Mint and Carnation

The man was mowing hay in the middle of a field. Vivienne didn’t notice him at first, lost in thought as she passed under the shade of trees along the bottom of the Onny Valley. A tall girl with a long pale face, dreamy grey eyes and a, slightly hooked, hawk-like nose, she was wearing – unseasonably in the late summer heat – a heavy black velvet cape and hood. She knew what people in the village called her: ‘The Monkton Mooncalf’. Just because she was different, she thought, not like all the others in Castle Monkton, content to be penned in the valley and never raising their eyes beyond. But what did she care? 

Vivienne loved to wander on Wenlock Edge and the Long Mynd that, above a belt of stubbly bracken stood out bare against the sky like an expanse of scraped green bone, with the round Clee Hills to the east, the Welsh mountains to the west and the sharp ridge of the Stipperstones to the north. There she could walk by herself for hours, perhaps with a novel or volume of verse in her pocket to keep her company, avoiding human eyes, watching the ravens, the curlews and buzzards, the hares and the wild deer. 

There was no denying she was an embarrassment to her family: to them like some strange fey changeling who had strayed into their lives. Her father, Ted, called her walks ‘mooning’: ‘Wandering about up there all day on your own!’ he would say. Why don’t you do something useful?’ Actually, she thought bitterly, she was very useful to him – and just for bed and board at her parents’ house and the odd bit of spending money. 

It had only been by chance that she glanced back at the man. He had turned off his machine and was looking at her. Used to being stared at, she thought nothing of it. But on her way back, she noticed that he had again stopped the machine and was stood watching her pass. When he walked that way the next day but there was no sign of him. But when she passed that way a week later she caught sight of him working at the edge of the field replacing rotten timbers in the fence. Stripped to the waist, the man was spare and wiry, of medium height, his skin richly tanned and glistening with sweat. He had dark eyes and curly black hair cropped close to his round skull. Vivienne nodded and in return he grunted in a slurred guttural voice. It sounded almost animal. Obviously there was something not right about his speech. But he did not look stupid; his eyes were quick and lively. 

Whenever Vivienne went that way and the man was there, he would come to the edge of the field and ‘talk’ in an odd, halting kind of way. He would mumble something out and she would try to make sense of it, following his gestures and piecing out the odd word here and there, then saying words back to him in a sort of stiff school mistress-y voice. When she got it right he would nod enthusiastically, Ja, ja, ja. 

He was called Alfred, she learned, Alfred Meissner, and was an ex-POW who had been taken prisoner when the German forces occupying the Channel Islands. When they had surrendered at the end of the war he had been sent to mainland Britain to do reparation work as a farm labourer, based at first in the Sheet Road camp outside Ludlow. Vivienne had heard mention of some POWs working on local farms but by now, she thought, all gone home. So why had Alfred stayed on? Why hadn’t he gone back to his family like all the rest? But when she asked him about it he muttered something angry and bitter that she could not make out.

The war itself had largely passed Vivienne by. The flags, the planes criss-crossing the skies, the newsreels and the soldiers shouting from their convoys had meant little to her. One of the first soldiers Vivienne had seen face-to-face had been an American, a huge black sergeant who had come to the Lewis’s door asking to fill a can with water. He had been in charge of a labour battalion preparing Ludford Camp, pitching tents and digging latrines for the American troops about to assemble in the run-up to D-Day. Like many of the locals she had been scared at first by the black soldiers but was won over by their quiet gentlemanly behaviour – unlike many of the white American troops who followed, drinking themselves senseless in the pubs, chasing the local girls and brawling with the black soldiers. Vivienne’s sympathies had been solidly with them. 

Her father, Ted, and her brother, Gareth, working as they did on the land, had been exempted from military service, apart from stints in the Home Guard. Able to benefit from the produce of local farms thanks to their contacts, the Lewises had barely felt the pinch of rationing. However Vivienne, like other local girls had been enrolled in the GTC, the Girls Training Corps and required to carry out long weary hours of ‘voluntary’ work, weaving camouflage netting. 

‘When the war’s over, Vicky, there’ll be a new order,’ said the County Youth Organiser, Miss Edwards, ‘and it’s up to you to prepare yourself for it as best you can.’ But Vivienne did not want to be part of anyone’s order, old or new.

