The Lost Days of Summer (7 page)

Next came the cattle shed and shippon, but the cows were all out despite the horrible weather, so Nell just took a cursory look round and then followed Bryn to what he told her was the big barn where, as the weather worsened, the sheep would be brought in to give birth to their lambs.

‘A great many sheep your aunt do keep,’ Bryn said, then grinned. ‘That was a poem, wasn’t it? But as I was saying before I broke into verse, if we have a mild winter the sheep will be turned out to graze when the lambs are only a few days old. I reckon it’ll be our job – yours and mine – to give an eye to the littl’uns. There’s plenty foxes on Anglesey, on the lookout for a nice lamb dinner.’

Nell shuddered. ‘That’s horrible,’ she protested. ‘But how could I stop a fox grabbing a lamb and running off with it? I’m sure a fox could run twice as fast as me. Why, it might even attack me if it thought I was after its dinner.’

Bryn’s hazel eyes slit with amusement. ‘You’re a real townie, aren’t you? I bet you’ve never seen a fox, have you? They’re not like wolves; most of them are no bigger than a farmyard cat, though the dog foxes can be about the same size as Fly, your aunt’s collie bitch. You’ve not met the dogs yet ’cos they’re out wi’ Taid, checking the sheep in the far pastures. There’s two of them; Fly is the bitch and Whisky the dog. But we’d best get on; we don’t want to miss your aunt’s elevenses.’

He led the way out of the shelter of the barn, securing the door by dropping a wooden beam across it. Immediately, the wind attacked them, but Bryn caught Nell’s arm when she would have headed for the next building. ‘That there’s where your aunt keeps the carts, the pony trap and all the farm implements,’ he shouted. ‘Nothing much to see there, so we’d best get back to the house. Mrs J’s makin’ butter in the dairy today; she may need a hand.’

Back in the empty kitchen, they both shed their outer clothing and Nell filled the kettle; then she carried it across to the range and stood it over the heat whilst Bryn fetched out a tin of scones and began to butter them. Only then did Nell turn to her companion. ‘Thanks, Bryn, for the tour,’ she said gratefully. ‘But there’s one thing I really don’t understand. My aunt used to employ two farmhands as well as your taid; what on earth did they find to do with themselves? Collecting eggs, feeding the pigs and chasing off foxes doesn’t seem particularly hard work to me.’

Bryn gave a crow of amusement. ‘Just you wait, girl,’ he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘Just you damned well wait!’

When 23 December arrived, Nell had been at the farm for about three months and no longer wondered what her aunt’s farmhands found to do with themselves. It seemed to her that she and Bryn worked all out from sunrise to sunset, and it was not merely a matter of feeding pigs or collecting eggs. It was tough, physical work, of a sort she had never experienced before. To be sure her aunt and Eifion worked hard as well, especially when you considered that Auntie Kath cooked, washed, cleaned and made good anything which was broken in the long evenings. But Nell, unused to hard physical labour, was often so tired that it was all she could do to climb the stairs and fall into bed.

Kath had given her niece an alarm clock, and its strident ring was the signal for Nell to tumble out of bed, wash and dress – sometimes, she thought, in her sleep – and be at the kitchen table in time to eat a hearty breakfast before going with Bryn to milk the cows and muck out. Washing was a skimpy affair in the icy water, though her aunt had unbent a little and now provided Nell with a stone hot water bottle, the contents of which were still pleasantly warm next morning. Nell emptied it into her basin and washed in that, which was considerably better than using the water which had usually frozen in her ewer.

But when the alarm clock rang on this Saturday morning, Nell found herself wide awake and looking forward to the day ahead because it was to be a day off. Auntie Kath meant to drive to the Christmas market at Llangefni in the pony trap. She had said, rather evasively, that she needed to buy a few things for the holiday, and had actually suggested that the young ones might like to accompany her.

‘Your taid says he can manage the milking, and your uncle Merion will be in port for a week since the ferry’s engine is in urgent need of an overhaul, so he’s agreed to give a hand,’ she had said, shooting a quick, wary glance at her niece. ‘You’ve not worked badly, the pair of you . . . that’s to say I suppose you’ve done your best, so I reckon you deserve a day off. I’ll give you both some money to spend, but don’t you go wasting it. Despite what you may think I don’t have money to burn; it’s hard earned.’ She had looked at them consideringly. ‘I’ve put in a bit extra which will serve as my Christmas present to you.’

