The Stanford Lasses

by Glenice Crossland

  Ruth thumped her new husband. ‘You cheeky devil.’

  ‘Well, our Ruth always did have the cleanest doorstep in the Place.’ Emily smiled, then she coloured as she noticed a grimace on Ruth’s face. ‘That’s apart from Winnie’s, of course,’ she added hastily.

  ‘Sometimes I wonder if that’s the reason she consented to marry a rag and bone man,’ Jack joked, ‘so that she’d never be short of a donkey stone.’

  The assembled guests laughed as Jack proposed further toasts, before sitting down with relief that the ordeal was over.

  ‘Aye well, I’m sure we’ve all had our minds set at rest, now our Ruth’s taken to going to’t chapel again,’ Alice remarked. ‘Grandmother Stanford’ll be able to rest peacefully in her grave from now on.’

  ‘Let’s not bring your grandmother into it today, Alice,’ Emily said. ‘After all, it is supposed to be a happy occasion.’

  Joe reached for the bottle. ‘Come on, let’s all have another glass of sherry. After all it’s not every day we have a wedding in the family.’

  ‘Aye, well, I don’t suppose it’ll do any harm for once.’ Alice looked towards the minister, who was helping himself. ‘Besides, it doesn’t look as though’t parson objects. He’s almost emptied that bottle of elderberry wine.’

  Mrs Dolan sniffed. ‘Naught but hypocrites the lot of ’em,’ she muttered. ‘Preaching one thing and practising another.’

  Joe glanced at the clergyman and grinned. The man was in a world of his own, oblivious of everything except the bottle and glass in front of him. ‘Here you are, Mrs Dolan.’ He offered her a glass of sherry. ‘Or would you prefer port? Or a bottle of Nut Brown?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘I don’t hold with all this drinking.’

  ‘Nay, Mother! The Lord knows, none of us drink all that much, but after all it is a wedding.’

  ‘Aye, and that’s another thing I don’t hold with either. Marry in haste and repent at leisure, that’s what they say, and you two seem to be in too much of a hurry.’

  ‘Aye well, only time’ll tell about that.’ Jack leaned towards Ruth and gave her a kiss, which caused a cheer to rise amongst the guests.

  Joe carried on round the room. ‘Come on, Billy lad, a drop of sherry won’t hurt yer. After all, it isn’t every day a lad acquires a good man for a father.’

  ‘That makes two good men in the family then, counting you, Uncle Joe.’ Then Billy suddenly remembered. ‘Then there’s me Uncle George, and me grandad,’ he added. Joe smiled at him, the shared secret foremost in both their minds.

  George Crossman had by now seated himself at the piano, the latest piece of furniture to be purchased by Alice, who was driving Joe mad by practising every evening. He wouldn’t have cared, but her repertoire seemed to consist of nothing but hymns. Still, it was something his wife had always wanted and she spent little enough on herself usually. So Joe was content to retire to the front room with Joseph, the wireless, and the Meccano set. ‘That’s right, George,’ he called, ‘let’s have some music and a bit of a sing-song. Or are we going to sit here like tripe all night?’

  Before George could begin, Frankie’s voice rang out. ‘Can I ’ave some cake?’

  The room filled with laughter as Jack said, ‘Oh, come on, lass, let’s cut the cake and put the little fellow out of his misery.’

  Ruth removed the tiny pair of silver shoes and white doves from the beautifully iced cake and turned to Mary Hampshire. ‘Oh, it’s such a shame to cut it, Mary. You’ve decorated it better than any expert.’ The cake was a wedding present from Ruth’s friend, who blushed a deep red at the compliment. ‘And don’t you go making yourself sick,’ she warned Frankie as she handed him the first slice. ‘Not on my wedding night.’

  Suddenly the sound of breaking glass caused a stir as the minister toppled off his stool. ‘Oh, look, Dad.’ Joseph thought it was hilarious. ‘The parson’s got drunk. It’s me mam’s homemade wine. He won’t half have a thick head in the morning, and with Sunday service as well.’

  George decided it was time to strike up on the piano and before long everyone in the room joined in the good old family sing-song, even Alice and Mrs Dolan.

