making sure that such jobs were performed to her satisfaction. Sometimes she put her in charge of Chrissie, insisting that she keep the little boy with her and entertain him with some suitable employment. With both Chrissie and Connie occupied elsewhere, Eve spent many hours with Lily, and soon came to admire the land girl more than almost anyone else on the farm. In fact Lily was a favourite with everyone; Uncle Reg loved her because she threw herself into any job she was asked to perform with such enthusiasm, and Auntie Bess for the fact that she was always clean and tidy at mealtimes and never needed to be reminded to scrub up before eating. From herding the cows, feeding the pigs or digging potatoes Lily went straight to the scullery to pump a bucket full of water, grabbing the rough towel off its hook as she passed.

  ‘You do as Lily does and you won’t go far wrong,’ Auntie Bess was fond of saying. ‘Miriam’s a good girl and does her best, but she’s not a country girl. Lily isn’t either – brought up in a cathedral city, she was – but she picks things up easily. When I tell her something, once’ll be enough, whereas when I tell Miriam I have to repeat it two or three times.’

  By the time the war was entering its third year Uncle Reg was beginning to count Eve and Lily together, so when he asked Lily to bring the cattle down from the pasture furthest away from the farm he did not deem it necessary to add that she would be assisted in her work by Eve as well as by Shep, the black and white collie who knew almost as much about herding cattle as Uncle Reg himself.

  Eve was no longer frightened of the beasts the way she had been when she had first come to Drake’s Farm, but she still armed herself with a large stick, not to hit but to guide them, and to discourage the young bullocks from trying to go in the opposite direction from the way she wanted. You could rely on the fact that every gateway you passed would seem to have some strange attraction for even the most docile animals, so Eve had grown accustomed to going ahead to shut gates and bar gaps as they went.

  The walk up to the pasture known as Pete’s Patch was a pleasant one. A ditch ran along the left-hand side and in spring it was the ideal place to watch for toads, frogs and newts, and Eve had on several occasions got good marks at school for her knowledge of the amphibians. Connie shrieked and ran at the sight of a froggy face, however, and though the idea of teasing her by producing a tiny frog in the palm of one’s hand was tempting, Eve never did so. She herself had no great liking for either worms or house spiders, to say nothing of snakes, even the harmless sort, and though she believed Connie was also afraid of such things she was uneasily aware that if Connie found someone’s weak spot she would probably take advantage of it. Certainly, Johnny and Robbo would! They often boasted they were frightened of nothing, even announcing that they could pick up an adder without getting bitten if they had a forked stick. Eve, who had never even seen an adder, had pulled a disbelieving face, but always looked carefully at thick clumps of grass and heather when they were out on the moors. It was one thing being brave and quite another courting trouble.

  On the other side of the track the hedges were red with unripe blackberries, the hazel trees already sporting the green nuts which would later provide a feast for the evacuees, and in the fields beyond the poppies and cornflowers swayed with the golden wheat in the gentlest of breezes.

  Eve looked round her with great content. She no longer felt guilt over the fact that she was happier here than she had ever been in London. It even seemed as though her mother, too, was content here, for on the last occasion when she had visited the farm she had scarcely found fault with anything Eve had done, and had actually congratulated her on Chrissie’s improved manners.

  ‘He was getting more than I could cope with,’ she had said, her tone almost apologetic. ‘I blame Nanny Burton; she gave him his way rather than correcting him when he did wrong, and that made him difficult, to say the least.’

  Eve had opened her mouth to point out that since her mother had only visited the farm three times in almost two years she hadn’t had to cope with her son very often, then shut it again. She had no desire to say that it was not just herself who had contributed to Chrissie’s improved behaviour. Auntie Bess had known just how to handle him from the start, and even Mrs Ryder had played a part by simply treating Chrissie as though he were a good little boy and not a spoiled and demanding wretch, which he had most definitely been when they first arrived.

  Eleanor was still exclaiming at how proud she was of her children, and Eve had no intention of souring the atmosphere by disclosing that Chrissie still occasionally behaved badly. The trouble, Eve knew, was that her little brother was a good deal brighter than anyone else in Mrs Ryder’s nursery school. His reading was excellent and his writing almost as good. He was a great favourite with Mrs Ryder, who had given him the title of ‘monitor’, and though his friend Alex followed close on his heels so far as education was concerned Chrissie made sure that he always stayed just ahead. When Eve and Connie – and quite often Johnny and Robbo – sat down at the kitchen table in the evenings to do their homework, Chrissie often followed suit, eager to prove that he was every bit as clever as his big sister.

  ‘Hey, dreamy!’ Lily’s voice cut across Eve’s thoughts. ‘What are you thinking about? Auntie Bess was telling me that there’s to be a jumble sale in the village on Saturday, so how about coming with me? I’m in desperate need of some khaki wool to finish off the mittens and balaclava I’ve been knitting for Colin, and I wouldn’t mind some new boot socks; next winter is bound to be a bad one and I’ve a hole as big as a pigeon’s egg in my old ones.’

  ‘I wonder why everyone uses pigeon’s eggs as a measure?’ Eve asked idly. ‘What’s wrong with a hen’s egg? But if you’re really good, Lily, and we find your khaki wool, I’ll darn your socks for you.’

  Lily laughed. ‘For a start, they’re green socks, not khaki,’ she pointed out. ‘You and your darning! I shall not forget the fuss when you darned one of Uncle Reg’s best socks and Connie claimed it for her own work. As I recall it Auntie Bess had to intervene when Johnny started to put his oar in.’

  Eve chuckled. ‘Yes, I was a twerp,’ she admitted freely. ‘But I hadn’t then realised that Connie was in the habit of doing things like that.’ She looked curiously at Lily
as they strode side by side up the track. ‘Lily, do you mind if I ask you something?’

  Lily laughed. ‘Ask away,’ she said gaily. ‘I don’t promise to answer, but there’s no harm in asking.’

  ‘It’s nothing terribly important, but I’d just like to know what you think,’ Eve said. ‘You know Robbo? Well, of course you do; you know everyone I know, I suppose.’ She hesitated for a moment and then blurted the words out, feeling foolish but hoping to get a helpful answer. ‘Lily, wouldn’t you say Robbo was a really handsome bloke? I mean really handsome,’ she added with emphasis. ‘He’s at least four inches taller than Johnny – I know that, because they were measured in school the other day – and he’s easy-going and he laughs a lot …’

  Lily grinned. ‘You sound as though you’re in love,’ she said jokingly. ‘But you’re right, of course; in a couple of years he’ll have all the girls chasing after him, so if you want to stake a claim you’d better do it now.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to stake a claim,’ Eve said quickly. ‘No, what I wanted to ask you was why Connie likes Johnny so much and scarcely takes any notice of Robbo. And you know what Johnny looks like – his hair is the colour of hay and his face is covered in freckles. Next to Robbo he’s not even a little bit handsome. But Connie follows him round like a tame lamb. She helps him out with schoolwork even though we’re not in the same group, and she’s actually letting him teach her to ride Flurry, Auntie Bess’s old pony, when everyone knows she’s scared of horses.’

  She looked up at Lily and saw that her friend’s face wore a look of slight puzzlement. ‘Do you know, it’s never occurred to me before, but you’re quite right,’ Lily said slowly. ‘Johnny’s very nice, but in the looks department he simply isn’t in the running against Robbo. And does he return her feelings?’