Heartbreak and Happiness

by Rosie Harris

  ‘Really? I didn’t know that,’ Bill admitted.

  ‘What breed is Molly?’ Rebecca asked.

  ‘She’s a Landrace,’ her father told her.

  ‘Oh how lovely! That’s a breed that originated in Scandinavia. In Denmark, as a matter of fact. The Americans imported them into the USA in the 1930s.’

  ‘Really!’ Bill looked even more impressed.

  ‘Yes, they’ve got big floppy ears that hang down over their eyes – the largest ears of any breed of pigs.’

  ‘How on earth do you know that?’ Sandra said in surprise.

  ‘We were told all about them when we were doing a lesson on the history of America. We started with the early settlers then covered all the changes and improvements they’ve made down the ages. They’re very docile, by the way.’

  ‘The pigs or the Americans?’ Sandra asked facetiously.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Your mum’s not too keen on the idea of us having a pig,’ Bill explained.

  ‘Oh you’ll change your mind when Molly arrives,’ Rebecca assured her. ‘Landrace are lovely pigs and they’re not only docile but very easy to manage. They are good mothers, too.’

  ‘Well, it seems we’ll see in a few weeks’ time!’ Sandra said quizzically.

  To Sandra’s surprise, Rebecca insisted on helping to build the sty and run for Molly. She manhandled the heavy posts and held them in place while her father hammered them into the ground. She held things for him, she passed tools to him, and all the time they chatted away happily as they worked.

  Sandra felt she wasn’t needed and went indoors to make a pot of tea. She left the two of them enthusing about what it was going to be like once Molly arrived and what would be entailed when it came to making her feel at home.

  She still thought pigs were dirty, smelly creatures and wished Bill had discussed his idea of having one with her instead of going ahead like he’d done. It was too late now to do anything about it because he was committed to buying the creature and she’d have to live with it, but she was not at all sure that it was going to work out as well as he seemed to think it would.

  When she called Bill and Rebecca in to have their tea they were still both enthusing about raising pigs and making plans about the future of the expected litter.

  ‘Becky says she’ll take her turn feeding Molly and will help look after the piglets when they arrive,’ Bill said happily as he took his mug of tea from Sandra. ‘I’ve never known her to be so keen about anything before,’

  Sandra smiled but said nothing. She wondered if Rebecca would be quite so enthusiastic about helping once Molly was actually installed in her pen in the back garden.

  Rebecca hated any kind of manual work and didn’t even like getting her hands dirty. She usually changed into wellies when she went up to visit Cindy because she claimed their farmyard was always dirty underfoot, and yet Sandra knew for a fact that the Masons’ farm was the cleanest for miles around.

  Sandra didn’t think Rebecca would be very happy when she was asked to carry buckets of smelly mash made from leftovers all the way up the garden to tip into Molly’s trough. She certainly wouldn’t want to do it when it was pouring with rain or when there was snow on the ground.

  Four

  Molly’s arrival the next morning caused a mild furore in Shelston. Becky and her father were waiting in the narrow unmade side road that led from the High Street to their cottage, Woodside, to see if they could help in any way.

  As the very large lorry backed up from the High Street towards their house, they could hear frightened squeals coming from the metal-sided crate loaded on the back.

  When it came to a stop at the iron gate in front of their gravel drive Rebecca hurried forward eager to see Molly, but her father placed a restraining hand on her arm to hold her back.

  ‘Wait until she’s had a chance to settle down, Becky. She’s probably upset by all that’s happening and she may be vicious,’ he cautioned.

  A few of the villagers who had followed the lorry right into the Petersons’ garden stood there patiently waiting to see the huge white pig unloaded.

  The lorry driver took his time. After filling in some details on his clipboard he jumped down from his cab and looked around, frowning as if the place was not what he had expected it to be.

  ‘Are you Bill Peterson?’ he asked as Bill held out a hand to greet him.

  ‘That’s right.’

