by Val Wood
‘Bottom of ’yard,’ Mrs Tuke answered. ‘Near ’field. You’ll need to tek ’basket to carry ’eggs in,’ she said as Harriet draped her shawl round her shoulders. ‘If there are any,’ she added. ‘They go off lay at this time of ’year.’
‘Do they?’ Harriet said. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Don’t know much, do you?’ She glanced scornfully at her new daughter-in-law.
‘Not about country matters, no, I don’t,’ Harriet responded. ‘But I’m a quick learner – given ’chance,’ she added.
‘Let ’em into ’field wi’ ’sheep,’ she was told, ‘and mek sure you fasten ’gate or else they’ll all be off and then there’ll be summat to say.’
I don’t know how I’m going to be able to stand this, Harriet thought again as she went across the yard. All this tension, nobody wi’ a good word to say to anybody. What’s up wi’ them all?
There was a light drizzle and a chill wind and she shivered as she walked carefully across the muddy yard; she didn’t want to skid and land on her backside. She’d forgotten to ask Mrs Tuke if she had a spare pair of rubber boots as Noah had suggested, but even if she had remembered she would have hesitated in case she made a blunder.
Noah and Fletcher weren’t about and she wondered where they were and what they were doing, but as she approached the hen house Fletcher appeared from round the back of it with a spade in his hand. They both stopped in their tracks.
Harriet spoke first. ‘I’ve to let ’hens out.’
He gazed at her for a second before asking, ‘Do you know what to do?’
‘Don’t I just open ’door?’
He gave a wry grimace. ‘On a day like today they don’t allus want to come out.’
‘Don’t blame ’em,’ she said. ‘So how do I mek ’em?’
‘You’ll have to go inside and persuade ’em,’ he said, and smiled. ‘Give ’em a shove if necessary. Then when they’re out, open ’field gate and let them in there. Do you know where ’corn is?’
Silently she shook her head and followed him to a wooden lean-to with a metal bin inside it.
‘In here,’ he said, taking off the lid to show her the grain. ‘But be sure to put the lid back on when you’ve filled ’bucket, or else we’ll lose it all to rats. Onny half fill it,’ he added, ‘and scatter it over ’grass.’
She grimaced. ‘I hate rats,’ she said. ‘Can’t stand ’em.’
‘Well, we have to live with ’em,’ he said. ‘And they have to eat to live, like all creatures do, but scavengers that they are, we have to mek sure they don’t eat anything that we want, so everything’s to be securely fastened.’
‘What about foxes?’
‘What about ’em?’ He looked straight at her now, not avoiding her glance as he had at breakfast, and today his eyes seemed more blue than grey.
‘Well, don’t they go after ’hens?’
‘Aye, they do, and that’s why they’ve to be shut up every night. Do you want me to help you fetch ’em out?’
‘N-no, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll manage.’
He nodded and walked off and she watched him for a moment, seeing his ponytail swinging across the back of his neck, then she turned to the hen house and unfastened the bolts and turned the iron key which Mrs Tuke had given her.
‘Come on then, my beauties,’ she cooed, entering the warm, straw-smelling structure. ‘Let’s be having you.’
CHAPTER NINE
Apart from being cold, Harriet enjoyed feeding the hens. Some of them were fixed firmly on their perches and she had to lift them down, and though they squawked and fluttered she liked the feel of their soft warm feathery bodies.
They ran after her when she went to the feed bin, getting under her feet in their eagerness. She opened the gate to the field, closing it after her as she had been told, although the few sheep there showed no disposition to escape. They were muddy and bedraggled, with torn fleeces trailing behind them, and she thought maybe they’d been caught up in a hedge.
She scattered the corn and went back to the hen house, again making sure the gate was secure behind her. Don’t want to blot my copybook on ’first day, she mused. She found four eggs: two white, one speckled and one brown. I’d like to taste the brown one, she thought. I’ve never had a brown egg. She told this to Mrs Tuke when she bore in the eggs triumphantly.
‘You’ve never had a brown egg!’ Mrs Tuke said in astonishment. ‘Well, they don’t taste any different from white, but I’d guarantee you’ve never had a fresh one either.’
