Chapter 16

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, with the straps of her haversack fastened and her shoes in one hand, Glenys was tiptoeing down the stairs. As she passed Sam’s door she was unable to prevent herself from glancing wistfully at it; she even slowed her downward flight for a moment, secretly hoping that the door would open and Sam would emerge to ask her what she was doing up at such an unearthly hour. But the door remained closed. That’s proof that he has no particular fondness for me, she told herself, starting off down the stairs once more. If he had he would have sensed my presence and got up to discover what I was doing creeping about the house at five o’clock in the morning. Deliberately, she came down hard on the sixth stair from the bottom, which always squawked when trodden on, and was almost outraged when no bedroom door creaked a response. Not even Nain, who had particularly sharp hearing, came out to see who was up so early. But as she gained the kitchen Glenys reminded herself of the events of the last week: Mr Chamberlain’s speech, coming on top of Nain’s party and the days of excited preparation that had preceded it, must have been the final straw. No wonder they were all sleeping soundly!

Automatically, she glanced up at the clock; heavens, in another hour it would be full daylight. She must buck her ideas up, for to be caught actually on the premises would be so embarrassing, and would call for so many explanations, that she would be forced to abandon her scheme. Then, halfway to the door, she saw the sandwiches. Glenys, who had had no supper, in fact had eaten nothing since a salad at lunchtime the day before, felt the saliva rush to her mouth. She approached the table, and saw that the sandwiches were not on a plate but on top of a small sheet of greaseproof paper, and beside them was an apple and a slice of farmhouse fruitcake. It looked almost as though Nain had prepared a picnic for her, knowing that she was going away. For a moment, Glenys felt as though someone had slapped her in the face; this was rejection, complete rejection! But then she thought of what she knew of Nain and realised that, if the food indeed held a message it was that Nain wanted her to know she was loved.

She wrapped the sandwiches and the fruitcake carefully in the greaseproof paper, put the food into her haversack and cast one valedictory glance around the kitchen; she had known more happiness here than she had believed existed. Then she propped her letter to Nain against the tin of Saxa salt and headed for the back door. It wasn’t even locked; had Nain realised that the key screeched in the lock like a lost soul? Had she deliberately eased her way? But it was no use conjecturing; Glenys shut the door as stealthily as she could, crossed the farmyard, and went through the little side gate into the lane. She did not know the time of the first train to anywhere, but remembered that the milk lorry had to get the churns down to the station to connect with it. She turned briskly towards the road. Already a sense of adventure gripped her. She told herself she could go anywhere, do anything. Now there was a war to take into consideration, she was pretty sure that someone with her experience of farming would be eagerly accepted as a worker. She had read an article – she supposed it was an advertisement really – raving about the wonderful work of the Land Army, which was manned, she believed, entirely by women. There were pictures on station platforms and in other public places of unbelievably glamorous girls clad in neat-fitting and elegant costumes, harvesting grain in sunny cornfields, picking apples or plums from leafy branches or crouching over full baskets of strawberries so beautifully painted that they looked real. Yes, I’d make a really useful Land Girl, Glenys told herself.