After talking to Alfred a few times, Vivienne found she could get inside Alfred’s head in an odd kind of way and anticipate what he was about to say. One day she realised that he was asking her out, asking if she wanted to go to the pictures with him at the weekend. She agreed at once and they arranged a time and place to meet.

Alfred was already waiting in front of the cinema, when she got there, standing stiffly to attention. He had clearly paid a lot of attention to his appearance: he was wearing a brown pinstriped suit, its trousers pressed to a razor-like crease, a black homburg hat and black shoes that gleamed with polish. His curly black hair had been flattened and brilliantine-ed and given a sharp parting, and he was holding a bouquet of carnations and a box of big round white Clarnico mints. These he held out in a curious mechanical way, bowing and clicking his heels. Vivienne did not know whether to laugh or cry. She thanked him, and for a moment saw the two of them from above as two little clockwork figurines gesturing at one another. Then she was back on the ground once more and they were two flesh and blood bodies again, staring at one another. 

The film was The African Queen. What Alfred made of it Vivienne could not guess. When it was over Alfred invited her for a drink in a nearby pub. She pushed herself through the men crowded round the bar and ordered a pint of beer for Alfred and a glass of lemonade for herself. Then, over their drinks, they began to ‘talk’ in their peculiar way, attracting glances from the other patrons. Vivienne couldn’t have cared less: for once she felt happy.

‘So now you’re going round behind our backs with foreigners!’

The whole family was sat in the front room in a row as if for a group photograph: her father Ted Lewis and her mother Edith, then her brother Gareth and her sister Edna next holding hands with her husband, Cliff. The family was well respected in south Shropshire. Like most of their neighbours the Lewises were ‘chapel’, especially Edith, a Welsh woman who had travelled the few miles across the border to marry Ted. Edith’s maiden name had also been Lewis, and the local joke being that she was so clearly marked out by God for her married role that she didn’t even need to change her name. Gareth, a single man in his late twenties, had recently bought his own farm nearby. Edna and Cliff had two children, Gavin and Gwen. Cliff was not chapel but he was a success. His garage, Norris Motors in Craven Arms, had also been doing very nicely since the war ended.

Her father leased out machines to small farmers in the area who could not afford to buy them outright. He had built up his business over many years, slowly at first but much more rapidly since the war. But it was by no means his only source of income. Ted Lewis also lined his pockets dealing in the black market. It had started with petrol siphoned off by Cliff while he was serving in the army, then had expanded to take in cigarettes, cigars, fine liquor and hard-to-obtain luxury goods like nylons, much of it acquired from nearby American bases.

Vivienne plonked herself down in front of them.

‘Don’t try and deny it, girl. You were spotted in that pub. Sat there bold as brass with that weird kraut who works for Bill Andrews.’

‘Alfred’s not weird.’

 ‘Oh, isn’t he? He’s touched, they say. Grunts like a Tamworth boar.’

‘No, he’s not. It’s just there’s something wrong with his mouth. There’s nothing wrong with his mind.’

‘Any old lame dog comes along with a hard-on and you’re a push-over, girl! You’re no better than the tarts who dropped their knickers for the Yanks in the bushes on Castle Walk in Ludlow. I’ll bet you’ve got a “fern ticket” on your own arse now.’

Edith was shocked by his vulgarity. ‘Now, Ted, there’s no need to use language like that. It’s just that our Viv’s too soft-hearted. 

‘Soft in the head, more like.’

‘Well, she’s showing us all up. He’s just a common farm labourer. And a jerry too!’

Vivienne flushed. ‘Hasn’t anyone told you – the War’s over.’

‘Over but not forgotten. Not by a long chalk. We fought them for six hard years.’

‘Fought them? You and Gareth were down here on the farm the whole time living off the fat of the land.’

Gareth flushed. ‘Doing essential war work here on behalf of the nation.’

Vivienne rolled her eyes.

‘My Cliff served in the forces,’ Edna added.

‘Oh yes, the big hero with the fast fingers in the Quartermaster’s Department!’ snapped Vivienne. ‘Three years safely driving lorries up and down to the ports and helping himself to the contents.’

‘Shut up! You need to watch your tongue, Sis.’

