Turn Left at the Daffodils. Elizabeth Elgin

and the district nurse got them out.

      She returned to her bed, pushed off her shoes and lay back, hands behind head, wondering if she were making a fuss over nothing; thinking that maybe every bride-to-be had doubts and worries. Maybe even Evie had had them?

      Sighing, Carrie picked up her pen and pad.

      I think about you a lot, Jeffrey, and miss you very much. But it is all the fault of the war, and there are many couples not so lucky as you and me – Evie and Bob, for one.

      I hope you will get a ship, soon. It must be awful for you in barracks. I hated barracks when I first joined up but this place has more than made up for it. Nan and Evie and I get on fine, as I do with Corporal Finnigan and Private Fowler in the motor pool.

      She flicked back the sheets and read what she had written. Not much of a letter to write to someone you would almost certainly marry before the year was out; not what a lonely sailor wanted to read. She bit her lip, and wrote,

      Take care of your dear self. I love you very much and can’t wait for us to be married. When you read this, close your eyes and know that I am kissing you.

      She read the letter again then ended it Yours always, Carrie.

      She supposed that now she must walk to the NAAFI and post it. She wished she had gone out with Nan and Evie and thought that wherever they were, they’d be having a laugh. It made her wish all the more she was with them.

      Evie and Nan swung along the narrow road, feet in step, arms swinging, respirators to the left.

      Always your left to leave your right hand free for saluting!

      ‘Tell me – did you have bad feet when you joined up?’ Nan giggled. ‘Gawd – all that square-bashing and them clumpy shoes – I thought I’d be a cripple for life!’

      ‘Mm. I had awful blisters, but you soon get used to the shoes, don’t you? And my soft pair will be lovely for dancing in. Do you think there’ll be a dance-hall in the village? Or a picture house?’

      ‘Don’t think so, but I reckon there’ll be a pub. Tell me, Evie, were you miserable when you joined up, because there must be sumthin’ the matter with me, ’cause I couldn’t wait to get into uniform. And I still like it.’

      ‘Not miserable about being in the ATS. Just unhappy that Bob had to register for military service, and knowing we wouldn’t see each other for heaven only knew how long. So I made a vow, the day I waved him off at the station. I was joining up, too. I didn’t care which service. The first recruiting office I came to, be it Army, Navy or Air Force, I told myself, would suit me just fine. I worked on a huge switchboard in Eastern Command HQ. There were a lot of us there; it took my mind off being away from Bob, yet now here I am in a little gate lodge in the middle of a country estate and the tiniest switchboard I’ve ever seen. I’ll be able to operate it with one hand behind my back! How about you, Nan?’

      ‘Can’t wait for morning. I wonder who my first signal will be from? And just look there.’ She pointed ahead as they rounded the corner to where a cluster of houses, a church and public house lay ahead of them. ‘Last one there buys the shandies!’

      The public house at Little Modeley was called the Black Bull and was small and low-ceilinged and wreathed in cigarette smoke. Heads turned as they entered, then an old man with a pewter tankard in front of him smiled and nodded towards empty chairs beside him.

      ‘You’ll be two of them lady soldiers as have comed to the Priory,’ he said as they removed caps, gloves and respirators.

      ‘Er – yes. Very nice place,’ Evie conceded, dipping into her pocket for a half-crown. ‘What are you drinking?’

      ‘A half of bitter and thank you kindly, Miss.’

      ‘She’s a Missus,’ Nan said when Evie stood at the bar counter, ‘so don’t get any ideas, grandad. And me name’s Nan. I’m not married, and I’m not lookin’, either. But how did you know we were at Heronflete?’

      ‘You’ve been expected. Caused a lot of speculation in these parts when the government told his lordship they wanted him out. Gave him four weeks to pack up, and go. Us thought it would be the Air Force moving in, there being quite a few aerodromes around these parts, but then we heard it would be the Army and civilians…’

      ‘What have I missed?’ Evie put three glasses on the tabletop.

      ‘Nuthin except that it’s probably civvies in the big house and that the lord was given four weeks’ notice to get out,’ Nan shrugged.

      ‘So what did he call himself when he was at home?’ Evie pushed a half of bitter in the man’s direction.

      ‘Thanks, Missus, and cheers!’ He took a sip then poured the contents of the glass into his tankard, shaking out every last drop. ‘He was -still is, I suppose – Lord Mead-Storrow. Took it all very well, so talk had it.’

      ‘You’ve got to feel sorry for him,’ Evie sighed. ‘It must have been a beautiful place to live before it was commandeered. Wonder how many staff it took to run the place?’

      ‘Not staff, girl. Servants. That’s what the aristocracy employs. And they had to get out an’ all. Find other jobs. ’Twas the farmers I was sorry for, though they’ve been allowed to harvest growing crops. Last of the wheat and barley was cut a couple of weeks ago. Only root crops left, now. Turnips and sugar beet…’

      ‘Rotten, innit, when the government can take your ’ouse or your car or your railings and gates without so much as a by-your-leave. Did they give Lord Wotsit another place to go to?’ Nan frowned.

      ‘I doubt it. He’s got a house in London and another estate in Scotland. Him won’t be all that bothered. So what’s them civilians doing at Heronflete and why do they need such a big place to do it in? Must be something of national importance.’

      ‘Do you want to know something?’ Evie grinned. ‘There are a few guards and ATS personnel billeted in the gate lodges and a couple of RASC bods there, and the cookhouse staff, and having said that, you know as much as we do! I don’t know whether it’s one of the Services or civilians in the big house. Maybe we’ll find out in time, but right now we’re as puzzled as you are.’

      And that, Evie thought, should have been the end of the matter and the old man should have picked up his tankard and joined the drinkers at another table, but still he lingered.

      ‘I think you two should be warned,’ he said softly.

      ‘What about?’

      ‘About,’ he tapped his nose with a forefinger, ‘things…’

      ‘What things?’ To her credit, Nan was instantly on her feet. ‘Another glass, grandad?’

      ‘Don’t mind if I do.’

      ‘So what things?’ Nan was quickly back. ‘About Heronflete, you mean?’

      ‘About Heronflete Priory as has been in the Mead-Storrow family for generations. Before my grandad’s time, even. It was my grandad as told me. About Cecilia.’

      ‘And who was she when she was at home?’ Nan urged, eyes bright.

      ‘We-e-ll, nobody’s quite sure who she was, but it was on St Cecilia’s day that they found her.’ He paused, looking from one to the other. ‘So they gave her that name. Had to have a name, see, to bury her decent…’

      ‘You mean someone found a dead body at Heronflete?’ Now Evie was curious.

      ‘Nah. At the Priory. When they was pulling it down. Them Storrows was rich, so they decided on one of them houses that look like a castle. Knocked down what was left of the priory so they could build another place, grander than the one they were living in – the one that’s there, now.’

      ‘But where did they find the body? Came across a grave, did they?’ Nan’s eyes were rounder than ever.

      ‘Grave?