The War Girls of Goodwill House: The start of a gripping historical saga series by Fenella J. Miller

1

GOODWILL HOUSE, STODHAM, KENT, JANUARY 1940

‘It’s snowing again, Mummy, and there’s already more than a foot on the ground,’ Sarah said as she gazed despondently out of the drawing room window.

‘Thank God, darling, we don’t have to go into the village today. Imagine how cold it must be for your father, wherever he is in France.’ Joanna was collating a pile of papers ready for the WVS meeting that was being held, as always, at Goodwill House.

The strident ring of the telephone in the grand hall made them both jump. Despite the fact that the room they were in was a considerable distance from the wretched thing, the noise of the bell echoed down the wide corridors and could be clearly heard. Her husband, David, had insisted they had one installed before he left with his regiment and, although incredibly useful, Joanna wasn’t comfortable with using it.

Her daughter didn’t move and neither did she but Betty Smith, the housekeeper, must have left her duties in the kitchen and hurried out to answer it for them as the nasty jangling noise of the bell stopped abruptly.

They no longer used the drawing room as it was far too expensive to heat and too cold to use in the winter – she and Sarah now preferred the smaller, more comfortable room that had once been Joanna’s sole domain. She couldn’t remember David ever disturbing her when she was in here doing her embroidery or writing letters.

Betty appeared in the doorway. ‘My lady, it’s my Bert, he’s had a nasty fall and Dr Willoughby thinks he might have broken his ankle.’

‘Oh dear, how absolutely dreadful. You must go at once and help him. Sarah and I can manage for ourselves until you can return to us.’

‘Thank you, my lady, that’s ever so kind of you. There’s a nice chicken pie ready to go in the oven and the veg are peeled and ready to cook. I’ve not got around to making the afters.’

Sarah was on her feet and rushed across and, quite inappropriately, hugged Betty. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it. Mummy’s hopeless in the kitchen but I’ve been well trained by you. Take care on the drive, it’s snowing again and absolutely freezing.’

‘You’re a good little cook, Miss Harcourt, and no mistake. The pantry’s full, so is the vegetable store. It’s a good thing we were able to stock up before rationing started last week.’

Betty dashed off and Sarah followed her. At seventeen, Joanna’s daughter was almost a young woman. She had taken her higher certificate a year early and intended to take up a place at Oxford to study medicine in October. Until then, she was doing everything she could to help the war effort and was now a fully trained member of the St John Ambulance Brigade.

Joanna was proud of her lovely daughter, of course, but did sometimes wonder if Sarah was a little too independent.

Goodwill House had been in the family for centuries. It was a C shape – the original part of the house had been built three hundred years ago and formed the west wing. An ancestor of David’s had added a corridor and extra doors and walls so one no longer had to walk through one room to the other. The Georgians had added the central part of the house with well-proportioned, high-ceilinged rooms and then the Victorians had added a Gothic monstrosity which made up the east side.

There were over a hundred rooms in this mausoleum of a place and it was far too big for one family to live in comfortably. Perhaps in the days when the family could afford two dozen or more inside staff it might have been bearable. As it was, they only had Betty, and Mary who came in to do the laundry and heavy work twice a week.

Joanna had tried to persuade David to sell the house, as it wasn’t entailed, and buy something more manageable and modern in the village. Currently, they were marooned on the outskirts, having to walk a mile to see anyone. The only thing she did like about her home was the fact that the acres of park and woodland were mainly at the rear and the house was easily accessible from the road that ran into the village.

When she’d first met and married David, Joanna had been swept away by the glamour of it all, by the thought of becoming a lady and living in the big house. Her family weren’t aristocrats, merely middle-class, as her father had been a bank manager in Ramsgate. But she had come to realise soon after the marriage that she wasn’t actually in love with her husband. She was fond of him, but at forty-one, only five years older than herself, David was very old-fashioned in his outlook and manners. He was an excellent husband, loved her and their daughter as he should, but was undemonstrative and treated them both like delicate porcelain ornaments unable to make decisions for themselves.

