The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  As Esther walked up the lane towards home, she passed the meadow, the rippling grass just ripe for harvest.

  ‘We’ll be able to start this week,’ she murmured and smiled to herself. ‘My first haymaking as the tenant of Brumbys’ Farm in my own name.’ Shading her eyes, she stood in the lane and looked towards the farmhouse silhouetted against the setting sun, her gaze travelling over the house, the orchard, the barn and other buildings and then beyond to the fields of ripening corn. She sighed. How beautiful it all was and yet that very beauty brought a lump to her throat.

  In the distance she heard three shrill, excited blasts on a whistle and the rattle of cart wheels.

  Will? But he had only just left an hour or so ago. Was something wrong? Why was he coming back?

  Her heart leapt. Three whistles – why three?

  As the cart rounded the bend in the road, she could see that there were two figures on the front of it. As it slowed, one jumped down and began to run towards her. A tall man with an unruly lock of fair hair that glinted in the sunlight and fell forward over his forehead . . .

  ‘Jonathan!’ She couldn’t even take so much as a step towards him, her legs refused to move. ‘Oh Jonathan!’

  But he was coming towards her, that dear, familiar smile crinkling his eyes. Then he was taking her face gently between his hands and kissing her forehead, her eyes and at last her mouth.

  ‘Oh, my love, my dearest love,’ he was murmuring.

  And all the time, Esther had not moved. Breathlessly, she whispered, ‘Is it really – really you?’

  He put his arms about her and drew her close against his chest and she felt the solid reality of him.

  She was vaguely aware of the cart wheels rattling on towards the Point, and then they were alone.

  ‘But where’ve you come from? How . . .?’

  ‘Later.’ He stilled her questions with his lips and she clung to him, knowing he would never leave her again.

  They drew apart for a moment, their eyes shining with joyful devilment. They both spoke at once. ‘The hollow!’

  Hand in hand, they were running, across the lane, over the dunes and across the marsh to their special place . . .

  Much later they came back to the farm and were standing in the middle of the yard, their arms around each other, when they heard the wheels of the cart returning from the Point. Perched beside Will sat Kate.

  ‘Mam, Walter’s grandads gone home now . . .’ Kate began, as the cart drew to a halt in the yard. Then she stopped, her eyes widening, at the sight of the stranger standing there with his arm about her mother’s waist.

  Will climbed down from his seat and held up his arms to Kate. The child allowed herself to be lifted down, but all the time her gaze was on the tall stranger.

  ‘Will Benson,’ Esther began with mock severity, though she could not hide the happiness from showing on her face. ‘You have some explaining to do!’

  Will was grinning happily as he set Kate down on the ground. She made no attempt to leave him and go to Esther, but stood close to Will, leaning against him and slipping her hand into his. But all the time her eyes were intent upon Jonathan.

  ‘Do you remember,’ Will was saying, his expression more sober now, ‘the day I came all excited with some news to tell ya, and then I found you’d brought Matthew home?’

  Esther nodded. ‘Yes, I remember,’ she said quietly. ‘When you saw Matthew, you said your news was another tuppence on me eggs.’

  ‘That weren’t true, lass.’

  ‘No, I knew it wasn’t.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘But you wouldn’t tell me. You – you got almost angry when I tried to press you.’

  Will shook his head at the memory. ‘I didn’t dare to tell you – not after I’d seen Matthew.’

  There was sadness in Will’s eyes now and a look too that begged for her understanding and her forgiveness.

  Jonathan took up the story. ‘When I got back from France, I went to see Will. I knew he’d know how things were with you. He said he’d come and break the news that I was alive and – coming back to you.’

  ‘Oh, Jonathan,’ she breathed.

  ‘Then,’ Jonathan added gently, ‘he came back and told me that you’d found your husband in France. Of course, I couldn’t – wouldn’t – come then. But I’ve kept in touch with Will ever since.’

