by Jean Chapman
He had gathered over the years, as children do, that there had been much pressure on his mother to return to her own family, particularly when he and John were small and Joe’s smithy was struggling to keep going.
Cato remembered a poem he knew his mother had written, for it was inscribed with her name and written in the back of a book his father had bought. Having thought of the poem, he could not rest until he had left the sitting room, the one room in any kind of order, and gone to search among the chests of books upstairs. It was tedious work by the flame of his candle, but at last he found the volume, The Thousand Best Poems in the World. He decided to go to bed, and took the book and the candle to his room.
In the front cover were the words ‘Xmas 1911. To Ruth, from her Darling Joe’, and in the back, where pages were left blank for the owner to ‘write or paste any Gem of Poetry in that you may come across’, was the poem called very simply ‘Joe’. It was shorter than he remembered, just twelve lines in his mother’s younger, rounder hand:
He is my whole life,
I am complete.
In new passions he cradles me,
As strange paths I tread.
Separate we are but two,
Together, greater than the whole.
Why should worldly good pertain,
To a love God ordained?
Joined now inseparably,
By our two sons,
I triumph in Joe’s love,
Until my life ends.
Cato found his heart beating faster as he re-read the first verse. Somehow he had never before associated his parents with passion, with falling in love. He lay back on his pillow, realising for the first time how difficult it must have been for his parents to come together, to make their declarations and then to stay together. He found comfort in their story - a love, a home, a family, achieved against much opposition. He laid the book face down beside him, but thought wryly that, even so, he did not remember hearing of firearms being used to try to keep his parents apart.
He recalled the shot shattering the bottle - pale green glass flying like splintered ice across the scorched pathway. Then he thought of the beat of Belle’s fists on his chest. ‘You fool! I hate you!’ Her declaration of… love? Of caring, anyway. His lips half described a smile as he turned for sleep.
Thoughts were, it seemed, as much as Cato was to be allowed, for in spite of many unnecessary walks to the village during the next two weeks, and long evening excursions in the vicinity of their mutual boundary, he neither saw nor heard anything of Belle, or of any member of the Greenaugh family. The milking herd had obviously been moved down to pasture nearer the farm, and once the new fencing had been finished, and an unseasonal attempt made at layering some of the thinner remaining hedges, Cato had not even seen a labourer from Hall Farm.
Then, as his father (who never refused any work that could show fair profit) was given a removal job from a nearby country house to the south coast, he found himself detailed to take the steam-tractor and open trailers on the forage run to the army remount depot in the cast of the county. Joe had previously supplied the depot when they lived in Norfolk, but now Cato had to make contact with a whole new group of farmers in the neighbourhood who had surplus hay for sale.
The hay was bought, cut from the stack, bound into trusses and loaded on the trailers and towed to the army barracks, where the hay-trussers lined up with their engines, waggons or carts for the provender major, who came to inspect the hay before it was bought in. It was hard toil, as well as often being a lengthy and infuriatingly chancy business. Hay could often be rejected for little or no good reason, and many were the stories of the same hay being taken back the day after rejection, only to pass at the second try. The provender major’s test consisted of plunging in a pronged stick, twisting a few pieces from the middle of a load and nibbling at it himself, before either accepting or rejecting it as fit for the army’s horses.
A full week away at this work left Cato feeling he would rather have made the three-week trip driving the new Clayton steam-engine and the landed gentry’s furniture - for he still had no news of Belle.
He resolved to have an end to the waiting and the wondering. He had learned that Levi Adams had a reputation as a shrewd judge or horses and of horse-dealers, so he could find a valid reason for consulting him. He had also learned that Levi lived in a tied cottage on the Hall Farm side of the spinney which straddled the path.
Cato made his way through a rough undergrowth of dried ferns and falling leaves until he could see the thatch of a cottage roof, then he circled round until he came upon a hard-trodden path, telling of the old man’s daily treks to his work place. The cottage was as good and neat a labourer’s home as one could hope to find. It stood under the curving brow of the spinney, well thatched, as was the nearby well-head. There was a front gate that swung easily on its hinges between neatly layered thorn hedges.
