Sing As We Go Read online

  CONTENTS

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  One

  LINCOLNSHIRE 1939

  Kathy pulled on her wellington boots and tied a headscarf over her blonde hair and under her chin with a quick, angry movement. She pulled open the back door of the farmhouse and, walking through it, slammed it behind her so that it shuddered on its hinges, the wood creaking in protest. Immediately, she regretted her action. Her mother deserved an extra few minutes in bed if anyone did. Especially after last night.

  Pale fingers of a frosty dawn crept across the yard as she marched, hands thrust into her pockets, across the cobbles towards the cowshed. The cows had already been fetched from the field and her father’s only greeting was, ‘You’re late.’

  ‘You call half past six on a winter’s morning “late”?’ Kathy snapped, her blue eyes bright with resentment.

  She banged the lower half of the byre door, making the cows move restlessly. Ben, their collie, ran to her, tail wagging, tongue lolling. She bent and gave him a friendly pat. She wouldn’t vent her ill temper on him.

  ‘Ya’d be able to get up in a morning if ya went to bed the same time as decent folk.’

  ‘I was home before midnight. And you’d no right to lock me out so that Mam had to come down and let me in.’

  ‘I lock up every night at ten. If you’re later than that, then I want to know. And I want to know why, an’ all.’

  ‘I went to the St Valentine’s dance in the village hall. You know that. I did – ’ her tone took on a sarcastic note – ‘ask permission.’

  ‘Aye, ya asked your mam because ya knew ya could wheedle your way around her. And don’t use that tone of voice with me, my girl, else—’

  ‘Else what?’ Her eyes sparked rebellion and her small, neat chin jutted with determination. Two pink spots that had nothing to do with the cold morning burned in her cheeks. ‘You’ll take your belt to me? I’m a bit old at nineteen.’

  Her father, shoulders permanently hunched, carried a bucket full of fresh, warm milk to the end of the cowshed. Pausing as he passed her, he thrust his gaunt, lined face close to hers. ‘You’re not of age until you’re one and twenty, and until then ya’ll do as I say or else . . .’

  She faced him squarely, but her voice was quiet as she said, ‘What, Dad? Just tell me what the “or else” is?’

  ‘Ya can pack ya bags and go,’ he growled. ‘I’ll not have a chit of a girl back-answering me in me own house.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ Kathy nodded calmly. ‘I’ll go. I’ll go this very day – if that’s what you want.’

  For a moment Jim Burton stared at his daughter. Then he gave a sarcastic, humourless laugh. ‘Oh aye. And where would ya go, eh?’

  ‘Lincoln,’ Kathy said promptly.

  ‘And what d’ya plan to do there, eh? Ain’t no cows in Lincoln. And that’s all you’re good for, girl.’

  Kathy nodded slowly. ‘Yes – yes, I have to admit you’re right there. But that’s down to you, isn’t it? Making me leave school the minute I was old enough. Setting me to work on the farm for no pay—’

  ‘Pay? What d’ya need paying for? Ya’ve everything you need.’

  ‘Need, maybe. Want – no.’

  ‘Who’s been putting fancy ideas in your head, girl?’ He eyed her keenly, his dark eyes narrowing. ‘Is it your mother?’

  Now Kathy laughed aloud. ‘Mam? Put ideas like that into my head? Don’t make me laugh. As if she’d dare, for a start.’

  Jim grunted. He was thoughtful for a moment, dismissing his idea as nonsense. The girl was right. His wife wouldn’t dare make any such suggestion. ‘Then it’s that chit of a Robinson girl. Flighty piece, she is.’

  Kathy hid a smile. Amy Robinson was the only real friend she had. And Jim wasn’t done yet. ‘No better than she should be, that girl.’ He’d seen Amy only the day before with a boy in the copse between his land and the Robinsons’ farm. ‘Up to no good they were, I’ll be bound.’ And after evening milking he’d marched across the fields to warn his neighbour that his daughter was going the right way to ‘get ’ersen into trouble, if you ask me’.

