R
Robert Harrison
Guest
In the quiet of the evening, when the cottage was wrapped in gloaming,
And a fire of apple logs burned in the hearth sending dancing shadows
Across beamed ceiling and whitewashed walls. Skip, the old sheepdog,
Lay in blissful slumber on the homemade rag hearthrug. His legs quivered
As he dreamed. Once again chased a wayward sheep back to the flock of six,
To guide them through the obstacle coarse set out in his master’s field. Skip
Was champion of this kind of game, and had been for three years running, for
His master, old Tom Whetherby, had trained him well. Skip had needed little
Coaxing in doing as was required of him, for his father and his father had been
Champions in their day.
The room was cosy in all its domesticity, and a warmed invitation showed on
All of the contents that go to make up a home. The smell of baking apple pie,
And a casserole came from the direction of the old stone-floored kitchen, while
Misses Tom set out the large oak table which took up nearly the entire floor
Space. Meals were always eaten in the kitchen, which in the winter months
Was the heart of the cottage. The large Arga cooker was never allowed to go out
During these cold months, for apart from cooking, its warmth had saved many lambs
From death after being found stuck in snow drifts.
Skip woke to the sound of horse chestnuts bursting their brown skins as the
Heat from the fire cooked them to perfection. Tom had lined six of them up in
Front of the fire some quarter of an hour before he left to check on his lambs.
He likes his horse chestnuts, and rationed himself to six every so often. Misses Tom
Said that it was a wonder that he could eat his meal afterwards, but he always did.
Tom banked up fire with slack, and dampened them with the left over cold tealeaves
From the well used teapot given to him and his new bride some fifty years before. Its
Inside had never been cleaned in all of those years “It keeps the flavor of the tea if’n
It ain’t washed,” he always said. Yellow smoke began to find it way through the slack.
The apple logs would soon have it ready to burst into flames as soon as he poked a hole
In it to let in the air. When the winter really set in the fire would only be lit to keep
Any damp at bay. He went and joined his wife in the kitchen, the hot chestnuts past
From hand to hand, Skip close at his heals.
The gloaming turned to night, and the flickering light from the paraffin lamps reflected
Through the window, to fall upon the snow which had started to fall the day before.
Whetherby Moor Farm snuggled into the hillside. The only sound came from the lambs
Brought into the barn for the night, and Misses Tom singing out of tune.
Tom was unable to sleep that night, for an hour he tossed and
Turned. Mrs. Tom grunted in her sleep. Will nothing wake
Her? Thought Tom. In the end he quietly slipped out of his
Warm bed, put on his slippers and old woolen dressing gown
And made his way down stairs. The warmth of the kitchen
Greeted him, and he lit the paraffin lamp on the mantle piece
Above the Aga cooker. Electric lighting was a luxury that
Whetherby Moor Farm could ill afford. The old lamps had
Served his father well and they would see him out.
Skip looked up at him and wagged his tail. The lamb had some how
Managed to climb out of the box that Tom had laid him in, and was
Now fast asleep up against Skips warm belly. He had lined the box
With one of Misses Tom’s woollen jumpers. She had bought it new
About two years before and as the old lambs box liner had seen better
Days, Tom had grabbed the first thing that had come to hand and had
Lined the box with Mrs. Tom’s new jumper. She was angry of course
And refused to wash the jumper “Now that them lambs had slept on it”,
She had said. Tom said that he was sorry and would buy another,
However, for some reason he never did get around to it, and Mrs. Tom had
Given up all hope of ever getting the old one replaced.
“Stay Skip” said Tom motioning for the dog to lie down again, Skip had
Sat up on his haunches disturbing the lamb, which bleated pitifully.
They both settled down again beside the warm cooker. The lamb was soon
Asleep but Skips head followed his masters every move. It was not unusual
For his master to be up at all hours of the morning checking on whatever
Animals were brought in from the cold nights. This morning Skip sensed that
Something was worrying his master and his eyes pleaded to know what it was.