Her father broke in. ‘Anyway it’s got to stop. And it will. I’ve had a word with Bill Andrews and he’s warned the man off. Any more of and he’ll be out of a job and on the next boat back to Germany. And good riddance.’

‘You’ve no right to go to Bill Andrews like that!’

‘I’ve got every right. Anyway, enough’s enough. You’re going to end it.’

‘You can’t make me. I’m not a child. I’m of age. I’m twenty-three.’

‘Twenty-three and not a penny to your name!’

But they were right, she thought. She had nothing and nowhere to go. All the money and power were in their hands. Then something seemed to overtake her. She felt distant, detached, as if she was performing a part in a play or film – almost surprised at the words she found herself uttering. ‘Yes, thanks to you and your tight-fists!’ Well, that’s going to change. You can start digging into your pockets for me for once.’

Her father scowled. And why exactly should I?’ 

‘Because people might like to hear what you’ve been up to on the QT. Not to mention the police.’

‘You’d shop your own family!’

‘Just try me. But it needn’t come to that. Not if you’re sensible.’

Her father marched up and down the parlour. Well, let him. 

‘So, what is it you want?’

‘There’s a one bedroom cottage for sale at the far end of the village. You can buy us that – and you can start paying me a living wage too.’

‘You’re not asking for much, are you? Ted roared. ‘This is blackmail? Daylight robbery! Do you think I’m made of money?’

‘Dad, everybody knows you’re making pots out of that yard of yours. Not to mention all the other stuff. You didn’t think twice about buying Gareth his farm and helping Cliff set up his garage.’

‘I only been trying to do the best for our family.’ 

‘For yourself, you mean. Maybe a bit for Gareth and Cliff and Edna. Precious little for me.’

Ted Lewis continued to pace up and down, pounding his fist into his palm and letting fly a string of obscenities.

‘Anyway, how do you know that bloody kraut wants you?’

Vivienne laughed. ‘Oh, he wants me alright. Don’t you worry your head about that!’

‘I’ll never live it down. A daughter of mine married to a foreign half-wit!’ 

For a time he raged on, then he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. But next day at the yard he shuffled up to her and muttered something about seeing what he could do. Vivienne looked over his shoulders at the trees on the Shropshire hills and smiled to herself. A month later she and Alfred got married at the County Registry Office in Shrewsbury. The family did not attend.

Five years had gone by without a word passed between Vivienne and her family since the wedding. She and Alfred had settled into their cottage. She had found a new job at the rail depot in Craven Arms, and around the same time Alfred left Bill Andrews’s farm and set up on his own market garden – actually more of a large allotment but one that brought in some useful extra income. Vivienne heard on the grapevine that the old family yard and the farm and the garage were all still doing well.

Someone was banging on the door. Vivienne was taken aback. Not many people came to the cottage apart from a few wanting to buy produce from Alfred’s market garden. She opened the door and found Edna on the doorstep.

‘Well hello, sis. Well, so what brings you here? It’s been a long time.’‘Hello, Viv

Edna cleared her throat.

‘It’s like this, Viv. We’d like you to come by. There’s something we need to talk about.’ 

‘What something?’

‘We’ll tell you when you come round. Will you? And just you, not Alfred.’

‘Why not him?’

‘You’ll find out.’

Vivienne was about to refuse but curiosity got the better of her,

‘Alright Edna, I’ll be round.’

The family, as before, was sat in a row on the straight-backed chairs in the parlour. Ted had aged. He seemed smaller and more bent and to have lost a lot of his old bounce and swagger. And there was another member in the row: Edna’s daughter, Gwen, a girl of fifteen, all nose and knees and elbows. Vivienne plonked herself down in front of them.

‘Well, what’s all this about?’

Edna looked round and began. ‘Well, it’s like this. Gwen’s doing German at school. She’s doing really well at it actually – but then she’s a clever girl, aren’t you, pet? Well anyway the school fixed them up with pen friends over there, and Gwen’s invited her over for a visit. We weren’t all that keen at first but she wanted to and so we said yes.’

‘Good for her – but so what?’

This family she was visiting, her penfriend’s that is, the Ostendorfs, they live in Freiburg. Not far from where Alfred was born.’

‘Oh I see. I suppose she did some snooping around – egged on by you.’

