by Angela Huth
After so much rain the previous autumn and winter, it was a poor harvest. With no animals to look after, George and Saul had been left with more free time on their hands, despite cutting silage and hay, than they could ever remember. But they made good use of it, repairing machinery, and the roof of the small barn where the lambs had been slaughtered. They checked fencing and hedges, replaced a gate that had been damaged by lorries carrying animals to the pyre. There was much to do to prepare for the day new stock would arrive.
One evening, George, Lily and Prodge sat in the garden sensing intimations of the grim summer’s ending. There was that gentle sharpness in the air that precedes September, when the sun sinks faster than it does in high summer. In the sheds the hay was piled to the roof. The silage was baled.
George went indoors to get more beer for Prodge and himself and a cup of tea for Lily. She felt sick, morning and evening, and tired. In that respect she was one of the unlucky ones, the nausea lasting so long. When he returned he found Saul had joined them. Since Ben’s departure Saul was more inclined to drop in occasionally, though he would never accept anything to eat or drink. He held his cap to his chest.
‘Plovers,’ he said. ‘On the wane, along with all the others. But it’s the song thrush I miss most.’
George, in no mood to be dispirited on such an evening, countered with a cheering fact. The otter was coming back, he told them. He’d read that since it was now illegal to dump toxic waste in the water, the otter was seen to be returning. Saul acknowledged this with a small bow, then his attention was caught by a single late swallow swerving across the sky. His eyes followed the tiny arrowhead-body until it was out of sight, and talk turned once more to the prospect of a fine herd of Friesians. The sun, low in the west, trailed a net of gold, unsullied by the recent killer flames. It grew cooler, but the four of them sat talking of sheep and cows until it was dark.
By mid-September 3,864,000 animals had been slaughtered.
His work on the house finished, Prodge had started improvements on the sheep shed. He spent most of his time there, determined it would all be in good order for the new animals. He was in high spirits, Prodge: he was enjoying his spell of carpentry, and he’d met a girl, he told Lily, with nice eyes. Not as nice as hers, he added, but he had hopes that she might not be a disappointment when he got to know her better. Confiding in Lily about such matters, with Nell gone, was one of the many benefits of his new life. He was able to laugh at himself, now, when he thought back to that silly passion of a summer afternoon, which had lingered because he had needed something beyond farming to sustain his heart. Lucky he came to his senses, bonfire night, he often thought, or being friends with Lily, as he was now, would not have been possible.
In mid-September, too, the British outbreak of foot and mouth disease was officially declared the worst the world had ever seen.
George ordered new trees. He thought of Nell.
The experts continued to argue about the pros and cons of vaccination. DEFRA’s progress in country matters was slow. George read somewhere that a farmer telephoned requesting permission to move his bull. A DEFRA official rang back to ask what sex it was. Occasionally, there was cause to smile.
In that same month, when people’s concern was for the troubles of the greater world, it was announced that all forty million sheep – the entire British flock – would be culled should they become infected with BSE.
‘Preparing the public for the grand finale of farming in this country,’ said George.
‘How the hell’s the land going to be kept in order, no animals to graze it?’ said Prodge. ‘I suppose we’ll all be asked to be park keepers. Whole countryside one bloody great theme park.’ This had long been his fear. He sighed. ‘Daresay there’s one thing Nell and I can be grateful for – we decided against diversifying, going in for all the hassle of B&B. Look at the poor sods who tried. No tourists, no customers, just huge debts.’
The vision of a sheepless land was shortlived, for just two weeks later it was learnt (in a late-night report) that there had been a muddle. Four years of testing ovine brains for BSE were worthless, for the mush so scrupulously studied had turned out to be bovine. Cause for another weary smile.
George and Prodge recognised, along with thousands of traditional farmers, that the outlook for the future was bleak. Profits for many were down to £2,500 a year. Those who could not move their stock, because of regulations, were running out of food and losing hundreds of pounds a week. It would be a hard winter.
But it was the warmest October on record. In the evenings, George, Lily and Prodge were still able to sit outside, for the summery air stayed with them till dusk. There was time to ponder on the troubled state of the land: it was odd to have so much time. An independent report concluded that if there had been instant culling at the outbreak of foot and mouth, 1.6 million animals and £800 million of public money would have been saved. The handling of the whole affair had been ‘lamentable’. Hardly news to farmers.
A few days later it was announced that in any future outbreak of the disease it would be unlawful to appeal against culling. In ministerial opinion, some farmers had helped to spread the disease by activating their rights to appeal against the slaughter of their animals. Nothing inspired optimism, as George said. But he, Prodge, Lily and Saul were not deterred. They continued with their plans for resuscitating the farm. At the end of the month they were to buy their new stock.
Often they spoke of Nell.
By now, George noticed that Lily arched her back slightly whenever she sat down, as women do when pregnancy becomes uncomfortable. He looked forward to their child being born at Christmas, and to the birth of new lambs in the spring.
This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP
Copyright © Angela Huth 2002
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ISBN: 9781448200115
eISBN: 9781448201433
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