Matty Doolin (12 page)

He was shivering with cold when he got back to his tent, and he didn’t speak until he was in the warmth of his sleeping bag. Then, sitting up and holding the bag under his chin to try and prevent his teeth chattering, he shouted to Willie, ‘Do you know anything about that gate?’ There was a pause before Willie replied briefly, ‘I shut it.’

‘You couldn’t have shut it. It wouldn’t swing open on its own. Why couldn’t you have owned up instead of letting me carry the can?’

‘Aw, I’m fed up. This is the finish. I’m off in the mornin’ and that’s final.’

‘Good enough! Good enough!’ Matty was bawling now, and as he lay down he turned his head in Joe’s direction and added, ‘That goes for you and all.’

But Willie and Joe didn’t go home the following day. They fully intended to when they got up in the morning. The intention was still firm as they sulkily ate their breakfast, but it was just as they were finishing the meal that they saw, walking towards them from the direction of the stream, a familiar figure, yet one so unexpected in this place that they all thought they were seeing things.

So did Mr Funnell, for when he was some yards from them, he stopped and exclaimed, ‘Well, I never!’

‘Mr Funnell. You! Fancy seeing you here.’ They crowded round him. ‘And fancy seeing you here,’ he answered. ‘I didn’t know you went camping.’

‘Where’ve you come from, so early, sir?’ asked Willie.

‘Oh, I spent the night in Lambley. But I’ve been on the road since six.’

‘But there’s no road down there.’ Joe was pointing towards the stream.

‘Isn’t there?’ Mr Funnell bent down to him. ‘There’s roads everywhere, if you know them. I know this district well.’

‘You do, sir . . . ? And Mr Walsh?’

‘Oh, Mr Walsh is an old friend of mine. I’m making for there now.’

‘What d’you know?’ Joe was shaking his head. Then he asked hastily, ‘Would you like a cup of tea, sir?’

‘I would that,’ said Mr Funnell readily. ‘I haven’t had a drink since half past five.’ He loosened his rucksack from his back and sat down on a stone. Then looking around him, he said, ‘You’re well organised I see. Proper fireplace, grease pit, nice little kitchen. Well! Well!’ He now looked from one to another. ‘I’m very glad to see you doing this. Have you enjoyed it?’

On this question Willie and Joe had the grace to look sheepish, and Willie bent his head a little as he said, ‘Well, sir, it’s a bit different from Shields.’

‘I should hope so,’ said Mr Funnell. ‘That’s why you came here. Don’t tell me you’ve been bored.’ He was looking at Joe now. And Joe grinned engagingly back at the master as he answered, ‘Just a bit, sir. It would be marvellous if we were near a town.’

‘Ooh!’ It was a long-drawn-out sound. ‘If you were near a town.’ Mr Funnell shook his head slowly. ‘And what about you, Doolin?’

‘Oh, I’ve enjoyed it, sir, every minute. I don’t want to go back.’ Matty now handed the master a cup of tea and asked, ‘Do you take sugar, sir?’

‘Three big ones. More if you can spare it.’ They all laughed.

Then, after Mr Funnell had drunk deeply from the mug, he said, ‘How have you got on with Mr Walsh?’

‘Aw.’ Both Willie and Joe made the sound together. ‘He can be a tartar at times.’

Mr Funnell’s head was back and he was laughing heartily. ‘Oh! Then you haven’t been behaving yourselves?’

‘Yes, we have, but . . . but Willie left the gate open last night and Mr Walsh got us up in the dark. At least he did Matty. He made him get up and close it.’ Joe nodded towards Matty, and Mr Funnell said, ‘Oh, well. It’s a serious offence, leaving a gate open, you know. He’s got a quick temper has Mr Walsh, but he’s a good man.’ He jerked his chin up and repeated, ‘A good man. You could learn a lot from him, if you liked.’

‘Aw, we’ve left school, sir.’ This quip came from Joe, and Mr Funnell said, ‘So you’ve got no need to learn any more?’

‘No, sir.’

The master shook his head slowly, but there was a smile on his face. Then rising to his feet, he said, ‘Well, I’m going to sample, at least I hope I am . . . one of Mrs Walsh’s amazing breakfasts. But I’ll be seeing you. I’ll come over after and have a natter. Thanks for the tea.’

