Write me a Love Story Ch 5

Write me a Love Story Ch 5 

CHAPTER 5

By Janet Baldey

Each morning on the dot of seven the truck from the Camp turned up and the German vaulted down into the yard. His loose prison clothes flapping around him, he’d head towards the barn door where I’d pinned a list of his jobs for the day. Then with a nod in my direction and the ghost of a smile, he’d turn away. After our first meeting, I’d done my best to avoid him but was always conscious of his presence. So far, he hadn’t put a foot wrong but I was sure it was just a matter of time. Market day was drawing near, the day when I’d have to leave him alone on the farm, and I grew certain it was what he was waiting for.  Images of flames engulfing my cottage haunted me and when the dreaded day eventually rolled around I had to force myself to leave. As the cart jolted down the hill, I kept staring over my shoulder, watching as my home dwindled into the distance.

All through the long day most of me was back at the farm. I found it difficult to concentrate and several times gave people the wrong change; every mistake flustering me and making me even more miserable.  At long last, the crowd began to thin and I was just thinking about packing up when I saw Sarah walking towards me.

‘What’s the matter love? You look worried’

         She leaned on the trestle table, looking at me out of narrowed eyes. I evaded her gaze and looked at the rapidly emptying market. So far as I was aware, no one outside the camp knew about the German, I certainly hadn’t told anyone but in closed communities word got around. I struggled to find the right words, it was difficult to admit I’d caved in but Sarah was bound to find out sooner or later and she might be dreadfully hurt if it was second hand.  At last, I swallowed my pride and looked at her.

 ‘I gave in, Sarah. I’ve got a POW working for me.’

There was a brief silence during which I held my breath, then Sarah took hold of my hands and squeezed them.

‘Good for you. I wondered how long it would take for you to come round.   You couldn’t possibly manage all on your own, especially in the winter. We all realised that. But what’s the problem? Is he no good?’

‘I really don’t know. He’s hard-working and seems to know what he’s doing,  there have been no problems so far. But, he’s a German, Sarah. All-day I watch him like a hawk. And if I lose track of him for a few minutes I worry that he’s escaped. Even worse, I’m scared that he’s plotting something. What if he sets fire to the farm, just to get his own back?  It’s on my mind all the time and I hate it.’

 Sarah was quiet for a moment and then she spoke, her voice decisive. ‘You need to relax, you’re all strung up. Tell you what, I’ll ask my Tom to come and give him the once over. He’ll sense if he’s a wrong ‘un. He’s a great judge of character. Over the years, we’ve had all sorts working for us:  gypsies, tramps, the odd city wallah, and we’ve never had any trouble. Tom is good at sussing out rotten apples’.

Immediately I felt a wave of relief: someone else was taking over. I liked and trusted Sarah’s husband, I’d go along with whatever he said.

‘Thanks, Sarah.’

‘ You’re welcome and what’s more, I’ll ask him to come over this afternoon. If you’re worried, I’m worried; I want to be sure you’re safe. Now, I must go. Got to be home before my marauding horde gets back from school, otherwise, there'll be nothing left for the Nazis.’ 

Winking, she gave me a cheery wave

***

Tom had been gone for a long time. I turned away from the window and paced across the room wondering what I’d do if he decided the man wasn’t to be trusted.  My teeth sawed at my underlip, despite all my misgivings, the farm had been running much more smoothly since the German had been around. I sank down into a chair, suddenly drained of all energy and as weariness washed over me, I felt certain I couldn’t cope on my own again.

  ‘Right me girl, time to get the kettle on.’

The chair squealed as I shot to my feet. Tom’s frame blocked out the light as he stood in the doorway; ducking his head under the lintel, he came inside.

‘I don’t believe it Tom, how can someone as big as you creep up on me?  I’ve been watching out for you for ages.’

He laughed.

‘Practice, Flora. It’s all those years spent avoiding bailiffs and bank managers.  Now, how about that tea?’

Five minutes later, his hands dwarfing the cup, he looked at me, his face serious.

‘Flora, I’m sorry about all the trouble you’ve had. I wish I could’ve been more help, but you know how it is.’

‘Don’t worry, I understand. You’ve got a big farm to run and it’s good of you to spare the time today. But please don’t keep me in suspense. What’s the verdict?’