‘No. Not fresh like these.’ Harriet handled the smooth but messy eggs with care, washing them in the sink as she was told, before putting them in a bowl and taking them through a door into the pantry.
The pantry door was off the kitchen, and although she had noticed it this morning she hadn’t known what was behind it. Now she walked in and looked round at the limewashed slabs where milk was kept cool and butter lay with a muslin cover over it. A fowl and a joint of beef sat on the bottom shelves with domed mesh covers over them.
I must have done ’right thing coming here, she breathed. At least I’m not going to starve. There’s more food here than I’ve ever seen in my life. Farm must be mekking a profit in spite of looking run down.
‘Hurry up and shut ’door,’ Mrs Tuke called to her. ‘Larders have to be kept cool, don’t you know that?’
Harriet came out and turned the large iron key. ‘First time I’ve ever been in one,’ she said.
Mrs Tuke gazed at her for a moment then swung the kettle over the fire where it began to steam. ‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘I want to talk to you.’
Harriet did as she was bid and watched as Mrs Tuke made another pot of tea. Two pots of tea in a morning, she marvelled. Ma and me thought we were lucky if we got one a day.
Mrs Tuke poured, and pushed a cup towards her. ‘Now then,’ she said brusquely. ‘Why did you really marry him?’
Harriet sipped the tea and pondered. Not why did you really marry my son, or why did you marry Noah, just plain and simple him. Does he not deserve a name? What’s he done to mek her so antagonistic?
Mrs Tuke’s eyes narrowed as she waited for an answer.
Harriet sighed. ‘If I’m honest, he caught me at a low ebb. Ma was sick, I’d been put on short time at ’mill and then Ma died, like I told you, an’ when I went back to ’hostelry where I’d been working at night, I was given ’sack. I saw Noah again a few days later and he treated me to some supper. And then he said he was looking for a wife, an’ asked me – asked me if I’d consider marrying him.’
It wasn’t quite like that, she thought. It was more of an ultimatum. He said I had to decide there and then.
‘And you said yes, just like that?’ Mrs Tuke said abrasively. ‘A man you didn’t know? A man you’d onny just met? Did you think he had money? Or were you desperate?’ she added with thinly veiled sarcasm.
Harriet sighed. Nobody would understand if they hadn’t been at rock bottom as she had been. ‘He said I’d have a roof over my head. I had to mek up my mind,’ she said. ‘I’d no money, no job, and I was in arrears wi’ rent.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘I decided to tek a chance. It was either that or ’workhouse if I couldn’t find work. Noah said he wouldn’t be coming back to Hull. Time will tell whether or not I’ve made ’right choice.
‘I’m sorry,’ she added. ‘We’ve both been caught out. You were not expecting me and I wasn’t expecting to find a house full o’ people. I thought that Noah was living on his own; he never said he had a family.’
Mrs Tuke sat in silence, gazing into space. It seemed to Harriet that she was mulling something over and debating whether to discuss it, but she said nothing until there was a sound from upstairs, a thump as if someone was getting out of bed. Then she said, ‘That’ll be Mr Tuke. He’ll be wanting his breakfast.’ She got up from the table, and then turned back to Harriet. ‘If I were you, I’d mek myself scarce for half an hour. He’s not in ’best o’ tempers first thing.’
Harriet put her shawl on again and headed for the door, but Mrs Tuke called her back. ‘You’ll find some rubber galoshes in ’porch. There should be a pair to fit you.’
She felt heartened by this small consideration and thought that Mrs Tuke had a fair amount of irksome provocation to deal with herself. She must think that I’m just another addition to it. I don’t understand why Noah was in such a hurry to get wed; he must have known that he was going to annoy them all. Did he do it deliberately, she wondered. Was it some devil in him that wanted to rile them?
It had stopped raining so she decided to explore the farm, though she reckoned that was a very grand name for just a clutter of derelict buildings. She found a brick stable with three stalls and two horses, the fine stallion Noah had ridden into Hull and the ancient mare that had brought her here from their wedding. She unbolted the stable door and went inside and stroked both of them. The stallion skittered away from her, but the old mare stood placidly whilst she talked to her and then nuzzled into her hand as if looking for a tit-bit.
