Amongst Women (23 page)

‘I know. You can’t see them in the grass. Anyhow the hares escaped.’

‘Where’s the married couple?’ he asked as he finished eating.

‘They went for a walk.’

‘They’ll not need walks in the next few days. They’ll have their fill of exercise. There’s just the last meadow to knock. We’ll either win all or lose everything this week.’

As they gathered what was left of the sandwiches and tea, preparing to leave the meadow, the tractor spluttered but would not start. Moran had to get down from the tractor. He fiddled about with some wires and the fuel pump as Rose and Maggie waited by anxiously. It spluttered when he tried the starter a second time and then caught. ‘I think the only person that knows more than Daddy about that tractor is Henry Ford,’ Rose said as they left the meadow. It must have been a statement of pure feeling for Moran was not mechanically minded and the tractor was an old Porsche.

He let the swards lie there till the evening of the next day when he shook them out with the tedder. When he was younger he would have cut field by cautious field but now that there was help in the house he was prepared to risk them in one throw rather than to face the long drudgery alone with Rose.

All that was left of the hen was a little scattering of down and feathers on the drying swards. ‘A fox or a cat or a grey crow – who knows …?’

The next morning a white mist obscured the dark green shapes of the beech trees along the head of the meadows and their sandals made green splashes through the cobwebbed pastures. A white gossamer hung over the plum and apple trees in the orchard. A hot dry day was certain. Not even by evening would there be a threat of rain. No work could be done until the sun burned the mists away and dried the swards. Rose cooked a huge fry served with brown soda bread and a pot of steaming tea. They would not have another leisurely meal till night and by then they would be too tired to eat. Moran was happy at breakfast, enjoying the certainty of good weather, the house full of help and that his gamble with the weather looked like coming through. By evening most of the hay would be saved and it could be put out of mind for another year.

‘Did they make much hay in your part, Sean?’ he asked pleasantly as he picked carefully at the black pudding and sausage.

‘Hay and some silage when the summers were bad.’

‘You must be well used to it then?’

‘Not really. The others worked at the hay. I had to study in the summers.’

‘Study couldn’t have been much use to you in the summer,’ Moran said carelessly.

‘Great use. Texts could be read for the year ahead. It gave a great head start once classes began,’ he answered readily and it caused an uncomfortable silence. All the Morans had to help work the land since they were small. There had been clashes over the rival demands of school and harvesting, planting or cutting turf.

‘In my opinion there is too much made of studying,’ Moran said. ‘You either have what it takes or you don’t.’

‘You won’t get very far in any studying without work.’ Sean’s refusal to yield the point only sharpened hostility.

‘You can say that again,’ Sheila said supportively.

‘You take the high road and I’ll take the low road and I’ll be in Scotland before you,’ Moran whistled as he rose.

He went out into the meadows. The swards weren’t dry yet so he made several small adjustments to the tedder. The clash with Sean hadn’t improved his humour: he was anxious. Most years he never got through haymaking without breaking machinery and today he would be rowing in front of the whole house. He began to row the flat parts of the meadows first and as soon as Rose heard the tractor working she gathered all the others and led them out, making little jokes and sallies which betrayed her own anxiety as they went through the orchard.

The tedder was sweeping the hay into thick wheaten rows, leaving the ground between the rows as swept as a lawn. Moran sat stiffly on the tractor, all the time anxiously looking behind him at the pins as they turned, sweeping to left and to right.

‘You’d think the tractor and Daddy were parts of one another,’ Rose said.

They started at once to pitch the rows into haycocks. Rose was skilful, as was Michael when he wanted to work, and today he wanted to show off his speed and strength. He pitched and gathered in the heavy hay. The dry grass made delicious rustles against the forks. Rose trimmed the haycocks while he moved ahead and soon they were springing up in lines where the rows had been. All the girls worked well except Sheila who was more concentrated on Sean than the work. Though he was trying with his whole heart he didn’t know how to use the tools and was more in the way of the others than any help. ‘A drink of water in the meadow would be of more use,’ Moran said to himself as he watched the useless flailing movements. ‘He’ll hurt somebody yet.’

