by Magnus Mills
“Same again?” he said, taking us all by surprise. He went up to the bar again. This was the first time me, Tam and Richie had been alone since his arrival.
“Just act naturally,” I said.
When he came back with the drinks Donald resumed the discussion about fences, but in spite of this Tam and Richie began to look a little happier as the beer went down. Richie remembered that he’d run out of fags, so he went off to get some and came back with two packets. He and Tam then sat and quickly smoked several in a row. Donald looked at Richie as he lit up yet again.
“Why do you abuse your body all the time?” he asked.
“Because no one else will do it for me,” replied Richie.
Next thing Tam was up at the bar buying another round, and I realized I was going to have to talk to him fairly soon about his mounting debt problem.
Back at the caravan a space had to be found for Donald to sleep, and it was decided he would occupy the bunk underneath Richie. There was a jumble of used clothing lying there which Richie grabbed in a great armful and stuffed behind his pillow. Donald opened the wardrobe and was confronted by Tam’s fertilizer bag, now dry and stiff on its hanger. He slid it back along the rack, and hung up his shirt in front. As we prepared for bed Donald said, “No late evening coffee, then?”
“I’m afraid not,” I replied.
In the dead of night I woke up for some reason, and lay listening to the others as they slept. Over the last few weeks I had got used to the noises Tam and Richie made in their sleep, and I recognized them instantly.
Richie, who always lay on his back, produced a sound similar to the underwater gurgling of an old motorboat. Meanwhile, at the other end of the caravan, Tam seethed like a distant ocean.
Donald, however, in the bunk closest to mine, was totally, totally silent.
♦
I planned to impress Donald in the morning by being the first to get up, but when I awoke I saw he was already moving about the caravan, apparently making tea. He stood looking at the piled-up sink, and then produced a clean mug from his bag.
“My mug’s up there,” I said, pointing to the cupboard above my bunk.
“Really?” Donald replied, and poured himself a tea.
Donald’s presence certainly made a big difference to the speed we arose that day. There was no question of Tam lounging about in bed until the last minute, and we were ready for work by half past seven. Donald had his own map of the job, with all the fences marked out in red ink, and the first thing he did was go for a tour of inspection, accompanied by me. We followed the hill up to the summit, and then came down by way of the cross-fence, Donald all the time checking for wire tension and, of course, straightness. When we got to the encircling fence he seemed quite satisfied with what he’d seen.
“Hmmm, quite professional,” he said.
After a while we came to the gateway that stood alone. Donald looked at it for a moment, and then said, “Yes, I always think it’s better to do the gate first and build the fences round it.”
Donald had put on some overalls, and it soon became clear that he intended to work alongside us during his visit. He organized us into two small sub-gangs, one pair erecting posts, the other fixing wires, and then swapping round every couple of hours. This grouping worked quite efficiently, and a long stretch of fence was built on Donald’s first day. It was interesting watching him work with the post hammer. His action resembled that of a machine. How his bones must have jarred every time he brought the hammer down accurately, but stiffly, on top of each post. He did not allow himself any ‘give’, but instead transferred all his energy directly into the hammer. In this mechanical way Donald completed yet another line of posts, while his chosen assistant struggled to keep up with him.
That night in the pub I found myself at the bar buying a round of drinks. It was at this point that I noticed Ron the landlord behaving oddly. Instead of placing the newly filled glasses on the counter between me and him, he put them about two feet to my left. At the same time he stared hard over my shoulder in the direction of the corner table where Donald, Tam and Richie were sitting. I was about to pick up the four pints in a clutch, so I would only have to make one journey from the bar, when Ron produced a tray. Onto this he began loading the glasses, still eyeing the corner, and moving sideways, until, at last, I realized he was attempting to line me up with Donald. He seemed to be trying to obscure himself from view, so I decided to stay where I was and let him adjust his position to mine. Suddenly he glanced down at the counter, and at the same time I felt an envelope being pressed into my hand. I nodded and slipped it into my pocket. He visibly relaxed as I took the tray and carried it over to the table, where Donald and the others were discussing fencing. The envelope remained in my pocket for another half hour, after which time I casually strolled out to the gents. Locking myself in the cubicle, I examined the mystery package under a dim light. There was no writing on the envelope and it was unsealed. Inside was some cash, large denomination notes of exactly the sum agreed for Mr Hall’s fencing. I looked for some kind of written message but there was nothing, just money. When I returned to the bar room, conversation had dried up. This was the normal state of affairs for Tam and Richie, who were generally content to sit with their pints and say nothing. Being accompanied to the pub by Donald had imposed considerable stress on them, and they looked quite relieved when I rejoined the table. It had been even worse for them during the day, when Donald organized us into two pairs and they had been forcibly separated. Each of us had worked with one of the others, so that the different tasks were shared fairly. When Richie was selected to go off with Donald to erect a new line of posts he looked as if he was embarking on a death march. Tam’s turn came later, and he seemed like a broken man when he came back.
“How long’s Donald staying for?” he asked me.
