Tam struggled to focus on what she saying. ‘You say you intend to get more land and more sheep?’
‘The land idea will have to wait, but I mean to buy more Swaledales.’
‘Why Swaledales when you’ve got a growing flock of Herdwicks?’
‘Herdwicks are fine strong sheep, their meat is sweet, but the wool is only really suitable for carpets, and heavy army blankets. The days of hodden grey are long gone. Swaledales make bigger lambs and I can sell them on to be crossed with other sheep such as Leicesters to make better apparel wool. I might make more out of that than the meat. I can even cross them myself with a Herdwick tup to keep them hardy if I want. They’re much more economic, do you see, so why not?’
‘How will you do it?’
‘By selling half of my Herdwicks this backend and starting to buy in Swaledales.’ She closed the book with a flourish, nearly knocking over the untouched mug of cocoa in her enthusiasm.
‘For goodness’ sake, drink it. You get so involved with your damn sheep you almost forget to eat sometimes.’
Tam’s fingers closed hers about the still warm mug and Meg felt herself jerk, as if something had moved inside her. They were such comforting, strong, reliable hands. That was all it was. No more than that. Safe. Tam was good to her. What would she do without him?
‘Do you think it’s a good idea?’ It mattered, somehow, that he did.
Tam chuckled. ‘Would you not carry out this wonderful plan if I disagreed?’
She pretended to consider. ‘Nope. I’d still do it.’
‘Will you have enough money to buy in your new Swaledales, pay your quarterly rent, and instalments on a tractor?’
Meg flushed. She hadn’t quite got that far yet, but she was optimistic, broadly speaking. ‘I don’t see why not, if we work hard. But I need you to be with me on this.’
Tam gave a half laugh, almost at himself. ‘I told you once before, I’m with you all the way.’
Meg finished the cocoa swiftly and set the mug on the sink. ‘Good. I’m off to bed then. See you in the morning.’
‘Goodnight to you.’
Tam sat staring into the empty grate long after she had climbed the stairs. Was he a fool to stay, to want her so much? He couldn’t quite make up his mind.
On Friday morning, Meg stood before the mirror, adjusting her small blue hat, her spirits high.
A small hand tugged at her skirt. ‘Lissa come too.’
Meg did not glance down. ’No, darling. Meg has to go out alone today. See, I’ve got my best setting-out suit on. You stay here with Tam and Effie.’
Lissa stamped a foot. ‘No. Want to come.’
Meg bent down with a sigh. ‘Don’t do this, Lissa, not today. I have an important meeting.’ She picked up her bag and a brown paper packet in which were her carefully worked-out figures and plans. The small hands gripped the skirt, preventing her from taking one step.
‘Effie,’ Meg called.
‘What is it?’ Effie gazed at the child clinging to her skirts. ‘You should take her out more. She needs you.’
Meg’s eyes were pleading. ‘Not today. I can’t today. This is important, for all of us. Take her, Effie, please.’
Effie heaved an exaggerated sigh and reached for Lissa. The child at once stiffened her body, refusing to be picked up. ‘Don’t be naughty, there’s a good girl,’ Effie pleaded, prising the curled fingers from the blue fabric. ‘By heck, she’s wilful.’
‘I hope her hands were clean,’ Meg mourned. ‘I can’t go into the bank manager’s office looking crumpled and covered with sticky finger marks.’
Effie was panting for breath. ‘I wish you’d help a bit more with her, Meg. She’s getting to be a right handful.’ But Meg had taken her chance and slipped out of the door. With a cheery wave to Tam who was striding off up the fell, she hurried down the lane to the bus stop. A bright future beckoned, far more important at the moment than a wilful child.
It was the bank manager who brought Meg down to earth. ‘Perhaps you are trying to run before you can walk, Miss Turner? Changing to Swaledales seems to be a sound proposition, but a tractor?’ What do you know about tractors? his expression seemed to ask. Nasty, smelly, unreliable things.
Meg explained her belief in the future, the need for mechanisation. But she could tell by the bland politeness in the bank manager’s eyes that he was not convinced.
