The Restraint of Beasts

by Magnus Mills

  It was a dull moment when I woke up the following morning and heard the returned sound of rain on the caravan roof. I lay there listening as the water trickled off the gutter. I knew Tam and Richie were awake because they were both moving around in their beds. The caravan was moving from the outside as well, which meant that the wind had got up in the night and was swaying us about. The occasional splash of rain against the window confirmed this. I turned over in my bed and stared at the carpet, still damp from the last rainy period we had had to endure. It was clear none of us wanted to get out of bed. Nevertheless, we had to do a lot of work today. I realized that there was only one way to get Tam and Richie sufficiently motivated.

  “Ah well,” I said. “Should get paid today.”

  Murmurs came from under the covers.

  “We’ll be able to have a good night tonight,” I added, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  “On a Sunday?” grunted Richie.

  I got up and made a pot of tea. When it had brewed I poured out three mugs and placed them on the worktop between the sink and the stove.

  “Tea up,” I said.

  “Pass mine over then,” said Tam, from his bed. I ignored him and took my tea over to my corner. Tam then attempted to reach over to the worktop without getting out of bed, with the result that he spilt most of his tea on the carpet. This was enough to make Richie get up and quickly claim the remaining mug. Tam, meanwhile, drank his dregs, retreated under his bedclothes and attempted to go back to sleep. I now decided it was time to freeze him out of bed by opening the door wide and leaving it like that. As the climate inside the caravan began to assimilate with the outside world (which did not take long), Richie and I made ourselves breakfast from the dwindling stocks. Eventually, as an apparent gale tried to funnel its way into our tin dwelling, Tam said, “For fuck sake!” and got dressed.

  Now that we were all up it seemed safe to make another pot of tea which we could enjoy properly before setting off for work. When at last Richie and I reluctantly started to pull on our waterproofs, Tam tried to remember what he’d done with his fertilizer sack.

  “There it is,” said Richie, pointing out through the door. The sack now lay in a puddle across the yard, flattened by rainwater and looking completely unwearable. Tam resigned himself to getting soaked today, but retrieved the sack all the same. He looked in the wardrobe. Inside were a number of wire coat-hangers that jangled every time anyone moved around the caravan. He hung his sack up on one of them and closed the door. Moments later water began running out of the wardrobe.

  “You should have shaken it out first,” I said.

  “Too late now,” he replied.

  Yes, I agreed, it was too late now.

  This more or less set the tone for a miserable day’s fencing. In our various states of attire (me in full waterproofs, Richie in his semi, and Tam wearing the remains of his leather jacket) we eventually got started. We’d taken on Mr Hall’s job in a moment of heady optimism, but now we were confronted with reality, in the form of a field of mud. Rubber boots may be effective for keeping water out, but they have little resistance against suction, and we were constantly being pulled up by boots which refused to move, or which came off altogether. This made building the fence quite exhausting. Worse, Tam’s lethargy seemed to be deepening all the time. It had clearly occurred to him that most of the money he would earn from Mr Hall would go straight to me and Richie, and by the time we got to the final section of the fence he’d lost interest altogether. He still just about managed to swing the post hammer with the required force, but in between posts he stood immobile and bedraggled, leaning on the shaft, while Richie got the next one ready. In this way we struggled on for the whole day, and only stopped when it was too dark to do anything else. We then went back to the caravan and attempted to dry out in front of the tired gas fire. We now had no money left, and the food supply was down to basics. I hadn’t bothered to ring Donald and ask for our wages because we were supposed to be getting cash from Mr Hall. I now realized that we had no idea where he lived, and therefore were completely dependent on him turning up. We couldn’t even go to his shop, because it was bound to be closed on a Sunday. And so, as condensation formed on the windows, we sat in the caravan and festered.

  ♦

  We’d all dozed off to sleep when headlights appeared outside. A door slammed and there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” I said, as we blinked awake. The door opened and in came Mr Hall, again wearing the butcher’s coat. As he stepped into the caravan the whole structure creaked under his weight.

