by Magnus Mills
“No, it must be Rich,” I murmured.
“Is it fuck,” said Richie. “Someone’s moving us.”
Outside I could hear an engine running. I pulled the curtain open slightly and saw a fence moving along outside the caravan. We were being inched slowly backwards, stopping and starting every now and then.
“That sounds like our truck,” said Tam.
“Fuck sake!” I said. “I left the keys in!” I struggled out of my sleeping bag and stood up just as the caravan began a turn, so that I fell against the back window. Looking out I saw a convoy of vans, all the same, lined up in the road. There were men in white butchers’ coats standing here and there amongst them, watching the activity around the caravan.
“They’re inside,” somebody said.
The caravan stopped moving and moments later there came a curt knock at the door. I opened up and saw David Hall standing outside, wearing the same white coat as the others. He didn’t look very pleased.
“There you are,” he said. “We thought you’d gone off.”
“No, we were in here all night.”
“What did you block the drive for?”
“The gate was locked.”
“So?”
“We didn’t know where to go.”
He grunted and peered past me into the caravan, where Tam still lay in his bunk.
“What’s he doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Well he should be careful of lounging around when John gets here.”
At that moment a horn blasted at the back of the queue. Another vehicle had arrived, obviously impatient to get through.
“Here’s John now,” said David Hall. “I’m afraid he’s going to take a very dim view of this, just when the vans are coming back from the night run.”
He gave a signal and the caravan was towed into a lay-by at the side of the road, with me, Tam and Richie still inside, trying to get our boots on. Then the vans were manoeuvred onto the grass verge so that the new vehicle could come by. John Hall’s car moved cautiously along the line of vans, as if inspecting each one as it passed, and then stopped in the entrance to the driveway. It rocked slightly as he got out. The two brothers spoke briefly for a moment, and then came over to the caravan door.
“You were supposed to get here by six o’clock last night,” said John Hall. “Didn’t you know that?”
“Sorry,” I said. “We tried, but we just couldn’t make it.”
He looked at me for a long time before turning to his side.
“Take them to the pens, will you, David? That’s the best place for them.”
∨ The Restraint of Beasts ∧
Fifteen
There were two notices beside the entrance to the factory. The larger one bore the words HALL BROTHERS in red on a white background. The second notice, just below, was smaller and new. KEEP OUT it said.
As John Hall’s car moved slowly off, followed by the procession of vans, David Hall turned to me and said, “Not a very good start, is it?”
“Suppose not,” I replied. He seemed different somehow to the last time we’d met him. Much more serious. I considered trying to start up a bit of light-hearted conversation to redeem the situation, but I got the feeling it was a waste of time. He appeared to have given up on the banter and chit-chat he’d indulged in when we were here before.
“You’re fortunate John didn’t send you straight home,” he continued. “Now then, you can give me a lift.”
Without saying anything else he went and sat in the double passenger seat of the truck. Tam and Richie had remained inside the caravan while all this was going on, so I shrugged at them and shut the door before joining David Hall in the cab. He sat in silence as I drove up the driveway to the factory, towing the caravan behind, and only spoke again when we arrived at the pens. “You can park here.”
As I expected, Donald had made a perfect job of the pens, although how he’d done it in a week I didn’t know. All those railway sleepers we’d unloaded now formed a substantial complex of enclosures and conjoining gates. It was a very professional job. Someone had recently been along and applied creosote to all the timber, giving it a spick-and-span look. There was a sort of holding area at the entrance, and this was where we were supposed to put the caravan. While Tam and Richie got it unhitched and jacked up, I asked David Hall if there was somewhere to plug in our cable.
“Of course,” he said, and disappeared into the factory.
As soon as he’d gone Tam came over to me and said, “Not very friendly, is he?”
“Why should he be?” I replied.
After all, I thought, we couldn’t really expect the Hall Brothers to be particularly friendly, could we? Not after we’d messed them about so much. Arriving late the night before hadn’t helped, of course. We’d tried, but it was just impossible to get there any faster towing that caravan. Despite all his efficient calculations Donald never seemed to make allowances for this. Six o’clock had come long before we neared the end of our journey, and once we knew we weren’t going to make it we’d given up rushing. Then Tam had started going on about ‘cutting our losses’ and stopping for a couple of pints at the Queen’s Head. I’d said I didn’t think it was a good idea going back there just yet. In the end Tam and Richie had agreed that we should pick up a few cans somewhere and forget finding a pub the first night. By the time we got to the factory it had gone nine, and the gate was locked. So we’d simply crawled into the caravan with our cans and spent the night there. Not a very good start.
I was just pondering all this when a small window opened at the side of the factory and an arm appeared. David Hall’s podgy hand started waving about impatiently, so I quickly got the cable and fed it to him through the window. Then I gave the strip light a short test. As usual it buzzed loudly.
“Right. Meals,” he said, as he emerged again. “Meal times are seven, twelve-thirty and six. You’re just in time for breakfast if you’re quick.”
