‘Oh, Sarah, I’m astonished to hear you’ve been so unhappy. I’d no idea you felt this way. I’m sorry you weren’t comfortable at home.’

  ‘I’ve not been exactly unhappy, Mummy, I’ve been lonely, bored, but never really dissatisfied with my life. Something that’s always surprised me is the fact that Daddy agreed to my going to university to become a doctor. It doesn’t really fit, does it?’

  ‘I was surprised when he agreed. He told me that he wanted you to follow your dream. Even though he didn’t really agree with women working, he didn’t want to stand in your way.’ She was silent for a few moments and then continued. ‘I lived with my parents until I married, as all girls did. I thought my life was perfect, after all, hadn’t I married into the aristocracy and now lived in the biggest house in the neighbourhood?’

  Joanna was glad Sarah was going to have the opportunities she didn’t as things were different now as there was a war on.

  Sarah jumped to her feet. ‘Did you close the curtains in the sitting room? It’s dark, and when we put the lights on to go upstairs we’ll have the ARP warden in the village ringing up and complaining again.’

  ‘Of course I did, darling, I’m not stupid. What I don’t know is if the drawing room doors are shut and they need to be.’

  ‘I’ll go and check. There’s soup and the rest of the pie for supper. I’ll get it ready when I get back.’

  As expected, the doors were shut. The melting snow from the officer’s coat had frozen on the tiles and Sarah narrowly avoided completing her mission on her backside.

  The next morning, Sarah was up before light and rushed about lighting the fires in the three rooms that were going to be used by the visitors. There was no need for them to be chilled to the marrow if the RAF were supplying the fuel needed for the fires.

  She’d drawn up a rota for the six incomers. As she didn’t know their names, she had referred to them by number until she got to know them better. They would have to keep their own rooms tidy and launder their clothes. There was an excellent laundry room with a huge copper boiler that was lit by Bates on a Monday. There was a mangle and raised racks upon which to hang the clothes when they were washed.

  It occurred to her that Mary might well be glad of the extra work and there was certainly sufficient money to cover her wages if she chose to do the laundry for the girls. She smiled to herself. She was referring to them as girls and yet they would probably all be older than her as one had to be seventeen and a half to volunteer. She was considering joining the WAAF if she didn’t go to Oxford.

  Having six WAAF here would give her the opportunity to find out more about life in the service and see if it might appeal if she didn’t, for some reason, go to Oxford in October. The girls wouldn’t be staying long enough to become friends, but making friends wasn’t something she was bothered about. Being an only child had made her resilient and happy on her own.

  From last week they were supposed to hand over all the eggs apart from the few they were allowed to keep but so far they hadn’t done so. There weren’t many eggs at this time of the year, even from two dozen hens, and a lot of those that were laid had shells so thin they cracked. This would make them substandard so they couldn’t be sent anyway.

  No doubt some officious person would arrive in the next week or two to ensure that Goodwill House was following the new rationing rules. There were rabbits and pheasants in the extensive woodlands so nobody here would go short of meat. Mummy and she had discussed what they would do with the surplus but now they would need it to feed the new residents.

  3

  Joanna hated the winter. The house was cold even in the summer but at least one could take a bath or have a wash without freezing to death. Her morning toilette was brief and she raced to the warmth of the kitchen clutching last night’s hot-water bottles under her arm.

  She emptied these in the scullery and hung them up from the hook at the bottom that protruded through the cosy crocheted cover. Where was her daughter? The table was laid for two – the kettle was simmering and yesterday’s bread was sliced and ready to be put on the end of the toasting fork.

  It was just after eight o’clock and they always breakfasted together at this time. The skies were grey, heavy with snow, and she feared there would be a further fall before this cold weather was over. On the news last night, she’d heard that the River Thames was frozen over. If there wasn’t a war on, perhaps people would skate on it as they had done hundreds of years ago.

  David was somewhere in northern France doing his bit and he wouldn’t be at all bothered by the weather. He’d been a reservist and when he was recalled in September he’d not hesitated. Perhaps he found a quiet country life as boring as she often did.

  Sarah had insisted they be paid with a postal order which meant they could cash it at the same times as David’s housekeeping money and not have to involve the bank. David had said before he left that he’d be back in a few months but as nothing had happened so far, she doubted she’d see him before the autumn at the very earliest. There were only enough postal orders to last until the summer – God knows what they would do for money after that as their boarders would be long gone by then. The money she withdrew weekly was not only for food, it also paid the wages of those who still worked here.

  The boot room door banged and a gust of icy wind blew through the kitchen. Sarah was back from wherever she’d been.

  ‘Mummy, sorry I wasn’t here when you came down. The coal arrived and I had to show them where to put it. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it rattling into the coal cellar.’

  ‘I’ve only been here a few minutes. Shall I make the tea? I’ll be glad when this wretched snow has gone and we can get into the village again. We won’t be able to go to church on Sunday and that will be the second week we’ve missed the service.’

  ‘I’m sure God won’t mind. He’s got better things to do than worry about us.’