  The driver frowned and looked at his clipboard again and then at the pretty stone cottage and the neatly laid out garden that disappeared into the distance. ‘So where’s your farm? I’ve got a pig on board for you.’

  ‘Yes, I was expecting one, but I’m not a farmer,’ Bill explained. ‘I’m a butcher and I have a shop in the High Street.’

  ‘Hmm!’ The driver pushed back his cap and scratched his head.

  ‘So where do you want her?’ he asked, looking at Bill in a puzzled manner. ‘You ain’t thinking of taking her indoors are you?’ He laughed loudly at his own joke.

  ‘No, I’ve got a sty and run all ready and waiting at the top of the garden. Just unload her and I’ll take her up there.’

  ‘You and whose army?’ The driver laughed loudly again. ‘Once I let her out of that cage she’ll go wild. She complained all the way here and she’s so damn scared that it would take half a dozen of us to get her up that path.’ He indicated with his head towards the neat gravel path that led from where they were standing to the far end of the garden.

  ‘With the help of some of my friends here I’m sure we’ll manage,’ Bill said confidently as he looked enquiringly at the small crowd still watching avidly.

  ‘Well, we can try, I suppose. I’m damned if I want to take her back with me. As I said, she squealed all the way here, so I’ll be glad to see the back of her.’

  He walked back to his lorry, climbed up on to the platform at the back, and began unfastening the straps that had kept the metal cage in position.

  Half an hour later, hot, tired and dusty, they had got Molly into her run.

  Before letting her out of the metal cage, they’d taken the precaution of putting a halter round her neck. Then, when she was safely on the ground, Bill had placed a bowl of water in front of her and waited for her to have a drink and calm down a little before walking her the length of the garden.

  Rebecca went in front, tempting her along with titbits of food and encouraging noises, while the small crowd formed a barrier to stop her straying from the path.

  Molly was so strong that when she once or twice took it into her head to try to wander off into the garden it took all Bill’s strength to control her.

  Persuading her to enter the run took even more cajoling. Even the fresh bowl of water and trough of food he placed inside the run failed to convince her that at last she was safe and that this was her new home.

  Once she was inside the run they made no attempt to lure her into her sty, where there was a bed of clean straw waiting for her, but left her to make that discovery for herself.

  Bill’s hearty thanks, together with bottles of beer all round, rewarded the dishevelled helpers. After about an hour they had all left, still chattering about their experience. Bill reckoned it would be a topic of conversation at both the village pubs not only that evening but for many more to come.

  Once they had all left, Rebecca went back up the garden to make sure Molly was settled in. She had stopped squealing and, as Rebecca approached the run, she could hear her grunting and assumed she was happy in her new surroundings.

  Rebecca stood there for several minutes studying Molly. She was huge and her large floppy ears almost covered her eyes.

  When Molly grunted and came towards the fence, Becky stretched out a hand in greeting and said her name very quietly over and over several times.

  Molly looked up at her, grunted again, and then went over to her trough and began snuffling around in it as if picking out the tastiest morsels.

  As Rebecca started to turn away, Molly
came back to the fence and poked her snout through the mesh as if trying to be friendly.

  Rebecca laughed, and reached over and rather tentatively scratched her between the ears. She was ready to jump back if Molly showed the slightest aggression, but the huge white pig stood there quite placidly and began to grunt softly as if enjoying the procedure.

  Rebecca felt a thrill run through her. She was friends with Molly. She knew in that instant that she was going to enjoy looking after her and her piglets when they arrived.

  It took Sandra almost a week before they could persuade her to walk up to the pigsty at the top of the garden and meet Molly.

  She stared at the huge white pig for several minutes in complete silence then murmured, ‘However can she see with those colossal ears hanging down over her eyes?’

  Almost as if she had heard and understood, Molly lifted her head, leaving her eyes uncovered, as she stared at Sandra and gave a short grunt.

  Sandra stepped back in alarm, a scared look on her face.

  ‘She’s trying to talk to you,’ Rebecca told her, laughing, and handed her mother a piece of apple. ‘Here, give her that and she will really be your friend.’

