Luckpenny Land (32 page)

Meg stiffened. ‘That’s all you want from your womenfolk isn’t it? Work. Well, I’ll call on Sal and see if there’s anything I can do, but for her sake, not yours.’

He glared at her. ‘Get along then.’

Meg didn’t move. ‘I’ll call tomorrow.’

Joe looked as if he might drag her from her own doorstep there and then so furious was he at this show of stubbornness. ‘You’ve gone soft in the head if you think you can manage this place on your own. And that lad o’yourn won’t thank you. Why don’t you do yourself, and him, a favour and let Mrs Bradshaw sell it like she wants to.’

‘So you can have it for Dan?’

‘He’s a man. He needs his own place.’

‘Then give him Ashlea.’

Unusually, Joe looked uncomfortable. ‘Ashlea needs to be bigger if it’s to keep us all.’ On a sudden burst of anger he thrust a finger at her. ‘And thee have it in your power to help us, your own family.’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’ She stood in wretched misery, watching him storm away.

Will Davies harnessed the reliable Arlott and went through twelve acres as if it were butter and Meg duly collected the grant of two pounds an acre. It was her job, assisted by Effie, to take off the stones and pull up the rushes and thistles first, a task that left them both speechless with exhaustion.

Will also brought down her sheep with his own autumn gather so that she didn’t need to call upon her own family, which proved a relief in the circumstances. Not that she had many sheep to gather in, she discovered. Lanky’s flock was in a very depleted state and building it up again would be her major concern.

Every Saturday morning Meg and Effie stood the free farmer’s market selling eggs, butter, milk, bundles of kindling and any number of cabbages. She’d called on Sally Ann the day after Joe’s visit, and regularly every Wednesday afternoon since. Her sister-in-law seemed a bit sickly, which she supposed was normal in this stage of the pregnancy. Meg could do little but offer moral support.

‘I wish I could do more.’

‘You have enough on your plate, Meg, I’m all right. I’ll get Dan to help.’

‘See that he does.’

Hetty Davies showed Meg how to pluck the geese and turkeys ready for market.

‘Don’t scald them,’ she warned, ‘or you’ll have pink meat. Best to dry pluck for pure white meat. Takes a bit longer but it’s worth it and you get a better price.’

And indeed they did. The remainder of the rent was raised by selling three of the fat geese and all the turkeys at one shilling and threepence a pound on Christmas Eve. A good price which pleased her. Meg paid her first quarter’s rent with an immense sense of achievement.

One goose had been used as down payment to the Co-op shop on a new set of school clothes, boots, and the seemingly essential plimsolls or ‘pumps’ for Effie. The outfit had so delighted her that she had returned to school, head high, mouth grimly set. Meg had undertaken to give her extra reading lessons at home in the evenings.

The other goose was already in the bottom oven for their Christmas dinner which all her family were coming to share.

The fog on Christmas Day was so thick that visibility was down to thirty yards. Sally Ann was the first to arrive, feeling her way up the lane like a blind woman, bringing presents and the sad news that she had lost her baby.

‘Broke Dan up it did. The baby would have been something of his own, you see, to love. But we’ll try again, he says. We’ll manage it next time.’

‘Oh, Sally Ann, why didn’t you let me know?’ Meg hugged and kissed her sister-in-law and they wept together. ‘Dan’s right, for once. Sometimes it’s nature’s way if things aren’t quite right. You’re young and strong, there’s no reason why you can’t have a dozen babies if you’ve a mind to.’

‘I know.’ Sally Ann smiled bravely through her tears.

Then, because it was Christmas and they all needed cheering up, Meg insisted on bringing out some of Effie’s potato and beetroot wine. ‘It tastes awful but it’s very potent, so who cares?’

She poured out three glasses and raised her own in a toast. ‘Here’s to the next time, and to an early peace.’

They all echoed the sentiment and drank.

‘Lord, it gets worse,’ gasped Meg, setting down her glass in a fit of coughing. ‘What this girl will do to avoid milk.’ And they all fell about laughing.

