copse grew along the shallow ridge
above the house. We stopped where a clearing in the trees presented
a view across the rolling farmland beyond our own. In the distance
the tall spire of the village church rose into the sky. Hardly a
sound broke the stillness, no tractor, no car, only a faint
soughing of wind in the treetops. As we followed the ridge I
pointed out where our farmland stretched to, pointed to another
line of trees that wound through the far valley floor.
“That’s the river. I thought we might walk
through the woods up here then drop down and go along the
riverbank.”
“Sounds neat,” Georgia said, and kissed me
quickly.
I glanced around, blushing. We were out in
the open, but no one was likely to discover us. Even so I felt
wicked.
The ridge stretched for over a mile and then
we walked downhill on a track that curved back toward the village.
The sun was hot as we moved from beneath the shelter of the wood.
We walked side by side along an old pathway, moving away from our
farm. I knew this track well and Georgia walked beside me, for once
having nothing to say. We continued holding hands, our palms
growing sweaty as the warmth caused us to glow.
We might have believed ourselves alone in
the world until a droning sound made us stop and shade our eyes.
Far to the south specks in the sky trailed exhaust fumes. German
bombers, making their way toward Coventry or Reading, perhaps. We
stood in a field of green wheat starting to turn gold and watched
as other, smaller shapes pursued the bombers. Fighters. The
airplanes were too far to hear much but now and again the rattle of
gunfire came to us. The fighters swooped and dived, twisting
between the bombers and as we watched one plane gouted dark smoke
which trailed behind as it began to lose height. We watched the
plane sink lower and lower, but it dropped from sight and even
though we listened we heard no explosion. The bombers droned on and
disappeared, the fighters weaving in pursuit.
“I’d almost forgotten we were fighting a
war,” Georgia said.
“Me too.”
We walked on for a while before I said,
“That might be Michael next week.”
Georgia squeezed my hand. “He’ll be fine,
Lil, I know he’ll be fine.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
We were both sweating by the time the path
swung all the way around and re-entered the shade of the lower
wood. The track was deeper here, worn down by centuries of cattle
making their way for milking, lined with hawthorn bushes and the
remains of stone walls showing in places where the old drover’s
track ran. Georgia took my hand again. After a while we heard the
sound of running water, then turned a bend and the river was below
us.
Georgia caught her breath and said, “Lil,
it’s gorgeous.”
I had brought her this way deliberately,
knowing this presented the best view of the river. To the right a
small run rippled fast over gravel, opening into a wide, deep pool.
On the far bank willows arched over the water, their branches
dipping as though drinking from the stream. On the near side old
oak, beech and elm framed a small clearing which sloped to a
shingle bank. The pool stretched to our left until the river turned
into another run. Dotted over the smooth surface dimples showed
where trout rose for insects.
“I thought we could eat our picnic here,” I
said.
“Great idea, Lil. I’m hungry now, too. I
didn’t think I’d want to eat all day after that breakfast, but I’m
starving.”
“I’d better feed you up then,” I said. “I
don’t want you losing any weight from… well, you know where,” I
said, rolling my eyes and glancing down to take in her
cleavage.
Georgia stared at me and burst out laughing.
“Lil, I do believe you made a joke! Oh my God, there’s hope for you
yet.”
I blushed and went on ahead, opened the
canvas shoulder bag and pulled out sandwiches and the flask of
tea.
“Which do you want, Georgia?” I asked.
“There’s ham and cheese, or beef and
above the house. We stopped where a clearing in the trees presented
a view across the rolling farmland beyond our own. In the distance
the tall spire of the village church rose into the sky. Hardly a
sound broke the stillness, no tractor, no car, only a faint
soughing of wind in the treetops. As we followed the ridge I
pointed out where our farmland stretched to, pointed to another
line of trees that wound through the far valley floor.
“That’s the river. I thought we might walk
through the woods up here then drop down and go along the
riverbank.”
“Sounds neat,” Georgia said, and kissed me
quickly.
I glanced around, blushing. We were out in
the open, but no one was likely to discover us. Even so I felt
wicked.
The ridge stretched for over a mile and then
we walked downhill on a track that curved back toward the village.
The sun was hot as we moved from beneath the shelter of the wood.
We walked side by side along an old pathway, moving away from our
farm. I knew this track well and Georgia walked beside me, for once
having nothing to say. We continued holding hands, our palms
growing sweaty as the warmth caused us to glow.
We might have believed ourselves alone in
the world until a droning sound made us stop and shade our eyes.
Far to the south specks in the sky trailed exhaust fumes. German
bombers, making their way toward Coventry or Reading, perhaps. We
stood in a field of green wheat starting to turn gold and watched
as other, smaller shapes pursued the bombers. Fighters. The
airplanes were too far to hear much but now and again the rattle of
gunfire came to us. The fighters swooped and dived, twisting
between the bombers and as we watched one plane gouted dark smoke
which trailed behind as it began to lose height. We watched the
plane sink lower and lower, but it dropped from sight and even
though we listened we heard no explosion. The bombers droned on and
disappeared, the fighters weaving in pursuit.
“I’d almost forgotten we were fighting a
war,” Georgia said.
“Me too.”
We walked on for a while before I said,
“That might be Michael next week.”
Georgia squeezed my hand. “He’ll be fine,
Lil, I know he’ll be fine.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
We were both sweating by the time the path
swung all the way around and re-entered the shade of the lower
wood. The track was deeper here, worn down by centuries of cattle
making their way for milking, lined with hawthorn bushes and the
remains of stone walls showing in places where the old drover’s
track ran. Georgia took my hand again. After a while we heard the
sound of running water, then turned a bend and the river was below
us.
Georgia caught her breath and said, “Lil,
it’s gorgeous.”
I had brought her this way deliberately,
knowing this presented the best view of the river. To the right a
small run rippled fast over gravel, opening into a wide, deep pool.
On the far bank willows arched over the water, their branches
dipping as though drinking from the stream. On the near side old
oak, beech and elm framed a small clearing which sloped to a
shingle bank. The pool stretched to our left until the river turned
into another run. Dotted over the smooth surface dimples showed
where trout rose for insects.
“I thought we could eat our picnic here,” I
said.
“Great idea, Lil. I’m hungry now, too. I
didn’t think I’d want to eat all day after that breakfast, but I’m
starving.”
“I’d better feed you up then,” I said. “I
don’t want you losing any weight from… well, you know where,” I
said, rolling my eyes and glancing down to take in her
cleavage.
Georgia stared at me and burst out laughing.
“Lil, I do believe you made a joke! Oh my God, there’s hope for you
yet.”
I blushed and went on ahead, opened the
canvas shoulder bag and pulled out sandwiches and the flask of
tea.
“Which do you want, Georgia?” I asked.
“There’s ham and cheese, or beef and
Similar Books
