The Land Girl: An unforgettable historical novel of love and hope. Allie Burns

the idea months ago. But Mr Tipton didn’t need to know that.

      ‘If only those new girls had half your stamina, but I can’t go against your mother’s wishes. If she says no, then the answer’s no.’

      ‘Very well, it’s a deal then.’

      Emily searched John’s face for a clue as to what exactly he knew that she didn’t. Had John managed to persuade Mother too?

      ‘That’s sorted then.’ Mrs Tipton rubbed her hands together.

      ‘Don’t look so worried,’ John whispered. ‘We’ll win Mother over, you’ll see.’ He cleared his throat and raised his voice.

      ‘Go on then. Shake the man’s hand.’ She spat on her hands like she’d seen men do in West Malling on market day, clenched his fleshy palm tight and pumped it for all it was worth.

      ‘She has all the makings of a land girl this one,’ said Mrs Tipton.

      They were halfway there. Please, oh please, let John be right about Mother.

      *

       Dearest Emily,

       I have been told I go on leave tomorrow. I know what you said, my dear, but I am ever hopeful of an encounter with you, no matter how brief, to brighten my spirits and warm my heart for my return to Blighty. I will be passing through King’s Cross between one and two o’clock on Thursday, I shall pin a hankie to my lapel, so that you might recognise me.

       Fondest wishes

       Theo

      ‘Do you realise what time it is?’

      Emily held her breath and froze at the top of the ladder, steadying her brimming basket of cherries. She’d lost track of time. Working did that to her: the whole day flew by and she didn’t notice.

      ‘Is it just you?’ she called down.

      ‘Of course,’ John said with amusement in his voice.

      ‘You aren’t going to tell Mother on me, are you?’

      ‘Have I ever yet?’ John asked as she steadily clambered down from the canopy of the red-dotted tree and jumped the last few steps, only noticing now that all of the other workers had emptied their baskets and finished up for the day.

      ‘You’re running out of time to convince her,’ Emily said, lugging her cherries to the large bathtub-shaped bin and tipping them out. ‘I might just borrow your old work clothes, register with the Corps, and let her try and stop me.’

      ‘Better I think if you have her blessing,’ John said. ‘One war is quite enough.’

      Emily propped herself on a rung of her ladder. She’d never volunteer without Mother’s approval and they both knew it. She didn’t have it in her to disappoint or disobey. She might tug and pull at the apron strings and sneak about on the farm when Mother wasn’t looking, but she wouldn’t cause problems when the family already had enough.

      John examined a cherry. ‘You do know that Mother needs you more than she lets on. She’s never been good at putting these things into words. But I can’t see a reason you couldn’t work on the farm and go home to her at the end of the day.’

      ‘She says it won’t look good to the young men she invites over to meet me. Apparently being outspoken counts against me as it is, I need to at least look the part.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose if we need the money I will have to assist the search for a husband.’

      John popped a cherry into his mouth. She examined his face, waiting for him to say more, but he was checking his watch again. ‘John, Mother isn’t the only person who can’t put things into words. Are you going to tell me what went on with Uncle Wilfred the other day?’

      ‘Nothing. A reunion,’ he said. ‘We ought to go.’ For his last night John had invited some guests over for supper at HopBine. ‘You know Lady Radford is always the first to arrive. We can’t have her steering the conversation.’

      He didn’t catch her eye. He was too brave to admit it, but it was obvious he would stay on with them if he could.

      She put a cherry into her mouth and savoured the burst of sweetness. She contemplated asking him about the conversation she’d overheard, but she didn’t want him to know she’d been sneaking around listening in, and her hurt at being excluded from the discussions might seep through and with so little of his leave left there was no place for recriminations.

      They walked back across the paddock towards HopBine in silence, but as they approached the cut-through in the hedge by the cedar avenue, she pulled him back.

      ‘If there is anything I can do to help, anything at all … I don’t like to think you’re carrying a burden, or that I’m being left out because you think I can’t cope, because I can.’

      John ran his hand through his hair and cast a lingering glance towards the gables of the house their father had built. ‘I know. But you mustn’t worry, everything has been taken care of. There’s no urgency to find a rich husband.’ He winked. ‘And besides, you’re looking after Mother for us, which is a huge weight off my mind, I can tell you,’ he said. But there was something else, he was searching her face as if trying to decide whether to say it, and then he blurted out: ‘If anything should happen to me … once I’ve gone …’

      ‘No!’ she said. ‘Please don’t start with that, John. Nothing will happen to you. Do you hear me?’ He’d never admitted to his own mortality before now. ‘You’re to come home safe and sound.’

      ‘I’ll do my best. But if I’m injured I need you to promise me that you and Mother will pull together and accept the decisions that have been made. It won’t do to have the family divided, and Mother will count on you. I have said much the same to Cecil, and as much as I love my brother, I recognise that he is too caught up in changing the world to ever put the family first – so it will fall to you. You have a good sense of responsibility and the family will depend on that.’

      ‘John,’ she said, ‘you’re scaring me. The way you’re talking, it’s so final. Please stop.’

      ‘Emily, the war is worse than I’d ever imagined. I believed them when they said it would be over by Christmas, that I’d be home by now, but there really is no sign of it ending, or even easing off.’

      Emily had read the Bryce Report about German brutality in the papers and the sinking of the Lusitania by a German U-boat, killing more than a thousand people. All the news was so remote though, surely the danger wasn’t so great for her capable brother.

      He reached inside his suit jacket and removed a small diary. ‘In these book pages, I’ve recorded the name, number and trade of every man I’ve lost.’ He held the small, dog-eared book aloft. ‘Their faces come to me in my dreams, memories of a joke they once made, their nickname, a habit. I harbour the knowledge that I censored their letters, read their personal messages, tried to check but not intrude. All are dead or lost now. I’m sorry.’ His voice had reduced to a whisper. ‘I’ve shocked you.’ He took hold of her hand. ‘You shouldn’t know any of this, how bad it really is – it’s best that you don’t, but it’s why I have to ask you to promise me to take care of Mother and make the best of the situation that befalls you.’

      She levelled her gaze, her own body stiff as if trying to repel the truths John had just shared.

      ‘We’re in trouble, aren’t we?’ she asked, doing her best to match her tone with his own determined and brave one.

      ‘We should have sold up, before the war. I’ve made mistakes.’

      ‘Well, I’m glad we didn’t. This is our home.’

      ‘That’s as may be, but we have to be practical now.’

      ‘And is that why Uncle Wilfred came out of the woodwork?’

      ‘He