Gracie's Sin (38 page)

‘Stupid girl. You shouldn’t be using that saw on yer own.’ As if it wasn’t bad enough that Alf had again spotted her behaving carelessly, Lou insisted she get on her bike right away, and head straight for the doctor’s surgery.

‘It might need stitches. You can’t take any chances. That cut looks deep.’

She tried to protest but it was no use. Gracie was forced to leave and the next day was put on to paperwork until the wound healed a little. She gave up all hope of ever seeing Karl again.

Though the squad worked well together on the surface, Lou could sense a deep river of gloom and unease running beneath. People were growing short tempered; making mistakes and growing careless. Gracie was either a bag of nerves or fell into long silences, not at all her usual placid self. As for Rose, the bright and cheerful girl who’d once seemed so keen to be a part of their team tended to burst into tears at the slightest provocation. Tess and Lena spent far too much time sitting playing cards in their room above the Eagle’s Head, and even Jeannie had been a bit below par in recent weeks, clearly affected by the general mood of depression all round.

It was this evidence of low morale which brought Lou out of her own doldrums. Here she was, a newly promoted forewoman and her team was falling apart before her eyes. What good would that do? Either for themselves or for poor Gordon, wherever he was. There was nothing she could do about her husband, except wait and hope for the best. But there was something she could do about her friends.

The autumn days were golden with sunshine, warm and sweetly scented with woodland bonfires although they were growing ever shorter and soon another winter would be upon them. Lou decided that a change of scene might be the very thing to buck everyone up, before it was too late. She didn’t announce her decision until she’d made all the necessary arrangements.

She’d planned it all. Fourteen days working on a logging project up at Loweswater. They’d sleep in an old army tent, cook on an open fire, swim in the lake, have a lovely time in the back of beyond, she told them. ‘It’ll be just like old times. Porridge for breakfast, sardines or cheese sarnies for dinner, and sweaty socks put out to air each night. But no singing in the morning, please. A dawn chorus really gets on my wick.’

Nobody cheered or smiled, or welcomed the proposal. And no one expected to have the energy to sing, or were in the least fooled by Lou’s counterfeit brightness even as they admired her courage and agreed to give it a try.

Only Gracie openly objected to the idea of two weeks away and suggested that perhaps one week would be sufficient.

Lou said, ‘Fourteen days. That’s the agreement. We’ll still be working, don’t forget. It’s not entirely a holiday,’ and that was an end of the matter.

They drove out on the coast road. To the right rose the folds of the Lakeland hills, climbing ever higher to frost bleached mountains dappled by purple heather. To the left lay lush green pastures that swept down to the slate grey Irish Sea. They passed through mining villages, rows of stone cottages stoutly facing the open fells and the harsh winds that blew across them. Then the lorry rattled on over an empty landscape broken only by the solid dark shapes of Herdwick sheep with the blaze of white on their regal heads.

They parked up the lorry by the side of the lake and only then realised they would have to transport everything across by boat and as they didn’t have one of those, would be forced to trek all the way round, following the woodland path. There was a strong scent of resin in the air, smoky blue hills in the distance, the rocks and roots underfoot were slippy with moss. The sighing of the wind through the trees and the gentle chuckle of waves lapping on the shingle made Gracie shiver, the sense of loneliness seeming suddenly acute, as if they were balanced on the very edge of the world.

Would this be how it would feel without Karl, without the hope of ever seeing him again? This aching emptiness, as if a part of her were gone forever? She shook the notion away. Being morbid wouldn’t help one bit.

In the smooth flatlands at the foot of the lake lay a white walled building which they learned later to be Watergate Farm. It was here, each morning, where they would come to collect milk and even the occasional egg, if they were lucky and the farmer’s wife generous.

They pitched their tent in Holme Wood, far enough away from the water’s edge to avoid flooding, well away from the logging chute, yet safely within the shelter of Carling Knot which rose up behind the woods like a dark knob on the landscape. Lou announced that each morning they would climb or race each other up this hump of a hill, for exercise.