  Joanna laughed. ‘I’m not bothered about the Almighty taking exception to our absence, I’m more concerned with what the vicar might say when we do finally turn up. He’ll probably mention us by name in his sermon – public humiliation isn’t something I’d enjoy.’

  ‘You’re above reproach – you’re the lady of the manor and everybody looks up to you. He wouldn’t dare do anything to upset you. One word of complaint from you to the bishop and he could find himself in the East End of London.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true, darling. If it was your father making the complaint that would be quite different.’

  ‘There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you about. I know you don’t like talking about money but do you think there’ll be enough for me to go to Oxford?’

  This was the question Joanna had been dreading and she had no option but to tell her darling daughter the truth. ‘I’ve not been able to entirely clear the accounts we have with the butcher and grocer each week. I hate to keep them waiting for what we owe but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to manage with what your father’s provided for us. I don’t have access to your father’s bank accounts, obviously, so I don’t actually know.’ She decided she might as well explain it all. ‘Your father expected to be home by the autumn and only left me enough to run the house until then. He made no mention of providing fees for Oxford.’

  ‘Is that a roundabout way of telling me I can’t go to university? I’d already guessed as much.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is. Does that mean you’re going to volunteer for one of the services instead?’

  ‘I’m veering towards being a WAAF but thought I’d wait until I’ve spoken to those that are going to stay here. If not, then probably the Land Army as I know more about farming, horses and so on than I do aeroplanes.’

  ‘I don’t think you have to know anything about planes, darling, that’s left to the men. Whilst we are on the subject, I think we’re going to have to let the horses go because there’s really not enough money to pay for two grooms or the feed.’

  ‘If we can’t afford to keep them then I think it highly unlikely we’ll be able to sell them to anyone despite the fact that all three of them are thoroughbreds. I can take care of them so we can let Bates and his son go, as long as you’re prepared to help in the house.’

  Joanna didn’t hesitate. ‘There’s nothing I’d like better than to have something useful to do. Will you promise me not to volunteer for anything until next year? You won’t be eighteen until September so why not wait a few more months and sign up in January?’

  ‘They don’t really need me at the moment and you do. Do you want me to speak to Bates or will you do it?’

  She was going to let Sarah convey the bad news but decided it wouldn’t be fair. ‘No, I’ll do it, but not until the weather improves. This largesse from the RAF is an absolute godsend – I’ll be able to clear the bills next time I go into the village and I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.’

  Bates had worked for the family for decades so it was sad they were going, but inevitable. If only David had been honest with her, prepared her for what was coming, things would be so much easier to deal with.

  Angus volunteered to take the thirty-hundredweight lorry to the station in Ramsgate and collect the unfortunate women posted to Manston. He rather thought he was the only bod on the base who wasn’t overjoyed to have them. Females of any sort were in short supply.

  He now had the list of names, numbers and duties that these WAAF were trained to do but as yet had no idea why they were being sent to his base. Someone at Victory House was trying to find out but until then they were stuck with them.

  God knows why someone at the Air Ministry had decided they needed six women to run the office. All of those he was collecting were designated as clerks – both general duties and accountant. This meant they had office and bookkeeping skills. They were all recently qualified, not even an NCO amongst them, so some poor sod would also be responsible for their discipline and well-being.

  The sooner he was reassigned to the job he was trained to do, the better. Footling around the way he was at the moment was making him bad-tempered. He wanted to be flying and preferably in a Spit.

  Win Co had agreed Lady Harcourt could be paid in advance and he had a generous postal order in his pocket. The lorry lurched and bumped over the packed snow but he arrived with no mishaps outside the station twenty minutes after the train from Charing Cross was due to arrive. This was a considered decision as trains rarely ran on time especially with so much ice and snow around.

  He didn’t want to turn the engine off as the vehicle wasn’t a good starter and in this weather it might stall and it was too damn cold to be stuck outside today. He hoped the girls would have the common sense to keep an eye out for him so he didn’t have to go inside. This station was spacious and hopefully considerably warmer than the forecourt.

  His breath condensed in front of him, the inside of the windscreen was steaming up, and he leaned forward and rubbed it clear with his glove. As he did so, he saw puffs of smoke approaching the station. The train was only half an hour late which was bloody good considering the circumstances.

  He opened the door and dropped to the ground. Probably wise for them to see him in his RAF blue greatcoat standing beside the lorry in case they didn’t realise the brown-and-green-painted vehicle was waiting for them.

  Shortly after the train had arrived, the girls emerged. They were wearing what looked like a groundsheet over their grey-blue uniform – no sign of a thick coat at all. Bloody hell – they were hardly equipped for this weather. The fact that they were also lugging a massive kitbag didn’t help either. One of the girls was dragging it through the snow as she was too short to carry it over her left shoulder as the others were doing.

  He strode across and grabbed the bag. ‘Flight Lieutenant Trent, welcome to Ramsgate. Your carriage awaits, ladies.’

  They were too cold and miserable to do more than nod and smile weakly. He tossed the bag he was carrying into the back of the lorry and then picked up the owner and lifted her in. This gallant gesture did raise a smile.

