Cottage. “Home, Sweet Home”.’
She pushed open the wooden gate and they crunched up the narrow cinder path.
‘Watch yourself. The garden’s so overgrown the long grass falls onto the path. When it’s wet, your ankles are soaking by the time you reach the door.’
In the wavering torchlight, Fleur caught glimpses of the neglected front garden. The grass looked so long it would need a scythe to cut it now, she mused. As if answering her unspoken question, Ruth said softly, ‘Poor old dear loves her garden. Her old man used to keep it immaculate, she says, but since he’s gone it’s got topside of her. She’s got a huge back garden with an orchard at the end of it. Used to grow veg and all sorts. But she’s got arthritis, see, and can’t cope with it. But she won’t move. Says she came to this cottage as a young bride and she’ll die here.’
Briefly, Ruth flashed the torch over the low, oblong shape of the cottage. ‘Typical “roses-round-the-door cottage” we all dream of, eh? But she really got it.’
‘Mm,’ Fleur murmured. ‘No wonder she doesn’t want to leave it.’ Even before she had met Mrs Jackson, she knew she was going to be a sweet old lady who’d lived a lifetime of love in her little cottage. Fleur had a sudden mental picture of a young bride being carried over the threshold to start a long and happy life with her groom in the idyllic little house. However, the image in her mind’s eye was not of the unknown Mrs Jackson but of herself and Robbie.
‘I’m surprised the authorities haven’t been on to her about her garden,’ Fleur said, dragging herself back to the present.’ ”Dig for Victory” and all that.’
‘I think they did try. Got some local boy scouts to come and dig the back garden, but they made a right pig’s ear of it.’ She giggled in the darkness. ‘There was even talk of them building her an Anderson shelter, but after a couple of spadefuls, they gave up, so she says.’
‘Not got a shelter and living so close to an airfield!’ Fleur was shocked. ‘Well, we’ll have to see about that.’
‘Come on, then,’ Ruth urged. ‘We’ll go round the back. Tell you the truth, the front door’s stuck and she can’t open it.’
They followed the narrow path round to the back, brushing through long wet grass so that by the time they arrived in the unevenly paved back yard their ankles were quite damp, just as Ruth had predicted. She shone the torch and nodded towards a brick building a few steps across the yard from the back door. ‘That’s the lav.’ She leant closer and whispered, ‘It’s a bit basic. No indoor facilities, but the old dear cooks like a dream.’ Ruth patted her stomach. ‘Makes up for a bit of discomfort in other areas. ‘Sides, she provides us with a potty under the bed so we don’t have to come tripping out into the back yard in the dark.’ Ruth giggled again as she added, ‘She calls it a “jerry”. I always imagine I’m piddling on Adolf’s head if I use it in the night.’
Fleur laughed softly. ‘Home from home, Ruth. It’s what I’m used to. We’ve no inside lav either.’
Ruth’s eyes widened. ‘But I thought you said you lived in South Monkford? It’s a town, isn’t it?’
‘A small one. But I live on a farm about five miles from the town itself. Right out in the wilds.’
‘You’re a country girl, then?’
‘Born and bred.’ Fleur moved carefully across the cobbled yard towards the rickety little gate leading into the back garden. As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she could see the shapes of trees silhouetted against the night sky. Ruth came to stand beside her and shone the torch and now Fleur could see that the whole area was as overgrown and choked with weeds as the front one.
‘There’s raspberry and gooseberry bushes and all sorts down the bottom there. The old dear said they even had a strawberry patch once. And you can see the fruit trees. There’s a lovely old apple tree with
She pushed open the wooden gate and they crunched up the narrow cinder path.
‘Watch yourself. The garden’s so overgrown the long grass falls onto the path. When it’s wet, your ankles are soaking by the time you reach the door.’
In the wavering torchlight, Fleur caught glimpses of the neglected front garden. The grass looked so long it would need a scythe to cut it now, she mused. As if answering her unspoken question, Ruth said softly, ‘Poor old dear loves her garden. Her old man used to keep it immaculate, she says, but since he’s gone it’s got topside of her. She’s got a huge back garden with an orchard at the end of it. Used to grow veg and all sorts. But she’s got arthritis, see, and can’t cope with it. But she won’t move. Says she came to this cottage as a young bride and she’ll die here.’
Briefly, Ruth flashed the torch over the low, oblong shape of the cottage. ‘Typical “roses-round-the-door cottage” we all dream of, eh? But she really got it.’
‘Mm,’ Fleur murmured. ‘No wonder she doesn’t want to leave it.’ Even before she had met Mrs Jackson, she knew she was going to be a sweet old lady who’d lived a lifetime of love in her little cottage. Fleur had a sudden mental picture of a young bride being carried over the threshold to start a long and happy life with her groom in the idyllic little house. However, the image in her mind’s eye was not of the unknown Mrs Jackson but of herself and Robbie.
‘I’m surprised the authorities haven’t been on to her about her garden,’ Fleur said, dragging herself back to the present.’ ”Dig for Victory” and all that.’
‘I think they did try. Got some local boy scouts to come and dig the back garden, but they made a right pig’s ear of it.’ She giggled in the darkness. ‘There was even talk of them building her an Anderson shelter, but after a couple of spadefuls, they gave up, so she says.’
‘Not got a shelter and living so close to an airfield!’ Fleur was shocked. ‘Well, we’ll have to see about that.’
‘Come on, then,’ Ruth urged. ‘We’ll go round the back. Tell you the truth, the front door’s stuck and she can’t open it.’
They followed the narrow path round to the back, brushing through long wet grass so that by the time they arrived in the unevenly paved back yard their ankles were quite damp, just as Ruth had predicted. She shone the torch and nodded towards a brick building a few steps across the yard from the back door. ‘That’s the lav.’ She leant closer and whispered, ‘It’s a bit basic. No indoor facilities, but the old dear cooks like a dream.’ Ruth patted her stomach. ‘Makes up for a bit of discomfort in other areas. ‘Sides, she provides us with a potty under the bed so we don’t have to come tripping out into the back yard in the dark.’ Ruth giggled again as she added, ‘She calls it a “jerry”. I always imagine I’m piddling on Adolf’s head if I use it in the night.’
Fleur laughed softly. ‘Home from home, Ruth. It’s what I’m used to. We’ve no inside lav either.’
Ruth’s eyes widened. ‘But I thought you said you lived in South Monkford? It’s a town, isn’t it?’
‘A small one. But I live on a farm about five miles from the town itself. Right out in the wilds.’
‘You’re a country girl, then?’
‘Born and bred.’ Fleur moved carefully across the cobbled yard towards the rickety little gate leading into the back garden. As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she could see the shapes of trees silhouetted against the night sky. Ruth came to stand beside her and shone the torch and now Fleur could see that the whole area was as overgrown and choked with weeds as the front one.
‘There’s raspberry and gooseberry bushes and all sorts down the bottom there. The old dear said they even had a strawberry patch once. And you can see the fruit trees. There’s a lovely old apple tree with
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