When he’d been recalled to his regiment – he was a reservist – he hadn’t hesitated. Without a second thought to the chaos and confusion his sudden departure would create, he’d donned his uniform with pride and driven away two months ago, leaving Joanna and Sarah to cope with the running of Goodwill House.

She had no idea when bills were paid or to whom, as these things had been dealt with by him. She didn’t even have access to his bank account but had been left with a pile of postal orders which she had to present at the post office each week in order to withdraw the housekeeping money.

The wireless was playing a dreary concert and she got up and turned it off. It would be far warmer in the kitchen, which was probably why Sarah had dashed off so readily.

When walking through the grand hall, her breath steamed in front of her – it must be well below freezing in this vast space. In fact, the entire house was hideously cold as there just wasn’t enough fuel to light more than the kitchen range and the fire in the small drawing room. The bedrooms were unbearable and the only way to keep warm was by taking two hot-water bottles to bed and having an extra eiderdown.

She was almost running by the time she reached the kitchen, so desperate was she to get into the warmth. ‘Something smells quite wonderful, darling. When will it be ready?’

‘About an hour, I should think. I much prefer eating in here, although Daddy would be horrified at the lowering of standards.’

‘Then it’s a good thing he’s not here. What time is your meeting?’

‘All St John’s meetings are cancelled because of the snow. I doubt anyone will need bandaging in this weather anyway.’

‘I don’t know why you couldn’t just be happy being in the WVS. After all, darling, aren’t you intending to be a doctor eventually?’

‘I certainly am.’ The kettle hissed and Joanna poured it into the waiting coffee pot. Neither of them liked to boil the coffee in the water as they thought it made it too bitter.

‘It must be appalling in France for the British Expeditionary Force, and they sounded like they were having such a jolly time when the weather was good. Fraternising with the French, drinking wine and eating wonderful food. I almost envied your father – but I no longer do.’

‘Apart from the rationing, and the conscription coming in for men between nineteen and twenty-seven, you wouldn’t know there was a war on.’ Her daughter stirred the coffee pot and strained it into the mugs. The good china had been put away for the duration.

‘How can you say that? Everybody’s walking around with a gas mask around their necks, the windows of the shops are taped up, there are Anderson shelters in people’s back gardens and a public shelter in the village. All very depressing and hopefully unnecessary.’

Sarah looked at her mother in astonishment. ‘Unnecessary? Hitler’s determined to conquer the world and he won’t stop until he has. It hasn’t even started yet.’

A gust of wind blew snow against the kitchen window. ‘Your father’s quite confident the Maginot Line will hold. North-east France is well protected from the Germans and if they can’t get to that coast then they can’t invade England, can they?’

‘Then let’s pray his confidence isn’t misplaced. Sometimes I wish the Germans would drop a bomb on this house so we could move somewhere warmer and more comfortable.’

For a horrible moment Joanna thought her daughter was serious. ‘Maybe we can persuade the War Office to take it over as accommodation for the RAF at Manston. After all, the base could be said to be at the bottom of our garden.’

‘Daddy would never agree. I was surprised that he even spoke to the man from the Ministry of Agriculture when he came last October.’

‘He spoke to him but he didn’t agree that the park could be ploughed up to plant potatoes. I expect he won’t have a choice eventually and there’ll be a law passed that makes landowners do things they don’t really want to do.’

‘If the Germans did invade, Mummy, it’s the Kent coast where they’ll land. I’m surprised they haven’t evacuated the children from the village as we’re likely to be a target for any bombs when they do start falling because of Manston being so close.’

‘I won’t have any more of this gloomy conversation, Sarah. Hitler will be defeated in no time and your father will be back here safe and sound and life can continue as usual.’

Her daughter stared at her over the rim of her mug. ‘But do you really want it to, Mummy? Wouldn’t you rather have a little more freedom, independence? I’m not saying I don’t want him to come home – of course I do – but I think it would be good for both of us to be able to organise our own lives for a change and not have to refer to him before we make any decisions.’

‘I suppose sometimes I do feel a little trapped and stifled by his overprotectiveness. However, I doubt I’m capable of organising anything for myself. Remember, I’d only just left school when I married your father so just went from one set of rules to another.’