  For once, the mild Ted Robinson had been stung to retort, ‘Well, no one’s asking you, Jim Burton, and I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to ya’sen. I trust my daughter. She’ll come to no harm. What’s a kiss and a cuddle in the woods, eh? We’ve all been young once, haven’t we?’ Ted had paused then and eyed his irate neighbour. ‘Mind you, I have me doubts if you was ever young, Jim. Born old, I reckon you were.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s what you think, is it? Just because I’ve worked hard all me life and done me duty. Where’d me family’s farm have been by now, eh, if I hadn’t worked from the minute I was old enough?’

  Ted’s anger had died as swiftly as it had come. ‘Aye, I know, Jim, I know. You’ve not had it easy with your dad dying when he was fifty and you having to take on the farm so young. And then losing your poor mam only a few years later in that dreadful flu epidemic of ’eighteen, but—’ Ted Robinson had put his hand on the other man’s shoulder. ‘Look, Jim, I don’t want to fall out with you. We’ve known each other a long time, but if you’ll take my advice, you’ll ease up a bit on that lass of yourn. If you don’t allow the youngsters to have a bit of fun now and again, then they’ll take it anyway, whether you like it or not.’

  Jim had shaken off Ted’s friendly gesture. ‘And I’ll thank you not to interfere with the way I bring my daughter up. She’ll do as she’s told else she’ll feel the back o’ me hand. And sharpish.’ With that he had tramped back across the fields, his anger still simmering and bursting into rage when he found that Kathy had already gone out to a village dance.

  ‘What d’you let her go for?’ he’d thundered at his wife. ‘Did I say she could go? Did I?’

  ‘Well, no, Jim, but I th-thought it wouldn’t matter. Just this once. They always have a d-dance in the village hall the Friday night after Valentine’s Day . . .’ Edith Burton had stammered, her faded eyes fearful, her thin face creased into lines of perpetual anxiety. Although still only in her late thirties, the harsh life she was forced to lead had taken its toll. Her shoulders were rounded in a permanent state of submission and her hair was prematurely grey. Kathy was the only brightness in Edith’s cold and cheerless life. As a naïve nineteen-year-old girl, the youngest of five daughters of a hardworking farm labourer, marriage to Jim Burton, who’d inherited Thorpe Farm at the age of twenty, had seemed too good to be true. It was – as poor Edith had soon found out. She’d long ago realized she did not love her husband and she doubted now that he’d ever really loved her. She wondered if he’d ever known the real meaning of the word �
�love’. All he’d wanted, after the death of his mother, was a housekeeper and someone to give him an heir. He’d picked Edith, thirteen years his junior, thinking that she would be sufficiently strong for farm work and healthy enough to bear him a son. But after the birth of their daughter, Edith had been told she should have no more children. Jim Burton’s interest in her had ceased totally. Since that time, he’d treated her no better than he would a servant and while they still slept in the same room, in the same double bed for the sake of convention, all intimacy between them had ceased years ago.

  ‘Valentine’s! Sentimental rubbish! Don’t you let her out again without my permission, d’you hear?’

  ‘Yes, Jim,’ Edith had said meekly.

  Now, as Jim argued with his daughter in the cowshed, all his frustration and resentment surfaced again. Deep down, he envied his neighbour. Why couldn’t he have found himself a wife like Ted’s? Betty Robinson was, in Jim Burton’s eyes, the perfect farmer’s wife. She was a superb cook and a helpmate about the farm, while his own wife hardly lifted a finger to help him with the outside work. And it wasn’t as if she was even a good housewife. Edith was a poor cook. Some of the meals she had placed before him in the early days of their marriage had been scarcely edible. And she barely kept the house clean. Edith was not a bit like his dear, house-proud mother. Sarah Burton must be turning in her grave. Oh, he’d made a bad mistake in marrying Edith. He’d not realized she’d been spoiled and cosseted by her parents and older siblings. She’d never been taught how to keep house or to cook. And that wasn’t her only fault. She’d failed to give him a son like Betty Robinson had given her man. He remembered the surprise the whole village had felt at Maurice’s birth. No one had even known that Ted’s new wife had been expecting, until, all of a sudden, there was Betty proudly wheeling the little chap around the village in a huge black perambulator. It wasn’t until five years later that Amy Robinson had been born, only two months after Jim’s own daughter. And then, when the doctor told him the devastating news that it would be dangerous for Edith to have more children, the resentment had begun. Not bearing him a son had been Edith’s greatest failing in her husband’s eyes.

