Coming Home

by Gwen Kirkwood

  ‘What does Shandy look like? ’ Megan wrote back. ‘ I’m longing to see him.’

  ‘ He’s a black and tan collie with a white bib and a white tip to his tail,’ he wrote. ‘He has the brightest eyes and he watches everything I do. Sometimes I think he can tell the time the way he pricks up his ears when he thinks I should move onto the next job, especially when it is time to eat.’

  ‘Mrs McGuire is always grateful for my help with some of the heavy jobs and Shandy looks up at her with such a beguiling look she always finds him a treat of some kind. I think I am lucky with my neighbours now I’m getting to know them and I’m sure you’ll like them too. Mr McGuire’s arthritis seems worse with this cold weather and he can’t do much himself. So far his wife has kept me supplied with eggs and milk and she made me a rice pudding the other day. Thanks for explaining about the scrambled eggs, Megan. When you have time I shall be glad to have more easy recipes. I didn’t know you had learned to cook. I wish you were here to do it for me.’

  Megan wished she was there too. Did Steven really mean that or did he simply mean he wanted someone to cook for him. Her heart ached at the thought of him being alone in a cold empty house but she knew he couldn’t afford a housekeeper. Money must be tight until he had an income coming in. She wished she had been nearer to lend a hand but it would be a year come June before she finished at college. There was no telling where she would get a job teaching to get her parchment either. She wondered whether Natalie had been down to see Steven since he moved in. It would be so easy for her, especially now she had a car of her own.

  ***

  Steven had emptied the midden and one of the sheds and the McGuires had offered to lend him their elderly gelding to work beside Daisy for the ploughing.

  ‘I’m taking a day off to go to Annan market before I start the ploughing,’ he said to Mr McGuire. ‘I intend to buy two dairy cows. It will take most of the day by the time I walk them home. I wondered if you would keep an eye on Shandy for me? He’s too young to be any help yet.’

  ‘But you’ll have to milk twice a day and clean the byre, and wash up in the dairy as well as doing the ploughing. And what would ye feed them on?’ Mr McGuire sounded alarmed.

  ‘There’s half a hay stack and the loft above the stable is full of hay. I paid for it in the valuation when I took over the tenancy,’ Steven said, assuring him the cows would not go hungry. ‘I need to start producing something to sell.’

  ‘Aye, aye, I suppose so. I could sell you a load or two of turnips. We’ll not need them all now we’ve only half the cows.’

  ‘That would be ideal,’ Steven said and immediately negotiated the price.

  ‘What it is tae be young and fit,’ McGuire sighed enviously, eying his two walking sticks with a scowl. ‘I don’t know how we’d manage if the wife couldna milk the cows that’s left. We’ve only four now. Last winter we had seven or eight milking, before I became sae crippled.’

  ‘Maybe the pain will ease when the better weather comes,’ Steven said comfortingly.

  ‘That’s what I thought last summer but it didna help much. Anyway laddie, I’ll write down the name of a fellow who has a wee lorry. Mention my name and he’ll give you a fair price to bring your beasts home. Its six to eight miles to walk them back frae the market. It will save you time.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll look out for your man.’

  Steven enjoyed the atmosphere and excitement of the market. He inspected all the dairy animals carefully, avoiding the three farmers his father had warned him about as well as the dealers. He made his selection. His first choice was an Ayrshire heifer, newly calved with a full neat udder. He was disappointed when she made five guineas more than he could afford. The next one was an Ayrshire cross Shorthorn, ready to calve her second calf and Steven bought her for forty five guineas. Several others he had marked out made too much money and it was getting towards the end of the sale before he managed to buy a second animal, a newly calved Ayrshire cow for forty nine guineas. As he turned away from the ring, a man tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Are you Steven Caraford?’

  ‘I am. Should I know you?’

