by Alan Tansley
‘It’s not paying, and being run down on purpose,’ said Timothy, and frowned at the consequences.
Seeming enthusiastic, George chipped in, ‘Don’t forget, old Simpkins was on his own. He hired in occasional help when needed. I don’t know though, we could always double our root vegetables over there. I suppose with good management we could pull that land around in three or four years.’
The following weekend, Penelope spoke with Mahala. She dared to mention Mahala’s health, which had been a subject avoided by all, and she was determined to be more useful to the family. She asked if the children could start school in the village. It had been mentioned in the papers that the government was going to pass legislation that all children under the age of eleven must attend, and that if any over that age wanted to refresh their reading and writing skills, they could do. Mahala was concerned about the spread of tuberculosis, but eventually agreed. However, she was determined to attend with Penelope when she enquired.
Georgina, approaching seventeen, was looking forward to taking the rest of the children to school on Monday morning. They met with the new vicar and the school teacher in the old church hall. Everything went according to plan; the children were accepted, and Georgina was relieved. She was ready for a change of scenery, but she was soon allocated a group of five year olds to help improve their reading skills. Mahala was very surprised when everyone she met asked how she was keeping, and respectfully gave her their sympathy for losing Joseph.
Deliberately keeping a few paces back, Penelope noted that a lot of the women respectfully nodded to Mahala before they shook her hand, and as they chatted away, it seemed they were all treating her like a great aunt. She felt very pleased when Mahala turned, and taking hold of her hand, brought Penelope forward and began to introduce her daughter-in-law.
From then on, Penelope would drive the children to school in the pony and trap, and it didn’t take long before she began to socialise. The weather began to deteriorate. Tea and biscuits became available, but one morning, Penelope was shocked when she found out that the main reason many of the villagers didn’t attend Joseph’s funeral was that they just didn’t know about it—the family hadn’t informed anyone but the vicar. Penelope decided to keep the information to herself for now, and came to the conclusion that most of the villagers had the greatest respect for Mahala, Joseph and their family, but because of the distance between them, very few words were ever spoken.
Timothy and George began to work wonders over the winter months, renovating all the animal buildings. They planned to build up the livestock to put in the buildings, but they soon received a shock. After an excellent Sunday lunch cooked by Mahala, she informed them that she had invited the agent for the Simpkins farm to visit, with a view to purchasing their property.
Staring at her, George gasped, ‘Good grief, mum, can we really afford it?’
‘I have been reading Joseph’s diaries, and the shortcomings and pitfalls of running this place, and I can read between the lines as well. Over these last few weeks, I have also noticed that Florence has that glowing look in her face again, very similar to when she was expecting Georgina. As you all should know by now, Joseph and I always looked after the offspring first, so the answer must be yes.’
Florence’s face was now glowing bright red, and George slipped his arm around her, laughing and saying, ‘I told you mum would already know.’
Penelope hadn’t known, but she grasped the situation and offered her congratulations, kissing Florence on the cheek.
‘Well, brother, it’s time for a celebration,’ said Timothy, and going to the cupboard, took out a bottle of brandy. He noticed a half-full bottle, and turned to his mother, asked, ‘Have you been drinking this.’
‘No, it’s exactly as your father left it.’
Timothy stared at the bottle, then closed the cupboard and turned to face the others.
‘What, did you think he could see you?’ asked George, grinning.
‘No, it’s just that he was the last to use it, so it will remain like that.’
‘Well said, darling,’ said Penelope, smiling.
Most working farmers were a strange breed of people. They were in a profession that made money out of life and death, so anything else was secondary. If a chicken stopped laying eggs, it was necked, prepared for the oven and younger chicks reared to replace it. Young female calves would be introduced to help stocks, so older ones could be sold for beef. All animal husbandry is the same—birth, rearing for breeding and then killing for food; it was as much a production line as anything in a factory.
The children were now settled in school, and there were only two weeks to go before Christmas. Mahala had put a bid in for the Simpkins farm, and when it was to be auctioned, she told the auctioneer that Timothy and George would be representing her.
That Sunday, they were having lunch, and there was a banging on the door. Timothy opened the door, and stared at a smallish, rather scruffily-dressed chap.
‘Yes, can I help you?’ Timothy said.
‘I’m looking for George Cotton.’
‘George,’ shouted Timothy.
George approached, and staring at the chap, asked, ‘Yes, mate, can we help you?’
‘Oh hello there, mate. I bet you don’t recognise me now, but I’m Lionel Walker. I was the trench guard over in Belgium for red platoon.’
‘Bloody hell,’ gasped George, and held his hand out.
Lionel shook his hand, and said, ‘It’s taken me ages to find you, and when I asked in the village, they all stared at me dumbfounded.’
‘Come on in and sit down. Fancy a drink?’ asked George, and then winked at his mum, taking a bottle out of a cupboard and pouring him a brandy.
Lionel’s eyes gleamed as he thanked George, and he downed his brandy in one gulp. He leered as he watched Penelope usher the children into the bedroom.
‘Right then, what have you been up to? And why have you called here of all places?’
