Matty Doolin (10 page)

One after the other the farmer gripped them by their collars and pulled them to their feet, and steadying Joe with one arm, he waved wildly with the other, as he yelled, ‘If your cases are dry, fetch them along.’

Going back into the tent, Matty grabbed up Willie’s case and, pushing it into his hand, pointed to where the dim figures of Joe and Mr Walsh were moving slowly towards the gate. But Willie made no effort to go on his own; he stood waiting, hardly able to keep his feet, while Matty tore at his own collapsed tent and retrieved his case, and Joe’s. With Joe’s smaller case tucked under his arm, and carrying his own by the handle, he now put his free arm around Willie’s shoulder. And Willie doing the same to him, they pressed their way blindly towards the gate. It was open, and they passed through without bothering to close it; this was no time to bother about gates, so Matty told himself.

When they entered the comparative shelter of the farmyard, the blurred figure of Mr Walsh came towards them and led them into the big barn, and around the tangle of machinery, to a great mound of dry straw. Had he walked into his mother’s kitchen at this moment it could not have looked more home-like to Matty than that dry straw.

Joe was sitting on the edge of an upturned box and looked very small and dejected, like a little wet rat. He was still taking in great draughts of air, as were they all.

When Matty let go of Willie, Willie immediately sat down on the edge of the straw, only to be brought to his feet again by Mr Walsh saying quickly, ‘Don’t sit there in your wet things, if you’re going to sleep on it. Look in your cases and see if your stuff is still dry and change your clothes right away. I’ll bring you some blankets over.’ Just before he turned away he said, ‘And be careful of that lantern there.’ He pointed to where a lantern was standing on the broad crossbeam of the barn wall. ‘It’s a safety one. But I wouldn’t chance it being knocked over; so be careful.’

None of the boys made any answer. Not one of them had spoken since they came into the barn. They were too exhausted. And their movements, when they went to open their cases, were slow and laboured.

The contents of Matty’s case were dry, and for this again he mentally thanked his mother. He had grumbled against taking the old battered leather suitcase because it was too heavy, but his clothes were as dry as when she had packed them. Willie’s, too, were comparatively dry, but everything in Joe’s thin composition case was wringing wet.

As Joe lifted one sodden garment out after another, Matty said, ‘Well, never mind. Here’s a shirt of mine; it’ll do the night.’

‘It’ll reach to me feet, man.’

‘Well, does that matter if you’re lying down?’

‘No, no.’ Joe shook his head, and when he undressed and stood in Matty’s shirt that fell around his ankles it did not drag a laugh from any of them.

Mr Walsh now came back into the barn. He was carrying a bulky bundle covered with a waterproof sheet, and behind him, dressed in oilskins like her husband, came Mrs Walsh, bearing before her a large basket, like that which bakers carry bread in. As she set it on the ground, she said cheerily, ‘Well, boys, that was a bit of a storm.’

It seemed to Matty not quite right when no-one answered her, so he proffered, ‘Yes. Yes, it was, Mrs Walsh.’

‘It’s set in; it’ll likely go on for some time yet. But you’ll come to no harm in here.’ She took the cover off the basket, and, taking up a large pan, she began pouring steaming broth into three basins.

The bundle Mr Walsh had carried was of blankets. Handing them to the boys, he said, ‘Here, roll yourselves in these and get into the straw there, and you’ll think you’re in an oven. And if you start sweating stay put; it’ll get rid of any cold you’ve got.’

‘Thanks, Mr Walsh.’

‘Thanks, Mr Walsh.’

‘Thanks, Mr Walsh.’

One after another, in docile voices, they thanked the farmer, then pulled the blankets around them and burrowed into the straw.

‘You look like the three bears, sitting there.’ Mr Walsh laughed as he took the bowls from his wife and handed them, first one to Matty, then to Willie, then to Joe. This was followed by great hunks of new bread and a spoon each.

Matty looked into the steaming broth; then towards Mrs Walsh, her face just discernible in the glow of the lamp and the shadow from her sou’wester hat, and he said softly, and with deep gratitude, ‘Thank you, Mrs Walsh. It’s more than good of you. Thank you.’

‘That’s all right. That’s all right. And’ – her voice went high in her head – ‘don’t you all look as if you had lost a sixpence and found a threepenny bit. Your stuff will dry out, and you’ll see things differently in the daylight. It isn’t the first time that campers have been washed out here in a storm. Is it, Arthur?’

