Brothers at Arms (46 page)

First, they plant a grain crop, such as wheat, corn or barley, then one of the root crops, swedes, turnips or mangelworzels, followed by either grasses or clover on the remaining two fields. I will tell you more when I understand the process.

Everything is new to me. I had not realised there was so much to learn about the preparation of soil, or that seed drills cover several rows at a time to ensure a uniform depth and better coverage of the land.

Teams of oxen do the ploughing, but the Suffolk Punch breed of heavy horses is replacing them, because they cover half as much land again in the time. They are such placid creatures. I doubt there is an ounce of vice in them.

By the way, the agent asked about the type of rock at Linmore, and I said it was limestone. I hope you will correct me if I am wrong.

Sharing the knowledge made it easier for Joshua to understand, particularly when he drew diagrams to represent fields like the quarters of a clock. The four sections equated to the rotation of crops. Preparation of the soil and addition of fertilizers took a little longer to understand, but as his knowledge increased, he added notes to his diary.

It has much to do with acidity. Being on the coast, the soil is light and sandy. I think marl was used initially, then clay. Bonemeal is used now, but the most natural addition is the manure taken from the animal wintering sheds.

He used other diagrams to illustrate the additions, but did not realise the agent had noticed, until a voice said, “That is very good, Mr Norbery, I see you have a receptive mind.”

Wishing to explain his reasons, Joshua said, “I was telling my friend, the trainee bailiff at home, about the work here.”

Mr Blakeney nodded, but it was hard to know what he was thinking.

Joshua added another note to his letter to Francis Weyborne.

I have learned that Viscount Townshend, of Raynham, lived near to Holkham. In case you are wondering, it was Turnip Townshend who introduced turnips as the fourth course in the rotation.

I am sure you know all this, but as the growth of root crops for winter fodder increased, the old practice of slaughtering animals in the autumn decreased, which ensured a better supply of fresh meat throughout the year.

When Joshua looked at the six pages of double-sided writing, he thought twice about sending regular epistles of his work. There was so much and he had only touched the surface of the subject. He could not expect his father to pay extra postage, so he would have to think of another way.

It seemed no time at all before the long-awaited Holkham sheep-shearing arrived. Three days, in which Mr Coke of Norfolk opened his doors to like
-
minded agriculturalists. The event gave Joshua the opportunity to observe his patron at his best, when he was centre stage in the arena, meeting and talking with everyone.

The visitors numbered several thousand from all parts of Britain, with many from the Low Countries of Europe, and further afield. In agriculture, the aristocracy stood on equal terms with landowning politicians of different parties, tenant farmers, and royalty, the Duke of Sussex amongst them.

“You should see the huge gathering at Woburn,” Harry said proudly, when pointing out the Duke of Bedford as one of Mr Coke’s particular friends.

The three days felt more like a sennight. So much was crammed into every hour, rising early and retiring late in the evening.

Everyone gathered around the Great Barn for the sheep-shearing. In the early days, the emphasis was on improvements in sheep breeding, but now, the process was a celebration of the best of the breed, of prize-giving, speeches, and after-dinner talks on every aspect of farming, with Holkham a showpiece of innovative practice.

Joshua spent his time watching, listening and meeting people. Harry’s father came from his Bedfordshire estate, as did Jack’s father from Staffordshire; but nothing could have surpassed Joshua’s delight when his father arrived, all unexpectedly but doubly welcome, bringing with him an extra trunk of clothes.

He talked himself hoarse, showing his accommodation, the estate office, the farmhouses and the great barn. His father stayed at the Ostrich Inn. Joshua joined him and together, they walked to the beach.

On the day before his father returned home, Joshua showed him his work diary. Tom Norbery read the work with interest and nodded approvingly.

“I’m impressed, Joshua,” he said. “It looks as if you will have a great deal to contribute to Linmore on your return.”

Joshua then handed his father a bundle of papers. “I’ve written these letters for Francis Weyborne,” he said, “telling him about the work here, but they are so long, it would cost you a fortune to frank them – and there are a couple for Aunt Jane as well.”