Then old Ryan, a retired schoolmaster, came out from his house far back above the meadows edged by trees and he leaned on the wall to watch them work.

‘I don’t mind at all of course but that woman of mine is beginning to complain,’ Michael mimicked Ryan and a low ripple of laughter ran through the girls but Sheila watched him, hawk-eyed at first, thinking he was making fun of Sean. So pleased was Michael with the response that he guffawed as he pitched the next forkful which increased the merriment. When Moran had rowed all the flat ground he stopped the tractor and came over. They all stopped for a drink, a mixture of milk and water in the can.

‘You are getting on like a house on fire,’ Moran said almost gratefully. ‘The easy bit is done,’ his voice sounded anxious. ‘I never seem to get out of that high ground without some misfortune.’

‘If you can’t do it, Daddy, nobody can,’ Rose said but her encouragement only earned a testy look.

‘You see old Ryan out on the wall gaping already,’ Moran said. ‘I’m sure he’d love to see something smash. That’s all this country seems to be able to do –
gape
.’

‘I don’t mind at all but the woman has started to complain,’ Michael mimicked again but Moran did not laugh. He looked at his son coldly and turned back to the tractor.

Twice he went safely round the high ground but close to a beech tree they heard the harsh clang of the pins striking a root or a rock. The tractor stopped. Moran climbed down to inspect the tedder. They all stuck their forks in the ground and moved towards the beech tree.

‘It’s the damned beech roots again,’ Moran said as he examined the twisted pins.

‘How many are broke?’ Mona asked.

‘Only two. I just got it out of gear in time.’

‘You could change the pins,’ Michael suggested.

‘You can’t change the ground.’

In a way it was a relief to him that the pins had finally broken. He had no confidence that he could row the hay on the uneven ground. Now at least his dread was at an end.

Rose watched carefully. ‘If Daddy can’t get it to work nobody can.’

He looked at her angrily, as if the statement itself was deeply compromising; yet it was one he could not reject. ‘We’ll just have to go back to the old rake and fork. Thank God there’s no appearance of rain. If we hang round this tractor much longer curiosity will bring Ryan across that bloody wall.’

They were coming close to the end of the rows when old Mr Rodden and his sheepdog appeared in the field. He entered unobtrusively under the barbed wire between the trees in the outer corner. He wore a straw hat and flannels and wide red braces over the neat white shirt. The collar was closed. He wore a tie and tiepin in spite of all the heat. Both Rose and Moran went towards him at once with smiles and outstretched hands. Moran considered it an honour to have him in the meadow. Rodden was a Protestant. His farm adjoined Moran’s but it was at least six or seven times larger and he had lately handed it over to his son. Though Moran had been a guerrilla fighter from the time he was little more than a boy he had always insisted that the quarrel had never been with Protestants. Now he identified much more with this beleaguered class than his Catholic neighbours. No matter how favourably the tides turned for him he would always contrive to be in permanent opposition.

‘I came’, Rodden said, ‘to congratulate the newly married couple. I heard they were home. And because the machine was idle.’ He wished Sheila and Sean many years of happiness and brought a message from his wife inviting them to tea at four before they went. He praised the work and weather and then asked, ‘Why aren’t you using the tedder? It’d save hours.’

‘I just broke the pins. I never seem to be able to work it on that high ground.’

‘Have you no spare pins?’

‘Lots.’

He made Moran replace the broken tines while he made several small adjustments. Then he instructed Moran to spin the tines slowly and after watching them a bit made further adjustments before he was finally satisfied that they were level. ‘I think it will work on any ground now,’ Rodden said. Moran then deliberately started to row the roughest ground while Rodden leaned on his stick watching. To Moran’s disbelief the tedder worked the rough ground as if it were a table. After watching for a while Rodden waved his stick to signal that he was about to leave. Moran stopped the tractor and walked Rodden in the manner of local courtesy to the point where he wanted to leave the meadow. The girls and Rose and Sean waved while Michael caught the beautiful black and white collie for a parting pet.

