by Alan Tansley
After more deliberations and debates, eventually Penelope’s advice was taken on board, and after various fruit trees were planted, they went all out planting brassica seedlings, and then root vegetables.
One morning, while opening the mail, Penelope had to quickly sit down after reading a letter from the social security department, stating that she was overdue to claim her pension. At first Penelope was shocked at the idea, then she began to laugh, but with no one to converse with, she stared into the mirror and said, ‘You old bugger.’
The following day, with all the various certificates requested, Terrance took Penelope into the village, and they made their way to the post office. Penelope discussed her dilemma with the post-master; at the age of sixty-four, Penelope should have claimed her pension from the age of sixty. After filling out countless forms, the post-master informed her that he would send off a claim soon after he closed.
When they returned home from their trip into town, Florence was waiting for them, but she didn’t look well. In response to their enquiries, Florence informed Penelope her mother had died. Inside the house, and after a drink of brandy, Penelope told her about the pension. Florence was not really in the mood for conversing and stood up, saying, ‘I must be due some as well then, because I’m sixty one.’
Shortly after the funeral of Florence’s mother, her father, who had been unwell for many years, continually coughing and spluttering with the coal dust in his lungs, also passed away. It was a bad time for the Cotton family, but they were going through similar troubles to other families around them.
Laura enjoyed her job serving behind the town’s new co-operative store counter, but not the walk there and back. She always had her lunch break with Mrs Harris. It didn’t take long before she began to start courting with the store’s under-manager. After running her home in his car one Friday night, he approached her parents to introduce himself.
At first, Terrance was unhappy, thinking that she was a little too young, but after eyeing a youthful Gordon Soams askance, he changed his mind when he found out that the lad had just turned twenty-one.
When it came to accountancy, the Cottons struck up an attitude of ‘us against them’, and when Robert returned home from school, excitedly stating that he had been given a place at university, his parents looked perplexed. After he explained his position and intentions of furthering his education more, Robert stated he required a certain amount of money to do this.
Terrance was disappointed, knowing that he couldn’t afford to pay Robert anything, but once again, his mother went to the cupboard and took out a cardboard box. In the back of his mind, Terrance knew that when Robert returned back to boarding school, they wouldn’t see him again; he had developed various gestures and mannerisms that Terrance didn’t like, considering them effeminate, but decided not to speak his mind.
At Sunday lunchtime in their house, all the family had gathered. The conversation varied, but always ended up related to the new government legislation. Terrance eyed Robert when he repeatedly changed their conversation, and then heartily smiled when he brought up the subject of his college halls..
When everyone had gone home and Robert had been picked up by a school friend and waved off by his parents, Terrance heaved a sigh. Hearing it, Penelope spun round, and as soon as they entered the house, an argument began, with both parents beginning to offload their opinions concerning their son. In the end, when things grew heated, Terrance stormed out of the house, making his way through the farm and on towards George’s house.
After being welcomed inside, he sat at their dining table drinking brandy, airing his thoughts and opinions about his only son openly. Feeling peeved and dejected, Terrance also decided to bring up the subject of his status at the farm.
‘Well… really, you are a big functional part of the business,’ George carefully replied, ‘and you’ll be financially looked after accordingly.’
‘Oh, sorry, George, I didn’t mean it to sound like that.’
‘Mind you, that sounded like a real army-type answer. Anyway, I was joking, sod the army, they kidded us on, killed my family and nearly ruined our prospects.’
‘My dad was killed in the army, you know. He could have refused to go in but he didn’t, the silly bugger. Mum died twelve months after him, heartbroken—mind you, many more did the same… What a waste of life, especially when none of them were trained properly.’
‘So is that why you think Robert should go in… I mean in the forces?’
‘That silly bugger thinks that because of his higher educational status he will be excluded from conscription, but after reading the acquisition forms, I very much doubt it.’
‘And I think the same, mate,’ said George, chuckling at the thought.
Florence returned to the room, and looking slightly upset, raised her voice to be heard. ‘Never mind discussing the army; at our ages, what we should be thinking about is the farms and our families. What’s going to happen when the money runs out? Who’s the best to carry it on? What’s going to happen to our families if it all goes bust? That’s what we should be concerned about.’
Chapter 39
What was deemed necessary for the country was going to war again, but it didn’t prove necessary for Robert and Joseph, who had just turned seventeen. When they were conscripted into the army, they followed in their family’s footsteps by being trained near Sheffield, but they were soon moved to York. At the barracks there, they were not billeted together, as had happened to their relations in the past. Joseph was trained as a private, and Robert as a private secretary.
During this period, they didn’t see each other much, which proved to be a good thing, especially as Robert now appeared to be above all appearing to be very snobbish. Joseph kept it quiet that Robert was his relation, but he followed the advice given to him by his father; he kept his nose clean, did as he was told and, in a way, began to enjoy himself.