She carefully fastened the door behind her when she left and found she was looking down at a black and white dog, who although emitting a low growl was also wagging his tail. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Who are you?’
She bent down and allowed him to sniff her skirt and hands but didn’t attempt to stroke him. She was wary of dogs, never having had one. When he had finished examining her he sat down at her feet as if waiting for her next move. ‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘Where next?’
Next was a large wooden shed, although she thought it probably had another name. This appeared to be a depository for farming equipment; as well as spades and forks and coils of rope there were various wooden implements she didn’t recognize. She couldn’t think of a use for any of them, except for one, which was quite large and cumbersome and she thought might have been a plough. There was a waggon and the cart that Noah had driven to fetch her; harnesses and bridles were hanging on the walls and wooden crates and wicker baskets were piled up in a corner.
The dog had been by her side as she looked round but he suddenly gave a low woof and bounded to the door, his tail wagging furiously. Fletcher’s broad shoulders filled the doorway, and although she couldn’t see his face, as the light was behind him, she felt his scrutiny.
‘Looking for summat?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Just looking. I’m surplus to requirements at ’minute so I thought I’d tek a look round. What’s this?’ She pointed to the implement she had been examining. ‘Is it a plough?’
He came towards her. ‘Yeh. Single furrow wooden beam; it’s an old ox plough which Da used when he was a lad, but we don’t keep oxen now.’
‘So – do you grow corn?’
He nodded. ‘We haven’t much land, and what we have is very wet.’ He pointed to the spades on the walls. ‘We’re constantly working on ’ditches and drains to tek water off ’land, but we grow wheat, oats, beans, turnips and clover. In rotation,’ he added. ‘Not all at ’same time. We have to feed ’animals as well as ourselves.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Did he tell you nowt?’
Harriet shrugged. ‘He said he was a farmer. I’m a town woman,’ she said. ‘He mebbe thought I wouldn’t understand country matters.’
Fletcher grunted. ‘He could’ve given you ’benefit of ’doubt.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘We’re a mixed farm. We’ve onny a dozen cattle bred for meat, and two milch cows for home use.’ He gave a sudden grin that lit up his face and Harriet smiled too as he added, ‘We could teach you to milk them. We’ve a goat in kid too. And a few sheep, bred for market, which you’ve already seen. And a couple o’ pigs for ’table.’
‘So does the old horse pull ’plough? She doesn’t look strong enough.’
‘No. She pulls ’cart and Ma sometimes uses her for going to Brough. We have a plough horse. Noah’s out ploughing a fallow field now. It’s very wet, but we’ve to get ready for spring planting. He’s using an iron plough; single furrow cos it’s onny an acre field.’
She nodded as if she knew what he was talking about. It will all make sense eventually, she thought.
‘Sorry, I must get on,’ he said, and walked over to the far wall where he exchanged the spade he was carrying for a long iron-tipped wooden one. ‘I drew ’short straw this morning; my turn to clear ’drainage channels.’ He put the sludge spade over his shoulder. ‘At least I’ll keep warm.’
Harriet watched him walk away across the yard, the dog following him. He seems friendlier now than when I arrived. Of course it was a shock for them all to have a stranger thrust into their midst. She saw the broad set of his shoulders, his narrow hips and long legs, and an unwitting and wayward thought came unbidden – that had it been Fletcher and not Noah who had come looking for a wife, she would perhaps not have lingered so long over her decision.
She gave herself a derisory shake and went back into the yard to continue her exploration. She found the cowshed, and a pigsty with two snuffling, rooting pigs in the pen. She glanced back at the house and noticed a curtain twitch at the kitchen window, but couldn’t make out who was behind it; she turned her back and went into the sheep field, again carefully fastening the gate behind her, and headed off in the direction of the estuary.
The low cloud had lifted and a pale watery sun brightened the sky. Harriet followed the line of the ditch where water was running fast, crossing two more fields. She could see that the estuary, a steely grey colour, was very lively as the incoming high tide caused rippling currents which lashed the banks. Several coal-carrying vessels were steaming westward where the estuary narrowed; over on the south bank, Lincolnshire was a thin dark strip of higher land with tall chimneys spouting thick black smoke.