He came upon Levi as he sat stripping pods of seed peas from the dried stalks of the season’s crop. Levi looked up and saw Cato. If he was surprised he did not show it, and Cato felt it put him at a curious disadvantage.
‘You won’t mind my calling …’ he began. Levi raised his eyebrows and indicated the other end of the rough-hewed bench set against the cottage wall. ‘My father is looking for a reliable hack for my mother. I understand you have a good knowledge of what’s on the market locally.’
‘Well, now, I don’t know … I haven’t covered as much ground as you have this last few weeks!’ Levi retorted.
Cato nodded, accepting the mild derision. He knew that in a small community any ‘sightings’ would be noted and discussed. But then, as he had hoped, once Levi’s mind was directed towards his favourite subject, he began to talk.
‘Always horses of a sort on the market,’ he said, but as he learned of Cato’s mother being an experienced horsewoman in her young days, he rubbed his chin muttering about wanting something ‘steady, but not too docile.’
‘If your father wants me to keep my eyes open for something, I will.’ Levi stooped to spread his seed peas out on a sheet of newspaper in the bottom of his wooden wheelbarrow, then added, ‘Now we’ll have a drop of my home brew, and you can tell me why you’re really here.’
Levi bought a brown earthenware quart jug and two pewter tankards to the bench, reminiscing as he poured out the ale with its great head of froth. ‘I remember the time when Hall Farm brewed eighteen-gallon barrels of this, one barrel for every day’s harvesting and threshing. And we got through it!’
‘I haven’t seen any of the family recently …’
‘No. You wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be entertaining you, if you had.’
‘They’re away?’
Levi laughed at the disappointment in the young man’s voice. ‘Aye. Every year after harvest they go north to Mrs Greenaugh’s sister’s place. Been hustled off a bit early this year, though. Big hill farm they have, just sheep and three sons,’ Levi chortled. ‘Miss Belle says her cousins are more addle-pated than the sheep.’ He took a deep draught of his beer, adding in a more dire tone, ‘They’re nastier, that’s for sure!’
‘Nastier?’
‘Like a pack of rogue dogs, either fighting among themselves or banding together to tear someone else apart. Take after their father- he can be a violent man.’ Levi shook his head. ‘The old gaffer, William Hall, reckoned his daughters had married a couple of strange men, and I reckon he’s right!’ He was thoughtful for a moment or two, drinking deeply again, then added, ‘Trouble was, of course, they were both such plain gels, else they might have married well, into some of the country lot, perhaps. Then another strange thing, they both go and marry what you would say were real good-looking men, “strange but ’andsome”, that’s what my missus used to call ’em. ’Andsome is as ’andsome does, I reckon.’ He stopped and shook his head sadly. ‘O’ course, if either their mother or my lass had lived longer, they’d have had a woman’s hand to guide ’em
The old man seemed likely
to become quite morbid, and as he went to refill the quart jug Cato decided not to risk sympathising about Mrs Adams, and he wanted to know about the future, not about the past.
‘How long does the visit last?’ he asked as the tankards were being refilled.
‘Now listen, mi boy.’ Levi stopped pouring and was very serious. ‘You take my advice and forget Miss Belle. No good’ll come of it, you take my word. Sam Greenaugh is a good master to me. If he has the ordering of a body, both you and he are all right, but if you cross him - well, I tell you, you’ll be all wrong.’
Levi’s judgment needed no stress or emotion in his words or tone - he stated a fact. But Cato persisted, ‘How long?’
‘Don’t you do anything to hurt that young lady,’ Levi gently warned. ‘She’m been a grandchild to me … one I should often have liked to spank, mind.’
Cato grinned at him, knowing exactly what he meant, and Levi’s face was suddenly very solemn. He made a noise in his throat like a doctor finding confirmation of a disease he had previously only suspected.
‘I’ll be surprised if gaffer’s not back for the October Fair. Expect they’ll all come for that - be quite a houseful…’ he said shortly, then leaned back against the brick which still held the day’s heat.
