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Copyright © 2019 Tracey Friday
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication data
Tracey Friday, author.
ISBN 9780987639004 (paperback)
ISBN 9780648564607 (ebook)
Printed in Australia
Cover design and Typesetting by Elly Cridland
BE PUBLISHED
Publish through a successful publisher. National Distribution through Woodslane Pty Ltd
International Distribution to the United Kingdom, North America Sales Representation to South East Asia
Email: [email protected]
Dedication
In memory of much loved Nan Finch,
forever an inspiration.
Chapter One
Iris was enjoying her stroll as she made her way back from the village store. It was a perfect spring afternoon and the air was pleasantly scented with the heady aroma of honeysuckle. Savouring the moment, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes as she faced the warmth of the sun. Her curly brunette hair cascaded over her shoulders as she smiled and breathed in deeply.
“Honeysuckle, my favourite,” she said, now facing the abundant hedgerow. “I’ll pick a bunch for the kitchen window sill, what do you think?”
There was no reply from her daughter Maggie. She was searching for a four-leafed clover within a tuft of grass in the middle of the lane.
“Mind you,” Iris continued, “we’ll have to make sure there are no white fly or other bugs, don’t want them crawling all over the kitchen, do we?”
Again, there was no reply.
Iris reached over to the hedgerow, mindful of not standing too close to the deep ditch. Being only five-foot-three inches tall, she needed to stand on tiptoe to reach a good-sized stem at the base and flicked it over. The stem made a satisfying popping sound as she pierced it with her thumbnail and felt the cool juice splash under her nail and trickle down to her palm.
Suddenly, the peace and tranquillity turned to sheer panic.From all around the country lane flocks of birds, that had just seconds ago been snoozing, instantly catapulted skywards in unison. Their collective flapping and squawking was drummed out by the roar of the village air raid siren.
Iris immediately tossed the honeysuckle aside and sprinted the short distance to reach her daughter. As she passed her bicycle, her foot collided with the stand and the bicycle toppled over causing her to stumble, but thankfully, remain upright. “Maggie, quick,” she said, as she grabbed her daughter’s arm and they ran together to the ditch.
The bicycle wheels rotated horizontally at tremendous speed from the impact and the few groceries that were in the basket scattered from the force. The bag of flour, that had cost precious ration stamps, burst open and sent a small white cloud upwards. This was closely followed by a red ball of yarn that un-rolled itself as it sped down the lane as if to say, ‘it’s okay, follow me’, before coming to a stop.
Even though Maggie was familiar with the siren’s shrill tone, at five years old, it was still terrifying. She covered her ears trying to block out the deafening noise as hordes of planes flew overhead on their way to London. The vibration alone felt like the village brass band and drums were playing inside her chest and the ground seemed to jump under her feet.
Iris quickly assessed the groups of stinging nettles in the ditch. Cradling Maggie in her arms she hoisted her skirt up and over, encasing Maggie entirely. Her petticoat would offer some protection from the nettles as she jumped in. They landed, miraculously without injury, with Iris still shielding Maggie from possible bomb debris. For Maggie, jumping into ditches was the fun part, the vibration and thunderous noise was not.
The spring had been relatively dry, so there was no water awaiting them at the base. Even though the stench was initially stifling from the damp vegetation closest to the soil, that was not Iris’s main concern right now. Still holding Maggie in her skirt cocoon, she crouched and tried to sit as comfortably and carefully as she could in the confined space. She lent backwards slightly with her back supported against the far side of the ditch and her feet wedged against the other side. Maggie was crying from the over-head noise more than the restraint.
“For goodness sake Maggie, stop crying,” Iris shouted over the roaring noise, “we’re safe here,” although she wasn’t too sure.
Being where she was made Iris recall another time when she had un-expectantly landed at the bottom of a ditch. As a young child she had one day leaned a little too far over the side to pick some wild strawberries. Even though her reach was stretched to the limit, she frustratingly found the tempting cluster was still a whisker away. But, holding her breath she was able to lean a touch more…
That touch more caused her to over-balance and tumble down the side, landing tummy down in shallow putrid water. Not only was she facing a clump of slimy frogspawn, but she had nearly swallowed a water-boatman bug when she suddenly gasped in, realising that the shallow water was home to hundreds of tadpoles swimming all around her. It gave the illusion that her lovely white Sunday dress had pulsating polka dots.
She had managed to grab a handful of wild strawberries as she tumbled, but they had been crushed from the impact. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw deep red oozing from her hand and as she slowly unclenched her fist she realised it was not blood but the once succulent fruits were now a messy pulp.
Coming back to the moment it suddenly occurred to Iris that she always seemed to want things out of arm’s reach. And she wasn’t talking wild strawberries or honeysuckle here. She thought of the man she truly wanted but couldn’t have, however much she tried to ignore her feelings and desires as she continued to battle her wayward morals that bubbled below the surface.
Maggie gave another cry.
“Shhh, hush,” Iris said impatiently, trying to settle her own frantic breathing, she was scared too. Why did the child have to fuss all the time? As she tried to concentrate on possible impact if the Germans decided to offload any bombs on the way to the capital. She waited and prayed for the by-pass to be over and prayed for an end to this awful bloody war.
“Keep going, please keep going,” she whispered over and over as she rocked Maggie gently from side to side. Soon the roars of the engines faded, and Iris continued to strain her hearing until she could hear them no more. The all-clear siren came a few moments