God's Acre

by Dee Yates

  The glass was covered in frost patterns. She held the candle close to melt a little of the frost and stared out into the blackness. At first she could see nothing. Then the back door of the farmhouse opened and someone came out carrying an oil lamp. It was Neil. She watched him as he crossed the yard and disappeared into the byre. What could he be doing? It was usually she who was first up and into the milking shed. She washed and dressed hurriedly.

  As she crossed the farmyard, she heard the unmistakable sound of a cow in distress. Rob Cunningham was there now, together with his son. They looked up as Jeannie entered.

  ‘Hello, Jeannie, lass,’ Rob said with a smile. ‘We’ve problems, I’m afraid, with this cow. She’s calving, but things aren’t going the right way just now. We’ve telephoned for the vet and he’s on his way. The best thing would be if you get on with the milking. There’s no’ many needing milked, with the others being in calf.’

  The cows had all been brought into the byre now that the weather had turned cold. It was not a big herd and, as Rob had said, several of them were now dry. Even so, it was a lot of work for one person. Jeannie, however, had taken a liking to this job. She loved to settle down with stall and bucket, resting the side of her head against the cow’s warm flank and listening to the soft tinkling of the milk as it hit the sides of the bucket.

  A crunching of wheels heralded the arrival of the vet. He came straight through to the byre, greeted the two farmers and nodded to Jeannie, before setting down his bag and preparing to examine the distressed animal. Jeannie watched as well as she was able. He was a young man who looked to be not long out of veterinary school. While he worked, the men expressed opinions about the current state of hostilities.

  ‘It’s very hard for farmers just now,’ Rob said. ‘Low manpower and high demand. Just about manageable – though, if the weather goes against us, we’ll be struggling and no mistake.’

  The vet gave a satisfied grunt. ‘That’s it turned. Pass me the ropes, Rob, and we’ll get this baby out.’ Jeannie watched as the vet fed the ropes in towards the calf. Then, with steady traction and a crescendo of noise from the expectant mother, the calf emerged, dropping limply into the straw. ‘A sturdy young heifer for you, Rob.’

  Rob cleaned the animal’s mouth and encouraged the mother to come close. Jeannie watch-ed from the neighbouring stall, spellbound, and only remembered what she was supposed to be doing when her cow gave the bucket an impatient kick and almost spilt its hard-won contents.

  Neil laughed. ‘Less of your dreaming. That was nearly your breakfast all over the byre floor.’

  ‘Let me introduce our land girl,’ Rob said. ‘This is Jeannie. Jeannie, this is James Campbell, the new vet in the practice.’ James Campbell finished drying his hands and came forward to shake Jeannie’s hand. ‘We couldn’t manage without her, could we, Neil?’

  ‘No, we certainly couldn’t,’ Neil agreed and winked at her.

  ‘Hopefully things will stay quiet this side of the Channel,’ James said, returning to their previous conversation, ‘and then we can all get back to doing what we are meant to be doing.’

  ‘Oh, I’d rather be here any day than working in a stuffy old library,’ Jeannie said and they all laughed.

  ‘Well, that’s me finished here.’ James stepped over to the pail of water and washed his hands and arms. He picked up his bag and turned to Jeannie. ‘Good to meet you,’ he smiled. ‘And if you don’t mind me saying, I can see you’ve a gey gentle way with cows. They respond well to your touch. Rob’s lucky to have you.’ He nodded goodbye and made his way into the farmyard.

  ‘What’s this, getting chatted up by the vet now, are you?’ Neil said in a low voice. ‘You better watch your step or I shall feel it only right to tell that boyfriend of yours what’s going on.’

  ‘Shut up, Neil!’ Jeannie said to his departing back as he went to join his father and the vet in the frosty dawn light.

  *

  At breakfast, talk was of ‘shawing’ the turnips.

  ‘The weather’s in our favour. It’s dry and we want the frosts, as long as we don’t wait for the ground to get too hard. I’ll harness up Rosie and we’ll get started. Are you ready for it, Jeannie?’ Rob rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  ‘Just tell me what I have to do. What’s “shawing”? I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘You pick each turnip out of the ground and top and tail it with a sickle,’ Neil replied. ‘Just count your fingers at the end of the day to make sure they’re still all there!’

