A Sixpenny Christmas (30 page)

‘Mum! The Pritchards will be here in ten minutes or so; Dad’s taken the jeep up to Cae Hic to fetch the old couple, though Rhodri and his dogs won’t be along till later. Have you got the kettle on?’

Molly jumped, then put a hand to her heart as Nonny bounced into the kitchen. ‘How you startled me,’ she said reproachfully. ‘I was just hoping that I’d got enough food for the supper we’ll give when the washing’s over.
I know I did a big bake before we left for Liverpool to pick up Lana and your Auntie Ellen, but I usually put a few dozen spuds in their jackets into the oven and I’ve not done that this year.’

‘Oh, Mum, you always make too much grub, but if you’re worried there’s plenty of spuds in the clamp still; they can be fetched indoors. I dare say if you ask Auntie Ellen she’ll scrub them and do all that’s necessary.’ Nonny giggled. ‘She’ll be glad of an excuse not to get involved with the sheep washing. Remember last year?’

Molly smiled at the recollection. The previous Easter Ellen and Lana had come to stay specifically, they said, to help with the gathering. Chris had very naughtily placed Ellen on a stepping stone in midstream, instructing her to push each sheep’s head under as it swam past. Ellen, full of enthusiasm, had nodded wisely and taken up her position. She had tied her hair up in a bright red scarf and worn a pale blue sweater and rather smart navy slacks. The very first ewe to come near her had slanted a slotted yellow eye first at Ellen and then at the stick she held, and just as Ellen lunged forward had dodged to one side, so that Ellen’s stick had met no resistance and she had plunged head first into the icy water of the mountain stream. Being Ellen, Molly remembered, she had laughed and taken herself back to the farmhouse to change into dry clothes, but though she had worked like a Trojan on getting the supper for the workers ready in good time, she had not again offered to help with the sheep washing. Lana had laughed with the others over her mother’s unplanned dip but had made very sure that she herself had kept dry, steering clear of the ewes with their long soaked fleeces. Instead, she had stood well up
the bank, directing any stray sheep into the pens which had been prepared for them.

But right now, Molly decided that Nonny was right; Ellen, always longing to help, would much prefer to be given a job inside the farmhouse, although if Rhys said the word she would be out there helping in any way she could. Lana, on the other hand, was still what Molly thought of as an unknown quantity. Sometimes she seemed truly keen to become as helpful around the farm as Nonny; at other times she was careful to avoid any jobs which she considered unfeminine, dirty or hard work. She would collect eggs, feed the poultry, harvest the apples from the small but thriving orchard and help with haymaking or the grain harvest. But she still had not learned to milk, could not groom or tack up a horse, shuddered at the mere mention of coping with a ewe needing help to birth her lamb. Nonny, on the other hand, would always choose farm work over housework. But that will change, Molly told herself. Once Nonny starts at the technical college, if that’s where she decides to go, she’ll begin to show an interest in clothes, make-up and boys. Then she’ll start thinking of one particular boy with more interest . . . then he’ll ask her out and she’ll go happily, then she’ll invite him back to the farm . . .

Molly’s mind went back to the conversation she had had with Ellen six months before. Was it possible that shyness with the opposite sex could be passed down from mother to daughter? She thought it doubtful, yet knew that if their situations had been reversed, if it had been she who had not enjoyed the company of boys, then she would have immediately assumed that Nonny’s feelings came straight from Molly herself. I’m being
downright bloody silly, Molly told herself, just as the kitchen door opened and Ellen came into the room. How often I’ve wished that dear Flossy had told her story either to both of us or to neither! I wish I could tell Rhys, but that would involve explaining why I didn’t tell him at the time. Oh, how I wish there was some magic potion of forgetfulness! The thing is, I do forget most of the time; I only start thinking about it again when something reminds me. And now I’ve got more important things on my mind.

She turned to smile at her friend. ‘Ellen, you’re a sight for sore eyes! I was just telling Nonny here – oh, drat the girl, she’s gone off – I was just telling her that I’d not prepared potatoes for baking in their jackets as I usually do for a gathering. Rhys needs me because I have to look after Mottle – if a dog is left without a handler they can cause trouble without meaning to do so – so if you can cope with breakfast for anyone who has time to pop in, plus scrubbing the spuds, only you’ll have to take a basket and get them out of the potato clamp first, I’d be
so
grateful.’ She smiled sweetly at her old friend. ‘Dear Ellen, I wouldn’t ask anyone else to miss all the fun of the gathering but I know you won’t mind.’