The sun was setting in a violent blaze of colour over the far reaches of Hall Farm meadows. ‘It’s gone down looking just like a blast furnace for weeks now - it can’t last.’ Levi shook his head at the distant aweful splendour. ‘It must break soon. Then we’ll have some storms, you wait!’
5
‘See this.’ His father’s arm came over Cato’s shoulder, indicating the large advertisement in the weekly farming newspaper. ‘Sam Greenaugh breeds Clydesdales, they tell me.’ He drew his hand away from the paper and, letting it lie on his son’s shoulder for a moment, added, ‘I’m thinking of hiring a stand at that fair to advertise ourselves, take the two agricultural engines in, see if we can get a few ploughing contracts. Must make the business cover the men’s wages, if nothing more, while we get established here.’
‘Good idea,’ Cato approved, conscious that his father had delicately given him the chance to veto the idea. He turned back to the newspaper to read the advertisement:
REGISTERED CLYDESDALE STALLION
on show at the October Fair
For a limited number of Clydesdale Marcs this season ‘KING OF THE DALES’ will travel the area.
At £5 each Mare, and 10s. the Groom.
‘KING’ in his only Showings in the last two years has taken two first major prizes. Was got by ‘BARON’, a horse well known locally for his weight size and activity and exceptional good qualities of feet and limbs.
Will travel after the Fair as follows:-
Monday — Will leave home at 7 o’clock through Rodborough to the Green Man at Morbrough to the Black Horse at Loncote and return that night through Chapford and Damsfield.
Wednesday — Will leave home at 7 o’clock through Earl Mart and be at the Crown Inn, Packham, from 10 to 3 and return home via the Old Banbury Way.
Friday — Will leave home at 7 o’clock through Dawnington, travelling along the High Cross turnpike to the Dun Cow at Armsville from 1 to 3 and return home through Mancote.
At Home the greater part of Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and no business on Sunday.
It would be a certain attraction for Sam Greenaugh, Cato thought with a growing feeling of excitement, but how to arrange to meet Belle? Levi Adams seemed the obvious answer, but he did not want to involve the old man. He had once witnessed the forcible removal of an old couple from a tied cottage, and would never forget the sound of the cart as it rumbled away to take the worn-out man and woman to the workhouse. He had been too young to know what it meant, but the woman’s hidden face and the old man’s silent tears had ever since reminded him of victims of the French Revolution being taken in tumbrils to their terrible fate. He could not risk Levi Adams falling foul of his employer. Whatever risk there was, he must take it himself.
Just four days before the fair, when Joe had his men touching up and polishing the two agricultural engines to a state they had never been in since they were new, Cato’s brother John came with the news that the Greenaughs were back.
‘With company,’ he said, his round amiable face breaking into a self-conscious grin, ‘although they looked more like reinforcements - three hulking young men and an equally hefty-looking father.’
‘If they’re looking for trouble, they can have it,’ Joe commented, ‘but it’ll be of their making. I’m looking for business not fisticuffs.’ He turned significantly to the Evans brothers, whose looks of eager anticipation immediately faded as they went back to their polishing with a new energy.
Cato, eager to be alone to try to form some kind of plan, felt his brother was deliberately dogging his footsteps all that day. Even in the evening when he set off with his gun ‘to see what sport there is on our new land, ‘John insisted on accompanying him.
‘I know you didn’t want me to come,’ John said as they walked away from the house.
‘Well?’ Cato questioned, but had to smile. John had the directness as well as the appearance of their father.
‘Just that all the men are saying you’re taken with … that girl …’
Cato did not attempt to help John, who was talking himself into some state of embarrassment. He could well imagine that the Evanses had been pulling the younger man’s leg about girls in general, and about Belle in particular. He wondered how much experience his brother, at twenty, had so far managed. The war had broadened his own knowledge in many ways. He thought wryly of a girl, Betty Bucker, who had driven ambulances and could find more uses for a stretcher than carrying wounded. He had been astonished that any woman was like that, but he kept his surprise to himself. It became a crude joke as to whether injuries were ‘a Betty’ or ‘a Blighty’. His foot caught up a late-seeding dandelion and the tiny feathery parachutes drifted away before them. Infinitely difficult to capture and keep unspoilt, he thought, as John made a wild casual sweep at one.