Tom moved the old black cast iron kettle to the hottest spot on the cooker.
Mrs. Tom had not long Black Leaded it and Tom was not going to spoil
Her pride and joy by spilling water on it. If he was going to stay up, he might
As well, make himself a cup of tea.
“What’s up love?” It was Mrs. Tom. She was closing the door to the stairs
As she spoke. Dressed in a long white flannelette nighty, with daffodils dotted here
And there upon it, Tom suddenly though how much it looked like an early spring
Flowering of the yellow flowers growing out of the snow. He wished he could have smiled at the thought but he was in no mood this night. Tom was a worried man, and Mrs. Tom and Skip new it. He had even left two chestnuts uneaten on the side of his plate at dinnertime. She came over to him and looked up into his weather beaten face, and took his unshaven chin in between her plump warm hands.
“Come on love, what’s worrying you?” she asked him. Skip cocked his head to one side, and the lamb stirred.
WHETHERBY MOOR FARM (3)
Tom looked down at his wife; she was at least a head shorter than him,
But even after all their years of marriage she still had a clear complexion,
And her green eyes were as bright as the day he first looked into them.
Never once, not since he took her to Whetherby Moor Farm had she ever
Complained at all of the odd hours that she had to adjust her city born life to.
Farming was not new to her, for she was a regular visitor to many the local farms
Scattered on the moor. She had joined the Land Army as soon as it was formed and
Had been sent to the area along with six other girls. All had married local lads, but
As far as Tom was concerned he had married the prettiest of the six. Mrs Tom had
Come to work at the farm not long after the government had assigned the six to
The area. Along with three other girls she picked potatoes from the Little Acre field.
Tom had been requested by the Agricultural Department to turn the four-acre field
To potatoes to help the war effort. Tom had been annoyed at the request as Little Acre
Field was one that yielded the best grass which gave his sheep a good start for the
Winter months that could be pretty severe up on the moor.
They were married three months after their first meeting and she moved into the farm
That same week. He often thought of the selfish reason for marrying Mrs Tom.
He wanted a woman about the farm do all that a wife was supposed to do. He had been
Alone for far to long after his sister died. She had looked after him for fifteen years, never
Marrying herself, she much preferred to look after he brother.
Mrs Tom was no fool though, she knew that Tom did not really love her but she was in love
With him, it only needed time, and she had plenty of that. He remembered the day when he
Plucked up enough courage to tell her that he did love her. He remembered her simple reply
As she looked up into his flushed face, “I know”. That was all she said.
Now after all of the passed years he again looked into her face, which was asking so many
Questions, and he knew that he would have to give her an answer. He took her hands in his
And walked her over to the kitchen table, seating her at the head, while he sat at the corner
Of the table. He looked down at the well-scrubbed tabletop. How many times had he seen her
Scrubbing away at it. His sister had never done so; she had been content to cover it with a table
Clothe, but not Mrs Tom, for some womanly reason she had seen a need for the old table to
Scrubbed every week, and now, as he looked at it he noticed for the first time just how the
Grain stood up from the softer wood, which had been scrubbed away.
The tap over the cement sink began to drip. Skip shifted his position as the lamb snuggled into
His belly for greater warmth. He licked his charge, and remembered all of the other lambs
That Tom had given him to look after, since the days as a champion at the counties dog trials
Were now over. He still enjoyed going out with his master to round up the sheep when it was
Dipping time, or time for them to be sheared. He was not as fast as he once was, but the thrill
Was still there, and he could still dream his dreams in front of a warm fire.
Tom looked across at his wife; the questioning look was still there, but also a look of patience.
“What I have to say,” said Tom with eyes down cast “I only learned about
two weeks ago”. Dam, he thought why is this so hard. “What I have to say”
he repeated, “Came as quite a shock to me I can tell you”. He looked up at her
trying to read something in her face, but it held the same patient understanding
look it had when he sat her to the table.