  “Can you build pens?” he said.

  “Well, yes. Pens? What sort of pens?” I replied.

  Tam and Richie were both struggling to sit up on their beds.

  “We need some pens at the factory,” said Mr Hall.

  “What factory?” I asked.

  “Our factory,” he replied. “Meat packing, pies and sausages. We’ve got the school dinners.”

  I was still half asleep, and most of the oxygen in the caravan seemed to have been devoured by the gas fire. I couldn’t take any of this in.

  “You’ve got the school dinners?” I repeated.

  He raised his voice. “Yes! Now I’m going to ask again. Can you build pens?”

  There was the usual silence from Tam and Richie, so I decided for them.

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “That’s good,” he said, his voice quieter now. He paused for a moment, glancing round the caravan before speaking again. “Get that fencing done alright, did you, lads?”

  As he said this he smiled. It was obviously something he wasn’t used to doing because stress lines appeared around his mouth.

  “Just a couple of hours’ work in the morning,” I replied.

  The smile vanished. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there’s just a bit to do,” I said.

  “It was supposed to be done by Monday.” Mr Hall was raising his voice again.

  “Yes, well, we’ll finish it in the morning.”

  “I said by Monday, not on Monday! I want to put the beasts in there tomorrow!” In the course of this last sentence his face went red and his eyes began to blaze. I had never seen anyone lose their temper so quickly.

  “I promise you, first thing…” I started, but it was no good.

  “YOU SAID YOU COULD DO IT BY MONDAY! THAT’S WHAT YOU SAID! WELL, I’M NOT HAVING IT!” he roared, and slammed out of the caravan.

  I tried to chase after him, but couldn’t get my boots on in time.

  “Mr Hall!” I shouted from the doorway, but it was too late, he was already driving away.

  “Suffering fuck,” said Tam, obviously lost for words.

  “You didn’t ask him for our money,” said Richie.

  “Nor did you,” I replied. “Now what are we going to do?”

  “Don’t know.”

  It certainly looked like we’d blown it with Mr Hall, so I went down the phone box to ring up Donald about sending some money urgently. There was no one there, so I had to leave a message. When I got back to the caravan Tam and Richie looked at me expectantly, as if a phone call to Donald would solve everything. When I shook my head, conversation turned to new speculation about Mr Hall.

  “He must have been working today,” suggested Tam. “That’s why he had his white coat on.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But at the factory, not the shop.”

  “He was in a bad temper before he got here,” said Richie.

  We all agreed about that.

  “He should have a day off,” remarked Tam.

  “What’s all this about pens?” Richie went on.

  Obviously Mr Hall had another project in mind for us when he turned up, but during his ensuing rage he forgot all about it. Building pens would make a change from fencing and we quite liked the idea, but now it seemed the opportunity was gone. We wondered why they couldn’t build their own pens.

  “It’s outside work, isn’t it,” said Tam, b
y way of explanation.

  “So?” I asked.

  “English people don’t like working outside, do they?”

  “Well, I’ve been out in it all day,” I said. “And I’m English.”

  Tam looked at me. “I know that,” he said. “But you’ve been with us, haven’t you?”

  ♦

  Next day, after a wretched night, Tam refused to have any more to do with Mr Hall’s fence. I pointed out we had no choice but to finish the job, or we definitely wouldn’t be paid, yet Tam was adamant.

  “There’s no point,” he said. “We’ll never see him again.”

  Finally, he agreed to work alone on the hill while Richie and I went round to do the finishing off for Mr Hall. Tam was still lying in bed when this agreement was concluded, but he assured us that he would be getting up very soon and would make his own way up to the hill. I didn’t want to waste any more time on this, so we left him to it.