‘Not
every
morning?’ Lena said, eyes widening in dismay.

‘No, no, of course not.’ Lou agreed. ‘Not every morning. Some days we’ll swim in the lake, or go up that one instead,’ indicating Darling Fell, the hill on the opposite shore, below which they’d parked their lorry.

The beauty of the spot alone should help to heal their wounds, Lou thought, as she said her usual prayers for Gordon’s safety that night, tucked deep inside her sleeping bag. She prayed too, that the silence and peace of this place would do the same favour for her.

In a way it did feel as if they were raw recruits again, back in Cornwall. They half expected Matron to storm in at any moment and shout “stand by your beds” Except that this was worse.

Here, there was no morning queue for the wash basins because there weren’t even any bathrooms. Tess and Jeannie dug a latrine, while Lena and Gracie filled water buckets, at least on that first morning. For lighting they had a hurricane lamp, and there was neither table nor chairs, nothing more than an old wooden bench upon which three people could sit, at a squeeze. They took it in turns. There were no bunk beds, only blankets pinned together to use as sleeping bags on the hard ground. Gracie had already learned to scoop out a hollow in the compacted earth in order to make it more comfortable, but then she’d been so tired by nightfall she could have slept on a washing line. The autumn dawn had a sharpness to it and she’d woken early to lie worrying about Karl and the proposed escape plan.

How could he even consider helping Erich? Why take the risk? Fear swelled in her like an unstoppable growth, destroying the last fragile traces of her happiness. She felt as if she must fight to claw her way up from some dark place where she’d really rather stay with her head under a pillow. It would be warm and safe, and she’d wait there until the war was over and Karl would be free to love her. In the beginning, the war had seemed like a game. Now she saw only the tendrils of its evil, spreading and poisoning everything in its path. Once she’d been young and thirsty for adventure. Now she felt like an old woman who had lived too long.

Tess’s voice came out of the cold grey dawn. ‘God, this is awful. Why on earth did I give up my nice cushy post driving officers around in classy jeeps for this?’ And since everyone shared her dismay at their living conditions, nobody had a reasonable answer to offer.

‘Some holiday,’ Jeannie groaned, burying her head deep beneath the blankets.

Tempers grew ever shorter in the overcrowded sleeping conditions and there was none of the friendly chatter, or the sharing of confidences that they’d enjoyed at the initial training camp. The girls took to avoiding each other, spending more time out in the open although slowly, bit by bit, the chores got done, the camp was set up and a routine established. Flour and oats, tins of spam, powdered egg and sardines were all stowed away safely under a tarpaulin, where hopefully they wouldn’t get nibbled by marauding red squirrels or other wild life. Tess built a fireplace for cooking with a crane to swing over it, upon which she hung a large billy can.

‘Now we can brew a cuppa,’ she proudly announced.

‘Home from home,’ Rose tartly agreed.

‘I think it’s great.’ This, surprisingly enough, from Lena. Everyone froze her with a quelling glare. She was really getting far too agreeable.

Steadfast in her determination to hold everyone together, Lou refused to become embroiled in argument. She pinned up a duty rota, listing who would be responsible for cooking, disinfecting the lats, or cleaning out the tent each day. To her great disappointment, instead of easing relationships, this seemed to create even more ill feeling.

‘You’ve got me on breakfast duty twice in the first week. That’s a bit much, don’t you reckon?’

‘Dinna ask me to light a fire with two matches.’

‘But I thought you were in the Girl Guides?’

‘Aye, but they drummed me out.’

‘How can I tidy this tent if there’s bedding and clothes scattered all over the place? It’s not my responsibility to clean up after other folk.’

‘I’m not stripping off and washing out in the open. We might get peeping Toms. Or spiders in the wash basins. I hate spiders.’

‘And I’m going nowhere near those lats. That’s a stinking job.’