‘Farming is going to become far more competitive,’ she persisted. ‘And efficiency is essential. So much time, and land, is wasted by trying to do it all by hand.’
‘The War Committee would do your ploughing and harvesting for you.’
Meg sighed. He simply wasn’t listening to a word she was saying. Patiently she continued with her explanation. ‘I know they will. My own brother works for them. They’ve given me grants to drain my low-lying land and helped me with the work. But I get two pound an acre for doing the ploughing myself and the War Committee will not always be with us, nor will the war, praise God.
‘In farming you have to think long term and plan ahead. I now have a dozen more acres of well-drained, good land to deal with. Because of the war most of it must be ploughed but later it will make winter pasture for my sheep. Even land that isn’t to be ploughed needs tending, cleaning and harrowing. Feed has to be carried to those sheep that need it. Sick animals carried back. A tractor would more than pay its way in time alone.’
‘Yes, but you are a woman, Miss Turner.’
‘So?’
‘So, when the war is over,’ his lips curved into a condescending smile, ‘you will no doubt be wishing to marry, have children?’ She wanted to tell him that she had a child already, which fact didn’t at all prevent her from working. Common sense stopped her. There were those in the community who still believed that Lissa was her own daughter, she could see it in their eyes. Joe for one. There was little to gain by involving the bank in the mess.
‘It doesn’t mean to say, even if I were to marry, that I wouldn’t still need a sound business behind me. On the contrary.’
‘Oh, quite, quite,’ he agreed, clearly not meaning it. ‘But then you would have a husband to attend to such matters for you.’
‘I have never found any prejudice in the farming community,’ said Meg, very firmly. ‘I have been accepted from the beginning, the moment they realised I was serious about making a go of the farm.’
‘I do not doubt your determination. But taking on a loan, Miss Turner, demands a different kind of commitment.’
‘You are afraid I won’t be able to pay it back?’
The bank manager tutted. ‘These are difficult times, Miss Turner. Money is in short supply. ‘Do you have a guarantor for the loan? Your father perhaps?’
Meg knew then that she had lost. She picked up her portfolio of accounts and plans from the bank manager’s desk. ‘Thank you for listening to me. Will you tell me just one thing? I can see that I would have had no difficulty at all in getting the loan had I been a man. Will the same rules apply when I come to you for a mortgage?’
‘Mortgage?’
‘To buy Broombank. I have three years left, according to Lanky’s will, to find the deposit. If I make a go of the farm in the meantime, will you look more favourably upon me?’
Fingers tapped thoughtfully together, the same bland smile. ‘We shall have to see. Time, as they say, will tell.’ Which meant no. Disappointment was keen in her as she walked away. But she wasn’t defeated, oh dear me no. It would take more than one bank manager to stop Meg Turner, once she had her mind set on something. There were other banks, after all.
Not a speck of cloud marred the blue heavens on this perfect, late September day as Effie dragged her bike out of the lean-to and clattered it over the slate slabs of the farmyard, startling a family of sleek-coated weasels as they squabbled over a heap of chaff by the barn door. She was setting out early for school this morning since she wanted to post her latest letter to Mam. Effie was proud to be able to write a letter every week to h
er family, not that her mother could read it, of course, but she would take it to the parson and he would read it for her.
Effie liked to tell her what she was learning at school. Lissa’s latest naughty tricks. Her happy life at Broombank and all about Meg and Tam, Sally Ann and the children. Her mam liked to hear about the children.
There had been times, recently, when she’d been able to send her a postal order, if Meg had sold enough milk or eggs. That made Effie feel proud, to be able to contribute a bit towards her younger brothers and sisters’ care. And every now and again, when he had time, there would be a note back from the parson, to say how they all were.
All in all, Effie was very pleased with life. Except that this morning, Meg had been in another of her ‘moods’. There’d been a few of those recently, most unlike her usual cheerful self she was. All to do with banks and money and being a woman. Effie didn’t understand one bit of it, but oh, even when Meg was at her most irritable, Effie would rather be here than anywhere else in the world.