  Although Ruth and Jack had made love until the early hours, Ruth was awake before it was quite daylight. The unfamiliar sounds caused her to wonder at first where she could be: the scurryings of creatures she hoped were birds and not vermin in the loft above them; the cock crowing in the yard below. Then Jack changed his position and moved closer, gathering her body into his own, and she remembered she was in her marriage bed, with a husband who loved her, and whom she adored in return. She slipped out of bed and into her clothes, and prayed the baby would stay asleep, at least until her mother-in-law was awake. Then she crept silently downstairs, filled the boiler, raked out the flues with the cowl rake and emptied the ash pan. Finally she set the fire, which was soon well ablaze.

  By the time Jack came downstairs she had sliced some bacon from the side hanging on a hook in the low, beamed ceiling, and it was sizzling away appetizingly in the huge iron frying pan.

  ‘What are yer doing up at this unearthly hour?’ he asked, planting a kiss on her cheek and brushing a spot of soot from the tip of her nose. ‘And on yer honeymoon an’ all.’

  ‘I’m a farmer’s wife now.’ She grinned. ‘How do you like your eggs? Crisp round the edges?’

  ‘However they turn out. Two, please.’

  Ruth cut a few slices of bread and brewed the tea. ‘What about your mother? Would she like a cup, or will she still be asleep?’

  Jack chuckled. ‘Asleep? My mother? She’ll have been awake this past two hours at least. Normally she’d have fed the hens and the pigs by now.’

  ‘So, shall I take her a cup or not?’ Ruth looked flummoxed. The truth was she didn’t know what the routine of a farmhouse consisted of.

  ‘You can, but I doubt if she’ll thank you for it.’ Jack emptied his enormous pint pot and slapped the remainder of his bacon between two slices of bread. ‘I’ll be off then. Sam’ll be ready to loaden the milk in ten minutes.’

  Sam must have been seventy if he was a day, though with the ruddy complexion of an outdoor man he looked no more than sixty. Jack said he could depend on Sam completely and had left him in charge the previous day knowing everything would be done to his satisfaction. Not only did he deliver the milk to the posh part of Cottenly, he also helped out in the fields and accompanied Jack to the cattle market at Warrentickle every Thursday. Jack said Sam was an expert when it came to buying new stock. One day Mrs Dolan had told Ruth that when her father was alive Sam had followed him about like a shadow, assisting the farmer even as a five-year-old boy. ‘We were almost brought up together,’ she had explained to Ruth. ‘Funny thing was, he wouldn’t be took on full time, didn’t want to be tied, or so he said.’

  ‘So what did he do for a job then?’ Ruth had enquired.

  ‘Chimney sweeping mainly. Took over when his old man died. Regular round. Still, he always seemed happiest when he was out on the land; built the far chicken house all on his own. Thinks world of our Jack, he does, but he likes to be free, or so he says. A free spirit like the birds. A bit perculiar to my way of thinking, but a good man all’t same.’

  Ruth poured another cup of tea and climbed the stairs, carrying it carefully so as not to spill any in the saucer. She tapped on her mother-in-law’s door and opened it an inch. ‘Mrs Dolan, are you awake?’ she whispered.

  ‘Aye. I suppose it’s time I were up.’

  ‘Oh, no, I haven’t come to get you up. I’ve brought you a cup of tea.’

  ‘Aye, well, I’m not one for tea in bed, but seeing as you’ve brought it I dare say I’d better sup it.’

  ‘I just wondered, what do I do first? I’m not used to the livestock but if you tell me what to do I can learn.’

  ‘Nay, you’ll have enough on in the kitchen with four bairns. And I reckon seeing as it’s Sunday we can give some of’t housework a miss for once. Though I recko
n floor’ll need scrubbing in’t kitchen all’t same, what with mucky feet and poultry in and out all day.’

  ‘Right then, I’ll do that as soon as I get the children off to Sunday school.’

  ‘Aye, and I’ll be getting up. Hens’ll be thinking their throats have been cut if I don’t feed ’em.’

  ‘Shall I put your breakfast on, then? Bacon and eggs?’

  ‘Nay, I can’t stomach owt greasy first thing in a morning. A boiled egg’s what I normally have.’

  ‘Hard or soft?’

  ‘Medium.’

  Ruth left the woman to finish her tea and went to prepare her breakfast. And to begin her first day’s apprenticeship on the way to becoming a useful farmer’s wife.

