Land Girls: The Promise: A moving and heartwarming wartime saga. Roland Moore

her all she needed to know about what time it was. “You’re late. Again,” Esther said. Iris ran in a panic back into the room, hoisting her nightdress over her head as she went.

      “Sorry, Esther. I really am,” Iris said, her voice muffled by the garment covering her face. “I had a nightmare and then I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

      “I don’t want your excuses.” Esther went to the chest of drawers and looked for a shirt for the girl. The drawers were empty. Esther glanced at the chair in the corner of the room, where a small pile of unwashed laundry formed a fabric hillock. Oblivious to this, Iris was fastening her bra.

      “You don’t have any clean shirts,” Esther said, plucking her way through the clothes. It was the girls’ responsibility to ensure that their clothing was put out for washing. Esther would clean their uniforms, but she wasn’t going to go hunting for shirts and trousers around the house.

      “This one will have to do,” Iris replied, taking one at random.

      “I want you to sort all of this out tonight, you hear?” Esther scolded. “Never mind seeing Frank Tucker tonight. This is more important.”

      Iris nodded meekly as she fastened a shirt that had a beetroot stain on the left breast pocket.

      “And we need to talk about you and your attitude.”

      “I haven’t got an attitude,” Iris replied.

      “You’re a girl who wakes late every morning and whose mind isn’t on the job. That’s attitude, in my book.” And Esther was gone. Her technique in these situations was to let the other person think about her words for most of the day. She was always letting people stew. Iris sighed, searching the pile for a pair of trousers that weren’t too muddy. Her head was throbbing and her throat felt dry. She cursed herself for drinking. She guessed that Esther was right. She had been late most mornings. But she couldn’t help it.

      By lunchtime, her throbbing headache had blossomed into a bloom of pain in her temples and Iris was grateful to be asked to clear some fallen branches in the East Field, a location remote enough from the farmhouse to allow her a few minutes’ breather. She picked up some sticks and started to assemble a pile that could be used as firewood. Some of the larger branches had to be stripped of leaves before they could be used. Iris used a small knife to cut them away. Finally by mid-afternoon, the relaxed pace of her own work and the silence of being alone had eased the pain in her head. Iris felt tired and decided she wouldn’t drink tonight. That had been a mistake. But the drink had helped her get to sleep, shutting out the fears racing around her brain. She wouldn’t drink again. But, of course, it was easy to keep such a promise in a sunny field in the afternoon. It was far more difficult to stick to promises at night, when every creak on the stairs or every shifting shadow could terrify her.

       I will come for you, Iris. Mark my words.

      And her nightmares and imagination were becoming more vivid and disturbing. Iris wished that she could stop thinking about him. But her mind just wouldn’t stop. Each time she looked in the bathroom mirror, she would scare herself by imagining Vernon’s face in the reflection. Iris tried to put the thoughts out of her mind. She continued her work, keen to fill her thoughts with the business of firewood collection and leaf stripping. Keep your mind on the things you can control. But things had been slowly getting out of control. The nightmares were causing problems. Cracks were starting to show. Maybe a little drink to control things wasn’t such a bad idea …

      Suddenly she heard a twig crack.

      “Hello?” Iris shouted, fear taking hold of her. Had she seen a man walk behind a tree? Get a grip, Iris. She bent down and picked up a solid length of branch, brandishing it like a club. She edged towards where she thought she had seen a man hiding.

      It must be a trick of the light. An overactive imagination, that’s all. There wouldn’t be anyone there, not this far out.

      Could there?

      Feeling the thump-thump of her heart in her chest, Iris reached the tree. She was just about to rush behind it when a man’s hands thrust out at her. Iris cracked the tree branch across his knuckles.

      “Youch!” Private First Class Joe Batch shouted.

      Iris dropped the stick and rushed to help him. His fingers were red, but the skin was unbroken.

      “So sorry!”

      “What the hell are you -?”

      “I might ask you the same thing!” Iris stormed, anger coming to the fore. “Why were you creeping up on me?”

      “I was trying to surprise you,” Joe admitted.

      “I think I surprised you more.” Iris smiled kindly, her fury subsiding. “Come over to the farmhouse and I’ll get Esther to look at your fingers.”

      “They’re okay, no real damage.” Joe grinned. “This is all part of getting to know you. For instance, I know you ain’t the type of girl who likes surprises. Logged and recorded.”

      “I don’t mind surprises. Just don’t like strange men creeping up on me.”

      “Strange?”

      “You know what I mean.”

      Joe nodded, as if conceding it was a fair enough point. Then, seeing the Land Girls in the distance and knowing that Iris might have to get back to work, he decided that he’d better get to the matter in hand, the reason for his visit.

      “I came to see if you fancied coming to the pictures on Friday night?”

      “What’s on?”

      “Does it matter?” Joe said, amused.

      “Yes,” Iris said, confused. She felt out of her depth. Her experience of men could be written on a very small piece of card. Was this part of flirting? She had no real idea, but she decided that she kind of enjoyed it. It was fun when she’d referred to him as strange and she guessed that was flirting, wasn’t it? “I mean, we should know what we’re going to see.”

      “It’s a Gary Cooper. Does that win your approval?”

      “Possibly,” Iris said, thinking fast as to what Connie might say in this situation. She decided a joke was in order. “Depends if there’s a supporting feature.”

      “Newsreels?”

      Iris pondered this with mock severity before agreeing, “Sold. It’s a deal.”

      “It’s a date.” Joe Batch smiled and started to head off across the fields. Iris watched him go, proud that she had a date to look forward to, and proud that she had managed to flirt with him without becoming tongue-tied. Being around Connie must be rubbing off on her. It was reassuring that Joe was interested in her after all. Something to take her mind off Vernon, at least.

      Later, as the rest of the girls stopped for a breather and mug of tea, Iris wandered away, not in the mood to talk. She looked at the folded-up letter that she had started to write with Frank. She felt joy in her heart that day for the image of her mother reading it. Iris sat by a tree, the sun dappling her face through the canopy of leaves. She was dimly aware of the chatter of the other girls by the tractor. They were discussing a trip to the flicks. It seemed that Joyce was keen to see the new Gary Cooper too. Dolores had more mundane concerns and was wondering why her tea tasted funny. Their voices became a low buzz of reassuring noise in Iris’s ears, the warmth of the sun feeling good against her face. She felt herself relaxing, her eyes drooping shut. She didn’t fight it. It would only be a little doze for a few minutes …

      Except it wasn’t.

      “Iris!” Connie shouted, “Wake up!”

      Iris awoke with a start to see an angry-looking Connie looming over her. “It’s nearly supper time.”

      Iris realised that the sky was a darker blue than it had been before. How long had she been asleep? Connie was already marching away, back towards the farmhouse, in no mood