‘No rich farmer is going to sweep her off her feet and make her the lady of the manor then?’ chuckled Ronnie.

‘Nope,’ said Felix confidently. ‘Roz has made it clear that she wants to be with me, and I believe her. I’m a lucky sod, Ronnie, because I know there’s men out there that have more to offer than me, but Roz won’t even entertain them.’

April 1941

Roz tutted loudly as she read Mabel’s letter. Looking up, she informed Joyce of her friend’s news. ‘She’s staying at Glasfryn indefinitely,’ she said miserably. ‘She reckons the girls that came were worse than useless so they’ve been sent somewhere else … They should give us more training, like they do with the Waafs and the Wrens and the ATS – they wouldn’t dream of getting them to do a job without proper training!’ she said indignantly. ‘Take the ack-acks – they have to train them properly else they’d be shooting down our fellers, and the Wrens would be putting our ships in danger, and the Waafs would be taking the pilots to the wrong planes!’

‘I suppose they think you don’t need much training to dig up a potato,’ said Joyce, a wry smile lingering on her lips. ‘Sorry, luv, but you must see that it’s not so much the training as the women who apply. They think it’s going to be easy, but they soon realise they’re wrong.’

‘How on earth are we going to cope if we don’t get more girls?’ said Roz. ‘I was counting on Mabel because I know how hard she works, but some of these others sound like they don’t like to get their hands dirty.’

‘Well, we won’t get anything done sitting here gassing about how useless everything is,’ said Joyce, getting to her feet. ‘Unless we teach the cows to milk themselves, the hens to collect their own eggs, and the sheep to shear each other, it’s down to us.’

‘And Bernie, thank goodness,’ added Roz.

‘Aye,’ said Joyce with a wistful grin, ‘Bernie’s certainly helpful these days.’

Roz nudged her friend in the ribs as they donned their wellingtons. ‘That’s nothing to do with me! He’s a farmer, it’s his job.’

‘Always has been,’ agreed Joyce, ‘but before you came, he’d deliver the milk and see to the heavy jobs around the farm, whereas now he works with us cheek by jowl, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed – his mam passed comment on it the other day.’

Roz blushed to her ears. She had met Bernie’s parents, Helen and Arthur, a couple of days after she had moved into Hollybank Farm, and even she had to admit that it was obvious from the way they greeted her that Bernie had been singing her praises. She cast her mind back to that first meeting.

They had finished their work for the day and were heading back to the cottage when a voice hailed them from behind. Turning, Roz was greeted by a rather stout woman with black hair and a rosy complexion, and a man who was a shorter, older version of Bernie.