He took a few steps from them, then turned and said, ‘I still can’t get over the surprise of seeing you all here. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.’ He seemed to be addressing Willie and Joe rather than Matty. And Willie said, ‘And we’ve had a shock an’ all, sir.’

‘Oh, I do this route every year without fail. If I don’t see you before, and you come next year, we’re sure to meet up.’

When he was out of earshot Willie said, ‘Not likely. You’ll not get me here next year, or any other time.’ Then turning to Matty, he said quite cheerily, ‘But didn’t you get a surprise? Eeh? I thought I was seeing things.’

‘Yes, I did an’ all,’ said Matty.

‘He’s a nice bloke, is Funnell.’ Joe went to the frying pan and, with a piece of bread, rubbed it dry, and as he ate he looked sideways at Willie, saying, ‘We can’t go the day if he’s here.’

‘No, likely not. Mr Walsh won’t take our kit down to the station if he’s got a visitor.’

Matty, in his tent now and getting his things ready for airing, smiled to himself. They had made their point; they were staying on. The next minute he was disturbed by the thought that he was disappointed that they were staying, and he imagined what it would have been like if Mr Funnell had happened to call in when he was here on his own. Perhaps under those circumstances the master would have asked him to accompany him on a tramp. He would have liked that. Oh aye. He would have liked that. But as things were it wasn’t likely there would be such an invitation thrown his way.

But Matty was wrong in this; there was an invitation thrown his way, and by Mr Funnell. The only snag was it included Willie and Joe, who grabbed at it as if their one pleasure in life was hiking. When Willie, in particular, showed intensified excitement at the fact that Mr Walsh and Jessica were going to join the party, Matty thought everyone would be justified in thinking that he himself was barmy were he to tell them that these two pals of his were fed up with walking uphill and down dales, were sick of the sight of mountains, and never wanted to see the country again, or anyone belonging to it, as long as they lived.

But now they were taking the same path over the mountain that Matty and Mr Walsh had taken a few days earlier. And on seeing it for the second time Matty was finding the scenery even more wonderful than before.

‘There you are, Stanley. Does it look any different?’ Mr Walsh had stopped, and was pointing from the high promontory across the valley.

It was odd to hear Mr Funnell addressed as Stanley, and it brought Matty’s attention away from the awe-inspiring view and made him smile inwardly. Stanley Funnell . . . masters were just men after all. He seemed surprised at the thought, and he looked at Mr Funnell as he replied to the farmer, ‘It’s always changing; it never looks the same twice. But it gets more beautiful each year. I’ve promised myself to come up in the winter and I will.’

‘Do that. Do that,’ said Mr Walsh. ‘But I bet you one thing. You won’t stand like you’re doing now, not at this height. In fact, there’s been times when I’ve had to go over the slope on me hands and knees.’

‘Indeed I quite believe it.’ Mr Funnell nodded his head. Then turning to Matty, he said, ‘Well, what do you think about it?’

‘It’s wonderful, sir.’

‘You really think that?’

‘Aye. Yes. Yes, I do.’

‘Would you get tired of seeing it every day?’

‘Me!’ Matty answered quickly. ‘No, no, I wouldn’t get tired of seeing it every day.’ His attention was now drawn from Mr Funnell to Mr Walsh, for the farmer was staring hard at him and his expression was very odd. His eyes were half-closed and his face unsmiling, and Matty said once again to himself, ‘He doesn’t cotton on to me.’

Matty dropped his gaze from the farmer, and, embarrassed now, he walked to where the two boys and Jessica were sitting perched on a shelf of rock. And when he came up to them, Jessica put a question to him, ‘Does it scare you being up high like this?’ She sounded as if she hoped it did, and he smiled at her, a superior smile, as he said, ‘No, I’m not frightened of heights. Are you?’ She seemed surprised at the question, and she tilted her chin up at him, saying, ‘Me, frightened of heights? Of course I’m not. I’ve climbed nearly to the top of the hump that’s behind our house. It’s twice the height of this, and all little paths and crannies. And there’s sheer drops. I bet you’d be frightened up there because you’re not used to climbing.’

Jessica was addressing herself solely to Matty, and, he thought, in a way designed to belittle him. She was like her father, she had it in for him. Well, let her. It didn’t matter. Girls only liked fellows like Willie who could make them laugh, or little fellows like Joe, whom they could patronise.

Jessica said now, ‘I bet you wouldn’t dare go up the hump.’