  Agnes gave him a friendly cuff round the ears. ‘Don’t talk to the girl like that, son. She’ll no’ want to work for us any longer.’

  Jeannie was not long in finding out about shawing turnips. Rosie dragged the digger through the hard earth and the girl followed behind, picking up each turnip as the soil yielded it, and topping and tailing it with the sharp sickle. It was much harder than the description of it sounded. Sometimes she missed the vegetable altogether and cut into her glove, reaching the skin and drawing blood. By the end of the morning, her back was aching and blood was seeping through the fabric of her gloves.

  It was the same after dinner, only by then her back was sorer and her hands numb with cold. They carried on until the light began to fade, when Jeannie made her way gratefully to the byre. It felt warm in there. She hung the oil lamp from a hook on the wall and stopped to look at the new heifer and her mother. Already the calf was standing on sturdy legs and taking ample nourishment from her obliging parent. Jeannie smiled and, collecting her stool and bucket, started along the row of waiting cows.

  ‘That was a good start we made today,’ Rob announced at tea, leaning back in his chair in satisfaction. ‘If the weather continues like this, we should be finished by the end of the week.’

  The end of the week! Would she last that long? Jeannie thought, looking down at her hands hiding in her lap with their raw-red fingers and the scattering of small cuts that patterned her skin. She crawled upstairs, ran a bath and lay there easing the aching from her back and wondering when, in all this continual round of work, she was ever going to see Tam.

  23. McColl’s Farm

  November 1939

  It was never meant to be the land girl’s job to look after evacuee children, but wee Effie was feverish and their mother fully occupied in caring for her while at the same time hinting that the insanitary conditions of rural living had much to answer for. So Jeannie had offered to take care of the two boys, it being her Sunday afternoon off, and the rest of the family were relishing a quiet hour or two without the presence of exuberant children.

  The trip had been planned from the day that Jeannie suggested that she would like to see the McColl farm. But harvesting what remained of the corn had taken most of September, there being frequent intervals when the weather was too wet to proceed with the job. Then the potato and turnip harvesting meant that it was now well into November.

  Ian and Malcolm had become used to the outdoor life, in spite of their mother’s reluctance. Each day they had raced up the hill, along the road and down the mile of rough track to the school. There they joined children from the shepherds’ cottages dotted through the hills, all of them noisy and energetic despite the long walk. After several hours they would emerge full of excitement and eager to be back on the farm to see what had gone on in their absence.

  Ian, the older of the two boys at seven years, was the more self-contained and thoughtful. Malcolm, who was five and a half, was loud and assertive, frequently getting into mischief and dragging others along with him. Unlike his taller, slimmer brother, Malcolm was already broad-shouldered and strong, forever racing round the farmyard, scattering the chickens in all directions and causing the sheep to stampede across the fields with anxious bleats.

  Tam had arranged to meet Jeannie at the top of the hill as he biked home from the kirk. He could see her making her way slowly up the snaking track and, if he wasn’t mistaken, the two evacuee boys were with her. He waved and Jeann
ie, seeing him in the distance, waved back.

  ‘We’ve brought you some food,’ Malcolm piped up as soon as they were within hearing distance. ‘Jeannie thought you’d be hungry.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ Tam replied, catching Jeannie’s eye.

  ‘I hope you didn’t mind me bringing the boys,’ Jeannie said, ‘but their wee sister’s no’ so well and we thought it would give Alice a bit of peace.’

  ‘I see what you mean,’ Tam laughed, seeing Malcolm careering off along the rutted track. He unpacked his sandwiches and began to eat. Ian, quieter than his brother, followed on behind them. The track closely mirrored the meanderings of the river and, tracing its path back into the hills, it was just possible to see, in the far distance, the small white dwelling that was temporarily the boys’ school.

  ‘That was my school too,’ Tam said, turning to Ian. ‘I was five when I went there and fourteen when I left.’

  ‘Did you have to go on your own?’

  ‘No, pal. My older brother was there already. He’s two years older than me.’