If the thought wasn’t so wicked, she’d wish for the war to go on forever. What she really meant, of course, was that she wanted to stay here at Broombank for ever and ever, with Meg and Tam and her lovely Lissa. She wouldn’t ever take to the cows but she’d come to terms with the crags and towering mountains.
She was twelve now, or so she supposed, and almost a woman. Clean, healthy and well fed, and though she’d never make a scholar, doing well enough at her lessons to get by. The thought of returning to the Manchester slums made her want to throw up. This was her place now, as it was Meg’s. She felt safe here, and exquisitely happy.
Effie was pedalling furiously, as she usually did, half her mind on the day ahead: helping Miss Shaw with the younger ones, doing a bit of work on her own account, though not too much. The other half was on the potato and onion patties she would fry up for their tea. Maybe she’d open a tin of that Spam she’d managed to get the other week. Meg needed a bit of cheering up.
She was getting up a good speed, pretending she was riding a horse, not a rusty old bicycle that squeaked because it was in need of oiling. Galloping across country on a fiery steed with the wind in her hair.
The best bit was when she reached the crest of Coppergill Pass. If she went really fast along the flat part of the hill, she could zoom down to Slater’s Bottom with her feet stuck out at the sides and the pedals whirling free. It was almost worth the climb up for the exhilaration of that descent.
This morning when she reached the top of the hill she heard the sound. A great droning noise filling the heavens, frightening the birds into silence. The noise grew louder and when she half turned to see what it was, she almost fell off her bike with shock.
It was an aeroplane, flying alongside the hill. It was right over the dale and heading straight for Ashlea.
Sally Ann heard the plane just as she was pegging out the washing. She saw it bank once as it zoomed over the house, shaking all the windows with the vibration of its engines. She ran, frantic with fear, back into the house, desperate to find Nicky who, as usual, was not where he was supposed to be. Heart pounding, her screams frightening the little boy into hiding all the more securely she finally located him under the sideboard. By the time she had snatched up little Daniel from his crib, and got them safely out in the yard the plane was again overhead and she flung the children down beneath an old hawthorn bush with herself on top of them.
The plane rose up over the house, banked, tipped its wings in an impertinent salute and flew on. But it wasn’t done, even then, for Sally Ann saw it turn and start to come back towards her.
Breathless with fear, mouth hanging open, Effie watched it swoop across the blue sky, trailing vapour behind it. ‘Bloody ‘ell, it’s coming again.’
She jumped on her bike and started to pedal furiously, as fast - faster, than any horse could gallop. The plane came level with her and for a crazy instant it seemed that she and the aeroplane were travelling each at the same speed as the other, and Effie was in the unique position, from so high on the fell, of looking right down into the cockpit, at two faces grinning at her through the window.
The shock was too much. The bike went flying and Effie with it. If this was the end, dear God, let it come quick. Don’t let it hit the house and Sally Ann and the children. She didn’t think much of Joe, or Dan, so their safety did not cross her mind. She flung her hands around her head and waited for the explosion.
When nothing happened, only the continuation of the terrible droning noise, Effie dared to peep through her fingers.
There it was again, coming round for a fourth time.
‘He’s teasing me,’ she cried. This time she saw something fall. No bomb doors had opened, nor was it a bomb that drifted down on the morning breeze to land on the bottom field behind Ashlea. But whatever it was, Effie meant to find it.
With all thought of school gone from her mind, Effie pedalled back down the lane, flung herself through the gate and started to search the grass. It took some time as the bag lay in a clump of nettles.
Oh, very clever, she thought, getting stung for her trouble. But the moment she had examined her find, she was on her bike again, pedalling with the wind behind her, back to Broombank.
Effie ran into the house, panting for breath, her hand shaking as she gave the paper to Meg.
‘Look! Look what I’ve got.’
Meg took it, frowning her puzzlement. ‘What is it?’
The paper carried a few words, in bold black pen. ‘Got married on Saturday. Letter and photo to follow. Love, Charlie.’
Meg gave a shout of laughter. ‘Where did you find this?’