‘Perhaps I wouldn’t.’ He raised his eyebrows and turned from her. What was up with her? She seemed set for a row.

He was glad when he saw Mr Walsh and Mr Funnell move off down into the valley, and then for the next half-an-hour he forgot entirely about Jessica, or the boys, as he watched the two dogs, under Mr Walsh’s direction, separate six sheep from the herd, then skilfully, and without fluster, bring them down to a walled field near the farm.

The day turned out to be one of the most successful of the holiday, at least in Willie’s and Joe’s opinion, when Mrs Walsh invited them all over to tea. Nor was there any further talk about going home on the morrow now because Mr Walsh had asked them if they would like a run into Hexham again. He was taking the six sheep to a butcher. These, he had explained to them, were a special order, and if they didn’t mind sitting among the trussed-up sheep they were welcome.

Mr Walsh, who seemed in a very amiable mood, naturally included Matty in the invitation, and when, hesitantly, Matty had thanked him, but added that if it was the same to him he would just as soon stay on the farm, Mr Walsh had bestowed upon him again that odd look, which made Matty think why the heck hadn’t he kept his mouth shut and just gone with the others?

That night as they got ready for bed there was a lot of talk, as usual mostly between Willie and Joe. But it was when they were tucked up in their sleeping bags that Joe first touched on the controversial subject of slaughtering sheep, and the more personal one of having to ride in the same lorry. ‘It’s awful, man,’ he said to Matty. ‘There, the poor things’ll be lying all trussed up, and in an hour or so they’ll be dead.’

‘You’d think,’ Willie called from his tent, ‘bringing them up and lookin’ after them, he just couldn’t take them to the slaughterhouse. It’s sort of heartless, isn’t it?’

‘Aye,’ said Joe. ‘And you know, Jessica said they brought a dozen up on the bottle last year; she used to feed them.’

‘It’s cruel,’ said Willie. ‘Say what you like, it’s cruel.’

‘You eat meat, don’t you?’ Matty was sitting bolt upright now.

‘What did you say, Matty?’ Willie was pretending he hadn’t heard.

‘I said, you eat meat.’

‘Aye, of course I do,’ came Willie’s voice.

‘And you eat lamb, don’t you?’ Matty was bellowing down on Joe now, and Joe said, ‘Aye. Aye, I suppose I do.’

‘Well, you don’t object to eating lamb and beef, do you?’

‘That’s not the point,’ shouted Willie.

‘It is the point, only you’re too thickheaded to see it.’ Matty was snapping now. ‘That’s what you breed the sheep and the cattle for; they’re not pets. You eat bacon, don’t you, and chicken? You don’t go goofy about a chicken. Your dad keeps chickens, doesn’t he? Do you cry your eyes out when he kills one?’

There was a short silence following this last remark. Then Willie’s tone, stiff now, saying, ‘I thought you were fond of animals? You’re the one that’s supposed to go crackers about dogs.’

‘Dogs are different. You have a dog as a friend, same as a cat, or a bird. Not that I hold with birds in cages. But animals on farms are different; they are reared for meat; they are reared to be eaten.’

‘I can’t understand you. Honest, I can’t.’

‘Well, don’t strain yourself,’ Matty called back. Then turning towards Joe and speaking more quietly, he asked, ‘You see the point?’

Joe wriggled in his bag; then said, ‘No. No, Matty. Honest I don’t. I can’t see how you can go crackers over a dog and then don’t get worked up over those poor sheep going to the slaughterhouse the morrow.’

‘Well then,’ said Matty, ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll make a bargain with you. I’ll get worked up over sheep going to the slaughterhouse if you promise not to eat any beef, or lamb, or bacon or chicken ever again. How about it?’

‘Aw, don’t be daft, man. It’s as Willie says, you’re funny.’

‘Oh, he does, does he?’

‘Aw, he didn’t mean that . . . he just meant . . . ’

‘I know what he meant. So I’m funny. Well I’m going to remain funny. Goodnight. And if you can’t go to sleep try counting the sheep going into the slaughterhouse.’

Joe started to laugh, a low rumbling, choking sound, and it was so infectious that Matty found himself having to keep his hand hard across his mouth not to join in. Then when Willie’s high yelp came from the other tent he let his laughter burst from him.

So the argument ended in laughter, and soon they were all asleep.