She was toothless. She had false teeth but only wore them for company or occasions like the Church Feast, when she had dreadful trouble with macaroon crumbs. Being toothless made her look quite old, but she was in fact quite young, in her early forties. Her hair was straight and lank, and on her head was a brown beret which she wore as constantly as her rubber boots and for the same reason. ‘Walked up, did you, in this dirty weather?’
‘I've got Tiger. Do you mind if he comes in?’ Which was a pretty silly question because Tiger was already in, soaking wet and sniffing at Mrs Mudge's pig bucket. She swore cheerfully at him, and aimed a kick, so he retreated to the rag-rug by the range and settled down to clean himself up, with sloppy, slow licks.
Loveday pulled off her raincoat and draped it over a chair, then reached out and took a bit of raw pastry and ate it. Mrs Mudge cackled with laughter. ‘Never known such a maid for raw pastry.’
‘It's delicious.’
‘Want a cup of tea, do you?’
Loveday said yes, not because she particularly wanted one, but drinking tea with Mrs Mudge was part of tradition. ‘Where's Walter?’
‘Up the top field with his father.’ Mrs Mudge abandoned her potatoes and filled her kettle and put it on to boil. ‘Want to see him, did you?’
‘Well, he wasn't at the stables this morning, and by the time I'd got there he'd turned the horses out.’
‘Went down to the stables early, he did, because his dad wanted him to help stank up one of the walls. Two cows got out onto the road last night, pesky brutes. What did you want Walter for?’
‘Just to tell him something. But you can give him the message. It's just that I'm going away tomorrow, to Porthkerris, for a week, so he'll have to see to everything for the horses. But there's plenty of hay, and I cleaned all the tack last night.’
‘I'll tell him. Chase him off and make sure he don't forget.’ Reaching up, Mrs Mudge took her tea-caddy, decorated with portraits of Royalty, from the mantelshelf, and then her brown teapot from the side of the range. ‘Why are you off to Porthkerris?’
‘I'm going to stay with the Warrens, with Judith. They've asked me to go too. Judith's going for two weeks, and I very nearly said no, but then I thought it might be rather fun. But I feel a bit badly about leaving the new pony, but Pops said he thought I should go. Besides, and you'll never believe this, Mrs Mudge, Judith and I are going to drive ourselves! Judith's gone off today with Mr Baines, the solicitor, and he's going to help her buy a car for herself. And she's only eighteen. Don't you think she's a lucky mucker? It's going to be new, too. Not second-hand.’
Mrs Mudge, clattering cups and saucers, paused open-mouthed at this news.
‘A car of her own! You can hardly believe it, can you? And going off, two young ladies, on your own. Just hope you don't have a crash and kill yourselves.’ Having made the tea, Mrs Mudge took, from an earthenware crock, a saffron loaf from which she proceeded to cut inch-thick slices. ‘The Warrens? Is that Jan Warren, the grocer?’
‘That's right. He's got a daughter called Heather. She was Judith's friend at Porthkerris school. And she's got two frightfully good-looking brothers called Paddy and Joe.’
Mrs Mudge let out a crow. ‘Oh…so that's why you're going!’
‘Oh, don't be silly, Mrs Mudge, of course it isn't.’
‘Don't know them well, of course, but the Warrens are distant kin of mine. Daisy Warren was a cousin of my Aunt Flo. Aunt Flo married Uncle Bert. Big family they are, the Warrens. And Jan Warren was a one when he was a young man, wild as a goat, none of us ever thought he'd settle down.’
‘He's still the most dreadful tease.’
Mrs Mudge poured the tea, pulled out a chair and settled down to a good chat.
‘What else is going on, down at the house? Full up yet, are you?’
‘The very opposite. Pops and Judith and I are the only ones there. Athena's still in London, and Edward's being frightfully grand in the south of France, and as usual we don't know when he's coming home.’
‘What about your mother?’
Loveday made a face. ‘She went off yesterday, to London. She drove the Bentley and took Pekoe with her.’
‘She went to London?’ Mrs Mudge looked amazed, as well she might. ‘With you all coming home, and the middle of the holidays?’ And indeed, Diana Carey-Lewis had never done such a thing before. But Loveday, despite feeling a bit put out at her mother's defection, thought that she understood.