  Jim’s envy of the Robinsons made him critical. While part of him wanted to ally his daughter to that family by her marriage to Maurice, another devious and embittered part of him half hoped that one day Ted’s perfect life would be shattered. And now he knew how that might happen.

  ‘That lass – ’ he jabbed his forefinger towards Kathy as he spoke of her friend again now – ‘would do well to knuckle down and help her father on his farm, instead of acting like a whore with all and sundry. He’s too soft with her, but then, of course – ’ Kathy held her breath, knowing exactly what was coming next – ‘Ted Robinson’s got a son to help him.’ Jim turned away with a swift, angry movement, slopping milk over the edge of the bucket.

  Kathy’s gaze followed her father for a moment, feeling a mixture of emotions. Just now and again she could find it in her heart to feel sorry for him. His disappointment in being blessed – or in his eyes cursed – with only one child, and a daughter to boot, was understandable, she supposed. It was a frustration he’d never tried to conceal, and Kathy had been aware of it for as long as she could remember. It never occurred to her father that Thorpe Farm, which had been in his family for four generations, could pass to a woman.

  But Kathy’s feelings of compassion lasted only a moment and her own resentment surfaced again. Adopting the same sarcastic tone he’d used, she said with deceptive mildness, ‘I thought you liked the Robinson family. You’re always trying to marry me off to Morry to give you a grandson.’

  ‘Ya could do a lot worse,’ Jim growled.

  Yes, Kathy thought, I could. Morry Robinson was a nice lad but he had no ambition, no dreams to fulfil. He was perfectly content to work on his family’s farm for the rest of his life. He didn’t care if he never saw the world outside the farm gate. He even avoided trips to the local market town if he could. And as for visiting a city or – heaven forbid – London, well, he’d likely die of fright at the mere thought. Kathy smiled at the thought of Morry. She liked him. Of course she did. You couldn’t help but like Morry. Everyone did. He was plump and cuddly like a teddy bear, with big, soft brown eyes, reddish brown hair and a round face liberally covered with freckles. She’d danced with him last night, feeling his hand hot on her waist and returning his shy, lopsided smile with kindness. He was the sort of chap you couldn’t dislike, couldn’t be cruel to, but as for marriage, well now, that was something very different. She could see her life mapped out so clearly if she were to marry Morry. Years and years of working on a farm from dawn to dusk. Oh, she liked the Robinson family – loved them, really. Amy was her best friend – had been since school. Ted Robinson was a darling of a man and his plump and homely wife, Betty, always had a smile of welcome for anyone who called. A cup of tea and a sample of her latest batch of baking were always readily on offer. There were constant laughter and playful teasing in Betty’s kitchen and her energy was boundless. Just watching her made Kathy feel tired. The whole Robinson family, even Amy, was contented with their lot.

  But it was not the sort of life Kathy wanted for the next fifty or sixty years. Not what she dreamed of. And her father had got it wrong. It was not Amy who was the flighty one, it was her. It was Kathy who yearned for the bright lights, for excitement and to see a bit of the world. But now, for once, she wisely held her tongue. She said no more and went to the end of the byre to milk the cow in the end stall.

  ‘Now then, Buttercup,’ she greeted the animal cheerfully. ‘Let’s hope you’re in a good mood this morning.’ She patted the cow’s rump and then bent to her task.

  ‘Have you been putting ideas into her head? I wouldn’t put it past you,’ Jim growled as he sat down at the supper table, while his wife hovered at his side ready to place the plate of cold ham and pickles in front of him.