He tired to buy more time by looking out of the window behind her. He could see that the snow was still falling. “I am glad I brought the lambs down from the moor,” he thought.
He looked at his wife again; there was now a puzzled but still patient look on her face.
“When my sister died, it knocked me about some and I was at a loss as to what to
do with myself. Apart from the local farmers, she was the only real friend that I had.
About two weeks after her death I got myself involved with one of the local girls. She
was not much to look at, but we were both lonely and we got a bit carried away one
night, well you can guess the outcome.” His eyes dropped to the tabletop as if searching
for what he had to say next.
Mrs. Tom kept hold of his hands as if urging him on to finish what he had to say, she knew that he was having a difficult time in finding the Right words. Tom had never been a good conversationalist at the best of times; caring to choose his words carefully in case he made a fool of himself. “The girl died in child birth, but the child, a girl, lived and was put out for adoption. The family of the girl did not really blame me, I think that they understood how I was feeling after my sister died, but it was some time before they spoke to me again”.
Mrs. Tom thought that it was time for a cup of tea; she could see Tom wringing his hands
and was having a hard time in getting out what must be very hard for him. Whatever it was, she felt that this would not be all that her husband wanted to say, he needed to time to gather his thoughts again. She also need to gather her thoughts.
After a couple of sips of the sweet tea, Tom again looked at his wife. She was still drinking her tea as if to make everything look as normal as possible. He put down his cup and began again. “About three weeks ago I received a letter from someone calling themselves Janet Greenwood and claiming to be my daughter. Well it took me aback I can tell you. The only Greenwoods I knew were the parents of the girl who died, but they passed on some years ago.” He took another sip of his tea and breathed a deep sigh, and looked at his wife with a look of hopeful understanding. “She wants to come and see me, she is arriving today.”
Mrs. Tom did not say anything, but got up from the table taking with her the empty cups and went over to the sink. She stood there for a while looking out at the snow covered fields and thinking. She turned to look at her husband. “Why have you decided to tell me all of this now?” The question was asked in a calm voice, and her gaze was steady as she looked at Tom.
He looked at the tabletop again tracing the raised grain with his finger. “When I realized just how much I loved you I could not bare the thought of losing you. You have been the only thing in my life that has kept me from packing the farm in and clearing out. I couldn’t hurt you, I just couldn’t.
She turned again to the sink and began to wash the cups. “Do you want to see the girl.?” she asked without turning round.
“I don’t know what to do, I have not thought about what happened all of those years ago, that is until the other day when I received the letter.”
“Do you want to see the girl?” asked Mrs. Tom again. This time she was looking at him.
“Tom we have been married twenty three years, and in all of that time I have never stopped loving you, even when you have been cantankerous and stubborn, but that is what farming can do to a man sometimes. Do you think I will stop loving you now when I find out that you had a daughter before we where married? Oh I am not blaming the war like most would do, but I do understand just what you were going through at the time, and I know that you are not one to put yourself about. You know what I think Tom.”
He looked up at her. He could only shake his head.
“I think that you should see the girl. If she has taken the trouble to seek you out, then you ought to see her and find out what she wants, and most of all what you want to do.” She emphasized the word you.
“What would I say to her, she must be eighteen now, a grown woman, and you know what I am like around women.” He began walking up and down the kitchen, again wringing his hands. He stopped and looked at her. “Mrs. Tom, we have never been able to have any children of our own, and now you want me to meet a daughter that I had by another woman? I cant loose you, I just cant.”
She stood in front of him, took his unshaven chin in her hands again. She felt his body shiver. “Tom, meet the girl, see what she has to say, what she wants, after all she is your daughter. When does she arrive?’
Tom pulled out the letter from his dressing gown and handed it to his wife. She opened it, read the two-page letter, folded it, and put it back into the envelope. She looked at the kitchen clock; it said five o’clock.
