But next minute everything changed as Mr Walsh, with pipe in mouth, and the dogs at his heels, came round the hill and shouted to them, ‘We’re away into town. Anybody like to take the trip into Hexham?’
‘Oh, yes! Yes!’ Joe and Willie were scrambling towards him. Matty came up more slowly.
‘Well then, get yourselves ready, and be quick about it. I’ll be there all day, mind.’
‘Oh, it suits us,’ cried Willie, excited now as he raced up the field.
Mr Walsh was standing looking at Matty now, and he said one word to him, ‘Well?’ It had a big question mark attached to it, and Matty said, ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay here.’
‘Please yourself. Please yourself.’ Mr Walsh glanced away quickly then asked, ‘You broke?’
‘Oh no! No. I’ve got a couple of quid left.’ He smiled now. ‘It’s just that I don’t want to go into the town; I’ll have enough of it next week.’
Mr Walsh looked back at him appraisingly. ‘You’re a funny boy,’ he said, and on this he turned abruptly away and left Matty standing staring after him.
Ten minutes later, Matty, standing beside Mrs Walsh, watched Jessica climb up into the cab beside her father, then his pals get into the back of the lorry. He watched Mr Walsh securing the bolts in the back flap; he watched him kiss his wife – a slight embarrassment this, for he had never seen his dad kiss his mother – then, when the lorry started up, they all waved back and forth to each other until it disappeared from view.
‘Well, there now.’ Mrs Walsh drew in a deep breath, then said, ‘What are you going to do with yourself?’
‘Oh, just knock about. I’ll go for a tramp this afternoon.’
She nodded at him, saying, ‘Yes, you want to take advantage of the weather when it’s fine.’
‘Mrs Walsh.’ He paused. ‘Do you think I could take the dogs with me? Or one of them?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. They would love it.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ He jerked his head at her, then asked hastily, ‘Is . . . is there anything I can do for you? I mean on the farm.’
‘No, I don’t think so. I think Mr Walsh saw to everything before he left.’
‘What I meant was, mucking anything out, like turning the manure again.’
Mrs Walsh laughed now, a high pleasant laugh, and she said teasingly, ‘You don’t want to turn the manure. Now, do you?’
‘Oh.’ Matty’s face was quite straight. ‘Oh, Mrs Walsh, I don’t mind, not really. I quite liked doing it.’
She was staring at him, her own face straight. Then she said softly, ‘I think you mean it.’
‘I do, Mrs Walsh. I’d help swill the cow byres out. Or anything.’ He became bold now. ‘Who has to do it when Mr Walsh is away? You?’
‘Yes. Who else? The cows must be milked, and there’s only the two of us.’
‘Well then, there’s bound to be jobs I can do.’
‘But I thought you wanted to go for a walk.’
‘Oh, that was only to fill in the time.’ He was smiling now, and she was smiling. ‘Come and have a cup of coffee with me, and then we’ll get going,’ she said.
For many years after Matty was to remember his first real day on the farm, and as he inhaled the different smells, some sweet, and some far from sweet, he told himself that he was storing them up against his first day in the docks.
He spent an hour on the manure heap, then cleaned out the pigs; then, on an invitation to take ‘a bite to eat’ with Mrs Walsh, he cleaned himself up, and as he sat at the corner of the white scrubbed kitchen table, partly covered with a cloth, and ate his first real meal since he left home, he experienced a new pleasure. He couldn’t put a name to it; it was just that he felt sort of happy in this kitchen, and strangely at ease sitting opposite this compact, nice-looking little woman.
The feeling of comfort stayed with him all afternoon as he fetched and carried while Mrs Walsh did the milking, as he unfastened the cows from their boxes and watched them one after the other go out into the yard and make their way back to the field. After this he hosed the byres down, and playfully rubbed at each little nameplate attached to the supporting posts: Dolly, Jean, Maisie, Kitty, Bett, Rosie and Lulu. He laughed at the last name. Fancy calling a cow Lulu. And already he could distinguish Lulu from the rest of them, for she was frisky, and inclined to use her back legs. And so the afternoon passed, one pleasure adding to another, not the least of them when he sat down once again opposite Mrs Walsh to a wonderful tea of new bread, thick butter and home-made jam, and, added to this, dollops of fresh cream.
