by Katie Flynn
Despite the fact that it was August, the weather was uncertain. The days were hot and sunny but at night as one slept – or tried to sleep – upstairs the heat was unbearable, and when on one particular night Tess heard the thunder rumbling ever nearer she was conscious of a strong desire that the storm would break, preferably overhead, so that cooling rain might fall.
Lying there in the dark, her nightie long since cast off, she heard Jonty getting up and padding across to his window in the room next door. Hastily she pulled on her skimpy nightgown and went to her own window, for by leaning out of the casements they could converse comfortably, which, when it was too hot to sleep, they frequently did. Now, as she poked head and shoulders out into the night, she saw Jonty doing the same and drew his attention with a little whistle. He turned to face her and grinned, his face shiny with sweat, his hair dark with it. ‘Hiya, Tess,’ he whispered. ‘Bloody hot, isn’t it?’ His mother disapproved of night-time conversations, seeming to think that because both parties were in their nightclothes it might be considered improper. She had tried to forbid what she clearly considered to be an indelicate practice, so now Jonty and Tess kept their voices down while they enjoyed their midnight chats.
‘Yes. I think it’s the worst so far,’ Tess said. ‘But I wouldn’t be surprised if that storm you can just hear rumbling away came in our direction. If it brings really heavy rain . . . but perhaps it won’t.’
‘Well, I can’t sleep, so I’m going to get up,’ Jonty muttered. ‘The horses don’t like a really bad storm. Rufus and Biddy tend to go right up to the trees at the far end of their pasture. They probably think they’ll be safer up there, but of course they’re wrong. If you come with me we can get them down to the stable before the thunder panics them into rushing right up the hill and into the fringe of the wood. Are you on?’
Tess looked wistfully at her bed; it had been a hard day, what with bringing all the new stock into the yard so that the Ministry vet could inject them, on top of all their other work, and they had been on the go until nine o’clock or so. She was extremely tired, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep whilst the stifling heat remained, so she agreed that she would dress and give him a hand. Since she did not have to wash or brush her hair she was downstairs in the kitchen in ten minutes, finding both Jonty and his father ahead of her, and the thunder growing closer every minute. She had not noticed the wind when she had stuck her head out of the bedroom window, but when she and the two men stepped into the yard a gust almost knocked her down. Jonty linked his arm in hers and began to pull her towards the five acre, but Mr Bell grabbed his son’s arm. ‘Look at that,’ he shouted disbelievingly. ‘That’s what they call a tornado – a twister, some say . . . my God, look at my wheat!’
The youngsters stared, and Tess at any rate was appalled. The wheat looked as though someone had driven an enormous tractor round and round, flattening three-quarters of the crop and leaving the rest bent and broken, and the wind had not done with them yet, for it seized the poultry house and dashed it against a stand of trees. Terrified hens found their home in splinters and themselves in unwanted flight, until the wind dropped them as casually as a man might discard a cigarette butt. Then the noise began in earnest. The thunder was directly overhead now and rain was coming down in huge drops, straight as arrows, and nearly as dangerous. From the clouds overhead lightning forks jabbed to earth whilst every now and again sheet lightning arced from cloud to cloud, illuminating the scene as brightly as day, every flash accompanied by a clap of thunder so loud that Tess put her hands over her ears, trying to shut out the appalling din.
‘Come to the ponies,’ Jonty bawled, but his father shook his head violently.
‘No, don’t go near ’em. They’ll be mad with fear,’ he bellowed. ‘They’ll run you down without even knowing it. If you leave ’em they’ll quiet when the storm passes.’ He laughed suddenly and pointed. ‘If they see that they’ll run a mile without stopping, same as I would.’
‘That’ was one of his wife’s voluminous cotton nightgowns. It had been pegged to the line but had fought like a mad thing to get free and was now flapping away across the meadows like some gigantic ghost. Had the ponies not already been panicked by the storm they would most certainly have taken against what must have appeared to them to be a living nightmare. ‘If we can’t quiet the ponies then what should we do?’ Tess shouted against the wind. ‘I don’t think we can collect the hens, they really are at the mercy of the wind. Once it drops we can shut them in the stables, but until then we’ll have to rely on their common sense.’