Lou cajoled and pleaded, persuaded and coaxed, explaining that everyone had to take their turn at each and every job. ‘That’s the only fair way.’ She finally sat everyone down and gave them all a good stiff talking to. This calmed tempers down considerably but relations continued to be scratchy. Her plan to lift spirits and give them all a break didn’t seem to be going at all according to plan.

Somehow they got through that first weekend and on Monday morning were introduced to their new ganger. An old man in a flat cap, muffler and waistcoat, he would have looked more at home at a city football match than standing knee deep in reeds with only a gang of Timber Girls for company. He was clearly even more unused to working with women than poor Alf, who was only slowly growing accustomed to the idea and quite relieved to be rid of them for a week or two.

‘Have you lot done owt like this afore?’ he asked, a plaintive note in his nasally voice.

‘No,’ they said, almost of one accord.

‘Then England is safe. Victory is ours.’

As the days passed, the work became a refuge for them all. It demanded their complete attention so that conversation became confined to the barest essentials.

The felled larch, destined to be telegraph poles, were brought down by chute from high in the oak woods which bordered the lake, each falling into the water with a satisfying splash. From here they were towed across by boat to the road on the opposite shore where the logs were then winched on to the back of the lorry and taken to the sawmill. Tess, for one, was relishing the prospect of driving a boat. ‘Make a nice change, and it’s another new challenge,’ she said brightly.

Rose objected, declaring it would make her seasick. She didn’t tell them she felt sick most of the time these days, and her stomach ached, due to the baby she assumed.

 
Nobody took her remark too seriously but simply laughed, as if she’d made a silly joke, but then nobody ever did take her seriously these days. They even seemed to think it amusing that Adam should change his mind about who he intended to marry. As if the very idea of anybody loving silly little Rose was utterly ridiculous.

Of course, she’d much prefer to have married Josh but since he wasn’t free, him being married already, beggars couldn’t be choosers, as they say. He hadn’t even written in ages, and nobody understood or even cared how hurt she was over his defection back to his clinging wife. They saved all their sympathy for Lou and her agony over a missing husband, or for pretty Grace with her long pale hair, classical good looks and lovely grey eyes. No wonder Adam had thought her the perfect wife; so fragile and winsome there were times when Rose almost hated her. She’d even noticed that German PoW, what was his name - Karl, watching her with covert but very real interest. But then she was a dark horse, was little Gracie. Who knew what went on in the secret recesses of her agile mind, or when nobody was looking. Everyone seemed to forget how well she could stand up for herself, and how determined she was to get her own way when it suited her.

Perhaps, Rose thought, she should make herself more noticeable, perhaps do something truly dreadful, then they might all start listening to her for a change. Something like trying to drown herself, for instance. That would make them all feel thoroughly guilty for ignoring her. Though perhaps death was a touch drastic. She was young; had a lot of living to do yet. But Rose did start to wonder how long one could hold one’s breath underwater. The notion of sinking beneath those sparkling, rippling waves became so strangely tempting, she found herself mesmerised by their beauty.

Their new ganger, known simply as Bill, directed them in the skills of rafting with a benevolent hand. He was a quiet man, if somewhat taciturn, but with far more patience over their blunders than Alf had ever exhibited.

As the timber came down the chute, Tess and Lena would wait in the motor boat while the others stood, thigh deep in water, ready to direct and position the logs. These were fastened together by means of a long chain, “dogs” or long pins hammered into the butt end of the trees, to join several logs together. A strong rope was then looped around the centre log of the raft and fixed to the stern of the boat which set out across the lake, pulling the raft of logs behind it.

It was precarious but exciting work, particularly when, as now, the logs were bobbing about and crashing into other. The girls had to take care not to skin their hands on the rough bark, or worse, get trapped between the poles while struggling to fix on the chains. But everyone was putting their utmost into the job, desperately trying to prove that the squad could still work well together. And it certainly made a welcome change to be out on the open water in the sunshine, instead of in the depths of a forest.