LITMIR.BIZ

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his cap to Iris. “Glorious morning. You ladies take care of yourselves,” he called.

      “Beautiful garden, isn’t it Maggie?” said Iris. “Mr Sutton looks after it very well. How I’d love a garden like this,” she added wistfully, more to herself than to Maggie.

      “I like all the flowers,” said Maggie. Then she burst into her favourite song of the moment: “Ten green bottles...” Her father had taught her this to help with her counting.

      Iris cringed. Hearing the song morning, noon and night was fast becoming way too much. Iris had urged William to teach Maggie a different song and although he had promised he would, he hadn’t yet. She wondered if he did this deliberately to annoy her?

      Primrose Manor was easily the prettiest house in the village and whenever they rode or walked by Maggie was captivated by it. In the centre of the picket fence was a large white farm gate secured by black wrought iron hinges that were longer than Maggie’s arm. When Mr Sutton wasn’t about, William let Maggie step onto the bottom frame and when he opened the gate Maggie would be taken for a short ride as the gate closed. The footpath leading to the house was made of shingle and it crackled and crunched underfoot as if they were walking on brittle autumn leaves. Occasionally, Maggie had seen Mr Sutton raking the shingle. When her father and the Squire talked business, Maggie went with Mrs Sutton, the housekeeper, to the kitchen where she was given warm strawberry jam tarts with a milky cup of tea.

      By the time Maggie had sung her way from ten to three green bottles Iris had turned into the small incline leading into Foxden Orchard. Maggie now stopped her singing and, as her mother rode over the uneven orchard in and out of pot holes and deep ruts made by tractors, wagons and hoof imprints Maggie giggled as she was bounced around. This lead to her having a bout of sneezing.

      These blessed sneezing fits, thought Iris. Just like William and his mother. She wondered if it was hereditary or coincidence? She rode carefully around the deeper indents and stopped at the corrugated shed some hundred yards into the orchard where the workers parked their bicycles, left their lunches, blankets and other possessions. It was the general gathering place for tea breaks at ten and three, and lunch at noon. Iris lifted Maggie down and she was off as soon as her feet touched the soft grass.

      “Good morning, Betty,” Iris said, as she leaned her bicycle up against the shed wall “Great morning, how are you?”

      “Morning Iris, fine thanks. I’m looking forward to having a slice of your rhubarb pie later.”

      “Not today Bet, I’m afraid.” Iris shrugged her shoulders at her best friend. “Not enough flour, it’ll have to wait for a while.”

       “I’ve some flour ration left, we can make the pie together. I’ll make the pastry and you supply the rhubarb. Come over after work.”

      “Sounds good to me,” laughed Iris. The two women linked arms as they walked to the start of their rows. Everyone laughed when Betty laughed. She had a unique chuckle that was highly infectious. They had become good friends ever since Iris married William and moved to Primrose Estate cottages.

      When they reached their row they saw the empty apple boxes awaiting them.

      “See your William’s been busy already,” said Betty, “S’pose we’d better make a start then.”

      They propped up their ladders making sure they were secure in the higher branches.

      “Did I tell you the latest thing?” Betty continued. “Eric says he will grow rose bushes between the Anderson shelter and the cesspit after I kept complaining about the smell. Goodness Iris, I tell him every time when we run to the Anderson that it shouldn’t’ve been built so near the damn cesspit, I must have told him a hundred times, and does he listen? Blimey, it pongs.” Betty pinched her nose and scrunched up her face causing them both to laugh.

      “Are the boys here today?” asked Iris.

      “Yes, they’re about somewhere, probably up to mischief knowing those two. You need eyes in the back of your head, you do,” chuckled Betty. “Eric and I can’t keep up but they’re good lads with hearts of gold. There’s never the need to worry love, they keep an eye out for your Maggie when she’s in the orchard and the other little ones too.”

      “Thanks Bet, yes I’ve noticed that they are quite protective of Maggie, and she in turn adores Pete and Billy, they are like her big brothers.”

      “Just one big happy family love.” As Betty climbed the tall ladder while holding the apple basket with total control and agility. She had done this for many years. Like Iris, she was in her forties and slightly shorter and rounder in stature. She kept her light brown curly hair under control by wearing a scarf on windy days and under a thin hair net on other days.

      The women wore housecoats to protect their clothing when they worked as it was often dirty work navigating in and around the taller branches. Betty had sewn two big pockets down the front of hers to hold all sorts of emergency supplies. The twins were now twelve but over the years she had to contend with many scrapes, cuts, bloody noses, and colds when they were out in the middle of the orchards.

      “When you have children, you should never be without an emergency hankie or spare underwear,” she would say.

      Pete had even asked one day if she had a full roast dinner in there, to which he’d received a playful clip behind the ear for being so cheeky.

      “Hey Maggie,” came a sudden shout.

      Maggie glanced around but couldn’t tell where the familiar voice had come from. All she could see were row upon neat row of Bramley apple trees. As delicious as the apples looked, she knew from painful experience that she couldn’t eat them uncooked as they gave her a tummy ache and the runs. That hadn’t been a good day.

       “Maggie, Maggie,” the call sounded again.

      Maggie jumped up and down with excitement, as she loved to play hide and seek. “Pete and Billy, just you come here.” There were two dull thumps behind her in quick succession as the boys jumped down from the thicker lower branches and landed on the luscious green grass leaving two pairs of flattened boot prints.

      “What are you doing, Maggie?” asked Pete.

      “Where are all the other kids?” asked Billy, as he looked around, “you shouldn’t wander off too far on your own.”

      “They’re here somewhere playing hide and seek, but I wanted more buttercups,” she explained, “here Billy.”

      He walked over to her and stuck out his chin as he bent down, used to this procedure.

      “It means you love butter,” exclaimed Maggie excitedly. “The buttercup makes your chin go all yellowy.”

      “Yes, we love butter,” said Pete, “but we don’t get to eat it often with the war on.”

      “What are you doing?”

      “Catapulting,” they answered together. “Want to see?”

      “Yes please,” she clapped.

      All three of them walked a short distance further up the apple orchard towards the hop field that was almost ready for harvesting. Pete produced a homemade catapult from his trouser pocket and handed it to Maggie, she thought it was the oddest thing she had ever seen.

       “What’s it do?”

      “Watch,” said Billy, as he gestured that she keep her eyes on Pete.

      As if by magic Pete produced from his other pocket a very small apple, about the size of a snail shell. Pete took the catapult from Maggie and inserted the apple into its pouch and held it outstretched at eye level. Maggie was totally enthralled, wondering what on earth they could possibly be doing.

      “Right Maggie,” said Billy “look at that big spider web over there, attached between the gate and the first hop pole, see it?”

      “Yes.”

      “Keep

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