BE BRAVE FOR ME by ELAINE JOHNS Free Novel Chapter 22
‘’Tis a friendly place, St Agnes,’ the man sitting next to her on the train had
told her. He’d gone on to tell her about how people pulled together, helped
neighbours out with the harvest and stuff. Brought vegetables to those who
needed them and the odd chicken to supplement the ration for those
struggling to feed their kids.
There were farmers, fishermen, folk who worked in the grand city of
Truro, but most of the young men had gone now, off fighting the war in
some strange foreign place that many had never heard of.
There used to be copper, tin and even arsenic mines too, Maddie had
learned. Lots of them spread around, at one time. Loads of folk worked the
mines, but there was no tin being mined now and most of the mine stacks
had already been pulled down. Dynamited. ‘Quite a drama for they what
watched it,’ the chap had told Maddie. It didn’t do to give the Jerries
landmarks that could help when they tried to bomb the nearby airfields at
Trevellas and Portreath.
The man beside her had been like a history and geography book rolled
into one. He’d been proud of the place, of his heritage, and wanted to talk.
So, she’d just relaxed back into her seat and listened, throwing in the odd
nod now and then to show her interest, her appreciation. He hadn’t asked
why she was going to St Agnes, so Maddie hadn’t offered a reason or
anything personal. But she figured that her uniform was enough. There
must be lots of servicemen and women in the area. The thought made her a
little homesick for her ATS billet, her friends there and the laughter, and
life-force that had burned so vividly in one particular friend.
They got out at the station together, as well as a young woman clutching
a squalling toddler. The woman threatened all kinds of retribution if the
small boy didn’t quit his screeching and pulled him by the arm in what
Maddie thought a callous way. It didn’t seem very motherly. But then
maybe kids did that to you. Made you frustrated. But how could you ever
forget that you loved them? That they were part of you. She’d find out soon
enough, she supposed.
What kind of a mother would she be?
‘This is St Agnes, I suppose,’ she asked the man who’d regaled her with
the local history.
‘That’s right, my ’ansum,’ he assured her. ‘Why? Wasson?’
‘But I don’t see any town.’
‘Village is that way.’ The man pointed over his shoulder. ‘Few miles up
the road. Don’t take long to walk it.’
‘A few miles,’ she said. ‘But why would they call the station St Agnes if
it’s nowhere near the place?’ she asked him.
The man shrugged, as if such things were beyond his understanding and
made no difference anyway. ‘GWR ain’t likely to consult us folk about
where to put their stations. This ain’t bad. You should see some of they
halts. They ain’t nowhere near the places they’re named after.’ He shrugged
again. A philosophical gesture that said he was happy enough with how
things were. The status quo was okay by him.
Maddie looked down at her suitcase in despair. No taxis. And the cart
that was supposed to have transported her to the village had been promised
last night, not that day.
‘Whereabouts you headed?’ the man asked.
‘St Agnes,’ she said, confused.
‘Lots of places in St Aggie: Churchtown, Rosemundy, Peterville,
Trevaunance…’
‘Rosemundy,’ said Maddie, gratefully grasping hold of something she
recognised.
The man gave her an odd look and his attitude towards her underwent a
subtle change. ‘Out the road, turn right, keep going for a couple miles till
you hits the crossroads and take a right. Couple hundred yards on, you’ll
find a hill. That’s Rosemundy. House’s near the bottom of it,’ he said,
tersely. And he disappeared quickly without saying goodbye.
The young woman had finally rounded up the toddler to her satisfaction.
She walked over to Maddie and pushed her face in closer, a threatening
look on it. The woman’s anger was obvious but inexplicable to Maddie,
who had never met her before.
‘You’re all the same, you lot.’ The woman spat the words out.
‘Who?’ asked Maddie. ‘What?! I don’t understand.’
‘Oh, you understand right enough. Come down here like that. Flaunting
yer bleddy self. Tempting the local lads with yer sinful ways. Got yerself up
the duff and no bloke willing to take you on? Well, you can’t have ours. Yer
a bleddy disgrace. Shame on you.’
After this venomous tirade, the woman marched off out of the station,
pulling the youngster by the arm. Almost dragging the poor lad off his feet
in her anger, her haste to get away from the unholy sinner behind her.
And that’s when Maddie knew for sure. That not everybody would be as
understanding or kind as Morwenna. Some folks would be judgemental,
might treat her like a leper, not fit for normal society. Her mother had a
saying for girls like her who had fallen from grace – ‘They make their bed,
they lie in it.’
Maddie Brady stifled a sob, drew her invisible armour around her,
picked up her luggage and headed bravely down the road to St Agnes.
It took Maddie an hour to get there, stopping every so often to change the
hand holding her suitcase and moving her ATS kitbag to the opposite
shoulder. The gas mask holder clunked noisily against her chest as she
walked, beating out a regular rhythm: a strange sort of natural percussion. If
Molly had been here with her, no doubt they’d both have laughed and sung
‘The Happy Wanderer’ to its background beat. The thought cheered her up.
