A Second Spring

by Connie Monk

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

In the final months of 1945, victory ceases to be a distant dream and for Rhoda Harding and many others, a feeling of hope is in the air. Rhoda is hoping for a change. Married to Alec for more than twenty-five years, she now finds herself reluctant to settle into premature middle-age. Both her daughters lead busy, fulfilling lives, whilst Rhoda feels her days are filled with dull routine. Alec is a happy man, content with his family life and successful business. As far as he is concerned, his wife's place is in the home. Rhoda is at least able to find some solace in her new and unlikely friendship with young Jenny Matherson. Jenny has few friends, but when tragedy strikes the Mathersons, Rhoda finds she is not Jenny's only ally. Charming newcomer, the enigmatic Silas, is also on hand to offer support to both women. Encouraged by Silas, Rhoda jumps at the chance to take employment in the nearby village of Oakleigh. Alec is stunned and furious that his wife wants to work, but Rhoda is more than determined. After all, the prospect of work is not the only thing that keeps drawing her to Oakleigh every day. Silas is very often there too.

Release date: January 14, 2016

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 320

Sample

November 1944

In a rare burst of self-indulgence Rhoda washed her hair then luxuriated in a warm bath of more than the five inches of water
recommended by the Government. Next she applied a face mask and lay down on the bed for twenty minutes while she felt her
skin being drawn tighter and tighter as what she hoped would be a miracle restorer of youth set rock hard. Time up, she rinsed
it off in cold water and peered hopefully in the mirror, trying to imagine it had done all it said on the packet, although
she was honest enough to know the only real difference was the colour in her cheeks – probably put there by the cold water.
Miracle or not, it was the best she could do and, with her mind on the new dress hanging in her wardrobe, she pulled on her
underwear. After more than five years of war – and with Natalie’s need for attractive clothes so much more vital than that
of the rest of the family – impulse buying had long since ceased to be part of her life. But last Wednesday in town she had
tried on the cherry red dress and been unable to walk away.


Taking it from the wardrobe she held the hanger at arm’s length and just for a moment the excitement receded, leaving her
with a sense of loss. What was the point in dressing herself up, trying to turn back the clock? Who would so much as notice
what she was wearing? Alec? She didn’t want to hear the question. Etty? Yes, Etty would notice. Natalie? No, bless her, she’d be far too excited to be home
and with so much to tell them. The expensive dress that had taken the last of her coupons seemed to mock her.


Don’t be stupid, she told herself. You bought it because you liked it, not because you wanted admiration. So, chin up, she
put it on, turning this way and that, well pleased with her reflection. She’d just finished ‘doing her face’ when she heard
the front door slam and a second later Alec’s shout from the bottom of the stairs.


‘Buck up, Rhoda, I thought you’d have your coat on and be waiting.’

‘We’ve got bags of time.’ She ran down the stairs, her coat on her arm. Would he notice? Would he say she looked nice?

‘Come on, I’ve left the engine running.’ He was already turning off the hall light ready to open the front door.

She crossed the familiar hall in the dark. Then her imagination carried her to the moment when Natalie would recognize them
on the platform and she smiled. At the thought of Natalie, who could help it? ‘I expected Etty would be with you. I thought
we might have gone to the Green Monkey to eat for a treat.’


‘She’s coming home on her bike. There was a job she wanted to finish. Anyway Natalie will want to get home – she must have
had enough of restaurants.’


Lucky Natalie, Rhoda thought, but over the years she had learnt when it was pointless to argue.

Their two daughters could hardly have been more different. Etty, the elder, worked in the family business and Rhoda smiled
as she conjured up a picture of her. Then there was Natalie, two years younger and pretty as a picture. Life had always been
kind to Natalie, but then so it should for she met each day with a smile and with hope. Now, at twenty, she was already making
a name for herself travelling the country entertaining the troops – although if ‘making a name’ was an exaggeration, none of them would admit it. She would be home for five days, her first visit for more
than a month, so it was no wonder that Rhoda had felt excited as she’d got ready.


