The Long Road Ahead
The war might be over, but trying to get life back on track is anything but easy for Alice Watts.Follow Alice’s journey back to post-Blitz Bristol where she searches for family, friends, and one particular loved one, in a world where it’s expected to mend and make do… and where it’s sometimes impossible to put your heart before your head…A tale of true courage and the power of sheer determination, this un-put-downable post-WWII set saga is filled with warmth, humour and heart-wrenching emotion.Perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Katie Flynn and Dilly Court.Previous books in the Home Land Farm Girls series:Book 1 – Letters to Alice
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The war might be over, but trying to get life back on track is anything but easy for Alice Watts.
Follow Aliceâs journey back to post-Blitz Bristol where she searches for family, friends, and one particular loved one, in a world where itâs expected to mend and make do⦠and where itâs sometimes impossible to put your heart before your headâ¦
A tale of true courage and the power of sheer determination, this un-put-downable post-WWII set saga is filled with warmth, humour and heart-wrenching emotion.
Born in Bristol of Welsh parentage, ROSIE JAMES has always been a compulsive writer, her early enthusiasm kept alive by winning the occasional childhood literary prize, and much later by seeing her articles and short stories published. She is a trained singer, and as a lyric coloratura soprano, her leading roles include many in grand opera, operetta and oratorio, her music taking her to many parts of the continent. She enjoys theatre, eating out with friends, and she entertains regularly at home â slightly hindered by her King Charles spaniel, who always insists on testing all dishes for flavour. She has three grown-up children, and when they and their young offspring arrive, the normally peaceful house becomes dramatically changed â and always for the better. Rosie lives in Somerset.
Contents
TBC
March 1947
Alice drew the small padded stool closer to the fire and sat down, hugging her knees. Thanks to the sack of coal which had been delivered this morning, sheâd been able to indulge herself by setting the fire high with the precious lumps of black magic, which burned and crackled with extra brightness, the flames curling busily up the chimney, sending out a delicious heat that warmed every part of her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
Not that Alice really needed that much warming upâ¦not really. Because inside, she was on fire. She was feeling truly alive, truly ready to take on the whole world if that ever became necessary.
Because she had been given her heartâs desire. She was luckyâ¦and hadnât she thought that so many times before? Hadnât she thought that Lady Luck was never far away â despite all the ups and downs and sad times?
Drawing back just a bit from the hearth, she opened the wallet containing packets of the most precious things she had ever owned. Or would ever own.
Her letters.
They were all in date order, carefully preserved over the last twenty years or so, and in some ways, they traced her story, she thought now. Some were from friends who would always be her friendsâ¦her greatest friendsâ¦incorrigible Fay, and vulnerable Eveâ¦their Evie. Alice smiled. It had been Fayâs whimsical notion to nickname them the Three Wise Monkeys ever since theyâd found themselves sitting together on that bus which would take them to Home Farm and their war work as Land Girls. If it hadnât been for the war, theyâd never have met â so thanks for that, Mr. Hitler!
And there were those lovely letters from Helenaâ¦dearest Helena Carmichael who had been Aliceâs employer, and Aliceâs mother Adaâs, before that.
But most were from Samuel.
Alice began taking the letters from the first packet, opening them out carefully, and spreading them, one by one, on her lap as she began to re-read them. Almost all of them were far too precious to share with another human being, and she had made up her mind that when she died they would go with her. She would be holding them to her heart as she was lowered into the grave, and she intended leaving a formal note about this to whoever took charge of such things.
But of all of them, the ones from Samuel would always take pride of place.
Samuel. Her heartâs desire. The love of her young, of her entire life.
And the sole reason for making her burn with such ecstatic happiness, such enthusiasm for the future, such total contentmentâ¦what a flaccid word âcontentmentâ was when talking about romantic love!â¦was because, two days ago, Sam had asked her to be his wife.
His wife. The dream she had clung to.
And Alice couldnât help it if she was experiencing every sought-after human emotion with a passion burning more brightly than the fire in front of her. Now, nothing could dampen her spirits.
The dreadful, debilitating weather of early 1947 still persisted, but what on earth did the weather have to do with Alice! Weather? Who cared about weather!
Presently, having re-read all her letters, Alice was thoughtful for a second as she put them away. One or two of them had made her smile, all over againâ¦but the penultimate one she had had from Eve had provoked a slight pang of discomfort. Because while Evieâs future with her beloved was apparently now so happily secure, Alice knew that own road ahead â despite her present euphoria â was unlikely to be so straightforward. How could it possibly be? She and Sam had come from such different backgrounds. Was she ever really going to fit in, despite their love for each other? Was she capable? Was sheâ¦was she worthy? Not so much worthy of him, but of the Carmichael dynasty? Of, in the foreseeable future, becoming one of them? And, even worse, had the war changed her into someone else? Was she the same person whoâd written all those letters to Sam over the years? Alice cringed at the misgivings which had arrived, unannounced, to enter her sub-consciousâ¦
