Catherine of Deepdale

by Millie Vigor

  Slowly, persistently, Doris Marshall wheedled out of Catherine the whole story of what had happened to her. She was aghast at the remoteness, the living conditions and the lack of what she thought of as essentials, and found it hard to understand why Catherine had accepted their absence. She was sympathetic over Robbie’s death, but angry when she learned of the tricks Jannie had played.

  ‘If she thinks she’s going to treat you like that and get away with it then she’s got another think coming.’

  ‘Leave it, Mum, it’s all in the past.’

  ‘Leave it? What do you think my name is? I won’t have a moment’s peace when I get home if I think she’s going to go on treating you like that. It’s going to be sorted and right now, or I’m a Dutchman.’ Doris stormed off to do battle despite Catherine’s pleas to forget about it and leave well alone.

  ‘I’m going to give that woman a piece of my mind,’ said Doris. Kay stood and watched her push her feet into her boots and put her coat on.

  ‘You mean Jannie, I take it. I wish you luck,’ said Kay. There was a smile on her face as Doris went out, slamming the door behind her. Much of the fire that had been in Catherine’s mother when she left the house had gone out when she came back. ‘Well, I don’t know how you understand a word they say,’ she said, ‘it isn’t English they speak, it’s a foreign language.

  Kay was preparing a meal. ‘You didn’t get on very well, then?’

  ‘Get on?’ Doris took off her coat and hat and hung them up, then took off her boots. ‘She’s a dragon. I got nowhere at all. He seems nice enough, though.’

  ‘Daa is a gem,’ said Kay. ‘He’ll look out for Catherine. Jannie doesn’t get it all her own way.’

  Allowed out of bed, Catherine joined her mother and Kay in the kitchen. Kay still came in every day, for Doris forgot about the fire and didn’t stoke it, so it frequently had to be coaxed back to life.

  ‘I could do with some fresh air,’ said Catherine. She went to the door, then gasped as she opened it. ‘Oh, my God! I’ve never seen snow so deep.’

  A dazzling white world met her eye; above it were clear blue skies, out of which shone a sun that was hard and brassy.

  ‘You should be glad you had your baby when you did,’ said Kay. ‘If you’d left it another day or two Daa would never have got out nor the doctor in.’

  ‘Why, what’s been happening?’

  ‘We’ve had the worst snowfall for years. The roads were all blocked. To get a lorry through for supplies men had to dig a way through for miles and then do the same again to get it back,’ said Kay. ‘It’s a wonder your mother got through, she must have been determined to see you.’

  ‘My mother is a force to be reckoned with.’

  ‘You can say that again. I told you the aurora we saw last year meant trouble, didn’t I? I didn’t expect this though. Snowdrifts are bad enough, but add your mother …’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Doris, who had been listening. ‘I’m trouble, am I?’

  ‘I’m sure Jannie thought you were,’ said Catherine. ‘How long do you think the snow is going to last, Kay?’

  ‘It’s beginning to thaw, we must hope not long.’

  ‘Weren’t you afraid you’d run out of food?’ asked Doris.

  ‘No, we have milk from the cow, potatoes and carrots in store and flour in the bin. What more do we want? And Catherine’s feeding the baby, so,’ Kay laughed, ‘he’ll be all right. You have to know how to keep a store cupboard that’ll last through an emergency. Who’d like a cup of tea?’

  Although snow had stopped falling the snow that lay did not lessen, but gradually roads were cleared and news came at last that the boat would sail. Doris, who had borrowed her daughter’s clothes because her suitcase had been stranded in Lerwick, made plans to be reunited with it and make her way home. This time she would not have to walk, for a lift had been arranged with a local trader. So one day she hugged Catherine, made her promise not to keep any more secrets, kissed the baby and said goodbye.

  Then Billie called. ‘Mam made you a hufsi,’ he said as he dumped a box on the table.

  ‘What on earth’s a hufsi?’ asked Catherine.

  ‘Take a look.’

  ‘Oh, it’s a cake.’ Catherine held it to her nose and sniffed. ‘It smells good; thank your mother for me, will you?’

  ‘Ay. Where’s the boy?’

  ‘So it’s the baby you’ve come to see, not me at all?’