‘What about Jack? Is he getting home for Christmas?’

Meg shook her head, eyes bright. ‘I’ve had a lovely letter from him. But he says all leave has been cancelled while they take part in some special training exercise. He hopes to be home sometime in the New Year. Oh, I can’t wait to see him. It seems ages since he was home.’

‘And Kath?

A shadow crossed Meg’s face. ‘Haven’t heard. I saw Mr Ellis in town and he gave me the address of her aunt’s house in Southport. I’ve written a couple of times, but had no reply yet.’

‘She might have moved on. Can’t really see Kath staying too long in a place as quiet and genteel as Southport, can you?’

‘No, probably moved to London and has all the fellas eating out of her hand. Jack says she’s probably married someone rich by now, so hasn’t time to think of writing letters.’

Sally Ann laughed. ‘That sounds more like Kath.’

‘Maybe I’ll ask Mrs Ellis. She’s bound to know, then I can write to her at her new place, wherever that might be. Meanwhile, come on, drink up, we’ve got work to do. You know how my dear father hates his dinner to be late. He will come, won’t he?’

‘He promised. I had a job persuading him, but he’ll come, if only for the food.’ Sally Ann glanced across at Effie who was whistling ‘Jingle Bells’ as she peeled potatoes, Rust by her side as usual. ‘You’ve forgiven him, then, for what he did to Effie?’

A small thoughtful pause. How could anyone be forgiven for such a barbaric act? ‘Let’s say I’ve learned to live with it.’

Sally Ann nodded, understanding. ‘She’s looking well, little Effie, isn’t she? But you’d best get that dog outside before the menfolk come or they’ll think you’ve gone soft in the head.’

The jollity of Christmas was quickly quenched with the start of food rationing in the New Year and the announcement that the Ministry of Food was to become the sole buyer at fixed prices of all produce and fatstock, including pigs and lambs that went for slaughter. Meg wasn’t sure whether this would be a good thing or not, but at least it offered a guaranteed market.

Although things seemed to be running fairly smoothly, her problems were far from over. In the spring she would have to plant corn and barley, potatoes and kale, as ordered by the War Committee. She would need to find the money some time next year to pay for the two cows that Will Davies had given her, buy tups in readiness for next year, or at least have the money to hire. She couldn’t depend upon good neighbours indefinitely.

She’d been forced to borrow hay for the cows but next year she must try for a good harvest of her own. Meg also wanted to buy pigs and young turkeys, for it was important that they be as self-sufficient as possible. And there was still the problem of labour to be resolved. She didn’t just want to take on anyone, not living here alone as they did.

But that was all in the future. For now she was thankful to be well fed and happy in her work. Effie was settling into school now that she looked the same as everybody else, and starting to learn her letters.

Then, best of all, Meg heard from Jack. He was staying for a few days at Connie’s house in Grange. And would she come and spend a day there with him? Would she!

‘What about the cows?
^,

‘I’ll get Mr Davies to do them for once,’ Effie said. ‘Oh, but how can I leave you here, all alone?’

‘I’ll be all right. I can stay with Sal, I don’t mind. Go on, go and see him, you know you want to.’

Chapter Seventeen

1940

Meg was up hours before dawn to get all the necessary chores done, a lift to the bus stop in the Co-op van, a long cold bus ride, but it was all worth it. Now here she was wrapped warmly in Jack’s arms, not noticing the bitter cold north wind that blew straight across the estuary into their shelter beneath the trees. Nothing would prise her from his arms.

His kisses were everything she could remember and Meg basked in her need of him. ‘Oh, I wish I could stay here for ever like this.’

Jack tickled her ear with the tip of his tongue. ‘It would get a mite draughty at night.’

‘Stop it, you fool. You know what I mean.’

‘I’m sorry Connie is so, well, you know, a bit funny with you. She’ll come round, in time.’

‘She’s still mad about the farm, I suppose?’

