Chaff upon the Wind (37 page)

There was a whistle from down the line and a sudden flurry of activity cut off any further conversation. When the train drew in, the porter loaded Miriam’s luggage into the guard’s
van and then she was on the train and leaning out of the window and waving. ‘Thank you for coming to see me off. I didn’t want Mother to come. She’s upset enough.’ She
pulled a face. ‘And as for Father, well, I’m not exactly in favour at the moment. I’ll write, Kitty, and you must write back and tell me all the news about – about
everyone.’

Kitty nodded and tears prickled her eyelids as she waved her hand in farewell. When the train was a distant speck, Kitty was still standing on the edge of the platform staring down the line.

Miriam had said his name. For the first time ever she had spoken of her son. But instead of bringing joy to Kitty, it was like a knife in her heart.

In the month that the war entered its third year, Johnnie was five years old. When threshing started in the winter of that year, Jack decided that his son was old enough to
help. ‘He can carry the water to the barrel near the engine and release an older boy for other work.’

‘Don’t be daft, Jack. He’s too little,’ Kitty argued.

Jack glared at her. ‘I worked alongside me father and me uncle for as long as I can remember. It never hurt me.’

Kitty returned his glare placidly. Quietly, she said, ‘Have you really no memory at all of your mother? Or – or of any woman? Didn’t anyone try to stop you being put to work so
young?’

The frown on his handsome face deepened and the shadow that Kitty had once before seen in his eyes was there again. His voice was full of harsh bitterness. ‘I’ve told you before, I
don’t know owt about me mother, at least . . .’ His voice dropped as he added, ‘At least not much.’

Sudden realization flooded through Kitty. She stepped forward and put her hand on his arm, moved to deep compassion for this man. ‘But – you knew her name, didn’t you,
Jack?’

His eyes were dark as he looked down into hers. Slowly he nodded and his voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. ‘Aye, that’s all I did know. All I ever knew about her was her
name.’

Very softly, Kitty murmured, ‘Sylvie.’

And now, all Jack could do in reply was to nod, for in that moment he could not speak.

Kitty put her arms about him and laid her head against his chest. ‘Johnnie can help in the yard, Jack, just so long as you don’t expect him to do more than he can manage. And
I’ll be there to keep me eye on him.’ She leaned back now to look up at him, and smiled, trying to lighten the anguish the man had relived for a brief moment. ‘Because I’m
Queen of the Chaff Hole now, aren’t I?’

She was relieved to see a smile curve his mouth. ‘It’s not the best of jobs, Kitty. But at least it’s safe. I can’t risk you disappearing down into the drum, if I was to
let you go up on top.’

For an instant his arms were tightly about her and he bent his head and kissed her hard on the mouth. He rubbed his face against her hair and then sighing said, ‘I must go. I’ve got
the boiler tubes to clean out and steam to get up before the men arrive. Sir Ralph’s sending some of his lads over this morning.’

She smiled too. ‘Right you are. We’ll be there by the time you’re ready to start.’

When Kitty told Johnnie what had been decided, he jumped up and down and clapped his hands. Kitty had to laugh. ‘Anyone would think I’d just told you it was Christmas
tomorrow.’

The boy grinned up at her. ‘It’s better than Christmas. I won’t have to go to school, will I?’

‘Oh yes, you will, me lad. You’re not getting out of that.’

The boy’s face fell. ‘Aw Mam . . .’ he began.

She ruffled his head and promised, ‘But you can help after school and at weekends.’

They arrived in the yard to find four young boys she had not seen before standing about looking as if they didn’t know what to do. Jack was not quite ready to begin. He was still oiling up
and, every so often, stoking the fire. ‘Ten minutes, Kitty, and she’ll be up to pressure,’ he called. ‘Can you explain what they have to do?’

Kitty nodded and raised her hand in acknowledgement. Then she turned to the young men. For a moment she glanced around at their boyish faces. ‘Nathaniel should be here in a minute,’
she said, referring to the elderly man who now helped Jack in Ben Holden’s place. ‘Between them, he and Jack run the engine and feed the drum on the top. One of you can go up there with
Jack as band cutter for him – that’s to cut the twine round the sheaves as they’re passed down to you from the stack.’ She paused, calculating. There were not nearly enough
of them to do all the jobs. Sighing, she went on, ‘We’ll have to manage with one on the stack being threshed and only one instead of two on the straw stack.’ She pointed with her
finger towards the elevator positioned at the end of the drum. That was where the straw was thrown out by the beaters and fell on to the tines, to be carried up and dropped over the end to build
another stack. ‘You . . .’ She put her hand on the shoulder of the fourth boy, not yet assigned to a job. Of the four, he looked the strongest. She smiled ruefully. ‘You and me
will have to cope with everything else. I’ll mind the chaff hole and, in between, carry the coal across. Can you manage the bag end where the grain comes out? It’s heavy work ’cos
you have to barrow the full sacks into the barn yonder.’