  ‘No,’ said Billie, ‘I always like to see you, but I would like to see the bairn.’ He looked in the pram, pulled the covers back and gazed at the little one.

  ‘Would you like to hold him?’ asked Catherine. ‘Most people do.’

  Billie hesitated. ‘I’d maybe drop him; perhaps when he’s bigger?’

  ‘Can I ask you a favour? Would you be his godfather?’

  ‘Godfather! I don’t know. What does a godfather do?’

  ‘You’re supposed to see that he’s brought up to be a good, God-fearing citizen, but nobody seems to check on you so …’ Catherine spread her hands, ‘I don’t know about here, but back home it seems a mere formality.’

  ‘If you think I can, I will,’ said Billie.

  As Billie left Kay came in. ‘Rose sent me a cake,’ said Catherine, ‘and I asked Billie if he would be little Robbie’s godfather.’

  ‘You’ll need another godfather, and a godmother too.’

  ‘Will you be godmother? You should be, you were there from the start.’

  ‘I’d love to. Who else are you going to ask?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. Here, hold your godson, I’ll make some tea and we’ll try that cake.’

  Trapped by deep snow Catherine took advantage of the time it gave her to be with her baby. Kay often found her sitting by the fire with him cradled in her arms. When she told Catherine she was making a rod for her own back, Catherine replied that her little boy deserved all the love and cuddling he could get. But as the days lengthened and the sun crept slowly back into the north she began to feel a longing to be out of doors. The desire to begin working with the sheep again filled her waking moments, but until Robbie was big enough and old enough to be left with Kay she would content herself with studying her books.

  TWENTY ONE

  CATHERINE’S PREGNANCY HAD stolen a lot of her time and she still had much to learn. In the evenings she pored over her books. Leaving Robbie with Kay she went back to her outdoor work and gradually regained her strength and stamina. Never did she wake in the morning and wonder what she was going to do that day. There were hill sheep to see to; rounded up and driven down to collecting pens to be dipped, sheared and for lambs to be marked. Later on lambs would be divided into those to be sold and those kept for breeding. August saw her turning and tossing hay to dry. When the potatoes were ready for lifting she joined Jannie and the aunts to pick them up. October saw her helping to harvest the oats. When winter crept over the horizon, days shortened and nights grew long. Sometimes the Merry Dancers lit the sky and Catherine would look up to watch and wonder.

  So the years slid away and with her son, now four years old, winter nights were spent by the fire. With little Robbie tucked into the chair by her side she read to him. He had grown into a sturdy youngster and with the turn of the year, his birthday had come and gone. He spent more time with her now and less with Kay or the aunts.

  Spring came in wet and cold and boded ill for the in-lamb ewes. Catherine worried about them and wished she had better outbuildings. There was not enough room in the buildings she had to put them all in to shelter. Added to the hill ewes that were now hers she had a little flock of six pedigree Cheviot ewes. Last year she had put the ram to them in the latter part of October so that they would produce their lambs at the end of March or by the middle of April. On her calendar she had marked the day when she could expect the first lamb. It came and went and day and night after that she donned a jacket and went out to check the ewes. She had learned that sheep often gave birth in th
e hours before dawn.

  The first glimmerings of day were beginning to lighten the sky when she left the house. It had been raining steadily all night and as she trudged along she cursed the foul weather. She found her little flock sheltering in the lee of a wall. In the beam of light thrown by her torch she counted them: one was missing. When she found it she was not surprised to discover that it was giving birth.

  The ewe was lying down and Catherine could see she had been labouring for some time; there were scuff marks in the grass where she had pawed the ground till bare earth showed. Catherine drew near then went down on her knees behind the animal. Blinking away the rain that was driving into her face she looked to see what was happening. A swollen head and two little feet protruded; the head should not be lying on the feet; legs should be out first. What did Daa say? Push the head back, then pull the feet out, the rest will follow.

  She took a piece of string from her pocket and tied it round the lamb’s feet to stop them being lost. Placing three fingers on the unborn lamb’s forehead she pushed its head gently back into the womb. Now she took hold of the feet and pulled them forward. Through the nerves of her fingers she felt the joints straighten; pulling again she was rewarded by the sight of the head coming through on top of the legs. She pulled steadily and with a rush the whole body slid out.