Florence’s and Penelope’s work on the farm was now covered by part-time workers, with Florence and Penelope keeping daily records. For the first time, Terrance supervised, and it really did work better than was expected. The weather stayed good, and both farms showed that they were in tip-top condition. Terrance began to take fortnightly trips to the market, mainly to sell animals, but he didn’t enjoy the regular morning and evening milking times. This was seven days a week, come rain or shine, and it was hard, but with a milking herd of twenty-five cows, it had to be done. Early every morning, a flat back-truck would call for the milk churns, and at the end of each month, Penelope would deposit a cheque from the recently-formed milk marketing board into the local post office.
As was usual with offspring, Robert didn’t write home much, but Joseph did. His mother was startled one day as she read a letter and found out he had been in Egypt for three weeks. The family Sunday lunch gathering was maintained, and as usual, after family matters were dealt with, they discussed farming business while eating. For George and Terrance, the work became harder, as while they were growing up on the farm, their fathers would automatically do anything that wanted doing. Both mothers began to worry when the news from Burma was that troops from Britain and the Empire were now active in jungle conflict.
‘George, you’d better organise a trip to Sheffield first thing tomorrow. We are going to buy one of those televisions. I want to see what they are broadcasting. Damn the radio, why do they bother saying that bulletins from abroad can now be seen at seven when half the country hasn’t got them?’
George smirked sarcastically. ‘Right, my love, and is there anything else you want bringing?’
Smiling, Florence replied, ‘Don’t tempt me to ask; anyway, I still keep some arsenic in the cupboard, in case of any emergency.’
During the following week, a television aerial was installed on the roof of both farms, and to top it off, they decided to have the telephone installed as well. Every evening after watching the small black and white screen, Florence and Penelope would discuss what they had seen o
n the television. ‘This is bloody stupid,’ moaned Terrance, turning up the volume for the latest news.
‘Oh shut up moaning,’ snapped Penelope, and carried on her conversation, shaking her head impatiently at him.
Years ago, national news had taken at least a week to circulate throughout the countryside, but now it took seconds. This time it was firsthand and not distorted; it was immediately classed as gospel that the BBC always spoke the truth, and those famous three letters became a legend to many in the countryside. Indeed, all over the world, many held them in esteem.
Again, everyone in the world was at war with each other, but this time, the politicians began to sound more serious, especially when the bombs they were dropping were getting bigger and bigger. Debates on the television between the largest nations turned into arguments, and some politicians even threw shoes at each other. This display of childishness did not go down well with the viewers.
Commodities were now many and advertised profusely by manufacturers, aiming to cover as much of the nation as possible. They used every type of media, and many of the working classes bought everything, no matter how bad it was, being unused to such propaganda. Many were taken in and bought nonsensical items advertised on the television or radio, just wasting their hard-earned cash. Sales representatives began to call more regularly at the farm, and they began to annoy Penelope. After watching another rep leave after giving him a load of abuse, she slammed the door in defiance.
She made herself a cup of tea and sat at the table, beginning to reflect on her past for the first time in years. She smiled as she remembered throwing herself at Tim when they bathed together, and especially when they made love in a hotel in Doncaster. She took a deep breath, desperately missing James, then wondered why Laura was acting so secretively and decided to have words with her.
Later that evening, Penelope began to wish that she had never asked, when Laura informed her she was pregnant. Terrance had always kept at a distance from Laura, as it seemed she was a little headstrong, and when told the news, he just shrugged his shoulders. He was not against getting involved, but he had had a bad day with a great deal on his mind.
Chapter 40
When conscription to the armed forces ended, and the training barracks were demolished, one of the most common sayings during the sixties was, ‘that’s the trouble with these young ‘un’s today—they should never have cancelled that conscription, it was the best thing for discipline.’ Nearly ten years later, that saying was still commonplace, as present-day young people were being paid a pittance for being allegedly educated while working apprenticeships. In the later years of the nineteen-sixties, the world was in utter turmoil. It seemed that everyone was again at war with everyone else. Wages were rocketing, but it didn’t make much difference to anyone as the cost of living also rose.
It seemed that this would be the last generation of Cottons living at the farm. Penelope died from pneumonia, and then Terrance followed shortly after, suffering badly from diabetes. Robert, and his wife Christine and daughter Elaine, were now living in his Uncle George’s cottage. George had suffered three strokes before a massive heart attack ended his life, not long before Florence died after suffering from angina as her mother had done.
They were all seated around the large dining table in the old Cotton house, with Laura and her husband, Gordon, who seemed impatient as he helped his son Adam sit up straight. Gordon never relished these family meetings. This left Joseph, who had married Linda Shaw, now seven months pregnant. He had met her as she worked in the receipt office at the cattle market. They were holding a family meeting to discuss the future of the Cotton farm—profits were dwindling faster than usual.
‘Look, and please be quiet, let’s not get tangled up in a family argument. Right then, Joseph, you carry on,’ said Robert, and sat down.