Sarah put her mug down so hard the coffee slopped onto the table. ‘How can you say that? You’re in charge of the WVS and more or less run the WI as well.’

‘That’s quite different. It doesn’t involve dealing with patronising men, paying bills, speaking to government officials – I find it very difficult to get my point across in those circumstances.’

‘If you can keep control of a room full of noisy women then I’m certain you’ll have no difficulty dealing with bank managers and so on if you have to.’

Sarah had already cleaned away the coffee stain and refilled both their mugs. The telephone jangled loudly – it wasn’t often that they got two calls one after the other.

‘Don’t look so worried, Mummy, I’ll answer it. It’s probably Betty.’

A few minutes later she came back smiling. ‘You’ll never believe who that was. It was the wing commander from Manston – he wants to know if we can accommodate some WAAF as they have no appropriate accommodation ready.’

‘I hope you told them we couldn’t possibly do so without permission from your father.’

Joanna wasn’t used to having others in the house and certainly not strangers.

‘No, I told them we’d be delighted to help. Mummy, we’ll get paid for doing so which means we’ll actually have money to spend on what we like. And Daddy will be none the wiser!’

Sarah knew that if she’d let her mother speak to the wing commander these girls wouldn’t be coming. She’d neglected to say there would be six of them and these poor girls might well be thinking they were being sent somewhere very grand, but were in for a horrible shock.

‘As you’ve already said yes, Sarah, there’s nothing I can do about it. But what are we going to do for food and so on? We don’t even have Betty at the moment.’

‘I’m an excellent cook and we’ll have their ration books. Someone is coming over from the base to tell us what we have to supply, what we’ll be paid, and anything else that we need to know. Our guests won’t be coming until tomorrow morning so we’ve ample time to get things ready.’

‘They won’t be our guests, darling, they will be our boarders. I wonder if whoever comes will be able to arrange for us to have extra coal. It’s more than two miles by road to the base and those girls are going to have to walk in both directions every day. Absolutely beastly in this weather.’

‘It’s only fifteen minutes if they go across the park. The RAF wouldn’t be sending them here if they didn’t think it was suitable. We would be overrun with evacuees and their families if we weren’t so close to Manston and the coast. The man from the base will be here this afternoon to check the accommodation is suitable.’ She grinned as she hastily rinsed the mugs and left them upside down on the wooden draining board in the scullery.

‘This might be a very large, cold house but it has to be better than one of those huts the poor airmen have to sleep in.’

‘You’re right, Mummy. Shall we light the fires in three of the bedrooms in the west wing? I expect there’ll be icicles on the inside of the windows at the moment.’

Bates and his son – who wasn’t very bright – took care of the horses, chickens and other miscellaneous poultry. Another even more ancient duo, brothers from the village, looked after the grounds and especially the kitchen garden. Sarah donned her rubber boots, thickest coat, hat, gloves and scarf and went in search of them. She found the two of them sitting by the paraffin stove in the tack room. It was a great deal warmer here, although rather smelly, than it was in the house.

‘Good morning, miss, you’ll not be going out on your mare today,’ Bates said with a toothless grin.

‘No, obviously not. I was wondering if I could ask you both if you could possibly help out in the house today?’ She briefly explained the reason and Bates nodded.

‘We’d be happy to, miss. Don’t seem right to be sitting about doing nothing and being paid for it.’

‘Thank you so much. Could you start with the fires in the bedrooms we’re going to use?’

She stomped back, almost losing her balance several times as her feet slipped from underneath her in the thick snow. Fortunately, it was no longer falling and the stable yard had been swept clean. She paused to fuss Starlight, her grey mare, and then did the same for Brutus and Othello, the two hunters that belonged to her father.

The stable cat meowed and wound itself around her legs in the hope there might be something tasty in her pocket. ‘Sorry, Sooty, I haven’t got anything for you today.’

It was marginally warmer indoors than out but not by much. She just had to hope these poor girls coming tomorrow had plenty of warm clothes and a positive attitude. If they were the most important family in the neighbourhood then why did they live in such unpleasant conditions? Any lodgers were going to need to be resilient living here. At least the food would be good and plentiful – but everything else was going to be far from luxurious.

