Luckpenny Land

by Freda Lightfoot

  No, she didn’t want nobody else here. Particularly if this one was anything like the rest of Meg’s family.

  Meg was bringing him into the house and they looked so happy together Effie’s heart softened and she decided to be generous. This brother was in the war, so he wouldn’t be stopping long. And he looked pleasant enough. Quite good looking in fact.

  ‘I’ll peel some more potatoes for the soup,’ she offered.

  ‘Oh, yes, you must be hungry, Charlie. Worn out,’ Meg said, all concern. ‘Have you been travelling long?’

  ‘Hours. If a train runs on time it can stop for no reason at all. Then you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with not the first idea where you are, even if you could see, which generally you can’t because the journey has taken so long it’s gone dark and there’s only a daft blue light in the crowded carriage. I had to stand all the way. Don’t know why I bothered making the effort.’

  Meg pulled a face teasingly at him, filled with a surge of fresh optimism just seeing Charlie’s cheery smile again. ‘I’m glad you did.’ It would be just like old times, she thought, as she hurried to liven up the fire. With them having fun and not caring a jot about the world outside.

  Effie held out a steaming mug of tea, small dark eyes measuring, assessing. She was starting to like this tall man, so like her lovely Meg.

  ‘We’ve no sugar nor milk so there’s no point in asking for any.’ She silently added there was precious little food either.

  ‘Right,’ said Charlie, and grinned, making Effie his slave for life. ‘I’ve been having a great time, Meg.’

  ‘I thought you were training?’

  ‘We are. But we find time to go dancing.’

  ‘Dancing?’

  ‘In the Tower Ballroom.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve time to dance then, if not send your sister postcards?’

  He playfully punched her. ‘All the dances were stopped at first, and the cinemas closed. But then they opened again and we all went along to celebrate. There’s some pretty girls in Blackpool. I can tell you of one in particular...’

  Meg hugged him. ‘You’re growing up too quickly, Charlie lad. Come on, sit down and drink your tea. You must be dropping on your feet. You’ll stay, won’t you? I’ll take your things upstairs. We’re not short of room here, that’s one good thing. We’ve more bedrooms than we know what to do with. You don’t know how glad I am to see you.’

  The three of them were sitting down to a much thinned potato and cabbage soup when there was a light tap on the door before it opened. ‘Hallo. Anyone in?’

  ‘Sally Ann!’

  ‘Watch out. I’m carrying precious cargo. One of my best steak and game pies.’

  Whoops of joy and it was hard to tell who was the most welcome, Sally Ann or the pie. The table was swiftly cleared of its odious soup and it took no time at all to demolish the delicious pie, succulent with meat and running with gravy.

  ‘Oh God, that was good,’ groaned Charlie, staggering from the table on exaggeratedly bent knees.’ I shall never move again.’

  Effie brought the tea and they all stared at the milkless fluid in the cups and then at each other.

  ‘We could go out to a pub,’ Charlie declared. ‘Father won’t know.’

  ‘How wicked,’ Sally Ann said, but Meg was forced to remind them of Effie.

  ‘We can’t leave her here alone while we go off enjoying ourselves.’

  ‘There’s the potato and beetroot wine I made,’ Effie suggested, eager to be a part of this delightful party. ‘It’s not that bad,’ she protested as faces were pulled and lips sucked.

  And after two or three glasses, it wasn’t.

  ‘Or else it’s scoured all the taste buds off my tongue,’ murmured Charlie, half asleep in the chair. ‘God, it’s good to be home. No, I’ll correct that. It’s good to be here with you Meg.’

  Brother and sister exchanged knowing smiles. ‘It’s good to have you here.’

  ‘Has Dad been causing any trouble?’

  ‘Nothing I can’t cope with. More wine?’

  ‘I’ve tried to talk to him,’ said Sally Ann. ‘But he just says you should come home and bring your head down from the clouds. He thinks I need help, which is ridiculous. I can manage perfectly well.’

  ‘He was saying something of the sort to me,’ Charlie blithely added. ‘I told him you couldn’t be in two places at once, and that you had the right to pursue a dream if you’d a mind to,’

  ‘Bless you.’ But Meg’s heart fluttered. Looking at Sally Ann, she did seem a bit washed out. ‘You mustn’t let him work you too hard.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. You’re the one with your work cut out.’