“Until Robert comes to collect him…a couple of days,” I replied.
“But he’s been here two days already.”
“He only arrived last night,” I said. “It just seems longer, that’s all.”
Now, hours later in the pub, there was still no let-up. The three of us were trying to unwind over a few beers, but Donald had something to say to us.
“You people really should start thinking in terms of efficiency,” he began. “Building a fence is quite simple. First you dig in your straining posts at each end, and tighten a wire between them. This gives you a straight line along which you set the pointed posts (point downwards). Then you fix and tighten the remaining wires, one by one, and the job is complete.”
While Donald was speaking I looked at Richie, sitting opposite me. His eyes had slowly closed and his head nodded forward, and he now sat motionless next to Tam, who stirred uneasily.
“What about adding the support strut at each end?” I asked.
“That goes without saying,” replied Donald. He reached into his jacket and took out some papers.
“I’ve prepared some hand-outs for you,” he announced, passing them round. “They contain all the main points you should bear in mind during the construction process.”
Richie resurfaced and focused on his copy. I looked at mine. It consisted of step-by-step diagrams of how to build a fence, with little stick men doing the work. Donald now turned to me.
“You should also operate a stricter regime inside the caravan,” he said.
“I take it you’re referring to the squalor,” I replied.
“Correct.”
“Well I don’t see how I can force people to be hygienic,” I said. I noticed that Tam and Richie were now studying their hand-outs with great interest.
“Domestic arrangements fall within your remit,” said Donald, after which the subject was dropped.
The evening came to a natural close when the pub shut, and as we got up to leave, Donald noticed that Tam had left his hand-out on the table.
“Don’t forget this,” he said, picking it up.
“Thanks,” said Tam, stuffing it in his
back pocket.
Next morning, as we prepared for another day of efficient fencing, Donald said, “Robert should be turning up this afternoon.”
Tam and Richie didn’t respond to this news, but when they went out to load up the truck with the day’s gear I could hear them whistling. Even better, Donald allowed them to work together for the entire morning, pulling out and tightening wires, while I paired up with him to knock some more posts in. We made good progress, and by mid-afternoon another line was complete. Donald had taken the post hammer, and I had been his assistant, spacing out and setting up the posts. As we stood looking at the finished work, we saw that one post clearly wasn’t level with the rest, and needed knocking in a little further.
“I’ll do it,” I said, taking hold of the post hammer.
I liked to use the ‘full swing’ method, same as Tam, so I planted my feet firmly on the ground and held the hammer at arm’s length. Then I swung it over in an arc and down onto the post. It was a good solid blow, but another one was required, so I repeated the action. This time the hammer seemed unusually light as I brought it over, and at the end of the stroke I realized that the head had flown off and I’d been left holding just the shaft. At that moment something sniffed my boot. I looked down and saw Ralph saying ‘hello’ in the way dogs do when they’ve just arrived. There was a movement behind me, and I turned round to discover Donald engaged in a strange embrace with Robert. It looked as if one was teaching the other to dance.
“Oh hello, Robert,” I said, but instead of his usual polite greeting I got no reply. In fact, Robert was very quiet indeed.
Then I noticed the missing hammer head lying on the ground.
“Direct hit,” said Donald. I could see he was struggling to hold Robert upright, so I stepped forward and together we leaned him against a post. Donald examined him closely.
“How is he?” I asked.
“That’s irrelevant,” Donald replied. “He’s dead.”
He took the shaft from me and inserted it in the hammer head. It was loose.
“That’s one bill we won’t be paying,” he said.
∨ The Restraint of Beasts ∧
Eleven
“What are we going to do with Robert?” I asked.
“We’ll have to bury him,” replied Donald.
“Shouldn’t he be buried in Scotland?”
“Normally, yes,” he acknowledged. “But in this case it’s too far.”
He took the fence plan from his pocket and studied it. “He’ll have to go under the next gateway.”
“We’ll get Richie to do it,” I suggested. “He’s best at digging.”
“Alright,” said Donald. “Tell him it’s best to put Robert under the slamming post rather than the hanging post.”
“Is there a particular reason for that?” I enquired. It seemed a good moment to settle the point.
“Not as far as I know,” he said.
When Tam and Richie had finished what they were doing they came wandering along the fence line to join us, and Donald pointed out that they should have taken the opportunity to move their gear round to the next section.
“Never a wasted journey,” he said.
After we’d told them about Robert, Tam voiced concern over who would look after Ralph.
“I’ll take him with me,” announced Donald.
By the time Robert’s gateway was finished the light was quickly failing, so we made our way back to the yard. The company truck was parked next to the caravan where Robert had left it. In the back was a spare post hammer which Donald let us borrow while he got ours ‘repaired properly in Scotland’, as he put it.
Donald had some tea and then prepared to leave before it got too late. When departure time came I said, “Well, thanks for all your help the last couple of days.”
“That’s alright,” he replied. “Of course, I’ll have to quarter it from your final costings.”