At Waterloo Natalie climbed aboard the train, her mind leaping ahead as she imagined all she had to tell her parents and Etty
when she got home. Already the corridor was in near-darkness and the blinds of each compartment were pulled down as soon as
the shaded blue lights had come on. All that was normal, part of the life everyone had become conditioned to. Sliding a door
open far enough to check if there was a spare seat, she saw there were already four people sitting on either side of the compartment,
so she started to close it before trying further along the corridor.


‘We can make room, we’ll squeeze you in, won’t we, chaps?’ The invitation came from a jolly looking sailor.

‘Not half we won’t,’ came a laughing rejoinder from his mate. ‘You come next to me, miss, I’ll squeeze you in right enough.’

The compartment was hazy with cigarette smoke, the occupants representing all three armed forces barely visible in the dim
blue light.


‘Thanks. If you really don’t mind making room. I expect it’s just as full if I try further along.’

The sight of her was a delight to all eight occupants: the sailors just docked and home on shore leave, those from a home
station in the Air Force on a 72-hour pass and the soldier who said nothing but moved as closely as he could to the end of
the seat to make space for one extra. At the start of their journey they had all been strangers but, all of them servicemen,
there was a bond between them. By the time she joined them the barriers were already down – here was an atmosphere of camaraderie
and goodwill.


‘Ciggy?’ Someone held his packed of Gold Flake cigarettes towards her.

‘Are you sure you’re all right for them?’ Natalie replied. ‘I managed to get some earlier, so we’ll use mine next time.’ She was enjoying herself. There could have been no better company
– it carried her straight back to the previous evening and the clapping and cheering that ended her entertainment at an army
base in Yorkshire. As if all that weren’t enough to keep her spirits high, there was the other thought: another half hour
and she would be getting off the train at Brackleford. Then – home! She had been travelling the country for more than a month
and could imagine the excitement there would be, but she made an effort to join in with the laughing chatter of her new friends.
When they asked her how far she’d been travelling, she told them not only where she’d been this time, but also over the last
few weeks as she’d moved around, sometimes entertaining at factories during the workers’ midday break, sometimes singing at
service bases. If they’d thought she was something special when she’d opened the compartment door, her story raised her pedestal
to even greater heights.


As good as her word, she passed her packet of Craven A around and the smoky fug in the compartment got thicker, the hoots
of laughter louder. They were young and for a few days they were free men – like a gift from the gods they had the company
of a gorgeously pretty companion. There were plenty of attractive girls about, friendly ones too, but, even more than the
aura that came from her being a professional entertainer, there was something about Natalie that made them want to treat her
well.


As a child she had been blonde, but now at twenty her hair was what she considered nondescript and her doting father called
‘honey top’; it was worn in a popular pageboy bob. Her eyes were dark blue and made unforgettable by their fringe of long
dark lashes, her mouth looked as though it wanted to be kissed – the same thought probably occurred to all her companions
– and her teeth were even and very white. And there wasn’t one amongst her companions who hadn’t noticed her slim figure,
the lovely curve of her bust, and her slender legs and trim feet in their high-heeled shoes. It was a pity for them that her journey wasn’t longer for it seemed no time before the train was slowing down as it
approached Brackleford.


As she stood up, so too did the soldier who until then had remained silent.

‘Let me get out first, then you can pass me your case,’ he said and was rewarded by the smile that won her admirers at every
turn. ‘Is anyone meeting you?’


‘My father’s sure to be here,’ she answered, peering along the dark platform.

It was the moment Alec had been waiting for. He honestly made an effort not to put her above everyone else, but in his heart
there was no denying that between Natalie and himself was a bond that needed no words. Rhoda was forgotten as he hurried forward.
Then Natalie’s arms were around him.


‘I’m home. It’s so exciting, Dad,’ she whispered, nuzzling against his neck. Then, she saw her mother and if the hug she gave
her was less exuberant, her affection was just as genuine.


Amidst the excitement the soldier was temporarily forgotten.

‘You travelled together?’ Rhoda was the first to realise he was standing holding the case. ‘Nat, aren’t you going to introduce
us?’


‘I would if I could, but I can’t,’ Natalie said, laughing. ‘We only met as we got off the train. Thanks for humping my luggage.
Is no one meeting you?’


