Luckpenny Land

by Freda Lightfoot

  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-br
eaking 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.

  ‘Just look at that grey-faced one,’ Effie pointed out. ‘Hasn’t missed a move we’ve made all morning. I wonder what she’s thinking.’

  ‘ How she can reach this delectable meal.’ Puffing for breath, Meg heaved yet another stone in place. The walls really were in a sorry state of repair.

  At about three o’clock they stopped for a rest and a snack. ‘Another two or three hours and we should be done,’ Meg said, sighing with relief.

  The words were no sooner out of her mouth than the grey-faced sheep Effie had pointed out earlier started to trot alongside the wall, seeming to sniff at it curiously.

  ‘She’s checking to see whether we’ve done a good job,’ Effie chuckled, but the laughter faded as the sheep discovered the limits of their efforts, finding the next broken section they had still not mended and leapt over it with nonchalant ease. And where she went, her comrades quickly followed.

  Meg jumped to her feet. ‘Oh, no, now we have a dozen sheep to get out of the field before we can start the wall again. Oh, Effie, we shouldn’t have stopped.’

  But Effie was rolling on the ground with laughter, holding her aching sides, the tears sliding down her thin cheeks. ‘You have to hand it to her, she’s sharp that one. Who says sheep are stupid?’

  Meg found herself laughing too. That was the good thing about Effie. She never let you take life too seriously.

  It had been arranged for Broombank and Ashlea sheep to be brought down from the fells together. The sheep from both farms would be compacted into one moving, seething mass, and, following the whistled instructions of the shepherds, the dogs would drive them from the heaf down the incline to be closer to the farm where they could more easily be sorted and supervised at lambing time.

  Meg had arrived early at Ashlea in good time for the gather, but Sally Ann seemed anxious to talk, for all it was scarcely four in the morning. The reason was soon made clear.

  ‘I’m expecting again.’

  ‘Oh, Sal, I’m so pleased.’ Meg hugged her sister-in-law. ‘You must take special care this time. I hope that brother of mine is looking after you.’

  ‘Oh, he is, he is.’ Sally Ann’s eyes grew soft. ‘He’ll hardly let me lift a finger. Always telling me to sit down and put me feet up. He even washed up for me the other day.’

  Meg’s eyes grew wide. ‘Is the end of the world nigh?’ Both girls laughed and hugged each other.

  ‘Is Dan ready for the gather?’

  Sally Ann let out a heavy sigh. ‘Joe insisted they leave earlier than usual, in case the weather should worsen. They set off an hour ago.’

  ‘But they said I was to be here early, four at the latest, and I am. It’s barely dawn.’

  ‘You know what Joe’s like when he gets an idea in his head.’

  Meg uttered a silent oath. Now she would have to climb up the fells and find them all by herself. Trust her father to make things difficult. She’d so wanted to be fully involved, show her worth, on this her first gather. As she walked she gazed at the wilderness stretching ahead. At the lonely, empty fells where silence could be felt, like a presence. At the colours smudged together by a dampening morning drizzle, grey crags poking like dry bones through a green baize cloth. She loved this country, even when, like today, the sky was heavy with cloud and a thick swirl of mist was collecting on the tops. Only slightly paler than the rocky outcrops were the clusters of sheep compacted together by bright-eyed collies, without whose skill the task would be impossible.

  It was not a good day for a gather.

  ‘Will we call it off?’ she asked her father when she finally achieved the top of Dundale Knott, leaning on a dry stone wall to catch her breath.

  Joe and Dan had already made a start on collecting the ewes from the high fells.

  ‘Not chickening out already, are we?’

  Dan chuckled. ‘She’s happen wet and tired and didn’t want to leave her bed.’

  ‘Shepherds don’t have time to sleep at lambing time, as she well knows,’ Joe said, speaking about Meg as if she weren’t standing right next to him.

  She clenched her hands and forced herself not to react. Meg had promised Sally Ann she wouldn’t fall out with her father and brother today. Besides, she couldn’t bring down the sheep on her own. Trouble was, Joe knew that.

  ;What would you like me to do then?’

  ‘Keep out o’road, that’s what. I’ve told thee afore, shepherding is not for women. It’s hard work.’

  Meg smiled, holding fast to her patience, wanting so much to get it right. ‘I’m not afraid of hard work, and I’m here now, so tell me what to do.’ Still Joe ignored her, his eyes intent on the sheep. ‘What’s that young cur doing now?’ He put a small flat whistle to his lips which he’d been forced to adopt since he got his false teeth. He gave two sharp blasts upon it. One dog shot smartly to the left and rounded up a few stragglers. ‘Away by,’ he shouted.

  Meg watched, impressed, as Ashlea dogs went about their work with professional expertise. A fell dog needed to be strong and have considerable stamina as well as absolute obedience, for he could cover anything from thirty to forty miles in a day. He’d be soaked and muddied by the peat, snagged by the spikes of heather and bracken. The sheep would be quick to take advantage of any sign of weakness and it was not uncommon for a ewe to charge a dog and butt it if she thought she could get away with i
t, so a dog’s personality too had to be strong.

  Joe walked away and followed his sheep, leaving his daughter to the buffeting wind.

  I see you fetched yon dog,’ said Dan, pointing his crook in the direction of Rust who was standing, legs foursquare beside her, eager to be off.

  I’ve brought three dogs, as you can see,’ she said, closer to tears than she dared to admit.

  Aye. Is that the young daft one that Lanky gave you last year? Has he done a gather afore?’

  ‘No, Will Davies brought the sheep down for me last backend, as you well know. But Rust is a good dog. He’s ready for work. Strong, intelligent and quick-thinking, as he’s supposed to be.’ As I am, she wanted to add.

  ‘Aye, well, I hope he doesn’t take it into his head to run off home when the going gets tough, as his mistress seems keen to do.’

  ‘He won’t. Nor will I. We’re both ready. Let’s get on with it, shall we?’

  As they set off walking together, Dan seemed to consider. ‘Did you see Sally Ann?’

  ‘Yes. She told me about the baby. I’m so pleased for her, Dan, and for you.’ She put a hand on her brother’s arm. ‘Take care of her. Don’t let Father bully her as he does me. Stand up to him for a change.’

  For once Dan didn’t argue but seemed seriously to consider what Meg was saying. ‘He’s not an easy man to defy.,

  ‘I know, but it has to be done if we’re to survive, and if Sally Ann is to stay well. He thinks he can dictate our lives to us and we mustn’t let him. You’re a married man now, Dan, with a wife and coming family to consider.’

  ‘Try telling him that. It’s all right for you, you have Broombank and can please yourself. I have only what he gives me.’ The resentment in his tone was bitter.

  ‘Let’s get on with the job in hand, shall we?’ Meg said, wishing to avoid an argument.