This sudden announcement came as a pleasant surprise. Donald hadn’t said anything to us about getting our meals at the Hall Brothers’ place, and things immediately started looking better. We walked round to the canteen past the factory loading bay, where all the vans were now backed up with their refrigerator units rumbling. The bay was deserted: the men from the factory were having their breakfast. They took little notice of us when we entered the canteen. All they seemed interested in was guzzling platefuls of sausages and going back to the counter for more. The other Hall brother (who we later found out was called Bryan) was still there behind the counter, serving up sausages fried, grilled or baked. He dished out a good helping for each of us, and we found a spare table in the corner. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started eating, and my plate was soon empty. The same went for Tam and Richie. We all went back for seconds, got a mug of tea apiece, and then sat there feeling fairly content with the world.
“Shame there’s nothing but sausages,” said Tam as he finished the last one. “A few eggs and tomatoes would have been nice.”
“Or mushrooms and a fried slice,” suggested Richie.
One or two people at nearby tables looked across at us as if we’d said something out of order. I watched over the rim of my mug as David Hall entered the canteen and came to our table. Tam and Richie had their backs to the door and were unaware of his approach. They both started slightly when he spoke.
“Finished?”
“Yes, thanks,” I said, placing my knife and fork neatly in the centre of my empty plate.
“Want some more?”
“Er…no. Thanks anyway.”
“Don’t you like our sausages then?”
“They’re very nice. But I’ve had two lots already.”
“I see.” David Hall was now standing very close to us. He turned and addressed Tam.
“What about you?”
“Same here.”
“You mean you don’t like them either?”
“No, no…it’s just that I’ve had
enough. Thanks.”
By this time the general murmur in the canteen had ceased. Everyone had stopped eating, and sat listening to the exchange.
“Well, this is most disappointing,” said David Hall. “We were under the impression you liked our sausages.”
“We do,” I replied.
“But you’ve just turned round and said you don’t!”
“No.”
“Make your mind up.” He looked at the three of us for a few moments. “Very well,” he said at last. “If you’ve quite finished I’d better take you over to the offices. John wants to see you before you begin work.”
The silence faded away as he led us out of the canteen. Bryan Hall was standing behind the griddle, and as we passed I nodded and said ‘thanks’, but he just looked at me and said nothing.
David Hall showed us into a waiting room beside the offices and left us there while he went to find his brother. Looking out of the window we watched the men from the canteen drifting slowly back into the factory.
“Poor fuckers,” said Tam. “Working here all the time.”
“Don’t think I’d like it,” I said. “What’s that, Rich?”
“Not sure, really.”
Richie was gazing at a picture on the wall. There was nothing else to do, so I went over and had a look.
It was a framed drawing of a small boy adrift in a rowing boat. This was accompanied by a nursery rhyme:
If Jack comes home at half past three
Then he shall have some cake for tea,
But if he’s late and won’t be quick
We’ll beat him soundly with a stick.
“Charming,” I remarked.
The door handle turned and John Hall came in, wearing a white butcher’s coat.
“I gather you don’t like our sausages,” he said.
“No,” I replied. “Really. We do.”
“Doesn’t sound like it. Not from what I’ve heard.” Mr Hall thrust his hands in his coat pockets and stared at the floor for some time. “Still, I doubt if your opinion will count for much in the long run.” He glanced up quickly. “You know we’ve lost the school dinners?”
“Oh,” I said. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Yes, it’s been very hard to bear.”
“Any chance of getting them back?” I asked.
“It’s possible. That’s why you’re here, of course.”
“Is it?”
“Oh yes. There’s plenty of room for improvement. Now you’re not going to go running off again, are you?”
“Er…no.”
“‘No’, or ‘er…no’?”
“No.”
“I should hope not. Ah, there you are, David.”
David Hall had appeared in the doorway holding a clipboard.
“Everything’s in order, John,” he said.
“Good.” John Hall signed a docket and then addressed us again. “Now I think we might as well go for a stroll around the perimeter. These plans and diagrams are all very well, but you need to get a picture of the final enclosure for yourselves. Come on.”
He took us outside and round the end of the factory, where we passed the huge pile of new posts we’d seen on the lorry.
“The materials managed to arrived on time,” he said. “But you didn’t.”
The planned line of the new fence went along the extreme edge of the Hall Brothers’ property, and was marked out by a series of wooden pegs in the ground, presumably put there by Donald. It was a relief to be back outside again and dealing with something I understood. After all that talk about sausages and school dinners I felt as if I’d just undergone some sort of cross-examination. Tam and Richie had got off relatively lightly, but even they had a defeated air about them. I was quite looking forward to getting back to work. First, though, we had to accompany Mr Hall on his conducted tour. There was nothing much to see. The land around the factory was already divided up into several empty fields demarcated by existing fences. We paused briefly by one of these, and I noticed it bore the silver HALL BROS. tag.
“These were built by our own people,” said Mr Hall.
“Hmm, nice job,” I remarked, tugging a wire.