‘No one knows I’m coming. I’m going to my grandmother’s – she likes surprises.’

With that he raised his kitbag onto his shoulder and with something between a wave and a salute prepared to leave them. That
he and Natalie were no more than passing acquaintances didn’t surprise Alec – even in the near-darkness of the station platform
it was clear he lacked refinement.


‘Where are you heading?’ Alec asked. ‘On some routes the buses will have stopped at seven. Can I give you a lift?’


‘I’m not going far – only to Russell Street.’

‘We pass right by – I’ll drop you there.’

So, with Rhoda and the nameless soldier in the back of the Morris Oxford, and Natalie by her father’s side in the front –
an arrangement dating back to the days when he’d driven to fetch his daughters home from school at the end of each term –
they set off through the almost deserted streets of town. Instead of putting his passenger down at the corner, Alec turned
into Russell Street.


‘Tell me when we get there,’ he said, driving slowly past the blacked-out houses.

‘Almost there. Here we are, she’s just beyond this tree. Thanks for the lift.’ Then, to Natalie, ‘Good luck with your singing.
Perhaps I’ll get a chance to hear you one of these days.’


‘Put in a good word for me if anyone’s listening. Natalie Harding – remember the name.’

‘Sure thing.’

But as he got out of the car, someone hurried out of the front gate of a house on the opposite side of the road.

‘I was just putting the key in the lock when I thought I recognised your voice. It’s young Stewart, isn’t it? Drat this blackout,
can’t see a thing.’ The portly lady who bustled across the road was out of breath from the exertion. ‘You never told her you
were coming.’


‘Gran likes surprises,’ the soldier called Stewart answered cheerfully.

‘Oh dear, but she’ll be upset when she hears she’s missed you. She went off only this morning to stay with her sister in Llandudno.
Oh dear, and you’ve come specially. Can you get in? But what a homecoming – no one there for you.’


For a moment the soldier seemed uncertain.

‘I used to have a key – well, of course I did. But I’ve lost it.’ Then, his confidence returned, he put the well-intentioned
neighbour at her ease by assuring her that he would put up at Morland Hotel. ‘And I bet she won’t have locked the shed. In
the morning I’ll wander over and chop some logs for her.’


‘She’ll be pleased about that. She always boasts that you saw up the logs and chop the wood when you get a bit of leave. How
long have you got? Oh dear, what a pity.’


‘Seven days. But when I’ve chopped her wood, I’ll get a train up to Wales. Aunt Flo will have a bed for me.’

All this time Alec had waited, the engine still running. He supposed the least he could do would be to take the fellow back
as far as the Morland, but Rhoda had a better plan.


‘Hop back in the car,’ she called. ‘We’ve a bed made up in the spare room. Come back with us for the night. In the morning,
you can drive in with Alec.’


If Stewart Carling had known them better he would have realised that Rhoda’s spontaneous invitation was in character, but
on that cold, wet night he felt humbled by the warmth of their hospitality.


At Harding’s Agricultural Engineers, the boarding planks firmly attached to the back of the lorry, Etty carefully steered
the tractor into line.


‘OK, here we go,’ she called and started up the wooden incline. Despite British Summer Time being extended for the whole year,
the evening of that first Friday in November was already sufficiently dark that she had to watch the side of the planks carefully
as she drove. Even as a child she’d been fascinated watching implements being loaded ready for their return journey, restored
to ‘good health’. Wide-eyed and fearful, Natalie used to watch too, imagining a tractor veering off course and being thrown
to the ground. ‘Please don’t stand so close, Etty,’ she would call. ‘Please.’ But Etty would have been conjuring up pictures of herself grown up and driving the perilous ascent. For her there had been
nowhere more exciting than those workshops at the cattle market in Brackleford, even though in those days she’d been too young to realise the struggle
her father had to keep the business afloat. Now, though, everything was different. Etty had grown up, she was twenty-two and
had served her apprenticeship just as she would have had she been born Alec Harding’s son instead of his elder daughter. If
she stopped to think about it – which she seldom did – she was aware of how different the atmosphere was in the workshops
now from when she’d started her training at just sixteen. After five years of war, the previously neglected farming industry
had at last become an appreciated and essential part of the economy of the country – in turn the agricultural engineers who
serviced the farmers’ old equipment and sold them their new machinery had thrived. Even in a reserved occupation it wasn’t
easy to find skilled men but, even so, Etty was the only female in the workshop.


