Coming Home

by Gwen Kirkwood

  Hannah was already worried about her husband. Eddy seemed to have aged fifteen years instead of five since the outbreak of the war. At eighteen Steven had willingly done more than his share of the work but they had only realised how much more when he was no longer there. As a schoolboy, he had been eager to learn everything about the animals and farming. He had learned to plough as soon as he could trudge behind the horses and hold the plough to the furrow. They had a tractor now but Willowburn still needed him. His knowledge and his instinct could not be replaced by the land girls. None of them had stayed long enough to gain experience, not that Hannah blamed them. One of them, a lovely girl named Ruth, had been particularly kind and considerate in the house and a hard worker, eager to learn all she could about the farm and the animals. Hannah’s heart had warmed towards her from the day she arrived. She had been with them about six months, then one morning she had run into the house, sobbing as though her heart would break. Alarmed by her evident distress, Hannah had tried to comfort her.

  ‘Whatever is wrong, dear child? Have you had an accident?’

  ‘F-Fred…’ she sobbed and ran upstairs to her room. She had packed her few belongings and minutes later she left Willowburn, refusing all Hannah’s offers of help, even a lift to the bus. Hannah had worried about her for weeks until a letter arrived, written from her home in Westmorland, where her father was a vicar. They still kept in touch occasionally and Hannah still felt some concern for Ruth.

  She had confronted Fred but he had denied that he had assaulted her.

  Their present land-girl, Edna Wright, appeared oblivious to Fred’s idleness and she ignored his bullying tactics but she was not a conscientious worker herself. The other girls had all found Fred’s persistent advances unwelcome but Hannah was beginning to think Edna encouraged them. She hoped Fred knew what he was about. He would not be the first man to be trapped into marriage by a scheming woman, although she had begun to think the two deserved each other.

  Fred’s sullen manner and his sly ways, coupled with his idleness had proved a heavy burden to Eddy. When Steven started sending home his army pay, Fred had been more jealous and disgruntled than ever, especially when she put the money into a bank account for Steven instead of adding it to the meagre income the farm was bringing in. She was glad now that she had insisted or Fred would have frittered it away. In an effort to appease Fred, and in the hope of encouraging him to be more conscientious about the care of the animals, Eddy decided to make him a partner in the farm.

  ‘That will surely give him a sense of pride and responsibility,’ he confided to Hannah and she hadn’t the heart to voice her doubts. ‘When he sees the results of our hard work he will feel the satisfaction of knowing he has had a share in it.’

  His father’s generosity had not worked any miracles with Fred. It was a thousand pities he had not been the one to go into the army, Hannah reflected as she had done many times before. The routine and the discipline might have benefited him, he might even have found a niche he enjoyed. Being a partner had only made him more arrogant and overbearing. The older he grew, the more he reminded Hannah of her cousin Eleanor’s father, Fred’s maternal grandfather. He had been a boorish, selfish man. He had used his authority to browbeat his wife and his daughter just as Fred was planning to use the partnership which his father had bestowed on him. His threats almost amounted to blackmail.

  She was glad Eddy had already left the house this morning before Fred’s outburst. She could only hope he would calm down and see reason before Steven arrived home but she shook her head in despair. She had been responsible for his upbringing when Eleanor, his mother, had died a few weeks after giving birth. She had done her best but his greed and his unreasoning jealousy made him unbearable. She had never looked for gratitude from Fred but his latest outburst had dismayed her and left her in no doubt of his feelings towards both her and Steven.

  ‘Aye, I hoped your “wee laddie” would never come back,’ he had sneered, ‘him and his pal, Sammy Oliphant.’ The callous words echoed in her head clouding her joy over Steven’s return. ‘Why did he have to be one of the survivors? This should all be mine! All of it, d’ye hear!’ He had flung his arm wide, knocking the milk jug from the table to smash in pieces on the kitchen floor with a pool of milk swirling towards the hearthrug. Hannah snatched it up in time, and still Fred ranted on. ‘Why should I get only a share in the farm because of him? It’s mine.’

