by Ann Swinfen
I found an old hoe with a worm-eaten handle, but decided it would have to serve, and made my way along the lane to the wheat field. All my neighbours were strung out across the field, valiantly hoeing up the pernicious weeds, but the stunted stalks of wheat seemed hardly worth all their hard labour. A moment of real fear seized me. Our stores of flour were growing perilously low with having to feed the soldiers as well as ourselves. Many in the village had lost far more of their stores than we had. What should we do if we ran out of flour over the winter? At least we would have fleeces and woollen goods to sell at market. Because of the wretchedly cold weather during the spring and early summer, we had delayed this year’s shearing later than I had ever remembered. We must shear within the next few days or the sheep would not grow their new coats in time for the following winter.
As I stepped across the adland into the field, Gideon and Jack walked over to me, wiping the sweat from their brows. Despite the chilly weather, hoeing is hot, dispiriting work, especially when you can see a large field stretching away in front of you. The soil, sticky from all the rain, had slowed them, but the field was about halfway done.
‘How was your meeting with Sir John?’ Jack had barely reached me before he asked.
I gave them a quick account of the meeting, and Sir John’s offer – somewhat reluctant – to see whether he could put a halt to the drainers’ work, for a time at least. I did not repeat my misgivings about his knowledge of the lawyer Blakiston’s doings.
‘If they begin again to dig ditches across our land as they did last year,’ Jack said fiercely, ‘then we must show them once again that we are not to be trifled with. As fast as they dig their ditches, we can fill them in, and as fast as they construct sluices and pumping mills, we can burn them down.’
‘We must not put ourselves on the wrong side of the law,’ Gideon cautioned. ‘It will only do us harm if the matter comes to court.’
‘Gideon is right,’ I said. ‘But so are you, Jack. However, we can thwart them in more subtle ways. Remember, in the autumn of last year, we did not confront them directly. We loosened hinges and bolts in the sluices at night. Blocked their drains seemingly through natural landslips. Besides,’ I added, ‘they will have a hard time of it, digging ditches in such sodden soil. They will probably collapse at once.’
‘That is true enough,’ Jack conceded. ‘Well, we shall see what mischief our friendly fenland boggarts may work by night.’
‘There has been other news while you were away to the manor,’ Gideon said, as we walked across the field to join the line of those hoeing between the poor stalks of wheat. ‘A summons has come for the soldiers. They are to be redeployed down in Kent against the Royalist forces. That is reckoned more important than keeping a few fenland farmers in order. In any case, I think their officers have come to realise that these men have more sympathy with us than with van Slyke and his men.’
‘Aye,’ Jack said. ‘They have come out to the hoeing, to give us one day of their labour, in return for feeding them for months.’
‘That is not their fault,’ I said, in defence of the men. I had grown fond of the soldiers lodged with us. ‘The Army was supposed to pay us for their food, and has not done so.’
‘They have not paid the men either,’ Gideon said. ‘Not for months. I think it may not be long before the men grow weary of their masters.’
We worked hard all the rest of that day, the soldiers and the Dutch settlers along with us. Like the soldiers, the Dutch had no share in these arable lands, but laboured with us out of gratitude that we had not turned them away. Little by little they were learning to speak English, which, it seems, is often close to Dutch, at least in simple words. The children learned the fastest, as children will, for their minds are not yet locked into one language only. Dutch and English children played together and had soon shared their language along with their games. The village children had even picked up a few words of Dutch.
It was difficult to believe that we were near the summer equinox, so dull and cold was it, except that the day seemed to drag on, for hour after hour. The hay should have been in by now, but it was already near ruined by the rain, and there was little hope of drying it. The stock, as well as ourselves, must look forward to a hungry winter.