I was not sure what he meant by this, but I could guess.
Donald looked around the farmyard. “I was hoping to have a few words with Mr Perkins while I was down here,” he said. “But he seems to be keeping a low profile.”
“I’ve hardly seen him myself,” I said. “It was dark when we first got here.”
“So I heard,” replied Donald. “Now, I’ll expect this job to be wound up fairly quickly. You won’t want to be coming back after Christmas to finish it, will you?”
I hoped not. Time had sneaked up on us and it was now December. No wonder the days were so short and the nights so long. Donald’s visit had pulled us along a bit, but there was still a fair amount of work to be done before we could escape from Upper Bowland. I told Donald I would do my best and we said our goodbyes. By this time Tam and Richie had joined us in the yard. Donald opened the door of the company truck and Ralph jumped in beside his new master. Then they were gone.
“I’m fucked if I’m coming back after Christmas,” said Tam, as we slumped into the caravan.
“We should be alright if we press on at the same rate,” I replied.
Tam looked at me. “You don’t believe in all this efficiency shite, do you?”
“Well,” I said. “It worked OK while Donald was here, didn’t it?”
“That’s because he’s a fucking robot,” said Richie.
Yes, I thought to myself, he quite possibly is.
♦
To stop Tam and Richie going into decline I quickly produced Mr Hall’s money and we shared it out. Tam again settled his debts, and again found himself with virtually nothing left. However, we all had enough to go to the pub, which is what we did.
“Get that cash alright, did you?” asked Ron as he served us our beers. Seeing that it was him who handed it to me this seemed a pointless question, but I politely replied, “Yes, thanks.”
“I hear you’re going to be building some pens,” he added.
“You’ve seen Mr Hall then, have you?” I said.
“He’s been very busy,” replied Ron. “They’ve got the school dinners.”
We sat at the corner table and considered this vague information. Obviously the Hall Brothers had further plans for us, but until they made contact we would have no idea what exactly was involved. In the meantime, we had to get on with our own job. I wasn’t sure what effect the approach of Christmas would have on Tam and Richie. On the one hand it might spur them on so we got finished in good time, but on the other it could just make them homesick and unable to concentrate on work. I must admit that even I felt slightly marooned as the tail lights of Donald’s truck headed off towards the road. When we returned to the caravan late that night, the hill above us seemed to be brooding in the darkness.
♦
There were no further sightings of the Hall Brothers over the next few days, so we plodded on with our own fence. At first Tam and Richie marched around ‘being efficient’ and doing things as Donald would have liked, but I knew the sham wouldn’t last. They preferred to take a laissez-faire approach to the work, tackling jobs as they presented themselves, rather than in a set order. The fence would still get built, eventually, but at about half-speed. I decided to go along with all this. After all, I had to live with Tam and Richie twenty-four hours a day, Donald didn’t.
On the day we finally got the job finished we received a visit from John Hall. Once again we’d all dozed off to sleep after a hard day’s work, when the headlights swung into the yard. I was ready for him, however, when he stepped into the caravan, which made the usual protest under his weight.
“Are you ready to do these pens, then?” he began.
“Yes, I think we can spare a couple of days,” I replied.
“That’s good,” he said. “I’ve bought the timber already.”
“Oh. Have you?”
“Yes. I got two hundred railway sleepers in a job lot.”
When he said this I detected a shock wave running between Tam, Richie and myself.
“Railway sleepers?” I tried not to sound surprised.
“What will we be doing then, exactly?” I enquired.
“Building pens,” he replied with irritation. “I just told you.”
“Yes, but where?”
“At the factory. So we can bring beasts in direct from the field.”
“Er…that’s illegal, isn’t it?” I said.
Mr Hall eyed me. “Are you trying to tell me how to conduct my affairs now?”
“No, but…”
“What?” He looked as if he was about to explode again.
“Nothing,” I said, surrendering.
“Good. Now let’s have a bit of common sense round here.” His features had relaxed again. “It’ll be cash in hand as before, and there’ll be grubbage for you at the canteen.” Mr Hall was certainly magnanimous in victory. He glanced at Tam and Richie. “Alright, lads?”
Obliged to speak at last, they both mumbled, “Thanks.”
I fell in with this change of mood. “I gather you’ve got the school dinners,” I said, hoping he would enlarge on the subject.
“Yes, we have,” he replied. “Right. I’ll expect you tomorrow morning.” He opened the door to leave. “By the way,” I asked. “Where is the factory?”
“Lower Bowland. You can’t miss it.”
♦
The factory turned out to be a large shed of corrugated steel at the end of a long track. The building had a look about it that suggested it had been erected without planning permission. All around were fields, in which unsuspecting cattle grazed behind newish HALL BROS. fences. On the side of the shed was a blockhouse canteen and some offices. When we arrived we found David Hall parked in his lorry, waiting for us. There were also a few butchers’ vans nearby. As I said before, David Hall was much easier to deal with than his brother. He actually appeared friendly and had little difficulty smiling.
