“That sounds like fun,” said Mr Dwyer, as he continued to serve Iris.
Maggie wandered over to the counter top. It was at eye-level to her and she had to stand on tiptoe to see more. Maggie liked Mr Dwyer. He was much older than her father and had a kindly face; he wore small round spectacles and was always dressed in a smart suit. She was fascinated by his baldhead. It was very shiny and she often wondered if he polished it with beeswax like her mother polished the sideboard and cabinet. Just then, she spotted something.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to an envelope on the counter top, her eyes dazzled with interest.
“Maggie, that’s rude, you mustn’t do that,” said Iris. “So sorry, Mr Dwyer.”
“Not at all, Mrs Harris, not at all.” He turned the envelope around and pushed it towards Maggie.
“Maggie, please be careful,” whispered Iris, wondering what had captured her so.
Bill Dwyer walked around to the other side of the counter and slowly crouched down to Maggie’s level. One of his knees cracked as he did so.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s a koala stamp Maggie,” said Mr Dwyer
“Koala,” repeated Maggie slowly, “what’s that?”
“A koala is an animal that mostly lives in trees and carries its babies on its back. It lives in a country called Australia. That’s where this stamp came from.”
“Where’s Australia?” asked Maggie, excitedly.
“It is far far away. Thousands and thousands of miles away and it is very hot there too. This letter has travelled a long way to get here. I have a cousin who lives in Australia and from time to time he sends me letters and I write back. But this letter is from Jack, my cousin’s son who is about five years older than you are.”
“Is that near Maidstone?” asked Maggie, relating to the only far-away place that she knew.
“Goodness gracious no, Maggie,” he said smiling gently. “It’s much further than that. You see, Maidstone is about eight miles away from here and Australia is thousands of Maidstone’s away.” Bill Dwyer could see that Maggie was truly captivated by the stamp. When she finally handed the envelope back to him, he reached for a pair of scissors and cut around the koala stamp. He popped it with Iris’s stamp into a small bag and handed it to Maggie.
Both Maggie and Iris were taken aback when he did this.
“Mr Dwyer, that’s very kind of you, but not necessary,” said Iris.
“Mrs Harris, it is my absolute pleasure. I have many stamps from Australia and I would be delighted if Maggie would take care of this one for me,” he said smiling. “Would you do that Maggie?”
“Thank you, Mr Dwyer,” she said breathlessly, “I will look after it, I promise.”
“I know you will,” he smiled. He opened the door and waved them goodbye.
Maggie was unusually quiet as they cycled home. Iris was enjoying the peace and the afternoon breeze when suddenly, Maggie spoke.
“I like Australia and I will go there one day to see a koala.”
“Will you now, Maggie?” Iris laughed. “That’s just grand and you can send us a letter with a koala on it too,” she said sarcastically.
As soon as they arrived home, Maggie raced off in search of her father who was working on the tractor in his workshop to get it ready for the next day.
“Daddy, look what I got from Mr Dwyer,” she said. “It is a stamp from Australia, which is longer away than Maidstone.”
“I should say it is, Maggie,” said William, as he stopped what he was doing and wiped his oily hands on his overalls and examined the stamp she was holding. “Yes, very nice it is.”
“It’s a koala. Have you been to Australia, Daddy?”
“Goodness no Maggie, it’s a long way from here.”
“I am going there one day to see koalas,” she said matter-of-factly as she walked back towards the house.
Chapter Eight
Early September was the start of the hop season and as always, the busiest time of year for the village. The steam train pulled up with a deafening hiss at Marden village station and the platform became awash with running children, stacked luggage and noisy chatter.
The few men who were not of fighting age or had been medically discharged, disembarked with all kinds of battered suitcases, bags and possessions tied up with belts and odd pieces of string. The women tried to round up the excited children as they held babes in arms, and toddlers, frightened by the pandemonium, clung to their legs. Locals turned out with handcarts ready to help the hop-pickers to their accommodation that would become their home for the next six weeks.
Horses and ponies waited patiently in a row outside the station harnessed to trailers ready to be loaded. Mr Sutton was there as well, ready to assist but also standing strategically near the horses, eagle-eyed with a bucket, never missing a chance to acquire good quality manure for the Manor’s precious roses.
The Squire, William and a few other key members of Primrose Estate were positioned down the platform, each carrying a clipboard with family names to indicate which hop-pickers hut to report to. The estate workers assisted with settling in the newcomers but the majority of them were seasonal regulars to the village and knew where to report. Like generations before, the hop-pickers converged upon the village at the invitation of the Squire who carried on the tradition of subsidising their train fare for the round trip.
Hopping season wasn’t all rosy for Kent as a whole. It was common knowledge that some villages had troublesome and uninvited guests turn up. But, in recent years extra policemen were stationed in the villages for deterrents where word soon got around. Mostly, the villagers looked forward to catching up with old friends.
Although this was work, comprising of hard, dirty manual labour, it was a holiday too, and the London mothers were grateful that their children would have six weeks of clean air and were able to run around freely and safely without getting into too much trouble.
On average, a family could expect to earn enough to ensure that their children had warm clothing and boots to see them through the winter months with perhaps a few luxury extras along the way if they budgeted right. The majority of the men who were dockworkers, sometimes came down at weekends to help out and also to have a few pints at the two village pubs.
It was all quite exciting and a little scary as Maggie had never seen so many people in one place before. She worried she would lose her mother in the crowd. She was also quite puzzled when she saw several people carrying what she thought were curtains.
“Why do they carry curtains?” Maggie asked her father just before they left for the orchards.
“They are to black out the light from inside the hut, so no light shines through. You know how we block out the light in the evening? It’s the same for the huts. Why do we do this Maggie, can you remember?”
“So the planes don’t see any light and drop a bomb on us, that’s why we cover the windows.”
“Yes, that’s good Maggie.”
“So why are all these people here, what are they going to do? Some were carrying pots and pans too!”
“Well, the hoppers cook their own dinner down at the huts so they need the pots and pans for this. They are here to pick the hop vines because there are too many hops for the estate workers to harvest. We need all the help we can get during this busy time and also help with clearing some of the trenches in the orchards in case there are air raids, because it doesn’t take long for the earth to fill them in again. We have to make sure they are safe.
“I’ll