‘Between you and me, Mrs Mudge, I think she got a bit depressed and miserable. She needed to get away. Athena always cheers her up, and I suppose she wanted a change.’
‘What does she want a change for, then?’
‘Well, admit, everything is a bit depressing, isn't it? I mean the news, and everybody talking about wars, and Edward's joined the Royal Air Force Reserve, and I think that frightens her. And Pops is a bit down in the mouth as well, and insists on listening to all the news bulletins, full-blast, and they're digging up Hyde Park for air-raid shelters, and he seems to think we're all going to be gassed. Not much fun to live with really. So she just packed a suitcase and went.’
‘How long is she staying away?’
‘Oh, I don't know. A week. Two weeks. As long as she needs, I suppose.’
‘Well, if that's how she's troubled, better out of the way. I mean, it's not as though she's wanted, is it? Not with the Nettlebeds and Mary Millyway there to keep an eye on things.’ Mrs Mudge took a long noisy suck at her tea, then thoughtfully dunked her slice of saffron cake in what remained in her cup. She liked it that way, all soft and pappy, on account of having no teeth. ‘I don't know, it's not a good time for any of us really. Except that I don't suppose Walter will have to go. Farming's a reserved occupation, his dad says. He can't run this place single-handed.’
‘What if he wants to join up?’
‘Walter?’ Mrs Mudge's voice was filled with proud scorn. ‘He won't rush to volunteer. Never did like being told what to do. Never out of trouble when he was at school, just because of the rules and regulations. I can't see Walter saying “Yes, Sir” to any sergeant-major. No. He'd be better staying here. More use.’
Loveday finished her tea. She looked at her watch. ‘Oh dear, I suppose I'd better be getting back. That's another thing. I've got to take an extra can of cream with me because Mrs Nettlebed's run out and she wants to make a raspberry fool for dinner. That's really why I came, that and to tell Walter about going away.’
‘Well, there's plenty of cream in the dairy, if you want to help yourself, but mind and bring my can back.’
‘I can't, because I'm going away tomorrow. But I'll tell Mrs Nettlebed.’
The dairy was cold and glistened with cleanliness and smelt of the carbolic soap which Mrs Mudge used to scrub the slate floor. Loveday found the cream and a sterilised can, and filled the can with a long-handled dipper. Tiger, refused entrance, whined at the open door, and went into ecstasies of pleasure when she emerged into the farmyard again, tearing around in circles as though he had believed himself to be abandoned forever. She told him he was stupid, and he sat and smiled at her.
‘Come on, fat-head, we've got to go home.’
She went back across the farmyard and climbed the gate, and then sat there for a bit on the top rail. While she had chatted to Mrs Mudge, a breeze had got up and the rain eased off a little. Somewhere, above the clouds, the sun was shining, and odd rays penetrated, as they always seemed to do in Bible pictures. The mist, like a filmy curtain, was parting, and now it was possible to glimpse the still silver sea.
She thought of Walter, and the coming war, and felt grateful that he would not be leaving Nancherrow to be a soldier, because Walter was part of Nancherrow, part of everything she had known all her life, and she was terrified of change. Besides, she was very fond of Walter. He was rough and foul-mouthed, and rumour had it that he was beginning to spend far too many of his evenings in the Rosemullion pub, but still, he was a constant in her existence, and one of the
few young men she knew with whom she felt entirely at ease. Ever since he went to prep school, Edward had been bringing friends home to stay, but they seemed to Loveday to come from a different world, with their drawling upper-class voices, and their sometimes effete behaviour. While Loveday mucked out the stables, or rode with Walter or her father, they lay about in deck-chairs or played not very energetic tennis, and their dinner-table conversations were all of people she did not know, had never met, and had no desire to meet.
Walter, for all his wild ways, she found enormously attractive. Sometimes, when he was grooming one of the horses, or carting hay, she would covertly watch him, and be filled with satisfaction by the strength and ease of his body, his tanned and muscled arms, his dark eyes and his raven-black hair. He was like some beautiful gypsy out of a D. H. Lawrence book, and her first stirrings of physical sexuality, a sort of ache deep in her stomach, were engendered by Walter's presence. It was a bit the same with the Warren boys over at Porthkerris. With their Cornish voices, their horseplay and their teasing, Loveday was never for a moment either shy with them or bored. It occurred to her that perhaps this preference for…she searched for the right word. Lower-class was horrible. Ill-educated was worse. She hit upon real…real people, had something to do with the way she had been brought up, treasured and petted all her life within the safe haven of Nancherrow. Whatever. It was her own secret, shared with neither Judith nor Athena.
