The Victory Garden(19)

“Attention, ladies,” she called in a voice that betrayed a lifetime of giving orders. “Welcome to the training centre, where you will learn how to become a useful member of the Women’s Land Army. You have enlisted to serve your country, and for this, your country thanks you. I am Miss Foster-Blake. I am the superintendent here, and I will be in charge of you until you are sent out to farms in the area. You will take your orders from me and from your instructors and do exactly what you are told at all times. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” came a few muttered responses.

“I said, is that clear?” she repeated.

“Yes, ma’am,” they shouted back this time.

“When you hear this whistle, you drop what you are doing and you come running,” she went on. “When I call your name, you will proceed into the farmhouse, where you will be kitted out with your uniforms. You will then go straight up to the dormitory, select a bed and change into your uniforms as quickly as possible. You will then report downstairs, where you will be briefed and given your schedule. Is this clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chanted.

“I will now call your names,” Miss Foster-Blake said. “As your name is called, you will march briskly into the house. Alice Adams.”

A thin, scrawny woman glanced around nervously, then scurried into the house.

“Emily Bryce.” Emily was about to follow when the woman stared at her and asked, “Are you related to Judge Bryce?”

“He’s my father,” Emily said, blushing as she felt all those eyes on her.

She waited for the woman to say that this was not a suitable place for her and she should return home, but instead she said, “I am also a justice of the peace, and our paths have crossed several times. A fine man. Make sure you do him proud.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Emily muttered, and hurried after Alice Adams.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the farmhouse interior, she saw that a trestle table with piles of clothing had been set up along the length of a large room. Two women, already dressed in the khaki uniform of the Women’s Land Army, stood behind it.

“Take one of each as you move along,” one of the women said.

“What about sizes?” Alice Adams asked.

“There’s one size in most things, except boots. Then it’s small, medium or large. You’ll have a belt and an elastic waist in the bloomers. Get cracking.”

Emily followed her, picking up the khaki tunic, matching bloomers, a jersey, a mackintosh, a floppy felt hat and knee boots. Then she was directed up the stairs to a room on their right. Alice stood inside the doorway, looking around. It wasn’t a large bedroom to start with, and now three sets of bunk beds had been crammed into the space. There was a similar room behind it for the other six women.

“One of the good things about being at the top of the alphabet,” Alice said, grinning at Emily. “We get to choose beds first. Away from the window and the draught, I think, don’t you? Unless you want to slip out at night, that is. And a top bunk. You don’t want to find you’ve got a heavy girl above you, making the whole thing creak and groan.”

Emily hadn’t considered this. “Oh, you’re right,” she said, and commandeered the top bunk beside the one Alice had chosen.

“I’m not sure how we get down in the middle of the night if nature calls,” Alice said. She had a strong cockney accent, quite unlike the soft and slow Devon burr that Emily was used to.

“There’s a sort of ladder,” Emily pointed out.

Alice reacted to her cultured, upper-class voice. “Hark at Miss Hoity-Toity,” she said. “What are you doing here in a place like this? Shouldn’t you be at the fox hunt or the palace or something?”

“Shouldn’t you be in Whitechapel or Shoreditch?” Emily retorted.

Alice threw back her head and laughed. “Quite right. You got me there. I’m far from my home turf, ain’t I? If you want to know, I came down here with my husband, Bill, on our honeymoon before the war. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. All the gardens and the sea and the fresh air. Lovely, it was.”

“Where is Bill now?” Emily asked as she removed her jacket and hung it on the row of pegs.

“Dead. That’s where.” Alice looked up from unbuttoning her cotton frock. “He copped it a couple of years ago at the Somme. He managed to stay alive for two whole years, but just before he was due to come home on leave, he was gassed. They brought him home, but he didn’t stand a chance. Lungs were shot, you see.”

“I’m so sorry,” Emily said.

“Well, it’s not like he was the only one, was he?” Alice shrugged. “I reckon every family has got a story like mine to tell.”

“We lost my brother right at the start,” Emily agreed. “So you decided to come back here where you had happy memories.”

Alice nodded. She stepped out of the frock and hung it beside Emily’s jacket. Then she picked up the bloomers and laughed. “How about this, eh? We get to wear trousers. And you know what? I ain’t wearing no corset no more. If we’re going to work like men, we want to breathe properly.” She glanced at Emily. “’Ere. Help me unhook this.” Emily obliged, feeling embarrassed and awkward at touching another woman’s body. Alice didn’t seem to mind. She whipped off the corset and waved it around as more women entered the room. “How about this, girls? Freedom at last. Come on—off with them.”