In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

She came toward him, wiping her hands on her gardening apron, a pair of secateurs in one hand.

“I’m afraid I’m just taking a few days’ leave,” he said, not about to tell her that he’d been ordered to take things easy for a while. He didn’t want it all around the village that Ben Cresswell had cracked up, even though he hadn’t done a day’s fighting. They already looked down on him for not wearing a uniform.

Mrs. Huntley nodded and smiled. “I expect it’s good to be home after London,” she said. “Is it ghastly up there with all the bombing?”

“One gets used to it,” he said.

“I sometimes feel that we are living in our own little world here,” she said. “We have enough to eat, nobody drops bombs on us, and when we look out of our windows, we still see this—a little plot of paradise, wouldn’t you say?”

Ben nodded. “Your garden is looking lovely,” he said politely.

“We had some chap round the other day telling us we should turn it all over to growing cabbages or potatoes,” she said. “You can imagine how my husband replied to him. Told him one of the advantages of being British as opposed to being German was that we were free to do what we wanted with our own little plots. We already had a kitchen garden that grew enough for our needs, and if his wife gained solace from growing flowers, he wasn’t going to deprive her of that pleasure.” She smiled now at the memory of it.

Ben looked around. “It’s hard to believe that we’re only an hour from London,” he said. “Quite a shock to the senses to come back to a place where life is going on as it always has.”

A frown crossed her face. “I suppose we can’t escape completely here. We’ve all those soldiers at Farleigh. Dashed great lorries rumbling past at all hours and men coming out of the pub drunk and picking fights with local boys. And we’ve had our share of excitement recently. Have you heard that a body was found on the Farleigh estate?”

“I did hear something from Mrs. Finch,” he said. “A parachutist, wasn’t it? Accident with his chute not opening?”

She moved closer to him. “No accident, if you ask me. They came and took the body away in an army van. Not taken to the local morgue. You know what that means, don’t you? There was something suspicious about it. My husband thinks it could be one of those German spies one hears about. Was probably sent to do some mischief at the RAF station. Sabotage the Spitfires.” She paused, looking around as if afraid of being overheard. “But where are my manners? Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? I was just about to take a break.”

“It’s very kind of you, but I should be getting along,” he said. “I haven’t had a chance for much exercise, stuck in an office all day, and I’m interested to see if anything has changed in the village.”

“Not much,” she said. “You’ve heard about the strange men who have moved into the oast house? And the Baxters seem to be doing very well out of the war. Looking quite prosperous these days. Lots of work going on in their yard, but no one knows what it is.”

“Sounds mysterious,” Ben said. “Well, it’s been good talking to you, Mrs. Huntley. Please give my best regards to the colonel.”

As Ben started to walk away, she called after him, “Oh, and Dr. Sinclair has taken in a German.”

“What?” Ben turned back again.

“We think he sounds like a German,” she said. “Claims he’s a refugee, but you never know, do you? They could easily have sent men across ahead of an invasion, ready to give directions from the spot.”

“But Dr. Sinclair would never harbour . . .” Ben began.

The colonel’s wife shook her head. “Too kindhearted. And lonely, since his wife died. I wonder how many of us have been hoodwinked. We’re a nation of kindhearted people.”

She headed back to her house, pausing to snip off a large yellow rose. Yellow petals floated down to the grass. Ben continued around the perimeter of the village green, weighing up what he had just heard. It wouldn’t surprise him at all that the Baxters were making money on the side. Billy Baxter had never struck Ben as quite trustworthy, even as a boy. He remembered a purse going missing at church once, when they were both choirboys, and his father suspected that Billy Baxter had taken it. But they had never found either the purse or the truth.

At least he could eliminate Colonel and Mrs. Huntley from his list. Not that they were ever on it. But they had clearly both been interested in the mysterious parachutist, eager to talk about him. And the colonel had served his country for years in the heat and sweat of India. He looked upon his home now as a return to paradise. But the doctor had taken in a German refugee. Now that was worth following up.

He passed Miss Hamilton’s solidly prosperous Victorian. Her father had made his money in manufacturing up north, then brought his family to the genteel home counties, away from the smoke and factory chimneys of the northern towns. Elderly Miss Hamilton was the sole surviving family member. Ben looked up at the big house. He wondered whether she had been forced to take in evacuees from London or whether she still lived there all alone, apart from an equally elderly servant called Ellen. He paused at the wrought-iron gate but couldn’t think of a good reason to pay her a visit at that moment.

He paused at the war memorial, looking at the list of names of local lads who fell in the Great War. Sixteen from one small village. Three brothers from the same family. Would the list be longer this time? He sighed and walked on.

The Baxters’ new bungalow stood beside their builder’s yard. The tall gates to the yard were closed, and from inside came the sound of hammering. Ben wondered who would want building done in a time of war, then realised that there would be work repairing bomb damage in the towns. Well then, not so surprising that the Baxters were flourishing. The school day had just ended, and children were streaming out of the old school building, pushing and jostling to get through the gate. He saw a couple of big farm boys shoving a thin little kid he didn’t recognise and went over to them.

“Cut that out,” he said. “Save your energy for when you have to fight Germans.”

The biggest boy curved his lip up in a sneer. “You’re a fine one to talk. I notice you ain’t fighting Germans like my brother.”

“Just because I have one damaged leg doesn’t mean I can’t fight, Tom Haslett,” he said. “For your information, I used to be junior boxing champion at Tonbridge, and I’ll wager I could still knock you cold with one punch. But I don’t believe in fighting someone weaker than me, and you shouldn’t either. Go on. Go off home.”

The boys’ eyes darted nervously and they slunk away. Ben grinned at the smaller boy. “I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said.

“I’m Alfie. I came down from London.”

“Oh, so you’re the one who found the man’s body,” he said.

“That’s right.”

“It must have been quite a shock for you.”

Alfie shook his head. “Nah. I saw much worse in London.”