The Last Garden in England(70)
I still have not heard from you, and I fear that my letter may have been lost. Or maybe you simply don’t want to talk to me. I could understand that.
I have no excuse for Graeme. Know that I didn’t intend it to be this way. I didn’t want to hurt you.
All I can ask for is your forgiveness.
Please try to understand.
Affectionately,
Beth
Monday, 5 June 1944
Highbury, Warwickshire
My dearest Graeme,
I hope you will not mind me sending you another letter when I haven’t had one back from you yet. I know that it must be difficult for you to write as you settle into your new role. I remember how long it took me to learn how to do all of my tasks under Mr. Penworthy’s supervision.
Today I wasn’t just a land girl but also a shepherd. Ruth and I were sent over to Alderminster, where Alice is assigned to help Mr. Becker, the shepherd, with the last of the shearing. Petunia was there as well. (She says hello and asks when she can expect to be a bridesmaid.) It took some time to learn how to hold the sheep down and use the clippers. Ruth was nearly kicked in the face, but instead the hoof hit her shoulder. I know I’ve told you that she whines terribly sometimes, but she had good reason today. When we came home, her entire shoulder was black-and-blue. If we had any beef to spare, Mrs. Penworthy would have made her hold a steak to it, I’m sure.
For all of the hard work it was, however, I enjoyed it. We helped weigh and draft the lambs into different fields. It’s hard not to be charmed by them. They are such dear things, and my hands feel the softest they’ve been since I became a land girl thanks to all of that wool.
I’ve been thinking about our wedding. There is no point of having it in Dorking. I don’t know if you would prefer Colchester, but maybe it would be possible to marry here in Highbury. I’ve only been to the church a handful of times, but the vicar seems a very decent sort of man. Also, so many of my friends are in Highbury, and I know that the doctors and nurses from the hospital would be delighted to wish us well on the day.
I’m getting too far ahead of myself now. I should set this letter aside and go help Mrs. Penworthy with dinner.
Love always,
Beth
Tuesday, 6 June 1944
Highbury, Warwickshire
My dearest Graeme,
Another day without a letter in the morning post. I’ve told myself not to worry, but I can’t help it. There is so much for us to learn about each other…
Forgive me my shaking pen. I wrote the above just before heading to the fields, intending to pick it up again if nothing came in the afternoon post, either. Instead, I’ve learned of the invasion underway. Mr. Penworthy carries a wireless radio in the tractor, and we were listening to the BBC while having lunch in the field when John Snagge read out a special bulletin. I will never forget how my stomach dropped when I heard the words “D-Day has come.”
I cannot help now but worry that you were sent to the beaches of Normandy. That this is why you haven’t written to me in days, when you promised you would write every other day at the very least. I will listen to the king’s broadcast tonight—as the entire country will—and pray that you are safe.
I love you. I should have told you that in the garden, but I was so shocked and happy and stunned that you wanted to marry me.
I love you, I love you, I love you,
Beth
Tuesday, 6 June 1944
Highbury, Warwickshire
Dear Colin,
Please write to me and tell me that you’re safe.
Affectionately,
Beth
Wednesday, 7 June 1944
Highbury, Warwickshire
My dearest Graeme,
I do not expect a letter back from you. I can only hope that you are not in Normandy, but I fear from your silence that you are. I can only pray for you and your men.
I love you,
Beth
Thursday, 8 June 1944
Highbury, Warwickshire
My dearest Graeme,
We are all praying for you. Everyone.
Mrs. Symonds was in the kitchen when I made my delivery to Stella, and when she asked for word of you, I could hardly speak through my sobs. She wrapped her arms around me and held me close to her, saying nothing.
Come back to me, Graeme. Come back to me.
I love you,
Beth
“I hate laundry day,” Ruth groaned.
Beth hauled up a basket of wet sheets and balanced it on her hip. “Open the door for me, will you?”
Ruth rushed forward. Since D-Day, everyone seemed to be tripping over themselves to be kind to her. Beth appreciated it—she did—but she would happily work doubly hard to trade away the constant worry for her fiancé’s safety.
Every morning she scoured the newspapers that Mr. Penworthy drove to the village to buy for her. Everyone in the farmhouse gathered around the wireless, hoping for some scrap of information. None of them expected to hear Graeme’s name on the radio, or even much detail about the Pioneer Corps he had been assigned to after being discharged from Highbury House, but it gave them something to do. Something to hope for.
Setting her washing down in the sweet-scented grass under the clothesline, Beth pulled a bunch of pins out of her pocket and clipped them to the arm of her blouse. Ruth picked the top sheet off the stack and unpeeled the wet fabric from itself. Together, they tossed one end over the line, and Beth pinned it in place.