66

We put in three hours before breakfast. Elizabeth drove the tractor, towing the binder with its big wheel of cutting blades. Each blade cut and scooped up an armful of wheat, and dropped it onto a chute. Inside the chute, the -machine bundled the wheat and tied it, before spitting it out. One of Bill Taylor’s inventions. I kept a close eye on Elizabeth. Letting her drive at this critical time was a risk. Bill -Taylor had argued she was ready. Watching her now, I realised he was right. She did a fine job, kept to straight lines a veteran ploughman would be proud of. The rest of us followed behind, picking up the bundles and stacking them into stooks – small pyramids, six feet across, ready to be carted away.

Most of the day-labourers from Uckfield knew what they were doing. It was all new to Vaughn and his lot, of course. Not on the syllabus at Eton, or whatever Swiss finishing school Miriam had been sent to. But they were quick learners, give them their due. Bill Taylor had given a tutorial – shown them all the technique, hold the wheat upright, slam it into the ground, build the stooks every ten yards until the whole field was covered with them. Even if the rain arrived tonight, once the corn was in stooks, it would weather the storm. We could stack it later on, once it had dried again.

The first field was rough around the edges. A lot of stray wheat on the ground from bundles that broke apart under inexpert handling. A number of stooks falling over. Bill -Taylor followed behind, always ready with another lesson or a sharp word, each as required. If the man from the War Ag had been there, he’d have given us a black mark. But we were moving along at a good clip. Not letting perfection get in the way when good enough would do.

Breakfast was at eight, and everyone was ready for a break. The novelty had long worn off. Freddie was in short sleeves already, and his arms were a mess of scratches from the unforgiving stalks. Bill Taylor drove the van out into the field, loaded up with provisions. Everyone settled into their own groups, eating and talking. I sat with Vaughn, Miriam, Freddie and Margaret, on a blanket set out on the headland, the grassy piece of ground next to the hedge that had been left unplanted. No point wasting good seed where the tractor would be making its turns. Frankie poured us tea, doing the rounds. It was good to see him at home in the fields, doing his bit.

Elizabeth ate her breakfast in the driving seat, up in the tractor.

‘How much more?’ Vaughn asked.

‘Eight or nine hours, if the rain holds off,’ I said. We’d been working for three. I watched them as it sunk in. I wanted to see their reactions. If I was going into any kind of action with this lot, I wanted to see how they handled a bit of adversity. Nothing like farming to tire a man out, and test his endurance, mental as well as physical.

‘The rain will delay the invasion,’ Vaughn said. ‘Their first step will be to bomb our airfields. You can’t do precision bombing if you can’t see the targets through the clouds.’

‘What does the forecast say, Bill?’ I asked. I wanted to remind Vaughn that he wasn’t surrounded by fellow travellers. He’d have to watch what he said.

‘Two days of rain, then the clouds pass and a week of fine weather,’ Bill Taylor said.

‘Two days,’ Vaughn said. ‘Then it’s Adler Tag .’

‘Adder Dog?’ Frankie asked, spilling tea on the ground as he looked up. I’d been teaching him about some of the local wildlife. He was desperate to see an adder, the only poisonous snake in Britain. I’d told him its bite wouldn’t kill him, but I could tell he didn’t believe me.

‘ Adler Tag ,’ Vaughn repeated, relishing his role as school master. ‘ Adler means eagle. And Tag means day.’

‘What language?’ Frankie asked.

‘German,’ Vaughn said.

‘Lord Matheson’s been listening to too much of our friend Lord Haw-Haw,’ I joked, but Frankie wasn’t convinced. He backed away, keeping a wary eye on Vaughn.

*

The day went as days do when you have a seemingly insurmountable task in front of you, but you keep at it slowly and steadily. After breakfast we moved on to Dadswell’s Flat, the largest field. Elizabeth, sitting regally on her -tractor, cut down the golden wheat one strip at a time, and we followed behind, bent to our tasks. Conversation dropped off, and every man and woman found their rhythm. Each one of us found the satisfaction of doing a worthwhile job that needed doing.

I’d been worried about Margaret and Miriam, society women who’d been raised to believe that everything they ever wanted would be brought to them on a silver platter, but they were doing their bit. Margaret worked in a slow, steady manner, every sheaf impeccable with hardly any loose straw left in her wake. She caught my eye, realising I was watching her, and grinned. Miriam had a different style. Every step was hurried, and she zigzagged across her patch like a spaniel hunting a bird. She left quite a trail of missed corn. We’d be down a sack or two of grain by the end of the field. But still an invaluable pair of hands. Miriam had discarded her cardigan as soon as the sun had cleared the trees, and her shoulders were getting pink. She’d unbuttoned the top few buttons of her blouse, and as she bent to pick up the corn I realised I was far from the only man in the field watching her.

Freddie joined me, lighting a cigarette.

‘Uncanny, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘They could be sisters.’

Miriam and Margaret shared a joke as they crossed in the field. Margaret sensed us watching, and she gave a wave.

Freddie was right. I’d noticed it the first time I saw them together at Vaughn’s party, but since then I’d got used to it and stopped seeing it. Margaret and Miriam moved differently, and came at their work in their own unique ways, but when it came to physical appearance they were like peas in a pod.

‘Makes you wonder what’s going through Vaughn’s mind,’ Freddie said, ‘the way he goes after Margaret like a dog after a bone.’

I ignored him, and looked away from Miriam and Margaret. I had a whole field of people to keep an eye on.

‘I reckon you could get them both in the sack at the same time, if you played your cards right,’ he said.

I started to tell him to keep his foul mouth shut, but he grinned. He had a disarming way of being insulting while not being hateful. It made it hard to take against him.

‘No smoking,’ I said. ‘This whole field could go up.’

Freddie weighed the ups and downs of picking a fight. He flicked his half-smoked fag into the stubble.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, giving me a wink.

I followed the arc of the cigarette and ground it out. I turned back to him, ready to tell him off for being a fool, but he was already ambling away, back to his place in the line.