Havest

Harvest

"The bull in a bowler hat" had long since replaced Fergie, a Friesian
bull who was generally a placid creature, a well-directed sledgehammer
by the farmer could slow him down when the animal was over excited. He
escaped once when a heifer was on heat in a neighbouring field. The
bull, having first drooled his displeasure over the sleeping twins, who
were fortunately behind a mesh gate fixed in front of the porch had
chased an aunt, who was wearing an A line skirt which had moved as she
walked and increased the bull's annoyance. The aunt, who at first had
tried to cajole the bull
,realised that a strategic retreat to the top of a chicken shed was the
only option. She was rescued' two hours later by her brother when he
returned from market and armed himself with a pitch fork and three farm
dogs. Having "turned nasty" Fergie was butchered the following Monday.
A man from the ministry replaced the bull. The rubber glove at the end
of his short arm was a cause of disappointment and some discomfort to
the cows, as the lack of arm length, necessitated the use of his upper
arm in insemination.

The A.I. man never seemed to fit into the rurality, which he serviced.
He had sparse hair and a mean moustache matched his thin lips. A
naturally town-based man; he wore a suit, tie and hat, with the
addition of Wellingtons which were never dirty. His bowler hat was as
incongruous as his humour. His jokes, at the expense of the children
were relentlessly repeated.

"Those dog's ears would make great winter gloves. Just the right size
and shape for my hands. It gets cold in winter on the fells. Let me
know when it dies. Great gloves they'd make."

The younger children had not understood the intended joke, which both
fascinated and appalled them and led to their hatred of the small man
who needed a job artificially inseminating cattle. Thin glass files of
sperm were stored in a leather, brown square case, he read the
credentials of the donors in an almost reverential tone; the bull's
lineage and propensity for bettering the herd were discussed intimately
between the farmer and himself and the cost.

Later the youngest girl told her father of her dislike of a man who
used dog's ears for gloves. (She was too young to lie effectively.)
Tom, the father had placed his large hands on the table like an open
prayer book and explained that the A.I. man had only tried to amuse
them and the story of his holding a guinea pig up by its tail to watch
its eyes drop out was not possible because they didn't have tails and
ministry men did not, by nature cut off the ears of family pets. The
father was not successful in ridding her of her fears, which was
unusual because she had trusted him before.

The father was a wiry man, his visible skin pitch brown but in the
summer heat when he wore his blue overalls with no shirt, the
unexpected whiteness of his upper arms and body contrasted with the
leathery skin of his face and forearms. The paleness of the body
previously hidden from the outside weather gave him an air of
vulnerability, which none of his family ever mentioned because he was
their strength.

His forehead had a circular crease when he removed his black beret,
which he wore for working. The beret was smoothed with grease because
of his habit of leaning gently on the cow's sides as he milked them.
His wife had once, uninvited, washed the hat but it never really fitted
after that and a new one had to be bought at the Army and Navy Store.
At two shillings, it was expensive.

In the centre of the farm kitchen was an elderly table. It was
unusually large, extended for a family occasion by a leaf, which being
stored and having not been wiped by a dishcloth or the Rayburn's soot,
sat like an unfamiliar guest in the centre. The fat table legs had
carved knees, which harboured forgotten grime, although it was polished
every Sunday morning. Things got overlooked. Two Irish linen cloths
covered the difference in the surface and a hotchpotch of tablemats not
designed to be together protected a surface, which didn't need it.
Tablespoons were placed with the bowls at opposite ends, on the corners
of the table, as was their mother's understanding of how servants had
been taught in her days of gentility.

They didn't have paid help. She was glad of it. Her love would be more
understood if she could complete the day-to-day tasks, it would please
him. She knew she wasn't clever, at least not in the sense of
schooling. She had never felt educated and recalled weekly canings for
miss-spellings and talking. To make up for this, she adored her husband
who she knew to be her superior and nurtured her children, whom she
privately wished would stay as children. She would be needed.

She dreamed of being an interior designer, but family and opinions
stopped her, despite a scrapbook in which she kept swatches and ideas
of colour, in a case under their bed. She remained a wife and mother
and was, she convinced herself, happy.