Nell clattered down the stairs and crossed the hall, heading for the kitchen. Her initial shyness had long fled, though she still treated her aunt with a good deal of caution; Auntie Kath was so strange! Sometimes she could be nice as pie and at others as disagreeable as a dog whose bone had been snatched away, and there was no way of guessing in advance which her mood would be. Nell had realised, though, that the mere thought of her sister Trixie could change Auntie Kath from a reasonable human being to a bitter, bad-tempered woman who would find fault with everything her niece did. As far as Nell could discover her aunt appeared to have got on quite well with her other sisters, though they had grown apart. She knew it happened in most families; cards were exchanged at Christmas and birthdays, but members of the family who had moved away seldom returned except perhaps for a family wedding or a funeral. Nell knew that neither Trixie and Auntie Lou nor their other relatives had ever considered visiting the farm, and Kath had never dreamed of returning to the city of her birth.

At this point in her musings Nell entered the kitchen and went immediately to the table, where she began to slice and butter the loaf. She glanced at her aunt under her lashes, hoping to see some sign of approval, but Auntie Kath, wielding the big black frying pan with expert nonchalance, did not so much as glance up. Eifion and Bryn were busy with their usual breakfast, only today bacon had been replaced by sausages, and instead of potatoes each plate held a slice of golden fried bread.

They both smiled at Nell as she went past them into the pantry, returning with a jar of marmalade and another of honey. ‘Morning, Auntie Kath; morning Eifion, Bryn,’ she said cheerfully, putting the jars down in the middle of the table. If only her aunt were in a good mood, how pleasant the day ahead of them might be!

‘Morning,’ Auntie Kath said gruffly, a moment after Eifion and Bryn had greeted Nell. ‘Get that plateful down you, girl, while I set out a dinner for Eifion and Merion; then we’ll be off.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Nell asked, though her heart had sunk at her aunt’s tone. Clearly, despite the day’s holiday, Kath was not in a sunny mood. ‘I could harness Feather to the trap . . .’

‘No need; Eifion done it before breakfast,’ Aunt Kath snapped. ‘Just put on your thick coat and muffler; mortal cold it is out there.’

Nell gobbled her food, determined not to keep her aunt waiting, which would certainly get the day off to a bad start. As it was, she was struggling into her outdoor clothing and Bryn was putting on his own coat and wrapping a huge scarf round his neck by the time Aunt Kath had arranged a large meat pie, a plateful of bread and butter and a jar of pickled onions on the kitchen table.

‘Keep the wolf from the door that will,’ she told Eifion, who was eyeing her preparations with interest. ‘Put the pie in the oven thirty minutes before you cut it . . .’ Remembering that he much preferred his own language she broke into Welsh whilst Bryn translated beneath his breath for Nell’s benefit.

‘She’s tellin’ Taid there’s some home brewed in the pantry, on the very top shelf,’ he explained. ‘She says he’s not to go takin’ too much, ’cos she doesn’t want to find the farm work only half done and him flat on his back on the kitchen floor when she comes home. And now Taid is telling her he’s never cheated on her yet . . . and now . . .’

‘I know; now they’re laughing,’ Nell said, smiling to herself. How rare it was to hear her aunt laugh, but how pleasant! ‘Ready, Bryn? Come on then, boyo, let’s fetch Feather out of the stable.’

It was the work of a moment to bring the pony and trap round to the back door, and though Aunt Kath did not thank them, unless you could count a grunt as she climbed rather stiffly into the equipage, Nell thought that she did not look displeased. It was no longer pitch dark, but the sun had not yet risen and, as her aunt had warned, it was very cold indeed. Without waiting to be told, she and Bryn climbed aboard and wrapped themselves in the rugs which were folded up on the rear seat of the trap, exchanging delighted smiles as they began to warm up. Indeed Bryn, apparently impervious to atmosphere, asked if he might drive, vowing that though his hands were cold they were no longer numb. Auntie Kath told him rather sourly that he would be better occupied in teaching Nell more Welsh but added that he might drive on the way home if she was too tired to take the reins herself.

Once they were on the move and away from the farm and the fields she was beginning to know so well, Nell began to look about her. There were pink and gold streaks on the eastern horizon which promised fine weather later on, though at the moment the banks and hedges were white with frost and the sheep in the meadows steamed gently as they cropped the crisp grass and waited, Nell imagined, for the birth of their lambs, for all the ewes were big-bellied and heavily fleeced.

She commented on this to Bryn, who nodded wisely. ‘Most beasts have their littl’uns in the spring,’ he told her. ‘I expect it’s because the spring grass is so sweet and rich. But it means the babies are often born into wicked cold, of course, and some of them die of it. Still, soon we’ll be bottle-feeding if a ewe has twins or triplets and can’t manage all of them. When I were a kid I loved bottle-feeding the little lambs, feeling them tug on the teat as if them an’ me were havin’ a wrestling match.’