And a fire of apple logs burned in the hearth sending dancing shadows
Across beamed ceiling and whitewashed walls. Skip, the old sheepdog,
Lay in blissful slumber on the homemade rag hearthrug. His legs quivered
As he dreamed. Once again chased a wayward sheep back to the flock of six,
To guide them through the obstacle coarse set out in his master’s field. Skip
Was champion of this kind of game, and had been for three years running, for
His master, old Tom Whetherby, had trained him well. Skip had needed little
Coaxing in doing as was required of him, for his father and his father had been
Champions in their day.
The room was cosy in all its domesticity, and a warmed invitation showed on
All of the contents that go to make up a home. The smell of baking apple pie,
And a casserole came from the direction of the old stone-floored kitchen, while
Misses Tom set out the large oak table which took up nearly the entire floor
Space. Meals were always eaten in the kitchen, which in the winter months
Was the heart of the cottage. The large Arga cooker was never allowed to go out
During these cold months, for apart from cooking, its warmth had saved many lambs
From death after being found stuck in snow drifts.
Skip woke to the sound of horse chestnuts bursting their brown skins as the
Heat from the fire cooked them to perfection. Tom had lined six of them up in
Front of the fire some quarter of an hour before he left to check on his lambs.
He likes his horse chestnuts, and rationed himself to six every so often. Misses Tom
Said that it was a wonder that he could eat his meal afterwards, but he always did.
Tom banked up fire with slack, and dampened them with the left over cold tealeaves
From the well used teapot given to him and his new bride some fifty years before. Its
Inside had never been cleaned in all of those years “It keeps the flavor of the tea if’n
It ain’t washed,” he always said. Yellow smoke began to find it way through the slack.
The apple logs would soon have it ready to burst into flames as soon as he poked a hole
In it to let in the air. When the winter really set in the fire would only be lit to keep
Any damp at bay. He went and joined his wife in the kitchen, the hot chestnuts past
From hand to hand, Skip close at his heals.
The gloaming turned to night, and the flickering light from the paraffin lamps reflected
Through the window, to fall upon the snow which had started to fall the day before.
Whetherby Moor Farm snuggled into the hillside. The only sound came from the lambs
Brought into the barn for the night, and Misses Tom singing out of tune.
Tom was unable to sleep that night, for an hour he tossed and
Turned. Mrs. Tom grunted in her sleep. Will nothing wake
Her? Thought Tom. In the end he quietly slipped out of his
Warm bed, put on his slippers and old woolen dressing gown
And made his way down stairs. The warmth of the kitchen
Greeted him, and he lit the paraffin lamp on the mantle piece
Above the Aga cooker. Electric lighting was a luxury that
Whetherby Moor Farm could ill afford. The old lamps had
Served his father well and they would see him out.
Skip looked up at him and wagged his tail. The lamb had some how
Managed to climb out of the box that Tom had laid him in, and was
Now fast asleep up against Skips warm belly. He had lined the box
With one of Misses Tom’s woollen jumpers. She had bought it new
About two years before and as the old lambs box liner had seen better
Days, Tom had grabbed the first thing that had come to hand and had
Lined the box with Mrs. Tom’s new jumper. She was angry of course
And refused to wash the jumper “Now that them lambs had slept on it”,
She had said. Tom said that he was sorry and would buy another,
However, for some reason he never did get around to it, and Mrs. Tom had
Given up all hope of ever getting the old one replaced.
“Stay Skip” said Tom motioning for the dog to lie down again, Skip had
Sat up on his haunches disturbing the lamb, which bleated pitifully.
They both settled down again beside the warm cooker. The lamb was soon
Asleep but Skips head followed his masters every move. It was not unusual
For his master to be up at all hours of the morning checking on whatever
Animals were brought in from the cold nights. This morning Skip sensed that
Something was worrying his master and his eyes pleaded to know what it was.