Walter. She thought about War. Every evening they all listened, willy-nilly, to the nine-o'clock news, and every evening world events seemed to be worsening. It was like the build-up to a monumental disaster — an earthquake or a terrible fire — with no person able to do anything to prevent it. The chimes of Big Ben sounding nine o'clock had begun to sound to Loveday like the trumpets of doom. She was far more concerned about the prospect of war than any of her family realised, yet could not begin to imagine how it would be, particularly within the context of her own home, her family, and their immediate world. She had never been much good at imagining things, always hopeless at essays and compositions. Would there be bombs, dropping from black aircraft, and explosions and houses falling down? Or would the German Army land somewhere, London, perhaps, and march across the country? And would they come to Cornwall? And if so, how would they cross the Tamar, which only had a railway bridge? Perhaps they would build special pontoon bridges or paddle themselves across the water in boats, but that did seem a bit primitive.
And if they came, what would happen? Almost every man Loveday knew, and certainly all of her father's friends, had a gun with which to blast off at pheasants and rabbits, or to put some injured dog or horse out of its misery. If everybody went with guns to meet the Germans, then surely the invaders wouldn't stand a chance. She thought of the old Cornish song, belted out by the crowds in the stands at county rugby matches.
And shall Trelawney die, my boys
And shall Trelawney die?
Then forty thousand Cornishmen
Shall know the reason why.
Tiger, impatient, was wheeking at her. She sighed and put dismal thoughts from her mind, and climbed down off the gate and set off at a trot, down the rutted lane, the cream can swinging to and fro as she ran. To cheer herself up, she thought about tomorrow, and going to Porthkerris to stay with the Warrens. Seeing Heather and Paddy and Joe again; and sitting on the crowded beach and eating ice-creams. And Judith's new car. Perhaps it would be a little MG with a folding hood. She could not wait to see the new car.
With all this going through her mind, by the time she reached home, her good spirits were quite restored.
August 9th, 1939.
Porthkerris.
Dear Mummy and Dad,
I am sorry I have not written for such a long time. I shall just have to try to give you all the news very quickly, otherwise this letter will be as fat as a newspaper. As you can see, I am at Porthkerris with the Warrens, and Loveday has come too. She wavered for a bit, because she has got this new pony called Fleet, and is schooling it for some gymkhana, but in the end she decided to come, just for a week, which is fun for all of us. It's a bit of a squash, but Mrs Warren doesn't seem to mind, and Paddy is now working on his uncle's fishing boat, so is away a good deal of the time. So Loveday's got his bed, and I'm in with Heather. Heather's left school as well, and she's going to do a secretarial course right here in Porthkerris, and then maybe go to London and get herself a job.
The weather is absolutely gorgeous and Porthkerris is full of visitors, in shorts and sand-shoes. Joe has got a job working at the beach, he cleans out the beach-huts and puts away the deck-chairs, and yesterday when we went to swim, he sneaked us all free ice-creams.
There's a new girl working in the shop, she's called Ellie; I think she's about sixteen. She dyed her hair blonde with a peroxide bottle, but despite the fact that she looks so dotty, Mrs Warren says she's the best assistant they've ever had, and got the hang of the cash register in no time.
It's funny knowing I never have to go back to school. Haven't heard about Matric yet, of course, but I got the History and the English Prizes on Speech Day, which was great, and the Carnhayl Cup as well, which was a dreadful surprise and made me feel wobbly. But it was worth winning because, because of getting it, Mr Baines and Uncle Bob put their heads together and let me buy a car of my very own as a sort of reward. Mr Baines and me went to the garage in Truro together, and chose it. It is a little dark-blue Morris with four seats, and too sweet. There was a sports car with a folding roof as well, but Mr Baines said that if I turned it over (which of course I wouldn't), I would probably break my neck, and he reckoned the Morris was more suitable. Whatever, I absolutely love it, and I drove it back to Nancherrow myself, all the way through Camborne and Redruth and Penzance, with Mr Baines, in his car, trundling along behind me like a sort of bodyguard! It's the best thing I've ever had since Aunt Louise bought me my bike, and just as soon as I can, I'm off to Pendeen to see Phyllis and her baby. In my next letter, I'll tell you about her.