From the clatter she could hear in the west wing, her mother was already there. ‘Mummy, Bates and Billy are going to light the fires. I hope the chimneys are safe as they’ve not been swept for years.’

Her mother was head first in the linen cupboard. ‘Everything in here is perfectly dry. I expected it to be damp and mouldy so that’s a bonus. Here, darling, you take these sheets and pillowcases and distribute them to the beds. Exactly how many are we expecting?’

‘Six – it makes sense to bring in single beds from elsewhere in the house. They’ll be far warmer three to a room.’

The passageway was surprisingly warm – much better than the grand hall. The ceilings here were lower as this part of the house was ancient and maybe that helped somehow. The doors to the six bedrooms on this floor were kept shut and with some trepidation she opened the first one.

‘Golly, where’s the furniture?’ The room was empty but at least there were curtains at the window which looked okay. ‘These are double thickness so I think they’ll do as blackouts as well. But that doesn’t solve the problem of no beds or anything else.’

‘To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever been in these rooms. Your father only showed me around the central part of the house and the east wing. Shall we check the others?’

None of the bedrooms up here had furniture either but they all had usable curtains. ‘I’m surprised it’s not cold and damp as I doubt that anybody’s used these rooms for fifty years.’

There was the sound of heavy footsteps approaching and Bates and his son came in each carrying a hod full of coal.

‘It’s the walls, my lady, they’re double thickness this side. They just built around the original house to make it fit in with the Georgian style.’

Sarah was astonished that Bates was so knowledgeable. ‘That explains why in here the ceilings and walls are beamed and so uneven. We should move in here ourselves, Mummy, it’s much warmer.’

‘No, the family has always lived where we are now. Bates, do you think you could find the necessary beds, a chest of drawers and so on? There’s more than enough room for three girls in a bedroom.’

‘I reckon there’ll be things in the attics, my lady. Me and Billy will go and have a look after we’ve got these fires going.’

‘Is there any way of knowing if this is clear before we light the fire?’ Sarah asked as she tried to peer into the darkness of the chimney.

‘You leave that to us, miss. Which two rooms do you want getting ready?’

By the time the man from the base turned up, the rooms were ready, lovely and warm, and even the antiquated geyser in the bathroom had reluctantly rumbled into life. Sarah was just on her way down the stairs when there was a thunderous knocking on the front door.

Mummy was sitting in the drawing room looking like the lady she was, not a hair out of place, looking as young and beautiful as ever. It was a great shame, but Sarah had been told many times by well-meaning visitors that she didn’t take after her mother but her father.

This meant she was tall and slim with nondescript features, mid-brown hair and, in her opinion, only her eyes were worth complimenting. Her father had these spectacular cornflower-blue eyes too.

She opened the door, expecting to find someone her father’s age, but instead there was a tall, red-headed, green-eyed, devastatingly handsome young flight lieutenant standing in front of her.

2

‘Flight Lieutenant Angus Trent here to see Lady Harcourt.’ Angus had caught a glimpse of the delectable Lady Harcourt in the village and this wasn’t her. The girl standing in front of him must be a servant of some sort as family members wouldn’t answer the door themselves.

‘I’m Miss Sarah Harcourt, my mother’s waiting to see you in the drawing room. Shall I take your greatcoat and so on? Hanging it in here won’t make it much drier. It would do better in the kitchen.’

‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Harcourt.’ He quickly shrugged off his outer garments and looked around, expecting to see a maid or housekeeper ready to take it.

‘There’s no one else, Flight Lieutenant, only myself and my mother live here. We do have a housekeeper but she’s not here as her husband’s had an accident.’

With some reluctance he handed over his dripping coat, unwound his scarf and rammed it and his gloves up one of the sleeves. His cap was already pushed through the epaulette on his shoulder.

‘Thank you, much appreciated.’

The girl vanished, leaving him standing in the huge, freezing hall not sure exactly where the drawing room was as there were several doors, and all but two were closed.