Joseph stood up again. He had been brought up working in the agricultural industry, and his disappointment was clear as he ended his statement. ‘I do really think it’s time we called it a day and took the offer from the council. I didn’t really know my namesake, Granddad Joseph, but my dad always quoted him as saying, “When enough is enough, get out.” To me, this government is squeezing us dry, and eventually we will have nothing left, so let us sell up.’
Christine stood up, and asked if she could say something. ‘Of course,’ said Joseph and sat down.
‘For those who wanted to, would it be possible to split the remaining land up into sections that could be run individually, so we might be able to avoid paying as much tax?’
‘Now that is something I have thought of, and I’ve looked into it because I want to stay in this industry,’ said Robert. His step-father had never thought he would hear Robert sound so keen to keep on farming.
Linda stood up slowly, seeming embarrassed about interrupting. She waited for everyone to be quiet, and then rather sheepishly, she said, ‘Your ancestors regulated and financed themselves accordingly, so why can’t we? I might be the youngest here, but as we run one of the biggest farms in the area, surely we can help each other out so that we can all keep what we want.’
Robert slowly rose to his feet, looking rather disappointed. ‘Unfortunately, in this case, such ideas don’t wash with this new appointed county council. They want nearly nine-tenths of our land to build on, and that’s including the new motorway. When the brick-makers on the other side of town packed it in, the council just confiscated their land by compulsory purchase. I’ve thought this over for much of the last week, and reluctantly, I have to say, let’s start the negotiations and let them have it all.’
The Cotton farmstead was in serious financial trouble because of government cutbacks, taxation and the spiralling cost of inflation. To make matters worse, few of them had any business experience. Although the money inherited from their parents was banked and safe, and the profits from their produce were fine, they were just not earning enough to pay for the wages and maintenance. Most subsidies for farmers had gone out of the window, leaving the majority to make a profit on their own or get out of the industry. Recently formed supermarkets were sitting on the side-lines, waiting for the kill; they all knew that desperation for the farmers was the only way forward for them.
Going to church regularly on Sunday mornings had also gone out of the window, although christenings, marriages and funerals were still held there. At a very early age, Elaine was the most studious of the family, and fell in love with the idea of creating her family tree. She visited the churchyard regularly and copied church records.
The main concern for all the inheritors of the farm was now running it. When the money that had been individually bequeathed began to be used, none of the family them had any alternative ideas, business sense, or the experience to avoid losing it all.
In the end, they had only decided to seek advice from their bank manager. After listening to the reasoning of the trained financial banker, instead of a businessman in farming, they followed his suggestion of further negotiations with the county council to increase their offer, and to include both properties. Exactly one month from signing away both farms, adverts were posted in the local press and the area farming journals that the Cottons’ farm equipment sale was on. A Sheffield auctioneer was hired to sell off anything that could be moved on the farm, and it was done in a rush—usually the process took at least three months.
On the day, the farm was packed. Every implement was sold, from the tractors down to the garden forks. Sows, piglets, milk cattle and stores, hay, straw bales, electric grinding machines, bill hooks were all gone, even down to twenty planks of elm wood, which Joseph senior had left in the rafters of the cattle shed to mature.
Joseph stood in the doorway, holding a glass of brandy as he watched the last lorry-load of goods being driven out of the fold yard. His eyes filled with tears in his eyes as he recalled his dad working the land, hobbling round but always with a great big smile on his face. Knowing he had the best years, Joseph jumped when Linda slipped her arms around
him.
‘Any regrets?’ she asked.
‘No, not really. Well, I keep wondering, what am I going to do from now on?’
‘I have an idea. You may not like it, but it will keep you busy. And besides, I have already been doing some research on your behalf,’ replied Linda, smirking.
‘Don’t jest, my love. For as long as I can remember, I have gazed out of this doorway, knowing that all this land belonged to us. Now we own nothing, not even a bloody hay rake.’
‘So what about this then—after the council have built their housing estate, three acres are being left near the wood as greenery. What about building a house near there and then building a few stables to start a riding school?’
‘No, love. Right now, I have to get away from here. I have a feeling in my heart that somewhere up in that beautiful sky, someone is looking down on us, shouting “You are doing it wrong, you balmy bugger,” and we are letting them down.’
‘That’ll be your granddad, then, because when my granddad worked for him part-time, he used to say that Joseph is nothing like the rumours in town. He said that he was a very kind, level-headed man, and straightforward, just like you,’ said Linda, hugging him.
‘If only that were true, but I’ll take your word for it,’ said Joseph, and smiling, patted her hand.
Author Profile
Alan Tansley was born in the industrial town of Normanton, Yorkshire in March 1947, during the worst snow storms for decades. The only son of a coal miner, he had no intentions of following his father’s footsteps. With little education after various jobs, Alan attained a place at college in York. Whilst there he decided to improve his education further, and after college began to write short stories for his present company periodical. With this love of writing he began to write books, mainly fiction; Alan considers himself ‘unqualified and self taught’, but enjoys writing immensely.