  ‘Is there only the two of you? Do you no’ have sisters?’

  There was a pause. ‘No, no sisters.’

  When they reached the school, Malcolm had already arrived and was peering through the windows to see how it looked with no one in attendance. The next minute a stern voice made him jump and turn round in alarm.

  ‘So, it’s you, Malcolm McPherson. Wanting to come to school on a Sunday as well, are you?’

  ‘No thanks, Mrs Lawson,’ Malcolm replied emphatically. ‘We’re going to visit Tam’s father. He lives over there.’ The boy pointed vaguely at the bare hills.

  ‘On your way then, Malcolm.’ Mrs Lawson walked to the open schoolhouse door and waved him on. Malcolm waved, tripped and went slithering down the bank to land in the muddy edge of the river. Mrs Lawson shook her head with a resigned smile. ‘Incorrigible, that’s what he is. Just the same in class.’ She turned to go inside.

  ‘Malcolm!’ Jeannie scolded. ‘Can ye no’ keep yoursel’ clean for a few minutes at a time?’

  It seemed he couldn’t. He raced on, regardless of mud and puddles, of which there were plenty along the track.

  Jeannie laughed. ‘It’s fun having younger children around. I miss it, me being the youngest of the family. I had a letter from my mum a few days ago. She says my brothers have all enlisted. I can tell she’s really upset but proud of them as well.’ She paused. ‘And she’s still saying that my father wants me home. She always says that – “Your father wants you home” … as though she doesn’t. I’m not sure what she wants.’

  ‘You’re not going though, are you?’ Tam said quickly, taking her hand in his.

  ‘Not likely! My father tells me what I should be doing all the time, but I’m old enough to make up my own mind. And I’m helping with the war effort, so they shouldnae be complaining.’

  ‘My da’s a soldier. He’s away to France,’ Ian said from behind.

  ‘You must be very proud of him,’ Jeannie said.

  ‘Aye. He joined up with all his pals. Mam was no’ so keen though. She was crying when he left. Are you joining up, mister?’ He looked up with innocent eyes into Tam’s face.

  ‘I’m not sure, pal. You see, we need to make sure there’s enough food for everyone back here so they don’t starve. So some of us need to stay behind.’

  Shieldburn, which they were now approaching, was a low-lying cottage on the side of a burn that sparkled down the hill to the river twenty yards below. The porch was on the leeward side away from the prevailing wind. Tam pushed open the door and Malcolm rushed past him into the smoky room and came to an abrupt stop. Douglas McColl was asleep in a chair but opened one eye as the lad burst in.

  ‘Are you Tam’s dad?’ Malcolm asked without introduction, going to stand at his side.

  ‘I am… and who are you?’

  ‘I’m Malcolm and this is my brother Ian. Our home’s in Glasgow. And this house is very small and smoky.’

  ‘And you’ve got a lot to say for yourself, pal.’ He looked up and saw Jeannie and levered himself out of the chair. ‘I didn’t see you standing there, lass. Come and sit down. You must be Robert’s new land girl.’

  ‘Not so new now. But yes, I’m Jeannie.’ She perched on the edge of the chair on the other side of the smoky fire and looked at the shepherd. He stared back at her from a face wrinkled by years of battling with wind and rain and other things of which she could know little. 'Ian, Malcolm - away and explore outside,' Jeannie said to the boys, already restless at being confined in such a small space. 'No touching the machinery, mind, or you'll have Mr McColl to answer to.' The boys flung open the door and were away in an instant, leaving Jeannie to close it softly behind them. ‘I’m sorry to wake you from your afternoon nap,' she continued. 'It’s only that the boys needed a walk. Their wee sister is feverish and their mum needed them out from under her feet. They’ve come from Glasgow while the war is on.’

  ‘Aye. So I’ve heard. And how are they liking it out here in the countryside?’

  ‘The lads like it well enough, but their mum no’ so much. She says the countryside is unhygienic with flies and midges and nasty smells! She claims they’ll catch all sorts while they’re here.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard of the big cities, they’re much more likely to catch all sorts there and bring it here! What about you, hen – where’s your home?’