‘The plane dropped it. From the sky. The plane...’ Effie’s knees finally buckled and she collapsed on to a chair, clutching her sides in agony.
It was some moments, and several glasses of water later, before the whole story came out.
‘The mad crazy fool!’ cried Meg, admiring her brother’s guts all the same.
‘He must have been miles off course,’ Tam pointed out. ‘Good job he didn’t meet with any problems. Who would have known where to look for him?’
‘Don’t even think of it.’ But Meg hugged the paper to her breast, thankful just to know that Charlie was safe and well, if cheekily flying where he shouldn’t.
‘And married. Goodness, I have a new sister-in-law. I wonder what she’s like? I do hope we get on.’
‘She’d be a fool, to be sure, if she didn’t get on with you, Meg Turner.’
‘Oh stop your blarney, it won’t wash with me,’ she laughed.
‘I know,’ said Tam mournfully. ‘That’s the trouble.’
What was going on? Sally Ann crawled out from beneath the hawthorn bush with her two children, scratched and dishevelled but surprised to find herself still alive.
She got to her feet, cradling the weeping Daniel on one hip while trying to keep hold of the squirming Nicky with the other hand. Were her eyes deceiving her or was that Effie pedalling like fury down the lane? Watching the tail of the plane disappear, Sally Ann realised now that it was one of theirs, a Lancaster. So what was it doing playing games over Ashlea? She’d go up to Broombank later, when she had the children settled for their afternoon nap. Joe could take care of them for once and she and Meg would catch up on a bit of gossip. Perhaps she would understand. It would be good to go up anyway. Must be a week or more since she’d seen Meg. Right now though, she’d have a cup of tea. She felt in dire need of one.
‘Married? I don’t believe it. The sly boots. Oh, and we’ve missed out on all the fun.’
‘That’s war, isn’t it? I don’t blame him for doing the deed so quickly, though I would have loved to be there,’ Meg agreed, grey eyes alight with joy as she told Sally Ann the news. ‘Let’s just be glad he’s well.’
‘I wonder if it’s the same one? You know,’ put in Effie, ‘the one he danced with in the Tower ballroom that time.’
‘Heavens, I’ve no idea. The letter doesn’t say.’ Meg c
licked her tongue with disgust. ‘Isn’t that just like him? Tells us he’s married, but doesn’t say who to. Not that it matters. I’m sure she’ll be lovely. We’ll have to wait for his letter, if it ever comes.’
‘I still think it’s a pity,’ Sally Ann mourned. ‘We could have done with a good wedding to cheer us all up.’ She slanted her eyes across at Tam who was sitting in the porch, cleaning tack with saddle soap and linseed oil. ‘You weren’t thinking of taking the plunge, were you?’
He looked at her, a dry humour in his Irish eyes. ‘Would you like me to call on Miss Shaw, and see if she’s available?’
Sally Ann giggled. ‘She’s well past fifty. You can do better than that, I’m sure. There’s a dance on Saturday as a matter of fact. Renton Ralph’s Blue Rascals are playing at Kendal Town Hall. How about it?’
‘Is that an offer?’
‘I mean for us all to go. It’s in aid of the War Appeal Fund and soldiers’ comforts.’
‘I can guess what sort of comforts the soldiers would like,’ quipped Tam with a wink, earning himself a slapped wrist from Meg.
‘A lot of service people will be there and some of the VAD nurses. You never know, Tam, you might strike lucky.’
Meg laughed along with the rest of them as he brought out a comb and started to titivate his mahogany curls, but the thought of him dancing with some pretty little nurse did not greatly amuse her, oddly enough.
Chapter Five
Meg had her head pushed into the side of the cow, working at the teats with such fierce effort she had a wonderful head of froth in her milk bucket. She loved the smell of the warm milk, the sense of seclusion here in the cow shed. It was a good place to escape.
‘Meg? Are you in there?’
She heard the door open, felt the draught of cool air flow in. Drat, she’d been discovered. She heard him approach and stand beside her, silently condemning. ‘Are you going to be much longer?’
Storm Clouds Over Broombank Page 6