‘You off home now, Miss Etty?’ Giles, the lorry driver, asked more out of friendliness than because he had any doubts. Of
course she was off home, it was nearly seven o’clock and she’d been there since eight that morning. None of them worked longer
hours than Etty, governor’s daughter or not.


‘Yep, that’s me done. I’ll just scrub some of the grime off my hands then I’m on my way. You too, Giles?’

‘Reckon so. I’ll get my time sheet and give it you before you go – the boss’ll be wanting them in the morning.’

So, her strong and capable hands scrubbed, the time sheet deposited with the others in the drawer of her father’s desk and
the office door locked, Etty collected her bicycle from where she’d left it against the back wall of the workshop, called
a cheery ‘Goodnight’ and pedalled off, leaving Giles to lock the double doors to the workshop. Although all the men worked
at least seventy hours a week during the busy period, by that time of year it was only if there was an urgent job to be finished
that anyone stayed beyond about six or half past. More often than not Etty went home in the car with her father, but on this particular day she had made up her mind that she’d not pack up until the tractor was
running well and had been loaded for an early start in the morning. There was nothing unusual in that – Etty hated leaving
a job unfinished if an extra hour would see it done.


From Brackleford Cattle Market to Dewsberry Green where the Hardings lived was about four miles and Etty was almost halfway
when she remembered the two rabbits Dougie Wright from Hamley Farm had brought just after her father had left for home. They’d
been shot that morning and she knew her mother would be glad of them for the weekend, so she turned round and, head down against
the wintry wind, started back along the dark road. The blackout had become an accepted part of life and, even if there had
been no such thing, the lights of the town would have been far behind her. That night the darkness enveloped her, rain felt
as though it froze as it hit her face. By now Giles would have gone, the place would be deserted and the workshop doors locked.
But that didn’t bother her; she had her own set of keys and in the workshop she could walk blindfold, knowing exactly where
she had hung the rabbits on the far wall. Instead of opening up the double doors into the workshop, she leant her bike against
the wall in Wilmott Street and went into the workshop that way.


In the pitch darkness the first thing she noticed was the thin strip of light shining from beneath the door of the office.
Had she gone off without noticing she’d left a light on? She frowned, cross with herself and glad that she’d come back.


‘Whatever are you doing here?’ There was nothing unfriendly in her question to the young man at her father’s desk, simply
surprise. That was her first reaction. Andrew Clutterbuck was seated in the swivel chair with the desk drawer open. In his
hand he had a time sheet. It was only the mechanics who kept time sheets – they and Etty herself, who insisted on being treated
no differently from anyone else just because she was the boss’s daughter. Andrew certainly didn’t. ‘You don’t mean to say Dad asked you to come back
in to do the wages?’ she said in surprise, then added with a teasing note in her voice, ‘I bet you don’t even know how to
work out our income tax.’


He answered in the same vein.

‘You’re right. The mysteries of income tax are beyond me, I’m happy to say.’ Then, stacking the sheets and pushing them back
into the drawer, he turned to her with a smile. ‘No, of course your father didn’t suggest any such thing. Pete Lewis was over
at Maybury Farm – he’d not handed his time sheet in so I brought it and let myself in with it. I’ve written in today’s time.
Eight hours, he said. But I’ve put down ten. I know that’s not an exaggeration.’


Perching herself on the side of the desk, she held out her hand for the time sheet.

‘He always underestimates his hours, you know. He’s slow, that’s why he does it. Slow and frightened Dad’ll give him the boot.
That’s what happened when he was with Marchand’s. But Dad’s not daft; he makes his own assessment. And I’m sure he adds the
odd hour or so when Pete doesn’t count travelling time.’


