Songs of Spring Read Online Free PDF Page A

replied. ‘Don’t you read the newspapers? New regulations for bakers.’
    ‘In London I don’t stop for tea, but at Ashden I expect muffins. Muffins,’ Caroline declared grandly, ‘are a bastion against war. They should be the last thing to fall victim to shortages.’
    ‘Try Mrs Dibble’s oatmeal cakes with saccharin jam instead.’
    Caroline laughed. She knew she was being ridiculous to mind so much, but she had wanted Yves to experience all the joys of Rectory life so far as was possible in wartime. Ah well, if it came to a choice, she would rather have Yves than muffins.
    At least those first few precious moments standing in the Rectory hall, the centre of the warren of rooms around and above it, had not been denied her. Down those stairs the five Lilley children had clattered and shouted, rejoiced and wept, and here, God willing, they would all gather again once this war was over. To save paraffin for which agricultural use now had priority, the stove was not on, but it seemed to Caroline it hardly mattered; they were enclosed by the old familiar sights and sounds, and that was enough.
    ‘I’m home,’ she had declared with great satisfaction, then immediately regretted it as she realised what those words would mean to Yves, who had no home to which he could return – yet.
    ‘Follow me, Captain!’ George had seized Yves’ luggage, saluted smartly, and charged up the stairs to the room Yves had been allotted. Caroline had followed, humping her own suitcase (typical of brothers) into her own bedroom.
    And there had been Isabel, waiting for her. Most unusual. Normally old lazybones Isabel would wait until one sought her out – unless she wanted something, Caroline remembered suspiciously.
    ‘You’re looking very pretty, Isabel. Is Robert coming home on leave?’
    Isabel, the oldest of the four Lilley girls, would be twenty-nine in January. She had always been attractive, with her fair curls and large grey-blue eyes, but now she looked positively blooming.
    ‘No, but I’ve something even better to tell you. I made Mother and Father promise not to let the cat out of the bag first.’ Isabel paused impressively. ‘I’m going to have a baby. Isn’t that marvellous?’
    ‘Isabel!’ Caroline catapulted herself into her sister’s arms. ‘That’s wonderful news. I shan’t miss the muffins one little bit now.’ She disengaged herself and glanced at Isabel’s figure which was as slender as ever.
    ‘It’s very recent, about two months, but it’s certain. Nearly anyway, Dr Marden said. If so, it will be born in July.’
    ‘You didn’t want children at one time,’ Caroline asked curiously. ‘Are you sure you can cope?’
    ‘Times change,’ Isabel replied vaguely.
    They did indeed. Isabel, from being the wayward, self-centred elder sister of her youth who would beg, borrow or steal whatever she wanted, was now a reformed character, according to Mother. This was quite obvious today, although Caroline was amused to see there were still a few signs of the old Isabel. There had not been a word about how Caroline was faring – but that was Isabel and always would be.
     
    ‘There may be a war on but tea’s still going to be served the way it ought to be, Myrtle,’ Margaret said sternly. ‘You put a decent cloth on that table. No making do withyesterday’s. Field Marshal Haig won’t be having to do with dirty cloths and nor will we.’
    It was bad enough having the dirty mud-coloured ‘wartime bread’ that the government had forced on the bakers. Once upon a time the best of the grain made flour for human beings, and the rest was given to the animals. Now their flour was a concoction of some of the best, some of the animals’ food, and the remainder any other cereals they could rake up. The Ministry proudly pointed out this meant they could probably avoid rationing it, but, if you asked Margaret Dibble, the taste of it did a good job rationing itself.
    ‘Off you go, Myrtle. Don’t stand there