‘Not snooping around, Vivienne. Be reasonable. I mean, we know nothing about Alfred – and you don’t either. You’ve never been in touch with his family, have you?’

‘No. Alfred doesn’t want anything to do with them. Neither do I.’

‘But we’re your family. We’ve got a right to know.’

‘No right at all – going behind people’s backs like that!’

‘Look, just calm down and listen to what Gwen has to say.’ She patted Gwen on the arm. Go on, pet, tell us what you found out.’

Gwen hesitated, threw a quick frightened glance at Vivienne’s furious face, then began to talk in a low rushing whisper.

‘This family I was staying with – the Ostendorfs – I told them all about Alfred – where he was from and that – and they were interested and wanted to find out more.’ She paused and looked at her mother. ‘It was their idea really, not mine. Anyway, we drove over to the village in their Volkswagen, and the people there told us they knew about Alfred’s family, the Meissners, and where we could find them. It was a farm a few miles away from the village. So we drove over there and knocked on the door and this old couple came out but as soon as we mentioned they started shouting. Told us to go away and leave them alone. Then they slammed the door in our faces. So we went back to the village and went into the inn there and Mr Ostendorf found out a bit more …’

Gwen looked again at Vivienne’s face and dried up.

‘Never mind, dear,’ Edna said. ‘I’ll finish off for you. The long and the short of it is that Alfred was born out of wedlock. Back in the early twenties. There was a big scandal about it at the time. Apparently there had been a circus touring the countryside, and the daughter had an affair with one of the performers. He was a black, some kind of acrobat or musician working in the circus’

Gareth broke in. ‘Figures, doesn’t it? You’ve only got to look at him!’

‘Hold your tongue, Gareth.’ said Edith. ‘Let Edna finish. Go on, Edna, finish the story.’

‘Well, as I say, there was big scandal. The woman tried to get rid of the baby but she made a hash of it. Which accounts for the way he is. Anyway the family moved off from the village and wouldn’t have anything to do with anyone. When the Nazis got into power everyone wondered if he’d – you know – be sent to a camp or something but instead he ended up in a labour battalion building fortifications on Guernsey with a lot of Russian prisoners. After the war he must have known his family were ashamed of him and decided to stay on in England. So there you have it. That’s the story.’ 

Ted Lewis shook his head. ‘So you see just what you’ve saddled us with, Vivienne. Well, I can tell you this. It mustn’t go an inch outside this room. It stays right here. And that includes you, Gwen.’

The girl blushed and nodded. There was a long silence. After a time Vivienne got up, smoothed her skirt and walked out without a word.

The next morning, when Alfred had gone off to his market garden, Vivienne opened the paper. It was full of the latest on Suez. Reading it, Vivienne decided life was changing. The stiff old things were slowly falling away and breaking up. They would never be quite the same again, she felt. A new age was coming. It would take time but it was there crossing the horizon.

When the church clock struck ten, she got up, dressed carefully and went out. It was a hot bright morning, and the whole village was bathed in bronze light. Half way down the main street Vivienne stopped at the village shop and went in. The other shoppers there stared, then looked sharply away.

‘Good morning, Mrs Tennant, a pound of bacon, please.’

The shop owner nodded, fitted a slab into the machine and began rhythmically slicing off the rashers.

‘I’ve got some good news, Mrs Tennant.’

The woman looked up at Vivienne and then behind her at the other shoppers.

‘I’m expecting. Isn’t that good? The baby’s due in November. Oh, and we’ve been put in touch with Alfred’s people over in Germany as well. It seems poor Alf is illegitimate. Apparently his mother had an affair with someone over in the nineteen twenties, an African gentleman it seems, a circus performer.’

Vivienne heard a gasp.

‘But of course you can tell that by his looks, can’t you? And the baby will probably have a touch of colour too. Isn’t that something?’

As she spoke, Vivienne was careful to utter every single word as loudly and distinctly as possible. 

No one said a word. Vivienne collected her order, paid and left the shop. As she walked down the street, head held high, every last brick and cobble stood out hard and sharp in the bronze rays of the sun. Vicky felt bathed in light, illumined and transcendent. She had Alfred now and soon she would have her baby too. Now, and in the years to come: the three of them together and above and apart from all the rest.