  Sandra waved it away and drew back. ‘She’d probably bite my hand off if I tried to do that,’ she muttered.

  ‘Nonsense, she’d be your friend for life.’

  ‘I don’t trust her,’ Sandra said firmly, as she turned away and began walking back down the garden towards the house.

  Bill had followed them up the path and now he shook his head sadly as his wife walked away. ‘I’ve tried telling her that Landrace pigs are the most docile of all and what a beauty our Molly is, but she won’t listen. Nothing more I can do about it,’ he said with a deep sigh. ‘Perhaps she’ll feel differently about Molly when the piglets arrive.’

  By the time Molly was ready to farrow, Rebecca was completely confident about being with her. Molly’s eager grunts whenever she appeared with buckets of mash or the special grain mixture were music to her ears.

  At first Molly had been so anxious to get at her food that she would push roughly against Rebecca as she tipped it into her trough. Gradually, when Rebecca spoke to her firmly, reassuring her that it was all for her, she learned to stand and watch as the buckets or bowls were emptied into the trough.

  When Rebecca came back later to check that she had eaten everything and that her water bowl was full, Molly would sidle up to her and give small grunts of contentment as she scratched behind her ears or down her back.

  Rebecca simply couldn’t understand why her mother was so averse to Molly. She didn’t even like it when they talked about the animal.

  It was Bill and Rebecca who were with Molly when she gave birth to her litter of thirteen piglets. It was Rebecca who helped erect the crate they had ready for Molly to sleep in while the piglets were tiny, so she wouldn’t overlay them. And it was Rebecca who made sure the infra-red lamp that kept the new-born piglets warm was safely placed.

  Even after Molly produced her litter, Sandra didn’t feel any differently about the pigs. ‘They’re so tiny and so many of them,’ she said with a shudder when she first saw the little pigs. ‘All huddled up together, they look a bit like young mice.’

  ‘She’s had a litter of thirteen,’ Bill said in a highly pleased voice. ‘Don’t go too near them or try to pick them up, though. Molly’s still a bit anxious about them.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. I didn’t even want to see them but Rebecca insisted.’

  ‘For some reason she seems to think they’re adorable,’ she added as she turned away with another shudder.

  Twelve of the piglets were in excellent shape, and fought and pushed and squealed to latch on to their designated teats. The other little pig was smaller and seemed to have a struggle to find a teat to feed on.

  ‘There’s often a runt in the litter,’ Bill sighed. ‘I suppose we ought to bottle-feed it for a couple of weeks to give it a chance to survive. As things are, it’s going to get trampled in the mêlée that ensues at feeding time.’

  ‘I’ll do it, Dad,’ Rebecca volunteered eagerly. ‘Show me what to do and then leave it to me.’

  ‘Well,’ he hesitated. ‘I was hoping that perhaps your mother would look after it.’

  When he suggested it to Sandra, however, she shook her head violently. ‘You were the one who wanted to keep a pig, so it’s up to you to look after it and all its litters. I don’t mind doing an extra stint in the shop, but I will not get involved with looking after the pigs.’

  She was so adamant about it that Bill had no alternative but to ask Rebecca if she could help.

  ‘I know you are already mixing up the mash and the grain for Molly and bringing them up to her—’

  ‘That’s all right, Dad, I told you I would help. After I’ve filled the trough I can pick up the piglet and bring him down and feed him, then take him back up later after the rest have filled their tummies.’

  Rebecca found she thoroughly enjoyed acting as nursemaid to the little piglet. She called him Moses and was delighted when within a week he was almost as lively as the others and came running towards her whenever she appeared, as if he knew that she had adopted him and would feed him.

  By the time the others were ready to be weaned, Moses was practically the same size as they were. He joined in with them and seemed to be well able to hold his own when they pushed and shoved at the trough.

  Bill was delighted. ‘You made a damn good job of him, Becky,’ he told his daughter. ‘You’ll be a farmer’s wife yet. I must let young Jake Mason know how proficient you are.’