“I’d better take them with me,” Tom Norbery said with a smile. “Next time, send them to me at Linmore, and I will ensure everyone receives them.”

The mention of money made Joshua hesitate to reveal a problem, but honesty forced him to tell the truth.

“There’s something else I should tell you, sir. At the beginning of June, I went to the races at Fakenham with Harry and Jack…”

“Been sporting the bustle, have you?” his father said. “How much money did you lose?”

Joshua was astounded. “Twenty pounds, but how did you know I lost?”

His father laughed. “It’s obvious, because if you had won you couldn’t have kept it to yourself.”

“You’re right, sir.” Joshua said. “Actually, I did have a couple of small wins to begin with, and put everything on a horse – a sure winner – only he fell at the first fence and I lost everything.”

“What did you do then?”

“I was out of pocket for the month and had to apply to Mr Blakeney for an advance on this month’s allowance. He spoke with Mr Robertson, the steward, and he made me wait a sennight for his answer. It meant Harry and Jack paid for me when we came down here for a drink. I don’t like to borrow from friends.”

Tom Norbery extracted two crisp five-pound notes from his pocketbook, and counted out ten guinea coins. Before he gave Joshua the money, he said, “Have you learned anything from the experience?”

“Yes, sir, I have,” Joshua said with a decided nod. “Racing is not my forte, and I won’t do it again – being in debt made me feel horribly uncomfortable.”

“Then something good has come from it,” Tom said, handing the money to his son. “Just remember if you are ever tempted. The next time I might not be near enough to help.”

Twelve weeks through his first rotation, Joshua began his placement in stockbreeding. He spent most of the first week, poring over the cattle breeding books in the agent’s office, learning about stockbreeding methods pioneered by Robert Bakewell of Leicestershire, and discussing refinements made by his apprentices, the Collings brothers, to include the short-horned breed.

The event in early July taught him a great deal about sheep. He met John Ellman of Glyde, an improver of the Southdown sheep breed, from whom Mr Coke bought a flock of ewes and four rams, back in ’92.

When it was over, he returned to work.

“What do I do now?” Joshua asked when the agent took him out on the estate and made him known to the head shepherd.

“You observe the shepherds at work, Mr Norbery.”

The agent’s tone was patient, but Joshua felt stupid for asking what later seemed obvious. Whilst he accepted the dictate, he soon realised that a whole year spent watching people work would leave him with too much time to think of things he wanted to forget. To save his sanity, he must find active occupation.

He had started the placement too late to see the shepherds washing sheep before shearing, to clean the fleece. Now he learned of the practice of dipping, several weeks later, to kill ticks on the skin. From what he could see, it could not be that difficult, for even the most simple country yokel could do the work – so why should he not achieve the same result?

When he tried, and found it was not easy, he blamed his clumsiness on the bulky working smock they gave him to cover his clothes, and gaiters over his boots. Deep down, he knew it was his ineptitude, but resolved not to be beaten. Although the Holkham shepherds had years of practice in washing sheep, Joshua derived immense satisfaction from eventually catching a single animal, and guiding it through the water dip.

He failed many times, and then, wearing the dirtiest smock of all as a badge of office, he took the laughter of the other workers in good part, and received a cheer of approval.

“I reckon we’ll make a shepherd of you yet, young sir,” the head shepherd said with a rare smile. “You’ve got from now till lambing time to get some practice. I expect you’ll be coming back to us about that time.”

When he took the filthy smock to the laundry for washing, one of the workers, a pert young woman, not realising he was of the gentry, mistook him for a farm labourer and sent him on his way.

“Don’t you know any better than to bring that dirty thing here?” she said. “Your mother should do your washing for you, my lad.”

Had he been at home, Joshua might have laughed at the suggestion of his mother’s involvement, but at Holkham, he was perplexed. Nobody had refused to wash anything before, so he rolled it up and hid it away, intending to ask Harry or Jack what he should do. Then he forgot.