  Completing a fence always seemed to take longer than expected, and it wasn’t until gone eleven that we were satisfied with it all. Apart from mud sticking everywhere we were quite pleased with the final result. There was no sign of Mr Hall’s beasts arriving, so maybe he had changed his plans. When we got back to the yard we expected to find Tam still asleep on his bunk, but he was nowhere to be seen. Richie nodded in the direction of the hill. “He’ll be working up there,” he said.

  I hoped he was right.

  Tam was supposed to be getting straining posts dug in for the next section of the encircling fence, and when we got there we indeed found one newly erected post. No sign of Tam though. I left Richie doing the next post and took a walk along the fence line. The ground undulated as I walked, and just after a slight rise on the flank of the hill, I came across a disturbing sight. Tam was on all fours, a wood chisel in his hand, apparently sneaking up on a grazing sheep. Most of the other sheep were dotted around further up the slope, keeping, like sheep generally do, as far away from people as possible. This one, though, was engrossed with a particular area of grass, and for the moment had forgotten about personal safety. I was still far enough away for neither Tam nor the sheep to be aware of my presence. I stood still and watched. Tam slowly advanced on the sheep, chisel raised like a dagger, getting within a few yards of the animal. Then suddenly he sprang forward.

  “Tam, no!” I yelled.

  The sheep instantly bolted, and Tam fell forward onto the ground. He was still sitting there as I approached.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  “I was just seeing if I could catch it, that’s all,” he replied.

  “Why?”

  “In case we have to eat them.”

  “Why should we have to do that?”

  “Well, there’s fuck all else, is there?” He looked desperate.

  “Don’t worry about that,” I said. “We’ll get some money soon from somewhere or other.”

  I made Tam promise not to kill, or practise killing, any sheep, and we got back to work.

  That day I concentrated hard on keeping Tam and Richie going. I was worried about the job grinding to a halt again, especially as we’d done all that work for Mr Hall and not a penny to show for it. Morale was understandably very low, and I had to cajole and encourage the two of them all day. Finally, as the light faded, we set off back to the caravan. We’d got some work behind us at last, and felt better for it. The only problem, as Tam had pointed out, was that we hardly had any food left. As we approached the yard I happened to mention that there were two remaining cans of beans in the cupboard under the sink. This was enough to trigger a race back to the caravan between Tam and Richie. They leapt out of the truck and charged across the yard. Both of them got to the caravan door at the same time, and a noisy struggle followed as each tried to force his way inside. With a violent crash they both fell through the doorway, and a moment later became unusually silent. Wondering what had caused this sudden transformation I stepped inside the caravan. Donald was sitting on the end of Tam’s bed.

  ∨ The Restraint of Beasts ∧

  Ten

  “Glad to see you’re making full use of daylight hours,” he said.

  “Oh, er, yes,” I replied. “Where’s your truck?”

  Donald had a truck similar to ours which he used as a general runaround for visiting gangs on site. There was no sign of it in the yard, which was why we’d been taken by surprise.

  “Robert dropped me off,” he said. “He’s borrowing it for a couple of days.”

  “A couple of days?” I repeated.

  “Yes,” he replied. “In the meantime I’m going to stay here with you as this job doesn’t seem to be going very quickly.”

  Tam and Richie had sat down on the spare bunk opposite mine. I glanced at them. They both appeared to have gone pale.

  “You people really should be getting on faster than this,” Donald went on. “After all, there’s no great hardship here.”

  “We’ve run out of money,” I said.

  “What happened to the float I gave you?”

  “Spent it.”

  “Well, if you’ve ‘spent it’ you would normally be expected to go without.”

  “Oh.”

  “But it’s fortunate for you that I’ve brought your wages with me.”

  This, at least, was a relief. It was supper time and we decided to cook everything we had left, the beans and one or two other things, all together in a big pan. Donald just about hid his disgust as a suitable pan was selected from the sink and scraped clean. I thought it would be a good lesson for him to see how I had to live every day. However, once the pan was cooking he seemed to take a more positive interest in what we were having for our tea.