  There was no birth sac to remove from the lamb’s nose, but instead of sneezing and beginning to breathe it lay lifeless on the ground. It was a big ram lamb. ‘Come on,’ said Catherine as she rubbed its back briskly, ‘come on … breathe.’ Rubbing vigorously she willed the Iamb to suck air into its lungs. But despite her efforts it lay still. What now? Scrambling to her feet she picked it up by its back legs and holding tightly swung it round and round as she’s seen Daa do. Then she checked for sign of life, found none, so swung again. It did not respond. It was dead. Catherine laid it on the ground before its mother and watched as the ewe bent down to nuzzle it.

  Still the rain beat down; ran in little rivers down Catherine’s face and though she knew not every lamb was born to live she hadn’t been there to help and this one had died. It was her fault. Sinking to her knees she put out a hand and touched it. It was her first pedigree lamb. And it was dead. Tears now mingled with the rain on her face.

  It was Daa’s hand that touched her shoulder. ‘What are you doing, lass?’ he said. ‘You’ll get your death of cold. Get up.’

  ‘Oh, Daa,’ she sobbed, ‘the lamb’s dead.’

  ‘It’s not your fault; you know some ewes have problems. You can’t be with them every minute. Come on, get up.’ Daa took her hand and helped her to her feet. ‘You mustn’t get too fond of your animals or you’ll break your heart whenever one dies, and sheep don’t live that long. You just have to do your best by them.’ He patted her on the shoulder. ‘Now get away to your bed.’

  ‘Have you finished your breakfast, Robbie?’ said Catherine.

  ‘I’m done,’ said the little boy.

  ‘Come then, let me put your boots on.’ Little Robbie slid off his chair and padded on his stocking-clad feet to his mother. ‘You can come with me to see the lambs,’ she said as she knelt down to push his feet into a pair of rubber boots.

  ‘Is there a lot o’ lambs?’

  ‘No, just the twin Cheviots.’

  ‘Is dat da new eens?’

  ‘You mean, “Are they the new ones”.’

  ‘Are they the new ones?’ parroted the boy.

  Catherine sat back on her heels and looked at him, a sturdy child who spent less time with Kay and more with his grandfather. The aunts waylaid him; Laura scooped him up, Mina knitted for him, Jannie fed him. From all of them he heard the dialect; it was inevitable that he would copy it. What did it matter?

  She stood up. ‘Coat and hat now, it’s none too warm.’

  ‘Is Fly comin’ wi’ us?’ said Robbie as a collie got out of its basket.

  ‘Not now,’ said Catherine, and to the dog, ‘Go back.’

  Separated from the barn and a little way from the house was a small stone-walled shed. A hurdle had been fastened across the doorway in place of a door. Telling Robbie to stay where he was, Catherine put the hurdle aside and went in. A white-faced ewe backed itself into a corner and stamped a foot at her. As it turned its head to look at the lambs by its side its curved Roman nose was only too plain to see. Speaking softly Catherine bent down to pick up one of the lambs. It was a male, bigger of the two and a good weight.

  ‘Look, Robbie,’ she said as she held it up to show him, ‘isn’t he a beauty?’

  ‘Is that the champion?’ said the boy, touching the lamb’s tightly curled coat.

  ‘I don’t know, too soon to tell,’ said Catherine. She put the lamb down and caught the other one, knowing it was a female. Both lambs had been born the previous day and though Daa thought it unnecessary she had put them in the shed to let them bond and to protect them from what might have been a cold wet night. It hadn’t rained and the day was fine so there was no need to keep them confined.

  ‘Come here, Robbie, help me send them out.’ She lifted the little boy to safety and carrying him sent the ewe and lambs out into the park. Away they went, the lambs bouncing along beside their mother, the ewe bleating anxiously as she ran with them. Robbie laughed and clapped his hands while Catherine stood for a moment to watch them.

  When the flurry of lambing was over it was time to cast peat. Catherine put a flask of milk and a packet of sandwiches in a bag and, taking Robbie by the hand, set off to climb the hill to the moor. They made slow progress, the hill was steep, the child soon tired so she picked him up and carried him astride her shoulders. The going was easier then and soon they were heading toward the peat banks. She set Robbie down. ‘Don’t wander off, stay close by me,’ she said.