The warm summer evenings of mid-July drew the three lads down to the water’s edge. Each time, they wandered further along the beach, determined to ensure nobody from the village was within sight when they took to the water. Sometimes, it was almost dark by the time they fell into bed, but at least they washed the sweat away.

They went back at the week’s end. Sometimes, after their swim, Jack and Harry wandered off in different directions, leaving Joshua lying in the sand, letting the drying sea breeze waft across his back. He drifted off to sleep and awoke to find himself alone. He listened to the gulls overhead, and the sea in the distance.

Closer still, on the other side of the sand dune, he heard laughter and female voices, and realised the other lads must have met a couple of local girls – no doubt some of the tavern wenches.

Joshua was in a dilemma, not knowing how close the females were. He was not completely naked in his undershorts, but wished he had replaced his breeches. It might be safe to come out from under cover, but he would feel a fool if anyone saw him wandering around in a state of undress.

He closed his eyes, and thought longingly of the warmth he shared with Millie, which left him with an empty feeling. Probably by now, she would have found someone else to amuse her. He lost track of time, but it seemed only minutes later he heard Harry’s voice, rousing him from the mists of sleep.

“Come on, Josh. The tide’s coming in at a rate of knots.”

They dashed back up the beach to the row of trees where they’d left the horses. As they rode back up the drive, Harry said, “Sorry, Josh, we forgot you might want a woman. We will have to see if we can find another wench for the next time the girls come.”

Although Joshua disclaimed the need, Harry was adamant. Finally he agreed, and persuaded himself that it would be easier with a stranger.

The following weekend, his friends found a third girl to provide for his entertainment. When the other couples had gone further along the dunes, the black-haired wench stood ogling him, running a lazy tongue around her lips.

He focused on her mouth, waiting for the stirrings of a response, as she made a play of unlacing her bodice to the waist, letting her breasts slide temptingly forward, before lifting her skirt in bunches, to expose her ankles. But he felt nothing. What the hell was the matter with him? Then he realised, that although her features were unfamiliar, something about her reminded him of Sophie Cobarne. The thought killed any fervour stone dead.

“No,” Joshua grunted. He hunched his shoulder and turned away to hide his frustration. He could not bear the thought of touching her, let alone…

“What d’you mean, “no”, when I came here a’ purpose?” she screeched.

“No, thank you.” Joshua turned back and thrust a coin in her direction, and felt her grasping claws snatch it from his hand.

The girl shrugged a disdainful shoulder, and swaggered back along the sands, clutching the easiest guinea she had ever earned.

Bitter though it was, the experience told him that he must be more selective. Conversely, he knew that he wouldn’t have turned aside from the girl called Polly that he saw at the inn. She was everything that was warm and welcoming. Her hand was soft when she stroked his face, and he wished that he had touched when he had the chance.

Even the thought of her aroused him more than the other girl had. No matter what they said, he could swear she was real. How could he have been mistaken when the thought of her lush curves set his blood pounding in his veins, and his breath quickened with the memory of her scent? He would happily have drowned in her eyes.

Not today, you won’t
, he thought as he ran down to the breakers, and dived into the deeper water before allowing the incoming tide to sweep him towards the shore. Suitably invigorated, he walked back up the beach to where the other lads awaited him by the dunes. As he approached, he read the question in their faces and prepared his answer.

“Was it your first time, Josh?” Harry ventured to ask.

“No, of course not,” he said, affecting a bravado he did not feel. “That was with an Italian countess, who invited me back to her home a couple of days later…”

What a bouncer
… Harry and Jack looked at each other in utter disbelief.

Joshua gave a wry smile, knowing that in making the truth sound like an elaborate boast, he had distracted their attention from the third wench of whom there was no sign. Then he laughed. “Well, not quite the first,” he amended, and endured the pitying looks that assumed it was all over in thirty seconds, if it lasted that long. Nor the second or even the worst encounter, but it was preferable for them to believe that, than for him to admit the reason he walked away. The prospect was humiliating.

“Don’t worry,” said Jack, with a sympathetic grin, “the next time will be better.”