Jonty was beginning to say that everyone knew hens didn’t have any common sense when, in the way of such things, the rain changed from vicious spears to a more normal downpour and that in turn stopped suddenly and allowed cooler air to take its place. Mr Bell sighed and Jonty put his arm round Tess’s waist. ‘We’d best get back to the house, ’cos there’s nothing we can do here in the dark,’ he said resignedly. ‘With a bit of luck we’ll get some sleep before Ma comes rattling on our doors, reminding us that breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes.’
The three of them crossed the yard and re-entered the kitchen, only to find Mrs Bell setting out a large plate of bacon sandwiches and a jug of cocoa on the big scrubbed table. ‘You’ll need to be up betimes judging from what I’ve seen through the window,’ she said gruffly. ‘You’ll want to get some sleep, though, and most folks sleep better on a full stomach than on an empty one, so get this lot down you or it’ll be breakfast time before you know it.’
As Tess finished her sandwich and drained her cocoa, she wondered what on earth they would do about the wheat. She supposed that some of the crop might be saved but guessed that a good deal of it would have to be ploughed in, since it would be too muddy and broken for cutting. It was an awful shame and would make the Bells’ life, which was a hard one at the best of times, even harder, but though they grumbled and called down curses on the weather farmers were used to catastrophic conditions, and she supposed that they had savings against such happenings. As she made her weary way back to bed, she reflected, not for the first time, that the Bells had done pretty well out of her. She had worked as hard as she could at every task she’d been given and though Jonty, she knew, had implored his mother to pay her at least some of the wage which would have gone to Patty, the land girl, Mrs Bell had been resolute in her refusal. Tess, in the scullery cleaning vegetables for market, had heard her reply to Jonty’s plea. ‘She’s not here to work, she’s here to have a bit of a holiday,’ she assured her son. ‘Many a gal would be grateful for our hospitality. And she eats hearty; almost licked her plate when we had that stew the other night. Oh aye, young Tess should have no complaints about the way she’s treated. And it’s not as though she was a woman grown and capable of doing a woman’s work—’
But at this point Jonty had broken in. ‘She works just as hard as Patty did, and a good deal harder than Adam,’ he had said angrily. ‘And in your heart you know it. If she were to leave tomorrow we’d be in dead trouble and so I’m telling you.’
But his mother refused to be convinced. ‘She do very well out of us,’ she repeated obstinately. ‘And now let’s hear no more, Jonty. No one’s ever accused me of acting unfair or bein’ mean, and I won’t have you sayin’ such things.’
Tess, shaking caterpillars out of the cabbage, had grinned to herself. She knew a great many girls who would have been horrified had someone asked them to work as hard as she had been doing without a wage, but she was not one of them. It would have been nice had Mrs Bell handed over a few bob at the end of the week, but because they had bought the farm next door she appreciated that money was tight, or tighter than usual at any rate. So when she went downstairs on the day after the storm she expected to be given a great many jobs, but hoped she and Jonty might have the evening free to see the cinema show in the village hall.
Mr Bell was working with Adam, milking the cows, so it was only her, Mrs Bell and Jonty who sat down to the usual far
m breakfast of homemade sausages, eggs and fried bread. Tess thought Mrs Bell seemed somewhat uneasy, and presently realised why, when her hostess cleared her throat and began to speak.
‘Well, Tess my dear, you couldn’t have come to stay at a worse time, what with storms, and that there twister thing a-ruinin’ of the wheat crop. You and Jonty will be busy today, because the poultry will have to be rounded up and a great deal of repair work put in hand. Father and I took a look round, what he called “assessing the damage”, and it’s plain he and Adam will be busy remakin’ the poultry run, mendin’ fences an’ seein’ to any injured stock. That means you and Jonty here will have to fetch in the hens and recapture any pigs what have broke out of their field last night, to say nothin’ of makin’ sure all the cattle are properly fenced in and not runnin’ wild across the marshes.’ She smiled ingratiatingly at Tess. ‘But once that’s done you can have the rest of the day to yourselves to go into the village and meet your old friends.’