The wheat field was finished and a start had been made on the barley when we women left the men while we went home to prepare an evening meal. Everyone would be ravenous after the heavy labour of the day. Kitty and I stowed our hoes in the barn. While she shut the hens away and turn the curds into the cheese press, I set about making the supper. Nehemiah had been out early to his eel traps, so with onions from Hans and some handfuls of dried peas from last year, I was able to make an eel pottage. I knew the soldiers had not much liking for eels, but I had little else to give them.
‘Kitty,’ I said when she came in, ‘take this jug and fetch me cream for the eels. We will make them as tasty as possible for the men.’
The pottage was simmering when they returned. Nehemiah went at once to the milking and Ben begged eagerly to go with him.
‘For it will be my last time,’ he said sadly. Then he brightened. ‘When the war is over and I’m out of the Army, I’m going to be a farmer.’
Col cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. ‘And how will you find the coin to buy or rent a farm, lad? With all your back pay?’
The others laughed grimly.
‘I think the generals hope we will all be killed off,’ Seth said. ‘It will save them a deal of money.’
I saw the look of panic on Ben’s face. ‘Off you go with Nehemiah, Ben, or the pottage will be spoiled before you are back.’
Once the door had closed behind him, I turned to the other soldiers. ‘Watch your tongues. You are frightening the boy.’
Aaron, who was cleaning the dirt from under his nails with the point of his knife, gave a shrug. ‘I was no older than Ben when I was in my first battle. He’s seen no real action yet. He’ll learn.’
‘I suppose he will,’ I said. I thrust the bread paddle into the oven beside the fireplace and drew out the loaves I had baked from Kitty’s dough. I slipped them on to the table, where they steamed gently.
‘And keep your hands off them, Col,’ I said, as he reached out. ‘We need them for supper.’
Although everyone tried to remain cheerful that evening, I suppose we were all thinking that this was the last time we would sit down together. I had resented the billeting of the soldiers at first, and it had meant a worrying depredation of our stores, but they had come to seem like members of the family. I knew I should miss them when they were gone. There was no ignoring the fact that they were going to war and might not survive.
At the end of the meal, I made hot spiced ale for us all, while Kitty and Ben washed the dishes. I even took a mug of it up to my mother, but she was asleep, with her tray of supper barely touched. It was not the first time she had left her food uneaten and she was growing very thin.
We sat late that night. For the first time the soldiers talked more about their families, and their lives before the war, than they had ever done before. It was a good evening, despite our fatigue after a day of hard labour, and I think we were all sorry to end it. I was the last to retire, setting bread dough to prove overnight.
In the morning, I crept out of bed early, taking care not to wake Gideon, and shaped my dough into individual rolls for the men to carry with them. I hard boiled eggs, cut slabs of cheese, and fried some of our precious bacon for them to eat cold. Kitty came out of her room yawning as I was tying up each bundle in a piece of cloth.
‘I’m sorry they’re going, Mistress Mercy,’ she said.
‘So am I. But they must go where they are ordered.’
‘You know, they didn’t all choose to join the Army. Some of them were forced.’
‘Aye,’ I said. ‘They were. The same happens with sailors.’
‘I’m glad I’m not a man.’
I smiled at her. ‘There are some advantages to being a
woman.’
Breakfast was eaten hastily and almost in silence. The men were all pathetically grateful for their bundles of food.
‘They scarce feed us, you know, Mistress Mercy,’ Seth said. ‘As well as not paying us. They reckon we can survive by stealing from people as we march through their lands.’
‘It a’nt right,’ Ben said. ‘It a’nt as if we was in enemy country. They’re our own people.’
The others nodded glumly, but there was no time to debate this, they must hurry or find themselves in trouble with the officers. To my astonishment, every one of them kissed me in farewell, as well as Kitty, and I found I was weeping as we waved them off down the lane.
Gideon put his arms around me. ‘I am sure they will be safe. I expect the fighting will be over by the time they reach Kent.’
I was not so sure, but I pretended to be comforted. The rain was still holding off and there was work to be done. The barley field was waiting.