‘No, not by a long chalk. You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. Take your time over that broth, and I’ll come back later and put the light out. Put the basins to the side there, then get yourselves off to sleep. Goodnight to you.’

‘Goodnight, Mr Walsh. Goodnight, Mrs Walsh.’ Their voices were louder now, more normal sounding, and when the farmer and his wife had departed they drank greedily at the soup. Then Joe, giving a big sigh, exclaimed, ‘Eeh! I’ll never forget this night as long as I live. Things might look better in the morning, as Mrs Walsh says, but still I’ll not forget this night.’

Willie didn’t add his usual laughing quip to this remark, but Matty said, ‘I don’t think any of us will forget it. To tell the truth, it had me scared.’

‘Scared?’ said Joe. ‘That’s putting it mildly for me. Were you scared, Willie?’

‘Oh, aye! Aye, I was.’

As Matty listened to this admission he knew it referred to the normal scaring storms created in most people, but he was aware that his pal was still trying to press down the fear that had run wild in him when he had been out there on the open hillside. To say that Willie had been as frightened of the storm as any hysterical girl sounded unbelievable, but, Matty knew, it was nevertheless true. He recalled at this moment that his grandmother had been petrified of spiders until the day she died, and his mother saying to him one day, ‘All folks have their private fears.’ He hadn’t understood what she meant then, but he did now.

He finished his soup and the last mouthful of bread and exclaimed brightly, ‘By, that feels better. What about you, Joe?’

‘Me? I feel a new man.’

‘Well, let’s get down; we don’t want to be jabbering when Mr Walsh comes back . . . Are you finished, Willie?’

‘Aye.’ Willie put the basin down to the side of him.

‘How are you feelin’?’

‘Me?’ said Willie. ‘Oh! I’m feelin’ fine now. But lord! I was cold out there. After all that heat the day I never thought I’d be cold again, but you know, man, I was shiverin’ just as if it were winter.’

‘And it’s not far off, if you ask me,’ said Matty. ‘As for cold, my teeth were going like castanets.’ He paused and wriggled his hips deep into the straw. ‘Well, here’s me for dreamland.’

As they settled down there was no joking. The terror of the storm was still too recent.

Matty was dragged up out of deep, warm comfort by a voice seeming to bawl through his head, crying, ‘Come on with you! You going to sleep all day?’

As he dragged himself upwards he saw Joe and Willie already sitting up, both rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

‘There’s a can of tea for you, and there’s a pump in the yard. Get yourselves up and get a wash. Then get over and clear up the shambles. And let me tell you, if it wasn’t that you’re an inexperienced lot, and were hard put to it in the storm, I’d feel inclined to use me boot on you this morning. At least one of you. Who was last through that gate last night?’

Mr Walsh’s voice still seemed to be bawling through Matty’s dazed mind. Who was last through the gate? he was asking himself. He and Willie came last through the gate, but Willie had been in no shape to think about shutting the gate. Neither had he for that matter. He squinted up at Mr Walsh, and said, ‘I was, I suppose.’

‘You suppose! You were or you weren’t?’

The farmer’s tone brought Matty into full wakefulness. It also brought a snapping retort to his tongue, which he had the good sense to check; he said quietly, ‘It was me.’

‘Aye, I thought it was. Well now, as I said, I’m making allowances, but don’t let it happen again. I let the pigs out sometimes in the morning to run around, and if I hadn’t gone round that way and seen the gate open you would have had more than wet canvas to deal with this morning, me lads. Well now, up you get and have this tea and get busy.’

The three of them looked at Mr Walsh’s back as he went down the barn, walking in between the machinery, but no comment was made. Then yawning, and stretching, and grunting, they disentangled themselves from their blankets, and their warm nest.

As Joe finished his mug of tea he pointed towards the doorway and said in surprise, ‘Look! The sun’s shining. After last night, the sun’s shining.’

The sun recalled to Joe the condition of his clothes, and now he said dolefully, ‘What am I going to put on? I haven’t a dry rag.’

‘Well, keep that shirt on,’ said Matty, ‘and you can have my other shorts.’

‘Eeh, but, man, they’ll come down to me heels!’

‘Well,’ said Matty with seeming indifference, ‘don’t wear any at all; it’s up to you.’ As he said this he pulled the shorts from his case and threw them towards Joe. The next minute he was trying to smother his laughter as he looked at Joe. The shirtsleeves trailed far below his hands, and the outsize shorts came well below his calves.