‘It never tedded that ground so well. How did you manage to do it?’ Moran inquired as he left him at the fence.

‘It was nothing. It was just that bit tight.’ Rodden had been taught as a child that any boasting was a symptom of inferiority. ‘I only made a few small adjustments.’

Rose and Sheila brought a can of hot tea from the house and sandwiches they had cut early in the morning, ham and salad and chicken. They all sat round a half-made haycock and dipped their mugs in the can, taking the sandwiches from their cardboard box. Everybody was already too tired to talk much or even eat heartily. The sun was uncomfortably hot. Nobody spoke about Rodden or the tedder.

When Moran went back on the tractor he drove it very fast between and around the beech trees. It was as if he was determined to put Rodden’s adjustments to the test, but they held. No matter how he drove the tines kept sweeping the hay cleanly and sweetly into rows.

‘Henry Ford seems to be going great guns now,’ Michael teased Rose when they were pitching close to one another. She looked at him reproachfully and turned away. None of the girls said anything.

In an hour Moran had all the fields rowed. Hours of hard dreary raking in by hand had been saved. After he climbed from the tractor to join the others gathering the rows he spent some time examining the adjustments Rodden had made. They told him little. In his heart he knew that he would never find that setting again except by luck. As soon as he took his place with the others gathering and pitching in the rows he saw that Sheila and Sean were missing. ‘Where is the pair gone?’ Moran asked sharply.

‘They’ve gone to the house.’ he was told evasively.

‘What for?’

‘They didn’t say. They just went.’

After only an hour Sean’s hands were blistered and raw. The girls’ hands were blistered too but they knew how to handle the tools. When Sean rose from the midday tea and sandwiches he was so stiff he could hardly move. He told Sheila – of all the girls she had most resented this work as a child – and she led him to a separate row where they could gather at their own speed. Alone they were happy. They were so absorbed in one another that they seemed to be unaware of the others pitching and gathering furiously in rows only a few yards away. They exchanged whispers, laughing as they leaned their foreheads together and then Sean tipped Sheila slyly sideways into the little pile of hay they had gathered. She rose blushing and flustered, still hardly aware of the others, and soon they were laughing together as before. As a defence against the couple the others tried to shut them out by driving themselves harder but already they were flagging in the still heat of the midday. Sheila and her husband were crossing the fence on the edge of the field before they were noticed leaving. They walked hand in hand. When they thought the copper beech hid them from the meadows Sean drew Sheila towards him by the shoulder and kissed her long on the mouth. Everyone in the field except Moran saw them kiss by the copper beech and then go arm in arm towards the house. No one spoke in the intense uneasiness, but they were forced to follow them in their minds into the house, how they must be shedding clothes, going naked towards one another …, as the forks sent a rustle through the drying hay. They hated that they had to follow it this way. It was more disturbingly present than if it were taking place in the meadow before their very eyes. It was even there when they tried to shut it out. ‘You’d think they could have waited,’ Michael said quietly, in agreement with the resentment he felt all about him. It was as if the couple were together disregarding the inviolability of the house, its true virginity, with a selfish absorption.

‘Mark has friends in London, the Creegans. We were at their wedding,’ Maggie said. ‘Once when Mark was away I went to visit them and missed the last train. They had one room and a large bed. I wanted to sleep on the floor but Rita wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted I sleep next to her on the outside of the bed, Creggie in at the wall. After a long time I heard Creggie say, “Is she asleep?” and Rita, “Can’t you wait?” I was afraid to breathe. The shaking was awful. Someone’s leg touched me and I had to stuff the bedclothes in my mouth. I nearly died.’

‘Poor Maggie,’ Rose said with humour as well as sympathy. ‘The things you have to put up with once you leave home.’

As soon as Moran stopped the tractor the haymakers split into separate groups. Rose and Moran worked together. Mona and Maggie gathered in for Michael to build a separate row. They built at much the same pace. Michael was now stronger in the meadow than Moran. The haycocks started to spring up faster in the rows than at any time since morning.

‘That pair must intend spending the rest of the day in the house,’ Moran said irritably after a long while.