Despite William’s parents, she had her own little home and most importantly she was out from under the roof of her bastard father who had always been cold towards her but warm to her bitch of a sister. He had used his fists all too often where her mother had been too cowardly and weak to intervene. God, how she hated her mother for it and this was the reason she hadn’t seen her in years.
Chapter Two
When Iris had realised she was pregnant she had thought that perhaps having a baby might not be all that bad. She decided to try and make the best out of a bad situation and avoiding the chores was a little incentive that helped. No matter how much Iris tried, she felt she wasn’t able to love Maggie as she deserved. Iris couldn’t overcome the fact that Maggie, despite being a good, happy child who gave unconditional love to her parents, was an extra person she had to care for. It was just so inconvenient.
As they approached Primrose Cottage they spotted William running towards them. Iris watched him, it seemed, with new eyes as this strong handsome man with short blond hair, pleasant face and dazzling blue eyes bounded up to them knowing they were safe. This was the man she felt safe with, the man who had never raised his fists to her and the man she depended on. Also, this was the man she cheated on, the man she manipulated and the man with the natural abilities and morals she envied, even begrudged, but knew she would never have.
His quiet placid nature with a genuine respect for people was why the farm workers valued him as a boss. He was able to get the best out of people, was fair but could also get furious if a job was not done properly.
“Thank the Lord, Iris,” exclaimed William breathlessly, “you’re both safe, I was so worried.” He swept Iris up, off her feet, and swung her around.
“Me too,” laughed Maggie, holding up her arms for her father to pick her up.
“Of course, freckles,” he said, with watery eyes. “My girls.” They embraced each other.
“I was so scared, William,” cried Iris, “Hadn’t had a daylight air-raid for a while, and to top it all we’ve little flour for the rabbit pie and I’ve used up all the rations.”
“Bugger the pie, love,” he laughed, “you’re both safe that’s the main thing. Hey Maggie, eggs for tea? I think Betsy Chicken might give up her lovely eggs for this occasion, what do you think?” The three of them made their way back to the cottage. William and Iris held hands whilst Maggie ran alongside trying to steer her mother’s bicycle in a straight line.
That evening, after William had read Maggie a bedtime story and tucked her in for the night, he and Iris sat down at the kitchen table to talk about the day’s events.
“Right love,” he said, reaching across to cup Iris’s hands in his. “How are you really? Maggie’s asleep, so no more pretence my girl.”
“A little shaken,” she said, pulling out her hands from under his. “But I’ll be back to normal in no time, you’ll see, now don’t fuss.” As she got up she placed her hand gently on William’s shoulder. This motion in itself was as close to a loving gesture as Iris could manage and in that moment they both appreciated the meaning for what it was. She made her way over to the stone sink to fill the kettle. “Want a cuppa before we turn in?”
“That’s my girl, tough as old boots and yes please, perhaps with a teaspoon of honey?”
“Don’t push your luck, Mr Harris,” she laughed, as she put the heavy kettle onto the range plate. She checked to see if the fire was reasonably stoked. “You’re in luck, the fire’s up enough for that cuppa and I’ll even boil you an egg for your pack up tomorrow.”
“Goodness me Iris, the royal treatment no less. Two fresh eggs in two days, there’ll be none to sell to the village shop,” he mocked. “Look,” he said, turning serious, “would you feel safer if we bundled up Maggie and slept in the Anderson shelter tonight? It wouldn’t be too bad as it isn’t a cold night.”
“No, Maggie’s well asleep now and I don’t want to disturb her. Let her be, I’ll be all right, we’ll laugh at this in the morning no doubt. Don’t want Jerry to get one over on us anymore today. Wait a minute, what was I thinking?” she said, turning to look at William. “Eggs for tea and a boiled egg for tomorrow’s lunch? That’s too grand. You’ll have a tomato sandwich and be done with it.”
“Yes, you’re right, love. How about we take our cuppas up to bed?” he smiled. “What are you laughing at?”
“You’re funny, William, the thought of taking up a cup of tea in one hand whilst holding the chamber pot in the other? Very romantic I must say.”
Chapter Three
It was late August and the cuckoos, woodpigeons and sparrows were in direct competition with one another. The painted lady butterflies gathered in abundance around the ‘pop pop’ shrubs as Maggie called them and the clucking from the chicken pen said it was breakfast time.
Maggie threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. She was wearing a pink-striped cotton nightie that came down to her ankles and her long hair was a complete unruly mess. ‘The untidy fairies have visited during the night’ her father often said. Maggie stepped onto her rug, as it was warmer than the floorboards, then she sprinted through her door to the thin-carpeted stairs on the landing. This was one of Maggie’s favourite times of day when her parents weren’t around to tell her off as she sat on the top stair and bounced on her bottom all the way down.
Once she reached the last step, she got up and ran into the living room and stopped by the polished chestnut sideboard and jumped. This caused her mother’s ornamental cuckoo clock atop the sideboard to ‘cuckoo’ out of sequence from the movement and the loose floorboard underneath to leap. Maggie giggled every time she did this then she continued passed the two-seater sofa with the lumpy cushions and through the open doorway into the kitchen.
“Morning,” she shouted, as she quickly ran through the kitchen on her way to the porch.
“Good morning Maggie, don’t forget your wellingtons,” said her mother.
As Maggie sat on the back doormat the hessian prickled her bottom and the backs of her legs like tiny hedgehog spikes. She reached for her mud splashed wellie boots. They were well worn as the mothers in the village often pooled shoes and clothes to get the maximum wear when their children had outgrown them.
“There’s a war on Maggie and we mustn’t waste anything.” Maggie often heard her mother say this. It seemed to Maggie that there was always a war on, but that didn’t stop her mother or any grown up from saying this regularly.
With wellies on, she ran down the garden pathway, passing ‘the girls shed’ with the checked curtains, passed the washing line and chicken run then veered to the left onto the stepping stones leading to the outside lavatory. Iris had, over time, trained climbing roses to grow over the lavatory roof so it would be nicer to look at.
Although the outside was nice, Maggie didn’t like the inside of the lavatory. There were lots of cobwebs, despite her mother cleaning regularly, and big spiders. When it rained the water often trickled under the wooden door making small puddles on the ground. At twilight you could hear the frogs croaking and because the walls and roof were made of corrugated iron it enhanced the croaking and scared her. Once, Mr Tomkin’s cat had leapt up onto the roof while she was inside and she had screamed at the sound of the thump and its scratching claws.
In Maggie’s mind, the lavatory was definitely not a nice place to be. Her father always cut up pieces of newspaper to use as toilet paper and she used to sift through to find pieces with words as she didn’t think it was right to use pieces with pictures of people.
For some time she had persevered with the lavatory chain. She was very independent and had wanted to do this for herself but it was a tricky piece of equipment and you were not guaranteed a successful flush every time. Maggie had eventually worked out that if she grasped the end of the rope with both hands and gently lowered it halfway then released it immediately and pulled it down