When, at half past six, the sun disappeared and a mist came rolling in from the hills, he ran to the camp and quickly got the bedding from the wall and into the tents. He had just finished doing this when he heard the lorry stopping at the gate. The next minute Willie and Joe were in the field, yelling their greeting to him. They came up, both talking at once.
‘Eeh! You should have come, man. It was grand. We went everywhere. Hexham is grand. The market an’ all. And we went to the pictures.’
‘The pictures?’
‘Well, Jessica doesn’t often get to the pictures, and she said she would like to go. And her dad said it was all right, and he picked us up after and gave us a tea. Didn’t he, Joe?’
‘Aye.’ Joe nodded quickly. ‘A slap-up one, an’ all. I had sausage and eggs, and Willie had fish and chips . . . What have you been doin’ with yourself?’
‘Oh, just knockin’ about.’ Matty smiled.
‘Did you go for a walk?’ asked Willie.
‘No.’ Matty shook his head. ‘I’ve been on the farm all day, doing bits here and there.’
‘Not on the muck heap?’ Joe laughed.
‘Aye. Yes, I did an hour on there.’
‘You’re barmy . . . Here!’ Willie threw a paper bag towards him, and when Matty caught it and opened it, and saw three sticks of chewing gum, a Mars bar, a Crunchie and a slab of toffee, he looked at Willie and, grinning widely, said, ‘Thanks, man.’
‘We bought it atween us,’ said Joe.
‘Thanks, Joe.’
‘An’ look. I bought this for me mother.’ Joe held out a card, to which was pinned a glittering brooch.
‘That’s nice,’ said Matty.
‘Paid four and six for it.’
‘Go on. It looks worth more than that.’
‘Aye. That’s what I thought.’
‘Coo! I’m hungry.’ Willie looked towards the fireplace.
‘But I thought you said you’d had your tea?’
‘That’s ages ago, man. Let’s have a cook-up. I bought some sausage and black and white puddin’.’
‘An’ we’ve got some brawn for the morrow, and pigs’ trotters,’ put in Joe. ‘Eeh! Them trotters.’ Joe covered his face with his hands. ‘Do you know what Willie said when we bought the trotters and the man said is there anything more you want? Do you know what he said? Eeh! And the way he said it.’ Joe could hardly go on for laughing. ‘When the man said, “Is there anything else you want?” he said, “Aye, the pig that went with the trotters. Where you hidin’ him? Come on now, where you hidin’ him?” You should have seen the man’s face. He didn’t think it was funny.’
They were all laughing now and they laughed as they cooked the meal. Later, even from their sleeping bags they went on laughing. It had been a grand day for all of them.
But Sunday brought dullness in the weather and dullness of spirits. After the chores were done Willie took on the self-appointed task of going to the farm for the milk; but he was soon back, Mr Walsh having given him the milk, as Mrs Walsh had gone down to Slaggyford to see her brother who was still ill. Jessica had gone with her. So Willie lay in his tent most of the morning, and only under protest did he don a mack and go for a walk in the afternoon. Most of the time he discussed with Joe the plot of the picture they had seen the day before.
Monday the sun shone, but the weather was cool. They went down to the stream and threw pebbles, and it was whi
le they were sitting on the bank that Betsy paid them a visit. But it was evident from the beginning that the dog had come to see one person only, for when she could disengage herself from the patting and stroking of Willie and Joe, she settled herself down by Matty’s side, and Matty, putting his arm about her, gently pressed her to him.
‘It’s funny about dogs and you,’ said Joe; ‘they always make for you.’
‘It’s his bark,’ said Willie; ‘he’s nearly one of them.’
This was a reference to an altercation Willie and Matty had had earlier over half-washed pans. Willie had left as much dirt on the inside of the pans as was on the outside by the time he had finished with them and Matty had gone for him. But now Matty did not take it up. He went on fondling the dog, content because Betsy had singled him out.
The boredom reached its height that evening when a drizzle set in. For a time the three of them sat crushed together in the tent and exhausted their repertoire of songs, Willie accompanying in a sketchy fashion on his mouth organ. But when the time came to go out into the drizzle and coax the fire, or wait for the slow process of the Primus if they wanted a drink, Willie suddenly exclaimed, ‘Aw, man, I’ve had a bellyful. Come on, Matty; let’s go home the morrow.’