  ‘Your neighbour, Annie McGuire, telephoned me last night. She mentioned you might be looking for transport.’ He grinned. ‘She said I’d to give you a fair price. I’ve a couple of heifers to deliver down your way. If you’ll help me load them I’ll give you a lift home in the lorry.’ Steven readily accepted his price and the lift home, and sent a silent prayer to the McGuires. He would be glad to get home and settle his animals in their newly bedded stalls. The cow’s udder was swollen with milk and she would welcome the relief of being properly milked. Optimistically he had set up the milk cooler and a churn in the dairy before he left. Tomorrow he would send away his first milk for sale when the lorry collected McGuire’s. Jubilantly he looked forward to Sunday and telling his father he was in the business of farming at last, even if it was a very small step up the ladder.

  ***

  Eddy Caraford was delighted with his news. He knew most of the local dairy farmers and he seemed to approve when Steven told him the names of the two whose cows he had bought. ‘I’m glad things are beginning to work out lad. We’ve some heifers coming to the calving. I’ll send you four Willowburn cows as soon as I can arrange it. It takes as long to wash up the dairy and clean the byre for two as it does for six and you’ll get a better milk cheque. Thank goodness for the Milk Marketing Board; we know we can rely on getting the money at the end of the month these days.’

  ‘That would be brilliant…’ Steven began, then he noticed Fred’s sullen mouth and narrowed eyes. He knew that look. Clearly Fred didn’t object to him taking away his bed and bedding but he resented him getting any help to make a living. He changed the subject. The last thing he wanted was another quarrel or anything which would upset his parents.

  As soon as Steven set off home after lunch, Fred exploded.

  ‘I thought we’d agreed Daisy and the plough would be enough for him. If you send him cows he’ll never be finished wanting more.’

  ‘Steven has never asked for anything,’ Eddy said firmly. ‘It was my idea. He deserves his share and I want to help him get a decent start.’

  ‘He’s had enough,’ Fred snarled and stomped out of the house, his mouth set. He’d expected that he had seen the last of his half brother when he was posted to France, but he’d always succeeded at everything he attempted, even surviving. Deep down he knew Steven had as much right to their father’s stock as he had and his father had been less easily manipulated since Steven came back. He didn’t want to antagonise the old man completely but neither would he agree to him sending any of the Willowburn cows to swell Steven’s bank balance. He considered what could be done. Fred was not intelligent but he was sly. He devised a plan which would benefit himself even more than his cursed half-brother.

  ‘Father, if you insist Steven must have four cows,’ he said later that evening, ‘I’ll go to Annan market and buy him four. I can get them delivered straight to his farm.’

  ‘But we don’t need…’

  ‘You keep saying we should have more milk so we’ll keep our own heifers,’ Fred interrupted sharply, although they all knew he would not be the one to milk them if he could avoid it.

  ‘All right,’ his father agreed. Maybe Fred really was getting keener to expand their own herd now that his name was on the tenancy and they had had a good run of dairy heifers this year. ‘Make sure you choose four decent animals. Steven always preferred Ayrshires.’

  ‘I’ll see to it.’ Fred nodded, but there was a spiteful gleam in his eye.

  ***

  Many of the Cheshire dairy farmers concentrated on producing as much milk as possible so they did not rear calves from their own herd as replacements. This meant there was a constant demand for dairy heifers from further afield. There were several reputable cattle dealers who regularly attended markets in the North of England and Scotland in search of good dairy animals to fill order
s for farmers further south. They made their living by buying and selling. Unfortunately there were always one or two who were less reputable. Fred had heard of one in particular who bought up cheap animals anywhere he could get them, often bringing them over from Ireland, to sell on to other dealers in England. He strolled around the market pens until he spied the man in a pen of twenty cattle of indeterminate breeds and ages - black, roan, red, white.

  ‘What’re ye asking for them?’ he demanded officiously. The dealer eyed him silently, chewing on a straw.

  ‘Thirty eight guineas for the four older ones, thirty for the rest.’

  Fred smirked to himself. He knew Steven had been prepared to pay fifty guineas for decent animals.

  ‘I’ll take the four older ones but you’ll have to make ’em twenty five guineas.’

  ‘Twenty eight guineas and I pick two of ‘em,’ the man said slyly.

