Chapter Five
‘Goodness, I nearly ended up with stew all over me best togs.’ Grace gave her a cheeky wink.
She was wearing her hair up in a high, elaborate bun, her dress a glorious bright orange with brown bands at the hem and cuffs.
She looked about as far from a Land Girl as it was possible to get, in Caroline’s opinion.
It was hard not to stare. ‘By the way, have you seen old Mrs Newton with her boyfriend?’ she went on cheerily.
‘Both of them old enough to remember when Queen Vic was on the throne. I just saw them holding hands under the table … Young love, eh?’
‘Poor lady. She deserves a little happiness though,’ Caroline told her, hanging back in the doorway, the bowls of stew on her tray steaming deliciously in her face.
‘Mrs Newton only remarried a couple of years back, and her husband died not long after. Her second time being widowed. It was very sad. And Mr Bailey’s a widower too.
Only, fancy, they knew each other as kids in school, Mrs Postbridge says,’ she added in a discreet whisper.
‘Her mum was born in Cornwall, you see, before the family moved to East London. So it’s like their second chance at love. ’
Grace’s eyes softened. ‘I didn’t realise …
In that case, good luck to them both.’ She nodded to the stew.
‘Smells amazing, doesn’t it? I can’t wait to tuck in.
Only we’ve at least another twenty bowls to dish out, and then there’s puddin’ after.
’ She rolled her eyes. ‘If I’d known how many people come to this Harvest Supper lark, I’d never have volunteered to help out. We’re rushed off our feet here.’
And with that, she dashed on.
Caroline carried her tray to Table 3 and carefully handed out the bowls to the large family of villagers sitting there.
The lady of the family was looking harassed.
‘Do you have any more paper napkins?’ she asked Caroline, jiggling a restless baby on her knee.
‘My little boy spilt his orange squash, and I had to mop it up. Now we’ve no napkins left for the meal. ’
‘Of course.’ Caroline returned to the kitchen, and once again almost collided with Grace coming out. ‘Where’s Tilly gone? I thought she was helping too.’
Grace nodded across the crowded parish hall, and Caroline spotted Tilly deep in conversation with a young lad she recognised as Benny, a local farmer’s son.
They were probably about the same age, she realised, and Tilly seemed flushed and happy, the empty tray under her arm quite forgotten.
‘Talking of young love …’ Grace murmured.
Caroline blinked, not having realised her fellow Land Girl was sweet on any of the local boys. ‘Oh golly.’
‘So it looks like we’re on our own back here, eh?’
Meeting the other girl’s amused gaze, Caroline felt herself suddenly tongue-tied. She tried to smile and only managed an odd, twitching grimace.
Embarrassment swept through her at Grace’s surprised look.
What on earth was wrong with her? If she couldn’t sort herself out and be more careful, she would end up causing yet another awkward situation like the one she’d failed to avoid with Selina.
Yes, she liked the new Land Girl – rather more, now she realised, than she ought.
But she dared not let Grace see that. The thought of being rebuffed by another girl was almost too much to bear …
Worse, if Grace were to become angry about it, maybe even to denounce her publicly, she would have to leave Porthcurno.
And Postbridge Farm had become her whole life.
‘We’d best get on with it, then,’ Caroline muttered, and hurried into the kitchen for more bowls of stew, entirely forgetting the napkins she’d promised to fetch and had to dash back for them a moment later.
At last, the Land Girls were able to sit down at a table together and hurriedly eat the last of the stew before there was pudding still to serve.
As soon as they’d eaten, they rushed around the parish hall, collecting up dirty bowls and doling out stewed apple and custard for pudding.
Thankfully, they were not expected to do the washing-up themselves.
The vicar and his wife had dragooned other volunteers into that job.
‘Goodness, this feels never-ending,’ Caroline groaned, passing Tilly on their way into the kitchen, their arms stacked with dirty bowls and cutlery. ‘Remind me why we volunteered for this?’
‘Technically, I never volunteered,’ Tilly said, tipping used cutlery into the steel tray next to the sink. ‘Mrs Newton asked, wouldn’t you like to help out in a good cause? And I had a mouthful of food so couldn’t reply. Next thing I knew, my name was on the list.’
Grace, mopping up spilt water beside the cutlery washers, grinned. ‘She’s a canny old bird, Mrs Newton. But I have to admit, I put my hand up to sing. So I can’t blame that on anyone else.’
‘Yes, and you should stop cleaning up now,’ Tilly told her, snatching away the mop, ‘and get out there, ready to do your bit.’
