morning, they set off into the mist, with baskets on both the back and front of their bicycles.
“I feel like Good King Wenceslas,” said Brian.
It was quite a long ride, but at least they were glowing with warmth by the time they reached the straggly line of pine trees that fringed the estuary shore. The Old Mill had been a local landmark but was now deserted. It stood in a small clearing above the tideline, enclosed by barbed wire, its rapidly decaying sails standing out starkly against the sky. The storage sheds were equally dilapidated. In happier times, Mum said, people might have made an effort to preserve it, but there was no chance of that now. It would be considered a waste of valuable resources and manpower. There was a stern notice on the fence, which read: PRIVATE PROPERTY. KEEP OUT! TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF DEFENCE .
But Brian had been right about the driftwood. There was plenty of it lying about above the tideline on the sand hills, easily enough to fill their bicycle baskets. By mid-morning, they were tired but triumphant.
“This should keep us warm for a while, anyway,” Brian said. “But I’m starving ! I wish we’d brought some sandwiches.”
“Let’s go back,” said Joan.
They secured their bundles firmly and set off, pedalling briskly along the bumpy track. The mist was clearing a little, giving way to a soaking drizzle.
They were not far from the road when a van suddenly appeared out of nowhere, heading towards them very fast. It made no effort to slow down as it approached, and Joan and Brian were forced to swerve sharply, to avoid being run over, and ended up in the hedge. Brian shouted some very rude words, some of which were new to Joan, but the van was already out of earshot.
“Did you get his number plate?” said Brian.
“No chance.”
“What do you think he’s doing, going at that speed right out here? This track doesn’t lead anywhere – only the mill. It’s just sand hills after that. I’d like to give him a punch on the nose.”
“How did you know it was a ‘he’?” said Joan. “It might have been a ‘she’. The sort of lady driver that Ronnie Harper Jones is always complaining about.”
“Well, he can’t talk, can he? He gets driven everywhere in an army car with unlimited petrol and a sweet little ATS driver.”
“The bundles stayed on, anyway,” said Joan, feeling shaken. “Let’s get on home before they get too wet.”
It was nearly dinnertime when they arrived back. They found Ronnie talking to Mum by the chilly fireplace. He was in full dress uniform with an impeccably polished Sam Browne belt because, as he explained, he had just come off parade.
“The Catering Corps may not be a combative unit,” he told them for the umpteenth time, “but I like to think we can turn out as smartly as any guards regiment when it comes to it. I hear you two have been out collecting firewood for your mother? Well done!”
“At least we’ll be able to keep the back room warm this evening,” said Mum.
“I only wish I could get you a delivery of coal,” Ronnie said. “But, as you know, I never pull strings.
It wouldn’t be fair on the rest of the civilian population. So I’m delighted to see that you two are doing your bit.”
He spoke cheerfully, as though he had forgotten all about the last occasion he had visited their house and his involvement in Lukasz Topolski’s arrest. He had clearly decided not to mention it or anything about the forthcoming court martial for the moment.
Thank heavens Mum isn’t going to get into trouble, thought Joan. But she still found Ronnie irritating.
Brian simply ignored him. “Will dinner be ready soon, Mum?” was all he said.
CHAPTER 20
J oan saw very little of David these days, except sometimes on his way to school, when he always waved.
“He’s working ever so hard for this scholarship,” said Doreen gloomily. “It’s making him really edgy. And he isn’t sleeping
“I feel like Good King Wenceslas,” said Brian.
It was quite a long ride, but at least they were glowing with warmth by the time they reached the straggly line of pine trees that fringed the estuary shore. The Old Mill had been a local landmark but was now deserted. It stood in a small clearing above the tideline, enclosed by barbed wire, its rapidly decaying sails standing out starkly against the sky. The storage sheds were equally dilapidated. In happier times, Mum said, people might have made an effort to preserve it, but there was no chance of that now. It would be considered a waste of valuable resources and manpower. There was a stern notice on the fence, which read: PRIVATE PROPERTY. KEEP OUT! TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF DEFENCE .
But Brian had been right about the driftwood. There was plenty of it lying about above the tideline on the sand hills, easily enough to fill their bicycle baskets. By mid-morning, they were tired but triumphant.
“This should keep us warm for a while, anyway,” Brian said. “But I’m starving ! I wish we’d brought some sandwiches.”
“Let’s go back,” said Joan.
They secured their bundles firmly and set off, pedalling briskly along the bumpy track. The mist was clearing a little, giving way to a soaking drizzle.
They were not far from the road when a van suddenly appeared out of nowhere, heading towards them very fast. It made no effort to slow down as it approached, and Joan and Brian were forced to swerve sharply, to avoid being run over, and ended up in the hedge. Brian shouted some very rude words, some of which were new to Joan, but the van was already out of earshot.
“Did you get his number plate?” said Brian.
“No chance.”
“What do you think he’s doing, going at that speed right out here? This track doesn’t lead anywhere – only the mill. It’s just sand hills after that. I’d like to give him a punch on the nose.”
“How did you know it was a ‘he’?” said Joan. “It might have been a ‘she’. The sort of lady driver that Ronnie Harper Jones is always complaining about.”
“Well, he can’t talk, can he? He gets driven everywhere in an army car with unlimited petrol and a sweet little ATS driver.”
“The bundles stayed on, anyway,” said Joan, feeling shaken. “Let’s get on home before they get too wet.”
It was nearly dinnertime when they arrived back. They found Ronnie talking to Mum by the chilly fireplace. He was in full dress uniform with an impeccably polished Sam Browne belt because, as he explained, he had just come off parade.
“The Catering Corps may not be a combative unit,” he told them for the umpteenth time, “but I like to think we can turn out as smartly as any guards regiment when it comes to it. I hear you two have been out collecting firewood for your mother? Well done!”
“At least we’ll be able to keep the back room warm this evening,” said Mum.
“I only wish I could get you a delivery of coal,” Ronnie said. “But, as you know, I never pull strings.
It wouldn’t be fair on the rest of the civilian population. So I’m delighted to see that you two are doing your bit.”
He spoke cheerfully, as though he had forgotten all about the last occasion he had visited their house and his involvement in Lukasz Topolski’s arrest. He had clearly decided not to mention it or anything about the forthcoming court martial for the moment.
Thank heavens Mum isn’t going to get into trouble, thought Joan. But she still found Ronnie irritating.
Brian simply ignored him. “Will dinner be ready soon, Mum?” was all he said.
CHAPTER 20
J oan saw very little of David these days, except sometimes on his way to school, when he always waved.
“He’s working ever so hard for this scholarship,” said Doreen gloomily. “It’s making him really edgy. And he isn’t sleeping
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