The Farm Beneath the Water

by Helen Peters

  “The land on which we are proposing to site the reservoir,” he continued, “is currently a tenanted farm.”

  Another slide appeared. Hannah frowned. It was a photo of Springbank Meadow, a field below the wood. In the spring and summer, it was a mass of wild flowers. But this picture had clearly been taken in midwinter, and the field looked like a sea of mud.

  “As you can see,” he said, “the land is of poor quality and unproductive.”

  He clicked to another picture, this time of Bracken Field, again bare and muddy.

  “That’s so unfair,” Hannah hissed to Lottie. “If they showed those fields in summer they’d be completely different.”

  The next was of Stream Field in the same state.

  “The site,” he said, “is currently unattractive…”

  Hannah gasped in indignation.

  “…as can be seen here.”

  Up flashed a slide showing the heap of junk behind the old cow stalls, a rusting mess of tangled barbed wire, old plastic containers and scrap metal.

  Hannah seethed with rage. How dare he just show the mud and the mess? All farms had mess. All farms were muddy in winter. What about the hedgerows full of blossom, the sheep with their lambs, the kingfishers by the stream?

  The next slide showed an area of ground covered with ash and blackened steel struts. It was the remains of the burned-out barn.

  “The buildings are neglected,” he said, “and the house is practically uninhabitable.”

  Up flashed a series of pictures of the farmhouse: close-ups of the exterior, showing peeling paint, loose guttering and crumbling mortar.

  Uninhabitable? How dare he?

  Hannah glanced at Dad’s profile. His cheeks were red and his eyes were creased in a deep frown.

  The next photograph showed the muddiest gateway on the farm, the one where half a gate hung jagged off its hinges and the ground was completely churned up by animals’ hooves.

  “As can be seen,” Nick Constable drawled, “what we have here is poor-quality, poorly maintained agricultural land…”

  Poorly maintained! Hannah thought of how hard her dad worked every day of his life to look after his farm and she wanted to punch Nick Constable very hard where it would hurt him most.

  “…but which, being a heavy, clay-based soil, is ideal for water storage.”

  Ideal for water storage? Hannah felt sick.

  “In conclusion,” he said, “the site has been carefully chosen to have minimum impact on the environment and the local population.”

  Hannah wanted to scream at him. Minimum impact! What right did he have to stand up there and say things like that?

  But a part of her, a part she didn’t want to listen to, knew there was some truth in his words. It wouldn’t really affect anyone except them, would it? She could see why, in many people’s eyes, it would be an ideal site for a reservoir.

  “We are, of course, still at the beginning of the process,” continued Nick Constable. “The surveys which we are undertaking may well identify further social and environmental benefits which a new reservoir scheme could deliver.”

  Dad snorted. “Environmental benefits, my foot,” he muttered.

  Up flashed the opening picture again, the one of the tranquil sunny lake surrounded by happy couples and frolicking water sports enthusiasts. Nick Constable left it on the screen while he turned to the eight people in the audience.

  “And now,” he said, “I shall be delighted to answer any questions you may have.”

  Jonah’s dad raised his hand.

  “What I want to know,” he said, “is what opportunities there are going to be for local people to get involved in this reservoir project. Are there going to be jobs?”

  Nick Constable smiled. “That’s an excellent question. Thank you, sir. And yes, I’m happy to say that there will be many jobs created in the construction of the reservoir. It’s a multimillion-pound project and will provide considerable employment opportunities.”

  “In the short term, maybe,” Dad called out, making Hannah jump. “But those jobs won’t be there any more once the reservoir’s built.”

  “I would appreciate it,” said Nick Constable, “if anybody wishing to comment could raise their hand.” He turned back to Jonah’s dad. “And, of course, the leisure facilities that the reservoir provides will also create long-term employment opportunities, providing a real economic boost to the local area.”

  The fuzzy-haired lady raised her hand.

  “The land that you want to destroy to build your reservoir is absolutely full of wildlife as well as being a productive working farm. There’s no way a reservoir could possibly provide any ‘environmental benefits’ that outweigh what’s already there.”

  Nick Constable smiled his fake smile again. “We are of course undertaking extensive surveys of flora and fauna at the site. To date, however, our findings have shown no wildlife of any significance.”

  “No wildlife?” whispered Lottie. “What about the birds?”

  Hannah felt deflated. Maybe the birds that Lottie’s dad raved so much about weren’t so rare after all. Maybe every farm had the same sort of birds.

  Dad stood up.

  “Having spent all my life farming the land you’re proposing to flood,” he said, his voice tight with anger, “I’d be very interested to see these surveys.”

  Nick Constable smiled again. Hannah itched to smack his smooth, smug face.

  “As our surveys are still ongoing,” he said, “we are unable to make any results available to the general public as yet.”

  “I’m not talking about the general public,” said Dad. “I’m talking about common courtesy. That land is my home and my livelihood. It was my parents’ livelihood. It ought to be my children’s livelihood.”

  Nick Constable’s mouth was fixed in a thin smile. “As soon as the findings are properly analysed, they will of course be made available to all interested stakeholders. And we shall, of course, actively seek to maximise the opportunities that a reservoir presents to create wildlife habitats and enhance the biodiversity of the area.”