  Hannah shook her head in despair. His own mother, her cousin Eleanor, had died a few weeks after giving birth and she had done her best to take her place when she realised Eddy’s need of her. She had asked herself thousands of times what more she could have done. Fred’s greed, coupled with his insanely jealous nature, made him insufferable. She had tried to reason with him.

  ‘But Fred you know—’

  ‘Shut up! You should never have married my father. There’s no place here for your bloody son. I’ve already told you, I shall demand my share of this place in cash. I shall force the old man to sell up to pay me out. I have a claim remember,’ he gloated ‘There’ll be no place for you or your precious Steven then.’

  ‘You would force your father out of the only home he’s ever known?’ Hannah was aghast. ‘You only own part of the stock because your father gifted it to you when he made you a partner,’ she protested. ‘He trusted you.’

  ‘So what?’ She hated his mocking sneer. ‘I’ll make damned sure there’s no place for your brat. This is my birthright, I tell you.’

  ‘At least consider your father, Fred. He’s worked hard all his life for all of us. It would break his heart to leave Willowburn after all these years and in such circumstances.’

  ‘You know what to do then!’ he jeered. ‘Make sure your clever little soldier boy never comes back here to live.’

  The words went round and round in Hannah’s head, spoiling her pleasure in Steven’s homecoming. She frowned and pressed her lips together. Eddy didn’t deserve this trouble. They were both his sons. If Steven still wanted to farm, and she was sure he thought of little else, then he deserved help too, especially after sacrificing five years of his young life fighting for his country.

  ***

  Steven Caraford made his way to the front of the bus. He had travelled from the south by train to Annan and as he crossed the Solway Firth he felt his heart soar, as it always did when he reached the last leg of his journey and saw the familiar landscape.

  ‘Willowburn Farm road end, please?’ he requested. That was the good thing about local country buses they stopped wherever their passengers needed to get on or off. He glanced curiously at the driver. ‘Where is Mr Crosby today?’ he enquired pleasantly. Old Mr Crosby had driven the local bus for as long as he could remember. The young driver looked up with a grin.

  ‘He’s my father. He said he would retire the minute I got demobbed, so here I am.’ He looked at Steven’s army uniform and raised his brows. ‘You’re not demobbed yet then?’

  ‘I expected to be.’ Steven grimaced. ‘The world is not all peace and goodwill yet it seems. We’re being drafted to Palestine.’

  ‘Ach, that’s bad luck, mate. This is Willowburn up ahead, isn’t it? That’s where you want?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks.’

  ‘What’re you planning to do when you do get back to civvies then?’

  ‘Help my parents run the farm.’ Steven smiled. ‘They’re expecting me home for good but I only had time to send a telegram. I havena had the chance to tell them we’re being posted again.’ He sighed. ‘Getting back to Willowburn is all I’ve dreamed about for the last five years.

  ‘Aye, I know what you mean,’ Billy Crosby nodded. ‘I plan to build up my father’s business, run trips to the sea side and up to the Highlands. I reckon folks will be ready for holidays and a bit o’ pleasure now the war is over. I shall have to go slowly though.’ He gave another infectious grin. ‘My parents are cautious. We had to get used to taking chances and snatching opportunities in the services but my folks ha
ve seen none o’ that.’

  ‘No, you’re right there. I suppose we were lucky to survive, but now that I have, my dream begins here and I wish I could get on with it.’ Steven jerked his head towards the fields and the track winding beside the burn, up the glen to Willowburn. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Good luck to you too, mate. I hope they’ll not keep you much longer. I reckon we’ve done our bit for king and country.’

  Steven stood on the grass verge and watched the bus chug along the winding road until it was lost to sight. He breathed in deeply, revelling in the earthy scents of the countryside. “This is my own, my native land,” he murmured the poet’s words aloud and with feeling. The smell of freshly cut grass drifted on the summer breeze and behind him a blackbird sang in the thick thorn hedge. He slung his army pack over his shoulder and turned his steps towards the farm track. His gaze took in the flowers as he passed, fox gloves and red campion, the clear blue of the harebells, the climbing vetch and white wood anemones. They were all familiar, he had passed them hundreds of time on his way to and from school, and yet it was as though he was seeing them for the first time.