‘Yes, missis. I’ll manage.’

‘Good . . .’ Kitty stopped. She had been about to say ‘boy’, but these lads were to do men’s work and deserved the title. ‘Good man,’ she said.

The boys glanced at each other, grinned and shuffled their feet, but Kitty had the feeling that one little word would have them working for Jack Thorndyke until they dropped.

‘What am I to do, Mam?’ She turned to see Johnnie standing close by, listening wide-eyed to everything she was saying.

She held out her hand to him but the boy ignored it. She let it fall to her side, feeling a pang of regret that already he was growing up. So soon, she mourned in her heart. But she forced a
smile and said, ‘I’ve just had a good idea. Mrs G.’s got some smaller buckets in her kitchen. I’m sure she’d let us use them. Come on.’

‘I can manage the big one,’ Johnnie frowned, his glower so like Jack’s that Kitty’s heart constricted.

She bent towards him. ‘I know you
could
manage it, of course,’ she agreed tactfully. ‘But this way, you’ll be able to carry two, one in each hand to balance the
load. Just like your dad does.’

The boy grinned, his fierce pride appeased, and followed her towards the house. Moments later they were standing in Mrs Grundy’s kitchen.

‘Why, Kitty lass, and little Johnnie too. Come to keep me company for the morning, ’ave you?’ She leaned towards him. ‘I’ve a fresh batch of scones’ll be out
of the oven in five minutes.’

The boy licked his lips, but said firmly, ‘I’m working today. I’m helping me dad.’

Mrs Grundy straightened up. ‘Oho, a working man, is it? Ah well then, you’ll be wanting a man’s breakfast along with the rest, eh?’ She chuckled and then glanced up at
Kitty. ‘An’ you could do with feeding up a bit, lass. I reckon you get thinner every time I see you.’

‘Mrs G., you’re sharper than a drawer full of knives,’ Kitty smiled, but did not contradict the cook. Then her face sobered. ‘It’s been difficult for Jack, you
know, with all the best men going off to the war. Ben joining up was the last straw.’ She gave a quick laugh. ‘Hark at me mekin’ jokes and it’s no laughing
matter.’

The cook shook her grey head. ‘No, I know it isn’t. And last week, when there was several local lads’ names in the casualty lists, well, I’m sorry to say it, but the
feeling against Jack for not going is getting stronger.’

‘Is it? Oh no,’ Kitty groaned. ‘I just hope he doesn’t get to hear about it.’

Milly, coming in from the scullery, said, ‘Even Bemmy was ranting on about him yesterday.’

Mrs Grundy’s mouth tightened. ‘You listening at doors again?’

The girl shrugged. ‘I can’t help hearing what’s said in here when I’m in the scullery. You’ve got a very loud voice, Mrs Grundy,’ she smirked.
‘Didn’t you know?’

‘Mebbe so, but I need it to keep you in line,’ the cook snapped.

Milly turned to her sister. ‘You want to tell that man of yours to watch himself on a dark night.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘Haven’t you heard?’ The girl’s face was alight with malicious glee. ‘There was a feller over Nunsthorpe way walking home from the pub three nights ago. He’s
another who ought to be fighting for his country. Well, he was set on by some lads. They poured whisky down his throat till he was just about senseless, then they dragged him to the recruiting
office and made him sign up.’ Milly was laughing now. ‘When he sobered up, he was on a train to an army camp.’

‘And you think that’s funny, our Milly?’

‘Serves ’im right for being a coward.’

‘I don’t believe you. They couldn’t do that. What about the recruiting officer? He wouldn’t have acted that way.’

‘They broke into the office and filled out the papers themselves.’

‘But it wasn’t legal then.’

Milly shrugged. ‘It’s what I heard.’

‘It couldn’t happen,’ Kitty insisted and added drily, ‘I wouldn’t put it past you to make it up, Milly.’

