quietly read in a
corner.
Happiness swelled in Poppy’s chest, and with a jolt, she realized how much she was starting to like working in this community of lively women. Their spirit was something to behold. To see
the women’s pride in their menfolk was humbling too, though Poppy was also in awe of how they fought the war on the home front. It rather put her own problems into perspective, she thought
sadly.
As she approached Sal’s bench, she piped up, ‘Anything for me from my boys?’
Poppy quickly riffled through the envelopes and produced one with a Devon postmark on it.
‘“Sal Fowler” and in brackets “Mum”. This must be yours,’ she chuckled.
Frantically Sal ripped it open and a photo fell out. Sal gazed at it, then her legs abruptly gave way beneath her, and she sank heavily into her chair.
‘Oh look, Poppy,’ she breathed. ‘It’s a picture.’
Poppy looked at the photo Sal had just handed her with a trembling hand. Two little boys stared back at her from outside a well-kept cottage. The elder boy grinned self-consciously, showing off
a big, gappy grin. The younger boy raised a chubby little hand to wave at the camera.
‘Is this Joey and Billy?’ Poppy gasped, for she barely recognized Sal’s sons from the previous photo she had shown her in the pub. Gone was the dyed-in grime. These little
lambs were squeaky clean and as hale and hearty as they come.
‘My, haven’t they changed?’ she said.
Sal’s face crumpled as she read aloud from the letter.
‘Oh, my days,’ she wept. ‘Joey’s lost two more teeth, and Billy’s learned to swim. Whatever next? Says the lady they’re billeted with even lets Billy help out
in the village post office counting the day’s takings.’ Her face fell. ‘He couldn’t count when he lived with me,’ she said sadly. ‘So that’s something,
isn’t it?’ Her voice trailed off to a barely perceptible whisper. ‘Maybe he’s better off without me, or maybe when this war’s over, he won’t want to come
home.’
‘What rot, Sal,’ interrupted Vera, as she bustled past on her way to Mr Gladstone’s office. ‘You’re his mother. There’s no replacement on earth for your own
flesh and blood.’
Her eyes narrowed as she glanced over at a subdued Daisy. ‘Talking of which, Daisy, for the umpteenth time, just where is Mother’s necklace?’
Daisy’s stricken face glanced up, then she fled from the floor in tears.
‘What did I say?’ asked Vera in dismay.
‘I’ll go,’ sighed Sal, leaping up and running after her.
‘Oh look,’ said Poppy brightly, trying to avoid another confrontation. ‘One left and it’s for you, Betty.’
Hurt stabbed at Poppy’s heart as she walked over to her workbench to deliver the letter. Nothing at all from her own mother. Oh well, she was obviously too busy tending to Her Ladyship, or
maybe she had been caught up with her WVS work since she left, Poppy thought charitably, but in her heart she knew this wasn’t true. For all her mother’s aloofness, Poppy still missed
her desperately, just as much as she missed the endless skies of Norfolk. She thought with a pang of her half-day off, and how she would pull her rattly old bike out from the stable block and tear
down the country lanes, her hair flowing behind her in the breeze, the tang of sea salt from the wash tingling her nostrils. The wild strawberries would be ripening in the meadows and the fens
groaning with wild flowers. But those innocent, carefree days were over now.
A sudden feeling of homesickness mingled with the harsher taste of abandonment washed over Poppy. There was no escaping the truth. Her own mother had banished her from the village in which she
was born and failed to stand by her in her greatest hour of need. What, Poppy wondered, with an aching sadness, did that say about her? Surely if even her own mother didn’t want her anywhere
near, then she must be very hard to love?
Shaking herself a little, she painted a
corner.
Happiness swelled in Poppy’s chest, and with a jolt, she realized how much she was starting to like working in this community of lively women. Their spirit was something to behold. To see
the women’s pride in their menfolk was humbling too, though Poppy was also in awe of how they fought the war on the home front. It rather put her own problems into perspective, she thought
sadly.
As she approached Sal’s bench, she piped up, ‘Anything for me from my boys?’
Poppy quickly riffled through the envelopes and produced one with a Devon postmark on it.
‘“Sal Fowler” and in brackets “Mum”. This must be yours,’ she chuckled.
Frantically Sal ripped it open and a photo fell out. Sal gazed at it, then her legs abruptly gave way beneath her, and she sank heavily into her chair.
‘Oh look, Poppy,’ she breathed. ‘It’s a picture.’
Poppy looked at the photo Sal had just handed her with a trembling hand. Two little boys stared back at her from outside a well-kept cottage. The elder boy grinned self-consciously, showing off
a big, gappy grin. The younger boy raised a chubby little hand to wave at the camera.
‘Is this Joey and Billy?’ Poppy gasped, for she barely recognized Sal’s sons from the previous photo she had shown her in the pub. Gone was the dyed-in grime. These little
lambs were squeaky clean and as hale and hearty as they come.
‘My, haven’t they changed?’ she said.
Sal’s face crumpled as she read aloud from the letter.
‘Oh, my days,’ she wept. ‘Joey’s lost two more teeth, and Billy’s learned to swim. Whatever next? Says the lady they’re billeted with even lets Billy help out
in the village post office counting the day’s takings.’ Her face fell. ‘He couldn’t count when he lived with me,’ she said sadly. ‘So that’s something,
isn’t it?’ Her voice trailed off to a barely perceptible whisper. ‘Maybe he’s better off without me, or maybe when this war’s over, he won’t want to come
home.’
‘What rot, Sal,’ interrupted Vera, as she bustled past on her way to Mr Gladstone’s office. ‘You’re his mother. There’s no replacement on earth for your own
flesh and blood.’
Her eyes narrowed as she glanced over at a subdued Daisy. ‘Talking of which, Daisy, for the umpteenth time, just where is Mother’s necklace?’
Daisy’s stricken face glanced up, then she fled from the floor in tears.
‘What did I say?’ asked Vera in dismay.
‘I’ll go,’ sighed Sal, leaping up and running after her.
‘Oh look,’ said Poppy brightly, trying to avoid another confrontation. ‘One left and it’s for you, Betty.’
Hurt stabbed at Poppy’s heart as she walked over to her workbench to deliver the letter. Nothing at all from her own mother. Oh well, she was obviously too busy tending to Her Ladyship, or
maybe she had been caught up with her WVS work since she left, Poppy thought charitably, but in her heart she knew this wasn’t true. For all her mother’s aloofness, Poppy still missed
her desperately, just as much as she missed the endless skies of Norfolk. She thought with a pang of her half-day off, and how she would pull her rattly old bike out from the stable block and tear
down the country lanes, her hair flowing behind her in the breeze, the tang of sea salt from the wash tingling her nostrils. The wild strawberries would be ripening in the meadows and the fens
groaning with wild flowers. But those innocent, carefree days were over now.
A sudden feeling of homesickness mingled with the harsher taste of abandonment washed over Poppy. There was no escaping the truth. Her own mother had banished her from the village in which she
was born and failed to stand by her in her greatest hour of need. What, Poppy wondered, with an aching sadness, did that say about her? Surely if even her own mother didn’t want her anywhere
near, then she must be very hard to love?
Shaking herself a little, she painted a
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