‘I’d forgotten you’d volunteered for the entertainment too,’ Caroline admitted, looking round at her with awe. ‘You don’t look nervous. Are you?’
‘Not a bit, bless you.’ Grace laughed at them both. ‘I was always picked to do the solos in church when I was younger, so it’s second nature to me now. And it’s not difficult, singing. My old teacher used to say, all you have to do is open your gob and let the song come out.’
Caroline followed the other two girls out into the hall.
The hubbub was deafening, everyone chattering merrily as they scraped away at their stewed apple and custard.
Eventually, all the pudding dishes were gathered in for washing, and cups of tea handed out to everyone, with more squash for the kiddies.
There was a slight commotion at the door, and everyone turned to stare. Caroline saw Mrs Newton and her sister Mrs Chellew jump to their feet. She realised the man swaying towards Mrs Chellew must be her estranged husband. He looked drunk and quite unpleasant.
‘Go home, Stanley,’ Mrs Newton exclaimed, shooing him away.
‘I want my wife,’ he growled, reaching for Mrs Chellew. ‘Come on with me, Maggie.’
‘I ain’t going anywhere with you, Stanley,’ Mrs Chellew said loudly into the silence. ‘You’re a brute and a drunk, and I don’t want anything more to do with you.’
In a matter of seconds, it was over. Mr Bailey and Ernest Fisher got to their feet and escorted Stanley unceremoniously out of the hall.
Well, dragged more than escorted. There was a quiet ripple of applause, and then everyone hurriedly returned to their conversations as though nothing had happened.
Caroline watched the door for some time, and eventually the two men returned, bending to reassure Mrs Chellew with a few words.
After the vicar had stood to give his annual speech of thanksgiving for the harvest, the raffle was called.
One of the parish councillors, a thin gentleman with spectacles and tweed jacket, drew the winning tickets, and everyone dutifully applauded as bags of potatoes, carrots and apples were won, along with the odd bottle of home-made wine.
‘The proceeds from the raffle go towards our community fund for the poor and needy,’ the vicar reminded them all, ‘kindly administered by Mrs Newton and her committee.’ After much lengthy applause, he nodded to his wife, and Mrs Clewson rose to take her seat at the piano.
‘Now, how about a sing-song to round off the evening? I believe we also have two new soloists this year, so please show them your appreciation.’
They all sang a few old country favourites together, everyone joining in with gusto.
Then a farmer’s wife, Mrs Hayle, gave a solo rendition of a haunting sea shanty while Mrs Clewson accompanied her on the piano.
She had a good voice but was slightly off tune in places.
Still, Caroline couldn’t sing to save her life, so thought it awfully brave of the lady to stand up and give it a try in front of all these people. Then it was Grace’s turn.
‘Now for Miss Grace Morgan,’ the vicar announced, smiling at her, ‘a member of the Women’s Land Army currently based up at Postbridge Farm.’
As Grace went forward, the room hushed in expectation. Several people whispered behind their hands, others stared in fascination at the new Land Girl who had been the talk of the village ever since she arrived.
Caroline knew she would have cringed and sunk through the floorboards to have so many people gaping at her. But Grace paid no attention to the crowd, bending to murmur something to Mrs Clewson as she took her place beside the piano.
‘What are you going to sing?’ one young man called out daringly.
Grace turned his way, smiling. ‘One of our lovely Vera Lynn’s most popular tunes,’ she told him in her clear voice. ‘“We’ll Meet Again.” I’m sure you all know the words, so do join in at the chorus if you like.’ And with that, she nodded to the vicar’s wife to begin playing.
The room fell silent, the crowd mesmerised as her voice soared in the opening lines of the well-known song.
Caroline too gave a little exclamation of surprise, quickly hushing it with a hand at her mouth.
Although Grace had said she was a good singer, Caroline hadn’t expected such a beautiful voice.
‘Oh my,’ Tilly whispered beside her.
Caroline glanced at her friend. ‘Awfully good, isn’t she?’
‘Good? I’ll say so.’
As the chorus came along, many villagers joined in with the familiar words, but quietly and respectfully, not wanting to drown out such a glorious voice.
When Grace finished, the applause nearly raised the rafters.
She smiled around at them all and gave a little curtsey before returning to her seat.
Some called out for her to sing again, shouting, ‘Bravo! Encore, encore!’ but Grace merely shook her head, still smiling, and took a sip of her tea, though it must have been lukewarm by then.