Putting down his cup he leaned back in his chair.

‘Right. I’ll be honest, when Sarah asked me to give this chap the ‘once over’ I was worried. I didn’t know how to go about it. I could have just gone with my instinct but if I’d been wrong….’ He stopped, letting the silence speak for itself.

‘Then I had a think, several of the guards at the Camp are drinking chums of mine. I know the Sergeant well. Oakes is a sound bloke. So I got on the blower and put it to him and I can tell you one thing, he’s certainly not worried. Y’know, the men that run the camp aren’t fools. They know your circumstances and if they sent you a shifty character and anything happened, there’d be the devil to pay. And as for him escaping, where would he go? No civvie clothes, no money, no food. Okay, he speaks good English but there’s no mistaking that accent.’ 

He shook his head.   ‘Anyway, now I’ve seen for myself, I’ve watched him at work and I’ve had a good chat with him.  I’ve done my best to be critical but at the same time fair, so you might find what I say next a bit odd. The fact that I rather took to him, I mean. It seems strange, even to me. After all he is a German. But then again, putting prejudice aside and looking at things objectively, he’s polite, he looks you straight in the eye and he knows what he’s talking about. I think he’s OK.  In fact, I wouldn’t mind employing him myself.’

         He leaned towards me and looked into my eyes. ‘What I suggest is, just give him a chance, eh?  Not all Germans are monsters and if you think about it, it can’t be easy for him either’.  

I looked at him, beginning to realise I’d over-reacted. Like any ignorant clot, I’d forgotten to use my brain and let bias cloud my judgement.

‘I expect you think I’m stupid.’

‘Of course, you’re not. You’re in a very difficult situation. We’re all going through something we’ve never experienced before, we’ve all got a lot to learn and it pays to be cautious.’

Just as he was leaving I heard the sound of the army truck. In a few minutes, they’d both be gone and I’d be alone again. I shivered and put my arms around myself.   I thought I’d got used to silence but it seems I’d been wrong.

When I took Georg out his tea the next day, I put a slice of plum cake in the saucer. His eyes widened.

‘For me?’ 

I was rewarded by a replica of the smile I’d noticed the first time we’d met and smiled, in return.

In the days that followed I still kept a close eye on Georg but for a different reason. I noticed the number of times that he crossed the yard to spend a few minutes with Barley, stroking her neck and muttering to her in a low voice. As for Barley, she seemed to love the attention, pricking up her ears and whickering softly whenever she caught sight of him.

My fingers tapped at my mouth as I watched. Georg was thoroughly at ease with her and, if he understood ponies, he might be able to handle a bigger animal.  

***

The sky had been scarlet as I made my way to Barley’s loose box whistling under my breath and feeling in my pocket for her morning sugar lump. As I drew nearer, I suddenly felt uneasy. Normally Barley would be waiting for me, her head poking out of the stable door, eager for her treat, but this morning there was no sign of her.

 I opened the stable door and peered into the gloom. The mare was standing in a corner, her head drooping. As I unlatched the door she looked up apathetically, then her eyes rolled and she gave a shrill squeal. Turning her head, she drew back her lips and with her long yellow teeth started to bite at her belly. She blundered around her loose box, her flanks heaving, islands of sweat soaking her hide.  Backwards and forwards she lurched as if desperately trying to escape from whatever was hurting her. Horrified, I stood rooted to the spot until, to my utter relief, I heard the familiar sound of the truck.

As I clutched at the half door, I turned and screamed, my voice cracking with effort.

‘Quick, something’s wrong with Barley.’

Georg dropped down from the lorry and I saw the surprise on his face change to alarm as he raced across the yard.

Entering the stable he took a quick look and ran to the skittering pony:  dodging her thrashing hooves, his hands probed her sides. After a while, he turned around.

‘I think it is the colic. You need to get a horse doctor at once.’

As he spoke, Barley’s knees buckled and her body began to sway.

‘Help me, quickly,’ he said ‘We mustn’t allow her to go down. She may roll and twist her insides.’

One on either side, we heaved and pushed at the little mare forcing her upright. Grabbing a headstall Georg kicked open the stable door. 

‘I will keep her walking, it will ease the pain. Now, you must go and get help.’

Copyright Janet Baldey