  Ruth’s days were now following a familiar routine, and as she stood in the kitchen gazing out at the sunrise she thought she would never become accustomed to the glorious view from this side of the house. The colours changed continuously from purple to rose-pink, orange and then gold, and as the hues spread over the landscape the fields, and even the rooftops down in the town, resembled an artist’s painted canvas. In the evening another masterpiece would be worked, but then it would be on the opposite side of the sprawling old house and the colours would spread above the vast open moors, gold, purple and then navy blue, dotted like a pin cushion with twinkling stars.

  She had fed the hens and gathered the eggs, and already the washing was blowing merrily in the early morning breeze. Jack lectured her daily about leaving her bed at such an unearthly hour, but the truth was, Ruth was too happy to waste her days lying in bed and wouldn’t wish to miss this quiet period of solitude, before the children awoke. She stood at the open door and watched a blackbird in the lilac bush as it broke into song. Sometimes a cock pheasant rested on the wall and a grey squirrel was a regular visitor. She could never remember a period in her life when she was so at peace with the world. The twins were well fed and happy as the day was long, passing the school holidays familiarising themselves with the animals, playing in the Dutch barn on rainy days and amongst the gentle giants in the cow house. The dairy herd had all been given names, along with the lambs. Baby Margaret was thriving and rosy-cheeked as a full blown poppy. And at last, Billy resembled a carefree young boy, instead of a worried little man. The lad was constantly at Jack’s side, whether working the fields, milking, or out on the rounds. He could hardly wait until the time he would be permitted to leave school and begin work.

  Ruth hadn’t realised how much Jack managed to achieve in a day. Not only was the farm fully productive but the rag and bone side was thriving. His cart was the main form of transport for any removals or deliveries in both Cottenly and Warrentickle. What he would have done without Sam she couldn’t imagine. Now he was considering the purchase of a motor lorry so that the haulage side could be developed. Up to now the tractor had been the only mechanical vehicle the farm owned. Jack said he must look to the future now he was a family man. He had already dismissed the idea of Billy’s going to work at the mill.

  ‘There’s more than enough work on the land for the two of us, as well as Sam,’ he pointed out, and for once Mrs Dolan had agreed. She had suggested long ago that the arable land on the edge of the moor should be turned over and used for crops, but Jack had never managed to find the time.

  Ruth frowned as she thought of her mother-in-law. She didn’t exactly make the newcomers feel unwelcome, but nothing seemed to please her. Ruth had asked Jack if she was unhappy about their being here but it seemed she had never been one to smile very much. In some ways she reminded Ruth of the way Alice had been before marrying Joe. Mrs Dolan could be heard now, pottering about as she dressed herself. Ruth warmed the teapot and placed a newly laid egg in the pan. By the time the elderly woman entered the kitchen, her breakfast was ready.

  ‘Shall I toast your bread or not?’ asked Ruth, reaching for the three-pronged toasting fork.

  ‘No, thanks. I don’t feel worth a row of pins this morning.’

  ‘Are you poorly?’ Ruth asked anxiously.

  ‘Nowt that a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure, if only I could get one, what wi’ bedsprings creaking, babbies crying ’alf the night and one thing and’t other.’

  ‘I didn’t know you could hear us. I’ll have a word with Jack.’

  ‘Nay, I’m not blaming ’im. Our Jack’s never been one for womanising – not till he was led on, that is. Some women ’ave no shame.’

  ‘Shame! I’m not ashamed. I’m sorry if we’ve embarrassed you, but we’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. We are married, after all. And as for the baby crying, it’s the first time she’s woken in the night since we moved here, and that’s only because she’s teething again.’ Ruth felt her face burning nevertheless.

  ‘I never had a woken night wi’ our Jack, not that I can remember.’

  ‘I don’t see as how you would remember, seeing as it’s going on forty years ago. Well, if you don’t want any toast, I’ll fetch the washing in. It’s drying quicker than I can peg it out.’ Ruth went towards the door, picking up the clothes basket on the way.

  ‘Aye, I’ll give credit where it’s due – you’re good at getting up in the mornings to say how you spend the nights romping about, and yer know how to do a good clean wash an’ all.’

  Despite Ruth’s embarrassment she couldn’t help laughing. ‘I ought to,’ she said, ‘I’ve had enough practice. They’ll be missing me up at big houses.’