  ‘It’s a deal,’ Fred said with glee. He didn’t care if the man picked the poorest of the bunch. They were all ill thriven compared to the rest of the animals at the market and he knew neither his father not Steven would have given them a second glance. ‘When will they calve?’

  ‘That one calved this morning.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s probably why she’s discharging. The two blue-roans should calve in the next couple o’ months.’ The dealer gave a hollow laugh. The farm where they had come from had lost most of the calves due to contagious abortion. He rarely sold direct to farmers, especially locally, but he didn’t like the attitude of this arrogant fellow. Fred knew his father would not approve but his dear parent would never see them if they were delivered directly to Steven. He searched around for a haulier to deliver them.

  ‘My lorry is a bit small but I reckon it will hold your four scraggy mongrels,’ the young driver said bluntly when Fred approached him. He scowled at him but his price was too reasonable to refuse.

  ‘This is the delivery address. Send your haulage account to me at this address.’

  ‘What? Are you sure this scrawny bunch are for Schoirhead? I delivered two cows there last week. One o’ them was better than this lot put together.’

  ‘That’s none o’ your business,’ Fred snapped. ‘He’s lucky to get them. He’s not paying.’

  ‘This lot could prove dear at a gift,’ the haulier muttered, ‘You’re sure he’ll take them?’

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’ Fred snarled and strode away. The haulier frowned uneasily, but he had his instructions.

  Fred had a deal of his own to do if he was to make his parents believe he’d paid a decent price for Steven’s animals. Besides he was determined to make a bit of cash on the side for himself and his stepmother was fussy about her book keeping since the government had insisted on everybody keeping accounts and paying tax since the war started.

  Even at the pedigree ring the dealers all kept a sharp eye open for a bargain and this one watched in astonishment when he saw Fred bidding against the man at his side. They both wanted the fine young Ayrshire cow. The auctioneer knocked the animal down to Fred at fifty eight guineas. Minutes later the dealer couldn’t believe his eyes. He watched Fred selling the cow privately at the ringside to the farmer who had been second bidder. What was the young fool playing at? He must have sold the cow for less than he’d just paid for her. He edged closer round the ring. He saw a bundle of notes changing hands. Fred put them carefully in his inside pocket.

  ‘Queer way to do business,’ the dealer muttered, shaking his head.

  Across the ring, Mr Turner and his herdsman, John Oliphant, also watched curiously as they waited for three of their own animals to come into the ring to be sold.

  Fred had made sure he paid the dealer and the auction company by cheque. The total sum from the two cheque stubs would amount to a hundred and seventy guineas and that was the only proof of his purchases he intended to produce for his step mother and her precious records. She would assume he’d paid an average of forty odd guineas for Steven’s animals. He smiled slyly to himself. The sale note from the auction company would be conveniently lost and there was nothing to say he had sold the cow to another buyer for cash. He patted the wad of notes in his breast pocket and gave a snort of satisfaction.

  ***

  At Schoirhead, the driver opened the back doors of the cattle lorry. Steven stared at the scraggy, ill thriven animals. He couldn’t hide his dismay.

  ‘Is this some sort of joke? Are you sure these are for me?’

  ‘Aye, I’m sure,’ the driver said, watching him anxiously.

  ‘I can’t believe my father would send me cattle like these.’

  ‘The buyer wasna old enough to be your father but he gave me your address. This is the name he gave me to send my bill.’ He pulled out a second piece of paper.

  ‘Fred!’ Steven groaned. ‘He’s my half brother. I’ll bet he bought the cheapest animals he could find. A single cow from Willowburn would be better than all this lot.’ He pushed his cap back from his head and rubbed his temple. He was tempted to send them to Willowburn and tell Fred what he should do with them. Then he thought about his father. Would he be hurt by his rejection? He sighed. ‘I suppose they’ll grow once they can get out to some good pasture,’ he said resignedly. ‘We’d better get them unloaded. These two look more like Galloways than dairy beasts and they’re a long way off calving. The udder on one of the others is so swollen she can barely walk. I’ll milk her straight away. The sooner they all get some hay and water and a bedded stall to lie in the better, poor devils.’