Ellen laughed and went into the pantry, returning with a bag of porridge oats in one hand and a large jug of milk in the other. ‘Course I don’t mind; I’d rather swim in porridge than in that perishin’ mountain stream of yours,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Do you want Lana to give a hand? I’m ashamed to admit the little monkey’s still in bed, but if there’s work she can cope with I’ll make her get up or she’ll get no breakfast.’

Molly was about to reply that this would not be
necessary when both women heard feet thundering down the stairs and Lana appeared with her rumpled hair still in its bedtime plait, her sweater askew and her feet bare. ‘Sorry I’m late; Nonny woke me but whilst she was washing I must have fallen asleep again,’ she panted. She was carrying a pair of worn plimsolls in one hand and now balanced precariously on one leg at a time as she thrust the shoes on to her feet. ‘Aha, I see you’re still at the porridge stage, so I’m not too late for brekker.’

‘If you make some toast whilst I do the porridge then you can choose either to help me in the house or to help guide the sheep into the dip,’ Ellen said.

‘Chris and Nonny are milking the cows and Jacob is going to feed the stock. But no one’s collected the eggs yet, as far as I know; when you’ve toasted some bread you can do that,’ Molly said hopefully. Keep the kid busy, she thought.

Lana pulled a face. ‘I’ll go and help to carry the milk into the dairy,’ she said, but before Molly could reply Ellen laughed and shook her head.

‘No you won’t, young lady! Those who milk the cows can manage perfectly well without any help. I know you. If your Auntie Molly was making butter you wouldn’t be half so keen, ’cos that’s real hard work. But just taking the milk and putting it through the cooler is a nice easy job, ain’t it? And of course you’d get a chance to give Chris the eye.’

Molly stared at her friend; so Ellen, too, had noticed that Lana was beginning to pay Chris rather too much attention. Not that it mattered, she told herself hastily. Lana had only turned sixteen at Christmas, so she was still not much more than a child and Chris treated her
as such. Nevertheless, she was glad when Lana, having first jutted a sulky lip, brightened. ‘Well, I’ll collect the eggs and feed the poultry,’ she said. ‘Then I’d best come in and give you a hand, Mum, because if I know Auntie Molly she’ll be out there with that gangly young dog of hers, bullyin’ the sheep and bossin’ the gatherers and never givin’ a thought to folks fancyin’ a bite come dinner time.’

Dusk was beginning to fall before the last weary ewe emerged, dripping, from the dip. She was old and tired and had produced twin lambs two years previously, but she was a canny creature and had managed to evade the ducking until she was the only sheep left in the walled field. The dogs knew their task was to see her into the water, but whenever they crept close to her she stamped her feet and swung round on them, daring them to come any nearer. In the end Chris jumped over the wall, grabbed her by her neck fleece and stumpy tail and ran her into the deep dip. He ducked her head under and then had to help her up the bank, for the passage of a great many ewes, in scrambling out, had made it treacherous and slippery. At the top, Nonny awaited both her brother and the old ewe, laughing at the state of him, for he was wet to the waist and covered in mud. Then, as the ewe began scrabbling impotently at the slope, she did as Chris had done; leaning forward, she seized the fleece, now heavy with the coloured water, and jerked the ewe bodily on to dry, or comparatively dry, land. She smiled triumphantly as Chris joined her, offering him a hand though knowing it would be scorned. Chris pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and grinned at his sister. ‘The
day I need help to get out of the dip is the day I’ll be drawing my old age pension,’ he assured her. He looked around him and Nonny followed his eyes, seeing the yearling lambs circling the crowded pens, checking that their mothers, though they must have smelt very different, were still alive and well.

Chris slid an arm round her waist and began to lead her towards the stepping stones. ‘I reckon we’ve done a good day’s work,’ he told her. ‘I only spotted two sheep which didn’t belong to us or the Pritchards; they came from the Evanses’ place. Heaven knows how they got all the way over here, but I didn’t try to sort them out, so Mr Evans has had two sheep dipped by us for nothing.’ He grinned down at his sister. ‘I know it’s difficult to say for certain, but Dad and I both think we’ve had our entire flock through our hands today.’

By now they had reached the stepping stones, and tired though she was Nonny refused Chris’s offer of help, though she dodged rather wearily across the slippery surfaces and was glad to reach the home side without a ducking. The two made their way into the kitchen to find Rhys, Molly, Ellen and Lana, as well as the Pritchards, Jacob and old Mr Williams, already seated and attacking the piles of food – including a great mound of baked potatoes – that covered the table.