  Colour rushed to Rebecca’s face. ‘That will do, Dad,’ she protested. ‘Cindy Mason is my friend and Jake happens to be her brother, nothing more. So don’t start getting ideas.’

  Her father laughed and ruffled her hair. ‘Only teasing you, my girl, because I’m hoping you will go off to university next year. Jake does seems to have been around here quite a bit recently, though,’ he said affectionately.

  ‘It’s Molly he comes to see, not me,’ Rebecca grinned. ‘Both he and Cindy are fascinated by Molly.’

  ‘I’ve never understood why Tom Mason hasn’t got any pigs on his farm. He’s got everything else.’

  ‘I know. I said the same thing to Jake, and he said that for some reason his dad doesn’t like them but he doesn’t know why.’

  ‘Perhaps when he’s old enough and has a say in how things are run Jake will introduce them into the stock. That’s if he takes over the running of the farm.’

  ‘I don’t think he will. He keeps saying he wants to specialize in rare breeds.’

  ‘Oh, what sort of animals has he got in mind?’

  ‘I’m not sure. He’s rather vague about it, but I get the idea that he wants something special, not a general farm. Cindy certainly doesn’t want to get involved with farming either. She’s keen to become a model or something glamorous like that. She probably thinks I’m mad to have taken to Moses like I have, but she can’t say much because she has that pet lamb, Snowy, that she thinks the world about.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think you’re mad. Far from it. Without your help over the past few weeks I don’t know how I would have managed. All I hope now is that this exercise pays off. In a few months’ time these piglets will be old enough to go to market.’

  ‘Not all of them, Dad!’ Rebecca said in alarm. ‘You can’t send Moses for meat. He’s mine! I bottle-fed him and brought him up.’

  ‘It’s no good being sentimental about them. I bought them to make money to help us fight that damned new supermarket by selling home-raised pork in the shop, and that’s what I intend to do.’

  Five

  Molly was once again the talk of the village when it was discovered that she had given birth to thirteen piglets.

  When a group of village women out doing their shopping had seen the huge lorry backing down the side road towards Woodside the morning Molly arrived, they’d decided that the driver had made a mistake and t
he pig he had on board should have been taken up to the Masons’ farm.

  ‘Driver must have missed the turning.’

  ‘He should have known that an animal of that sort was for a farm, not a respectable dwelling house.’

  ‘Dirty great creatures, pigs, wouldn’t want them near me,’ another commented.

  ‘You don’t mind a good knuckle of ham or some pork chops, Lizzie Smith. And where do you think they come from?’

  Later that night, after their menfolk had been to the pub and heard the whole story of how the pig had been unloaded, they couldn’t stop talking about it.

  ‘So ’twas meant for the Petersons at Woodside after all!’ they exclaimed in amazement.

  Now, when the news reached them that the sow had given birth to a litter of thirteen piglets, they were agog with surprise.

  ‘They’re going to take some handling,’ Lizzie Smith commented. ‘I remember my old dad once kept a couple of pigs but not for long. They were all over the place, so it’ll be interesting to see what sort of carry-on there’ll be up at the Petersons. They’ll ruin the garden in next to no time, you mark my words.’

  Lizzie Smith took such an avid interest in the Petersons’ pigs that she was the first to spread the news that the runt of the litter was being bottle-fed by Rebecca.

  ‘She’s calling it Moses, did you ever hear the like? Blasphemous, I calls it. She’s besotted by it by all accounts. Takes it everywhere with her, tucked up under her arm like a doll or a baby. I don’t know what the world’s coming to, that I don’t.’

  She was even more shocked when she heard that Rebecca had been seen taking the pig for a walk on a lead with a dog collar round its neck.

  ‘I’m surprised that Bill the butcher allows such a thing to happen,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s as if that girl of his has gone wrong in the head. Never heard of such a caper in my life.’

  ‘You’re forgetting about that Cindy Mason and her lamb,’ chuckled one of the other women. ‘You gawped the first time you saw her taking it for a walk.’