  ‘Do you mind if I leave my lorry here while I pop round to see the McGuires?’ the driver asked when he had helped Steven tie the animals in the byre. ‘Old McGuire is a cousin o’ my father’s. I hear he’s been crippled with his arthritis this winter.’

  ‘He has. He’ll be pleased to have your chat.’

  Steven reckoned it would snow before morning and he was glad to get into the warm kitchen as soon as he had taken care of all his animals for the night. After he had eaten his supper he settled himself beside the Aga with his writing pad and fountain pen to write to Megan. He didn’t try to hide his bitter disappointment. It was a relief to be able to confide in her.

  ‘I would have been happier with one cow from Willowburn rather than these four ill thriven rats. I can only pray they don’t bring any disease with them for they don’t look that healthy to me and one is discharging badly.’

  Megan’s heart sank when she read Steven’s letter. She longed for him to make a success of his little farm. She knew as well as anyone how easy it was to spread tuberculosis, mastitis and other diseases into a herd if cattle were introduced from a dubious source. Her father, and both sets of grandparents, had been dairymen all their lives and she had been brought up understanding about animals, especially cows. It was the main reason her mother had been so keen for her to go to college so that she would have an easier way of earning a decent living. Fred was sly as well as jealous. Megan had no doubts that he had deliberately done the cheapest, meanest deal possible but surely even Fred would not buy unhealthy animals? Maybe they just needed some good food. Her father often said some farmers half starved their animals in winter if they had had a poor hay crop.

  Ten

  Flurries of snow accompanied the bitter wind but they all knew it was bound to come when it had been so bad in England in February with blocked roads and railways and even Buckingham Palace lit by candles.

  Steven spent a great deal of time breaking ice on the water bowls, even though they were in the relative warmth of the byre, but it was essential that the cows should have water if they were to produce any milk. He had to take a sledge hammer to the thick ice on the water trough in the yard before he could lead Daisy out to drink and he did the same for the Mc Guires, earning their gratitude yet again. Each morning it was the same all over again but none of this made Steven feel as sickened as the sight of the two scraggy blue-black mongrel heifers. He wouldn’t be able to pretend to be grateful when he saw his parents and he couldn�
�t bear to see Fred’s sly smirk. He went round to Mrs McGuire.

  ‘Would you mind telephoning Willowburn please? Tell Mother I shall not be up for Sunday dinner tomorrow. There’s plenty to do here keeping the animals watered and fed and I reckon we could have more snow.’

  ‘We could I suppose,’ Annie McGuire nodded, eying him shrewdly. ‘I’ll let her know.’

  After passing on Steven’s message she mentioned the new cattle.

  ‘Tom Green, the haulier, is a relative o’ ours. He’s a bit concerned about the animals he was asked to deliver to your laddie from one o’ the dealers. He said Steven looked horrified when he saw them.’

  ‘Surely they weren’t as bad as that, Annie?’ The two women were on first name terms now.

  ‘I only know what Tom said and he’s a fair judge o’ men and animals. Steven hasn’t even mentioned them to us. He hasn’t invited McGuire round to see them like he did with the two he bought himself.’

  ‘We haven’t seen them,’ Hannah said slowly. ‘Maybe we should come down to Schoirhead. I could cook the Sunday dinner there. It will make a change if Steven doesn’t want to cycle all this way. Will you tell him we’re coming down, if the snow holds off, please Annie?’

  ‘That’s a grand idea, Hannah,’ Eddy said, pleased with her suggestion. ‘I can see his cows and how he’s getting on.’

  Fred was furious on Sunday morning when he heard their plans. His father would be sure to inspect Steven’s animals. He would know immediately they were nothing like the quality he would have bought himself. He would never have given them a glance. Hannah noticed the blaze of anger in his eyes and the tight lips.

  ‘You can come with us if you like, Fred. Edna is spending today visiting friends so you’ll be on your own.’

  ‘I can make my own dinner,’ he snarled ungraciously. ‘I don’t see why you have to waste petrol trailing down there. It could snow before night.’