Watching her as she sat on the edge of the desk, Andrew let his mind wander. Especially this evening, dripping wet as she
was, there was nothing of the glamour girl about Etty Harding with her tall, strong frame, her round face and rosy cheeks,
her nondescript brown curly hair cropped like a boy because it was easier, he suspected. He let his thoughts carry him where
they would as in his imagination he saw beyond the workman’s overalls … long, strong legs, firm thighs, a joy in living and,
surely if only it could be tapped, a joy in loving. Etty did nothing half-heartedly.


Now, her face breaking into a smile, Etty said, ‘Andrew, move your butt, Dad’ll want to know we left the office locked. I’ve
only come back to collect a couple of bunnies Dougie Wright brought in. They’ll be a godsend too. Nat’s coming home this evening and it’s not easy to come by a fatted calf.
I’d ridden halfway home when I remembered them.’


Andrew returned the time sheet to the drawer with the others then stood up ready to leave. He had been with Harding’s Engineers
for nearly six months, a job that suited him admirably. His war service had been in the merchant fleet until about a year
ago when his ship had been sunk in the North Sea. When he’d been picked up, suffering from hypothermia, he’d been taken to
a military hospital. Pneumonia had followed, leaving him with a collapsed lung and his demobilisation.


Two years before the outbreak of war, he had come home from boarding school at eighteen having matriculated but with no clear
idea of what he wanted to do, and had been in no rush to find out. His background was very different from Etty’s: his wealthy
stockbroker father ran a large estate in Hampshire – or more accurately a farm manager ran it for him. Andrew had always been
more interested in agriculture than any of the professions his father seemed set on for him and until the outbreak of war,
when he’d joined the Merchant Navy, he had spent his spare time on the estate. Once out of hospital, he’d no longer been satisfied
with living at home and pottering around doing the manager’s bidding, and he knew that, even if that had been what he wanted,
very likely he would have found himself directed into something not of his own choosing. It was then that he had approached
Alec Harding in a quest for work.


Despite Alec’s initial doubts, there was something about Andrew that had made it impossible not to listen to his suggestion.
A good-looking young man with his expensive well-cut tweeds and his highly polished and boned brogues, he looked like someone
straight from the pages of a country fashion magazine – but how would he be received by the average hard-working, mud-on-his-boots
tenant farmer?


‘I know my limitations,’ the young man had said. ‘I’m not a mechanic. I’m not even a hundred per cent fit or I wouldn’t be
where I am. But I know from what Henry Dean, my father’s manager, tells me that you visit the farms yourself and don’t have
a man whose job it is to keep a constant eye on the farmers’ needs.’


‘I’ve always made my own round of visits. It builds a good working relationship,’ said Alec.

‘Yes, of course it does. And, of course, with your experience you make a better job of it than I could – but if I’m on the
road too, well, think of the ground we’d cover. Look, sir, I don’t want a huge wage – if you’ll just give me a try I’ll willingly
work for less than peanuts for a start,’ Andrew said, enthusiastically.


‘That’s not my way,’ Alec had answered. And so a wage had been agreed, not a vast sum but one they both saw as fair for a
man with plenty of enthusiasm, a knowledge of farming, but no marketing experience.


Looking back on that unconventional interview, Alec had seen it as a turning point. Despite Andrew’s appearance, his friendly
manner was such that even the meanest working farmer soon came to welcome him. And he had enough intuition to recognise those
who had the money to be tempted into more modern equipment, and those who relied on Harding’s to keep their archaic horse-drawn
ploughs serviced, and to supply their hayforks, milking stools and barbed-wire fencing. There wasn’t a day when he returned
to the cattle market without an order or two in his book, or one when he hadn’t enjoyed every visit he’d made.


‘My mind’s like a metal detector,’ Andrew once said with a good-humoured laugh to Miss Wheeler – Muriel Wheeler, who had looked
after the office for some twenty years but still retained an old-fashioned aloofness that demanded the respect of that ‘Miss’.
‘It knows where there’s the chink of brass. It’s amazingly easy to give a hint of temptation for some new gadget or other.
Those new potato riddles, thank God they’re home produced with quick delivery and don’t have to come across the Atlantic. I’ve got orders
for four today.’ Work and enjoyment were all one to Andrew. Handsome and well groomed though he was, it wasn’t his appearance
that left a lasting impression so much as his honesty and his ability to find pleasure where others might see nothing but
routine. The world was his friend.