  She picked up the tushkar and began to cut. As she cast her peat she constantly raised her eyes to see what her child was doing and called him back when she thought he was straying too far. It had really not been a good idea to bring him; her attention was not on her work but divided between it and him. She drove the blade of the tushkar into the peat and climbed out of the bank.

  ‘Come here, Robbie,’ she said, ‘let’s have a drink and something to eat.’ As they sat side by side she poured milk for him and they ate the sandwiches.

  ‘Tell me a story, Mam,’ said Robbie.

  With her arm round him the little boy leaned close to her and Catherine began with the age-old, ‘Once upon a time …’

  Climbing the hill and running around while Catherine had been working had tired the boy. When his head drooped and he no longer responded to what she was saying she folded the lunch bag for a pillow and laid him down to sleep. Looking down at him, at his dark hair, at the long dark eyelashes lying on his cheek and could see the resemblance to his father.

  The wind whispered through the grass, skylarks sang curlews and whimbrels warbled and the sea rumbled at the foot of the cliffs. Catherine looked around; at the greens and blood-red of moss, yellow tormentil, blues and greys of the sea, black of peat and tan, brown and white of the native sheep. Later the hills would be covered in the pinks, mauves and purple of heather. The same colours that were woven into the Fair Isle-patterned garments that Jannie and her sisters made.

  Cutting peat was hard work, but with all the outdoor work she had been doing Catherine was very fit. She had only cut half her bank, there was much more to do, but she would leave Robbie with someone else next time. The sound of someone coming made her look round and she saw Norrie Williams.

  ‘I saw you here and wondered why you weren’t working,’ he said. ‘Now I can see why? How have you been?’ He sat down. ‘You’re lookin’ well. I hear you’re breedin good sheep.’

  ‘You should come and have a look at them. I haven’t seen you for ages.’

  ‘That’s because you’re always working when I’ve been over.’

  ‘Well, I do have a lot to do.’

  ‘Hi Catherine,’ shouted Billie, striding toward them.<
br />
  Catherine pointed down at Robbie, then put a finger to her lips and waved a hand to indicate he should be quiet. Billie nodded.

  ‘What are you doing here, Norrie Williams?’ asked Billie. ‘Do you not have to cut peat?

  ‘Yes, and so have you.’

  Catherine looked from one to the other. They were both men, for no longer could Billie be called a boy; at twenty he had filled out and become strong and muscular. The down that had been on his chin at sixteen was now stubble.

  ‘How’s your love life, Billie?’ said Norrie, lying back and supporting himself on one elbow.

  Billie kicked at a turf. ‘None o’ your business,’ he said.

  ‘Ah … so you fancy a lass,’ teased Norrie.

  ‘I told you,’ protested Billie as a faint flush of red spread up his face.

  ‘Leave him alone, Norrie,’ said Catherine.

  ‘No, he has a lass and I want to know who she is.’

  ‘I’m not telling you,’ said Billie. He sounded annoyed.

  ‘Ah … she must be awful nice then, if you won’t tell us.’ Norrie lay on his back and laughed. ‘I’m telling you, Catherine, he’s only waiting for the dark nights so he can have his way wi’ her.’

  Blushing now to the roots of his hair Billie spat, ‘I’m not going to stay here and listen to you.’ Telling Catherine he would see her some other time he turned round and stalked away.

  ‘Norrie!’ exclaimed Catherine as she watched a crestfallen Billie making his way across the moor. ‘That was very unkind of you; you’ve upset him.’

  Norrie laughed. ‘It’s you he fancies,’ he said. ‘Did you not know?’

  Forgetting the sleeping child, her voice raised, Catherine said, ‘I never heard anything so ridiculous.’ At that Robbie began to stir. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ she said. She smiled when Robbie opened his eyes and looked at her, gathered the still sleepy child into her arms. ‘Say hello to your godfather, Robbie,’ she said, then to Norrie, ‘I don’t know why I asked you to be that. You haven’t been to see us more than a couple of times since he was born.’