The Victory Garden(23)
“Then I’ll be off to the colonies,” Maureen said. “Good healthy lads out in Australia and Canada, eh?”
“Let’s just win the war first,” Mrs Anson said. “The news isn’t too good, last time I heard. A new offensive by the Jerries, so it seems. They’re not going to give in.”
“I thought we were supposed to be winning!” Maureen said angrily. “They were saying it would be over as soon as the Americans arrived.”
“Let’s hope and pray it will be over soon,” Mrs Anson said.
“Amen,” came a soft voice from one of the girls.
At the end of their third week, they were summoned unexpectedly after lunch by Miss Foster-Blake.
“I’ve news for you, girls,” she said. “I’m afraid your training is going to have to be cut short. We’ve a local farmer who has a new potato crop ready for harvest and nobody to work the fields, so I’m sending you out. We need to get those potatoes picked before they are spoiled in the rain. There will be a farm wagon coming for you in the morning.” She looked from one face to the next. “I expect you to work your hardest. No slacking off. I’m dividing you into two teams, each with a team leader who will make sure you all do your share. Understood? Mrs Anson, you will be one team leader, and Miss Bryce the other. Do not let me down.”
The reality of what she had signed up for hit Emily when she saw the field of potatoes. Row after row of mounds topped with straw that needed to be dug up and the potatoes picked into baskets. She really wished she had not been made a team leader. She had timid little Ruby, clueless Maud, Maureen, Alice and Daisy in her squad. Originally, she set Maud, who was big and powerful, to digging out the plants with the fork, but Maud was also not the brightest, and Emily soon realized that the digging required finesse so that the fork didn’t spear the potatoes. So then she tried Daisy, who, although slightly built, was strong, and she proved remarkably adept at lifting the plants loose from the soil with minimal damage. The rest of them were down on hands and knees, scraping the potatoes free of dirt and dropping them into baskets. It was back-breaking work, bent over for hours, then carrying the heavy baskets to fill sacks, which were then loaded on to a farm cart. The farmer didn’t seem particularly grateful that they were saving his crop. He complained they weren’t working fast enough and seemed to enjoy observing them and pointing out they were missing the smallest potatoes.
“I’ll shove him in the next sack, so help me,” Maureen muttered as he walked away.
By the time they were taken back to the training centre at night in the back of a jolting farm cart, they were too tired to do anything but flop into bed.
“Talk about a baptism of fire.” Mrs Anson looked almost grey with exertion. She stumbled, but Emily caught her.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Emily asked her. “Is this too much for you? Because we can tell Miss Foster-Blake.”
“No, I’m fine,” Mrs Anson said. “Just not used to it, that’s all. Neither are you. But I’m not going to give up. My husband must have felt the same way when they put him through army drills. I’m doing this in his honour.”
She’s brave, Emily thought. They are all brave.
The next morning, they awoke to the sound of rain drumming on the roof above.
“Would you look at that!” Maureen said. “Makes me quite homesick for Ireland.”
Alice gave a disgusted snort. “You must be the only person who is delighted to see rain.”
“Not delighted. Just homesick,” Maureen said.
“We won’t have to work in that weather, will we, miss?” Daisy asked.
“I’m afraid there’s a van already waiting outside,” Emily said. “We do have mackintoshes.” She tried to sound cheerful, but she felt as disheartened as they did as they boarded the van.
The field had turned into a sea of mud. They picked the potatoes with freezing fingers while the rain lashed at their faces. At lunchtime, they staggered to the shelter of a barn, where they gratefully drank cups of tea provided by the farmer’s wife. She looked at them with understanding. “I imagine it’s a bit of a shock to you, isn’t it?” she asked. “Farm life takes a bit of getting used to. It will be better when the sun comes out.”
They wolfed down great hunks of bread and cheese and pickled onions to go with the tea, then trudged out into the rain again. After several hours of more labour, Emily was staggering to the edge of the field to deposit her basket of potatoes. She slipped and slid in the mud and almost went down. She had been concentrating so hard on not falling that she had kept her eyes on the ground ahead of her. When she looked up, she saw two figures standing under umbrellas, watching her.
“Emily!” Her mother’s voice echoed out across the field. “Just look at you. What a disgrace. Covered in mud and hauling potatoes like a peasant. If your grandparents could see you now, they would be appalled. Put that basket down instantly and come with us.”
“I’m working, Mummy,” Emily said as she reached them and deposited the basket on the trestle table. “I can’t leave. I’m in charge of my girls.”
“It’s all right,” her mother said. “Daddy has arranged things with your supervisor. Miss Foster-Blake. He knows her, apparently. So it’s all squared away.”