‘Suit yourself,’ the girl shrugged. ‘I ain’t bothered if you believe me or not.’

‘There’s a lot of funny things happening nowadays,’ Mrs Grundy sighed. ‘Not very nice things either. Anyway, Kitty, what was it you wanted?’

‘Eh? Oh yes,’ Kitty dragged her thoughts back to the reason she had come into the kitchen. ‘You used to have some small buckets under the sink, Mrs G. Jack wants Johnnie to
carry water from the pump in the yard to the water barrel near the engine. I was wondering if . . .?’

‘Of course you can ’ave them, and welcome.’ Already Mrs Grundy was waddling towards the sink and bending down. ‘Here they are.’

The day went surprisingly well. The young boys worked harder and longer than Kitty would have believed possible and even little Johnnie, following a nap after dinner, managed
to carry as much water across to the barrel as Jack needed to run the engine for the whole day.

But the evening found the boy, and Kitty too, quite exhausted and they were both in bed before the sun had set. The following morning, however, Johnnie was up and trotting after his father as he
left to complete all the necessary jobs before the rest of the workers arrived.

‘You don’t need to go yet, Johnnie.’

‘I want to,’ the boy called back over his shoulder, trying to match his father’s huge strides. Jack turned too, winked broadly, and raised his arm in a wave.

Kitty stood in the doorway of the cottage, watching them walk across the field towards the Manor. Two dark heads glinting in the early morning sunlight streaming across the flat fields. The man
marched with long, easy strides, his arms swinging while his son skipped and hopped alongside him, glancing up every so often towards his father, his piping little voice echoing back to her.
‘Are you going to show me how to start
Sylvie
, Dad? I know how to stop her because I saw how you did it yesterday . . .’

Now she could no longer hear him but she knew he was still talking, still asking questions and she shook her head, smiling fondly.

It was a happy picture; a picture that Kitty was to keep in her heart and remember. It was an image to treasure and down the years Kitty was to wish, countless times, that she could turn the
clock back to that last moment of contentment.

‘Mam, Mam. Come quick!’

Johnnie was back before she had finished her early morning chores ready to join them in the yard. She stood up from banking down the fire in the range and ran to the back door.

The boy was breathless, leaning against the wall outside the door. ‘You must come. Me dad—’

Kitty clutched at him. ‘What is it? What’s happened? Is he hurt?’

Panting, Johnnie shook his head. ‘Just come and see.’

She hurried after him, her heart thumping painfully, fear rising in her throat and threatening to choke her. Oh Jack, Jack, what now?

As she turned the corner of the stables and saw the machinery she stopped suddenly. ‘No, oh no,’ she breathed.

The threshing engine was daubed with some thick black stuff and over it all had been flung a bag of white feathers. Most clung to the sticky substance, but some fluttered freely, blown about the
engine and the yard.

Jack was standing, his arms akimbo, just looking at his beloved engine.

She moved towards him and put her hand on his arm. She could feel his anger in every muscle. ‘Oh Jack. Poor
Sylvie
. It’s not – not tar they’ve used, is it?’
She’d heard tales about tarring and feathering a person. But this . . .

He didn’t answer but moved closer and ran his finger along one of the rods, picking up some of the stuff. Then he put his finger to his nose and sniffed it. ‘No,’ he said. Then
she saw him lick his finger. ‘It’s treacle. Black treacle.’

‘Treacle!’ she repeated. She blinked at him. ‘Treacle,’ she whispered again. Treacle came from a kitchen.

With a sudden, jerky movement she turned about, picked up her skirts and ran towards the house. Past the stables and through the gate in the side wall, she rushed in front of the windows of the
master’s room, not even caring if he saw her.

Crashing open the kitchen door, she cried, ‘Where is she? Where’s that spiteful sister of mine?’

Mrs Grundy turned startled eyes to her. ‘Milly? She’s upstairs in Master Edward’s old room, giving it a good going over . . . Hey, where do you think you’re
going?’

But Kitty had dodged around the table and was through the door and down the steps leading into the hall. She took the servants’ stairs two at a time and then, twisting and turning through
the passageways, came to Edward’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and she could hear Milly singing as she worked, shaking the feather bed and banging the dust from it.

Kitty pushed the door wider. ‘You might well sing, our Milly.’

‘Oh! It’s you, Kitty. You made me jump. What are you doing up here? Shouldn’t you be—?’