Chapter 13: The World of Chocolate

What a wonderful organ the tongue is with its network of taste buds and nerve endings. If I could draw a diagram of the human body, with each of its parts rescaled to reflect its sensitivity, the tongue would be so large that it would dwarf everything else. Well, maybe the sex organs would appear larger, but you get my point.

I can’t speak for men, but from a woman’s perspective there are few things that excite the pleasure receptors on the tongue more than chocolate.

Jean Price loved chocolate.

Her mother had high hopes for Jean and she was delighted when her daughter won a scholarship to the Redland High School for Girls in Bristol. Under normal circumstances, this was a fee-paying school, rather than a state grammar school, but a bursary from a charitable trust covered much of the cost. Jean hated it. Academically, she did well but Jean never felt as if she fitted in. Mrs Price paid for elocution lessons and she almost lost her Bristolian accent completely. Nevertheless, the other girls often reminded Jean of her humble origins.

Finally, with the best array of educational certificates of any scholar in her year, everybody, including her mum, rather expected the young lady to go up to one of the most prestigious universities.

Jean had other ideas. She applied and was accepted for the position of apprentice chocolatière at Mademoiselle Greenglass’. While Mademoiselle Greenglass wasn’t actually French, she did know a great deal about chocolate. Her little shop in Bristol was famed far and wide for the quality of the dainty sweet treats it produced.

Mrs Price was mortified. She reminded Jean of this fact at least once a week. Fortunately, she fell short of disowning her daughter or throwing her out on the street, which was a good thing.

Now, what is important from our point of view, is that Jean Price had a gift when it came to chocolate making. She quickly learned to temper it with the finest of sheens. Mademoiselle Greenglass soon recognised her unprecedented talent and even before the young lady had finished her apprenticeship Mademoiselle would value her opinion. Each new line of cream filling or praline confection became a collaboration. The little shop was popular before but now it was a Bristol institution.

Like all good things, Jean’s perfect world came to an end. When she was just twenty-one the Second World War broke out. As a result, the importation of cacao nibs, cocoa liquor, cocoa butter or cocoa powder all but ceased. Not to mention the dozens of other ingredients that went into the creation of quality chocolates.

Faced with this disaster, Mademoiselle Greenglass had little choice but to close the shop. The other lady chocolatières were devastated, Jean most of all. Ever pragmatic, she knew that her time would come again so she resolved to do her bit in defeating Hitler.

“What will you do?” asked Mrs Price. “A clever girl like you would be welcomed with open arms at the War Office.”

“I’m not really sure,” answered Jean. In truth she was sure. She had already made up her mind to join the Women’s Land Army and work on a farm while the men were away fighting. The country would need feeding.

After the first two weeks of backbreaking labour on a Somerset arable farm, Jean wasn’t entirely sure that she’d made the right choice. They did nothing but work, sleep and eat. The eating part was the only thing that compensated for the hard effort.

Farmer Topsham and his wife made sure that the four land girls had enough. Generally food was rationed but in the countryside there always seemed to be ‘supplementaries’ available.

Jean and the others shared a cosy room in the attic of the farmhouse. Each night, after their evening meal, they all crawled into bed exhausted. At the crack of dawn they would be up out in the fields once again.

It was hard but it was for the war effort so they did it without complaint.

The only let-up from the constant toil was Sunday morning. They were given a half day off to attend church. This meant an extra hour and a half before they had to rise. Sixty minutes of more sleep. The rest of the time they devoted to masturbation, one of the few pleasures of life that wasn’t now rationed. Gracie, one of the two northern girls, started the weekly ritual, quietly under the covers at first. Not quiet enough though. The other three soon cottoned on. They were glad that they all did it as it negated any shame. High up under the farmhouse roof they just surrendered to screaming orgasms.

Every Sunday they just writhed about and then quickly got ready for church. The afterglow made the dreary sermons tolerable.

It was an unspoken secret they shared. That was until one Monday morning. All four of the girls were clinging to the flatbed trailer bouncing along behind Farmer Topsham’s noisy old tractor. Normally, they walked to whichever field they were to work in. Today, they were to replace a fence on the back meadow so the girls were getting transported with the timber.

They always chatted while they worked. That was until the farmer thought that it was interfering with the job in hand, at which time he gently told them to ‘pipe down’. They rarely had the chance to speak about confidential things.

Knowing that they couldn’t be heard above the sound of the engine, Hilda asked Gracie, “What do you think about when you’re frigging yourself?”

They all laughed nervously at this breach of the compact.

There was a momentary silence before Gracie answered, “Well mostly my Ken but sometimes Errol Flynn giving me a bit of the other. What about you?” Gracie’s boyfriend, Kenneth, was in the Navy. She didn’t know where.

“Ah now! My Charlie, of course but mostly Cary Grant getting me a bit tipsy on Champagne. I always pretend that I’m not interested but eventually I let him roger the ass off me,” answered Hilda. Both women were from up north and could be a little straight talking.

They both turned towards Alice with a questioning look. She was from Shepton Mallet and was, just like Jean, fairly reserved.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she responded, blushing a bit.

Hilda pressed her, “Come on, you can tell us. You must think of something.”

“Do say lass, we won’t be shocked. What gets you off,” added Gracie, knowing that it would embarrass the girl.

“Promise you won’t think badly of me.”

“Of course not,” the others reassured her.

“Well, when I was younger I accidentally spied on my father, my Uncle Arthur and my Uncle Cedric having sex with my mother in an outbuilding. Mother was absolutely insatiable. I tend to think about that mostly.”

Nobody spoke for a while until Jean volunteered, “Well, I think about chocolate!”

This broke the silence and they all laughed.

“What a good idea!” burst out Hilda, “I’m going to try that!”