  ‘Sal’s right. How on earth are you going to manage here, on your own?’

  Meg bounced to her feet, anxious not to go into it all right now. It was so lovely to have Charlie here, and Sally Ann too, she had no intention of bothering them with any of her problems.

  ‘Mrs Lawson’s old piano is in the other room. Let’s have a singsong.’

  ‘Can you play?’ Sally Ann cried.

  ‘Charlie can. Mum had one in the parlour for years at home. Come on, lad, give us a tune.’

  ‘Right, you’re on.’

  That evening was the happiest that Meg could remember. Charlie thumped out song after song with more energy than accuracy but nobody minded. ‘Kiss Me Goodnight’, ‘Little Brown Jug’, ‘Colonel Bogey’, and a lively rendition of the ‘Woodchopper’s Ball’, amongst others. They all sang their socks off, even young Effie who didn’t know half the words. Later, Meg had them all in tears with a particularly moving rendition of ‘Over the Rainbow’.

  ‘Stand aside, Judy Garland,’ murmured Charlie, grinning broadly. ‘You’ve missed your vocation, Meg girl.’

  Replete and happy, with Charlie tucked up in the best bedroom, Meg hugged him and gave him a kiss before turning out the lamp, just as she had always done when he was growing up. For all there was only two years between them, she was still his big sister, wasn’t she? ‘Go on, don’t be so soft,’ he laughed, pushing her away, but with the sort of expression on his face that told her he didn’t mean it.

  Meg knelt beside the bed, a patch of moonlight washing the bright colour from her face and hair. ‘You will take care, won’t you, Charlie? I couldn’t bear...’

  ‘Don’t say it. It’s bad luck to say it.’ His face had gone white too with no help from the moon and she saw the extent of his bravery, covering up the raw fear beneath. She nodded, blinking away the tears.

  ‘It’s hard to think there’s a war on out there. I forget sometimes.’

  ‘You’ve got your own war to fight here. It’ll take some doing.’

  ‘I know. But I mean to try. Thanks for coming, anyway. You’ve been a real tonic for me, Charlie. Don’t worry,’ she quipped, ‘only the good die young.’ And ignoring his protests, planted another kiss on his cheek before going to her own bed.

  Charlie left all too soon as he only had a forty-eight hour pass. Meg consoled herself that it had been good to see he was well, though it was hard getting back to normality, and to potato and cabbage soup.

  But a day or two later their luck seemed to have changed when Mrs Davies from Melgate called with a side of bacon.

  ‘I hope you won’t take offence by it, but your Charlie passed by our place the other day, on his way back, he said. Proper swank he looked in his new uniform, I must say. You’ll be right proud of him, love.’ She gave a soft smile. ‘Anyroad, he happened to mention how you were a bit strapped for provisions like, Lanky not having kept any pigs this year. I should have thought of it myself. So I’ve fetched you a piece then you can take a shive off whenever you want.’

  Meg gazed longingly at the huge, muslin-wrapped bacon that reposed behind the seat in Mrs Davies’s old cart. ‘It’s very kind of you but I’m afraid we have no... I mean...’ Meg swallowed her pride and met the older woman’s kindly face with an embarrassed smile. ‘I’ve no money to pay you f
or it.’

  ‘Lord above, I don’t want no money for it. I’m glad to be of use to you. We’ve more’n enough for our needs, Will and me. Even though we have a hired man and an evacuee to feed, we’ll not go short.’ She gazed sternly at Effie. ‘You’ll be sending her to school, I trust. How old is she? Nine? Ten?’

  ‘About that,’ said Meg, realising that until this moment she had never given a thought to school for Effie. But Mrs Davies was quite right. She should go.

  ‘And church.’

  It was not a question and Meg assured the good lady they would both be there, come Sunday. Well satisfied, Mrs Davies took tea, was shocked to find they had no milk and promised to look into the matter without delay.

  Meg, worried that she meant to tackle Joe on the subject, urged her not to trouble. ‘We can manage,’ she assured her, but felt ashamed that she couldn’t even offer the farmer’s wife a scone or tea-cake by way of refreshment. As if divining the depth of the problem, Hetty Davies went on talking.