  ‘My parents stay in Fife, but I was working in Glasgow and staying with my aunt and uncle. I liked it there… but I like it here too.’ She shot a glance at Tam.

  ‘Put the kettle on, Tam, why don’t you? Let’s have a cup of tea. And Annie has made some griddle scones, if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘Let me do it.’ Jeannie jumped up from the chair and set about filling the kettle from a bucket in the corner of the room. She set it on the stove, where it hissed and spat as spilled water seeped onto the hot surface. All the time, Douglas watched the swift, capable movements of the girl before him.

  ‘She puts me in mind of your mother,’ he said suddenly.

  Tam started. Douglas seldom spoke of his dead wife. He glanced at his father and noticed that his eyes, fixed on the girl, were shining with tears.

  Jeannie was brushing crumbs off the table before searching for the tea caddy, cups and saucers, sugar and a milk jug and setting out the scones in a dainty arrangement on a decorated plate that looked as though it had once been one of a set. She poured water into the teapot and placed it on the table. She hesitated, as though considering whether to ask the question that was waiting to be asked, then went on, ‘How long is it since your wife died?’

  ‘It’s six years, hen. We were out in the snow rescuing sheep. It was a bad winter for snow, ken. We’d been out since first light. When we got back in the evening, she wasnae there. We found her the next day… dead in the snow.’

  Tam heard him in silence. His father’s words were but a bare sketch of the events that had surrounded that dreadful day, but that he had spoken of it at all was so out of character that he was shocked.

  Their silence was broken by the rattle of the door latch as Malcolm burst in.

  ‘Is there anything to eat? I’m starving.’

  ‘Malcolm! Where’s your manners?’ Jeannie frowned at him.

  ‘Sorry. But I’m still hungry.’

  ‘Give them a scone or two,’ Douglas McColl said. ‘Here, pal. Take two for you and two for your brother. Away now and play outside again.’

  ‘We’ve found the river. I’m throwing stones in to dam it up and make a pond. Come and see it, Jeannie. Come and see what we've found.’

  Jeannie excused herself and followed Malcolm outside. At the back of the cottage, past an unkempt square of rough grass surrounded by out-buildings, was an open gate. Malcolm was already through the gate and careering down an uneven slope to the river. She could see Ian already by the river, searching in the water for stones laced with quartz. She joined the older boy an
d watched his brother skimming stones and exploring the bank for holes that might house water rats or even otters.

  She left the boys playing, climbed the slope and was crossing the yard when someone came out of the barn to her right. It was Tam’s brother, Alan.

  ‘Well now! What a lovely surprise. I didn’t know we were having visitors.’

  Jeannie laughed. ‘I came to see the farm. Tam invited me. I’ve been down the hill to the river with the boys.’

  ‘So I can see.’ Alan gazed at her muddy boots in amusement. ‘So what do you think of the McColl mansion?’

  ‘It's ... well, it’s wild out here, isn’t it?’

  ‘Wait till you see it in winter. It’s a lot wilder then. Come in, come in and see where all the work is done’ He turned and made his way back into the barn and she followed him. ‘It's a lot smaller than where you’re working but here on the moors we can’t rear more than sheep. It's too bleak for cows and the ground is too poor to grow anything worth eating. Here in the barn is where we do the shearing and look after the machinery.’

  ‘What does Fiona think about the farm?’

  ‘Fiona? Well, it's not a patch on her parents’ place of course. I’m sure she wouldnae like to live out here.’

  ‘Oh, I thought you two were serious.’

  ‘Not that serious – not when there are other pretty girls around who are much more attractive.’

  Jeannie raised her eyes to his and saw the questioning smile on his face. She looked away quickly, her cheeks burning. ‘I need to go,’ she said quickly.

  *

  ‘We need to go soon,’ Jeannie said to Douglas, when she had returned to the smoky living room. She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘It’s a fair walk back and it’s dark so early now.’

  ‘Aye. We live a long way out, though there’s some live further still. It’s no easy living, to be sure. The weather can be gey bad and you’ll no’ find any shops this side of the village, not like you’ll find in Glasgow. Anyway, hen, drink your tea and have one of those scones.’