The Farm by the Lake

Chapter 12

Flo was diffident about mentioning to Bert anything about Dick Goldbourn. There were, indeed, very few chances, Bert staying out nearly every day now. She gathered that it was because of the wild duck in the willows. There were at least fifty pairs, Bert said one dinner-time. Even after dusk Bert stayed out, and many a night Flo never heard him come in. Often in the mornings, too, he was out before she got down. He seemed not to bother about the farm work at all. Clem went on in the same easy way, generally late down, off for two and three hours when he took the milk, and Flo felt sorrier and sorrier for Mr. Nadin who was always busy. Whenever she got chance she slipped out to help him. She stood by the water-trough while Colonel drank after being unharnessed from the cart, and then took him into the stable. She began to feed the calves regularly and took on the feeding of the pigs and the poultry, whose cabin was at the back of the barn away from the road. She was scattering maize for them one evening while Mr. Nadin loaded the red cart from the midden which was a little closer to the lane, when Dick Goldbourn came up and stopped at the open gate. The farmer straightened and asked if he had had any luck. Dick bent and held up by the tail a pike nearly three feet long. The farmer dug his fork in and went to inspect the fish. Flo, wondering where he was going, turned to stare, and saw Dick beckoning. For a moment she ignored the signal, then went towards him. Mr. Nadin was hefting the fish in his right hand.

“What d’you think of that, eh?” asked Dick. “Who said I never caught anything?”

Flo stared at the monster’s blue and silver bars, and at its cruel jaws. It seemed to have died with a snarl and she wondered how he had managed to land it.

“Fishing wasn’t slow when I hooked that, I’ll tell you,” said Dick with a twinkle of pride.

Flo thought how boyish he looked, much younger than when she had been with him before. His front hair had got blown up or pushed up into an absurd tuft suggesting a miniature palm tree.

“I bet he’s put some trout into his guts,” said the farmer. “Twelve pounds, eh?”

“Shouldn’t wonder. I looked out for Bert, but he wasn’t about.”

“Ay, he’s a right old cannibal; Bert’ll be glad.”

“Cannibal?” said Flo.

“Ay, he’s eaten anythin’ he could get, that mon,” said the farmer, putting the pike back on the chair footrest.

After a little talk on the long dry spell they had had Dick turned his chair back to the road. “’E wasna allus like that,” said the farmer as he went back with Flo. “Got sunstroke when he was a youngster an’ it paralysed ’im.”

“I don’t know how he can catch fish like that,” said Flo.

“Surprisin’ what he con do,” said the farmer, stopping with his hand on the fork handle. “Most chaps ’ud be full o’ grumbles if they was like ’im. He’s just lucky, ’e’s got plenty o’ brass, so ’e doesna need ta worry”

“Isn’t it dangerous him going so much by the water?”

“Eh, I dunna know what ’e’d do ’bout fishin’. . . . ’E gets stuck now an’ then, but non often.”

“I helped him the other day,” said Flo.

The farmer spat on each palm in turn. “I thought ’e seemed ta know you. ’E’s a good straight chap, is Dick.” With his foot, the farmer shoved the fork prongs deep in and levered backward. The muck broke away with a sucking, and Flo went back to scatter the remaining corn from the scoop. In their eagerness some of the hens pecked her boots, but she was thinking of the wheeled chair going up the bank out of the valley. If he came so often, then he would be used to it, though it must be a hard climb. She wondered if he had far to go. Where did he live? What an awful thing for the sun to make a cripple. She decided to take care if ever she had to go out in the hay.

They were all sitting eating supper of currant-bread and sage cheese when Mr. Nadin remembered the pike.

“If it didna weigh twelve pounds, I’m damned.”

“You’re damned all reet then,” said Clem. “There’s no twelve-pounder ever come out o’ that puddle.”

“I dunno,” Bert put in. “I was a good way off—at the point—but I saw it landed.”

“’E wastes enough time theer. It’s time ’e caught summat. ’E were lucky ta get left wi’ some brass,” said Mrs. Nadin.

“It’s a wonder someone doesn’t marry him for it, cripple or no cripple,” said Dot. “Though I’d want something more than him, even with money.”

“He’s a quiet decent enough chap. If there was none worst nor Dick it wouldna be so bad.” The farmer looked up from his plate for a moment and as he happened to be sitting opposite Flo, she saw his eyes grey and steady.