Anyway, it meant that Loveday and I were able to come here under our own steam, instead of having to be chauffeured in the Nancherrow shooting-brake. I can't tell you what fun it was, driving ourselves, and we made the journey very slowly, savouring it. It was the loveliest day, all the hedges smothered in foxgloves, and we took the road over the moor, and in the distance the sea was the deepest blue. We sang quite a lot.
Just before we left, Diana Carey-Lewis went off to London for a bit. Colonel Carey-Lewis looked a bit down in the mouth when she told him she was going away, but he's fairly depressed about everything himself, and never stops reading newspapers and listening to the wireless, and I think the poor man just got on her nerves. In the end, however, he made the best of it, and saw her off in her car and told her to have a good time. He really has to be the dearest and most unselfish of husbands, and who can blame him for being concerned about the way things are going? It must be agonising for a man who fought in the trenches all through the last war. I am glad that you are all in Singapore and away from it all. At least there, you will be safe from whatever happens in Europe.
I must go. Loveday and Heather want to go to the beach, and Mrs Warren has packed us a picnic. I can smell hot pasties. Can you think of anything better than eating hot pasties after a swim? I can't.
My love to you all as always. I'll try to write again soon.
Judith
Unlike Nancherrow, mealtimes at the Warrens' house were, by necessity, informal affairs. With two men at work, starting at different hours, breakfast was very much a movable feast, and Mr Warren was in his shop, and Joe away to the beach, long before any of the girls were even out of bed. At midday, Mrs Warren fed her husband whenever there came a lull in business and he was able to escape from his sides of bacon, his packets of tea, and pounds of butter. Having been on his feet since early morning, he needed to sit down for a spell, to cast his eye over the local paper, to enjoy a bowl of soup, a slice of bread and cheese and a cup of tea. Mrs Warren
did not sit down. While her husband ate, she ironed, or made a cake, or washed the kitchen floor, or stood at the sink and peeled pounds of potatoes, listening companionably while he read out snippets of news, like cricket scores, or how much the Women's Institute of St Enedoc had made with the Bring & Buy Sale. When he had finished his tea, rolled and smoked a wrinkled cigarette, he returned to work, and then it was Ellie's turn for refreshment. Ellie did not fancy soup. She made herself meat-paste sandwiches, and crunched away on chocolate biscuits, all the while telling Mrs Warren what Russell Oates had said to her while they were queuing for the cinema, and did Mrs Warren think she should have a permanent wave? She was a flighty girl, and mad on boys, but Mrs Warren had known her since she was just a little thing at the Porthkerris school, and enjoyed Ellie's company. She liked her because she had a bit of go in her, and was a real worker, bright as a new penny and always friendly with customers.
‘Jeanette MacDonald's on this week,’ Ellie would tell her. ‘With Nelson Eddy. I always think they're a bit soppy, but the music's nice. Saw James Cagney last week, it was some frightening, gangsters and that in Chicago.’
‘How you can watch all that shooting and killing, Ellie, is beyond me.’
‘It's exciting. And if it gets too bloody, I just go down under the seat.’
Loveday stayed her week, and it was a constant source of wonder to Judith the way she fitted in and adapted to life in the crowded house over the grocer's shop, so diametrically different in every way from the establishment in which she had been brought up. The Carey-Lewises were ‘gentry’…there was no getting away from that uncomfortable-sounding word. And Loveday had been raised accordingly, spoilt and indulged, surrounded by devoted nannies and butlers, and worshipped by besotted parents. But ever since her first visit to Porthkerris, when they had both still been at school, Loveday was entranced by the Warrens and everything about them. Loving the novelty of living bang in the middle of a busy little town, of stepping out of the door straight into the narrow cobbled street that led down to the harbour. When Mr Warren or Joe started in on their teasing, she gave as good as she got, and for Mrs Warren, she learned to make her own bed, help with the dishes, and peg laundry out in the yard at the back of the wash-house. The grocery shop, always milling with customers, was a constant diversion, and the freedom that the Warren offspring took for granted, Loveday found precious. ‘I'm going now’ was all you had to shout up the stairs, and nobody asked where you were going, or when you would be home again.