‘Eeh! I’ll look a pickle.’

‘You’ve said it.’ Willie looked, and sounded, his own bright self this morning. ‘You’d get a prize in the carnival if you went in like that.’

‘Aw, look, man, I can’t go outside like this.’

‘Well,’ said Matty, ‘as I said, it’s up to you. You can stay here all day. But I’m going to have a wash. Then I’m going over to see if I can cook some breakfast.’

As Willie, still laughing, followed Matty, Joe brought up the rear, protesting loudly, and after they had sluiced their faces under the pump and dried themselves on the coarse towel hanging over a rail, they returned to the barn, folded the blankets and put them in a pile. Then Matty said, ‘I’ll have to take these back.’

‘I’ll take them, if you like,’ volunteered Willie, a twisted smile on his face.

‘Aw no, you won’t,’ said Matty. ‘If you take these, you’ll land yourself inside for breakfast, and we’ll be left out in the cold, cold snow.’

It wasn’t Willie who answered Matty now but Joe, and he screwed up his face as he said slowly, ‘You know, you’re funny, Matty.’

‘Funny?’ Matty narrowed his eyes at him over the top of the blankets.

‘Aye, sort of. You’re so sure you wouldn’t be invited in for breakfast.’

‘Aye, I am.’ Matty now strode on ahead and went down the farmyard and turned off to the left, and to the kitchen door. And there he was met by Mrs Walsh.

‘By, you’ve soon got moving.’ She took the blankets from Matty and put them on a table just inside the door, saying, ‘I’ll put them out in the sun later. Who knows but you’ll need them tonight again.’

‘I hope not, Mrs Walsh.’

‘It was a bad storm, one of the worst we’ve had for some time. But you get all kinds of weather and you get used to dealing with it.’

‘It seemed different to other thunderstorms I’ve heard,’ said Matty.

‘That’s because you’re closed in in the town. Here, in the open, there seems so much more of it.’

‘Aye, you’re right. There seemed a lot of it last night.’

She smiled broadly at him. ‘Anyway, the sun’s hot again and it’ll soon dry your things out.’

‘Thanks for the blankets . . . and the tea, Mrs Walsh.’

‘You’re very welcome, boy, you’re very welcome.’

When Matty joined Willie, who was alone now, Joe having scurried on ahead in case he was seen, Willie said briefly, ‘No invitation?’

‘No invitation,’ said Matty. ‘I told you.’

‘By, I’m hungry,’ said Willie.

‘Well, the Primus will be all right; we’ll soon get something goin’ on that. And the bread was in the biscuit tin, and that should be all right.’

When they came to the encampment, Joe was standing looking about him in dismay. The wrecked tent, like a piece of old wet rag, lay flat on the ground, secured only by one rope. On the patch of ground it had covered lay a sodden jumble of bedding, tins and knapsacks.

Surprisingly, Willie’s tent was still erect, and when they felt the canvas it was almost dry.

‘Come on!’ said Matty briskly. ‘You light that Primus, Joe, and get some water boiling. You, Willie; help me strip the sleeping bags. We’ll hang them over the wall. We’ll put everything on the wall; it’ll catch the sun better there . . . ’

It was half an hour later, when everything was spread out on the wall and Joe had just managed to make a pot of tea that Jessica came hurrying into the field. She was carrying what looked like a small covered dish. As they stopped what they were doing and watched her approach, their mouths began to water, for the smell of bacon preceded her. ‘My mother thought you mightn’t be able to get your fire going with the wood being wet; she sent you these bacon sandwiches.’ She balanced the dish on one hand and raised the lid, and watched their faces brighten.

‘Oh! Thanks. Thank your mother, will you?’ Matty took the dish from her. ‘It’s good of her.’

‘Aye, it’s good of her,’ Joe endorsed.

‘When I win the sweep I’ll buy her a first-rate cooker,’ said Willie.

‘She’s got one. She wouldn’t cook on anything but our stove if she’d got a million. She always says so.’

‘So you can keep your cooker.’ Joe nodded at Willie, and they all laughed.

‘Be seeing you.’ They watched her for a moment running across the field, her hair flying out behind her. Then, simultaneously, they attacked the dish, and as they ate ravenously they each said, in his own way, that they had never tasted anything like the new bread, or the thick slices of home-cured bacon.