  Up at the house Hannah kept scanning the track, watching out for Steven, longing to see his familiar figure striding up the glen from the main road. Would he still be in uniform, or would he be wearing a demob suit? She knew better than anyone how eager he was to get back to farming at Willowburn. Her tension mounted again as she remembered Fred’s threats. As soon as he knew Steven would be arriving home today he seemed to lose all sense of reason. Surely he must realise this was Steven’s home as much as it was his. As for the work, a good man couldn’t be replaced by a mechanical tractor.

  ***

  Chrissie Oliphant took a deep breath as she considered the things she wanted to say to Megan before Steven returned.

  ‘Has Steven mentioned when he’ll be home?’

  ‘No, he mentioned there were some kind of changes afoot so he wasn’t sure what was happening when he posted his last letter but I know he’s expecting to be home soon. He can’t be much longer now.’ Her eyes shone with anticipation and Chrisssie’s heart sank. She had set her heart on her clever young daughter having a good career. Even Mr Turner admired her intelligence and academic success. Megan had qualities no amount of money could buy for Natalie, however wealthy she might be.

  ‘Megan dear, I-er, I know you transferred your affections to Steven when Sam died, but– but does he still regard you as Sam’s wee sister, do you think? Does he ever mention going out with girls in his letters?’

  ‘No of course not.’ Megan frowned and her cheeks coloured. She had heard about some of the pleasures many of the servicemen enjoyed and she had wondered about Steven. He never mentioned such things in his letters to her so recently she had begun to hope he might think of her as his special girl.

  ‘Steven was always a sensible laddie,’ Chrissie reflected. ‘He’s sacrificed five of the best years of his life fighting for his country and I expect he realises it will be a long time before he can afford to be serious about any girl. Willowburn isn’t such a big farm, and if the rumours are true, Fred Caraford nearly got his family put out altogether. He was always idle and when he refused to plough any extra land for cereals, the government officials threatened to take over Willowburn and send somebody in to plough the pasture.’

  ‘I know all that, Mum,’ Megan said, ‘And Steven knows what Fred’s like. He can’t wait to get on with all the work that needs doing to bring the farm back to the way it used to be.’

  ‘Oh I’m sure the Carafords will make more progress once Steven is there to help, but his father isna so fit these days and it takes a long time to build things up in farming. There are no farm cottages attached to Willowburn either so there’d be no place for Steven or Fred to live if they wanted to get married…’ Chrissie broke off and looked at Megan, hoping for some response, something which would tell her how serious her friendship with Steven might be, but her daughter remained silent, her face pale now.

  ‘What I’m trying to say…’ Chrissie sighed, looking at Megan’s set young face.

  ‘I know Mum. You’re trying to tell me I should forget about Steven and get on with my career, training to be a teacher. But you were only nineteen when you married Dad. You’ve both been happy, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, love, we have, but we were lucky. We’ve both had good health and we both came from dairy families. We were used to hard work and early mornings and living in a tied cottage, and no holidays. But it was a struggle in the early days until we got our household together, especially when Sam came along and then wee Callum less than a year later. I had to take you all to the byre with me in the pram, at five o’ clock every morning. I’ve often wondered if Callum might have survived if I hadn’t needed to help with the milking, if I’d been able to keep him warmer in the house…’

  ‘Oh Mum, don’t say that. You told me yourself the doctor had never held out much hope for him reaching his first birthday because he was so small and had difficulty breathing.’ She had been angry with her mother a few seconds before but now she felt a surge of love. Her parents had always done their best for her and Sam, and now she was all they had. All their hopes and dreams rested on her. They had made sacrifices for her to go to the Academy and stay on at school until she was nearly eighteen instead of leaving school at fourteen as Sam and Steven had done. She couldn’t let them down now by refusing to go to college, but three years seemed like an eternity. When she was being honest with herself she had to admit Steven had never hinted at a future together.

  ***

  Steven frowned as he neared the boundary to Willowburn land. There were puddles and wet patches in the low meadow. Obviously a drain needed repairing, maybe more than one. He had often helped his father dig around wet patches which suddenly appeared where there had been none before. They usually found a broken clay tile which was allowing water to spout to the surface and form a pool instead of being carried away to a major drain.