  It didn’t surprise her that this man of principle, who despite all her desperate pleading had put duty and honour before everything else, had kept away when he’d heard Matthew had returned.

  ‘I couldn’t tell you, lass. You do understand?’ Will was saying, anxiety in his tone.

  Her voice broke as she reached out and patted Wills arm, ‘Of course I understand.’

  ‘I brought Jonathan as far as Lynthorpe this morning . . .’

  ‘We didn’t think it right that I should arrive at the wedding. After all it was their day, and besides, I wasn’t really sure what my welcome from the folk at the Point would be!’ Jonathan added with a rueful smile.

  ‘But everything’s going to be all right.’ Will grinned broadly. ‘I had a chat with Ma Harris at the wedding. Asked her if she thought enough time had gone by since – well – you know . . .’ He broke off, cleared his throat, and continued. ‘She was that pleased, said you’d earned a bit of happiness and that I’d better get off and fetch the young man as quick as I could.’

  ‘Oh, so that was what all the whispering was about?’ Esther smiled.

  Esther became aware that all the time they had been talking, Kate had been standing quietly, holding Will’s hand and still staring solemnly up at Jonathan.

  Jonathan’s blue eyes twinkled down at her. ‘And just who is this very grown-up young lady?’

  Suddenly, Kate beamed.

  ‘Kate, I don’t suppose you’ll remember Mr Godfrey. You were only little when he was here before . . .’ Esther said.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Kate said promptly. ‘You made me a fishing net, didn’t you?’

  The three grown-ups gaped at her.

  ‘Fancy you remembering that, Katie,’ Esther said.

  The girl wrinkled her smooth forehead and added, with candid honesty, ‘It’s all I do remember.’

  They all laughed.

  Kate was still eyeing Jonathan, her head on one side as if surveying him. ‘I dun’t suppose you’re me grandad, are ya? You’re not old enough.’

  Jonathan looked startled and glanced towards Esther for explanation.

  Esther laughed. ‘No, lovey, he’s not yar grandad.’

  The child looked disappointed. ‘I did so like Walter’s grandad. Mam . . .?’

  Esther held her breath, knowing what was coming next.

  ‘Have I got a grandad?’

  Kate’s clear gaze was directed at Esther, who, for once, did not know how to answer her daughter.

  It was Will who answered the child, saying in a strong vibrant voice, ‘Yes, Katie, you have. I’m your grandad.’

  Kate gave a little squeal of delight and threw her chubby arms around him. ‘Are you really? I am glad!’

  Above the child’s head, Will’s eyes met Esther’s. ‘Yes,’ he said at long last, speaking more to Esther than to Kate. ‘I’m your mother’s father.’

  Tears filled Esther’s eyes and ran unashamedly down her cheeks but she was smiling as she reached out and clasped Will’s hand. ‘Oh, Dad, oh, me Dad . . .’ was all she could say.

  A happiness such as she had never before known flooded through her.

  Now, at last, she had everything she had ever wanted.

  Epilogue

  On 19 September, 1964, the marriage between Robert Eland and Danielle Hilton took place in the local church, the bride walking proudly down the aisle on the arm of her father. As the bridal party came out of the church into the blustery sunlight, the two grandmothers, Esther and Beth, walked side by side, their arms linked, beaming proudly. The bride paused as she walked down the path and, lifting her long white gown, she moved
amongst the gravestones to lay her bouquet on the grave of her mother, Kate. Then she stooped and from the bouquet she plucked a single red rose and laid it on the grave of Matthew Hilton, the grandfather both she and her new husband shared.

  Mr Arthur Marshall, still the owner of the Grange and all the surrounding farmland, save that belonging to Esther Godfrey and Brumbys’ Farm, was delighted to sell the crumbling, derelict house that had once been his family’s home to the young Mr and Mrs Eland, and though he still retained the ownership of the land surrounding it, he granted them the tenancy to farm the land too.

