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Gracie's Sin

A story of forbidden love set in the Lake District during World War II. 
Three young women craving adventure, all join the Women's Timber Corps for different reasons.

Lou sees it as a way to stay near her lovely husband.  Instead it brings heartache and tears, fear and betrayal.  But it is she who holds the friends together when the going gets tough.

For Rose it means escape from her bullying brother.  But her desperate search for love and acceptance leads the fun loving girl to change and be willing to inflict the same cold hearted treatment upon others; even her closest friends.

Gracie simply falls in love with the uniform and then commits the greatest sin of all: falling in love with the enemy.  This puts at risk her freedom, her patriotism and nationality, the respect of her friends, and even her life.

After the rigours of forestry training in Cornwall under Matron's steely gaze, and a spell as acting air-raid wardens, the trio are posted to Grizedale Forest in the Lake District where they love the outdoor life and new challenges; the knowledge that they are doing their bit.  But their enemy is the war, and faith and friendship are tested to the utmost in their efforts to survive.

A note about the women's Timber Corps

When in 1942 an emergency appeal was made to recruit members for the women's Timber Corps, critics didn't believe it possible for young girls, many of them typists, hairdressers and shop assistants, to tolerate the cold and mud of winter, the long hours and heavy work involved in the vital task of timber production.  Timber was needed for the war effort but with young foresters having been called up, there was insufficient manpower available.  Training centres were set up to which volunteers came at a rate of 250 a month, and at the end of their training, qualified candidates were formally enrolled and sent to work either with timber merchants, or employed by the Home Timber Production Department, often far from home.  Blisters were common, as were aching muscles but there was little time for sympathy or pampering.  The pessimists and cynics were proved wrong.  The Women's Timber Corps played a substantial part in what was termed 'the victory of production.'  They effectively demonstrated that women could fell timber as well as men, drive and maintain heavy vehicles, and ultimately gain the respect of old hands on the saw benches.

Check out Readers' Memories for more information.

1942 -  Bodmin Road Station

1

The train shuddered to a halt at Bodmin Road Station on a gasp of steam.  For all there was no indication on this wooded, country platform that this was the correct destination, all signs having being painted out because of the war, passengers scrambled to their feet and began to lift down bags from the overhead luggage racks.

            ‘Is this it?  Have we arrived already?’  Lou felt an unexpected stinging at the backs of her eyes, and a small sob escaped as she squeezed closer to Gordon’s side in the overcrowded carriage.  He grasped her hand, held on to it tightly and Lou was pleased to see that even Gordon’s normally cheeky grin was a bit lop sided.

            She’d meant to be so brave, so matter-of-fact when the moment came for them to part and here she was on the point of blubbing.  But then they’d only been married five minutes.  Two whole weeks in actual fact but it felt like five minutes.  A month ago she hadn’t even known Gordon Mason existed, now he was her husband.  The very thought made her insides turn to water with excitement.

            It all started when Lou and her friend Sybil had decided to spend a week in the West Country on a much needed holiday.  They’d found cheap digs in Brixham and were having the time of their lives, paddling in the sea, sitting on beaches, exploring quaint harbours and pretending there wasn’t a war on at all.  Then up had strolled a couple of sailors and that was that.  Within seconds her whole life had changed.  Sybil had given Gordon the glad eye of course, as she usually did with fellows, but it was clear from the start it was Lou he fancied.  He’d proposed to her that very first day.

            The following morning, having smuggled him in through her landlady’s back pantry window and up to their room where he’d slept like a lamb on the floor, after a few satisfying clinches of course, Lou had sent a telegram to her mam, telling her not to expect her home.  At the end of the week poor Sybil had returned alone to the factory in Rochdale, where they both wove silk for parachutes, in something of a huff, while Lou set about making other plans for her life.

              The landlady of their digs had been sporting enough to stand for her at the short wedding ceremony, choosing to wear a pink flowered hat and leopard skin coat for the occasion and taking it quite in her stride that these two young people who had only just met, should rush into lifelong matrimony.  ‘Happens every day dear,’ she told them.  ‘What with the war, and all those poor lonely sailor boys.  I’d wed one meself, given half a chance.’