  ‘Aye, I dare say they will. Still, if I never wash another thing, I’ve done my share of work in my day. Twenty-four piddle pots I had to empty up at lodging house, and all for drunken devils who’d been on a night’s boozing.’

  ‘It were bad enough clearing up after one drunkard,’ Ruth replied, relieved to have the subject changed.

  ‘Aye, well, I’m not saying some men aren’t driven to it.’

  Ruth could contain her anger no longer. ‘Oh! I’m going to get the washing in.’ The old panelled door almost swung from its hinges as she slammed it after her and went out into the yard.

  The house was silent except for the creaks and groans normally heard in a house as old as Mooredge Farm, and the occasional hoot of a barn owl. The clock struck eleven, the signal for Ruth and Jack to retire for the night. The army of cats had been sent out into the yard and Shep the dog was sprawled across the pegged rug, as close to the fire as he could possibly get without scorching his hair.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Ruth yawned. ‘I don’t know how you manage to keep your eyes open with the amount of work you get through during a day.’

  Jack grinned. ‘Oh, I never did need a lot of shut-eye. As my grandad used to say, “Bed’s a place to die in, not to live in.”’

  Ruth laughed. ‘Well, I’m ready even if you’re not.’ She lit the candle and waited for the flame to settle. Jack rose to his feet, raked down the fire and turned out the lamp as Ruth led the way upstairs. He was out of his clothes and into bed before Ruth was half undressed.

  ‘Don’t put that nightgown on, love,’ he said. ‘It’ll only be taken off again in a minute. Besides, I want to look at yer.’

  Ruth blushed. ‘I don’t know why, a woman who’s borne four kids.’

  ‘Nobody’d ever guess,’ Jack said. ‘You’ve got the body of a young girl. I don’t know how you’ve managed it, but you have.’

  ‘Plenty of hard work, love, that’s how.’

  Jack frowned. ‘I know. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. It’s a slave-driving house and my mother hasn’t pulled her weight since you came. She seems to have handed over all the work to you.’

  Ruth hopped into bed, cringing as the bed groaned. ‘Well, she’s no spring chicken. Besides, two women in one kitchen isn’t easy. And I’m not complaining about the house, it’s a lovely place. In fact I’ve never been happier.’ Ruth stiffened as Jack moved towards her. ‘Be careful, love. She’s been moaning about the bedsprings.’

  ‘She hasn’t! Why, the old bugger. I’ll give her something to moan about.’ Jack deli
berately made the bed creak louder than ever, and though they both started off by laughing the laughter quickly died down as they began to make love. Soon they were carried away by a passion so fierce and overwhelming that both the bedsprings and Mrs Dolan were forgotten. It was only as they relaxed in each other’s arms afterwards that Ruth remembered.

  ‘Now you’ve done it,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to face her in the morning. It’s all right for you, out in the fields all day – you don’t have to face her until teatime. Besides, she blames me, not you.’

  ‘Well, it was your fault as far as I can see, looking so damned sexy, you’re enough to turn a corpse on.’ Then as Ruth grabbed him between the legs he let out a howl of laughter. ‘No, seriously, love, take no notice. If the truth be known she’s as happy as a pig in muck having summat to moan about. Besides, I happen to know she loves having you all here.’

  ‘Well she could have fooled me.’

  ‘It’s true. I heard she’s been bragging to a friend in the Co-op about how well behaved her grandchildren are.’

  ‘I can’t believe that.’

  ‘It’s true, and she’s right an’ all. They’re a credit to you, the lot of ’em.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the case, she must be changing her tune. She upset our Sadie only last week by saying she wouldn’t get round her by calling her Grandma.’

  ‘Oh, she doesn’t think before she opens her mouth. She always was tactless.’

  ‘Well! I didn’t think she’d accepted them at all. She was only grumbling this morning about the baby crying. Still, it must be a strain; I mean, she isn’t getting any younger.’

  ‘Don’t let her deceive yer – she’s more energy than I have. Mind you, that’s only to be expected with a wife who’s never satisfied.’

  ‘Oh, and who is it who urges me on in the first place? Mind you, I’m not complaining.’ Ruth kissed her husband in the darkness, then enquired thoughtfully, ‘Was she always so full of misery, your mother?’

  ‘Always! Sometimes I wonder how she ever got me. In fact when I was a little lad I used to wonder sometimes if I’d ever had a father at all.’