“Quite probably,” he replied. “But they’re insufficient for our present requirements.”
“Does that mean we’ve got to demolish them?”
“No, we’ll take care of that. You press on with the new fence. The beasts will be here soon.”
I didn’t bother asking what sort of ‘beasts’ required a seven-foot-high electric fence. After John Hall left us alone Tam and Richie had a fag and there was a lot of ‘fuck saking’ and so forth. The job did seem a bit daunting, but I knew that once we got started they’d most likely settle into it OK. So we collected the truck and went round the back of the factory for some straining posts. These were enormous and could only be lifted by two people. As we man-handled half a dozen onto the truck it slowly sank down on its springs. Then we drove slowly out to the fence line and began work. Tam and Richie got the first post erected quite quickly, considering the size of the thing. They dug a deep, narrow hole, dropped it in, and packed the excavated soil back round the base. I had to admit it looked quite impressive standing there on its own, and by the time we’d got a few more in position we began to feel like we were getting somewhere.
We still had the problem of knocking in the pointed posts though. Donald’s idea about using a stepladder had seemed a bit dodgy to me, and so it proved. We tried it for a bit but Tam complained he couldn’t get his footing right, and looked as though he was about to come a cropper any moment. Finally he opted to stand on the roof of the truck to knock them in. This worked alright, but it was slow going as we had to keep moving the truck along the fence line all the time. Not very efficient really. “The company should buy a mechanical post hammer,” I said. “I saw one being demonstrated once. It could put a post in with a few hits.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Tam.
“Why not?”
“Well, it’ll put me out of work, won’t it?”
“Are you a Luddite then?” I asked.
“What’s one of those?”
“Someone who distrusts new inventions.”
“No.”
“Well then. You don’t want to be swinging a post hammer for the rest of your life, do you?”
Tam looked at me and shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
♦
That night in the canteen we expected to see only sausages on the menu again, but instead it was steak and kidney pie. We carefully avoided conversations about the quality and quantity of the food, and instead talked about the prospect of finding a decent pub nearby.
“I think we ought to go out about seven o’clock,” said Tam. “We should have found one by quarter past.”
“Either that, or we could go straight out after tea, find one, come back and then go out again,” suggested Richie.
“And if we don’t find one we won’t come back until we do.”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Don’t forget they lock the gates at six. We can’t take the truck.”
“You’ll have to ask them to let us out,” said Tam.
“Why me?” I asked.
“Cos you’re foreman, of course.”
“I’m not asking them.”
“Well I’m not fucking walking,” he snapped.
“I don’t see what choice we have,” I said. “Unless you want to ask them.”
Tam turned to Richie. “What do you think, Rich?”
“Looks like we’ll have to walk.”
“For fuck sake.”
Back in the caravan, with the strip light buzzing loudly, we had a look at Donald’s route map. His green line ended at the factory and there was nothing else. The only pub we knew was the Queen’s Head, and that was miles away beyond Upper Bowland, much too far to walk.
“We’ll just have to follow the Lower Bowland road,” I said. “See where it goes.”
“Ar
e you changing, Rich?” asked Tam.
“Well I’m putting my cowboy boots on if we’re walking,” replied Richie.
“And me.”
They got ready in about two minutes. We walked down the driveway in darkness, climbed over the gate, and started our long walk in search of a pub. The road was dark and little used. From time to time we passed small settlements and solitary houses, some with curtains drawn and lights shining inside, others unlit and apparently empty. Occasionally a car would come along, the headlights beaming between the hedgerows, dazzling us, and then passing into the darkness. Once or twice we tried sticking our thumbs out, but we knew it was a waste of time. Who would stop for three strangers in the middle of nowhere, in the dark? We kept going for well over an hour, continually disappointed as the road swung round yet another long bend to reveal nothing more promising than a road sign, a red triangle on a white background, and the words SOFT VERGES FOR TWO MILES.
“We can’t do this every night,” I said. “Not when we’re working all day. It’ll fucking kill us.”
“Well, we’ll have to ask for a key or something won’t we?” said Tam.
I liked how it was ‘we’ all of a sudden. Tam was probably right though. We didn’t want to stay in every night. That’d drive us crazy. We’d have to think about asking Mr Hall for a key tomorrow. Or maybe the day after.
After another half-mile a dull glow appeared in the distance and to our relief we finally came upon a green, with a phone box on one side and on the other a pub.
“Thank fuck for that,” said Tam.
I thought about phoning Donald to make a progress report, but decided he could wait.
The pub was called the Mason’s Arms. A large Christmas tree with fairy lights had been positioned in a half-barrel by the porch, and stuck on the door was a picture of Santa Claus, smiling and ringing a handbell. The pub, however, was empty. When we entered, the publican was perched on a high stool at the end of the counter, assembling a model aeroplane. He looked surprised to see us.
“You’re early,” he said, by way of greeting. “Most people don’t pop in till ten o’clock.”
“Oh well,” I said. “Bit of extra trade for you.”