Eileen was a big boned woman, who before her marriage had taken a
two-week residential course on keeping house because of her desire to
please. She had large masculine hands and wore a five-opal ring, which
had been specially designed to fit the breadth of her finger.

Tom and she had married only six weeks after they met. He had
previously been unintentionally engaged, an arrangement made by his
mother, to a girl he had met twice but who had written to him
occasionally in prisoner of war camp and had once sent him a cake. His
mother had bought the ring and organised a party of sorts to celebrate,
but had forgotten to mention the intended betrothal to her son. This
caused some difficulties when he returned to his hometown with the
woman he had asked to marry him. She was not the girl his mother had
selected.

They had been comfortable together, each understanding their role and
being happy in the security of knowing what was expected from a husband
and wife, he to protect and provide and she to make him believe he did.
The children had been a bonus. At thirty-two she had feared it might be
too late.

The twins, Rachael and Christopher were not usually called by their
Christian names but rather as the twins, which gave them a sense of
belonging together but not of themselves. They were not only twins but
the youngest, sharing their newness as small, Spring lambs do. They had
whispered their planned adventure in front of the Rayburn oven door,
left open to dry Saturday nightly washed hair

One Sunday morning later in the year, the girl wearing a wide circular,
brown felt hat with an elastic strip under the chin was sent with her
twin, in his smart grey flannel shorts, long socks and a tie, which was
also brown, to Sunday school.
The tiny stickers of Christ and the Virgin on thin- gummed paper (given
as a reward for right answers or goodness) had lost their appeal but at
nine, they were trusted to attend. For the two mouse racing held a more
immediate interest. Each twin selected a feral cat, which they believed
to be the best "mouser."

The rusty staple, carelessly fastened with binder-twine on the granary
door could be easily be removed and the churn moved by two, if they
pushed together. The grain store was at the back of the building away
from the main yard. They were unlikely to be caught.

It was dusty and warm with the late summer left- overs of barley
huddled against dry wooden boards. One twin pulled the door behind them
against being found and as a necessary part of the game. It was a fair
race. They had agreed that only one sack should be moved for each
cat.

The boy had chosen Queen, a fat, long- haired cat, whose mother, it was
alleged had mated with a Persian. The girl chose a less spectacular cat
with a coat the texture of a Brillo pad, but one she believed to be
faster, even though one eye was permanently closed.

Two bags were dragged from the wall. Queen the larger female, almost
immediately secured a mouse under each outstretched paw and trapped a
wriggling youngster in her mouth. She seemed unsure of what to do about
the remaining mice, the boy tried to herd them to a corner for the
final tally.

The second cat had a lesser challenge; one slow pregnant mouse and a
nest of pink, sightless babies shaped like jujubes, the penny sweets
the children had as a special treat. They argued as to how many baby
mice were equal to a fully-grown one, which could run, only agreeing
that a replay was necessary.

Later the twins walked to the lane, which on usual Sundays they would
have used as a short cut, dodging low behind the dry stonewall which
their father had constructed.
and wondering if their return was at the correct time. Neither had a
watch.

It was difficult to remember the shared story they had invented and the
teachings they should have received but the harvesters spared an
explanation. The weather, unseasonably dry, had brought forward the
reaping.

Each year an order of threshing was settled. The combine, bailer and
sacks were hired from a Mr Porfit, who referred to all young boys as
Jimmy, because he explained he was originally Scottish and that all
young boys were called by that name. He was a regular visitor to the
farms at this time of year but in later life, after his wife died, he
had professed love in a clumsy physical way to a fifteen year old who
reported him to the authorities After this he was no longer required to
do business with the local farmers.

Eileen knew that the farmers sometimes used "rude words" which,
she was not prepared to allow her children to hear at such a young age
or ever. Eileen had explained to them, that it was as easy to show
annoyance by your tone and, she added, "wheelbarrow" was the word she
used when angry.

She had then busied herself with the cooking of a roast beef dinner and
rice pudding for the men. Sandwiches and orange squash were placed on a
tray for the children, who were made to eat in the dining room away
from the language.

The twins, knowing "swearing" was likely, put the latch up and opened
the oak door a little, in the hope of catching something they
shouldn't. Disappointingly the talk was of the weather, yields and
second servings of food.