  ‘You’d be doing me a service if you took some flour off me hands too. I don’t know what William was thinking of to buy two sacks at once. Just because there’s a war on there’s no need to stock up for the duration already, I says to him.’

  ‘Mrs Davies, you are an angel in sheep’s clothing.’ And they both laughed.

  Meg’s embarrassment washed away before the cheerfulness of her visitor. Mrs Davies had always been a kind neighbour and a stalwart of the local ladies’ circle.

  ‘Did Lanky keep a horse?’ she wanted to know as she delicately sipped her tea.

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Well, you’re going to need one.’

  ‘Why?,

  ‘For the ploughing.’ She looked into the blank face and sighed. ‘Nay, don’t tell me you haven’t been taking in any news since you come up here?’

  ‘I’m afraid we haven’t seen a newspaper in weeks. Why, what’s going on?’

  ‘Only started a War Committee to tell us farmers what to do with our land, that’s what. Got to plough up thousands of acres, and pretty quick too or you get in proper trouble.’

  ‘Thousands of acres?’

  Hetty Davies chuckled, making the flesh of her chin wobble alarmingly. ‘Not you alone, Westmorland in general, I mean. I daresay someone will be calling to see you but in the meantime you’d best look out the likely land that’ll take a plough. Not that there’ll be much. We grow better stones up here than corn. I dare say Lanky has one rusting away somewhere. But if you don’t want to have to do it by hand, you’d best find, beg or buy yourself a strong horse. And some labour to help you.’

  ‘Labour?’

  ‘Aye. You can’t manage all this by yourself, now can you? Eeh, I remember the old hiring fair up at Ulverston. There’d be any number of farm girls and lads ready for taking on. Some of ’em had never been away from home before. Don’t know whether it’s still going on. I recall a grand fair in Staveley too when I were a girl. Only that was for sheep. Shepherds came from miles around. They’d pay us children a penny to block off the gateways so’s they could channel the sheep into the right field. We’d do it gladly for there were stalls and sideshows, swings and roundabouts to enjoy, and hot pot suppers. Grand it were. Nothing like that these days. All gone now.’ Swamped by nostalgia, the farmer’s wife shook her head and sipped sadly at her tea.

  Meg attempted to direct Mrs Davies back to this new information she was giving them.

  ‘Do you think Mr Davies could give me a bit of instruction? With the ploughing, I mean. I can’t afford labour. Nor a horse.’ But the prospect of ploughing even an acre by hand was too daunting to contemplate.

  ‘Eeh, course he would, lass. Be glad to.’ A plump lady in her fifties who, as she said, had never been blessed with children of her own, Hetty Davies looked with compassion upon Meg. ‘I’ll see if Will can lend you our Arlott for a day or two. He’s an old fell pony, bit of a clodhopper but reliable, not one for easy panicking.’

  Meg’s heart swelled with relief and thankfulness. ‘I’d be most appreciative. There’s just one more thing you could help me with.’ The enquiring eyes were kind so she found the courage to continue. Clearing her throat, she began, ‘I’ve found myself a bit short of rams this year. I wondered...’

  Mrs Davies stood up. ‘Say no more. I’ll send our Will round first thing. He’ll see what you need and put you right.’

  Satisfied with her good neighbourliness, Mrs Davies said her farewells and climbed stiffly back into her cart. Instructing a very plump pony to walk on, she clicked the reins at it for some moments before it finally deigned to lift its head from the sweet grass verge and obey.

  ‘I’ll see you at church then, come Sunday. Don’t forget to put that child into school.’

  Meg promised she would and waved goodbye, sighed with relief then danced a little jig of delight with Effie all around the kitchen.

  ‘Bacon for tea. I’ll find some eggs and we’ll have a real feast. Oh, things are looking up.’

  ‘Flour too, didn’t she say? Oh joy! I never thought to be so grateful for such a basic substance. We can have dumplings and potato cakes, soda bread... all sorts of good things.’

  Effie’s small face was alight with the promise of satisfying the rumblings of her continuous hunger. ‘Do that mean that I dun’t have to go and see Mr Lipstock? Do that mean I can stay?’