Tom moved the old black cast iron kettle to the hottest spot on the cooker.
Mrs. Tom had not long Black Leaded it and Tom was not going to spoil
Her pride and joy by spilling water on it. If he was going to stay up, he might
As well, make himself a cup of tea.
“What’s up love?” It was Mrs. Tom. She was closing the door to the stairs
As she spoke. Dressed in a long white flannelette nighty, with daffodils dotted here
And there upon it, Tom suddenly though how much it looked like an early spring
Flowering of the yellow flowers growing out of the snow. He wished he could have smiled at the thought but he was in no mood this night. Tom was a worried man, and Mrs. Tom and Skip new it. He had even left two chestnuts uneaten on the side of his plate at dinnertime. She came over to him and looked up into his weather beaten face, and took his unshaven chin in between her plump warm hands.
“Come on love, what’s worrying you?” she asked him. Skip cocked his head to one side, and the lamb stirred.
WHETHERBY MOOR FARM (3)
Tom looked down at his wife; she was at least a head shorter than him,
But even after all their years of marriage she still had a clear complexion,
And her green eyes were as bright as the day he first looked into them.
Never once, not since he took her to Whetherby Moor Farm had she ever
Complained at all of the odd hours that she had to adjust her city born life to.
Farming was not new to her, for she was a regular visitor to many the local farms
Scattered on the moor. She had joined the Land Army as soon as it was formed and
Had been sent to the area along with six other girls. All had married local lads, but
As far as Tom was concerned he had married the prettiest of the six. Mrs Tom had
Come to work at the farm not long after the government had assigned the six to
The area. Along with three other girls she picked potatoes from the Little Acre field.
Tom had been requested by the Agricultural Department to turn the four-acre field
To potatoes to help the war effort. Tom had been annoyed at the request as Little Acre
Field was one that yielded the best grass which gave his sheep a good start for the
Winter months that could be pretty severe up on the moor.
They were married three months after their first meeting and she moved into the farm
That same week. He often thought of the selfish reason for marrying Mrs Tom.
He wanted a woman about the farm do all that a wife was supposed to do. He had been
Alone for far to long after his sister died. She had looked after him for fifteen years, never
Marrying herself, she much preferred to look after he brother.
Mrs Tom was no fool though, she knew that Tom did not really love her but she was in love
With him, it only needed time, and she had plenty of that. He remembered the day when he
Plucked up enough courage to tell her that he did love her. He remembered her simple reply
As she looked up into his flushed face, “I know”. That was all she said.
Now after all of the passed years he again looked into her face, which was asking so many
Questions, and he knew that he would have to give her an answer. He took her hands in his
And walked her over to the kitchen table, seating her at the head, while he sat at the corner
Of the table. He looked down at the well-scrubbed tabletop. How many times had he seen her
Scrubbing away at it. His sister had never done so; she had been content to cover it with a table
Clothe, but not Mrs Tom, for some womanly reason she had seen a need for the old table to
Scrubbed every week, and now, as he looked at it he noticed for the first time just how the
Grain stood up from the softer wood, which had been scrubbed away.
The tap over the cement sink began to drip. Skip shifted his position as the lamb snuggled into
His belly for greater warmth. He licked his charge, and remembered all of the other lambs
That Tom had given him to look after, since the days as a champion at the counties dog trials
Were now over. He still enjoyed going out with his master to round up the sheep when it was
Dipping time, or time for them to be sheared. He was not as fast as he once was, but the thrill
Was still there, and he could still dream his dreams in front of a warm fire.
Tom looked across at his wife; the questioning look was still there, but also a look of patience.
“What I have to say,” said Tom with eyes down cast “I only learned about
two weeks ago”. Dam, he thought why is this so hard. “What I have to say”
he repeated, “Came as quite a shock to me I can tell you”. He looked up at her
trying to read something in her face, but it held the same patient understanding
look it had when he sat her to the table.