‘Look, Willie.’ Matty kept his voice low but his tone was definite as he said, ‘You can do as you like, but me, I’m staying until Saturday. This holiday is goin’ to have to last me a long time, and I’m making the most of it.’
‘You call it a holiday? I don’t understand you, man. We’ve done nothing but loaf about.’
‘That’s your fault.’ Matty shook his head at him. But still keeping his tone low, he went on, ‘Now tomorrow, whether you like it or not, and whether it’s rain or shine, I’m going for a long tramp.’ He turned to Joe now. ‘What d’you say, Joe?’
‘Well.’ Joe pulled his knees up and leant his elbows on them. Then looking down, he said, ‘I think Willie’s right, Matty. I can’t help it.’
As Matty looked at his pal he felt no anger, only a touch of sadness, and a keen sense of disappointment. ‘I thought you were looking forward to going to Hexham with Mr Walsh again,’ he said quietly.
‘Aye, but that isn’t until Wednesday.’
Matty got slowly up and went out of the tent. He brought some dried wood he had left under cover and, putting it on the still hot embers, he gradually blew them into a blaze. He made the cocoa and took the steaming mugs into the tent, and apart from Joe and Willie saying ‘Ta’, there was no exchange of any kind.
They were all in their sleeping bags before it was quite dark, and, except for muttered goodnights, they had nothing to say to each other. As Matty lay staring upwards, he knew that the other two weren’t asleep. Joe made this evident by tossing and turning, and there was a sound of distant rustling from Willie’s tent.
Then, at the same instant he and Joe were sitting up peering at each other as they heard Mr Walsh’s voice shouting from a distance, ‘Hi, there!’
Matty, pulling himself out of his bag, scrambled on hands and knees to the tent flap and stuck his head out, there to see Willie in the same position.
‘Do you want us, Mr Walsh?’ called Matty.
‘Yes, I want you.’ The voice was nearer now. ‘What did I tell you about shutting gates?’
‘I’ve never left the gate open,’ said Matty under his breath, turning his head to Joe who was at his side now.
‘Come along here and close it.’
‘But we’re in bed, Mr Walsh.’ It was Willie who answered the farmer, and Mr Walsh’s voice came rapping back at him, ‘Well, get out of bed and come and close this gate. That’ll teach you a lesson.’
Matty scrambled into his boots and tucked the tops of his pyjama legs into them; then grabbing up his waterproof mack that was lying by his bed, he pulled it on as he went out into the darkness.
The dim outline of Mr Walsh was visible now and his voice came at Matty harsh and angry. ‘I told you, didn’t I, about the gate. I made a point of it.’
‘But I closed the gate, Mr Walsh. It wasn’t me.’
‘I don’t care who it was. You’re responsible and you should see to these things last thing at night before you turn in. Now you can take a trip and close it after I’ve gone out. That’ll teach you a lesson.’ At this he stalked away, and Matty followed him slowly, guided by his angry voice, saying, ‘I stopped letting the field years ago, and I’ll do it again. I told you about the pigs first thing in the morning. Scatterbrained, the lot of you; no sense of responsibility.’
When Matty reached the gate it was wide open. He lifted it into place and slipped the steel spoke through the chain, then stood, for a moment, listening to Mr Walsh’s footsteps fading away as he went towards the farm. He felt mad with the farmer. Every time he had used the gate he had seen it was firmly closed. Yet it didn’t matter who left the gate open, as Mr Walsh had said, he was going to be held responsible. It wasn’t fair. It was bloomin’ unjust, and that was putting it mildly.
He was shivering with cold when he got back to his tent, and he didn’t speak until he was in the warmth of his sleeping bag. Then, sitting up and holding the bag under his chin to try and prevent his teeth chattering, he shouted to Willie, ‘Do you know anything about that gate?’ There was a pause before Willie replied briefly, ‘I shut it.’
‘You couldn’t have shut it. It wouldn’t swing open on its own. Why couldn’t you have owned up instead of letting me carry the can?’
‘Aw, I’m fed up. This is the finish. I’m off in the mornin’ and that’s final.’