“Ay, he’s awreet, is Dick,” Bert confirmed. “I reckon he’d never have landed yon pike though, if there hadna happened to ha’ bin Jack Knight theer. He was in th’ float an’ Dick shouted . . .”

“They’d mek a good pair,” Mrs. Nadin said harshly. “If Jack were lad o’ mine I’d have him tek reg’lar work.”

“He con work when he’s a mind,” Bert said. “It’s just that he likes truckin’ . . .”

“Ay, I was up by his place an’ the junk ’e’s got there, it’s surprisin’.” Clem stopped to pick out of his mouth a tiny hard black nodule which had somehow got into the bread in place of a currant. “What the hell done you call that?” he demanded. “Damn near broke me tooth.”

“There’d non ’a bin much loss if it had choked thee,” said Mrs. Nadin promptly.

“Ay, I heeard as he’d bought that there shed o’ Marley’s, an’ all as there were in it. What’s ’e goin’ ta do wi’ it?” asked Mr. Nadin looking towards Clem.

“Goin’ in for market gardenin’, or summat. They say as ’e’s goin’ ta mek a greenhouse. There’s a tidy bit o’ wood piled in th’ yard there, anyway.”

“See owt o’ Barbara?” asked Mrs. Nadin. “They reckon oo’s non likely to get about agen.”

“I heard it was cancer in the throat,” said Dot. “They wrote for Inez to come, but she wouldn’t . . . that’s what they say.”

“She’s school-teachin’, isna she?”

“Yes; somewhere near London.”

“It’s non many ’ud do as Jack’s doing,” said Bert. “I reckon lookin’ after her is one o’ the reasons as ’e canna tek a reg’lar job. Of course, he’s fond of a gal?. ’E were comical wi’ that there fish. It didna fight as much as you’d ’a thought, an’ Dick had it to the side. Jack come runnin’ an’ grabbed the landin’ net an’ were mekkin’ a put for it when ’is feet slipped. I bet ’e picked up some mud on ’is backside.”

“That wouldna worry ’im,” commented Mrs. Nadin, getting off her chair with a single swift movement and reaching the brown tea-pot off the hob.

“’E didna waste much time, anyway. ’E were up in a jiff an’ had it. Twelve pounds doesna sound too much ta me; it were as long as my arm.”

“There’s non many fish as gets caught out o’ theer as isna as long as your arm,” commented Clem, pushing his plate away.

Bert got up and went for an ash stick out of the corner farthest from the fire. “If you’d caught it it ’ud aweighed twenty pounds,” he said drily. The ash stick had a heavy knob handle carved out of the root. He hefted it like a club and then went out.

“I’m tekkin’ Emmott to Manchester to-morrow,” said Mrs. Nadin, surprising Flo. “Dunna you an’ Dot be knockin’ yeads tagether; an’ dunna forget as there’s some work ta get through. You’d best be up early. We’ll side this lot, then off you go.”

Flo was glad to get to her room. She put the candle out of draught close against the wall, on the drawers, and then sat on the window-sill as was becoming a habit. She questioned whether Bert could see her, but it didn’t matter. She thought again about the big fish and wondered if she would have dared to have landed it had Dick Goldbourn called her for that instead of to help him out of the mud. Jack Knight hadn’t been afraid. She laughed softly as she imagined him sitting down unexpectedly. Did it scare the fish, or was it too weary and beaten? she wondered. This saddened her, and she began to think of the woman lying with cancer in her throat. Was it Jack’s mother, or who? She would try to remember to ask. Then she thought of her own mother, and as she did so, turned her eyes up to the stars. They were very tiny, very far off, but mother and Ivy seemed even farther off. If only she could see them like that; as tiny as could be, like looking down the wrong end of the opera glasses, yet there, that would do. At least, then she would know that they were all right. Now she knew nothing. They might be dead; they might . . . ough! She jerked herself up and let the dark blue rocker blind down and began to undress. As she lay in the dark with the blind rolled up again she heard Clem pad past. He seemed to pause outside her door, but perhaps it was only her imagining. Then she stared at a dim solitary star and felt lonely and sad. She had been at Prettyfield three weeks, and felt that she knew what life she could expect. A lot of the work was hard, but that she didn’t mind; some of it was interesting, and that she liked. The Nadins had accepted her, and generally they were all right. But she felt somehow that their attitude would remain always the same. She was accepted, but she was not quite one of them and never would be. Was it always like that in service? she pondered. When she had worked in the offices of the Thistle Trust Limited there had been a comradeship with the other girls, which was lacking here. If only she could find a friend nearby, then perhaps it would be all right, and yet at home she had never had any one special friend; only somehow there everybody had been friendly. At least, she had felt that they were; no doubt because they talked in the same way, and were familiar with the same streets and shops and places. But here she felt out of place, alien. Her view of the solitary star became blurred and suddenly she dragged the sheet over her face, muffling herself in close darkness. She thought that she would never sleep, but she lost consciousness without difficulty, almost at once.