She stood on the edge of the bank and let her gaze wander over the wide salt marsh, which this morning was covered by the tide, and then up and down the estuary. Her eye was caught by a fluttering of wings where a flock of birds were resting or nesting on what looked like a small island, and she took a deep, satisfying gulp of air. Apart from the rush and lap of the water and the flapping beat of wildfowl, there was a calm and comforting silence; something she was unused to in the bustling town with its constant rattle of traffic and cries of market vendors. If it were not for the friction I appear to have caused in this family I have joined – if it wasn’t there already – I think I could like it here.
CHAPTER TEN
Harriet walked slowly back to the farm, wondering whether Mr Tuke would have finished his breakfast. She was at a loss to know what she could do that might be useful.
Near the side wall of the house she saw Fletcher bent over his spade, his ponytail swinging over his shoulder. She approached him, curious to know what he was doing. He straightened up and raised his eyebrows.
‘I wondered how you were getting on,’ she said lamely. ‘You said you were going to clear ’ditches.’
‘I am,’ he said briefly. ‘I’m enlarging this cut to tek ’water away from ’buildings. You see how ’ground slopes towards ’house? Well, if we don’t keep this area clear when we get a lot o’ rain we’ll be sitting in a lake, so we dug this to meet up with ’other drain’ – he pointed to another ditch at the side of the yard – ‘so that ’whole lot runs off down towards ’estuary. In ’Netherlands they’re experts on land drainage and this is what they do.’
‘Oh! Have you been?’
‘No, but I’ve read about it and seen drawings. There was this fellow called Cornelius Vermuyden or some such who dug dykes to stop ’sea flooding ’land, oh,’ he drew a breath, ‘about two hundred years ago, and then he came to live in England and did ’same here; he diverted ’River Don up near Doncaster and made a new channel ending in ’Ouse near Goole. Called it ’Dutch River. Not everybody agreed with what he did and it turned out to be unsuitable for shipping, but I reckon he had some good ideas.’ He kept on digging as he spoke, throwing up the wet clay on to a heap.
‘And so – if ’estuary should break its banks, if it was high
tide, I mean,’ Harriet said, ‘shouldn’t you have a deep ditch down at ’bottom of ’field to catch it?’
Fletcher straightened up again. ‘Aye, or a large pond – washlands, they’re called. I think we should, but Da thinks it a waste of time an’ energy. He says we can’t keep water out no matter what we do.’
‘But you could contain it,’ she said eagerly. ‘Make it less of a threat?’
He gazed keenly at her and then grunted, ‘A woman wi’ a brain!’
Harriet stiffened indignantly. ‘We all have one,’ she retaliated. ‘Just ’same as men. We don’t allus have ’opportunity to use ’em.’
‘I didn’t mean—’ He broke off as Noah appeared round the corner of the barn. The dog was slinking along behind him, his tail between his legs.
‘What ’you up to?’
It took Harriet a second before she realized that Noah was talking to her.
‘I – I’m discussing drains and dykes,’ she said.
‘You what!’ He scowled, his eyebrows close knit. ‘Get yourself inside an’ mek me a drink, never mind discussing summat that’s got nowt to do wi’ you.’
She opened her mouth to argue, but seeing his eyes flash she decided against it and went towards the door. ‘What do you want?’ she asked. ‘Tea? Cocoa?’
He stared at her. ‘I want a pint pot o’ tea an’ I want it in less than five minutes an’ I want a piece o’ pie or a slice o’ fruit cake to go wi’ it.’
Yes, your honour, she seethed resentfully. No possibility of please or thank you.
Inside the kitchen Mr Tuke was sitting at the table. Mrs Tuke was building up the fire with coal.
‘Noah wants a pint pot o’ tea and a piece of pie or cake,’ Harriet said. ‘Is it all right if I mek it?’
‘Doesn’t Fletcher want one?’ Mrs Tuke glanced at her.
‘He didn’t say if he did or not.’ Harriet shrugged. ‘I don’t know if I’m supposed to guess what they want or to already know their routine.’ She was smarting, both at Fletcher’s comment and at Noah’s demand.