  So Rob and Ella painted and decorated and rebuilt their new home and moved into the Grange where Rob had always vowed he would one day live.

  Two years later, Ella was able to say, ‘And now we’re a family,’ as she laid Rob’s son in his arms, the two old ladies hovering impatiently in the background for a sight of their first great-grandchild.

  Two more boys were born to Ella and Rob and then a little girl with bright red curls and a smile like the sun appearing after storm clouds; a little girl they named Esther Elizabeth.

  Peggy retired from her job in Lincoln and came to live in her own rooms in the Grange, becoming self-appointed nanny to Ella’s growing family, and Philip Trent was a regular and frequent visitor, bringing his mother, too, whenever her failing health permitted.

  In the winter of 1975, Jonathan Godfrey died peacefully in his sleep and four weeks later, losing the will to live without him, Esther faded, withered and died. At her bedside, Beth Eland sat holding her hand until the end.

  They’re all buried in the small churchyard now: Esther and Jonathan, alongside their beloved Kate; Beth beside her husband, Robert Eland; and only a few feet away from them all, lies Matthew Hilton.

  Danny and Rosie still live at Rookery Farm, although now, Danny’s working day is more in the capacity of foreman.

  And Brumbys’ Farm? Of course, it now belongs to Ella and forms part of the land which Rob and she farm together. But the house lies empty, waiting to love and be loved once more.

  Though it is not entirely forgotten, for on summer days Ella will walk down the lane, over the stile and across the fields to squeeze through the hole in the hedge. She wanders through the empty rooms, pauses in a shaft of dusty sunlight, and hearing ghostly voices from the past, whispers in reply, ‘I’m here, Grannie, I’m still here.’

  Acknowledgements

  ‘Brumbys’ Farm’ has been modelled on Lincolnshire County Council’s Church Farm Museum, Skegness, and the locale of ‘Fleethaven Point’ now forms part of the Gibraltar Point National Nature Reserve, managed by the Lincolnshire Trust for Nature Conservation. My sincere thanks to Ruth Walker, Museum Assistant at Church Farm, for her interest and help in providing background information, and also to Carl Hawke, the Gibraltar Point Warden.

  I acknowledge use of material regarding the First World War taken from the Skegness Herald dated Friday, August 7th, 1914, printed and published by the Proprietor Jas Morrill, MJI, at the Herald Press, 19 Lumley Road, Skegness; and also general information from later editions of the newspaper, then printed and published by C. H. Major & Co Ltd.

  My very special thanks to my family and friends for their interest and encouragement, particularly those who helped me so much by reading the novel in the early stages – my sister and her husband, Robena and Fred Hill; Pauline Griggs; Linda and Terry Allaway; and my daughter, Zoë, who helped with the final draft.

  M.D.

  Skegness, 1994

  Margaret Dickinson

  Sow the Seed

  PAN BOOKS

  Sow the Seed Contents

  Part One

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Part Two

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Part One

  One

  LINCOLNSHIRE, 1926

  ‘IF I say ya’ll go away to boarding school, Missy, then go ya will.’ Esther Godfrey wagged her finger in her daughter’s face. ‘And I’ll have none of ya chelp neither! Not from a thirteen-year-old, I won’t.’

  Kate faced her mother, her insides churning. ‘I’ll be fourteen soon. I can leave school then. You know I can. Please, Mam . . .?’ Her boldness was fading now, almost before it had begun. She could hardly believe that she had actually dared to argue with her mother. No one, but no one, defied Esther Godfrey when she stood like she was standing now; feet set apart, hands on hips and green eyes flashing fire.

  They were so alike; long, rich auburn hair, the mother with hers piled high on her head, the curls held in place by combs with only escaping tendrils to soften the firm jawline; the girl with hers flying wild and free, her mouth clenched mutinously.

  Esther Godfrey was a striking-looking woman, beautiful some might have said, with a smooth forehead and a well-shaped mouth. She had still retained her slim figure despite the recent birth of a child, though her breasts were rounded with the ripeness of a nursing mother’s.