In the morning there was bustle. Mrs. Nadin sent her to help with milking at once. At half-past six when they were only two-thirds through, Mrs. Nadin poked her round head over the shippon door and called: “Emmott, thee come an’ get thi breeches on,” just as if he were a child. The lanky farmer finished his cow, then got up obediently.

“Ma’s goin’ ta keep her eye on ’im, but oo’ll have a job,” said Clem, looking round the back of the roan polly cow he was finishing next to Flo.

“How d’you mean . . . he might get lost?”

“He’ll get lost if he con, all right,” said Clem with a chuckle.

Then Flo and Bert were left while Clem wheeled the float from the open shed at the end of the yard facing the gate and hooked Job in. While Clem was still busy, Mrs. Nadin came out in a navy-blue coat to her ankles and a flat black hat tilted slightly forward because it wouldn’t go over the small tight knob of her hair at the back. There was a yellow lily in the hat which bobbed about as she energetically moved her head. Her umbrella was only eighteen inches shorter than she was, and she walked with it as a shepherd walks with a crook. She went round and watched the finishing of the fixing of traces and belly-band as if she doubted whether Clem knew anything about the job. Dot brought one of the wooden kitchen chairs to put in the float and Mrs. Nadin briskly hauled herself in at the back and then sat sternly facing the house.

“Tell that theer mutton-yead ta be shaping” she called shrilly after Dot. The two churns were swung in and strapped in place. While Clem went to the house Bert got a brush and tidied Job’s mane and forelock. “Where is he?” demanded Mrs. Nadin, looking at Flo. “Goo an’ see if ’e’s got stuck in ’is porridge or swallowed ’is teacup; ’e’s gormless enough fer owt.”

Flo set off up the path but at the door she heard the harness jingle and glancing back she saw Mrs. Nadin getting out. Mr. Nadin was placidly chewing. When he saw Flo he winked, stopped chewing to take a swig at his pint pot, and started chewing again.

“Stuffin’ your guts!” snapped Mrs. Nadin before Flo could speak. “Yo’re the slowest gutser i’ Darbyshire. What about the train?”

“I reckon it winna goo before it’s time,” said the farmer, taking another swig.

“By gum, if I have ta be worried bi you, I’d sooner goo mysen,” she retorted, abruptly turning and going out once more, as if afraid now that the float would go without her. Mr. Nadin finished his pot and then leisurely followed. His light grey whipcord suit, nearly skin-tight in the legs, made him appear taller and thinner than ever. Clem went out last, still chewing. Bert turned Job’s head to the gate, and as his shuffle rocked the float fore and aft the yellow lily in Mrs. Nadin’s hat seemed to nod good-bye.

“Hast getten thi hand-bag?” asked Mr. Nadin from his high seat on the float side.

The instant jerk of the lily unmistakably said, “No!” Job stopped willingly to the least signal, and Mrs. Nadin scrambled out almost as if impelled by a spring.

“Where is it?” asked Dot, turning to run. She was coming out of the door with it when she nearly bumped into her mother. Mrs. Nadin tucked the big black bag under her arm in a way that suggested that she never intended to let go of it again. Without thanks she scuttered energetically back and with Bert lifting and Clem hauling she was up in the float again in a jiff. Flo glanced at the farmer, but he seemed to be chewing something and did not even look at his wife. After the float had travelled a score of yards Dot said abruptly:

“You’ve no time to stand . . . there’s the siding and washing.”

Flo started.

“Ay, keep her goin’ now as you’re boss,” said Bert in a teasing sarcastic way.

“You do your jobs and I’ll do mine without your advice,” retorted Dot, turning after Flo.

“Nay, I’d sooner change over; you do my jobs an’ I’ll look after her,” he called.

Dot went through into the front part of the house. Flo thought she must be going to dust. Twenty minutes later she walked briskly back into the kitchen and asked if the washing-up wasn’t done yet; there were the bedrooms to do, and all the dusting.