We managed most of the hoeing and salvaged what we could of the hay, but it was poor stuff and much would probably rot before winter. Jack and Toby came to help Nehemiah and me with the long delayed shearing and Gideon did his best to help, while Kitty rolled the fleeces and carried them to be stored at one end of the hay loft. She was strong for her age, but I am not sure how she managed to get them up the ladder. I was too busy myself to see. I was glad to discover that I was better at the shearing than last year, when I had been learning for the first time, while Tom was suffering from his first injury, caused by van Slyke’s bullet. This year I could even manage the older, bigger sheep.
Seeing Gideon struggling to turn one of the smaller ewes and grip her between his knees, I smiled encouragingly.
‘It was the same for me last year. It gets easier.’
Not that it seemed to grow any easier for Gideon. I think he was more tender towards them than I had been and they sensed it. They took advantage of his soft heart and wriggled away time after time, but he continued to struggle valiantly.
When we stopped for a midday meal, I sat down next to Jack.
‘We have not seen much of van Slyke. Do you suppose Sir John has put a stop to his work?’
Jack shook his head. ‘Nay, they’re working over at Crowthorne. They have repaired the mill building and have started clearing their ditches of the winter debris. They’ve been helping themselves to food from the village as well. Cheeses and hams. They’re even taking sheep. Whenever anyone objects, they say it is in payment for the damage to the mill.’
I felt the anger growing hot inside me. ‘How dare they!’
‘Indeed. And our lord of the manor seems to be powerless to stop them, or chooses not to.’
‘Will they be coming here, do you suppose?’
‘Oh, certainly. We have been carrying out a little quiet sabotage to be ready for them. None of their sluice gates will quite work now. Nothing too easy to detect. And while we are sure they are not about, we have undermined some of the banks of their ditches. As soon as they start walking along them, they will collapse.’
He grinned. ‘If we are lucky, some of them may fall in.’
I laughed. ‘As long as they believe that it is the work of nature.’
‘We’re being careful. The next task is to see whether we can undermine the mill. After all, it is right on the edge of the Fen. Who is to say that the flood did not eat away at the foundations?’
‘Who indeed?’
In return for their help, Nehemiah and I lent a hand to Toby and Jack with their shearing. Toby had only a small flock, but Jack’s main interest was sheep. Although he kept a few of his fleeces for his mother to spin and weave, he sold most of them to dealers in Lincoln or Peterborough. Nehemiah had resumed his practice of making baskets to sell, and Kitty and I had built up quite a store of knitted caps. When Jack was ready to take his fleeces to market, he offered to take our goods as well. Nehemiah would set up a stall, as he had done before, and take eels as well, although we were pickling most of them for the winter.
‘Perhaps Hans and some of the other settlers would like to sell their vegetables,’ I said. ‘When they first set up their gardens, they talked about selling at market, but instead they have been trading for other goods in the village.’
‘I will ask,’ Jack said.
The result of this was that quite a procession set out for Lincoln, with goods packed into two carts – fleeces, woollen goods, baskets, straw hats, eels, and mounds of fresh vegetables. As well as Jack and Nehemiah, Hans and two other Dutchmen joined the expedition. They planned to spend two or three days there, selling their goods and buying some essential supplies. I had asked for sugar and vinegar. I was afraid there would be few autumn fruits this year, but I intended to preserve everything I could lay my hands on. I needed the vinegar for pickling eels and eggs. At least my hens continued to lay and I had increased my flock. When meat is scarce, eggs are a great comfort. I also needed more salt for my cheese making.
While they were away, Turbary Holm seemed very quiet, even deserted, after our full household of recent months, with only Gideon, Kitty, my mother and me at home. Gideon’s skill with the cows had improved beyond his expectations, so that he was able to do the morning and evening milking on his own. It took him longer than Nehemiah, but not so very much longer.
‘I want to learn to make cheese, Mercy,’ he said to me, the day after the Lincoln party left.
‘Cheese making is woman’s work.’