‘Good enough! Good enough!’ Matty was bawling now, and as he lay down he turned his head in Joe’s direction and added, ‘That goes for you and all.’
Chapter Eight
But Willie and Joe didn’t go home the following day. They fully intended to when they got up in the morning. The intention was still firm as they sulkily ate their breakfast, but it was just as they were finishing the meal that they saw, walking towards them from the direction of the stream, a familiar figure, yet one so unexpected in this place that they all thought they were seeing things.
So did Mr Funnell, for when he was some yards from them, he stopped and exclaimed, ‘Well, I never!’
‘Mr Funnell. You! Fancy seeing you here.’ They crowded round him. ‘And fancy seeing you here,’ he answered. ‘I didn’t know you went camping.’
‘Where’ve you come from, so early, sir?’ asked Willie.
‘Oh, I spent the night in Lambley. But I’ve been on the road since six.’
‘But there’s no road down there.’ Joe was pointing towards the stream.
‘Isn’t there?’ Mr Funnell bent down to him. ‘There’s roads everywhere, if you know them. I know this district well.’
‘You do, sir . . . ? And Mr Walsh?’
‘Oh, Mr Walsh is an old friend of mine. I’m making for there now.’
‘What d’you know?’ Joe was shaking his head. Then he asked hastily, ‘Would you like a cup of tea, sir?’
‘I would that,’ said Mr Funnell readily. ‘I haven’t had a drink since half past five.’ He loosened his rucksack from his back and sat down on a stone. Then looking around him, he said, ‘You’re well organised I see. Proper fireplace, grease pit, nice little kitchen. Well! Well!’ He now looked from one to another. ‘I’m very glad to see you doing this. Have you enjoyed it?’
On this question Willie and Joe had the grace to look sheepish, and Willie bent his head a little as he said, ‘Well, sir, it’s a bit different from Shields.’
‘I should hope so,’ said Mr Funnell. ‘That’s why you came here. Don’t tell me you’ve been bored.’ He was looking at Joe now. And Joe grinned engagingly back at the master as he answered, ‘Just a bit, sir. It would be marvellous if we were near a town.’
‘Ooh!’ It was a long-drawn-out sound. ‘If you were near a town.’ Mr Funnell shook his head slowly. ‘And what about you, Doolin?’
‘Oh, I’ve enjoyed it, sir, every minute.
I don’t want to go back.’ Matty now handed the master a cup of tea and asked, ‘Do you take sugar, sir?’
‘Three big ones. More if you can spare it.’ They all laughed.
Then, after Mr Funnell had drunk deeply from the mug, he said, ‘How have you got on with Mr Walsh?’
‘Aw.’ Both Willie and Joe made the sound together. ‘He can be a tartar at times.’
Mr Funnell’s head was back and he was laughing heartily. ‘Oh! Then you haven’t been behaving yourselves?’
‘Yes, we have, but . . . but Willie left the gate open last night and Mr Walsh got us up in the dark. At least he did Matty. He made him get up and close it.’ Joe nodded towards Matty, and Mr Funnell said, ‘Oh, well. It’s a serious offence, leaving a gate open, you know. He’s got a quick temper has Mr Walsh, but he’s a good man.’ He jerked his chin up and repeated, ‘A good man. You could learn a lot from him, if you liked.’
‘Aw, we’ve left school, sir.’ This quip came from Joe, and Mr Funnell said, ‘So you’ve got no need to learn any more?’
‘No, sir.’
The master shook his head slowly, but there was a smile on his face. Then rising to his feet, he said, ‘Well, I’m going to sample, at least I hope I am . . . one of Mrs Walsh’s amazing breakfasts. But I’ll be seeing you. I’ll come over after and have a natter. Thanks for the tea.’
He took a few steps from them, then turned and said, ‘I still can’t get over the surprise of seeing you all here. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.’ He seemed to be addressing Willie and Joe rather than Matty. And Willie said, ‘And we’ve had a shock an’ all, sir.’
‘Oh, I do this route every year without fail. If I don’t see you before, and you come next year, we’re sure to meet up.’
When he was out of earshot Willie said, ‘Not likely. You’ll not get me here next year, or any other time.’ Then turning to Matty, he said quite cheerily, ‘But didn’t you get a surprise? Eeh? I thought I was seeing things.’
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