‘I’ll go and help Florence wash up,’ said Timothy, and nodded to his mum to follow.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll stay and listen. You never know, it might broaden my education,’ said Mahala, smiling sarcastically, her posture determined.
Lionel informed George and Mahala of why he had called. It seemed that he too had read the papers, seen what had been written about Henry, and had written to the paper in concern. He informed them of the truth, but they never replied.
‘It’s all wrong, George, your Henry was a hero. I saw him in action. Bloody hell, if we had another thousand men like him, the war would have finished years before. Do you know what else he did, he even gave grace to the enemy so they could retrieve their dead, and then the buggers still shelled us. Mind you, it was all that Lieutenant’s fault. Do you know he eventually lost over a hundred men? By the way, you do know you are the only one left out of red platoon?’
Very nearly in tears Mahala said, ‘We have Henry’s war medals and his dispatch papers.’
Lionel, drooling as he gazed at a plate of meat, asked, ‘Bloody press, it’s all wrong. By the way, is any of that food spare?’
‘Please help yourself to whatever there is,’ replied George, eyeing his mum as he pushed the plate of meat towards him.
Mahala stood up and slowly continued towards the bedroom. Losing her youngest child had hurt her deeply, and then losing Joseph so quickly had really knocked the stuffing out of her. Now that she knew more, she was reminded that Henry was taken from her unnecessarily, and it hurt now more than ever.
George watched Lionel eating, and tried to question him further based on what he little he could remember himself, because occasionally he doubted some of Walker’s stories. He thought Lionel might just be visiting to scrounge on them. George asked, ‘So whatever happened to that stupid Lieutenant, did he get the push or what?’
‘No, he got killed. Only a few months after Henry was arrested. As usual, they replaced the platoon with another, and while he was briefing t
he Corporal, a shell landed very near to them and blew him to bits. Well, put it this way, there was nothing left to bury.’
George couldn’t help smiling because he had never liked the man, and now hated him because of what he had done to Henry. He glanced over his shoulder to Timothy’s bedroom door, and turning back to Lionel, he smiled and then stood up, saying, ‘Well, mate, it’s been nice to see you again, and I suppose you’ll want to be on your way now. Did you come through the village to get here?’
‘Oh, well, yes I did. Two chaps that came out of the ale house, sorry, new public house, directed me here.’
‘A public house is it now, have they changed its name accordingly to suit its clients?’ asked George, now staring at him.
‘I don’t know what you mean, but what about it? Does it matter all that much?’
‘You mean it’s just for gathering and drinking then?’
‘That’s what they are usually built for,’ said Lionel, grinning.
George stood up and took a few slices of meat off the plate. He handed them to Lionel, and said ‘Right then, I’ll escort you to the main road if you’re ready.’
Taken aback by George’s abruptness, Lionel stuffed the meat into his pockets and, half-smiling, turned towards the door, saying, ‘Well, if I must go then.’
They ambled up the lane five minutes later. Lionel began to give George a sob story, saying he couldn’t find any work and was sleeping rough because he was penniless. George had assessed him and decided that he was a rogue, and this impression was furthered when Lionel continued to moan about having no money, and being penniless and debt-ridden. Suddenly, Lionel asked, ‘How’s the leg, did you get any compensation out of them?’
He tried to change the subject from money, and replied, ‘Not a penny, this government is only for taking not giving.’ When he saw the lights coming from inside a house, George stopped. Noticing people milling around inside, he asked, ‘Is that the new public house?’
‘Yes, mate. Fancy buying me a drink because I’m desperately broke?’
‘I haven’t any money. I have to rely on my family for financial support,’ replied George, appreciating the rest. He began to eye the building.
‘Does it still get sore?’ asked Lionel, and held out his hand, while nodding to his leg.
George smiled and shook his hand. ‘It’s like toothache. Anyway, mate, best of luck for the future, and do try to keep out of bother.’
‘I haven’t much choice. See you again sometime,’ replied Lionel, waving as he walked down the lane. As soon as George was out of sight, however, he turned towards the pub.
Chapter 34
On the following Wednesday morning, Mahala sat proudly as she travelled to Sheffield to visit the bank with her sons, Timothy and George, on either side of her. The Simpkins farm was still for sale, and if a buyer couldn’t be found by the end of the month, it was to be auctioned. The Cottons didn’t want any of the magnates to get hold of it, and as they knew that the big companies always waited for an auction to get a cheaper price, they decided to try to negotiate and beat them to it.
They had made an offer that had been verbally accepted, and the deal had been sealed by a handshake. The owner would be notified by the following evening, if the Cottons could realise the amount. The bank manager did his best to dissuade them because of the present economic climate, stating that the prospect of another world war was looming.
Timothy raised his eyebrows when he found out how much money his mum had in the bank, and when the manager said he would make the amount available within the following week. George forced a smile, thinking, ‘That’s another upheaval that the family will have to go through.’