  ‘Cor, ta ever so, mister, I’d ’ave been showing me knickers trying to get in,’ the girl shouted back happily.

  ‘It’s sir, not mister. Right, you lot, in as fast as you can. From the look of you, you need a hot drink and somewhere warm to thaw out and you won’t get that at Manston. I’m taking you to your billet.’

  There was a mumbled chorus of thanks and so on as with various degrees of elegance and efficiency the other five scrambled into the back. There were two slippery wooden benches, one on either side, for them to sit on.

  As he was hooking the rear flap to the tailgate, he called in to them. ‘Put your kitbags in the middle so if you fall off the bench you’ve got a soft landing. I’ll do my best not to tip you off too often.’

  It took him over half an hour to negotiate the slippery roads, make his way through Stodham and reach Goodwill House. Someone had been busy, he noted, as the snow had been cleared in the turning circle in the front of the house.

  Again he left the engine running, jumped out and ran around to the back. He unfastened the canvas flaps, dropped the tailgate and looked in. The girls looked somewhat dishevelled but a lot happier and warmer than they had when they climbed in.

  ‘Sorry, from the looks of you I didn’t manage to keep you on the benches.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, sir, it was jolly good fun. Shall we chuck out our bags?’

  The speaker, from her crystal-cut diction, was a member of the upper classes, a bit older than he’d expected, and her blonde hair was swept back into an arrangement that allowed her to pin her uniform cap securely to her head.

  ‘Toss them to me. Be quicker and more efficient.’

  In rapid succession the six bags hurtled towards him and without his excellent reflexes he would have been flattened. The girls tumbled out and even the little one jumped down without needing his assistance.

  The racket they’d made had obviously been heard and the front door opened. Both Lady Harcourt and her daughter came out to greet their temporary paying guests.

  ‘Welcome, ladies, please come in as quickly as you can. I don’t like to leave the door open too long.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, thank you for having us,’ another of the girls replied as she snatched up her bag and headed for the door.

  Miss Harcourt came down to speak to him. She was unusually tall for a girl – only half a head shorter than himself and he was over six foot. ‘Thank you for bringing them, flight lieutenant. Are you coming in for coffee and cake? We’ve got plenty.’

  He shook his head. ‘Sorry, if I turn the engine off it’s a bugger to get it started again. I’ll be down tomorrow to see how they’ve settled in and give them some sort of idea what they’re going to be doing once we’ve got things organised.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’ She smiled and he thought she was really quite pretty when she wasn’t scowling at him.

  Sarah pointed to the magnificent carved oak staircase that dominated the far end of the grand hall. ‘Dump your bags there, girls, I’ll take you up to your rooms when you’re warmer. There are two coat stands for you to hang your – whatever that is you’re wearing – on over there by the passageway that leads to the kitchen.’

  She stood aside as they did as she requested which gave her a few moments to look at them without being observed herself. There was one pretty girl who didn’t look more than five foot tall and, from the sound of her, came from the East End. The others were various shapes and sizes, but none of them were particularly memorable.

  ‘Follow me, we’re going to congregate in the kitchen as it’s the warmest place in the house. It’s where we eat as well.’

  Mummy had greeted the girls and then dashed off to pour the boiling water onto the tea leaves waiting in the largest teapot they owned.

  The kitchen was more than thirty feet long and almost as wide and for the first time in Sarah’s life it didn’t seem empty. The scrubbed pine table that dominated the centre of the room had ten chairs spaced around it and the girls each pulled one out and sat down chattering and laughing, happy to be finally warm again.

  After two mugs of hot sweet tea and two slices of cake, the atmosphere was relaxed and she was beginning to put names to faces. Eleanor, an elegant blonde girl aged twenty-one, seemed the leader of the group. Ada, the Londoner, was the group joker. She was also the only smoker and would probably be found lurking in a corner smoking one of her Woodbines. The other four were pleasant enough but didn’t seem interested in sharing information with her or Mummy, they preferred to talk amongst themselves.

  ‘Right, I don’t know if you’re aware of it but you won’t be going to the base to work for a bit. Think of this as unofficial leave. Flight Lieutenant Trent said they didn’t expect you to arrive so swiftly and they’re not ready for you.’

  ‘We’ve been frantically busy these past six weeks so it will be wonderful to have time to write letters, catch up, get to know the area a little,’ Eleanor said, and the others agreed.

  ‘If you’ve finished, I’ll take you upstairs. Three of you in a room and you all share a sitting room. You have your own bathroom and WC.’

  This was greeted with exclamations of delight. It seemed for the past few weeks they’d been obliged to dash across freezing concrete to an ablutions block which was used by hundreds.

  Sarah returned to the kitchen, satisfied the girls would be happy upstairs. All of them had been thrilled to find they’d got an actual mattress and pillow with real cotton sheets. Heaven knows what they’d been sleeping on up to now but it put her off the idea of becoming a WAAF herself.

  She’d better start making enquiries about joining the Land Army next year.