  ‘Draining is like your mother and her mending basket, laddie,’ his father said, ‘A stitch in time saves nine. Replacing a broken drainage tile now will save a lot more digging later.’ Steven smiled at the memory. There was nothing he had loved better than following his father, whether he was working in the fields or with the animals. His father was fifty nine but the last time Steven had been on leave he had thought he looked much older, he seemed so worn and weary. The war had affected everybody in different ways.

  His heart sank when he remembered that instead of being home to stay he would have only forty eight hours leave. He must make time to call on the Oliphants. He knew they would have questions about Sam’s death and he had always felt as welcome in their home as he was in his own. He wished Sam could have felt as welcome at Willowburn but Fred was six years older than them and big for his age. He had resented their friendship and bullied them unmercifully. Thoughts of Fred brought his mind back to the farm and the rumours which Megan had mentioned so tactfully in one of her letters.

  His mother had written regularly too but she had avoided telling him of the trouble with the War Agricultural Executive Committee. This was a group of men selected to check on farms, ensuring they were producing the maximum amount of food. They were generally known as the War Ag and they had authority to replace inefficient farmers if they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, comply with the demands and needs of the nation.

  He noticed other signs of neglect, hedges overgrown with gaping holes at the bottom, places where a ewe or a young stirk could squeeze through and go wandering off, maybe never to be seen again. There were all sorts of stories about animals being stolen and slaughtered for sale on the black-market. He knew there was a scarcity of fencing wire but there were other ways of making the boundaries proof against straying animals. The hedges needed to be cut and layered so that branches could be woven in and out of upright stems. The layered branches would sprout and grow upwards to fill the gaps and thicken the hedge. Steven’s hands clenched
. He longed to test his own skills and have the satisfaction of seeing thick, neat hedges as a result of his labour. His father was skilled at such tasks but they took time and energy and he had too much to do already. Fred had always avoided anything involving physical effort. Steven often wondered why he had been so insistent on being the one to stay on the farm instead of joining the army. Knowing his half brother as he did he was sure Fred would have wheedled his way into driving a lorry or chauffeuring a Brigadier around.

  A low groan of pain interrupted his reverie. He paused, frowning. There was a rustling and a long low moo-ing. He peered through the hedge and saw a cow lying stretched out on her side. She was the only animal in the field which was unusual for a start. Steven realised she was trying to give birth to her calf and finding it impossible. He moved further along the hedge until he came to a gap big enough for him to squeeze through. He saw at once that the young cow was exhausted and must have been calving for some time. He also realised the problem was because the calf was coming backwards, its hind legs already straight out but no amount of pushing by the cow was enough to release the rear end of the calf. Swiftly he stripped off his battle dress and rolled up his sleeves.

  ‘Steady then old girl. Let’s see what we can do.’ Steven spoke soothingly, his voice low and deep. Gently he bent beside her and felt around, trying to ease the passage. It was dry, another sign that the cow had been working on too long. He could have done with some soapy water. The tail of the calf was facing the wrong way. Gradually, he managed to manipulate the tail head and ease the skin a little round about. Then he grasped the hind legs, wishing he had ropes to help him grip and pull. He increased the pressure gently and waited for the cow to push again. Once he had eased the calf’s rear out it came away easier than he had dared to hope. Quickly he cleared the skin from the calf’s nose and mouth, surprised and pleased to see it was still alive. He rubbed it vigorously along its side until it gave a cough and a tiny bellow of protest then he dragged it round to the front of the cow with a feeling of immense satisfaction. The cow was too exhausted to get to her feet but when she saw her calf she sniffed and raised her head enough to give it a lick. Evidently spurred on by this she managed to sit up and lick her offspring. Even as Steven watched, the calf raised his head and shook it vigorously. Soon it would be on its feet he thought with a smile. He wiped his hands as well as he could on the grass and hooked his jacket with his finger as he scrambled back through the hedge to retrieve his kitbag and go on his way. He knew that if the cow had been left much longer the calf would certainly have been dead and possibly the cow too. Even Fred couldn’t say he hadn’t earned his keep for this visit.