‘Remember I saw Belle Greenaugh first.’ He tried to make the remark flippant, but his voice betrayed him with huskiness.
‘That’s all right,’ John answered. ‘She saw me at the house. I was given the once-over and then ignored.’ Cato laughed, but John nodded seriously. ‘But anything I can do to help … and you might just need it - having seen her relations!’
‘I daren’t write to her, because her father might meet the postman,’ Cato said, ‘but I must see her, I must find out …’ The sudden ache in his heart surprised him as he put thoughts into words. ‘If I could get a message to her …’
‘Do you know which is her bedroom?’John asked.
‘Well, no, of course not.’ He turned to his brother, who grinned back at him, and said, ‘It’ll be dark soon.’
The sun set, looking like the reflection of some distant battle, reminding Cato of an artillery barrage at dusk. The colours of war could be splendid as well as awesome. He watched the last line of the sun’s rim slip below the horizon then said to his brother, ‘Wait here for me.’
‘What! And let you have all the fun? No chance, brother.’ He sloped his gun over his shoulder and stood waiting for Cato to take the lead. For a time the only sounds were the crack of twigs beneath their feet, and their own breathing, but before they were anywhere near Hall Farm they could hear a dog barking furiously. ‘That’s useful,’ John commented. ‘They won’t worry if it barks when we get there.’
Keep close, use the hedges as guides on the way back,’ Cato instructed, ‘and keep your voice down now.’ He regretted having started this expedition with his younger brother in tow, it seemed to lend an air of a Church Lads Brigade outing to a purpose he was desperately intent on and serious about.
As they approached the back of the house, lights showed from most of the downstairs windows, but none from upstairs. ‘Watch the back and wait for me, either here or at the spinney, if anything goes
wrong,’ Cato whispered, leaning a restraining hand on John’s shoulder. His brother gave him a quick pat of acquiescence, and they parted company.
Cato circled the house and farmyard, where, his eyes well used to the dark, he could make out the dog lunging backwards and forwards on a chain in the yard-wall, barking with a fretful fury, as if it was not used to being banished out of doors. It paused suddenly, listened and scented the air, then it began its clamour again, but this time the barking had a different, more purposeful air.
Cato moved away from the yard and took up watch behind a huge walnut tree in the middle of a lawn, where he could see all the front bedroom windows. He was prepared for a long wait, but even as he lodged a shoulder against the tree, he saw a light flickering and brightening in the window immediately above the front door. Someone was going upstairs. The light disappeared momentarily as it was carried into the bedroom to the left. His heart began to beat more and more powerfully as he saw it was Belle who carried the candlestick.
She hesitated for a moment, as if uncertain how to occupy herself, then put the candle down. She seemed to be regarding herself in a mirror, posing this way and that, fey and intriguing, as her movements made the candle gutter. Then she was out of his sight, darting away so suddenly it made his heart jump with disappointment. He willed her back. She mustn’t leave her room until he had spoken to her!
He bent and ran his hand around on the turf to find a pebble. It took him a few seconds, then he found several together. He had straightened, left his cover and gone forward to where he could throw at the window, when Belle reappeared. He caught his breath in admiration, and he stood in the middle of the lawn gazing up at her. She had taken off her dress and stood revealed in a white silky slip. In front of the mirror again, she began to measure herself with a tape. First her bust - under the bust, then over her breasts - breathing in deeply. Cato tried to swallow; he found it difficult. The tape then went round her waist. With shoulders lifting and stomach pulled in, the measure was taken as tight as could be. She seemed satisfied about where first finger and thumb pinched the measure. Now it was the turn of the hips; the result seemed all right, if nothing to be terribly excited about.