  Edith cast a frightened glance at her daughter and then looked back at her husband. ‘I – I don’t know what you mean, Jim.’

  ‘ “I don’t know what you mean, Jim,” ’ he mimicked in a high-pitched, whining tone.

  Kathy sat down on the far side of the table and picked up her knife and fork as she said calmly, ‘Dad threatened to turn me out, so I told him I’m going anyway.’

  Edith’s eyes widened in terror and she dropped the plate she was holding. It fell to the floor and broke into four pieces.

  Jim rose slowly to his feet and raised his hand as if to strike her. ‘Now look what you’ve done, you stupid, stupid woman.’

  Kathy was on her feet at once and launched herself between them. ‘Don’t you dare lay a finger on her,’ she blazed. ‘It’s only because of her that I’ve stayed this long.’

  Father and daughter glared at each other, but then, for once, Jim’s gaze was the first to fall away. Maybe he’d seen something – a new strength of resolve – in his daughter’s eyes. Perhaps he realized that if he pushed her just that little bit too far, she would carry out her threat. She would leave.

  What Jim did not realize – could never have believed it – was that Kathy had already made up her mind. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but one day very soon, she really would go.

  Two

  ‘You coming to church this morning?’

  Amy Robinson’s merry face peered over the bottom half of the cowshed door. She leaned on the top of it and rested her chin on her arms to watch her friend finishing off the morning milking with Cowslip in the nearest stall. Amy’s dark brown eyes danced with mischief. The light dusting of freckles across her nose only accentuated her natural prettiness, but her light brown hair was as wild as ever. No matter what Amy did to try to tame her locks into a smooth, sleek style, the unruly curls escaped. Kathy glanced up, smiling. ‘Of course. Would I ever miss singing with the choir?’

  Amy threw back her head and laughed aloud. ‘Choir? You call that a choir? Old Mrs Pennyfeather warbling off key. Mr Jenkins growling at th
e back and three cheeky little brats trying to look angelic but actually dreaming up their next prank to play on poor old Miss Tong.’

  Miss Tong was the organist who was also the unofficial choirmaster – or ‘mistress’, Kathy supposed – until someone more proficient should apply for the post. But no one seemed to want the job and St Cuthbert’s motley choir struggled on to lead an ever-diminishing congregation at the Sunday services.

  ‘My darling girl – ’ Amy teased and adopted a lilting tone – ‘you’d have to go to Wales to hear a proper choir, look you, isn’t it?’ She mimicked the accent perfectly, for her maternal grandmother had been Welsh and Amy had spent a week’s holiday every summer on her granny’s farm in the heart of the Welsh countryside. Even now her face sobered and took on a dreamy, faraway look as if she were reliving those happy days.

  Pulling her friend back to the present, Kathy asked quietly, ‘And how do you think the choir would manage without me?’

  The question sounded arrogant and for a moment Amy blinked. It was so unlike her dearest friend to show even the faintest trace of conceit.

  ‘Oh, ’ark at ’er!’ she mocked. ‘God’s gift to St Cuthbert’s choir, a’ you?’

  Pink embarrassment tinged Kathy’s cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said swiftly. ‘I – I didn’t mean it to sound the way it came out . . .’

  Amy laughed. ‘I know you didn’t, you daft ’aporth.’ She pulled a comical face and gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘It pains me to admit it, but you have got the best voice of anyone, apart perhaps from little Charlie Oates. You wouldn’t think a little tyke like him could sing like an angel. Mind you, his voice’ll break. Yours won’t. You’ve got it for life. You’re a lucky devil, you know. Dad says my singing sounds like a frog croaking – and an injured one at that!’

  For a moment, Kathy’s mouth was a hard line. ‘Lucky, am I? Well, I’ll tell you something, Amy. I’d swap places with you any day of the week, voice or no voice.’

  Amy’s face sobered at once. ‘Aw, ducky, is your dad giving you a hard time about the other night?’