  Dad gave an incredulous snort. “Enhance the biodiversity of the area! You’re talking rubbish and you know it.”

  Jonah’s dad put up his hand. Dad sat down and folded his arms.

  “Will there be fishing?” asked Jonah’s dad.

  Nick Constable’s smile widened. “Absolutely. We are proposing to stock the reservoir with a large number of freshwater fish, thus providing an unrivalled environment for anglers.”

  The couple in the third row, who had been quiet so far, turned towards each other, and Hannah saw the interested looks on their faces.

  “And windsurfing and sailing?” asked the youngish man in the middle of the room.

  “Indeed. Our past experience indicates that there is likely to be considerable support for the enhanced leisure opportunities that a reservoir can provide, not to mention the enormous benefit to the local economy in a rural area like this.”

  “Leisure opportunities?” said Dad, in a tone of utter disgust. “It’s a working farm, not a leisure opportunity.”

  Hannah sat silent, buried in misery.

  The old lady in the second row raised her hand.

  “Yes?” said Nick Constable. His smile made Hannah want to knock his gleaming white teeth out.

  “There’s been a leaking mains pipe at the end of my road for more than three months now. Shouldn’t you be fixing your leaks before you destroy a farm to build a reservoir?”

  Nick Constable’s reply was full of technical terms and figures and statistics. Hannah didn’t listen. She couldn’t get the picture out of her head of her farm buried underwater.

  Dad stood up again.

  “Are you going to show us the map you’ve drawn up showing exactly how much land you’re planning to take for your reservoir?”

  “We’re still at a very early stage of our investigations,” said Nick Constable smoothly. “As soon as we have any map, we
will obviously make it available to all interested stakeholders, but, as yet, we don’t have any detailed design or maps.”

  Hannah sprang to her feet. “Liar!” she shouted.

  Nick Constable’s smile disappeared.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Every face had turned to Hannah.

  “I know you have a map,” she said, “because I’ve seen it.”

  The thin smile returned. He spoke as if he were talking to a five-year-old. “I don’t think you have.”

  Hannah trembled with anger. “I live at Clayhill Farm and one of your survey people dropped some pieces of paper. I picked them up and they were maps showing the borders of the reservoir. So I know you have maps. You just don’t want to show them to us.”

  He gave a fake laugh. “I think you must be mistaken. You’ve clearly misinterpreted something you saw.”

  “There was writing at the bottom,” said Hannah. “It said, Middleham Reservoir. Area to be flooded.”

  Everyone looked at Nick Constable. He gave a short laugh.

  “I think you must have misread something and taken it quite out of context. Our surveyors may have made some tentative sketches, perhaps, but certainly nothing concrete. I don’t think there’s any need to waste more time over this.”

  But Hannah was beside herself now. How dare he belittle her and make her look stupid? She knew what she had seen.

  “And it’s not true that there’s no significant wildlife at the farm,” she cried. “There are some really rare birds. My friend’s dad’s seen them. What are you going to do about that?”

  He smiled indulgently. “Your friend’s father has seen rare birds?” he repeated in a mocking tone. “Well, how can our expert surveys possibly compete with that sort of evidence?”

  Lottie jumped up. “There are rare birds. My dad’s been surveying them for years. And he’s not just some random amateur; he’s a member of the British Ornithological Society.”

  “Well,” said Nick Constable, looking as though he was enjoying himself now, “how selfish of us to disturb the birds by trying to ensure that the people of Sussex have an adequate supply of running water to their houses.” He paused, putting on a thoughtful look. “I wonder what we should do about those birds. If only they could fly. Then they would be able to find other places to live.” He smiled broadly at the audience, and this time his smile seemed thoroughly genuine. “Wouldn’t it be nice, ladies and gentlemen, if birds could fly?”

  There was a ripple of laughter. Nick Constable looked extremely pleased with himself.

  “If there are no more questions, I think we’ll draw things to a close. Thank you all very much for coming. I hope you’ve found the evening interesting and informative.”

  * * *

  Hannah tried to read Dad’s face as they walked to the car. What was he feeling?

  “Were you upset?” she asked eventually.

  “Upset? What do you mean?”

  “By all those horrible things he said about the farm, of course.” She couldn’t bear to repeat the actual words, but they were burned on her brain. Poor quality … poorly maintained … unattractive … uninhabitable.

  Dad gave a contemptuous snort. “Oh, that’s just the way these people behave.”

  “But what if everyone believes them?”

  “Well, that’s why we’re getting all this evidence together. Bats and birds and the like.”

  “But they’ll just say their surveys are right and yours are wrong, won’t they?”

  Dad stopped. “Blast, I left my jacket in there. You get in the car. I won’t be a second.”

  He headed back to the hall and the girls got into the car.

  Footsteps sounded on the tarmac. The locks on a nearby car clicked open and the lights flashed. They heard Nick Constable’s voice, speaking into a mobile phone.

  “Oh yes, very straightforward,” he was saying. “Just a few locals with nothing better to do. Absolutely nothing to worry about. Like I said, it’s the perfect site. And with the landlord in favour, too…”

  There was a pause while he listened to the person on the other end of the phone. He laughed.