            ‘She’d be better off adopting one,’ Gordon had remarked with one of his wry grins.

            Since then they’d only managed to spend two entire nights together, though Gordon had somehow managed to wangle enough free passes for it to seem more.  He’d even got quite nifty at sneaking off the base without a pass at all, and there’d been no further need to smuggle him into her digs, now they were legally married.  He could walk in quite openly.  Lou felt as if the last two weeks had been one long honeymoon.

            She lifted her hand, twisting it about so she could admire the shining gold band on the third finger of her left hand.  The name still sounded strange, oh, but didn’t she just love being Mrs Lou Mason instead of boring Louise Brown.  What would Mam say if she could see her now?

            Someone jabbed an elbow into her shoulder and she came out of her day dream with a jerk.  Doors were being flung open; weary passengers stretched aching limbs, rubbed grit from their sleepy eyes as they clambered stiffly down from the carriages.  The honeymoon was over and real life was about to begin.

            ‘This is it, love.  Keep your chin up.  Think of it as an adventure, and I won’t be far away.’

            It had been the day after the wedding that she’d seen the poster asking for women to join the Timber Corps, a section of the Women’s Land Army, offering work on estates in Cornwall.  It seemed the perfect solution for it meant she could stay near to Gordon.  Lou had signed up without a second’s thought.

            Plymouth now seemed like a million miles away, and, air raid attacks being what they were on that city, little consolation.  Besides, as Gordon pointed out, he could get his sailing orders at any moment and be right in the thick of it.  She kept her mind deliberately vague and unfocused on this point because it made her go all sick inside at the thought.  Lou wished suddenly that she was back home with her Mam and three sisters, for all they spent the whole time worrying and waiting for news of their various husbands and boy friends as well as Ronnie, their brother, who was in the army somewhere in Singapore.  At least she wouldn’t feel quite so alone.

            Lou tried to smile but it turned a bit wobbly.  Even her legs felt like jelly as she stepped down onto the platform.  Gordon handed down her kitbag then pulled the carriage door closed with the leather strap and leaned out through the open window.

            He looked so handsome standing there in his sailor uniform, the neatly pressed collar flapping gently in the breeze, his round, tanned face, beaming at her with a stoic brightness and his love for her shining out of his dark brown eyes.

            ‘It’s all the wrong way round, isn’t it?  I should be seeing you off.’

            ‘We’re seeing each other off, each to do our bit.  Equal partners, eh love?’

            ‘I love you,’ she said.

            His face went oddly still and serious, then, reaching down, he grasped her by the arms and half lifted her off her feet so he could kiss her.  That was the wonderful thing about Gordon.  He never seemed to notice that she was five foot seven and what might be politely termed, voluptuous.  He called her a pleasing armful and handled her as if she were light as a feather, kissed her deep and long, as though  they hadn’t kissed anywhere near enough these last weeks, and left her as breathless and limp as a fourteen year old schoolgirl, rather than a practical young woman of twenty-three.

        Snatching up the hat, Lou rammed it back onto her head, quite ruining her carefully arranged chestnut bangs, and ran back to grasp Gordon’s hand, as if she meant never to let him go.

        An aged porter hurried forward to collect a dowager’s smart brown leather suitcase, sensing the opportunity for a tip; squabbling children were being admonished by harassed mothers; the sound of quiet weeping as family members clutched each other in relief or fear as the train breathed noisily beside them like an impatient animal eager to be off. Then came shouts from the station master, the banging of doors and blowing of whistles, and finally the clunk and rhythmic turn of wheels, the contented hiss of steam as the train began to inch forward, anxious to continue on its journey. Still holding Gordon’s hand, Lou walked along with it.

        ‘Don’t fret, love. I’ll nip over to see you as soon as I can. This isn’t forever. Not by a long chalk.’

        ‘I’ll write when I find out what free time I’m to have.’