  Meg sobered at once and regarded the young girl before her, very seriously. ‘If I say that you can, Effie, you have to realise that the work will be hard. It won’t always be warm. Winter will come and we might get hungry again. We have a lot to learn with the sheep and we mustn’t risk losing any. We’ll have to go out in all weathers to look after them. This is a farm so we will get more and more animals, I hope, as time goes by. Perhaps even cows again one day. You will have to learn to like them or at least get used to them.’

  Effie chewed on her bottom lip. ‘Will I ’ave to milk ’em? Hold their tits and things?’

  Meg smothered a giggle. ‘Not if you don’t want to. But if you don’t milk, you’ll at least have to help sweep out the muck and clean the byre. I know you’re getting pretty good with the cooking but you will have to go to school, like Mrs Davies said. And church. If you live here, you have to become a proper part of the community.’

  Effie would have agreed to stand on her head every morning if that was what it took to stay in this lovely place. ‘I’ve never been to no school.’

  Meg looked shocked. ‘Then it’s long past time you started. You’ll also have to wash your face when I tell you to, instead of sneaking off and pretending that you’ve done it when really you haven’t. You’ll have to wear shoes instead of going barefoot. You’ll need to learn to keep your clothes tidy and wash them regularly. And you’ll have to get on with the village children, do your arithmetic and spelling and learn your scriptures, same as everyone else. Say please and thank you and no swearing. Do you think you can manage all of that?’

  Effie gazed at Meg with her big dark eyes. She didn’t quite know what half of these big words meant. But if Meg wanted her to do them, then she would find out how, and do it. Very solemnly, she nodded.

  ‘I will, if you want me to.’

  ‘That’s settled then.’

  They grinned at each other.

  ‘It’s going to be all right, Effie, you’ll see. Hard work, painful, difficult, and no doubt loads of problems ahead, but we’ll be all right. I know we will. Get slicing that bacon. I’m starving.’

  The next day Effie came screaming into the kitchen as if the devil were on her tail.

  ‘There’s a man in the yard with two monsters.’

  Meg glanced out the door then burst into laughter. ‘You’ve a strange idea of what constitutes a monster.’

  William Davies stood patiently waiting by the old yew chopping block. And two Shorthorn cows stood with equal patience by his side. ‘Hetty said as how you were needing a couple,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘They’re not me best b
y a long chalk but they still give good milk.’

  When Meg asked about payment he shook his head with its white grizzled beard. ‘See me right some time. When you get on your feet like.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’ A shy man, unused to company, Will brushed her thanks aside, anxious to be off.

  ‘I’ve put the flour and rice in the lean-to. Let me know when you want to borrow our Arlott for t’ploughing like, and I’ll give you a quick lesson. We can sort out the tups you need to borrow when the time comes. Owt else you want, give me a shout.’ And touching the neb of his cap he refused all refreshment and swiftly departed.

  Buoyed up by the generous support of her neighbours, Meg rode into town on her bike that very afternoon to find out the details from the War Committee about ploughing and came back pink cheeked with the thrill of discovery.

  ‘They’ll pay a grant of two pounds an acre when the work’s done. And there are more grants available for land draining.’

  Effie looked blank. ‘Is that good?’

  ‘If we can do ten acres, that would be twenty pounds. Almost half the rent next quarter day.’ Whether or not she had ten acres good enough to plough Meg had no idea, nor where the rest of the money was to come from. But her optimism was soaring.

  Seth Barton from Cathra Crag stopped off a day or two later with five young goslings and half a dozen turkeys. ‘I’m well stocked,’ he said gruffly. ‘They only need fattening up. Missus has sent a li’le bit of smoked Macon.’ This last proved to be a piece of mutton, smoked like bacon, delicious, and sufficient to feed them three months or more. Their winter was secure.

  ‘You’re very generous,’ gasped Meg.

  ‘Aye, well,’ Seth explained. ‘We were right fond of Lanky. It’s good to see the old place working again, and, beggin’ your pardon, we know help won’t be forthcoming from Joe. He won’t like the idea of you getting one over on him. You might do too well, and he won’t like that, will he?’ Seth went off chuckling, as if he’d cracked a joke.