  “Yes, old Farmer Giles was there. Brought his kids along, would you believe? Oh, he wittered on a bit, but he’s got enough to do holding that mess of a farm together. He’s not going to have the energy to put up a fight.”

  Hannah stared at Lottie, fury bubbling up inside her. Lottie sat motionless, listening.

  The person on the other end of the phone was speaking again. Nick Constable laughed. “It’ll be a piece of cake, this one. Easiest reservoir deal I’ve ever made.”

  He opened his car door, the phone still held to his ear. But as he was about to get in, Hannah sprang out of the car and marched over to face him. He looked briefly startled, but he quickly rearranged his features.

  “We heard every word you just said,” said Hannah, her voice unsteady with anger. “You think you know everything, don’t you? But you don’t know us. We’re not some stupid country bumpkins you can trample all over. We’re going to fight you every step of the way. You’ll see. You’re not going to win this one.”

  “I’ll call you later,” said Nick Constable into his phone. He removed it from his ear and put it in his pocket.

  “Did you hear what I said?” asked Hannah. “You won’t win.”

  The patronising smile was back on his face. “You were at that meeting. You saw as well as I did what the situation is. So I think you’ll find that we’ve already won. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home.”

  He slid into the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut. The engine started up.

  Hannah marched back to Dad’s car, tingling with adrenalin. Lottie was standing by the car door, staring at her.

  “No one’s going to fight it, huh?” said Hannah. “That’s what he thinks.”

  Lottie paused. Then she said, “Well, who is, though, really? I mean, he’s kind of right, isn’t he? Look at that meeting tonight. It doesn’t seem like many people care.”

  “Well, I care. They think they can lie to us and do whatever they want and no one’s going to have the guts to stand up to them. We can’t let them get away with it.”

  “How can you stop them, though?”

  “I don’t know. But you saw what he was doing tonight. The water company’s only telling one side of the story. I’m going to have to tell the other side. Because nobody else is telling it.”

  “What about your dad? He’s protesting against it.”

  Hannah made an impatient gesture. “He’s written a few letters and he’s asking people to do surveys, but Aqua don’t care about that, do they? No, I’m going to have to think of another way.”

  Lottie looked at the ground. She thinks I’m mad, thought Hannah. She thinks it’s pointless. And maybe it is. But I can’t just sit around doing nothing while Aqua destroys the farm.

  Lottie raised her head. “I’ll help you.”

  Hannah stared at her. “Really?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. Of course I will.”

  Hannah threw her arms around Lottie and hugged her tight. “You’re such a good friend.”

  “But what can we do?” asked Lottie, when Hannah let her go.

  “I don’t know yet,” said Hannah. “But we have to stop them somehow. Because if we don’t…”

  She couldn’t finish that sentence. The picture flashed into her mind, of her farm buried beneath a cold grey sheet of water. She forced it away. Into her head came something her granny had once said to her.

  “We’ll think of something,” she said. “We’ll find a way.”

  From the centre of the school hall, Hannah cast a critical eye over the stage.

  “Millie, could you take a step forward? Great. And, James, go down on one knee? Grace, move stage right of Harry. Perfect. And Miranda will stand there, when she turns up.”

  It was Wednesday lunchtime and the entire cast, except Miranda, was assembled on stage. They took up the
whole space, in an arrangement carefully designed to look casual. Some people stood, some knelt. Some were in clusters, some in pairs, some on their own. All had their backs to the audience.

  “Right,” said Hannah. “Jack will play some Elizabethan music – where is Jack, by the way?”

  She glanced over her shoulder in case he had shown up since she last checked.

  He hadn’t.

  “Anyway, it’s the start of the play, the curtains will be closed, you’ll all come on stage and get into position exactly as you are now, backs to the audience, looking at the floor. Then the curtains will open, the lights will go up and, on Jack’s sound cue, you turn to face the audience, raise your heads and start the Prologue in unison. As we haven’t got the music, I’ll count you in this time.”

  On the count of three, all twenty-five people turned to face the audience, raised their heads and began Shakespeare’s Prologue to Romeo and Juliet.

  “Two households, both alike in dignity,

  In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

  From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

  Where—”

  The rest of the line was drowned out by a burst of deafening rock music played through the speakers at top volume.

  “Jack!” yelled Hannah.

  Jack looked up from the sound system, turned the music down and raised his hand in greeting.

  “Hey, Roberts. Was that the sort of thing you wanted?”

  “Oh yes, it’s perfect. It’s only wrong by about four centuries, that’s all.”

  Jack shrugged. “Oh well, if you’re going to be that fussy…”

  “Have you actually found any Elizabethan music?”

  “Not exactly. I thought this might liven things up a bit.”

  Hannah could feel Lottie’s I-told-you-so look burning into the back of her head. Blast Jack. Why did he always have to prove Lottie right?

  “Jack, we don’t have much time. Are you going to do the music properly or should we ask someone else?”

  “All right, chill out, I’ll find you some boring stuff.”

  “Do you have the projections of Verona for the back wall, at least?”