        Their hold finally broken, they stared helplessly back at each other, nothing left to say yet so much unspoken in their eyes. Gordon leaned out of the carriage window, waving till the last possible moment, till the train had rounded the bend and he’d been swallowed up by a swathe of greenery and belch of steam. Lou felt as if he were being sucked away, out of her life for ever, which was nonsense. Hadn’t he just said he’d see her again soon? Eyes smarting, she went back for her luggage.

        Within moments the melee of people had vanished, the porter and station master had returned to their respective hideaways for a welcome cup of tea and only two people were now left standing forlornly on the deserted platform. Lou, and one other. A girl, of about the same age as herself.

        They gazed upon each other in open curiosity.

        The pair couldn’t have been more different. One tall and statuesque, the other petite with long straight blond hair. Where Lou’s gaze was frank and open, lit by the warm friendliness of a wide smile, this girl had an oval childish face, pale skinned with huge grey eyes giving every appearance of terror, as if she couldn’t imagine how she came to be there on that deserted platform in the middle of nowhere, but would really like to turn tail and run after the departing train, were there any hope of catching it.

        But in one respect at least, they were entirely alike. They both wore the same smart brown overcoat, woollen stockings and highly polished brown shoes, identical brimmed hats and, most telling of all, the same shiny new badge of crossed brass axes which marked them as comrades. Lou thrust out a hand.

        ‘Louise Mason, Lou for short. I take it you’re heading for the same place as me? Timber Corps training camp?’

        ‘Yes, I suppose so. Gracie Freeman.’ Hands were shaken, grins exchanged and with an air of awkward embarrassment at being pitched together, two strangers into an unknown situation, they busied themselves collecting bags, various brown paper parcels and gas masks. Lou swung her kit bag up onto her shoulder with ease, as she had seen Gordon do many times with his. The smaller girl made no attempt to follow suit but seemed happy to drag the long kit bag by its neck chord.

        ‘Dratted thing took up more space than me on the train,’ she said with a wry smile.

        ‘Aye, it would, seeing as how it’s nearly as tall as you are. You could do with a dog collar and lead, then happen it’d come by itself if you whistled.’

        The voice, Gracie decided, was North Country, rather than her own Hereford with its distinctive Welsh border twang, but it was warm and somehow reassuring. She visibly relaxed, beginning to feel better already. Laughing, they walked together off the platform into the station yard, which seemed to be equally deserted. The only sound in the still September sunshine coming from some unidentified bird high in the trees that lined the track.

        ‘By heck, is that a song thrush? You don’t get many of them to the pound in Rochdale.’

        ‘A blackbird actually. Is that where you come from? Lancashire.’

        Lou beamed proudly. ‘For my sins, as they say. What about you? Come far?’

        Sin! Gracie’s attention was caught by the word, one she had come to hate. There was rarely a Sunday morning in chapel when she hadn’t heard it on the lips of some lay preacher or other, her own father in particular. It had always seemed to the young Gracie, that if anything at all might bring happiness or pleasure in life, it must be a sin. How fiercely she had resisted all those stern rules; the limericks she’d hidden in the pages of her New Testament when supposedly learning scriptures; the scarlet and azure ribbons she’d kept in her handkerchief box to brighten up the sober colours of her homely skirts and blouses; the secret dance lessons with her more frolicsome mother. She felt a pang of guilt. Brenda would miss her badly, though she was not entirely blameless in Gracie’s decision to leave.

        The memory of her mother standing at the door, delivering warnings of doom at ‘this ridiculous notion to be a Lumber Jack’. Disappointment had been bitter in her tone, showing not the slightest sign of amusement at Gracie’s correction that they were called Lumber Jills, not jacks; an attitude coloured by her lost dreams of the solidly respectable career in teaching which she’d so carefully mapped out for her only daughter.

        Her father’s reaction had been to gaze mournfully at her with an air of wounded reproach, guaranteed to fill her with guilt, saying how he’d hoped she’d join him in the business, how he’d worked hard all his life to ensure that his precious daughter would have a good business to inherit and here she was throwing his generosity back in his face. He’d sent her to her room to ‘examine her conscience’, as if she were still a naughty child needing to be punished for missing Sunday School. She’d stayed there for a week on a diet of bread and water but it had made not the slightest difference. Her mind was made up.

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