‘I have seen you doing men’s work. You can shear a sheep as well as Toby. So why should I not learn to make cheese? It is like a miracle – is it not? – that a white liquid can be turned into solid yellow cheese!’
I laughed. Having lived all my life on a farm, I had never thought of it like that, but I supposed he was right. It was a kind of miracle.
‘I suppose the greatest miracle,’ I said, ‘is that while milk will go bad in a few days, cheese will keep, and feed us, for months and months.’
‘That is indeed a miracle,’ he said soberly, ‘and one we should thank God for. With the poor harvest we shall have this year, it will be cheese that will keep us alive. I wonder who first discovered the miracle of cheese. It was known in very ancient times.’
‘We have no time for a history lesson now.’ I often teased him when he became pensive like this. ‘Come. If you want to learn how to make cheese, we will start now. Kitty and I will show you how.’
We had shown Gideon how to set one lot of curds to drain and had packed the drained curds from the day before into the cheese press, when I heard the gate slam and running footsteps across the yard. Rob Higson was banging at the kitchen door.
‘We are here, Rob,’ I called, going to the door of the dairy.
He ran across to me, gasping a little, for he had clearly run hard.
‘Mistress Leiden says, can you come? There’s trouble in the village.’
‘What kind of trouble?’ Gideon was rolling down his shirt sleeves.
‘There’s a man come. He says he’s the . . . the bailiff, I think he said. Come to collect rent from the Dutchmen, but they a’nt got no coin, and they don’t know what to do.’
‘They aren’t living in the settlement any more,’ I said. ‘They are in our village. In any case, the settlement was on our land. This man can claim no rent from them.’
‘Will you come?’ Rob said. ‘He’s a mean ’un.’
‘We will both come,’ Gideon said.
I looked at him and nodded. There was no danger of this man recognising him. But I wished this had not happened while Jack was away. Still, Rafe and Will and Abel must be somewhere about. Surely between us we could make a stand against one rent collector.
‘We’ll take Blaze,’ I said. ‘It will be quicker. We have ridden him both together before. Kitty, you must take charge. My mother has not come down yet this morning. If she wishes to stay in her chamber, can you take her something to eat?’
Kitty nodded and ran back to the house. Gideon was already puttin
g Blaze’s bridle on. There was no time to saddle him.
‘I’ll run on,’ Rob said, and was off.
Gideon led Blaze out to the mounting block in the yard. I hitched up my skirts and mounted, he mounted behind me and we turned Blaze down the lane toward the village. As we caught up with Rob, I leaned down to him.
‘Do you know where Rafe is?’
‘He went up to the medland to physic one of his ewes with the scour.’
‘Then don’t go to the village. Go to the medland and fetch Rafe. Tell him it is urgent.’
‘Aye, mistress.’ He scrambled up the bank at the side of the lane and set off across the fields to the medland.
A crowd had gathered in the lane leading to the new cottages. Gideon and I both slid to the ground and Gideon handed Blaze’s reins to one of the village lads to hold. We pushed our way to the front of the crowd. The settlers were huddled together in a frightened group, the children and most of the women crying. The men were stony faced, but they looked desperate. A large man, not fat but heavily muscled, was shouting at them, that they must pay up at once, or he would fetch soldiers to arrest them and send them all to prison.
‘That is all bluster,’ Gideon murmured. ‘He has no power to do such a thing.’
‘They do not know that,’ I said. ‘They are terrified.’
Will and Abel had come out of the smithy. They were both big men. Not as big as the bailiff, but in their leather aprons they looked quite intimidating. Abel still had his hammer in his hand. The bailiff, however, did not seem in the least intimidated. I suppose such men are chosen for the work because they are better able to threaten than to be threatened.
Matters might become dangerous. If the men of the village should decide to take up the settlers’ cause and attack the bailiff, it could prove disastrous. Neither Will nor Abel had much gift for words of conciliation or negotiation. Perhaps it was as well Jack was not here. He might have rushed in without thinking. As Tom would have done, I realised.