  “That smells nice,” he remarked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “But there’s only three plates.”

  It then transpired that Donald had brought his own plate, a special disposable one that did not require washing up. Reluctantly I gave him a dollop and we all sat and ate.

  “Very nice,” said Donald afterwards, reaching for his overnight bag. “Now then. Wages.”

  He produced three pay packets. “Oh, by the way,” he said. “This came to the office.” He handed me an invoice. It was the bill for the repair to the post hammer.

  “Oh, yes, right,” I said. “I wondered what happened to this.”

  “I thought you’d better see it,” said Donald.

  “Thanks,” I replied. “This would normally be settled out of the float, I suppose?”

  “I’m afraid not,” replied Donald. “The float only covers general wear and tear. Negligent damage has to be deducted directly from your wages.”

  And he made the deduction, in cash, on the spot.

  After he’d given out the pay packets Donald said, “I expect you’ll all be dashing off to the pub now?”

  “Not really bothered,” replied Richie. He was reclining on his bunk, reading An Early Bath for Thompson again, from page one.

  “I’m surprised,” said Donald. “I thought you’d be out every night.”

  “Actually, I’m saving up for Christmas,” said Tam.

  “Well, I’m sure the company can afford to stand a round of drinks,” announced Donald, and a few minutes later he was driving us to the pub, all squashed together in our truck.

  On the way out he paused next to the original Hall Brothers fence.

  “I see someone else is working round here,” he said.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Local company, I think.”

  “Well, we don’t want to go stepping on their toes, do we?” Donald got out of the truck and carried out a brief examination of the Hall Brothers’ fence. We watched as he stood at one end and genuflected, glancing along the line of posts.

  “Hmmm. Exemplary,” he said, as he rejoined us.

  It was quiet at the Queen’s Head when we trooped in. Donald led the way to the bar and ordered four pints while Tam, Richie and myself held back a little. While he was pouring the drinks Ron the landlord raised his eyebr
ows at me. I nodded in reply. Whether this exchange had any significance I don’t know, but Ron kept his distance during the evening, and didn’t poke round asking his usual questions.

  We sat down at our normal table in the corner, with an extra chair for Donald. It was an odd evening. Donald seemed to think that we would want to talk about fences all night, so he kept on starting up conversations on the subject. We learnt about all the new fencing techniques that were being developed by the company and its rivals, and we heard how many yards of fencing had been erected by other gangs in different parts of the British Isles.

  “How many gangs are working in England?” I asked.

  “None,” replied Donald. “You’re the only one, although Robert has gone to look into getting more work down here.”

  Judging by the expressions on their faces, Tam and Richie didn’t like the sound of this.

  “By the way,” Donald continued. “There’s still been no word from Mr McCrindle.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Hasn’t there?”

  “He’s gone very quiet. Not even a phone call, which is quite surprising. He’s rather fond of his telephone and rang me up on a daily basis while his fence was being built.”

  Donald had now turned his gaze upon Tam, who shuffled awkwardly on his seat.

  “Did he?” he managed to say.

  “Indeed he did,” replied Donald. “I asked him to keep his beady eye on you and he was most obliging.”

  “Helpful of him,” I remarked.

  “Yes, I thought so too, and he turned out to be very equal to the task. Which is why I’m going to allow him three months’ grace to settle his account.”

  “That’s…er…good.”

  All the while, we were concentrating on drinking our beers at the correct speed. Donald’s offer on behalf of the company to buy a round of drinks had been ambiguous and caused uncertainty among us. We weren’t sure who was expected to pay for the second round, or any subsequent ones for that matter. As a result we drank ‘in line’ with Donald, making sure none of us emptied our glasses before he did. Donald drank at a very slow rate, which was proving to be a form of torture for Tam and Richie, and, to a lesser extent, me. The last two inches took for ever, but eventually Donald drank up, closely followed by the three of us.