‘Mad as hell if you want to know. She thinks Dad should have left it to me, as his only son. She does have a point.’

Meg tucked herself inside his greatcoat, her arms tight about him, and giggled. ‘Yes, but he knew you’d sell it, if left to your own devices, so he has in a way, hasn’t he? Since we’re going to be man and wife.’

‘The farm would still be yours, whether we marry or not. Connie checked that out with Mr Capstick.’

‘Oh.’ Meg was silent for a moment. ‘Does that bother you?’

‘I can see why he did it. Never thought much of my efforts at farming. While with you, he thought the sun shone out of you. But I don’t mean to be tied to farming all my life, whatever you say.’

Meg closed her mind to the warning in his words. She was too happy to be here, cuddled in his arms. ‘Lanky was kind to me, and I loved him as if he were my own father.’ She thought it politic to change the subject. ‘Have you heard anything more about going abroad?’

Jack shook his head. ‘I don’t want to talk about the war. Or the farm. I get enough of all of that from Connie. Come here, let me warm my hands on you.’ And he made her gasp in an agony of delight as he slid his cold hand beneath her jumper and over her breasts. When he put his mouth to hers, Meg forgot all about her worries about being accepted by his family, and about Jack’s very natural jealousy over the ownership of Broombank. What did it matter? What did anything matter so long as they could be together, like this?

All too soon they went dutifully back to Connie’s house for a cold tea of fish paste sandwiches and tinned peaches, then Jack walked her to the bus stop for her ride home.

It was to be Meg’s last day out for some time as Broombank became locked into a hard, cold winter. Snow filled the leaden skies for days and weeks on end. It piled four and five feet thick against the walls of the farmhouse and smothered the hen arks so thoroughly that digging them out and making space for the hens to peck about became a back-breaking morning chore. Wads of glistening white snow lay so heavily upon the oldest barn roof that it finally gave up the battle and fell in.

‘Let’s be thankful we have other barns,’ said Meg, determined not be cast down by this expensive catastrophe.

So many of the local quarrymen were called up that only the old men were left and the quarry had to be closed. Those who were able worked instead on the roads, shovelling the snow out of the narrow lanes only to have the fierce winds blow it all back in again the next day.

For weeks they’d seen not a living soul and even the little school had closed until the thaw. Their only source of contact with the outside world were the broadcasts on their battery wireless, listening to how the weather was creating nationwide misery, blocking roads, stopping trains, freezing lakes and rivers. It depressed everyone so much there was talk that there would be no end to the war, at least not until Hitler died.

Most of the time they sat in darkness, except for a wood fire, to save lamp fuel as the snow continued to fall relentlessly.

The sheep on the high fells would survive well enough but most of Meg’s day was spent searching for those who wandered lower, digging them out of the huge drifts that piled against the dry stone walls. Wet through and exhausted much of the time, never had she been more thankful for the help of the dogs, particularly the faithful Rust, as they spent almost every waking hour walking the snow-laden fells together. She would push her crook deep into the drifts, the collies would sniff and roam about then suddenly start to bark with excitement or claw at the snow with their paws, nose pointing to the spot where a sheep was buried.

‘Good dog,’ Meg would say, and she and Effie would start to dig, pulling another half-senseless animal out from the depths to drag it on the sledge back down to the intake field where it could recover. Then they would climb back up the fells and start the search all over again.

If Meg got depressed she only had to listen to Churchill, who always managed to raise spirits, once by announcing the rescue of 300 British seamen from a German prison ship, the Altmark, in a Norwegian fjord. But it didn’t last long. By March, Finland fell and complacency vanished.

But the snow finally melted into a cool spring, the waters gushed in the becks, and life became a little easier.

Effie was a willing worker for all she was only a skinny child, wanting to take an active part in the running of the farm. Once they spent an entire day building up one long wall over which the sheep kept jumping to reach the new green grass in the intake field.

‘We must stop them getting in or we’ll have none left for the new mothers and weaker lambs,’ Meg said.