“I can’t get dinner and do everything else, you know,” she said severely.

Flo realized how it was going to be all day and decided to keep steadily at work without over exerting. She saw Bert occasionally going about the yard, and he didn’t seem to be over pushing either. Eventually she saw him walking through the gate with his gun under his arm as usual. The float came back at half-past nine, though Flo had expected that Clem would take most of the day off also. She heard the empty churns banging as he unloaded, and then Dot called impatiently.

“Yes?” said Flo at the kitchen door.

“I’ve told you before; you should say, ‘Yes, miss’. If I had my way you wouldn’t be let do as you like. Go out and wash the cans.”

Flo, unprepared, could not quite hide surprise.

“Don’t stand there,” snapped Dot. “There’s the big pan. Carry it out and I’ll show you.”

The churns, the sieve and the milking buckets all stood abandoned, as it were, by the trough. Flo was told to pour the boiling water into one of the churns, to wash that thoroughly, then to pour the same water into the second churn.

“There’ll be some fresh for the sieve at the end,” said Dot taking the kettle. “Remember, I can tell if you don’t do the job properly; there’ll be sour milk.”

Flo made a face after her as she went up the path.

“Meow, meow . . . naughty, naughty,” said Clem’s voice from behind. He was leaning in the stable doorway. “You’ve bin promoted,” he said when Flo looked.

She thrust the short brush into the churn. Only by stretching full length could she reach bottom. Confined by bright metal and shut in by her shoulder the steam was scaldingly hot and almost at once she had to snatch her arm out.

“Rat inside?” asked Clem waggishly. “Once you tek that job, you’ll have it for keeps. You should ha’ given it her back.”

Flo reached in again more circumspectly and swished the water round with vigour. She was aware how foolish she must look with her head almost tucked into the churn. She carefully kept her back from Clem because she knew what he was interested in. Then she found that it was easier if she tilted the churn, letting the water swill up the sides as she rolled the thing on its bottom rim.

“You’re learnin’,” said Clem.

When she came to pour the water into the next churn she was surprised by the weight. She had a job, then nearly dropped the churn and lost all the water through it splashing up and washing against her hand. Fortunately, though, it had cooled a bit, and she was able to stand it. After washing everything with the soapy water, she had to swill thoroughly with cold and then wipe everything till the insides at least looked silver bright. It was rather fun scooping water out of the trough and splashing it about. But when she began to wipe the churns her dress got soaked at the knees through leaning against the wet metal, and she felt chilled. Clem stayed against the door-post all the time and at last said: “Non so bad.” He strolled across. “If nobody’s watching” he added as he came closer, “tip ’em up an’ let ’em drain; wiping’s a waste.” He gripped the nearer churn by the top and swung it up, caught the bottom rim with his free hand and upended it at an angle against the wall. “Air gets in that way an’ sweetens it . . . so they say,” he explained. “When’s you’re next night out?”

“I don’t know,” said Flo.

“Don’t know! By gum, you want ta tek it. I’ll tek you into Buxton one night. What’s wrong wi’ tanight?”

“No; I can’t, without permission.”

“Who off . . . our Dot? Leave it ta me.”

There was a sound at the door, and Dot’s shrill shout reached them: “Haven’t you done?”

“No,” Clem answered, “she’s havin’ a talk wi’ me. Best do the rest yourself.”

“You shut up,” snapped Dot, coming down the path. Her quick glance went over the churns and buckets. “Come on,” she ordered, as if Clem had vanished. “Potatoes next, then we can feed the brutes.”

All morning from one job to another Flo was shifted while Dot walked about, or sat in the front rooms, and occasionally looked into the pans or into the oven. Dinner was an uneasy meal with Clem bullyingly ignoring Dot and talking to Flo.

“You’re going out with me tanight, aren’t you, love?” he asked. “We’ll leave Dot to tickle herself.”

“I’m not going,” Flo answered low but distinctly.

“I should think not, with that . . . stallion,” said Dot to wither him.

Bert chuckled, and then thrust into his mouth half of a potato out of the Irish stew.

Clem failed to think of a good retort quickly, and Flo got up to side the plates. The pudding was sago and turned out to be not quite done. “Like cracking bloody nuts,” said Clem.

“If you think you can cook better, you’d best come an’ do it,” said Dot. “All morning I’ve never seen you working.”