Now, the drawer locked, he put his set of keys in his pocket and stood up to follow Etty out just as they heard the rain lash
the window in a sudden gust of wind.


‘Leave your bike and let me run you home,’ he said, adding with a grin as she hesitated, ‘Petrol? Is that what’s bothering
you? I’ll “adjust the books” when it comes to logging my journeys.’


‘A suggestion like that ought to make me refuse,’ she answered in the same vein, ‘but I’m not going to let it.’

‘I should think not. What’s more to the country’s advantage – to cook the logbook on my mileage or let you catch pneumonia
and not be able to keep the wheels of agriculture turning? All set?’


‘Yep, I’ll pick up my bunnies and then that’s our lot. Just one proviso though, Andrew: if you take me home you must come
in and meet Nat. They should be home by the time we get there. You’ll like her. She’s not a bit like me.’


He raised his eyebrows, his eyes alive with silent laughter. ‘Is that supposed to be a recommendation?’

‘What? Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that we’re different. And of course you’ll like her; no one could help
it. Nat and I are poles apart, but we get along famously.’


‘A singer, isn’t she? The girl in the picture on your father’s desk.’

Etty nodded, pride in her younger sister apparent. ‘Not the opera singer variety – she sings all the popular stuff. It goes
down a treat with the servicemen. She’s a natural – and prettier than any of those who are well known already. Anyway, she’s doing really well … has a busy time entertaining the forces and munitions workers. She goes all over the place
– that’s why it’s such an event to have her coming home for a few days. You’d better find your way to the main door before
I turn out the office light and lock up.’


‘I’ve got a torch in my pocket. Do you want it?’

‘As if I need a torch! I could go anywhere here with my eyes shut. When I was a kid that used to be one of my tests. And that
was before we knew about things like blackouts. OK to turn off the light?’


With the rabbits collected and the doors locked, they set off. As he drove, Andrew let his mind dwell on Etty. He’d never
met anyone quite like her. If she’d been male, he knew they would have been good friends. But she wasn’t. She was a young
woman with a warm and generous spirit, with physical strength and tenacity, with good humour – but with absolutely no regard
for her personal appearance. If she changed out of those workman’s overalls that had become her uniform, if she’d only take
herself off to a good hairdresser instead of washing her hair herself and having it cut every month or so, and if she spent
some of her clothes coupons on a frock – nothing too girlie, he conceded – then she needn’t look half bad. But imagine suggesting
it to her, imagine her hoot of laughter! By contrast he thought of Celia, his childhood friend, his teenage sweetheart and
now his fiancée, gentle, utterly feminine in appearance. Sweet, ethereal Celia, even when they’d played together as children
he had wanted to protect her. She was about a year his senior and now an officer in the WRNS, yet still he felt the same about
her. In truth he seldom saw her these days. She was stationed in Plymouth and when she had leave she liked to spend most of
it with her widowed mother. Perhaps that wasn’t natural – he was sure his father thought it very odd, but then his father
had never made a secret of the fact he thought theirs to be an odd relationship.


*

When Alec turned into the driveway and pulled up in front of Timberley, the Hardings’ home facing Dewsberry Green, he found
another car already parked.


‘That’s Andrew’s car. What would he be doing here?’ he said.

‘Probably he gave Ett a lift. Company, that’s nice!’ Natalie was clearly smiling – Stewart could tell she was by her voice.
‘It’s turning into a party to celebrate me being back in the fold. Have we got lots of food, Mum?’ She neither expected nor
received an answer – they took it for granted that Rhoda never failed them.


It was an evening such as Stewart had never known at his home in Staffordshire or with his grandmother in Brackleford. Life
had been a struggle for his parents but one they accepted as a blessing. Man wasn’t put on this earth to look for pleasure
or to indulge in what they saw as wicked frivolity. His father was in charge of