Mr Pritchard looked up as the two entered and grinned toothlessly at them. ‘A good day’s work we have done,’ he said in his sing-song English, for he would not have dreamed of speaking in Welsh whilst the O’Maras were with them. ‘Seen our Rhodri, have you? One of the ewes had a tear in her side. She’s an old girl but he said he’d stay with her and apply the ointment the vet left, and
not to wait for him.’ The old man chuckled, addressing Chris. ‘Your mum’s made enough food for an army, so our boy won’t go short.’

However, Molly had scarcely begun to split open the big floury potatoes and cram into each a good helping of her homemade butter when the back door opened and Rhodri entered the room. ‘She’s fine. She’s the one who had twins back in February,’ he remarked, sliding into a chair and reaching for a potato. ‘A good start to lambing, eh, Rhys?’

Rhys nodded, his face lightening. Hill ewes rarely gave birth to twins, and to have such a birth at the very beginning of lambing must augur well for the season to come.

Nonny, sitting next to Rhodri, jerked at his sleeve to get his attention. ‘You didn’t tell me about that. Were they rams or ewes?’ she asked eagerly. ‘Are they still in the pens, if the mother was so old?’

Rhodri smiled. He looked very like his father must have some thirty years ago, with straight dark hair, a lean, weathered face and a rather serious expression, though when he was amused and smiled, as he was doing now, a long crease appeared beside his mouth, making him look younger than his years. ‘They were both ewes,’ he said. He grinned round at the assembled company, then turned back to Nonny. ‘When supper’s over I’ll take you up to where I left the mother and her twins, and you can see them for yourself, cariad.’

‘Right,’ Nonny said. She glanced at Lana who was picking at her food and gazing across at Chris. Nonny guessed that her friend had been trying a mouthful of this and a mouthful of that all afternoon and was now
not particularly hungry. She leaned forward so that she could get Lana’s attention, for her friend was sitting on the far side of the table, next to Molly. ‘Lana? When supper’s over Rhodri’s going to take me up to see the old ewe’s lambs. Want to come?’

Lana hesitated, glanced once more at Chris, then shook her head. ‘No, Mum and I are going to do all the clearing up because Auntie Molly and you have had a far tougher day than us.’ She smiled across the table at Chris and addressed him directly. ‘You’ll take me to see the lambs tomorrow, won’t you, Chris? And explain about the washing and shearing and dipping and everything? I do want to understand things. It would make me feel a part of the farm, and I’m sure the more I know the more help I shall be when summer comes and Mum and I have our holiday with you. Then I won’t just feed the poultry and collect the eggs, I’ll jolly well learn to milk, see if I don’t.’

Nonny and Chris both laughed and clapped, but Nonny saw a slight frown cross her mother’s face. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day, Lana,’ Molly said slowly, ‘because whilst the ewes are penned they have to be examined for disease and so on. Chris will be far too busy to trail around showing you lambs. But I dare say Nonny will take you; then she can keep an eye open for any sign of trouble in the sheep.’

‘Oh! But I want to go with Chris,’ Lana said frankly. ‘When we’re together Nonny and I talk about clothes and school and tech, not about the farm.’ She turned from Molly to Chris. ‘I wouldn’t be any trouble to you, would I?’

‘Of course not,’ Chris said, and Nonny saw him cast a curious glance at their mother. ‘But you know there’ll
be a good deal of scrambling around in rough country, rounding up any stray ewes which need attention. You’ll get pretty tired and Mum’s right about one thing: I shan’t be able to bring you home if you get bored halfway through the morning. Tell you what, Lana, when I come in to do the evening milking you can come out to the cowshed with me and I’ll start giving you milking lessons. How’s that?’

Lana sighed. ‘All right,’ she agreed, but Nonny could hear the disappointment in her friend’s tone. Lana turned to her. ‘What will you be doing whilst your brother’s busy with the perishin’ sheep?’

Nonny laughed. ‘All the usual things,’ she said cheerfully. She gestured around the table, at the rapidly emptying plates of food. ‘Mum’ll need somebody to go into the village and buy supplies; normally I’d ride in on Cherry, but if you want to come in as well and give a hand with the heavy stuff then we’ll harness her to the pony cart and take that.’ She grinned at her friend’s sulky expression. ‘Oh, come on, give us a smile! I’ll show you how to tack Juniper up and back her between the shafts, then you’ll have learned something useful even if it isn’t Chris teaching you!’