Maddie followed the directions the chap from the train had given her.
One of the right turns led into a long street with shops on either side. They
were beginning to open, queues already forming outside the butcher’s.
Women with wicker baskets on their arms and hope in their eyes, ration
books in their pockets. A greengrocer. A chemist. A pub. A school. And a
chapel. The elements of civilisation.
It might be just a small village, but it seemed like a busy, bustling sort
of spot, ancient and new mixed in together. It’s a friendly place, St Agnes,
the man had told her. And so far, it looked promising. Some folk had
nodded to her as she passed. A couple had even smiled.
She looked across at the pub on the opposite side of the street. WE’VE
GOT BEER, the chalkboard outside proudly boasted. Beer was often in
short supply. She knew that already. Hop fields got bombed. No way around
that. There would be some sort of quota system, she imagined. But the
landlord there seemed to have things under control, had a few barrels
tucked away for regulars, no doubt. The sign didn’t say what kind of beer,
but she supposed that didn’t matter, for some folk would always complain
that it was watered down no matter how good the stuff was. The chalkboard
announced that it was 1s. 2d. per pint of beer, while cider was 9d.
The pub was called the Railway Inn. Maddie smiled. Miles away from
the railway. Had some optimistic builder imagined the train station would
be built in the middle of the village, instead of being marooned on a patch
of land so far away?
She stopped to get her bearings. And there it was, a few yards ahead on
her side of the road: a street sign on the wall, almost covered with ivy, the
letters faded with age.
Rosemundy.
Maddie tried to recall the directions. Rosemundy was a hill, the man
had said. And at the bottom of it was the place that would be her home.
She blew out some air, checked her tie was straight, adjusted her gas
mask and walked boldly down the hill, head held high. Her parade shoes
clicked sonorously on the cobblestones and the sound of Molly’s voice
invaded her thoughts: You are strong, you are fearless; you are unbeatable.
You can do this.
The house was large and imposing, and grey. Everything about it seemed
grey, including the high stone walls that enclosed the house and gardens and
outbuildings, as if to hide it all from prying eyes. Or keep its inmates in
seclusion from the outside. A kind of quarantine from normal society, so
that Rosemundy House might not taint it.
The trees rescued it. Woods behind it and on either side gave the place a
softer, more humane touch, took the edge off its brittleness. And the
massive lawn in front, stretching across to some of the smaller outbuildings,
was evidence of the home’s real purpose. Rows of prams already sat out on
the grass, their tiny occupants washed and fed and either sleeping or wailing
in protest. Maddie noted with alarm that no one took any notice of these
protests. Not the uniformed nurse sitting in a chair writing up notes, nor any
of the women busily crossing the lawn and disappearing into the
outbuildings.
She walked along the path and up to the impressive front porch flanked
on either side by grand-looking columns. Maddie rang the bell. And waited.
Maybe she should have gone around the back, like a tradesman, or a
servant. That’s what the place felt like: as if it was meant to intimidate. But
she refused to be intimidated.
The door suddenly swung open, and a woman stood there. ‘Yes?’ she
asked. Her tone was clipped.
Not a friendly voice, thought Maddie. Not angry exactly, but certainly
not welcoming.
‘I’m expected,’ said Maddie, and moved closer to the woman blocking
the front door with her over-generous frame. What she lacked in height, she
made up for in width, and Maddie wanted to laugh at her stiff, sentry-like
pose as guardian of the door. But she didn’t. She was respectful. ‘My name
is Madeline Brady and I believe you’ve had a letter about me from Chief
Commander Worthing.’
The woman took a pair of metal-rimmed glasses from the pocket of her
nurse’s uniform and peered through them at Maddie. Her inspection was
both intense and critical. ‘You were expected, yes. But that was yesterday.
Where have you been?’ she asked, fiercely.
‘The train was held up. If I might come in,’ said Maddie. ‘I’ve walked
all the way from the station.’
‘If you’d have been here on time you wouldn’t have had to walk, would
you? I can’t think why Matron even agreed to send the donkey cart in the
first place. What are you, royalty?’ the woman asked, with a sneer.
She finally opened the door and ushered Maddie inside. ‘Quickly now.
Don’t dawdle. First office on the right, off you go. And knock on the door,’
she added. ‘Wait until you’re summoned. And don’t go through your whole
life story in there, Matron’s a busy woman. She’ll show you around. Well,
what you waiting for? Shoo!’
Shoo? Maddie didn’t know whether to scream at the woman, or cry. But
she did neither of those things. Instead, she drew herself up to her full
height, a good few inches above this domineering bully who had tried to
browbeat her into submission, and remembered why she was there. She was
doing this for her and Rudi, and their baby. And no tyrant could take that
away from her.