Jonty snorted. ‘Some time we’ll have free after doin’ that little lot,’ he said bitterly. ‘Mebbe the poultry will come back when we take their food out to them, but pigs can be that contrary I reckon it’ll be a week before we’ve got them all back in the hazel pasture. Tell you what, Ma, have you forgotten the cinema show is due to come to the village hall today? If you give us our ticket money and a bit extra for cushies – it’s nice to have somethin’ to suck when you’re watching a fillum, and I’ve got some coupons over – we can have at least one afternoon off.’
Mrs Bell looked rather startled, then nodded reluctantly. ‘All right, I’ll give you the money, though it’ll be a miracle if they’re still able to come to the village after that storm. But you’ll have to round up the stock first, else them pigs will be fields away or floatin’ in the cut dead as bacon. Come to think, if they get as far as the Broad and try to swim across it they’ll cut their own throats; ’tis a well-known fact that pigs cut their throats when they try to swim, and how’ll you feel then? So you be a good lad, Jonty, and start bringin’ the beasts home as soon as you’ve ate your grub.’
Jonty began to protest, but Tess broke in.
‘We’ll do whatever we can and talk about going to the pictures later,’ she said tactfully. ‘Come on, Jonty; let’s start by getting the poultry back. We can put them in the tack room tonight because I don’t reckon Mr Bell will have found a new poultry shed. Just remember that the storm hit everyone alike; I bet there’s not an unwanted poultry house in the whole of the county of Norfolk.’
So presently she and Jonty, each carrying a bucket full of a mixture of meal, water and cooked vegetable peelings, emerged into the yard and began making the familiar clucking cry which the hens knew well. Almost immediately, and giving loud, delighted squawks, both hens and ducks came from every quarter of the compass, homing in on the farmyard and beginning to gobble the food which Tess and Jonty dispensed with a prodigal hand. ‘There’s too many to count, so I’ve no idea whether they’re all here,’ Jonty said, emptying the last of the food on to the cobbles. ‘No use in shutting them into the tack room in broad daylight, but we’d best get a couple of straw bales from the stack and spread them out over the floor ready for tonight. I know hens prefer to perch and perhaps Dad’ll put some poles across the far end, but if he doesn’t have time they’ll have to roost on the floor, and to be honest, I reckon they’ll be safer there than perching in the trees. I say, did you notice the grass in the orchard? There’s more windfalls down than you’d believe possible.’
Tess had noticed. ‘I expect when we’ve got all the pigs back into the hazel pasture, checked the cattle and made a note of all the broken fencing, uprooted hedges and stuff blown into the canal – I mean the cut – we’ll be sent to collect them, so that your mam can bottle or preserve any which aren’t too badly damaged,’ she said rather wearily. ‘Thank God Crippen wasn’t out with his numerous wives last night, but shut securely in his sty. I wouldn’t fancy arguing with him if he decided he didn’t want to go back into captivity.’
‘Nor me,’ Jonty said with feeling. They reached the hazel pasture and saw, with considerable relief, that the pigs were all present, though almost every one of the little wigwam-like shelters of which the Bells had been so proud was no longer usable. They went into the field to check, and having provided themselves with buckets of pigs’ swill were able to count the animals as they came greedily to the troughs. These were undamaged, but as they left the field once more Tess was dismayed to find a number of day-old chicks trodden into the mud, and very dead indeed. She began to pick up the little corpses, unable to prevent a trembling lip, a most unfarmerly approach, and when Jonty told her to put the chicks down so that the pigs could eat them she turned on him, telling him he was heartless and that some life might be left in one or two of the little balls of yellow fluff.
‘Don’t be daft. They’re dead as doornails – deader, in fact,’ Jonty said. ‘And so are those kittens. Do leave them, Tess, it’ll only upset you . . .’