  Hers was an expressive face; her smile could brighten the day like the sun appearing out of the clouds, but her anger was every bit as threatening as the gales that raged across the marshes from the sea.

  And at this moment her face was like a menacing thunder-cloud.

  In the wicker cradle in one corner of the kitchen, the baby began to whimper.

  ‘Now see what ya’ve done – woken her up after I’ve spent the last hour settling her.’

  Kate flung out her hand towards the cradle, with a last spark of defiance. ‘It’s ’cos of her you want to send me away, in’t it? You don’t love me any more – not since you got Lilian!’

  As she saw the colour drain from her mother’s face and watched her reach out to grasp the corner of the kitchen table to steady herself, Kate felt a stab of guilt. Strong though Esther was, she had given birth only three weeks ago.

  ‘Oh, Kate . . .’ The anger, too, was gone. Now there was reproach in Esther’s tone. ‘That’s not true . . .’

  With a sob Kate rushed from the kitchen, through the back scullery, wrenched open the back door and ran across the yard.

  Ignoring her mother’s voice calling her name, Kate ran on, across the lane and up the slope of the sand-dune. Reaching the top she paused a moment, her glance sweeping the flat marshland in front of her. Beyond the marsh was a second line of sand-dunes and then the beach and the sea.

  Maybe Danny was on the beach.

  She was running again, down the sandy slope and across the marsh, jumping the creeks, bounding over the tufts of grass until she gained the crest of the eastern dunes. Her gaze scanned the wide stretch of sand.

  Then she saw him.

  Head down, hands thrust into his pockets, he was following the high-water mark, searching for anything left by the ebbing tide.

  ‘Danny,’ she yelled. ‘Danny!’

  He looked up, waved and began to run towards her.

  Breathless, she sank down into the sandy hollow that was their own special place. It had been their den, their boat, their desert island, and always, it was the plac
e they met.

  Danny took a flying leap into the hollow, landing with a thud and showering her with sand. He sat down beside her and held out his hand. On the flat of his palm sat a huge whelk shell.

  ‘Just look at that, Kate.’ Gently he blew the remaining grains of sand from the shell. ‘Did ya ever see such a beauty? It’s the biggest I’ve ever found.’

  Kate stared at it, but when she made no response, she felt Danny looking at her more closely. ‘What’s up, Katie? You look funny – ya face is all red. You bin crying?’

  ‘I’ve had a row with me mam.’

  ‘Oh, heck! What about?’

  ‘School.’

  Danny looked puzzled.

  ‘She’s sending me to boarding school in Lincoln come September.’

  ‘Boarding school!’ He gaped at her. ‘Whatever for? I thought ya’d be leaving school, like me.’

  ‘I can’t leave till I’ve passed me fourteenth birthday. And that’s not till September!’ Kate said moodily.

  There was silence between them, then Danny grinned, sudden excitement in his voice. ‘I say, guess what? I saw Squire Marshall yesterday and he’s tekin’ me on from next Monday. What about that then?’

  She looked at him, this boy whom she had known all her life. His curly black hair shone in the spring sunlight and although his chin was still boyishly smooth and his voice had not yet broken, he seemed to be changing before her eyes almost. She couldn’t get used to seeing him in long trousers. He wore a pair of proper braces now – men’s braces – but his thin arms stuck out like sticks from the rolled-up sleeves of his open-necked striped shirt. Suddenly, he seemed to be growing up – and growing away from her.

  ‘That’s nice. I’m glad.’ She tried to sound pleased – for Danny’s sake – but her own misery destroyed her delight in his news. ‘I want to get a job too.’ There was longing in her tone. ‘I don’t want to go to school any more.’

  He was avoiding her gaze now. She watched as he picked up handfuls of sand and let it run through his fingers. He seemed so intent on what he was doing that Kate thought he had forgotten she was even there.