Megan, being now the eldest, shut the door before the conversation
became too interesting to nine year olds, to show her maturity and
possibly to protect the twins from their own curiosity and the
probability of being caught.

Electricity arrived soon after the harvest. The landlord, thinking of
selling the farm decided to install it, at some cost and an inevitable
increase in rent. The family had been used to games of cards, the
wireless and talk because Calor gas did not run televisions, only
lights and a fat green iron with tiny jets of ignited gas but Tom
explained to them all that he would be able to power a machine for
milking, which was necessary to meet the milk quotas and that life
moved on, even if it was at an expense.

Eileen was used to her Calor gas iron but prepared carefully for the
modern power. She put the outdoor mat of thick rubber, next to the
ironing board, pulled on her Wellingtons and blew into the Marigold
gloves before wearing them. The pleasure she normally took in neatly
folded handkerchiefs and shirts never quite returned.

That particular night there were still candles in holders with flat
saucers for safety, which only adults were then allowed. The children
had been forbidden to use candles since a small fire on a wicker
bedroom chair, when a draught had caused the wick to become
unreliable.

Megan had a bonny, chubby sort of prettiness, which was at its most
attractive in childhood, this contrasted with the angular blondeness of
her older sister, who relatives referred to as "the clever one."

She had always disliked being the second. The twins had each
other
, Peggy the adoration of her parents, though Eileen insisted that she
loved them all equally. From her first day at school she was known as
Peggy's sister, her own identity again overlooked. She had not been the
first-born.

Megan felt the uneven balance of affection, being less loved had left
her fragile. Friendships had been fleeting, as were the later affairs
with middle-aged men when she was eighteen and played first trombone in
a Cumbrian brass band.

The girl twin knew Peggy had high cheekbones, large eyes and thin
blonde hair from the photograph in an EPNS frame, which occupied the
centre of the mantelpiece. Her mother placed a fresh flower by its side
daily and more blooms on remembered birthdays. The twin left notes for
her dead sister in the hope that her mother would find them and think
she remembered. The boy kicked a football hard against the barn wall
but didn't speak about it.
In the girl twin's reality Peggy was smudged, even when she recalled
childhood events where her older sister must have been.

There was the Easter egg. An egg had been eaten before the Sunday and a
whole large egg had gone; one of the children would be without Easter
morning's intended gift.

The two eldest had taken one twin at a time to the den next to the
ploughing to quiz them. There had been hard words from the elder girls,
united in their search for justice. Later the three eggs were divided
between four. The girl twin could only remember Megan; she couldn't
hold the image of somebody else.

The larder was a large room with uneven flags and utility meat safe.
She would never have entered at night on her own, the corridors were
too dark, the oak stairwell too threatening and she was not brave. She
hoped that her companion that night had been Peggy and that they had
been close when the pheasant hanging from a large hook feathered the
twin's cheek. She believed that God had waited in the coolness to visit
her because of thoughts (which she had not been able to keep free of
badness.) Someone had explained it was not so. The youngest girl could
not hold the likeness but knew, it was expected. The memory of the
eldest was lost to her, she hoped it would be a protection against the
visitors who came after the death and upset her parents.

Two nights before Christmas, the inside of the windows were patterned
with frost. Megan was under the eiderdown; She had not wanted to use
the last of her battery because she was reading under the covers.
Usually she would have gone for the water, if she had known how
important it would prove to be, she would have certainly brought it.
She hadn't realised and couldn't explain afterwards.

The next morning the children were unsettled seeing their father run
down the cinder path to a neighbour's, who had a telephone, giving no
explanation for his haste.

The ambulance had arrived and was quite an excitement; it gave the
younger two something to write about in the school daily news. Eileen
had explained, aware of the responsibilities of motherhood, about dolls
hospitals, where toys were put back together. The children didn't
understand but pretended to.

The following afternoon, about five, the cows were unusually late for
milking.

Later the twin girl wondered if she was to blame, she tried hard to
remember the vicar's words, his sermons during family services. She
knew that "thinking bad things were as bad as doing them and that God
listened to your thoughts, punishing them by hell fire," but there had
been no mention of the kind of punishment He might give for missing
Sunday school or mouse racing.