‘Oh, but surely the pigs won’t eat dead kittens?’ Tess said, horrified, gazing pitifully at two little corpses she had overlooked before. ‘Where’s their mother? And why on earth did she let them leave the stable? They’re too young to wander off by themselves . . . Oh, look, that white one isn’t dead at all! I saw its little head move!’ She knelt down in the mud and managed, not without difficulty, to extract the white kitten and then the tabby, but Jonty shook his head at her.
‘If Tibbs is dead then they’d be better off dead too,’ he observed. ‘Their eyes aren’t properly open yet and they need their mother’s milk. Oh, Tess, don’t go scratchin’ round for the rest of the litter. God knows how they got all the way from the stable, but I’m sure the other six will still be in Sheba’s manger, and safe as houses. Probably Tibbs took fright at the storm and imagined she was carryin’ these two to safety. She wouldn’t have known better; she’s only a young cat, mebbe no more than two or three years old, and I’m sure she’s never seen a storm like the one last night.’ He peered hopefully at Tess as they let themselves out through the gate and headed for the stable. ‘Look, if you’re determined to try and save those kittens you’d best wash the mud off them before you put them back in the manger.’
Tess stared at him. ‘Wash the mud off them?’ she squeaked. ‘How can you be so stupid, Jonty Bell? After all they’ve suffered, cold water would be the final straw. I’m taking them into the kitchen. I’m sure your mother will find up a nice dry piece of blanket and an old shoe box for them. They can lie in front of the fire until the mud has dried. Then it can be brushed off and they can go back to their nest in the manger.’
Jonty heaved a sigh. ‘At least you’re learning that farming isn’t all picking apples, riding ponies and collecting eggs under beautiful blue skies,’ he said resignedly. ‘Poor old Tess! Look, you go into the kitchen and I’ll check that Tibbs and the other kittens are all okay.’
But this Tess refused to do, saying that she would accompany him to the stable first to make sure that the kittens had a mother to go to. She could imagine that Mrs Bell would not be at all pleased if she found her son and her temporary helper spending all their time spoon-feeding two tiny kittens, who might not survive their ghastly ordeal no matter how zealously they were nursed. They entered the stable to find it unusually light, because tiles had blown off the roof. And once they were in Sheba’s stall Tess realised at once why Tibbs had fled. Two of the big heavy tiles had plunged straight into the manger in which she and her kittens had lain. It had killed two of the little things outright, but four still remained, and as Tess bent over the manager Tibbs looked up hopefully, uttering a plaintive little meow which said as clearly as any words: ‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you. Please take care of me and my babies!’
Without a word Jonty seized Tibbs and two of the kittens and Tess took the other two in her free hand. Then they marched across to the farmhouse. Mr and Mrs Bell were both in the kitchen, and Tess waited for an explosion of wrath f
rom one or other when they realised that she and Jonty were bringing them more work and not less. But she wronged them. Mrs Bell grabbed a basket and lined it with a piece of dry towelling, then took the cat and her kittens and placed them in it. Then she shook her head over the state of the little creatures Tess had been holding. ‘They’re in a poor way, the little rats,’ she murmured. ‘What ha’ come to them?’
‘We don’t know; these two were in the mud in the hazel pasture, quite near the gate,’ Tess said tremulously. ‘We thought they were dead at first, but then the white one seemed to be trying to move his head and the tabby opened one eye.’
Mrs Bell looked up from her contemplation of the basket of kittens. ‘Where’s the other two?’ she demanded. ‘I’d be ready to swear Tibbs had eight, and there’s only six here.’
Tess explained sadly that the other two had been killed by falling roof tiles.
Mr Bell came over and examined the kittens curiously, and even as he did so the warmth seemed to have its effect and the white kitten gave an enormous yawn and then began the weaving motion of the head which indicated that it was hungry and searching for Tibbs’s nipple. The farmer laughed. ‘They’ll do,’ he said. ‘You’ve done well. Tibbs have good kittens and they’ll go to good homes. But what news of the in-pig gilts? Any of ’em aborted? It do happen if a storm terrifies a critter.’
