Free Paper Faces by Rachel Anderson

paintings to see. Italy’s a really wonderful country. I wonder if I’ll ever get a chance to go back.”
    â€œItaly!” said Dot with surprise. “But them’s enemy!”
    Perhaps down here in the countryside the people hadn’t ever known who the enemy was. Perhaps they didn’t know that several of the wickedest men had escaped from Germany and were even now pretending to be other people.
    Yet in spite of her unusual ideas about Germans and other foreigners, Dot felt that Mrs. Hollidaye was a reliable person. You could talk to her knowing she wouldn’t twist what you said like Mrs. Parvis, or fail to understand what you meant like Gloria.
    Dot said, “There was a raid in the night, weren’t there?”
    â€œA raid ? Last night?”
    â€œI heard it. Exploding and that.”
    â€œOh, that! Why, you poor dear!”
    â€œI woke up. There weren’t no siren. But I heard explodings and that. I knew it’d all started up again.”
    â€œNo, it was the men clearing the marshes. To make it safe. Though goodness knows why they think they have to do it so early in the morning. Oh, dear, I should’ve warned you, so you wouldn’t be alarmed.”
    â€œI weren’t afraid.”
    â€œSound does travel a long way, doesn’t it? It must be seven miles off. It’s these unexploded shells, quite a number littered about, and we haven’t been allowed down there for so long, it’s all barbed wire, I believe. There used to be such wonderful blackberries! Maybe they’ll finish soon and we can go blackberrying. It would be fun, wouldn’t it, with a picnic?”
    There were so many new things, blackberrying, tasting melon, a picnic, all waiting to be done. And Baby was never going to get to know about any of them.
    â€œThe planes used to drop them off over the marshes.”
    Dot realized she meant the bombs, not the blackberries.
    â€œSometimes on their way in to London. Sometimes on their way back. People said it was because they weren’t any good at finding their way. That’s rubbish, of course. They had maps. And the Germans have always been excellent at map reading. No, I believe those nice young men up there did it on purpose. They didn’t want to go and kill a lot of people they didn’t know. So they looked for somewhere else. Like our marshes. Though I do believe a cow once was maimed. Anyway, the farmer claimed the war damage. And a woman died. Though that wasn’t a bomb. Drowned herself in a dike, poor soul. Unhinged in her mind when her fiancé went down with the Wessex, poor dear.”
    When Mrs. Hollidaye said that she and Miss Lilian had to walk over to fetch the milk from the home farm, she suggested that Dot should stay and rest by the fire. But Dot said she wanted to come too.
    â€œMy dear, you are looking too tired. We simply can’t use the Ford again today. Because if Mr. Bodger found out, that’s our warden, he’d be so upset. I gave his wife some mulberries last autumn and I know he trusts us with the petrol allowance, and anyway this beastly rationing should be over soon, so I know I shouldn’t complain when some people have had it much worse up in town. My dear! I’ve an idea! We’ll harness the goat. Wouldn’t that be splendid, Miss Lilian? Then, Dorothy, you can ride in the cart.”
    When the goat was made ready, Loopy Lil helped Dot up onto the little red-painted cart with the empty milk cans clattering on the wooden seat beside her, while Mrs. Hollidaye took the leading rein at the front.
    There were pictures in one of Gloria’s magazines of the decorated carriage pulled by plumed horses that Her Majesty had traveled in before she became Her Majesty the Queen, when she was still just a Lady, on her way to be married. Dot thought how it had probably felt like this, jolting yet stately.
    Then she thought of the blackberrying and the melon, of the feathered