There was also another upheaval for him when Florence had a son. As Georgina was now too old for school, it was decided that they would open a butcher’s shop in a converted out-building on the Simpkins farm. It was near to the village, and she could serve in there. This was Penelope’s idea, as since she had first visited the farm, she had seen the village grow into a small town. The colliery was doing very well now, supplying numerous iron foundries, domestic households and breweries with coal. A new brick-built school was erected, as well as a town hall with an extension for various meetings and activities; so far it had proved successful.
Coal gas was laid through the main street, and any households wanting a supply, had an extension laid and coupled up. This was only another way for the coal mine owner to recoup some of his outlay by deducting the gas bill out of the colliers’ wages, but some took this as progress.
A sudden epidemic of measles began to spread like wildfire, and one late spring Monday morning, only two pupils attended school, so they were both sent home and it was closed until further notice. Always lurking in the background was the dreaded tuberculosis. This disease, on and off, had been prominent for over a hundred years, and with nothing done about it, a second wave was approaching the village fast. This bacterium attacked the lungs, and most people who had the advanced type of TB could spread it by coughing or sneezing their saliva in the air, which normally infected everyone else. TB was fatal for half of its victims, especially if they were already weakened by the measles.
On a wider scale, in the late thirties, Germany was making great strides towards another world war. Its military capacity had grown to the extent that it nearly engulfed their nation.
The Cottons were not paying much attention to world events. George was now living in, and in the middle of decorating, the Simpkins farmhouse. This left their former property vacated, but they had advertised locally for a labourer with a wife to help with domestic duties.
Timothy and George worked endlessly preparing the land, heavily manuring fifteen acres, then leaving it fallow until the following year. When they finished, they continued work on George’s new house and outbuildings. There seemed to be endless amounts of work to be done. After they had interviewed a young married couple from the village who appeared to be suitable, George asked his mother, ‘Before we take them on, we haven’t seen Mr Webster or his family for ages, so what about offering him the job?’
‘No, because of his age. The last time I spoke with Mrs Webster, she moaned that the sooner she gets him out of that mine and retired the better.’
‘But he’ll have no income when he does.’
‘He will if they pass that new pension law. At least all those that have worked all their lives will have something to carry on living with, my parents didn’t. Anyway, let’s not argue about the future. That’s for our kids, not us.’
Sunday lunchtime was always classed as a special time for Mahala. Rising early, after a skimpy breakfast, she began to prepare dinner for everyone, and often smiled when Timothy joked that if they had more kids they’d need a bigger table. Florence and George decided to call their son Joseph after his granddad, which pleased Mahala and raised her spirits.
Occasionally, Mahala would need a moment on her own, and the family knew why. She really missed Joseph and his loving tender moments that always made her feel wanted, but above all, she missed him often telling her he loved her.
There was no way of thanking someone who had died, and she bitterly regretted not telling him how grateful she was for him often enough when he was still alive. Going to bed on her own was also lonely, especially on a cold night when there was no one to cuddle up to. She could afford most things she wanted, but she had always relied on Joseph’s advice to inform her of whether she was doing the right thing.
The deeds for both farms were held in the bank vault in Sheffield, together with Mahala’s will. She had stipulated to her sons that for both farms to survive, they had to make a profit, so there would be no spare money to prop up anyone.
One thing that really bothered her was that every few months, Timothy would receive an official large brown letter, and sometimes it was not delivered by the post office but by a tall, well-dressed chap who always asked if Timothy was available to have a quick word with. He never was.
Eve
ntually, to ease her nattering, Timothy informed his mum that if anyone called to see him, he was always unavailable. When she asked why, he replied that it was none of her business.
They postponed taking on a general labourer because most applicants’ families had decided to move into the city instead, and George’s old house remained empty. During the usual discussion after Sunday dinner, they decided not to hire anyone at that time, as they were coping fine without.
Early in the year, the corn rep called. He knew that there would be nothing to buy, but he came to introduce his successor, as he was about to retire. Timothy and George took the opportunity to notify them about their recent acquisition of the Simpkins farm, their plans for the farm shop, and roughly how much acreage of barley would be on offer the following year. The rep’s eyes opened wide, and instantly out came the paperwork with possible future purchasing prices.
In late April, the land was broken down, nearly ready for corn drilling. Timothy and George spent a lot of time mending fences and trimming hedges. Mahala had noticed the tractor was only used for heavy work, but every time she saw it her heart pounded, cringing with heartache.
Penelope and Florence were reading up on how to store and present slaughtered farm animals, but again Mahala had the last word, as she chose the building to be used for the farm shop and insisted that it would have to be lime-washed for hygiene. They picked a north-facing building for natural coolness, and after it was cement- rendered inside, it was painted to Mahala’s specifications. Large wooden butcher’s tables were made by George, and now the only thing left to do was to enquire how much it would cost for the local knacker’s man to slaughter then bleed their animals.
This was a very busy time of year for them, and wherever possible, the women always helped, including Mahala, although she was now looking her age. After helping to design the layout of the shop, an idea she liked very much, she continued towards the doorway of the renovated Simpkins house. When she surveyed the work that had been done, she felt very proud of her sons’ efforts. Now that she knew both farms were in tip-top condition, the crafty thought of how much it would all fetch if she sold up occurred to her.