“It’s a damn safe bet as you’ve not done so much.”

“I’ve not been propping door-posts.”

“Wearing your backside out more likely. Anyway, it can stand it. I think I’ll take Flo out for the afternoon instead. Any objections?”

“Yes,” Bert put in unexpectedly. “We’ve got to spread that muck in Lake Pasture. Let’s start.”

He got up and put his billycock on. Clem stayed with arms sprawled beside his empty plate, then changed his intention and followed Bert, giving Dot unexpectedly a sharp squeeze with both hands from behind as he passed.

“Ough!” she gasped. “You great daft brute.”

All afternoon till four she kept Flo at work, another job always ready, as if she spent her time planning them. Flo was grateful when Bert came in for her to help with evening milking.

“Can’t you manage?” asked Dot. “We’ve enough to do.”

“Can we heck manage,” said Bert. “Clem’ll be off any time to meet the train. If you’re comin’ yourself, well an’ good; but I’m non doin’ th’ bloomin’ lot myself.”

So Dot let Flo go. Clem milked one cow and then said he was off. Bert kept the milk in his bucket frothing and did not reply. They heard the float wheels tapping over. Flo did her best, to see how many she could milk “at one meal,” as she had heard the men say. Sitting down was a change from crawling and bending and rubbing, and somehow she was just in the right mood. The cows seemed to recognize this and let down their milk easily, so that for the first time she really began to get a froth and felt proud.

“You seem to like this job,” said Bert, the first genuinely natural remark which had been passed to her all day.

“Yes; I don’t know why, but I do,” she said, glad to talk.

“It’s non much in my line,” he said, hidden by the next cow and going on milking.

“No; I know what you’d sooner do . . . shoot.”

“Or fish.”

“I like the lake,” said Flo, feeling that the remark was a bit artificial.

“I don’t’ see you much round here. You’ve never seen the ducks. They’re worth seein’. Best year I’ve had. Some places you’ve to go careful or you’ll tread on ’em.”

“Will there be little ones soon?”

“There’s plenty out. You’ll see ’em, all right.”

“How many will there be?” she asked, the milk from the red skewed cow she was under slackening off, causing her to begin stripping.

“Depends how many the bloody weasels an’ stoats tek, how many the hawks an’ them damn pyenots pinch, an’ how many the pike pull down.”

“Pyenots? What’s that?”

“Pyenots . . . don’t you know what a pyenot it? It’s a . . . a pyenot, a maggie.”

“Oh,” said Flo, no wiser.

“You can come along after you’ve done, if you like,” he offered as she stood in the gangway a moment before taking her milk out.

“I would like,” she said gratefully.

After that she worked hard, trying to remember everything: feeding the calves, the pigs and the hens, helping to drive the cows into the Lake Pasture.

“They winna eat where we’ve spread their own muck, but there’s plenty of feed round about, I reckon,” said Bert. “It’s a damn good field.”

“Aren’t all fields the same?” Flo asked.

Bert chuckled. “Ask the old man,” he advised. “He’ll tell you as best cawves as there is come off Lake Field.” He imitated: “There’s non another fielt i’ Derbyshire noowheer ta touch it fer that job.”

“What makes it?” asked Flo, really interested.

“Happen Pa’ll tell you; I canna. It’s herby, or something. Here they are.”

Mrs. Nadin’s lily was still nodding. She sat very upright in the chair with her umbrella tightly gripped in the middle by her right hand and lying across her knee. Her handbag, gripped equally tightly by her other hand, lay on top. But Mr. Nadin was not there.

“Hello, where’s Pa?” Bert asked.

“The long lump o’ tripe . . . I’ll tripe ’im ’an stripe ’im when I get ’im,” said Mrs. Nadin, lifting the umbrella as though to clout him if only he had been there. “I can goo ta hell for all he cares; but I bet I’ll meet ’im there. Then I’ll tansel ’im.”

She got out as energetically as she had got in in the morning, and demanded to know what they had been “muckin’ their time away wi’. Same as always, nowt done as should be done, an’ everythin’ done as shouldna.”

“Haven’t you brought Pa?” asked Dot, arriving from the back door.

“Aa’ll Pa ’im,” said Mrs. Nadin direfully. “Drownin’ what bit o’ sheep’s brains ’e’s got, the damned old tarnack. Slipped round the corner an’ off wi’ ’im. Wait till ’e comes!”