Nell laughed, and saw out of the corner of her eye a hastily suppressed smile cross her aunt’s grim visage. She did not comment on it, however, knowing that if she did so it would bring her aunt’s wrath down upon her head. ‘I’m sure I shall love feeding the lambs, but I didn’t know folk kept sheep in Holyhead,’ she said demurely. ‘I thought it was a port, like Liverpool. So how, Mr Clever Clogs, do you know so much about bottle-feeding lambs?’

‘Because I’ve always spent a fair amount of time either with my nain and taid or with my cousins, the ones who live at Beaumaris. And I’ve a pal who lives near the Welsh longhouse on the cliffs above Church Bay; Hywel, he’s called.’ He looked rather apprehensively towards Auntie Kath, but she was singing a song beneath her breath and concentrating on her driving. Bryn lowered his voice. ‘But don’t mention that in front of your aunt; I’ll tell you why when we’re alone.’

‘Okay, I can wait,’ Nell said breezily, then changed the subject. ‘I’m really looking forward to doing some shopping. I mean to get a little something for your nain and taid. What do you think they would like?’

‘Nain would like a china ornament,’ Bryn said definitely. ‘She likes pretty things, does my nain.’

Auntie Kath snorted. ‘You won’t get a thank you from Eifion, not if you buy the prettiest china shepherdess you see,’ she said roundly. ‘Baccy or beer for the fellers, that’s what I always get ’em. They can’t ever have too much baccy and beer.’

Bryn nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, I guess you’re right, Mrs J. I’m getting Taid some metheglin; he likes a drop in his tea as a special treat.’

‘What on earth’s that?’ Nell asked, intrigued. ‘It sounds like cough medicine.’

Auntie Kath’s tight little smile appeared and Bryn gave his most superior smirk. ‘Townie, townie,’ he jeered. ‘It’s a sort of mead, made with honey. I’ve never tasted it, nor want to, but I believe it’s very strong.’

‘Right, then I’ll buy him tobacco . . . and the same for yourself, of course,’ Nell said, grinning. She knew very well that Bryn had never smoked a cigarette and thought the habit disgusting. He maintained that he could not remain in a room where people were smoking, so now he leaned over and tried to box Nell’s ears.

‘And I shall buy you a set of curlers for your hair and a nice bright lipstick,’ he said tauntingly. ‘We’ve got to find some way of making you look like a woman instead of a scruffy kid.’

‘You mochin ddrwg!’ Nell said furiously, aiming a blow at her companion’s head. ‘Nice women don’t bother with curlers or lipsticks, they just use plenty of soap and water, and brush their hair a hundred times each night. If anyone’s a dirty pig it’s you.’

A nasty disagreement might have ensued had Kath not turned to glare at them. ‘That’s enough,’ she said brusquely. ‘You’re too old for squabbling, unless you want me to believe you really are only a couple of kids.’

Hastily, the two drew apart and Nell changed the subject, speaking rather breathlessly. ‘Pax, pax, Bryn! Only I hate the feel of makeup on my face, and don’t intend to wear it ever. Let’s talk about something really important. Your taid was telling me that four of the cows are in calf. He says they have their mother’s milk for a few weeks, then they have to be weaned.’

‘Yes, that’s true,’ Bryn agreed. ‘But I doubt if I’ll still be at Ty Hen when the cows drop their calves. Still, whenever my ship’s in port, I’ll pay you a visit, see how you’re getting on.’

‘Your ship,’ Nell said scornfully. ‘That’s all we’ve heard lately. But I suppose it’s possible that someone in the Navy might need a cabin boy . . .’

‘Merchant Navy you mean,’ Bryn corrected, apparently not one whit offended by the remark. ‘They need every man they can get, and I can turn my hand to most things. But as for cabin boys . . .’ He dug a sharp elbow into his companion’s ribs and another quarrel might have started, except that Auntie Kath turned a furious glance upon them which effectively shut them up. Grinning, Bryn began to discourse on the duties of a deck hand aboard one of the naval fleet and harmony was restored.

As they talked, the light had been gradually strengthening, and Nell gasped as the sun rose, round and red and glorious, casting long beams of golden light across the frosted landscape and causing her to clutch Bryn’s arm. ‘Dear God, isn’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen!’ she said, her tone awestruck. ‘Every twig is as white as though it had been dusted with icing sugar, and those cows over there are outlined in gold!’