‘In here, young man. I’m not coming out to greet you as it’s far too cold.’

He strode across and through the double doors from which the voice had come. Lady Harcourt was even more beautiful face to face – quite breathtaking – and didn’t look old enough to have an adult daughter.

‘Sarah has gone to make tea. Won’t you sit down? There’s no point in you beginning your explanation until she’s here as having the girls is her idea and, therefore, she will be managing everything.’

Angus followed her to the fire and took the seat she indicated. There were elaborate, black lacquered screens around the seating area. If these were to make sitting here more comfortable, then they’d failed spectacularly.

His breath condensed in front of his face and she laughed. ‘It’s absolutely beastly here, isn’t it? I thought I should speak to you in the drawing room as that’s what my husband would expect. However, I’ve changed my mind and will do what my daughter suggested. Follow me, young man, I’ll take you somewhere you won’t freeze to death.’

‘I’m a fighter pilot, ma’am, and I’m more warmly dressed than you are.’

Her tinkling laugh echoed in the draughty passageway as she dashed along in front of him and into a much more pleasant and far warmer room on the opposite side of the house.

‘Miss Harcourt will wonder where we’ve gone.’

‘No, she told me it was silly to sit in the drawing room and I’m forced to accept that on this occasion she was right.’

Angus looked around the room with interest, never having been inside the house of an aristocrat before. It looked no different to his own family sitting room – polished wooden furniture, comfortable well-worn chairs, sofas, and a variety of watercolours and oils on the walls.

‘Lady Harcourt, we really appreciate your offer to house the six WAAF arriving tomorrow. We didn’t know we were getting any girls – we certainly didn’t apply for them.’

‘I’m sure there’ll be plenty of things they can do that you now have men doing – such as in the catering departments, admin positions and so on.’ She sat, neatly folding her ankles, every inch an aristocrat even though she’d not been born one.

‘It’s not that there aren’t duties they can fulfil adequately, it’s the fact that having females about is just unnecessary. Better for the men to keep their minds on the job and not be worrying about women and be competing for their attentions.’ Even to himself he sounded like an arse, and he was quite sure she must agree with him.

Miss Harcourt came in and put the tray down rather more vigorously than was necessary. She had obviously heard his last comment. Should he apologise or just pretend he hadn’t said something so crass?

‘I’m going to be a doctor, Flight Lieutenant Trent. Are you suggesting that I wouldn’t be able to do my job as well as a man?’

He ran his finger around his collar, which had become unaccountably tight. ‘No, of course I’m not. There are just some things that a man can do more efficiently than a woman – nothing to do with intelligence, but physical differences.’

She ignored his reply. ‘Are you also suggesting that a WAAF isn’t professional enough to do her duty without chasing after any airman she might happen to see?’ She handed him a plain china mug of tea, milk already in, without offering him any sugar.

He was tempted to hand it back and say he drank it black with sugar rather than white without but decided he’d already dug himself a deep enough hole. He followed her lead and ignored her previous remarks – pretended nothing untoward had been said by either of them.

He thought he’d better explain exactly what was happening on the base. ‘Until a few months ago we were an RAF training base. There’s a squadron of Hurricanes and some Aussie chaps in Blenheims. The War Office expects us to be used for emergency landing in the future as well as an active fighter base.’ They exchanged a puzzled glance so he continued. ‘In other words, ma’am, we’re still sorting ourselves out. Wing Commander Billings and myself are the senior officers plus a few dozen others, less exalted, at the moment, which is why I’m here.’

‘I take it that you’re a regular and not a volunteer?’

‘I am, my lady, I’ve already served five years. I’m here to get things organised and will then have my own squadron of Spitfires but I doubt I’ll be based here.’

The girl was apparently unimpressed by his account. ‘I take it you intend to get to the point eventually?’

‘I thought I’d made myself clear – but obviously not. We don’t need WAAF getting under our feet at the moment but it seems that we’re getting them anyway. Hence the necessity for billeting them with you.’

Lady Harcourt frowned at her daughter. ‘And we’re very happy to be able to help out. We’ve got more than two dozen unused bedrooms in this