Getting Paraffin - reposting after editing

(This is an early chapter from a memoir type that a friend has asked me to write for her!!)

“Tessa, go with Tricia. It'll keep you out of trouble for a while,” Our Mam yelled across the yard.

I had been envious of watching the older ones leave the farmyard and go to explore. I saw it as an escape from the chores of gathering water and eggs. I was shorter than all of them, bar Susan, but plumper. I was always being told I was plump. Grandmother would always remind me that I was not slim like my mother, or like the children here. Grandmother made sure I knew these were not my family and that we were only staying here because the monstrous German Luftwaffe had destroyed all that we held dear. I would draw pictures in the dirt with a stick of the monster “Luff wafer”. He had huge wings and big teeth and gathered things and took them away. I knew he had taken my real mother to his cave so she could play for him. I hated him too.

We had been living on the farm, on and off, since just after my second birthday. I was four now. Grandmother said it was because I was precocious that I knew how old I was when we arrived. She said it was good for me to be an evacuee and know I was not anything special. I was told that I had to be very kind to these people who were letting us live in their home with them; the children, Myrtle, the eldest, Tony, Tricia and Susan, the youngest, and the two grown ups, Our Dad and Our Mam. I have to sleep in a big bed with Grandmother and listen to her snoring and muttering in her sleep, but did get a lovely snuggley eiderdown full of feathers that occasionally would escape and I would get told off for blowing them round the room.

“Tessa come on,” called Tricia, “we've got to run. You carry it there and I'll carry it back.” She thrust the can at me.

The can seemed as big as me and it was heavy already. “What's in it?” I asked.

“Nothing Tess. It's empty. We've got to go and fill it.”

“What with?”

“Paraffin. For the stove. And the light so Our Dad can read the paper when he gets in.”

Our Dad was the only one allowed near the lamp. For the rest of us, even in the winter when it was dark by four in the afternoon, we had to have finished reading before the sun went down. Even Myrtle and Tony had to have their homework finished before dark. It made sense, I suppose. Our Dad worked hard to feed us all, including Grandmother. It was the least we could do to let him have a lamp a night to read the paper by Our Mam said.

I wonder if it was the least I could do to let him touch me there when he lifted me up to see the cows. It didn't feel right him putting his fingers in my pants and it hurt. His fingers were rough and scratchy and hard. His nails were broken and would scratch me. When I wriggled a bit Our Dad would stop and put me down. Perhaps there was nothing wrong. It just didn't feel right. I wanted him to stop picking me up to see over but I did so like seeing the calves with their lovely warm tongues and big brown eyes. Maybe I need to just grow a bit then I wouldn't need picking up. That's my plan. I'll need to grow anyway if I'm going to fight the monster luff wafer and free my mother, then she can teach me to play the piano like her. Once I've freed mother then life will be better. Then Grandmother won't keep shouting at me. I could leave Grandmother, leave Our Mum and Our Dad and live with mother away from the monster luff wafer. One day when I'm bigger. Then I'll make it all ok.

Grandmother would often take me back again to the city to see if the monster luff wafer was doing any more damage. The monster luff wafer had taken Grandfather away, so far away that no one ever spoke about him, even if I asked about him. I wondered if he would ever come back but I knew not to ask. The only time I had asked about him I got thrashed for it and Grandmother had not spoken to me for three days. There were a lot of things I was learning to be silent about. Maybe if I had a real family where I belonged I would be able to talk about those things? Grandmother made sure that no matter how kind people were to me I would never belong. She regularly told “there is no place for you, young lady, in anybody else's family. And always remember that.” So maybe Our Dad only did that to me when he lifted me up because I was not part of his family.

“Tricia, slow down and wait for me.”

“Oh, you're so little. And you've been daydreaming again. Come on. I'll help.” She was stronger than me and more used to having to carry heavy things.

We trudged along, taking it in turns to carry the can, it constantly banging against our legs. We stopped a lot as we trudged along. Each time we stopped Tricia would pick a blade of grass and show me how to made a noise with it. Even when I did it myself it would send me into squeals of laughter. There was something so rude about the sound it made, like Our Dad farting after a big meal, but more high pitched. A woman's fart. But I knew women didn't fart, not real ones anyway. We girls were told to leave the room if we did and told that it was not ladylike to break wind in public. But when Our Dad made that noise he would smile and say, “That was a good meal. Thanks Our Mam.”

Finally we reached the garage in the village. It felt like it had taken ages. Tricia took a piece of lardy cake from her pocket and split it between us. We ate greedily whilst Frank filled the petrol can and screwed the lid back on tight.

We started to stagger home. It now took both of us to carry the can now it was full. We lent on the gate and looked at the cows.

“Let's take a short cut. Through the field,” said Tricia.

I was scared on the big cows. They were not as loving as the calves in their stalls. But I didn't want Tricia to know that. And it was so much quicker. My legs were bruised with the continual collisions with the can. I wasn't sure I was going to make it home. I agreed because I was tired and wanted to impress my friend. If I could show I was as brave as her then I could become part of her family. No matter what Grandmother said.

We scrambled over the gate. Tricia first. I heaved the can up to her, pushing hard at the bottom. The liquid slopped. Some dribbled out. It landed on my face. It smelled like home and safety. She grabbed the can as it started to slide over the other side. Hands moving between the wooden slats of the gate. Tricia couldn't hold on to the can and it hit the ground with a thud. More liquid leaped out and settled round the rim of the lid. The cows turn at the sound and raise their heads to stare. We start to drag the can across the hummocks, hindered by mole hill and roots of dandelions. We're moving slower now the ground is uneven beneath our feet. We looked up. The cows had parted. A large black shape turns to stare. His eyes held us in his gaze for a moment. Slowly he started to lumber towards us. We were further from the gate we came in and nearer to the gate near our home. The grand old bull weighs us up in his unblinking eye. His family moo gently either in encouragement or telling him to leave two little girls alone. Whatever they meant he saw it as the encouragement he needed. His head went down. He snorted.

“Run!” Tricia shouted it and we dropped the can and sprinted as fast as we could go. I could feel his hot breath of my legs as I leapt the gate, a flurry of skirts and knickers, shoelaces undone.

We stood there panting. The bull stopped feet from the gate as if it was beneath him to get any closer to the intruders in his field. He snorted once then turned his back and released the most intoxicating stench that even Our Dad could not manage after one of Our Mam's meat pies and a pint of beer. The grand old bull ambled back across the field. Then he stopped to inspect the jerry can leaking paraffin into his field. He turned and glared at us. The can was out of reach.

Tricia started to cry. We both knew we would be in a lot of trouble when we got home. We'd wasted precious fuel, our ration coupons used up for the week, and the can left lying there, forlornly draining itself in to the field until a bigger, braver person than us would come to collect it.