He tired to buy more time by looking out of the window behind her. He could see that the snow was still falling. “I am glad I brought the lambs down from the moor,” he thought.
He looked at his wife again; there was now a puzzled but still patient look on her face.
“When my sister died, it knocked me about some and I was at a loss as to what to
do with myself. Apart from the local farmers, she was the only real friend that I had.
About two weeks after her death I got myself involved with one of the local girls. She
was not much to look at, but we were both lonely and we got a bit carried away one
night, well you can guess the outcome.” His eyes dropped to the tabletop as if searching
for what he had to say next.
Mrs. Tom kept hold of his hands as if urging him on to finish what he had to say, she knew that he was having a difficult time in finding the Right words. Tom had never been a good conversationalist at the best of times; caring to choose his words carefully in case he made a fool of himself. “The girl died in child birth, but the child, a girl, lived and was put out for adoption. The family of the girl did not really blame me, I think that they understood how I was feeling after my sister died, but it was some time before they spoke to me again”.
Mrs. Tom thought that it was time for a cup of tea; she could see Tom wringing his hands
and was having a hard time in getting out what must be very hard for him. Whatever it was, she felt that this would not be all that her husband wanted to say, he needed to time to gather his thoughts again. She also need to gather her thoughts.
After a couple of sips of the sweet tea, Tom again looked at his wife. She was still drinking her tea as if to make everything look as normal as possible. He put down his cup and began again. “About three weeks ago I received a letter from someone calling themselves Janet Greenwood and claiming to be my daughter. Well it took me aback I can tell you. The only Greenwoods I knew were the parents of the girl who died, but they passed on some years ago.” He took another sip of his tea and breathed a deep sigh, and looked at his wife with a look of hopeful understanding. “She wants to come and see me, she is arriving today.”
Mrs. Tom did not say anything, but got up from the table taking with her the empty cups and went over to the sink. She stood there for a while looking out at the snow covered fields and thinking. She turned to look at her husband. “Why have you decided to tell me all of this now?” The question was asked in a calm voice, and her gaze was steady as she looked at Tom.
He looked at the tabletop again tracing the raised grain with his finger. “When I realized just how much I loved you I could not bare the thought of losing you. You have been the only thing in my life that has kept me from packing the farm in and clearing out. I couldn’t hurt you, I just couldn’t.
She turned again to the sink and began to wash the cups. “Do you want to see the girl.?” she asked without turning round.
“I don’t know what to do, I have not thought about what happened all of those years ago, that is until the other day when I received the letter.”
“Do you want to see the girl?” asked Mrs. Tom again. This time she was looking at him.
“Tom we have been married twenty three years, and in all of that time I have never stopped loving you, even when you have been cantankerous and stubborn, but that is what farming can do to a man sometimes. Do you think I will stop loving you now when I find out that you had a daughter before we where married? Oh I am not blaming the war like most would do, but I do understand just what you were going through at the time, and I know that you are not one to put yourself about. You know what I think Tom.”
He looked up at her. He could only shake his head.
“I think that you should see the girl. If she has taken the trouble to seek you out, then you ought to see her and find out what she wants, and most of all what you want to do.” She emphasized the word you.
“What would I say to her, she must be eighteen now, a grown woman, and you know what I am like around women.” He began walking up and down the kitchen, again wringing his hands. He stopped and looked at her. “Mrs. Tom, we have never been able to have any children of our own, and now you want me to meet a daughter that I had by another woman? I cant loose you, I just cant.”
She stood in front of him, took his unshaven chin in her hands again. She felt his body shiver. “Tom, meet the girl, see what she has to say, what she wants, after all she is your daughter. When does she arrive?’
Tom pulled out the letter from his dressing gown and handed it to his wife. She opened it, read the two-page letter, folded it, and put it back into the envelope. She looked at the kitchen clock; it said five o’clock.
